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Title: Knickerbocker's history of New York, vol. 2 (of 2)
Author: Washington Irving
Illustrator: E. W. Kemble
Release date: May 22, 2026 [eBook #78730]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1893
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78730
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW YORK, VOL. 2 (OF 2) ***
[Illustration: Black-and-gold decorative book cover illustration
featuring a colonial-era figure walking with a cane, framed by ornate
patterns; above, a harbor scene labeled “Nieuw Amsterdam” with a sailing
ship, windmill, and clustered buildings along the shoreline.]
[Illustration: Endpaper]
[Illustration:
“AS THEY DEFILED THROUGH THE PRINCIPAL GATE THAT STOOD AT THE HEAD OF
WALL STREET.”
_Frontispiece._
]
=Van Twiller Edition=
=Knickerbocker’s History of New York=
=By=
=Washington Irving=
=With Illustrations
by
Edward W. Kemble=
=Vol. II.=
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK LONDON
27 West Twenty-third St. 24 Bedford Street, Strand
=The Knickerbocker Press=
1894
COPYRIGHT, 1893
BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
=A History of New York=
=From the beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty.
Containing, among Many Surprising and Curious Matters, the Unutterable
Ponderings of Walter the Doubter, the Disastrous Projects of William
the Testy, and the Chivalric Achievements of Peter the Headstrong; the
Three Dutch Governors of New Amsterdam, being the Only Authentic
History of the Times that Ever Hath Been or Ever Will Be Published=
=by=
=Diedrich Knickerbocker=
=De waarheid die in duister lag,
Die komt mit klaarheid aan den dug=
[Illustration: Black-and-white illustration of a young girl in
traditional dress, standing with hands in her apron pockets, wearing a
fitted bodice, short-sleeved blouse, and a full skirt with a patterned
hem.]
Contents.
BOOK IV.—(_Continued._)
PAGE
CHAP. VII.—Growing discontents of New Amsterdam under the
government of William the Testy 1
CHAP. VIII.—Of the edict of William the Testy against tobacco—Of
the Pipe Plot, and the rise of feuds and parties 6
CHAP. IX.—Of the folly of being happy in time of prosperity—Of
troubles to the South brought on by annexation—Of the secret
expedition of Jan Jansen Alpendam, and his magnificent reward 15
CHAP. X.—Troublous times on the Hudson—How Killian Van Rensellaer
erected a feudal castle, and how he introduced club-law into the
province 22
CHAP. XI.—Of the diplomatic mission of Antony the Trumpeter to the
Fortress of Rensellaerstein—and how he was puzzled by a
cabalistic reply 28
CHAP. XII.—Containing the rise of the great Amphictyonic Council
of the Pilgrims, with the decline and final extinction of
William the Testy 34
BOOK V.
CONTAINING THE FIRST PART OF THE REIGN OF
PETER STUYVESANT, AND HIS TROUBLES WITH
THE AMPHICTYONIC COUNCIL.
CHAP. I.—In which the death of a great man is shown to be no very
inconsolable matter of sorrow—and how Peter Stuyvesant acquired
a great name from the uncommon strength of his head 47
CHAP. II.—Showing how Peter the Headstrong bestirred himself among
the rats and cobwebs on entering into office—His interview with
Antony the Trumpeter, and his perilous meddling with the
currency 58
CHAP. III.—How the Yankee League waxed more and more potent; and
how it outwitted the good Peter in treaty-making 66
CHAP. IV.—Containing divers speculations on war and
negotiations—showing that a treaty of peace is a great national
evil 75
CHAP. V.—How Peter Stuyvesant was grievously belied by the great
council of the League; and how he sent Antony the Trumpeter to
take the Council a piece of his mind 87
CHAP. VI.—How Peter Stuyvesant demanded a court of honor—and what
the court of honor awarded to him 95
CHAP. VII.—How “Drum Ecclesiastic” was beaten throughout
Connecticut for a crusade against the New Netherlands, and how
Peter Stuyvesant took measures to fortify his Capital 100
CHAP. VIII.—How the Yankee crusade against the New Netherlands was
baffled by the sudden outbreak of witchcraft among the people of
the East 108
CHAP. IX.—Which records the rise and renown of a Military
Commander, showing that a man, like a bladder, may be puffed up
to greatness by mere wind; together with the catastrophe of a
veteran and his queue 117
BOOK VI.
CONTAINING THE SECOND PART OF THE REIGN OF
PETER THE HEADSTRONG, AND HIS GALLANT
ACHIEVEMENTS ON THE DELAWARE.
CHAP. I.—In which is exhibited a warlike Portrait of the Great
Peter—of the windy contest of General Van Poffenburgh and
General Printz, and of the Mosquito War on the Delaware 133
CHAP. II.—Of John Risingh, his giantly person and crafty deeds;
and of the catastrophe at Fort Casimir 144
CHAP. III.—Showing how profound secrets are often brought to
light; with the proceedings of Peter the Headstrong when he
heard of the misfortunes of General Van Poffenburgh 155
CHAP. IV.—Containing Peter Stuyvesant’s voyage up the Hudson, and
the wonders and delights of that renowned river 168
CHAP. V.—Describing the powerful Army that assembled at the city
of New Amsterdam—together with the interview between Peter the
Headstrong and General Van Poffenburgh, and Peter’s sentiments
touching unfortunate great men 181
CHAP. VI.—In which the Author discourses very ingeniously of
himself—after which is to be found much interesting history
about Peter the Headstrong and his followers 194
CHAP. VII.—Showing the great advantage that the Author has over
his Reader in time of battle—together with divers portentous
movements; which betoken that something terrible is about to
happen 210
CHAP. VIII.—Containing the most horrible battle ever recorded in
poetry or prose; with the admirable exploits of Peter the
Headstrong 221
CHAP. IX.—In which the Author and the Reader, while reposing after
the battle, fall into a very grave discourse, after which is
recorded the conduct of Peter Stuyvesant after his victory 240
BOOK VII.
