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Daniel came over and stood by Elizabeth. “All done,” he said putting his hand on her shoulder.

“What does the document say?” she asked in a low voice. “What’s all that Dutch mean?”

“Here, Madam,” said Baxter, sliding the English translation over to her. “ ‘Tis fairly put and you’ll not regret it.”

Elizabeth glanced down and read:

Whereas we, Captain Daniel Patterick and Elizabeth Feac, duly authorized by her husband Robert Feac, now sick, have resided two years about five or six leagues east of the Netherlanders, subject of the Lords States-General who have protested against us declaring that the said lands lay within their limits ... and whereas we understand nothing about the matter and can not any longer presume to remain thus on account both of the strifes of the English and these treacherous and villainous Indians, of whom we have seen horrible examples enough ...

Elizabeth paused and raised her eyes to Daniel, and he, interpreting her look, said, “I know, me dear. Ye still don’t think us in any danger from the Indians, mebbe we’re not, but ye didn’t hear what His High Mightiness’s been saying. There’s been murder done here too - an old cartwright chopped to bits, and other outrages in Haverstraw.”

“At least you can’t blame our Siwanoys for those,” said Elizabeth, and returned to the document.

We therefore betake ourselves under the protection of the noble Lords, the States, his Highness the Prince of Orange, and the West India Company or their Governor General of New Netherland, promising for the future to be faithful to them as all honest subjects are bound to be, whereunto we bind ourselves by oath and by signature, provided we be protected against our enemies as much as possible and enjoy henceforth the same privileges that all Patroons of New Netherland have obtained ... This done and signed in the presence of the underwritten witnesses, the ixth of April, 1642.

Even while she finished the English translation Daniel signed his name to the Dutch paper, and two witnesses - being the two men nearest at hand - were the purple-nosed Dominie, Evecard Bogardus, and the little Dutch clerk, Johannes Winkelman.

“I needn’t sign?” asked Elizabeth slowly.

Baxter translated this to the Governor, who shrugged, waggled his fingers jocularly at Elizabeth, winked, and said “Kus! Kus!” amongst other sallies which provoked van Tienhoven to a lewd guffaw. Daniel and Baxter chuckled too, and the latter said, “You don’t sign, you’re only a woman. But the Director says you must now kiss the flag for yourself and husband and then you may kiss him!”

“Indeed,” said Elizabeth after a moment. She lifted her chin and watched while Daniel performed the ceremony of allegiance. And what is it to him? she thought. A rough soldier, a Papist who’s served under the Dutch flag before, and to begin with was an Irishman. She saw Patrick suddenly through Winthrop’s eyes, and shame flooded her at this association.

“Now you, Bess,” Daniel said, coming back to her. “ Tis just a matter o’ form.”

As she did not move, he cried, “Holy Mary! Ye can’t back out now I Think o’ Robert and the children. Think of Anneke. And ye’ve given your
word
on the document.”

She bit her lips, hesitating. All the men were staring at her, Kieft’s piggy eyes glared down the table, hard, unwinking.

“It would not be wise to anger the Director General, Madam - ” said Baxter softly and sympathetically. His quiet English voice pierced her defiance.

“No - ” she whispered. “And I’ve given my word.”

She rose and walked down the room towards the flag which was displayed on the wall behind the Governor’s chair. She bent near it, but did not touch it with her lips. She then went towards Kieft and made to kiss his hand as Daniel had done, but the Governor, chuckling, grabbed the neck of her gown and jerking her head down, gave her a great smack on the mouth. “Kus! Kus!” he cried, and pinched her on the buttock, while the men all roared.

Foul little dandiprat, Elizabeth thought, but she managed to smile. Kieft burst into a torrent of Dutch, and stood up; his hat barely clearing the table.

“He’s pleased wi’ ye, lovey - ” said Daniel, much relieved, “Thinks ye’re a beauty, and wants us to dine with him. Come along!”

The newly made Dutch subjects spent the afternoon in feasting, Elizabeth ate what she could of the “Hutsepot” or stew, the capons, oysters, freshly caught shad, crullers, waffles, and gingerbread. She drank strong Rhine wine from the ritual ‘clover-leaf’ goblets, toasting at the Governor’s command ail the good things that come in threes. The Trinity, the Three Graces, the Three riddles, the Three betrothal kisses. She listened to innumerable Dutch oaths of which “Verdomme!” soon became familiar. When the Director roared for his gaming cup, she obediently cast the dice, for him, and herself befuddled with excitement and wine, watched uncaring while the men gambled with stivers, or the white and purple wampum beads they called ‘seawant.’

