At the door of St. James's Palace all but a few of the throng which followed the Indian chiefs and the Weisers were denied entrance. The finely dressed gentleman who had spoken to the Indians, and who evidently knew their own language, was allowed to pass under the stone archway and into the court and thence into the palace itself. The Indians still led the way, traveling quietly along through intricate passages and tapestry-hung halls. Courtiers passed them with curious stares.

Still they kept the two Weisers behind the leader. Presently they halted in a room where there was a fire blazing on the hearth and where fine ladies laughed and talked. On the opposite side from the entrance a thick curtain hung over a doorway. The leading chief walked directly toward it and there paused, the procession behind him coming to a stop. A little lady sitting by the fire accepted a challenge from her companions to salute the strangers, and came across the floor, her high heels tapping as she walked.

"O great King of Rivers," said she to the foremost Indian, "who are these your companions?"

The Indian's answer was interpreted by the gayly dressed gentleman who understood his tongue.

"The King of Rivers says that these are his friends."

"Thank you, Colonel Schuyler. Tell the King of Rivers that his friends need a red blanket like his own and—"

What else they needed Conrad and his father were not to hear. The curtain before them was lifted, and from the other side a high, clear voice announced,—

"The chiefs of the Mohawk Nation!"

Moving as in a dream, their eyes dazzled and their hearts confused, the two Weisers went on. They found themselves now in a still more magnificent room. At its far end there was a group of gentlemen surrounding a lady who sat in a throne-like chair. She was grave of aspect and there was upon her face the indelible impression of grief. On her white hands and her neck were sparkling jewels. The gentlemen about her were wigged and powdered, and wore in their long sleeves white lace ruffles which almost hid their hands.

So astonished and confused was Conrad that his father had to command him twice to make obeisance.

"To your knees, boy! To your knees, Conrad! It is the Queen!"

The Indians did not bend, but stood with arms folded under their scarlet blankets, in their dark, shining eyes a look of friendly regard for the little lady who was a ruler like themselves. The Queen looked at the two Germans with curious but kindly astonishment. Neither John Conrad nor his son was in court array, though the needles of Margareta and Magdalena kept them fairly neat and whole.

"Good Peter," said Queen Anne, "who are these?"

The stranger who had interpreted for the Indians rose from his knees.

"They are Germans from the camp on Blackheath, dear madam. Your friends of the Mohawk Nation went early this morning to visit that great settlement and have brought with them from there these folk, father and son, to their appointment with the Queen. From this intention they could not be stayed, but insist that they have a communication of importance to make concerning these strangers."

The Queen looked smilingly at her Indian friends and then at the two Germans.

"The condition of those helpless people is on our minds. Let our friends of the Mohawk Nation speak."

Surely the audience room had never heard a stranger sound than that which now filled it! The tallest of the chiefs responded, speaking at length, with many sweeping gestures. Conrad strained his ears—oh, how longingly!—but could understand nothing. The chief seemed to be speaking of some spot far away and also of the two Germans. One word Conrad heard, he was certain, again and again, but he could not retain its strange sound.

When the Indian had finished, Colonel Schuyler began to translate his words, imitating also his motions toward the west and his pointing to the Weisers.

"Your friend the King of Rivers has this to say, O Queen. He and his companions of the Mohawk Nation have walked about to see the city where so many hundreds of people live in so small a space. Far to the south they have visited also the settlement of misery known as the German camp. The distress of these people is terrible to them. It is a dreadful thing to them that men should be so crowded together when there is so much space in the world, so much land for planting corn and so many wide forests for hunting. The King of Rivers recalls to you the object of his long and perilous journey across the ocean in an unsteady ship. He reminds you that he seeks for himself and his allied nations protection against the growing power of his enemies, both Indian and French.

"Now he would offer for these poor Germans his country of Schoharie"—there was the word which Conrad had heard again and again!—"where there are fine streams for fishing and much land for planting and hunting. There, when there is no war, men and women are happiest of all the places on the earth. His people are faithful people, keeping their word, and aiding and protecting unto death those in whom they can trust. If you will send these afflicted people to Schoharie, then together the Indians and the Germans can keep the peace with the western Indians, and the French will not dare to attack them."

The Indians nodded their heads solemnly as Colonel Schuyler finished. They had entire confidence in him and trusted him to repeat their words exactly.

The Queen looked at the two humble figures before her. Their blue eyes met hers with a great longing.

"Speak!" said she.

John Conrad took a step forward. His English was broken, but none the less eloquent.

"Oh, Madam, all they say of our misery is true. We are indeed desolate and afflicted. We have been harried by the sword; we have perished by cold and starvation. Your enemies the French are our enemies. At the hands of our own princes we have perished for conscience' sake. We are of your faith, O Queen!—those of us that are left. The good God in heaven does not send his creatures into the world to be thus destroyed. We seek not idleness and repose for our bodies, but labor for our bodies and repose for our souls. We long as the hart pants after water brooks for this new country. You have brought us thus far out of our wilderness; send us now into this new land where there is peace! We have nothing, nothing. We cannot pay except by our labor in a new country. We ask bounty as we ask the bounty of Heaven, because we are helpless. You have already marvelously befriended us. But for you we should not be living at this day."

