Land of Hope

by Paul C R Monk

  ‘Order. Order,’ called the chief magistrate, who then turned to the newcomer still on his feet. ‘Sir, someone has to pay. It is the law of our sovereign.’

  The crowd let out unreserved boos.

  ‘Order. Order! Let there be order!’ called the magistrate.

  The courtroom settled into silence again. The magistrate continued. ‘Noises will not advance this young lady’s plight. And you, Sir, please be seated,’ he said, looking over his spectacle at Jacob. ‘Unless you have a firm proposition to make.’ Jacob sat back down while the magistrate reasoned: ‘As an indentured servant, the lady will enjoy the benefits which include meat, drink, apparel, and lodging. It is the King’s law.’ The magistrate visibly regretted his last sentence as this time, an even greater roar of discontent rose up on the last two words.

  ‘Down with the Jacobites!’

  ‘Out with the Romans!’

  Jacob was about to stand up again when a voice, gruff, confident, and bold, sounded from his left-hand side.

  ‘My Lords . . . My new friend is right,’ said the unmistakable voice of Mr Leisler. ‘How can we create a new world, free for all, and free from the archaic laws of England, if we cannot even welcome those in their momentary passage of strife? Must we not found our society on equality before God and with the chance for all under His sky to succeed here, no matter what their social condition?’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ roared the crowd.

  ‘Order. Order!’ called the magistrate. ‘Sieur Leisler, would you have the town’s treasury pay for everyone’s failure?’

  ‘My Lord, the man came here for a month. I remember him well; he was full of courage and ideas. His only failure was his untimely death, and now you ask his spouse to pay?’

  ‘Bend the rules for one, and we will soon be the prime destination for every unskilled labourer and convict from Europe! Is that what you want?’ The magistrate, who visibly enjoyed an imposing presence, scanned the audience of spectators from left to right into silence.

  Leisler, still standing, flourished a finger and said in a loud and confident voice: ‘Then I will pay her fare, Sir!’

  The audience gave a roar of approval while the magistrate held up his hand to silence them again. ‘That is all very well, but who will pay for her sustenance, Sir? Or would you have her walk the streets with her child? Or work in the tavern?’

  The French newcomer then stood up beside the woman’s benefactor and said: ‘If my friend will pay her debt, I will provide means for her until she is able to gain employment.’

  The audience gave another almighty cheer. The woman, bringing her hands to her lips, looked across the room towards Jacob in gratitude.

  ‘Then, Sir,’ said the magistrate, ‘you would still need to give her monies to see her through the winter, at the least.’

  ‘That is indeed my intention, so help me God,’ said Jacob, whose heart secretly sank as he said this. But how could he not practice what he preached?

  ‘So she will find lodgings at the inn until other means become available to her,’ said the magistrate with nonchalance.

  ‘No, Sir,’ said a woman’s voice to Jacob’s right. Jacob turned to Marianne beside him. ‘The inn is notorious,’ she said, rising to her feet, ‘notorious for tripping women into sin for the pleasure of the stronger sex! I offer to employ her and give her board and lodging in my home. Provided my husband agrees.’

  Daniel Darlington bobbed up in his turn. He said: ‘I do, I do that. Whatever my dear wife says . . .’

  The audience laughed along good-heartedly with Daniel’s quip. So old Madame de Fontenay was right, thought Jacob, and what was more, her granddaughter’s power of persuasion over her husband was apparently common knowledge.

  FOUR

  What with all the brouhaha in the courtroom, Jacob quickly became a familiar figure.

  He was pointed at in the snow-clad streets of the town, and singled out with a nudge and a nod in the little French chapel down near the battery, where Huguenots came from all over Manhattan for the Sunday service.

  Yet all he really wanted was to make for Europe, which the present winter freeze forbade. He knew deep down that it was just as well, though, weakened as he was by his many misadventures and recent illness. His body would probably not have stood up to the rigours of a gruelling winter voyage in freezing temperatures, should that have been an option.