CONTAINING THE THIRD PART OF THE REIGN OF
PETER THE HEADSTRONG—HIS TROUBLES WITH
THE BRITISH NATION, AND THE DECLINE AND
FALL OF THE DUTCH DYNASTY.
CHAP. I.—How Peter Stuyvesant relieved the Sovereign People from
the burden of taking care of the nation; with sundy particulars
of his conduct in time of peace, and of the rise of a great
Dutch aristocracy 259
CHAP. II.—How Peter Stuyvesant labored to civilize the
community—how he was a great promoter of holidays—how he
instituted kissing on New-Year’s Day—how he distributed fiddles
throughout the New Netherlands—how he ventured to reform the
ladies’ petticoats, and how he caught a Tartar 270
CHAP. III.—How troubles thicken on the province—how it is
threatened by the Helderbergers, the Merrylanders, and the
Giants of the Susquehanna 278
CHAP. IV.—How Peter Stuyvesant adventured into the East Country,
and how he fared there 284
CHAP. V.—How the Yankees secretly sought aid of the British
Cabinet in their hostile schemes against the Manhattoes 296
CHAP. VI.—Of Peter Stuyvesant’s expedition into the East Country,
showing that, though an old bird, he did not understand trap 300
CHAP. VII.—How the people of New Amsterdam were thrown into a
great panic, by the news of the threatened invasion; and the
manner in which they fortified themselves 308
CHAP. VIII.—How the Grand Council of the New Netherlands were
miraculously gifted with long tongues in the moment of
emergency—showing the value of words in warfare 315
CHAP. IX.—In which the troubles of New Amsterdam appear to
thicken—showing the bravery in time of peril, of a people who
defend themselves by resolutions 323
CHAP. X.—Containing a doleful disaster of Antony the Trumpeter—and
how Peter Stuyvesant, like a second Cromwell, suddenly dissolved
a Rump Parliament 338
CHAP. XI.—How Peter Stuyvesant defended the city of New Amsterdam
for several days by dint of the strength of his head. 347
CHAP. XII.—Containing the dignified retirement, and mortal
surrender of Peter the Headstrong 360
CHAP. XIII.—The Author’s reflections upon what has been said 372
Illustrations
PAGE
“AS THEY DEFILED THROUGH THE PRINCIPAL GATE THAT STOOD
AT THE HEAD OF WALL STREET” _Frontispiece_
“BLACKSMITHS SUFFERED THEIR FIRES TO GO OUT” 3
THE EDICT OF WILLIAM THE TESTY 9
A LONG PIPE 11
A POT-HOUSE POLITICIAN 13
THE MERRYLANDERS WERE FOND OF BOXING 19
“I LOWER IT TO NONE” 25
“A WHOLE ROW OF HELDERBERGERS REARED THEIR ROUND BURLY
HEADS” 29
THE WISE MEN AND SOOTHSAYERS 32
“THEY SOLD THEM GUNS THAT EXPLODED AT THE FIRST FIRING” 39
DUTCH FAMILY PIPE 43
“DRINKING, FIDDLING AND DANCING” 49
“SO AS TO DELIGHT THE GOVERNOR WHILE AT HIS REPASTS” 61
“A NANTUCKET WHALER WITH A SPY GLASS TWICE AS LONG” 71
“THE OLD WOMEN REJOICED THAT THERE WAS TO BE NO WAR” 73
“THE ANGRY BULL BUTTS WITH HIS HORNS” 78
TWO AMBASSADORS 81
“SNIVELLING SCOURINGS, BROILS, AND MARAUDINGS, KEPT UP
ON THE EASTERN FRONTIERS” 85
MY GREAT-GRANDFATHER WAS INJURED 89
“TWANGING HIS TRUMPET LIKE A VERY DEVIL” 93
“THE KNOWING COMMISSIONERS WINKED TO EACH OTHER” 97
THE MILITIA 105
THE FORTIFICATIONS 107
“HAVING A MOST SUSPICIOUS PREDILECTION FOR BLACK CATS
AND BROOMSTICKS” 111
THE WORTHY JUDGES 114
JAN JANSEN ALPENDAM 119
“HE FRIGHTED ALL, CATS, DOGS, AND ALL” 123
VAN POFFENBURGH’S VALOR 127
KELDERMEESTER 129
PETRUS STUYVESANT 135
JAN PRINTZ 139
THE MOSQUITO PLAGUE 141
“THE MAIN GUARD WAS TURNED OUT” 146
“WITH GREAT CEREMONY, INTO THE FORT” 149
“TO ROB ALL THE HEN-ROOSTS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD” 152
DIRK SCHUILER 157
“AND PADDLED OVER TO NEW AMSTERDAM” 161
“AND STUMPING UP AND DOWN STAIRS” 164
“SOME LITTLE INDIAN VILLAGE” 171
THE OMNIPOTENT MANETHO 174
THE KILLING OF THE STURGEON 179
“THESE WERE OF A SOUR ASPECT” 184
“AS THEY DEFILED THROUGH THE PRINCIPAL GATE THAT STOOD
AT THE HEAD OF WALL STREET” 185
“A CREW OF HARD SWEARERS” 191
“CRAMMED THE POCKETS OF HER HERO WITH GINGERBREAD AND
DOUGHNUTS” 198
“HAVING SHOT THE DEVIL WITH A SILVER BULLET, ONE DARK
STORMY NIGHT” 201
“BARRICADED THE DOORS AND WINDOWS EVERY EVENING AT
SUNDOWN” 204
“MARCHED OUT WITH THE HONORS OF WAR” 207
ANIMATING HARANGUES 212
“BEFORE A BIT OF BROKEN LOOKING-GLASS, SHAVING HIMSELF” 217
MARS AS A DRUNKEN CORPORAL 223
THE CHARGE 227
THE DESPERATE STRUGGLE 230
“ON BLUNDERED AND THUNDERED THE HEAVY-STERNED FUGITIVES” 233
“THIS HEAVEN-DIRECTED BLOW DECIDED THE BATTLE” 238
“SPITTING HALF A DOZEN LITTLE FELLOWS ON HIS SWORD” 243
THE SHADES OF DEPARTED AND LONG-FORGOTTEN HEROES 246
“MYNHEER WILLIAM BEEKMAN” 250
“THE OLD WOMEN FLOCKED AROUND ANTONY” 252
“‘NAY, BUT,’ SAID PETER, ‘TRY YOUR INGENUITY, MAN’” 262
“SEATED ON THE ‘STOEP’ BEFORE HIS DOOR” 265
“PLATTER-BREECHES” 269
NEW YEAR’S DAY AT THE GOVERNOR’S 273
THE DANCE 275
A SUSQUESAHANOCK 281
A BUXOM LASS 289
THE JOURNEY 291
“THEY BESTRODE THEIR CANES AND GALLOPED OFF IN HORRIBLE
CONFUSION” 293
LORD STERLING 298
“HE WAS TREATED TO A SIGHT OF PLYMOUTH ROCK” 304
“NOR WOULD HE GO OUT OF A NIGHT WITHOUT A LANTERN” 311
THE LONG TALK AT THE COUNCIL-FIRE 317
“THE SUDDEN ENTRANCE OF A MESSENGER” 321
THE ARRIVAL OF PETER 325
“WAS TO MOUNT THE ROOF, WHENCE HE CONTEMPLATED WITH