It was the Sabbath Eve before Kieft rose from his table and she assumed that, especially since Dominie Bogardus was present, decorum would now return, and the Sabbath quiet begin. She was quite wrong. Kieft, being unable to get an arm around her thickened waist, hung on to her elbow and tottered with her out of his house into the Fort. The other men followed, and as soon as they reached the village street a group of giggling girls erupted from a taproom and joined them.

“Where are we going?” said Elizabeth crossly to Daniel, who didn’t hear her, for he was singing, “Titty cum tawty the duck’s in the water, Titty cum tawty the geese follow a’ter,” at the top of his lungs.

George Baxter answered her somewhat thickly. “Why, to play skittles at the Tavern, His Excellency always does on Saturday night!”

“Does he so?” said Elizabeth. “And what does he do on the Sabbath?”

“Why, he plays skittles,” said the young man, surprised. “Or no, I think tomorrow there’s a cockfight.”

Elizabeth looked behind at the pastor. One of the girls had hold of his white Geneva bands and was playfully tugging at them while Bogardus smirked down at her amorously.

“Oh Lud,” said Elizabeth, and suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

“Vat ist? Mevrouw. Vat ist?” said Kieft, peering up at her. Baxter too stared at her in astonishment. Elizabeth could not stop laughing, until Daniel, noting the commotion, ran up. “Bess, what ails ye? Too much wine?”

“Nay - ” she said between gasps. “I was thinking of Boston. I was thinking of my Uncle John’s face if he could see us now!”

“Oh-ho!” said Daniel kindly enough, though his wits were slowed by drink. “Your High Mightiness, she thinks of her uncle, Mr. Winthrop, that was Governor of Massachusetts,” he explained to Kieft, who was pleased. One of the English governors was naturally not nearly so important a man as the Netherlands Director General; still it was agreeable to have lured away a lady of high birth from the arrogant English. The High and Mighty Lords of the States General at home would be delighted when they heard. Nor, thought Kieft, was this the only Jonkvrouw to repudiate the English in favour of the felicities bestowed by New Netherland. “Baxter!” he called suddenly, releasing Elizabeth’s elbow. The young secretary hurried up to him.

“Aye, Your Excellency?” Baxter listened to the Governor and translated to Elizabeth. “Two other English ladies have written for permission to settle on Dutch land. He asks if you know them. One is the Lady Deborah Moody from Salem. She is an Anabaptist, I believe - been banished from the Bay.”

“Why, no - ” said Elizabeth, mildly interested “At least, in London years ago she bought physic at our apothecary shop, but I never met her. Who’s the other one?”

“Mistress Anne Hutchinson,” said Baxter a trifle ruefully. “Quite notorious, I gather, also a religious fanatic. Bat I will say for the Governor he accepts any creed here, so long as they make responsible settlers.”

Elizabeth had not heard the last of his remarks. “Mrs. Hutchinson,” she repeated with wonder. “Aye, I know her. Is she leaving Rhode Island? I’d dearly love to see her again.”

“Well, you may, no doubt,” said Baxter. “Her husband’s died and she plans to move all her family to a bouwery called Vredeland. ‘Tis on the mainland about twenty miles from Greenwich.”

Kieft interrupted impatiently, wanting to know what Elizabeth was saying. Baxter explained that Mrs. Feake knew both the English ladies, and tactfully added that she said they would be a great credit to the Dutch. Elizabeth was deeply comforted. All her remaining doubts were laid by the knowledge that Anne Hutchinson herself was not scrupling to change allegiance. Elizabeth gave the Director General her most beautiful and dazzling smile.

After that, he redoubled his attentions, commandeered the whole taproom at the City Tavern, and invited most of the Tavern’s heterogeneous guests to an open house in honour of Greenwich’s new patroons.

Elizabeth did not escape until midnight, and by that time jollity had given away to snores and stupor. There had been trouble earlier when a fight arose between Daniel and a Dutch soldier named Jan Blauvelt. Elizabeth, half dead from weariness, did not see what was happening until she heard Daniel roaring out Gaelic battle cries, and saw him pitching and weaving, his great fists thudding against Blauvelt’s portly person. The Dutchman’s nose was dripping blood all over the sanded floor, but he seemed to be giving as good as he got.

“Oh, stop them - ” cried Elizabeth. Nobody paid attention until the Director aroused himself, stared at the two battling men, and called out, “Halt!” The officers Van Dyke and deLeeuw obeyed their Governor’s command, and separated the combatants.