  So he resigned himself to assisting the Darlingtons with drawing up plans to settle around the bay —the bay which the Huguenots from La Rochelle had deemed exceptional enough to start a settlement there. Darlington’s intention was to build a farm to cultivate primarily the lucrative tobacco crop that Europeans craved.

  In January, Darlington and Delpech decided to take advantage of a window of fresh but cloudless weather. Having hired two good steeds and a packhorse, the two men rode out northward at the first gleam of dawn, with the intention of getting a look at how the land lay in the dead of winter. It was a twenty-three-mile ride along the Boston post road. After two hours in the saddle, Darlington halted his mount on the hoary crest of another wooded hill. The onward trail descended into an area of gently sloping land that converged into a bay. It was surrounded by a few leafless trees, snow-covered fields, and a litter of log houses with smoking chimneys.

  ‘I give you New Rochelle,’ said Darlington with a sweeping motion of his hand. ‘You’ll see, the land is good and fertile, and the fish are plentiful in the sound beyond.’

  Jacob slowly scanned the humble beginnings of the new colony. ‘Fine place for a settlement, I should say. Water, high ground for a mill, rich soil, and I wager there is plenty of game in the pantry!’ he said, nodding towards the woods.

  Onwards they rode, sinking between the fields where green grass and dark-brown earth broke through the thin veil of snow crust. ‘As I said, the land was bought up by a lord in London,’ said Darlington. ‘A Lord Pell. Deceased now, though. So I asked Leisler to negotiate the purchase of six thousand acres on the Huguenots’ behalf so they could become owners of their fields rather than leaseholders. He knows the nephew who lives in New York. A certain John Pell.’

  ‘An enterprising fellow, this Leisler.’

  ‘And a good friend. Gave me sound advice when my father and mother died . . . Came to New York as a mercenary soldier, would you believe. Son of a clergyman preacher like myself, and now he is one of the wealthiest merchants in New York.’

  ‘Lady Luck has smiled upon him, then.’

  ‘A little luck and a natural flair for spotting a bargain, I’d say. You may find him brash, unrefined, but he is a good fellow to the marrow, true to his word and as smart as any of the “grandees,” as he likes to call them. And he’s living proof that here a man can meet with success without a birthright, as I have seen in Europe. Why, pardon me for saying so, but some of your so-called elite are perfect imbeciles, frivolous, and so self-absorbed it is a wonder how folk there put up with them.’

  ‘I will give you no argument there, dear Darlington! Indeed, your ways in these new lands have certainly opened my eyes.’

  ‘Then I’ll put it to you again, Sir: come join our ranks. Here a man of your calibre can aspire to great success. My word, you already have the affection of half the population of New York!’

  ‘Ha! It is something I will certainly consider, once I have recovered my family.’

  ‘I urge you to decide quickly, though; the best plots are already being snapped up. But come, there is a tavern where they give a good welcome to riders from Boston and New York, and I will introduce you to a few of the Huguenots. Then I will show you a handsome plot not far from mine. Overlooks the bay. Its south-facing slopes would make for fine farmland, I am sure.’

  *

  Back at the Darlingtons’, the conversation over supper turned to preparations for the spring move and the promise Jacob had made to the Huguenots he had met in New Rochelle.

  Learning of Jacob’s fluency in English and his former training as a jurist in France
, they had asked him if he would assist in linguistic and legal matters. With Jacob’s help, they would be able to understand the full purport of Mr Leisler’s negotiations for the purchase of the land from John Pell of Pelham Manor.

  ‘I am delighted to hear you accepted,’ said Marianne. ‘It might sway the balance in favour of your becoming our neighbour . . .’

  ‘Alas, it is not something I am able to contemplate for the time being,’ said Jacob, seated across the table. ‘I do look forward to making myself useful, however, at least until the thaw, when the first ship is ready to set sail for Europe.’

  ‘If I may say something,’ said Mrs Blancfort, looking up from the cauldron in the hearth.

  Since her redemption from slavery, she had stepped into her new role as first maid with relish, taking over most of Marianne’s activities now that the latter was great with child. All Mrs Blancfort needed now was a husband and a good stepfather for little Françoise, her daughter, who, as usual, was taking her meal in the kitchen with Martha. The notion occurred to her that the Lord may have put Monsieur Delpech in their path for that very reason.

