Patroon van Volkenberg

by Henry Thew Stephenson

I suggested Van Volkenberg, but he did not seem to know the name. I handed him half a crown, but he would not take it.

“No, sir; I’m not a beggar,” he said with a little dignity. “That would hurt me to the heart, and what would Annetje say?” Then he added cunningly: “You are a man of influence. If you would speak to him and ask him to extend my score on credit a little he would do it out of respect to you.”

A moment later Pierre was sipping rum to his satisfaction and I was secretly a shilling out to the landlord.

“Where was I?” continued Pierre, whose memory was improving now that I had got him some liquor without offending his dignity with money. “Where was I? Oh, yes, Van Volkenberg. He is in the room above this one—president of the Jacobite Club. If you wait here you will see him. They always come in for a sup all worn out and dry with thinking.”

Pierre soon fell asleep and I awaited the appearance of the patroon. In a short space of time I was again quite out of the consideration of every person in the room. They talked in low tones as people will who have not the honorable sense of success to be noisy over. They no longer paid any heed to me, not even when further additions were made to their number.

I kept my ears open and I soon learned from the drift of conversation what was the present state of politics in New York. The recently defeated Merchants’ party had been in power for many years; in fact, ever since the trial and execution of the leader, Jacob Leisler. This party’s grip on affairs had, however, been steadily failing ever since and it was quite loosened by the arrival of a new governor. This governor was the Earl of Bellamont. Upon his arrival in New York he had at once espoused the cause of the Popular party, as the adherents of Leisler were called. He made it his especial duty to enforce the Acts of Trade and to put down the illegal traffic with the buccaneers. This unlawful trade was the chief bone of contention between the two parties. To the Merchants’ party belonged all the great tradesmen of the city, hardly one of whom had not in times past, or was not at that very moment engaged in the profitable but unlawful exchange of smuggled goods. It was to continue this trade in defiance of the law that they stood together against the Earl. In the recent election they had been overthrown by a large majority. Their defeat was due mainly to the Frenchmen, which portion of the population of New York was then quite under the control of Lady Marmaduke. She was the lady I had already seen addressing the people from the step of her coach.

While I was gathering the above information piecemeal from the subdued conversation about me in the coffee-room, my acquaintance, Pierre, had roused himself occasionally, swallowed another draught of rum, and then relapsed into sleepy unconsciousness. The group in the room was continually changing, but the people composing it had ceased to point me out as an object of interest. Two or three men had latterly come in who wore upon their arms a band of red cloth like what I had seen on the sailors I had fought against in company with the sheriff’s men. But these fellows took no notice of me, nor did I recognize them as belonging to the band we had fought with.

Before long a sudden lull in the conversation greeted the appearance of two men. Heretofore I had examined the face of every visitor as he came in, wondering if he were Van Volkenberg. I now scanned these two with like attention. The older looking of the two was a large man, powerful but spare in build, with a sharp passionate eye. He returned cordially the numerous greetings with which he was welcomed. Then, for everyone in the room stood silent as if in expectation of a speech, he struck his ebony cane with decision on the floor and began to speak.

“Friends, we have suffered a severe defeat and to-day the Assembly goes into session that will unmake our laws. But the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong. We are not yet dead. Power shall return to us. Hush——” He raised his cane and made a motion to cut short a slight attempt to cheer. “Our enemies have triumphed through the vote of the Frenchmen. But you must not let this turn you against them. They are led by the black Lady Marmaduke. We must bring them back to our support. They are willing to come, but we must not drive them sharply. There is one thing I have to tell you that will make you glad at heart. To-day I have been at the governor’s council board. He is at heart our friend. To be sure, he has restored the confiscated property to the family of the traitor Leisler. That strikes home against us, but he could not help himself. The attainder was removed in England and he was bound to carry it out whether he liked to do so or not. This victory has been won in his name, but it is not of his heart. Do not the two traitors still lie at the foot of the gallows?”

A sullen murmur of dissatisfaction followed this appeal. “Ay, they have lain there these eight years,” cried one. “May they rot in their graves forever,” said another. For a moment the air was full of sharp, savage curses directed against the memory of the two leaders of the people.