RUEFUL ASPECT THE HOSTILE SQUADRON” 328
“METAMORPHOSING PUMPS INTO FORMIDABLE SOLDIERS” 331
A PUBLIC MEETING IN FRONT OF THE STADTHOUSE 335
THE DEATH OF ANTONY VAN CORLEAR 341
“APOLLO PEEPING OUT NOW AND THEN FOR AN INSTANT” 344
DETERMINED COCK 352
“A LEGION OF BRITISH BEEF-FED WARRIORS POURED INTO NEW
AMSTERDAM” 357
“CONDUCTED EVERY STRAY HOG OR COW IN TRIUMPH TO THE
POUND” 362
“ON APRIL FOOL’S ERRANDS FOR PIGEON’S MILK” 365
“‘WELL, DEN!—HARDKOPPIG PETER BEN GONE AT LAST!’” 369
[Illustration: Black and white sketch of a man in a nightcap drinking
from a large mug.]
[Illustration: A pen-and-ink drawing of several small sailboats with
passengers on a calm sea, with a large fish tail splashing in the
foreground.]
=Book IV.= (_Continued._)
CONTAINING THE CHRONICLES OF THE REIGN OF WILLIAM THE TESTY.
[Illustration: Black and white sketch of a man with a wooden peg leg
seen from behind, walking with a cane and his hands clasped at his
back.]
A HISTORY OF NEW YORK
=Chapter VII.=
GROWING DISCONTENTS OF NEW AMSTERDAM UNDER THE GOVERNMENT OF WILLIAM THE
TESTY.
It has been remarked by the observant writer of the Stuyvesant
manuscript, that under the administration of William Kieft the
disposition of the inhabitants of New Amsterdam experienced an essential
change, so that they became very meddlesome and factious. The
unfortunate propensity of the little governor to experiment and
innovation, and the frequent exacerbations of his temper, kept his
council in a continual worry; and the council being to the people at
large what yeast or leaven is to a batch, they threw the whole community
in a ferment; and the people at large being to the city what the mind is
to the body, the unhappy commotions they underwent operated most
disastrously upon New Amsterdam,—insomuch that, in certain of their
paroxysms of consternation and perplexity, they begat several of the
most crooked, distorted, and abominable streets, lanes, and alleys with
which this metropolis is disfigured.
The fact was, that about this time the community, like Balaam’s ass,
began to grow more enlightened than its rider, and to show a disposition
for what is called “self-government.” This restive propensity was first
evinced in certain popular meetings, in which the burghers of New
Amsterdam met to talk and smoke over the complicated affairs of the
province, gradually obfuscating themselves with politics and
tobacco-smoke. Hither resorted those idlers and squires of low degree
who hang loose on society and are blown about by every wind of doctrine.
Cobblers abandoned their stalls to give lessons on political economy;
blacksmiths suffered their fires to go out while they stirred up the
fires of faction; and even tailors, though said to be the ninth part of
humanity, neglected their own measures to criticize the measures of
government.
Strange! that the science of government, which seems to be so generally
understood, should invariably be denied to the only one called upon to
exercise it. Not one of the politicians in question, but, take his word
for it, could have administered affairs ten times better than William
the Testy.
[Illustration:
“BLACKSMITHS SUFFERED THEIR FIRES TO GO OUT.”
]
Under the instructions of these political oracles the good people of New
Amsterdam soon became exceedingly enlightened, and, as a matter of
course, exceedingly discontented. They gradually found out the fearful
error in which they had indulged, of thinking themselves the happiest
people in creation, and were convinced that, all circumstances to the
contrary notwithstanding, they were a very unhappy, deluded, and
consequently ruined people!
We are naturally prone to discontent, and avaricious after imaginary
causes of lamentation. Like lubberly monks we belabor our own shoulders,
and take a vast satisfaction in the music of our own groans. Nor is this
said by way of paradox; daily experience shows the truth of these
observations. It is almost impossible to elevate the spirits of a man
groaning under ideal calamities; but nothing is easier than to render
him wretched, though on the pinnacle of felicity; as it would be an
Herculean task to hoist a man to the top of a steeple, though the merest
child could topple him off thence.
I must not omit to mention that these popular meetings were generally
held at some noted tavern, these public edifices possessing what in
modern times are thought the true fountains of political inspiration.
The ancient Greeks deliberated upon a matter when drunk, and
reconsidered it when sober. Mob-politicians in modern times dislike to
have two minds upon a subject, so they both deliberate and act when
drunk; by this means a world of delay is spared; and as it is
universally allowed that a man when drunk sees double, it follows
conclusively that he sees twice as well as his sober neighbors.
[Illustration: Black and white line drawing of a cow standing in a
field, facing away toward a windmill on a distant hill.]
=Chapter VIII.=
OF THE EDICT OF WILLIAM THE TESTY AGAINST TOBACCO—OF THE PIPE-PLOT, AND
THE RISE OF FEUDS AND PARTIES.
