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He was here and now and every day. You’d but to reach your hand out and He’d take it. He’d come inside you and you’d know it, from the filling of you up with love and peace ana light.

“An’, He does I” cried the little cobbler, “if’n ye’ll wait quiet an’ let Him. Will ye try it, friends? - Aye, that’s wot George Fox calls those who’ve found the Christ inside their own selves. The
Friends
o’ Truth, he calls them, the Children o’ Light!”

He talked on, he talked of love in a gentle childlike way, but Elizabeth’s mind had paused on the phrase the “Children of Light”; again she heard a whisper, felt a quivering, but then it stopped when she saw that Wickenden with closed eyes and clasped hands was offering some kind of silent prayer. Many of the company were restless, she noted, doubtless thinking this an odd kind of entertainment. Her embarrassment returned. In the silence she heard the bull-like roaring of the whirlpools below their Point.

Wickenden finished, and stepped down from the platform. Some of the company crowded round to speak to him, she saw that John Bowne and Hannah did. Others held back. Thomas Bowne, John’s old father, looked angrily disapproving. He shook his head and tapped his cane impatiently.

It was time for the betrothal. Will led Hannah to the platform. She blushed and grew very serious as John joined her mere and they sat down in the two chairs. It was the Dutch form of betrothal they were using, plighting their troth before the guests, exchanging confirmatory little gifts, and after the young couple were plighted they reigned as King and Queen while the dancing and the games commenced.

Elizabeth looked to her duties as a hostess. She joined in the chat of the older guests, wondering with them how Governor Stuyvesant was faring in his attack upon the Swedes along the Delaware. The Governor had sailed off ten days ago with all his army, determined to establish New Netherland once and for all in the South, since the English had been too strong for him in the North.

Will talked farm prices with the men, and could not hide his pride when they congratulated him on his success at husbandry. Later there was dancing, and skittles and archery. Only Anneke noticed how weary Elizabeth looked, and how much or an effort she was making to be gay.

The afternoon was fading into dusk when Johnny Feake, who had run to the Point after an errant skittle ball, ran back crying, “There’s a whole lot o’ Indian canoes just shot through Hell Gate. Look, you can see ‘em on the river.”

Everyone got up and looked. An occasional canoe was usual. The nearby Long Island Indians - Canarsics and Matinecocks - often went to New Amsterdam for trading. But now they saw at least thirty canoes, skimming down the East River, and though too far off to see the Indians clearly, there seemed a great many of them jammed into the long heavy dugouts. The white folk could not see far, but the hawk-eyed Indians could, and several feathered heads turned to stare at the people gathered on the Point.

Eleven years had passed since the destruction of the Siwanoys, and the end of the Indian Wars, since that time all the Indians had been friendly - those whom the white men met Fat Matinecock squaws wandered into Flushing daily, bearing baskets full of shellfish, or moccasins for barter. In New Amsterdam there were always some Indians, lounging in the streets, wheedling for the rum or gun-powder, which Stuyvesant’s decree forbade them to be given.

That afternoon on Hallet’s Point, nobody thought of danger. Least of all Elizabeth. And she agreed with Will when he said casually, squinting at the swiftly passing canoes, “They’re off to some junket, no doubt, maybe up the North River where the Hackensacks are forever holding powwows.”

“That’s true,” said Edward Farrington. They all trooped back upon the lawn. The fête merrily continued for some time.

The Bownes left last, as was fitting, being now part of the Hallet family, and it was for this reason too that old man Bowne allowed himself a lapse of courtesy.

“Whatever do you see in that pawky little cobbler?” said Mr. Bowne peevishly to Will as they exchanged farewells by the stoop Wickenden had gone back to the barn to finish Johnny’s shoes by candlelight. “Lot o’ wicked balderdash he talked, shocked me it did.” The old man waggled his head.

“Now, Father - “ said John Bowne. “You’ve no need to think as Wickenden does. He said so. He was but giving us his own faith. Hannah and I, we liked it.” He turned to Will with an apologetic smile. “Father - he’s an Anglican.”

“I believe in the established church of my own country,” said the old man querulously, “and so were you raised, son John. I’ll thank ye to remember it.”

“I do, Father,” said John Bowne gently. “But I remember too that our Flushing Patent gives every mother’s son the right to worship as he pleases - unmolested. ‘Tis a wondrous thing, and rare enough in this world.”

