Patroon van Volkenberg : $b A tale of old Manhattan in the year sixteen hundred & ninety-nineStephenson, Henry Thew
History
Patroon van Volkenberg : $b A tale of old Manhattan in the year sixteen hundred & ninety-nine
Stephenson, Henry Thew
Manhattan (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
Within a few minutes after leaving Marmaduke Hall I arrived at the
Ferry-House alone, having stationed Pierre in a dark court-yard across
the street. I looked in through the door and saw the four sailors
huddled close together around one of the tables. They talked in careful
whispers with their heads close together as men are wont to do when they
are engaged in underhand business. From time to time they glanced
uneasily about the room, as if they thought that someone should be
watching. When I came near them, they seemed to suspect my presence in
the first breath. I tried to draw them into conversation, but succeeded
no better than if I had spoken in a foreign tongue. One after another of
them, as he could find an opportunity, managed to slip away to some
other part of the room; soon I was sitting quite lonely and deserted at
the table where I had joined them. They, however, had their heads close
together again and were in conversation in another part of the room. I
made a feint at yawning, put my feet on the table, folded my hands, and
in five minutes, for all they knew, I was fast asleep. In reality, I was
listening with both my ears and squinting through my half shut eyes to
see what they were doing.
They took care at first that I should not hear a word of what they said;
but by degrees, thinking, I suppose, that I was asleep, they grew more
careless in their speech. For all that, I could learn only that they
were to keep an appointment somewhere at nine o’clock that night. They
glanced often and so anxiously at the clock that I knew the meeting must
be of considerable importance. Before long they ceased talking
altogether; then they fell to dozing in their chairs.
When I saw that they were not likely to notice my absence, I left the
room. I walked along Garden Street towards the new Dutch church for the
distance of fifty yards; then I crossed to the shadow side of the
thoroughfare and retraced my steps. Opposite the Ferry-House is a narrow
alley that leads into a court-yard. It was in this passage, dark as
pitch, that I had stationed Pierre. I turned in when I reached the
entrance along which I groped my way with one hand on the wall and the
other raised to shield my face.
“St,” I said cautiously. Pierre answered with the same signal. I took
two more steps in the dark, and then my outstretched hand touched him.
“Pierre,” I said. “They are in there, but I cannot make them say a word.
Go quickly and rouse the rattle-watch. These fellows must be taken up.
I’ll make some sort of disturbance against your coming back to color the
arrest with. As soon as the watchmen have started, run as fast as your
legs will carry you and let me know that they are on the way.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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