My blood was up. Swords ringing and mine in its sheath was a craven plight. I was for joining in but did not know which side to join. Suddenly the sheriff fell wounded and his men turned tail to run. “Cowards,” I yelled, flourishing my sword, “follow me.” They plucked up courage and did as I bade them. I led them aside some twenty yards to the mouth of a narrow lane where we were protected on the flanks by a fence on one side and a house on the other. Here the fray began again with redoubled spirit. I had time to notice that each of the sailors wore about his arm a band of red cloth that gave his dress somewhat the appearance of a uniform. Three of them soon lay on the ground by the mouth of the lane, and I doubt not that they were killed, for there seemed to be great enmity between the marines and the city officers. The sailors continued to fight like fiends, yelling and cursing between their blows like so many madmen. I have no doubt they were full of drink, for they did not fight well together but often turned on one another, or hampered themselves by crowding shoulder to shoulder too close to fight to good advantage. In twenty minutes we had reduced their number by half. The sobering effect of this lively scrimmage put a little reason into the heads of those who were still upon their legs. It was now their turn to run, which they did with a marvelous speed considering the fact that they were sailors. The battle at an end, I wiped the blade of my sword and continued down the Slip, casting my eyes curiously upon the tradesmen’s signs. There were but a few names on the street, though a symbol of some sort stood over the entrance to each shop. At one place a pair of scissors indicated the dock barber and peruke maker. A red ball hung before a vender of cheese; and an empty cask before every third or fourth door showed where spirits was sold. I made my way past a long row of petty shops and small ordinaries till my eyes fell upon that for which I was looking. This was a tall, pretentious building decked from top to bottom in blue hangings. Within the ample doorway I could see piles of boxes, casks, bales of cotton, and to the rear there were many clerks bending over huge account books, or skurrying about with pots of paint in their hands to mark the numerous parcels for shipment. What made this warehouse of more interest to me than all the others was its sign and the name of its owner. It read “KILIAN VAN VOLKENBERG—MERCHANT.” CHAPTER V THE JACOBITE COFFEE-HOUSE 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.