Patroon van Volkenberg

by Henry Thew Stephenson

Louis sprang to the fellow’s side and clapped his hand over his mouth to smother his cries. Then the three men prepared to leave the room as they had come, by the window. The patroon went first. He walked backward, holding his drawn sword before him. Louis was in the rear, dragging the great weapon that the murderer had cast away. I was soon to behold with horror the sequel to this scene, from which I had so narrowly escaped with my life. As yet, however, I could but guess the meaning of it.

For the benefit of those who are not familiar with the history of those times, I must repeat what I have already hinted in regard to the powers of the patroons. They were much like the barons of the middle ages. They possessed, among other rights, the right to hold court, to try and condemn the persons who lived on their estate. It was not till later that I learned that Patroon Van Volkenberg had burst all bounds in this respect, and had carried this right so far that only his influence upon the island prevented a direct accusation from Bellamont. The patroons throughout the province saw with chagrin the growing power of the governor. It was their hope to end this for all time by some means, as yet not decided upon. Van Volkenberg alone, among them all, had had the courage to come out boldly and arm his household. This was, to his mind, the only way to advance the power of his class. The Red Band was the result. How it failed we shall learn in the following pages. When the time came for it to fall, it fell completely. Not a blot of it was left to cumber the earth. Even in my own day people have forgotten it. Only now and then do I find anyone who remembers the Red Band, and the rising of the people, and the fate of the patroon. But there are things in that old story of a past time that should be told, and therefore it is that I have set down this narrative to preserve a chronicle that has disappeared from the pages of history so completely that there are some who doubt its very existence.

The patroon, then, carried his fancied powers to the limits of life and death. On the afternoon of my arrival at Van Volkenberg manor, the man who had visited my room in company with the patroon and his henchman in the dead of night, had been convicted of a misdemeanor worthy of death. He was not tried by a regular court such as the patroon was by law entitled to hold. His offense was a violation of one of the laws of the Red Band; and by the Red Band he was condemned to die. When I understood these facts at a later date, I had little trouble in understanding what had taken place in my room. The patroon had bribed him to kill me. The fellow’s reward was freedom, escape from the sentence of the Red Band. How the patroon would have made it right with his followers I do not know; but so much must have been true. However, I am getting ahead of my story. When they left me I knew nothing of this. Nor, for a while, could I even guess at the meaning of what began to take place outside my window in front of the great terrace before the house.

Two men came out bearing upon their shoulders bundles of articles which I did not recognize till they were stuck upright in the ground at regular intervals. They were the cressets which I had seen burning on the first night when I came accidentally upon the Red Band at drill. Soon they were all ablaze. Then members of the Red Band began to gather by twos and threes, walking back and forth within the hollow square of light. Some were talking; others were singing; all of them seemed to be under some strain that needed shaking off.

At last, when there were so many of them that I lost all count, they began to range themselves in an orderly fashion, facing the house. The lights flared fitfully, showing me how serious every face was. Still I was ignorant of what was going to happen.

I had in the meantime strolled out upon the terrace. It was not long before the patroon came out also. He saw me, nodded pleasantly, and faced the band. What he said to them partially explained the situation.

“Men of the Red Band: By your own decree, Ronald Guy has been adjudged guilty of violation of our laws, and is therefore worthy of death. The hour of execution has come. Let the chosen ten step forward.”

Ten men stepped forward from the front rank of the company. Then, as they drew near the terrace, I noticed for the first time that ten muskets were lying there side by side. Each man took up one of the muskets.

“Only one of these weapons is loaded to kill,” said the patroon. “The executioner will not know himself. Let each of you aim as if he did.”

There was a short silence after that, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the cressets; next the sound of feet coming. A slow, steady tramp sounded along the hall. It came nearer, funereal in its slowness. It sent the cold streaking down my back and I shuddered at the thought. They were bringing him to his death. He was blindfolded, but I knew him by his size. He had tried to take my life. I do not know what else he had done. Perhaps he merited death. In that dreadful moment I bore him no ill-will for what he had tried to do to me. Death is death, and the cold-blooded savagery of this scene was appalling.