Wilhelmus Kieft, as has already been observed, was a great legislator on
a small scale, and had a microscopic eye in public affairs. He had been
greatly annoyed by the factious meeting of the good people of New
Amsterdam, but, observing that on these occasions the pipe was ever in
their mouth, he began to think that the pipe was at the bottom of the
affair, and that there was some mysterious affinity between politics and
tobacco-smoke. Determined to strike at the root of the evil, he began
forthwith to rail at tobacco, as a noxious, nauseous weed, filthy in all
its uses; and as to smoking, he denounced it as a heavy tax upon the
public pocket,—a vast consumer of time, a great encourager of idleness,
and a deadly bane to the prosperity and morals of the people. Finally he
issued an edict, prohibiting the smoking of tobacco throughout the New
Netherlands. Ill-fated Kieft! Had he lived in the present age and
attempted to check the unbounded license of the press, he could not have
struck more sorely upon the sensibilities of the million. The pipe, in
fact, was the greatest organ of reflection and deliberation of the New
Netherlander. It was his constant companion and solace: was he gay, he
smoked; was he sad, he smoked; his pipe was never out of his mouth; it
was part of his physiognomy; without it his best friends would not know
him. Take away his pipe? You might as well take away his nose!
The immediate effect of the edict of William the Testy was a popular
commotion. A vast multitude, armed with pipes and tobaccoboxes, and an
immense supply of ammunition, sat themselves down before the governor’s
house, and fell to smoking with tremendous violence. The testy William
issued forth like a wrathful spider, demanding the reason of this
lawless fumigation. The sturdy rioters replied by lolling back in their
seats, and puffing away with redoubled fury, raising such a murky cloud
that the governor was fain to take refuge in the interior of his castle.
A long negotiation ensued through the medium of Antony the Trumpeter.
The governor was at first wrathful and unyielding, but was gradually
smoked into terms. He concluded by permitting the smoking of tobacco,
but he abolished the fair long pipes used in the days of Wouter Van
Twiller, denoting ease, tranquillity, and sobriety of deportment; these
he condemned as incompatible with the despatch of business, in place
whereof he substituted little captious short pipes, two inches in
length, which, he observed, could be stuck in one corner of the mouth,
or twisted in the hatband, and would never be in the way. Thus ended
this alarming insurrection, which was long known by the name of The
Pipe-Plot, and which, it has been somewhat quaintly observed, did end,
like most plots and seditions, in mere smoke.
But mark, oh, reader! the deplorable evils which did afterwards result.
The smoke of these villanous little pipes, continually ascending in a
cloud about the nose, penetrated into and befogged the cerebellum, dried
up all the kindly moisture of the brain, and rendered the people who
used them as vaporous and testy as the governor himself. Nay, what is
worse, from being goodly, burly, sleek-conditioned men, they became,
like our Dutch yeomanry who smoke short pipes, a lantern-jawed,
smoke-dried, leathern-hided race.
[Illustration:
THE EDICT OF WILLIAM THE TESTY.
]
Nor was this all. From this fatal schism in tobacco-pipes we may date
the rise of parties in the Nieuw Nederlandts. The rich and
self-important burghers who had made their fortunes, and could afford to
be lazy, adhered to the ancient fashion, and formed a kind of
aristocracy known as the _Long Pipes_; while the lower order, adopting
the reform of William Kieft as more convenient in their handicraft
employments, were branded with the plebeian name of _Short Pipes_.
A third party sprang up, headed by the descendants of Robert Chewit, the
companion of the great Hudson. These discarded pipes altogether and took
to chewing tobacco; hence they were called _Quids_,—an appellation since
given to those political mongrels which sometimes spring up between two
great parties, as a mule is produced between a horse and an ass.
And here I would note the great benefit of party distinctions in saving
the people at large the trouble of thinking. Hesiod divides mankind into
three classes—those who think for themselves, those who think as others
think, and those who do not think at all. The second class comprises the
great mass of society; for most people require a set creed and a
file-leader. Hence the origin of party: which means a large body of
people, some few of whom think, and all the rest talk. The former take
the lead and discipline the latter; prescribing what they must say, what
they must approve, what they must hoot at, whom they must support, but,
above all, whom they must hate; for no one can be a right good partisan,
who is not a thorough-going hater.
[Illustration:
A LONG PIPE.
]
The enlightened inhabitants of the Manhattoes, therefore, being divided
into parties, were enabled to hate each other with great accuracy. And
now the great business of politics went bravely on, the long pipes and
short pipes assembling in separate beer-houses, and smoking at each
other with implacable vehemence, to the great support of the State and
profit of the tavern-keepers. Some, indeed, went so far as to bespatter
their adversaries with those odoriferous little words which smell so
strong in the Dutch language, believing, like true politicians, that
they served their party, and glorified themselves in proportion as they
bewrayed their neighbors. But, however they might differ among
themselves, all parties agreed in abusing the governor, seeing that he
was not a governor of their choice, but appointed by others to rule over
them.
Unhappy William Kieft! exclaims the sage writer of the Stuyvesant
manuscript, doomed to contend with enemies too knowing to be entrapped,
and to reign over a people too wise to be governed. All his foreign
expeditious were baffled and set at naught by the all-pervading Yankees;
all his home measures were canvassed and condemned by “numerous and
respectable meetings” of pot-house politicians.
In the multitude of counsellors, we are told, there is safety; but the
multitude of counsellors was a continual source of perplexity to William
Kieft. With a temperament as hot as an old radish, and a mind subject to
perpetual whirlwinds and tornadoes, he never failed to get into a
passion with every one who undertook to advise him. I have observed,
however, that your passionate little men, like small boats with large
sails, are easily upset or blown out of their course; so was it with
William the Testy, who was prone to be carried away by the last piece of
advice blown into his ear. The consequence was, that, though a projector
of the first class, yet by continually changing his projects he gave
none a fair trial; and by endeavoring to do everything, he in sober
truth did nothing.
[Illustration:
A POT-HOUSE POLITICIAN.