“Let me at him!” Daniel panted, striving to free himself. “Lemme at that bastard! I’ll teach him a lesson
this
time!” He gave the officers a mighty shove, and plunged towards his opponent.

“My son! My son!” said a clear voice from the doorway. “Is this the way you show penitence?
Encore des péchés?”

The Jesuit priest walked slowly through the crowd, and laid his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. To Elizabeth’s amazement the big Irishman heeded the touch. He stepped back, while Blauvelt collapsed on a bench, spitting out a tooth and holding a wadded napkin to his streaming nose. Blauvelt seemed utterly defeated but Elizabeth happened to see the look he sent Daniel through puffy, discoloured lids. It was a glare of purest hatred, malignant as a serpent’s. Shocked, she turned quickly towards Daniel and the priest.

“He’s an old enemy, Father,” mumbled Daniel, staring at the floor. “Did me dirty at The Hague once, long ago. Told lies about me to me general, was jealous o’ me advancement.”

“That makes no difference, my son,” said the priest with a faint compassionate smile. “Now go to your bed. You are very drunk.”

The Hollanders intently watched this scene, disappointed that the fight had not been resolved. Elizabeth and Kieft alone were relieved, though the Governor’s intervention had sprung from no objection to anything so natural as fighting, but from a point of etiquette. A patroon of New Netherland must not demean himself by fisticuffs with a common soldier. His Excellency gulped down a few more swallows of wine, stroked Elizabeth’s cheek, then put his head down on his arms and went back to sleep.

On Tuesday morning, Toby, Daniel, and Elizabeth finally sailed home to Greenwich. Toby had refused to leave until he had sold his pelts and taken aboard a cargo of spirits, spices, and squealing piglets, the latter having been specially commissioned by New Haven.

Daniel was in a fine contented mood. He had drunk very little since Saturday night and was pleased with all that had happened on the expedition to New Amsterdam; especially by his encounter with the priest. Daniel had been to Mass again each morning and held long converse with the Jesuit. Besides that he had won six fathoms of seawant in an archery contest on Sunday.

“Ye know - Bess,” he said as the shallop again sailed past Flushing, “those Nederlanders’re a fine merry lot. I’m glad we joined ‘em. Only thing I regret is not having knocked that ugly Blauvelt’s face in fur him afore the Father stopped me. But now I’ve vowed not to.”

“Promised the priest?” she said slowly, remembering the vicious look in Blauvelt’s eyes. “And you’ll keep it?”

“To be sure-” said Daniel. “Wi’ the Blessed Virgin’s help, I’ll try to love me enemies.” He gave her a quick, boyish grin.

Elizabeth was touched and puzzled. No longer vexed with Daniel, or shocked by the Romanism which had caught her unawares, she was able to appreciate this new facet of his nature which she had always thought as fundamentally irreligious as her own. She could not conceive of finding comfort in papacy herself, but she now had a moment of wistful recognition that it would be sustaining to believe in
something,
and she thought with far-off poignancy of Anne Hutchinson.

“D’you know where Vredeland is?” she asked Toby. “Mr. Baxter said the Hutchinsons would settle there soon.”

“Somewhere up yonder,” said Toby, waving towards the Mainland, north of them. “Nobody there yet but the Weckquasageek tribe.”

“Vrede means ‘Peace’,” said Daniel thoughtfully. “Hope the poor woman finds it at last, she’s been hunted plenty from pillar to post.”

“Aye,” said Elizabeth. “Peace for her and for us, I believe. Don’t you feel it, Dan?” She thought of Monakewaygo, her beloved island of retreat. Tomorrow I’ll go there, she thought, just for a little while. I’ll take the children. We can eat on the sands. We’ll be happy.

Daniel crossed his legs, and the wind having died, pulled pipe, tobacco, and tinderbox from his pouch. He lit his pipe and answered Elizabeth. “I believe ye’re right, me dear. Till now I’ve been overfull o’ frettings and foreboding. ‘Tis gone. D’ye know - ” He leaned nearer so that Toby wouldn’t hear. “Ever since finding those wretched Laddins, God rest their souls, I’ve had a kind of feeling. Shivers down me backbone, as though ‘twas waiting for an Indian tomahawk ... Death - ” he said, beneath his breath. “I could smell it, as me old grannie used ter say in Armagh ...” He smoked hard for a moment while she looked at him with sympathy. “Well, i’faith!” he said, straightening up. “ Tis not like Danny Patrick to be skeered o’ Indians, an’ me ditherings’re over!”