  ‘Yes, you may, Charlotte,’ said Marianne, whose poised tone demonstrated her ease in the role of mistress.

  ‘Well, as tragic as it may sound, Monsieur, how do you know your wife’s still of this world?’

  ‘Madame Blancfort! Really!’ said Marianne, flabbergasted. It was not the way she had been brought up, for servants were not usually permitted to give their opinions unless asked. But this was the New World, and she knew, as did Mrs Blancfort, that relationships were more brazen here, especially since the great majority of wealthy men were recently made.

  ‘No, that is quite all right,’ said Jacob, holding up a hand with a complaisant chuckle to show he was not offended. ‘I will gladly answer. Indeed, I have oft-times been given to ask myself that very question.’ He turned his gaze to Charlotte Blancfort, who smiled candidly back from her place at the hearth. The glowing embers and candlelight gave her complexion a pretty hue and made her large oval eyes glisten attractively. ‘I do live in hope that I shall see my wife and children in the very near future. And it is that hope that will carry me across the ocean. There can be no other way.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said the first maid, ‘it will be a pity to see you go, Monsieur Delpech, a good, strong man of resources such as yourself. A mighty good catch for a lady, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ She shrugged one shoulder with comic effect, which drew a ripple of laughter from the table, and then went back to dishing out bowls of salted pork and lentil stew.

  It was the closest Mrs Blancfort could come to letting Jacob overtly know that she was available and willing, should he ever be inclined to take a new wife.

  Jacob took no offense. There was no point in pretending that Charlotte Blancfort was not doing the right thing. If she was here, it was after all while waiting to find a husband.

  Jacob said: ‘Come, Madame Blancfort, I have no doubt a husband will come along for you soon. You are too young to remain a widow for long, and I am sure that when the fine season comes, the butterflies of love will again flutter in your pretty eyes.’

  ‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Uncle Jacob!’ said Marianne, perhaps a little jealous. ‘How romantically you sayeth loving things.’

  ‘I have not always been middle-aged, my dear niece!’ said Jacob, to which Madame de Fontenay looked up with a glint in her eye.

  ‘Ah, and memory of a full youth is certainly the most comfortable pillow for slumber in old age. So fill it up, I say! Oh, how I used to dance the evening away . . .’

  Amid the merriment, Martha marched into the room from the small lobby, nervously wringing her hands. The second maid fixed her eyes on Darlington and said: ‘Sir. There’s Mr Leisler come knocking at the door, he—’

  Before she could finish her sentence, the visitor erupted into the room, with his feathered beaver still on his head. A blustery draught followed him in, making the candles flicker in their lamps and the embers glow redder in the chimney. All heads turned in unison to face him from the dining table that stood before the hearth, the ladies occupying the seats nearest the fire.

  ‘Come in, my dear fellow, and pull up a chair,’ said Darlington, standing to greet his friend. Meanwhile, at a nod from Madame de Fontenay, Martha rushed back to the front door to make sure it was properly barred.

  After a short greeting all round, Leisler did as suggested, and, swiping his hat from his head, he said: ‘Ladies, Gentlemen, please excuse this intrusion. I have important news of further developments in England. We have been given to believe that a Dutch fleet has indeed landed in England!’

  ‘William of Orange at their head . . .’ said Darlington.

  ‘Yes, I received the news from a ship’s captain, who heard it from an English merchant who had recently unloaded in Charles Town.’

  ‘If this is true, it is reassuring news,’ said Jacob. ‘For if he takes the throne, it would mean Louis of France no longer has any sway over England.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Leisler, ‘but it could also mean war, civil war, if James Stuart tries to resist.’

  ‘What does Lieutenant Governor Nicholls say?’ said Darlington.

  ‘He denies any such tidings since no official news has reached his ears.’

  ‘He is in denial!’ said Madame de Fontenay, not afraid to vent her thoughts despite her heavy French accent.

  ‘Not quite, Madame. For he has nevertheless given orders for the provincial militias to be on alert to protect the province for the king. King James, that is.’

