When I recognized the name on the front of Van Volkenberg’s warehouse I dipped my hand into my pocket to make sure that the silver buttons Captain Tew had given me were safe and ready to be produced by way of introduction. I crossed the street and entered the open doorway. A courteous young clerk who desired to be of service to me regretted that his master was not on the premises.

“Patroon Van Volkenberg went out not long ago with Colonel Fletcher,” he said. “You know that the town is in such excitement that the patroon, who is the chief merchant of the city and also a member of the governor’s council, has many cares upon him. But I am in his confidence and should be glad—no, is it a personal matter? I am sorry that I cannot attend to your business. I should advise you to return this afternoon if you desire to see him in person. He will probably dine with Colonel Fletcher or perhaps with the governor. You know that Patroon Van Volkenberg is one of the most representative men of the city. I see you are a stranger. Would you like to look at our cellars and see our ships? There are none equal to them in the whole province.”

I thanked him for his kindness, but said that I wished to explore the city and would wander about on the chance of seeing the patroon at large. I passed out into the busy street and stood at the door of the patroon’s warehouse for a moment in hesitation which way to turn. A large sign which projected into the street not far away on my right indicated the Leisler Tavern. I turned that way, intending to find a suitable place to lodge until my plans became more settled. At the door, however, I stopped. The room within was noisily full of people all of whom wore white cockades and badges. These decorations represented the Earl’s party and reminded me of the fact that the hangings on Van Volkenberg’s house were blue. The Leisler Tavern was evidently not frequented by the partisans of the patroon. I had better seek farther; perhaps I should come upon an inn of another color.

I wandered along, keeping a sharp lookout on all sides. My attention was much taken up with the quaint little houses and the curious sights of this strange city. Before long, on returning from a near view of the fort which I had already seen at a distance from my point of vantage on Long Island, I ran suddenly upon the Jacobite Coffee-House. This ordinary was draped in blue, and the empty neighborhood cast upon it the melancholy atmosphere of defeat.

The large interior was portioned off upon three sides into stalls containing tables like those I had seen in London. Most of the chairs at these tables were occupied by persons drinking; but by far the greater number of people present stood mug in hand in the open center of the room. Upon my entrance there was a sudden lull in the conversation; then they began to whisper among themselves and look at me. Every person in the room was soon staring at me as if I were some public curiosity on exhibition. There was a hostile expression in their eyes, too, that I could not comprehend. I wondered whether, after all, this was really a public ordinary. Had I made a mistake and blundered into some private place of meeting? On one side of the tap-room in plain sight hung the governor’s license to keep open house. No, I had not made a mistake. What, then, was the meaning of this obvious turning of eyes in my direction? How could I account for the hostile contempt they showed towards me, an utter stranger?

I crossed the room to where I saw a vacant chair in one of the stalls. At once two men who were also seated at the table I was moving towards, arose, making a great parade of their efforts to get out of my way. The laugh that followed this treatment vexed me much. I called out in an ill temper to the host to fetch me some rum and not to keep strangers waiting.

“Have you a room to let?” I inquired as he set my liquor down on the table in front of me.

“No,” he replied curtly, turning on his heel, and showing me his back across the room.

Shortly the attention fell off from me somewhat and the inmates began to talk again. Kirstoffel, as they called the host, was a merry fellow. He soon seemed to repent of the rude way in which he had answered my question, for he saw when I took out my purse that I had plenty of ready money. Taking advantage of a moment when attention was diverted to the some disturbance in the street, he came across the room to me and made a qualified apology.

“Gott, man,” he began. “Your demand was too sudden. I have got no rooms here to let out. They were all thrown into one for that what-you-call-it Jacobite Club to meet in. No, I have no rooms.”

As he seemed to be friendly, I asked him why my entrance had been the cause of so much attention. He was about to answer when the people who had been temporarily attracted to the door came pouring back. The tapster laid his finger on his lips, shook his head at me in a warning sort of way, and then stalked haughtily back to his place as if to affect his customers with the largeness of his contempt for me.