]
In the meantime, the sovereign people got into the saddle, showed
themselves, as usual, unmerciful riders; spurring on the little governor
with harangues and petitions, and thwarting him with memorials and
reproaches, in much the same way as holiday apprentices manage an
unlucky devil of a hack-horse,—so that Wilhelmus Kieft was kept at a
worry or a gallop throughout the whole of his administration.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing showing the back of a
wooden cart loaded with sacks; a woman holding a child sits on top,
while a man in a hat stands to the right.]
=Chapter IX.=
OF THE FOLLY OF BEING HAPPY IN TIME OF PROSPERITY—OF TROUBLES TO THE
SOUTH BROUGHT ON BY ANNEXATION—OF THE SECRET EXPEDITION OF JAN JANSEN
ALPENDAM, AND HIS MAGNIFICENT REWARD.
If we could but get a peep at the tally of dame Fortune, where like a
vigilant landlady she chalks up the debtor and creditor accounts of
thoughtless mortals, we should find that every good is checked off by an
evil, and that, however we may apparently revel scot-free for a season,
the time will come when we must ruefully pay off the reckoning. Fortune
in fact is a pestilent shrew, and withal an inexorable creditor; and
though for a time she may be all smiles and courtesies and indulge us in
long credits, yet sooner or later she brings up her arrears with a
vengeance, and washes out her scores with our tears. “Since,” says good
old Boëtius, “no man can retain her at his pleasure; what are her favors
but sure prognostications of approaching trouble and calamity?”
This is the fundamental maxim of that sage school of philosophers, the
croakers, who esteem it true wisdom to doubt and despond when other men
rejoice, well knowing that happiness is at best but transient,—that, the
higher one is elevated on the seesaw balance of fortune, the lower must
be his subsequent depression,—that he who is on the uppermost round of a
ladder has most to suffer from a fall, while he who is at the bottom
runs very little risk of breaking his neck by tumbling to the top.
Philosophical readers of this stamp must have doubtless indulged in
dismal forebodings all through the tranquil reign of Walter the Doubter,
and considered it what Dutch seamen call a weather-breeder. They will
not be surprised, therefore, that the foul weather which gathered during
his days should now be rattling from all quarters on the head of William
the Testy.
The origin of some of these troubles may be traced quite back to the
discoveries and annexations of Hans Reinier Oothout, the explorer, and
Wynant Ten Breeches, the land-measurer, made in the twilight days of
Oloffe the Dreamer; by which the territories of the Nieuw Nederlandts
were carried far to the south, to Delaware river and parts beyond. The
consequence was, many disputes and brawls with the Indians, which now
and then reached the drowsy ears of Walter the Doubter and his council,
like the muttering of distant thunder from behind the mountains,
without, however, disturbing their repose. It was not till the time of
William the Testy that the thunderbolt reached the Manhattoes. While the
little governor was diligently protecting his eastern boundaries from
the Yankees, word was brought him of the irruption of a vagrant colony
of Swedes in the south, who had landed on the banks of the Delaware and
displayed the banner of that redoubtable virago Queen Christina, and
taken possession of the country in her name. These had been guided in
their expedition by one Peter Minuits, or Minnewits, a renegade
Dutchman, formerly in the service of their High Mightinesses, but who
now declared himself governor of all the surrounding country, to which
was given the name of the province of NEW SWEDEN.
It is an old saying that “a little pot is soon hot,” which was the case
with William the Testy. Being a little man, he was soon in a passion,
and once in a passion, he soon boiled over. Summoning his council on the
receipt of this news, he belabored the Swedes in the longest speech that
had been heard in the colony since the wordy warfare of Ten Breeches and
Tough Breeches. Having thus taken off the fire-edge of his valor, he
resorted to his favorite measure of proclamation, and despatched a
document of the kind, ordering the renegade Minnewits and his gang of
Swedish vagabonds to leave the country immediately, under pain of the
vengeance of their High Mightinesses the Lords States-General, and of
the potentates of the Manhattoes.
This strong measure was not a whit more effectual than its predecessors,
which had been thundered against the Yankees; and William Kieft was
preparing to follow it up with something still more formidable, when he
received intelligence of other invaders on his southern frontier, who
had taken possession of the banks of the Schuylkill, and built a fort
there. They were represented as a gigantic, gun-powder race of men,
exceedingly expert at boxing, biting, gouging, and other branches of the
rough-and-tumble mode of warfare, which they had learned from their
prototypes and cousins-german, the Virginians, to whom they have ever
borne considerable resemblance. Like them, too, they were great
roisters, much given to revel on hoe-cake and bacon, mint-julep and
apple-toddy; whence their newly formed colony had already acquired the
name of Merryland, which, with a slight modification, it retains to the
present day.
[Illustration:
THE MERRYLANDERS WERE FOND OF BOXING.
]
In fact, the Merrylanders and their cousins, the Virginians, were
represented to William Kieft as offsets from the same original stock as
his bitter enemies the Yanokie, or Yankee tribes of the east, having
both come over to this country for the liberty of conscience, or, in
other words, to live as they pleased: the Yankees taking to praying and
money-making, and converting quakers; and the Southerners to
horse-racing and cock-fighting, and breeding negroes.
Against these new invaders Wilhelmus Kieft immediately despatched a
naval armament of two sloops and thirty men, under Jan Jansen Alpendam,
who was armed to the very teeth with one of the little governor’s most
powerful speeches, written in vigorous Low Dutch.
Admiral Alpendam arrived without accident in the Schuylkill, and came
upon the enemy just as they were engaged in a great “barbecue,” a kind
of festivity or carouse much practised in Merryland. Opening upon them
with the speech of William the Testy, he denounced them as a pack of
lazy, canting, julep-tippling, cock-fighting, horse-racing,
slave-trading, tavern-hunting, Sabbath-breaking, mulatto-breeding
upstarts, and concluded by ordering them to evacuate the country
immediately: to which they laconically replied in plain English, “they’d
see him d——d first!”
