By this time the door was open, and we entered. Mr. Mayor had issued orders we should all be shown into the parlour, where I rather think, from what subsequently passed, he intended to cut up Guert a little more than common, by exposing him before the eyes of a particular person. At all events, the reader can judge of my horror, at finding that the party whose supper I had just helped to demolish, consisted, in addition to three or four sons and daughters of the house, of Herman Mordaunt, Mary Wallace, and Anneke! Of course, everybody knew what had been done; but, until we entered the room, Mr. Mayor alone knew who had done it. Of Mr. Worden and myself even, he knew no more than he had learned from Dootje’s account of the matter; and the cook, quite naturally, had represented us as rogues feigning our divinity.
Guert was a thoroughly manly fellow, and he did us the justice to enter the parlour first. Poor fellow! I can feel for him, even at this distance of time, when his eye first fell on Mary Wallace’s pallid and distressed countenance. It could scarcely be less than I felt myself, when I first beheld Anneke’s flushed features, and the look of offended propriety that I fancied to be sparkling in her estranged eye.
Mr. Mayor evidently regarded Mr. Worden with surprise, as indeed he did me; for, instead of strangers, he probably expected to meet two of those delinquents whose faces were familiar to him, by divers similar jocular depredations, committed within the limits of his jurisdiction. Then the circumstance that Mr. Worden was a real Dominie, could not be questioned by those who saw him standing, as he did, face to face, with all the usual signs of his sacred office in his dress and air.
“I believe there must be some mistake here, constable!” exclaimed Mr. Mayor. “Why have you brought these two strange gentlemen along with Guert Ten Eyck?”
“My orters, Mr. Mayor, wast to pring Dootje’s ‘rapscallion Tominie,’ and his ‘rapscallion frient;’ and t’at is one, and t’is ist t’ot’e.”
“This gentleman has the appearance of being a real clergyman, and that too, of the church of England.”
“Yaas, Mr. Mayor, t’at is yoost so. He wilt preach fifteen minutes wit’out stopping, if you wilt give him a plack gownt; and pray an hour in a white shirt.” 24
“Will you do me the favour, Guert Ten Eyck, to let me have the names of the strangers I have the pleasure to receive,” said the mayor, a little authoritatively.
“Certainly, Mr. Mayor; certainly, and with very great pleasure. I should have done this at once, had we been ushered into your house by any one but the city constable. Whenever I accompany that gentleman anywhere, I always wait to ascertain my welcome.”
Guert laughed with some heart at this allusion to his own known delinquencies, while Mr. Cuyler only smiled. I could see, notwithstanding the severe measures to which he had resorted in this particular case, that the last was not unfriendly to the first, and that our friend Guert had not fallen literally among robbers, in being brought to the place where we were.
“This reverend dominie,” continued Guert, as soon as he had had his laugh, and had ventured to cast a short, inquiring glance at Mary Wallace, “is a gentleman from England, Mr. Mayor, who is to preach in St. Peter’s the day after to-morrow, by special invitation from the chaplain; when, I make no doubt, we shall all be much edified; Miss Mary Wallace among the rest, if she will do him the honour to attend the service—good, and angelic, and forgiving, as I know she is by nature.”
This speech caused all eyes to turn on the young lady whose face crimsoned, though she made no reply. I now felt satisfied that Guert’s manly, frank, avowed, and sincere admiration had touched the heart of Mary Wallace, while her reason condemned that which her natural tenderness encouraged; and the struggle in her mind was then, and long after, a subject of curious study with me. As for Anneke, I thought she resented this somewhat indiscreet, not to say indelicate though indirect avowal of his feelings towards his mistress; and that she looked on Guert with even more coldness than she had previously done. Neither of the ladies, however, said anything. During this dumb-show, Mr. Cuyler had leisure to recover from the surprise of discovering that one of his prisoners was really a clergyman, and to inquire who the other might be.
“That gentleman, then, is in fact a clergyman!” he answered. “You have forgotten to name the other, Guert.”
“This is Mr. Corny Littlepage, Mr. Mayor—the only son of Major Littlepage, of Satanstoe, Westchester.”
The Mayor looked a little puzzled, and I believe felt somewhat embarrassed as to the manner in which he ought to proceed. The incursion of Guert upon his premises much exceeded in boldness, anything of the kind that had ever before occurred in Albany. It was common enough for young men of his stamp to carry off poultry, pigs, &c., and feast on the spoils; and cases had occurred, as I afterwards learned, in which rival parties of these depredators preyed on each other—the same materials for a supper having been known to change hands two or three times before they were consumed—but no one had ever presumed, previously to this evening, to make an inroad even on Mr. Mayor’s hencoop, much less to molest the domains of his cook. In the first impulse of his anger, Mr. Cuyler had sent for the constable; and Guert’s club, with its place of meeting being well known, that functionary having had many occasions to visit it, the latter proceeded thither forthwith. It is probable, however, a little reflection satisfied the mayor that a frolic could not well be treated as a larceny; and that Guert had some of his own wife’s blood in his veins. When he came to find that two respectable strangers were implicated in the affair, one of whom was actually a clergyman, this charitable feeling was strengthened, and he changed his course of proceeding.
“You can return home, Hans,” said Mr. Mayor, very sensibly mollified in his manner. “Should there be occasion for your further services, I will send for you. Now gentlemen,” as soon as the door closed on the constable, “I will satisfy you that old Peter Cuyler can cover a table, and feed his friends, even though Guert Ten Eyck be so near a neighbour. Miss Wallace, will you allow me the honour to lead you to the table? Mr. Worden will see Mrs. Cuyler, in safety, to the same place.”
On this hint, the missionary stepped forward with alacrity, and led Mrs. Mayoress after Mary Wallace, with the utmost courtesy. Guert did the same to one of the young ladies of the house; Anneke was led in by one of the young men; and I took the remaining young lady, who, I presumed, was also one of the family. It was very apparent we were respited; and all of us thought it wisest to appear as much at our ease as possible, in order not to balk the humour of the principal magistrate of the ancient town of Albany.
To do Mr. Mayor justice, the lost time had been so well improved by Doortje, that, on looking around the table, I thought the supper to which we were thus strangely invited, was, of the two, the best I had seen that evening. Luckily, game was plenty; and, by means of quails, partridges, oysters, venison patties, and other dishes of that sort, the cook had managed to send up quite as good a supper, at ten o’clock, as she had previously prepared for nine.
I will not pretend that I felt quite at my ease, as I took my seat at the table, for the second time that night. All the younger members of the party looked exceedingly grave, as if they could very well dispense with our company; the old people alone appearing to enter into the scene with any spirit. Anneke did not even look at me, after the first astounded look given on my entrance; nor did Mary Wallace once cast her eyes towards Guert, when we reached the supper-room. Mr. Mayor, notwithstanding, had determined to laugh off the affair; and he and Mr. Worden soon became excellent friends, and began to converse freely and naturally.
“Come, cousin Guert,” cried Mr. Mayor, after two or three glasses of Madeira had still further warmed his heart, “fill, and pledge me—unless you prefer to give a lady. If the last, everybody will drink to her, with hearty good-will. You eat nothing, and must drink the more.”
“Ah! Mr. Mayor, I have toasted one lady, to-night, and cannot toast another.”
“Not present company excepted, my boy?”
“No, sir, not even with that license. I