The Queen turned to the gentleman who sat nearest to her.

"He speaks well, my lord."

"He speaks from the soul, Madam."

Now the Queen conversed rapidly and in a low tone with Peter Schuyler—too rapidly for the Weisers to understand. She mentioned one Hunter of whom they knew nothing, and they waited uneasily, afraid that their audience was at an end and that nothing had been accomplished. When the doorkeeper came forward and led them away, leaving their Indian friends behind, their hearts sank. They made obeisance to the Queen and went slowly toward the door, not daring to speak. Then they saw that Colonel Schuyler followed them.

"This day one week at this hour the Queen will see you again. Can you find your way thither?"

"Oh, yes, my lord!" answered John Conrad.

Outside the two met again curious glances, heard again amused comment. But they regarded neither, scarcely indeed saw the smiles or heard the laughter. Hope had once more taken up an abode in their weary hearts.

Daily in the week which followed, Conrad made his way from Blackheath to St. James's Palace, where he gazed at the stone archway and then wandered farther hoping to see again the Indians. To the other Germans the Weisers said nothing of their hopes. The Indians had led them into the city and had there held conversation with them through an interpreter,—beyond that fact they did not go. Their fellow countrymen had been too often cruelly disappointed; until the blessed possibilities of which the Weisers dreamed had become certainties, they would say nothing.

Yet hope in their own hearts rose higher and higher. Once more Conrad read his little book, finding in his new acquaintances proof of all that was said in praise of the Indian and contradiction of all that was said in his disparagement. The word "Schoharie" he wrote down and said over and over in his waking hours and in his dreams at night.

He had formed a friendship with a lad of his own age, Peter Zenger by name, who, with his ailing father, had suffered as the Weisers had suffered and who had a similar longing for the new land. From Peter during this week he held aloof, determined to tell his secret to no one.

Conrad thought a great deal of his father and of the attentive way in which the Queen and her court had listened to him. His father was poor and he had miserable clothes, yet he had not trembled. Of all the Germans no one, not even the magistrate of Oberdorf, who was so certain of his own powers, could have done so well.

On the morning of the appointment John Conrad and his son waited for an hour outside the palace gateway. The unkindly feeling of the populace toward the Germans had increased rather than diminished, and as they walked up and down many persons spoke roughly to them. But again, wrapped in their own anxious thoughts, they heard with indifference.

Again the Queen sat in the throne-like chair with her gentlemen about her, the same gentlemen so far as Conrad could see, except one who now sat nearest to the Queen and to whom she was speaking when they entered. They looked in vain for their friends of the Mohawk Nation.

The Queen bade the Weisers sit side by side on a cushioned bench before her while she continued her conversation with the newcomer whom she called Hunter. Then she bade John Conrad tell again the story of his misfortunes and she listened attentively, her eyes fastened upon him.

John Conrad spoke eloquently, though brokenly, once more, and omitted nothing. When in the midst of his account of persecution and misery, one of the fine gentlemen would have stopped him, the Queen bade the story go on.

"It is good for us to hear these things. And your wife,—you say nothing of her."

Nor did John Conrad say anything. He tried, stammered, halted, tried again, and failed once more. In a second one of the fine gentlemen, Lord Marlborough, began to speak in his easy way. The Queen's face was white, her lips twitched, and she smoothed nervously the black stuff of which her dress was made. Lord Marlborough talked on and on until the Queen herself interrupted him.

"We have heard this sad tale before, but never so well told. It is our intention to do all for these poor Germans that we can. In our colony of New York we have already settled the first of those who have come to us. There they dwell in happiness along the banks of Hudson's River and have made for themselves comfortable villages. It is our intention to establish others there in a similar way.

"In return we ask certain labors. Our enemies are many. It is necessary that we maintain for ourselves a large fleet upon the sea. Tar and pitch we must buy in great quantities from Sweden and Russia—an enormous and unnecessary expense. In our colony of New York, so says its Governor Hunter, are thousands of acres of pine trees from which we could distill, if we had the workmen, our own supplies. Do you think the Germans could make tar?"

"What others can do, we can do," answered John Conrad. "We are not below the rest of the world in intelligence, though we are in possessions. We have among us men of many crafts—husbandmen and vine-dressers, masons and bakers and carpenters, herdsmen and blacksmiths and tanners and millers and weavers. Oh, dear lady, if we were but there!"

"The grapes of the new land are said to be finer than the grapes of France," said Lord Marlborough. "It would not be amiss if we could draw from our own stores."

Governor Hunter leaned forward eagerly.

"It will be time to think of wine when Her Majesty's ships are well caulked," said he impatiently. "The trees must be properly barked two years before they are cut and burned. There will be no time for vine-dressing. The project is as sure of success as the rising of the sun. It cannot fail. Meanwhile, there will be work in other crafts also as in all new settlements. It is understood that the Germans have here an opportunity to repay some of the great expense to which we have been put on their account."