I was all alert to discover the clew to this treatment. As each of several new people entered I was pointed out amid whispering and shaking of heads and threatening glances. One fellow, a sailorly looking man, cried out an angry oath and took a step or two in my direction. A comrade caught him by the arm and whispered something in his ear. At that the fellow gave up his notion, whatever it was, and soon their interest in me waned.

Everyone I had seen in the room so far wore somewhere on his coat or hat a bit of the blue ribbon that stood for the Merchants’ party. It was not long, however, before I noticed in one corner a slight, alert man who looked as if he might be a native of my own country. Furthermore, so far as I could see, he wore none of the blue ribbon. I changed my seat so as to come near him. He was an affable sort of fellow and spoke to me at once.

“You and I seem to be on the under side,” he began. “I wonder you don’t wear white.”

I told him, as I had told the ferryman, that I was a stranger in the city and that I had not yet learned the difference between the parties. He at once began a long explanation, telling me all about the Earl of Bellamont and the People’s party whose color was white, and of the Merchants’ party, whose color was blue. Thus begun, I pressed the conversation further to learn why I had been treated with so much attention when I came into the coffee-house. He did not know. Had I worn white or no color at all, as he did, they would have let me alone. There must be something more than that. Did I not know? “How could I?” I said, in answer to his question, for I had been in New York scarce above two hours. All this mystery was very annoying to me, for every few moments I was pointed out and showed off to some new comer like an animal in a cage.

In the meantime my chance acquaintance, who informed me that his name was Pierre, drank continually and was in the merrier mood therefor. “I hate these Dutchmen,” he said, “with their dozen pairs of breeches like barrels round their middles. And the women, ha! I’ve seen a very bean-pole swell out below like a double jib.”

This reference to the Dutchmen reminded me of my desire to see the patroon, and I asked Pierre if he knew Van Volkenberg.

“Know him? I’d know his bones in a button shop. You couldn’t polish the crabbedness out of him. I could tell you where he is at this very moment only—I declare, my head is getting fuddled. I must have a gill of rum to settle this weak beer with.” In a moment he came back from the tap-rail, empty-handed and shaking his head disconsolately. “He will not trust me, not another stuyver. I’m plum fuddled. Where was I?”

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.

“And now,” continued the speaker, as Kirstoffel handed him a cup, “let us drink to the health of our stout friend, Colonel Benjamin Fletcher.”

Fletcher! I remembered that name. He was the person who had sent to Captain Tew the buttons that I now had in my pocket. The toast was drunk enthusiastically. Then someone sprang upon a chair and began to beat time; the company followed his example and soon they were all singing this song which they accompanied boisterously with the jingle of mugs and the clatter of feet:

At the last word the tall speaker bowed right and left, whereby I knew he was the patroon.

I felt in my pocket for the silver buttons and, taking one of them in the hollow of my hand with my fingers closed over so as to conceal it till the proper moment, I rose to approach the patroon. This act drew all eyes upon me. There was the same ominous silence as before, accompanied now, however, with ten times the contempt and anger shown at my first entrance. The ill feeling against me was so evident and, so far as I knew, so without cause, that I was fairly nonplussed. No one spoke. The only sounds were the ticking of the tall clock in the corner and a few taps of Van Volkenberg’s cane upon the floor. He likewise seemed to share the general resentment against me.

“Mynher,” said I, as yet holding the button in my hand. “I came to ask——”

“Ask nothing of me, villain.”

“Ay, he is a villain,” chorused several voices.

“Mynher,” I began again, astonished at this reception from a perfect stranger.

“Not a word, wretch, not a word to me. I have no dealings with vagabonds, scum of the streets. If you have anything to say, go talk to my dogs. Zounds! Away! Out of my sight!”

I was about to expostulate, having no idea whatever how to account for this sudden burst of anger, but he raised his cane to strike me. Then I noticed a narrow band of red cloth about his left arm just beyond the elbow.