Now, this was a reply on which neither Jan Jansen Alpendam nor Wilhelmus
Kieft had made any calculation. Finding himself, therefore, totally
unprepared to answer so terrible a rebuff with suitable hostility, the
admiral concluded his wisest course would be to return home and report
progress. He accordingly steered his course back to New Amsterdam, where
he arrived safe, having accomplished this hazardous enterprise at small
expense of treasure and no loss of life. His saving policy gained him
the universal appellation of the Saviour of his Country; and his
services were suitably rewarded by a shingle monument, erected by
subscription on the top of Flattenbarrack Hill, where it immortalized
his name for three whole years, when it fell to pieces and was burnt for
firewood.
[Illustration: Black and white ink sketch of a portly, boastful soldier
with a large mustache and helmet, leaning on a long sword with one hand
on his hip.]
=Chapter X.=
TROUBLOUS TIMES ON THE HUDSON—HOW KILLIAN VAN RENSELLAER ERECTED A
FEUDAL CASTLE, AND HOW HE INTRODUCED CLUB-LAW INTO THE PROVINCE.
About this time the testy little governor of the New Netherlands appears
to have had his hands full, and with one annoyance and the other to have
been kept continually on the bounce. He was on the very point of
following up the expedition of Jan Jansen Alpendam by some belligerent
measures against the marauders of Merryland, when his attention was
suddenly called away by belligerent troubles springing up in another
quarter, the seeds of which had been sown in the tranquil days of Walter
the Doubter.
The reader will recollect the deep doubt into which that most pacific of
governors was thrown on Killian Van Rensellaer’s taking possession of
Bearn Island by _wapen recht_. While the governor doubted and did
nothing, the lordly Killian went on to complete his sturdy little
castellum of Rensellaerstein, and to garrison it with a number of his
tenants from the Helderberg, a mountain region famous for the hardest
heads and hardest fists in the province. Nicholas Koorn, a faithful
squire of the patroon, accustomed to strut at his heels, wear his
cast-off clothes, and imitate his lofty bearing, was established in this
post as wacht-meester. His duty it was to keep an eye on the river, and
oblige every vessel that passed, unless on the service of their High
Mightinesses, to strike its flag, lower its peak, and pay toll to the
lord of Rensellaerstein.
This assumption of sovereign authority within the territories of the
Lords States-General, however it might have been tolerated by Walter the
Doubter, had been sharply contested by William the Testy on coming into
office; and many written remonstrances had been addressed by him to
Killian Van Rensellaer, to which the latter never deigned a reply. Thus,
by degrees, a sore place, or, in Hibernian parlance, a _raw_, had been
established in the irritable soul of the little governor, insomuch that
he winced at the very name of Rensellaerstein.
Now it came to pass, that, on a fine sunny day, the Company’s yacht, the
_Half-Moon_, having been on one of its stated visits to Fort Aurania,
was quietly tiding it down the Hudson. The commander, Govert Lockerman,
a veteran Dutch skipper of few words but great bottom, was seated on the
high poop, quietly smoking his pipe under the shadow of the proud flag
of Orange, when, on arriving abreast of Bearn Island, he was saluted by
a stentorian voice from the shore, “Lower thy flag, and be d——d to
thee!”
Govert Lockerman, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, turned up
his eye from under his broad-brimmed hat to see who hailed him thus
discourteously. There, on the ramparts of the fort, stood Nicholas
Koorn, armed to the teeth, flourishing a brass-hilted sword, while a
steeple-crowned hat and cock’s tail-feather, formerly worn by Killian
Van Rensellaer himself, gave an inexpressible loftiness to his demeanor.
Govert Lockerman eyed the warrior from top to toe, but was not to be
dismayed. Taking the pipe slowly out of his mouth, “To whom should I
lower my flag?” demanded he. “To the high and mighty Killian Van
Rensellaer, the lord of Rensellaerstein!” was the reply.
[Illustration:
“I LOWER IT TO NONE.”
]
“I lower it to none but the Prince of Orange and my masters the Lords
States-General.” So saying, he resumed his pipe and smoked with an air
of dogged determination.
Bang! went a gun from the fortress; the ball cut both sail and rigging.
Govert Lockerman said nothing, but smoked the more doggedly.
Bang! went another gun; the shot whistled close astern.
“Fire, and be d——d,” cried Govert Lockerman, cramming a new charge of
tobacco into his pipe, and smoking with still increasing vehemence.
Bang! went a third gun. The shot passed over his head, tearing a hole in
the “princely flag of Orange.”
This was the hardest trial of all for the pride and patience of Govert
Lockerman. He maintained a stubborn, though swelling silence; but his
smothered rage might be perceived by the short vehement puffs of smoke
emitted from his pipe, by which he might be tracked for miles, as he
slowly floated out of shot and out of sight of Bearn Island. In fact he
never gave vent to his passion until he got fairly among the highlands
of the Hudson; when he let fly whole volleys of Dutch oaths, which are
said to linger to this very day among the echoes of the Dunderberg, and
to give particular effect to the thunder-storms in that neighborhood.
It was the sudden apparition of Govert Lockerman at Dog’s Misery,
bearing in his hand the tattered flag of Orange, that arrested the
attention of William the Testy, just as he was devising a new expedition
against the marauders of Merryland. I will not pretend to describe the
passion of the little man when he heard of the outrage of
Rensellaerstein. Suffice it to say, in the first transports of his fury,
he turned Dog’s Misery topsy-turvy; kicked every cur out of doors, and
threw the cats out of the window; after which, his spleen being in some
measure relieved, he went into a council of war with Govert Lockerman,
the skipper, assisted by Antony Van Corlear, the Trumpeter.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink sketch of three kittens pouncing
and playing; two kittens are huddled together on the left, while one
leaps forward on the right with its tail straight up.]
=Chapter XI.=
ON THE DIPLOMATIC MISSION OF ANTONY THE TRUMPETER TO THE FORTRESS OF
RENSELLAERSTEIN—AND HOW HE WAS PUZZLED BY A CABALISTIC REPLY.