  ‘But what if James is no longer king?’ said Marianne.

  ‘Then the risk is that James will seek support from France,’ said Leisler. ‘And our trouble is, Jacobites are in power here and in command of our fort.’

  ‘Not to mention our defences are in such a poor state of repair that even the wall would not constitute a major handicap for the French, should they decide to attack.’ Darlington was referring to the French stationed in New France, further north.

  ‘I never thought I’d ever hear myself say this of my own countrymen,’ said Jacob. ‘But if the French attack, then our goose will be cooked!’

  ‘Quite,’ seconded Marianne, ‘for if they did, I fear we Huguenots would be put to torture before execution.’

  ‘With all due respect, Ladies and Gentlemen, we shall see to it that French forces will never enter here!’ said Leisler. Turning to Darlington and Delpech, he said: ‘We must organise a secret safety committee should this news turn out to be true. I have already spoken to Milborne and a few others who would be prepared to take part. Because if New York becomes Catholic, we will all be done for!’

  FIVE

  It was rumoured in taverns and New York homes that the Dutch prince had succeeded in his invasion of England. Bolstered by the feeling of distrust of the Jacobite office holders, Leisler set about secretly planning the defence of the would-be Protestant king’s values —values of liberalism and freedom of conscience on par with those of the people of New York.

  Due to his knowledge of law and the English language —the go-between language of Dutch and French —Delpech became the ears and mouthpiece of the Huguenot contingent of Manhattan. Little by little, he began to feel a sense of duty towards his co-religionists. In fact, he began to feel in his element, in the faraway land where there was a sense that a new and fairer way of life was not only attainable, but in the making.

  But the arctic winds had not yet brought any impartial news from England by way of merchant ships. Only a couple of large Royal Navy vessels had made landfall in the province so far that winter, and only a few droplets of information had leaked through to New York via Boston. What was more, the French were abnormally calm on the New France frontier north of Albany, as if they, too, were awaiting news. What could possibly be happening in Europe?

  ‘Is this state of affairs not ridiculous?’ said Darlington late one January afternoon, to a gro
up of prominent New Yorkers brought together in Jacob Leisler’s dining room. ‘Here we are, waiting for the great powers that be to dispatch crumbs of information to determine our future! I say it is intolerable, Gentlemen. To think they have probably never even set foot on these lands!’

  The small committee, which included Darlington, Delpech, Leisler, Milborne, and a few merchants, had gathered in the privacy of Mr Leisler’s townhouse, a large and comfortable three-storey stone building veneered with kiln-fired brick and built when the town was under Dutch governance. Decorated with the bold splendour characteristic of Amsterdam merchants, the long, flagstoned dining room where the meeting was being held was adorned with beautifully carved kasten, dark-wood panelling, and thick drapes at the window boxes. The party of seven sat around the long dining table on high-backed chairs, a silver tankard in front of each of them.

  Delpech had turned up with the intention of asking the ever-busy Leisler if he had made any progress for the Rochelle Huguenots. Sitting before the fire, he could not fail to admire the splendid array of weaponry displayed above the tiled mantel, which tallied with what Darlington had told him of the New Yorker’s past in the Dutch army.

  ‘Yes, but we officially belong to the Crown,’ said Jacob’s neighbour. His name was Jacob Milborne, a methodical Puritan approaching forty who worked as clerk and bookkeeper for a leading merchant. ‘And we benefit from its protection. If we did not, then you can be sure that New York would soon be called New Orleans!’

  ‘I do see your point, Sir,’ returned Darlington, ‘but that also means this town could just as easily be turned over to the French if that be the whim of the so-called elite of England!’

  ‘I think not, my dear Daniel,’ said Leisler. The host was sitting slightly back from the dining-room table in his favourite armchair, almost as an observer. He was holding a glowing ember with his pipe tongs, and proceeded to ignite the tobacco in his long-stemmed clay pipe. After drawing upon it twice, he pursued: ‘I firmly believe the rumours of King James’s demise, and every day I pray for its confirmation.’