“Aye - “ said Will. “Liberty of creed and conscience. What marvel if it could be had in all the colonies I”

“You’ll not wallow in such laxness long under Stuyvesant,” grumbled the old man unconvinced. “He’s getting stricter every year, and a good thing too,
I
think. New Netherland is becoming a worse sinkhole than Rhode Island. Why, they’ve got Jews now in New Amsterdam, I saw some t’other day. Jews, Baptists, Catholics, Lutherans, Mennonites, Separatists - even a heathen Turk I saw, and I call it disgusting!”

Will and John Bowne exchanged a glance of sympathy and agreement but they said no more. Elizabeth was too weary to follow this discussion, she uttered the last good-bye, and turned back into her kitchen where Anneke and Lisbet were cleaning up. Hannah had gone back to Flushing with the Bownes, to spend a few days with her John’s family.

“Rest!” said Anneke firmly, as Elizabeth picked up a dish towel. “Ve finish here. It was a lovely fete, only I vender vy Toby hasn’t come. Must have been delayed in Amsterdam. I asked him not to go to town today - but you know Toby! There vas a shipment of sugar in from Jamaica, and he afraid of losing his share.”

“I think he
^:
s coming now,” said Will, walking into the kitchen. “I hear a horse on the lane. You look spent, hinnie,” he said. “Go to bed.” She frowned a little and said “Presently.” I look spent, she thought. And haggard and old, no doubt. Susannah Thorne had not been spent, she had danced all afternoon, odd conduct for a widow. She had danced with Will, too, a lively hay. He had looked as young as she did, as they twirled and capered.

“It
is
Cousin Toby,” said Lisbet, looking out the window. “I see the silver buckle on his hat.”

Will opened the door, and Toby lumbered in. “Folks- all gone?” he said. “I hope you’ve plenty food left. Fetch me a drink, Anneke - couldn’t get here sooner. Those stupid niggers took an age to unload the ship.”

‘And news in the city?” Will asked, stretching out his long legs, and smoking placidly. “Have they heard how Stuyvesant’s campaign against the Swedes is doing?”

“No news yet,” said Toby. “But it should be easy to mop ‘em outa the Delaware, there’s only a few Swedes and Stuyvesant’s taken seven hundred men. Nay, the town was quiet today, barring some talk about that blackguard Van Dyke.”

Elizabeth looked up. Hendrik Van Dyke had been the third officer with Underhill and de la Montagne in the long-ago attack upon the Siwanoys. Since then he had risen to be Schout-Fiscal, and had fallen again, having quarrelled with Stuyvesant as everybody seemed to.

“What’s Van Dyke done now?” asked Will with mild interest

“Oh, last week he shot dead an Indian squaw who was stealing his peaches,” said Toby. “The Manhattans are sulking, want some kind of reparation made, but there’s nobody much left; at the Fort to deal with ‘cm.”

“Van Dyke should be severely punished!” said Elizabeth with sudden energy.

“Aye, in truth,” said Will. “And the Governor doubtless will, when he returns. Toby, a lot of canoes went by at dusk this afternoon. Did you see more Indians than usual on the river or at Amsterdam?”

Toby shook his head. “Didn’t see any at all.” He took a laden plate from Anneke and began to eat. “Is that cobbler Wickenden still with you here? M’boots need stitching.”

Will nodded. “But he’s leaving in the morning. To stay in Flushing for a while. Some men that were here today asked him - and I think Bess has had enough of him.” He quirked his mouth in her direction, and she felt a prick of compunction, mixed with relief.

“We’ve had so much company,” she said defensively. “ ‘Twould be pleasing to be alone a while. No visitors at all,” she added, thinking of Susannah.

Will sighed. He loved her and was slightly concerned about her health. But recently he had for the first time felt her to be demanding and unsympathetic. Not so much her lack of interest in Wickenden’s religion - though to himself the little cobbler had brought much illumination - nor her increased dependence either exactly, he had always responded to her need for cherishing. But she showed a new suspicion and restlessness when he was away, there were questions as to what he did each minute of the day - a subtle feeling of confinement or restriction, which their relationship had never had before. He could not understand it and it made him uncomfortable.

He would have liked to stay up a little longer, chat with Toby, visit Wickenden again in his bedroom in the stable loft, but he knew that Elizabeth would not go to bed until he did, exhausted though she looked.

