Patroon van Volkenberg

by Henry Thew Stephenson

Then we fell to musing and rode for half an hour before Annetje asked me to tie her mask again.

“It is time we were going home,” she said. “There is some distance yet, for I have led you round about and we are scarcely a quarter of a mile from the city wall.”

A hundred yards brought us to the Post Road, along which we turned to the left, galloping rapidly northward towards the Hanging Rock. On our right, not more than a mile from the town was, and is for aught I know to the contrary, an old tumble-down tannery. We were approaching this ramshackle building when five men suddenly dashed out on us. They were all rough looking fellows, and each one of them wore a black mask over his face. In spite of this disguise, I recognized the hindmost man. The jumbled figure like a mass of jelly in the saddle—so unlike the stiffness with which he sometimes rode—proclaimed him to be Louis Van Ramm. Because of his presence I could hardly believe this sortie to be an attack upon me till I heard the cry of the foremost rider caught up and repeated by the others.

“Down with him. Down with the Red Band. Fire.”

Four of their muskets rang out at once. I heard Annetje scream, and expected to fall dead, but I was not even hurt. The fifth man had got so close to me that he shot off his gun at my very breast. Then Louis raised the butt end of his musket and struck me on the head. All this happened so suddenly that I had not had time even to draw my sword. When Louis’s gun fell, I reeled. I just remember Annetje’s shriek, and the hoofbeats of her horse like a great echoing drum. Next I felt myself sliding from the saddle, and then all is a blank to this day.

My grandfather used to say, “Telling dreams is but another name for lying;” so I shall not speak of the glorious visions of war and battle that thronged through my brain before I came to myself again. But regain consciousness I did, and in the following manner.

I remembered the drumbeats of Annetje’s horse as I reeled from the saddle, and when I came to myself again the first sound that fell on my ear was the sound of a hammer. I was lying on my back on the floor of a dimly lit outhouse. Ten feet away from me two men were making a box.

Luckily I had come to my senses quietly and had made no noise to attract their attention. For all the two workmen knew I might be still asleep—or dead, as they doubtless supposed. I made haste to stretch myself in that half sort of way which is as good as none, for I did not really move a muscle; I only strained a little here and there to make sure I was still alive.

The effect of the blow that had rendered me unconscious had passed away. Save for the ringing in my ears and the dull heavy pain in the crown of my head, I was all right and my wit was as clear as ever. So soon as I ascertained this fact, and had recollected the fight on the road, I set myself to unravel the present situation.

It must have been about sundown, and I soon discovered that the place where I lay was the old disused tannery. One of the two workmen I did not know; the other was Louis Van Ramm. Now for the first time I had a chance to think what his presence here meant. Evidently this attack had been instigated by the patroon—how otherwise could the dwarf be mixed up in it? But what part was he really playing? Were all his protestations of the morning false, or had he joined them only to hinder the execution of their plans? Then I remembered that it was his blow that had struck me down. I cursed him in my heart for it; but I was soon to learn that I was unjust in this suspicion.