"We would not have it otherwise," cried John Conrad. "We are not beggars, except as we beg for a chance to earn our bread. Would that we might begin to-day to pay our great debt!"

The Queen smiled.

"We must have ships, and they are not easy to find in a sufficient number at present to transport this host. But tell your friends to hold themselves in readiness."

Now Conrad breathed a long sigh.

"The lad looks at me with a question in his eyes," said the Queen. "What is it, boy?"

"Will our new home be near these kind Indians?" asked Conrad, trembling.

"Governor Hunter, what of this?"

"There are Indians everywhere in plenty," said he.

Colonel Schuyler rose, and John Conrad, feeling himself dismissed, rose also.

The Queen stopped them with a lifted hand.

"About these same Indians, good Weiser. Our possessions lie along the east coast of this great and unexplored country. To the north and to the west, along the course of a vast river and the shores of large inland bodies of water, the French have by guile got possession of the land. Between live tribes of savages, upon whose friendship depends enormous issues. Give thought to this, you and your friends. These Indians who are here represent a great nation or confederation of nations, skilled in the warfare of the forest. It is important that they continue to be our friends. I am told that they do not regard lightly deceit of any sort, and that their revenge upon the treacherous is hideous beyond all describing. Now, fare you well."

Again John Conrad tried to speak his gratitude, but could say no word. He dropped to his knees once more, then rose and followed Colonel Schuyler to the door. There Colonel Schuyler put a gold piece into his hand.

"For you and Magdalena and Margareta and John Frederick and the others," said he. "The Queen's bounty."

By noon of the next day, the German settlement was ready to take ship. John Conrad, as he carried his remarkable announcement from tent to tent and from fire to fire, gave warning that sailing might still be delayed, that the ships were not yet in the harbor, that only a few hundreds could be carried on each vessel, and that these hundreds would be selected according to a method of which they knew nothing.

But the Germans would not hear. They packed their belongings once more into bundles, and depression gave place to good cheer, solemnity to hilarity. Some let the fires before their tents go out and all spent their small remaining sums of money for provisions to take on shipboard.

Alas, bundles were unpacked, fires were relighted, and the food purchased for the sea eaten on land long before the ships were in harbor and the Germans on board. Some of the bundles were then packed once more by other hands. Before the hour for sailing hundreds of pilgrims, among them the disappointed magistrate of Oberdorf, had come to the end of their journey. The Blackheath camp had become a camp of death.

In the weeks which now followed, John Conrad was summoned twice to the palace, not to see the Queen or to meet his Indian benefactors, but to have explained to him, as the chief representative of the Germans, their duties in the new world. Once more the need of the English navy for tar was made clear and the method for extracting it from the pine trees carefully explained. Governor Hunter, who talked to John Conrad at length, was quick of speech and temper, a man who brooked no opposition and listened to few questions.

To John Conrad was presented a contract for his signature and that of other Germans, by which they were to promise to perform that which the Queen required. With happy hearts they promised; with overflowing gratitude they heard that they were to receive, after their debt to the Government was paid, twenty-five dollars and forty acres of land.

Finally, as Christmas Day drew near, good news came to Blackheath. Ships would be provided for all, the first sailing on Christmas Day. Assigned to the first ship were the Weisers and Conrad's friend Peter Zenger and his father. The rabble of London gathered at the camp to see the Germans start, but now their taunts fell on deaf ears. The new country was just across the sea; peace and plenty were at hand. They thought with sad regret of those who had started with them, but who were no longer here to continue the journey.

Though it was winter, the Germans thought little of the storms which they would meet at sea. They were landsmen who knew nothing of the fierce power of the ocean. If they remembered the roughness of the Channel crossing, it was with the consoling reflection that the ocean was there confined to narrow bounds, like the Rhine where its rapids were so swift. It was true that Conrad's little book advised various precautions against illness and misery. But they refused to think of illness or misery. With their long journey so nearly ended, they could endure both.

Conrad brought out from its hiding-place George Reimer's flute and discovered to his delight that Peter Zenger had a drum. Perhaps there would be other instruments upon the ship and a band could be formed.

To the eyes of Conrad and Peter the ship Lyon looked enormous as it lay in the harbor, its mighty sails furled. From its sides there projected four cannon, regarded by the two boys with terror and delight. A sailor standing on the quay explained that they were to deal with the French and with pirates.

"Pirates!" repeated Conrad. "What are they?"

"They are freebooters," explained Peter. "I have heard of them. They attack any one whom they please and kill and rob."

"Are we sure to meet them?" asked Conrad.

"They come out from the shore like wolves," answered the sailor. "But with these cross dogs we can scare them off."

But whether there were pirates or not, whether there were storms to meet, or whether they were to sail in a continued calm, the Germans must now get aboard. On Christmas morning the first four hundred embarked upon the ship Lyon for another stage of the long journey.