The eyes of all New Amsterdam were now turned to see what would be the
end of this direful feud between William the Testy and the patroon of
Rensellaerwick; and some, observing the consultations of the governor
with the skipper and the trumpeter, predicted warlike measures by sea
and land. The wrath of William Kieft, however, though quick to rise, was
quick to evaporate. He was a perfect brush-heap in a blaze, snapping and
crackling for a time, and then ending in smoke. Like many other valiant
potentates, his first thoughts were all for war, his sober second
thoughts for diplomacy.
[Illustration:
“A WHOLE ROW OF HELDERBERGERS REARED THEIR ROUND BURLY HEADS.”
]
Accordingly, Govert Lockerman was once more despatched up the river in
the Company’s yacht, the _Goed Hoop_ bearing Antony the Trumpeter as
ambassador, to treat with the belligerent powers of Rensellaerstein. In
the fulness of time the yacht arrived before Bearn Island, and Antony
the Trumpeter, mounting the poop, sounded a parley to the fortress. In a
little while the steeple-crowned hat of Nicholas Koorn, the
wacht-meester, rose above the battlements, followed by his iron visage,
and ultimately his whole person, armed, as before, to the very teeth;
while, one by one, a whole row of Helderbergers reared their round burly
heads above the wall, and beside each pumpkin-head peered the end of a
rusty musket. Nothing daunted by this formidable array, Antony Van
Corlear drew forth and read with audible voice a missive from William
the Testy, protesting against the usurpation of Bearn Island, and
ordering the garrison to quit the premises, bag and baggage, on pain of
the vengeance of the potentate of the Manhattoes.
In reply, the wacht-meester applied the thumb of his right hand to the
end of his nose, and the thumb of his left hand to the little finger of
the right, and spreading each hand like a fan, made an aërial flourish
with his fingers. Antony Van Corlear was sorely perplexed to understand
this sign, which seemed to him something mysterious and masonic. Not
liking to betray his ignorance, he again read with a loud voice the
missive of William the Testy, and again Nicholas Koorn applied the thumb
of his right hand to the end of his nose, and the thumb of his left hand
to the little finger of the right, and repeated this kind of nasal
weather-cock. Antony Van Corlear now persuaded himself that this was
some shorthand sign or symbol, current in diplomacy, which, though
unintelligible to a new diplomat, like himself, would speak volumes to
the experienced intellect of William the Testy; considering his embassy
therefore at an end, he sounded his trumpet with great complacency, and
set sail on his return down the river, every now and then practising
this mysterious sign of the wacht-meester, to keep it accurately in
mind.
Arrived at New Amsterdam he made a faithful report of his embassy to the
governor, accompanied by a manual exhibition of the response of Nicholas
Koorn. The governor was equally perplexed with his embassy. He was
deeply versed in the mysteries of free-masonry; but they threw no light
on the matter. He knew every variety of wind-mill and weather-cock, but
was not a whit the wiser as to the aërial sign in question. He had even
dabbled in Egyptian hieroglyphics and the mystic symbols of the
obelisks, but none furnished a key to the reply of Nicholas Koorn. He
called a meeting of his council. Antony Van Corlear stood forth in the
midst, and putting the thumb of his right hand to his nose, and the
thumb of his left hand to the finger of the right, he gave a faithful
fac-simile of the portentous sign. Having a nose of unusual dimensions,
it was as if the reply had been put in capitals; but all in vain: the
worthy burgomasters were equally perplexed with the governor. Each one
put his thumb to the end of his nose, spread his fingers like a fan,
imitated the motion of Antony Van Corlear, and then smoked in dubious
silence. Several times was Antony obliged to stand forth like a fugleman
and repeat the sign, and each time a circle of nasal weather-cocks might
be seen in the council-chamber.
[Illustration:
THE WISE MEN AND SOOTHSAYERS.
]
Perplexed in the extreme, William the Testy sent for all the
soothsayers, and fortunetellers and wise men of the Manhattoes, but none
could interpret the mysterious reply of Nicholas Koorn. The council
broke up in sore perplexity. The matter got abroad, and Antony Van
Corlear was stopped at every corner to repeat the signal to a knot of
anxious newsmongers, each of whom departed with his thumb to his nose
and his fingers in the air, to carry the story home to his family. For
several days all business was neglected in New Amsterdam; nothing was
talked of but the diplomatic mission of Antony the Trumpeter,—nothing
was to be seen but knots of politicians with their thumbs to their
noses. In the meantime the fierce feud between William the Testy and
Killian Van Rensellaer, which at first had menaced deadly warfare,
gradually cooled off, like many other war-questions, in the prolonged
delays of diplomacy.
Still to this early affair of Rensellaerstein may be traced the remote
origin of those windy wars in modern days which rage in the bowels of
the Helderberg, and have wellnigh shaken the great patroonship of the
Van Rensellaers to its foundation; for we are told that the bully boys
of the Helderberg, who served under Nicholas Koorn the wacht-meester,
carried back to their mountains the hieroglyphic sign which had so
sorely puzzled Antony Van Corlear and the sages of the Manhattoes; so
that to the present day the thumb to the nose and the fingers in the air
is apt to be the reply of the Helderbergers whenever called upon for any
long arrears of rent.
=Chapter XII.=
CONTAINING THE RISE OF THE GREAT AMPHICTYONIC COUNCIL OF THE PILGRIMS,
WITH THE DECLINE AND FINAL EXTINCTION OF WILLIAM THE TESTY.
It was asserted by the wise men of ancient times, who had a nearer
opportunity of ascertaining the fact, that at the gate of Jupiter’s
palace lay two huge tuns, one filled with blessings, the other with
misfortunes; and it would verily seem as if the latter had been
completely overturned and left to deluge the unlucky province of Nieuw
Nederlandts: for about this time, while harassed and annoyed from the
south and the north, incessant forays were made by the border-chivalry
of Connecticut upon the pigsties and hen-roosts of the Nederlanders.
Every day or two some broad-bottomed express-rider, covered with mud and
mire, would come floundering into the gate of New Amsterdam, freighted
with some new tale of aggression from the frontier; whereupon Antony Van
Corlear, seizing his trumpet, the only substitute for a newspaper in
those primitive days, would sound the tidings from the ramparts with
such doleful notes and disastrous cadence as to throw half the old women
in the city into hysterics; all which tended greatly to increase his
popularity; there being nothing for which the public are more grateful
than being frequently treated to a panic,—a secret well known to the
modern editors.