“Hush, Kilian,” said the companion who had entered with him. “Do not anger yourself.”

“Pish! May I not strike a dog?”

“’Tis not for him but for yourself. Beware, Kilian.”

The patroon was visibly affected by this rejoinder and made an effort to control himself.

“You say you don’t understand what I mean?” he continued in disdain, for he had given me a chance to profess myself ignorant of offense. “Have you not stood against my men? Have you not drawn your sword against the Red Band? Bah, dog! You shall know what it is to kill the men of the Red Band. You shall hang for this if there is a law left in the province.”

He had begun this speech with a measure of self-control. But as the words followed one upon another, he spoke quicker and quicker, and with more and more anger, till he had worked himself to such a height of passion that his friend interfered a second time.

“Be careful, Kilian. These are grave times and we must be on our guard. You know your failing. What if you should make some——” He spoke the rest so low that I could not hear it. It had the effect, however, of calming the patroon. “Hear the man,” continued his friend. “Hear what he has to say.”

“Mynher Van Volkenberg,” I explained, “if the men I fought with on the Slip this morning were your men, I can only say that we gave and took fair blows. Half a score of men fighting two or three or four is what no man of honor will stand by and see unstirred. I fought fair and I confess no crime. I should do the same against the very troops of the Earl.”

“Damn the Earl!” burst out the patroon.

He shook and trembled with rage. This time there was no holding him back. He stormed up and down the room, cursing me, and the Earl, and even his companion, for trying to quiet him. What had been the outcome of our altercation but for an accident I do not know. Just at that moment Pierre, who had been sleeping quietly on my rum all this while, roused himself and stumbled to his feet. When I had first spoken to him a short time before, he was merrily drunk; by now he had swallowed himself into a royal state for quarreling.

“Hi, my duck!” he hiccoughed, as he lurched across the room. “At it again, eh?”

The room was dumb at this sudden outbreak from an unexpected quarter. Pierre drew upon him the attention of us all except the man who had entered with the patroon. His eyes were fixed upon Van Volkenberg, his hand was laid upon the patroon’s arm.

“Come with me, Kilian,” he said in a voice so low that few heard it. “You are wrought up to-day. You cannot trust yourself. Come home with me. Remember how much depends upon your coolness.”

“Old man,” Pierre cried as he tottered indirectly out of the corner where he had been asleep. “You will set your dogs on me, will you?”

There was almost no sound from anyone. Only the slow tick of the clock and the sand crunching beneath Pierre’s feet. Van Volkenberg trembled with fury, but was unable to speak. His companion tried in vain to drag him from the room. Pierre stopped two steps in front of them.

“Take that,” he cried savagely, emptying a glass of rum on the patroon’s waistcoat. Then, waving his arms drunkenly, he began to sing:

In the uproar that followed I was aware of but two facts. The patroon was dragged off by his companion through one door, and Pierre by the crowd through another. In the midst of the pushing and shoving about the street door someone plucked my elbow. It was Kirstoffel, the host, with his finger to his lips.

“His offense is ducking,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards Pierre. “But you. Gott, man! You’ve killed three of the patroon’s best men. I would not be in your shoes for a month’s brew. You will be up for——.” He pointed significantly, first at his neck and then at a beam over head. “Take my advice. Seek you the French dominie. He has got a great hold on Lady Marmaduke as well as the governor. But don’t stand still on your legs or you will hang fast by your neck.”

The fact that I was in unusual danger on account of my part in the brawl of the morning came home to me now for the first time. I resolved to take Kirstoffel’s advice without delay, feeling keenly the danger of my situation. I inquired where the house of the Huguenot pastor was and then asked the name of the person who had been so eager to restrain the patroon’s wrath.

“That? That was Colonel Fletcher, the governor of the province before this one came to the fort.”

It was a strange coincidence that I should be thus thrown against the only two men in New York from whom I had expected any help. All this time I still held the silver button clasped in my hand. I put it back into my pocket and set out along the street in search of the minister who I hoped would be able to assist me out of my difficult situation.