This sounded a little ominous, I thought; but Mr. Worden was not a man to be frightened from a good hot supper, by half-a-dozen inadvertent words. He could tolerate even a religious discussion, with such an object in view. He walked on, side by side with Guert, and we were soon at the door of the house of Mr. Van Brunt, the Bachelor in Divinity, as I nicknamed him. Guert entered without knocking, and ushered us into the presence of our quasi host.
We found in the room a company of just twelve, Guert included; that being the entire number of the club. It struck me, at the first glance, that the whole set had a sort of slide-down-hill aspect, and that we were likely to make a night of it. My acquaintance with Dirck, and indeed my connection with the old race, had not left me ignorant of a certain peculiarity in the Dutch character. Sober, sedate, nay phlegmatic as they usually appeared to be, their roystering was on a pretty high key, when it once fairly commenced. We thought one lad of the old race, down in Westchester, fully a match for two of the Anglo-Saxon breed, when it came to a hard set-to; no ordinary fun appeasing the longings of an excited Dutchman. Tradition had let me into a good many secrets connected with their excesses, and I had heard the young Albanians often mentioned as being at the head of their profession in these particulars.
Nothing could be more decorous, or considerate, however, than our introduction and reception. The young men seemed particularly gratified at having a clergyman of their party, and I make no doubt it was intended that the evening should be one of unusual sobriety and moderation. I heard the word “Dominie” whispered from mouth to mouth, and it was easy to see the effect it produced. Most eyes were fastened on Van Brunt, a red-faced, square-built, somewhat dissolute-looking man of forty-five, who seemed to find his apology for associating with persons so much his juniors, in his habits, and possibly in the necessity of the case; as men of his own years might not like his company.
“And, gentlemen, it is dry business standing here looking at each other,” observed Mr. Van Brunt; “and we will take a little punch, to moisten our hearts, as well as our throats. Guert, yon is the pitcher.”
Guert made good use of the pitcher, and each man had his glass of punch,—a beverage then, as now, much used in the colony. I must acknowledge that the mixture was very knowingly put together, though I had no sooner swallowed my glass, than I discovered it was confounded strong. Not so with Guert. Not only did he swallow one glass, but he swallowed two, in quick succession, like a man who was thirsty; standing at the time in a fine, manly, erect attitude, as one who trifled with something that did not half tax his powers. The pitcher, though quite large, was emptied at that one assault, in proof of which it was turned bottom upwards, by Guert himself.
Conversation followed, most of it being in English, out of compliment to the Dominie, who was not supposed to understand Dutch. This was an error, however, Mr. Worden making out tolerably well in that language, when he tried. I was felicitated on the bargains I had made with the contractor; and many kind and hospitable attempts were made to welcome me in a frank, hearty manner among strangers. I confess I was touched by these honest and sincere endeavours to put me at my ease, and when a second pitcher of punch was brought round, I took another glass with right good-will, while Guert, as usual, took two; though the liquor he drank, I had many occasions to ascertain subsequently, produced no more visible effect on him, in the way of physical consequences, than if he had not swallowed it. Guert was no drunkard, far from it; he could only drink all near him under the table, and remain firm in his chair himself. Such men usually escape the imputation of being sots, though they are very apt to pay the penalty of their successes at the close of their career. These are the men who break down at sixty, if not earlier, becoming subject to paralysis, indigestion, and other similar evils.
Such was the state of things, the company gradually getting into a very pleasant humour, when Guert was called out of the room by one of the blacks, who bore a most ominous physiognomy while making his request. He was gone but a moment, when he returned with a certain sort of consternation painted in his own handsome face. Mr. Van Brunt was called into a corner, where two or three more of the principal persons present soon collected, in an earnest, half-whispered discourse. I was seated so near this group, as occasionally to overhear a few expressions, though to get no clear clue to its meaning. The words I overheard were, “old Cuyler”—“capital supper”—“venison and ducks”—“partridges and quails”—“knows us all”—“never do”—“Dominie the man”—“strangers”—“how to do it?” and several other similar expressions, which left a vague impression on my mind that our supper was in great peril from some cause or other; but what that cause was I could not learn. Guert was evidently the principal person in this consultation, everybody appearing to listen to his suggestions with respect and attention. At length our friend came out of the circle, and in a courteous, self-possessed manner communicated the difficulty in the following words:
“You must know, Rev. Mr. Worden, and Mr. Littlepage, and Mr. Follock, and Mr. Newcome, that we have certain customs of our own, among us youths of Albany, that perhaps are not familiar to you gentlemen nearer the capital. The trut' is, that we are not always as wise and as sober as our parents, and grandparents in particular, could wish us to be. It is t'ought a good thing among us sometimes, to rummage the hen-roosts and poultry-yards of the burghers, and to sup on the fruits of such a forage. I do not know how it is with you, gentlemen; but I will own, that to me, ducks and geese got in this innocent, game-like way, taste sweeter than when they are bought in the market-hall: our own supper for to-night was a bought supper, but it has become the victim of a little enlargement of the practice I have mentioned.”
“How!—how's that, friend Ten Eyck!” exclaimed Mr. Worden, in no affected consternation. “The supper a victim, do you say?”
“Yes, sir; to be frank at once, it is gone; gone to a pullet, a steak, and a potatoe. They have not left us a dish!”