“Come on -“ he said to her. “Time for sleep.”

She heard the faint undertone of exasperation, and was hurt. She spent another night of tossing and dozing fitfully, while Will slept the heavy sleep of a hard-working healthy man.

Eight miles down the East River from the Hallets’ isolated farmhouse the dawn of September 15 brought dismay to New Amsterdam. One by one as the citizens awoke they were perplexed to find that the streets were crowded with prowling Indians. Indians from many tribes, all men, able-bodied, aimed with spears, tomahawks, and some of them with muskets. They were stripped to the breechclouts. Their faces and chests were gaudy with red paint, but the burghers were not at first alarmed, because the Indians were quiet and seemed to have no special purpose. They milled through le streets, and occasionally knocked upon some door to inquire from the startled householder whether any Mohawks had been seen. There was, said the Indians, a rumour that a Mohawk band had stolen into Amsterdam
_s
and was concealed about the town.

The story did not seem so thin at first, since all the New Nether-land tribes were allied with the Dutch against the terrible Mohawks, and many of these Indians who were slipping through the silent streets were familiar to the burghers - Manhattans, and Hackensacks who came often to the city with their trading goods.

It was the physician and one-time General, Jean de la Montagne, who first discovered the Indians’ true designs. He was still one of Stuyvesant’s Councillors but he had been appointed Schoolmaster and lived quietly with his daughter next to the schoolhouse. No Indian rapped on his door, but he heard the unusual bustle outside and investigated. He had not covered many blocks before realizing that an alarming number of Indians were deployed through the town. At least eighteen hundred of them; far more than the adult population remaining in New Amsterdam since Stuyvesant had withdrawn all troops to the Delaware.

The Indians did nothing, they drew silently aside as he passed, he received the impression that they were awaiting some signal He hurried to the entrance of the Fort, and saw there an old sachem whom he knew well - Minettah, chief of the Sapokanicans, one of the local Manhattan tribes. “Good day, Minettah,” said de la Montagne, bowing gravely, “What is the meaning of this invasion? So many Indians!” He spoke in Dutch and Minettah answered him fluently in the same language.

“We search for Mohawks, we are protecting you.”

“Absurd!” said the Councillor sternly “Tell me the real reason; we’ve always been friends, I thought.”

The old sachem hesitated. Between wrinkled lids he gazed steadily at de la Montagne. “Where is Van Dyke?” he said at length. “Give us Van Dyke.”

Nom de dieu! de la Montagne thought That
sacri
Van Dyke! I
told
them he should make instant reparation. “I don’t know where he is,” the Councillor said. “He much regrets that anger made him shoot the squaw, yet she had no right to steal his peaches. Was she of your Sapokanicans? He’ll pay you much seewant.” Which was unfortunately incorrect. Van Dyke had several days ago refused any discussion of the squaw’s murder - let alone compensation.

“Seewant no good now,” said Minettah. “We want Van Dyke! All these tribes want revenge, they have been waiting a long time for it”

“What do you mean by that?” dc la Montagne said sharply. “You’ve no grievances except against Van Dyke.”

“Many grievances,” said the sachem. “Through the years. Many. Not forgotten.”

De la Montagne felt fear. While he talked with the sachem the Indians had been silently gathering. Three-deep now, they were quietly ringing the Fort; more of them had muskets than the Councillor had first realized, and his backbone prickled.

“Wait!” he cried to Minettah. “Tell them we’ll parley! You know you’ve been fairly treated by this governor. As soon as he returns, you’ll have your rights.”

The old sachem gnawed on his lip, and finally nodded. He raised his voice and spoke to the encircling, wary Indians. De la Montagne entered the Fort.

All day the hordes of Indians stood quietly outside the Fort, while their sachems parleyed with the Councillors and Burgomasters, hastily summoned by de la Montagne. He posted guards around the Governor’s mansion - where Judith and her boys were sent to the cellar for safety - praying that the Indians were not fully aware of how weak the Dutch forces were. They primed in readiness the cannon on the Fort.

In the Council Room, the dissolute Fiscal van Tienhoven and de la Montagne led the conference with the sachems. The white men were secretly appalled to find how many of the Indian tribes were represented. Even though not all the sachems identified themselves, there were certainly Mohicans, Wappingers, and Tappans, and even Montauks from Long Island.