But, oh ye powers! into what a paroxysm of passion did each new outrage
of the Yankees throw the choleric little governor! Letter after letter,
protest after protest, bad Latin, worse English, and hideous Low Dutch,
were incessantly fulminated upon them, and the four-and-twenty letters
of the alphabet, which formed his standing army, were worn out by
constant campaigning. All, however, was ineffectual; even the recent
victory at Oyster Bay, which had shed such a gleam of sunshine between
the clouds of his fair-weather reign, was soon followed by a more
fearful gathering up of those clouds, and indignations of more
portentous tempest; for the Yankee tribe on the banks of the
Connecticut, finding on this memorable occasion their incompetency to
cope, in fair fight, with the sturdy chivalry of the Manhattoes, had
called to their aid all the ten tribes of their brethren who inhabit the
east country, which from them has derived the name of Yankee-land. This
call was promptly responded to. The consequence was a great confederacy
of the tribes of Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Plymouth, and New
Haven, under the title of the “United Colonies of New England”; the
pretended object of which was mutual defence against the savages, but
the real object the subjugation of the Nieuw Nederlands.
For, to let the reader into one of the great secrets of history, the
Nieuw Nederlandts had long been regarded by the whole Yankee race as the
modern land of promise, and themselves as the chosen and peculiar people
destined, one day or other, by hook or by crook, to get possession of
it. In truth, they are a wonderful and all-prevalent people, of that
class who only require an inch to gain an ell, or a halter to gain a
horse. From the time they first gained a foothold on Plymouth Rock, they
began to migrate, progressing and progressing from place to place, and
from land to land, making a little here and a little there, and
controverting the old proverb, that a rolling stone gathers no moss.
Hence they have facetiously received the nickname of THE PILGRIMS: that
is to say, a people who are always seeking a better country than their
own.
The tidings of this great Yankee league struck William Kieft with
dismay, and for once in his life he forgot to bounce on receiving a
disagreeable piece of intelligence. In fact, on turning over in his mind
all that he had read at the Hague about leagues and combinations, he
found that this was a counterpart of the Amphictyonic league, by which
the states of Greece attained such power and supremacy; and the very
idea made his heart quake for the safety of his empire at the
Manhattoes.
The affairs of the confederacy were managed by an annual council of
delegates held at Boston, which Kieft denominated the Delphos of this
truly classic league. The very first meeting gave evidence of hostility
to the Nieuw Nederlanders, who were charged, in their dealings with the
Indians, with carrying on a traffic in “guns, powther, and shott,—a
trade damnable and injurious to the colonists.” It is true the
Connecticut traders were fain to dabble a little in this damnable
traffic; but then they always dealt in what were termed Yankee guns,
ingeniously calculated to burst in the pagan hands which used them.
The rise of this potent confederacy was a death-blow to the glory of
William the Testy, for from that day forward he never held up his head,
but appeared quite crestfallen. It is true, as the grand council
augmented in power, and the league, rolling onward, gathered about the
red hills of New Haven, threatening to overwhelm the Nieuw Nederlandts,
he continued occasionally to fulminate proclamations and protests, as a
shrewd sea-captain fires his guns into a water-spout; but alas! they had
no more effect than so many blank cartridges.
Thus end the authenticated chronicles of the reign of William the Testy;
for henceforth, in the troubles, perplexities, and confusion of the
times, he seems to have been totally overlooked, and to have slipped
forever through the fingers of scrupulous history. It is a matter of
deep concern that such obscurity should hang over his latter days; for
he was in truth a mighty and great-little man, and worthy of being
utterly renowned, seeing that he was the first potentate that introduced
into this land the art of fighting by proclamation, and defending a
country by trumpeters and wind-mills.
[Illustration:
THEY SOLD THEM GUNS THAT EXPLODED AT THE FIRST FIRING.
]
It is true, that certain of the early provincial poets, of whom there
were great numbers in the Nieuw Nederlandts, taking advantage of his
mysterious exit, have fabled, that, like Romulus, he was translated to
the skies, and forms a very fiery little star, somewhere on the left
claw of the Crab; while others, equally fanciful, declare that he had
experienced a fate similar to that of the good king Arthur, who, we are
assured by ancient bards, was carried away to the delicious abodes of
fairyland, where he still exists in pristine worth and vigor, and will
one day or another return to restore the gallantry, the honor, and the
immaculate probity, which prevailed in the glorious days of the Round
Table.[1]
All these, however, are but pleasing fantasies, the cobweb visions of
those dreaming varlets, the poets, to which I would not have my
judicious readers attach any credibility. Neither am I disposed to
credit an ancient and rather apocryphal historian, who asserts that the
ingenious Wilhelmus was annihilated by the blowing down of one of his
wind-mills; nor a writer of later times, who affirms that he fell a
victim to an experiment in natural history, having the misfortune to
break his neck from a garret-window of the stadthouse in attempting to
catch swallows by sprinkling salt upon their tails. Still less do I put
my faith in the tradition that he perished at sea in conveying home to
Holland a treasure of golden ore, discovered somewhere among the haunted
region of the Catskill mountains.[2]
The most probable account declares, that, what with the constant
troubles on his frontiers, the incessant schemings and projects going on
in his own pericranium, the memorials, petitions, remonstrances, and
sage pieces of advice of respectable meetings of the sovereign people,
and the refractory disposition of his councillors, who were sure to
differ from him on every point, and uniformly to be in the wrong, his
mind was kept in a furnace-heat, until he became as completely burnt out
as a Dutch family-pipe which has passed through three generations of
hard smokers. In this manner did he undergo a kind of animal combustion,
consuming away like a farthing rushlight: so that when grim death
finally snuffed him out, there was scarce left enough of him to bury!
[Illustration:
DUTCH FAMILY PIPE.
]
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a stern, portly man in
17th-century attire, wearing a tall hat, a fur-collared coat, and a
belted tunic.]
=Book V.=
CONTAINING THE FIRST PART OF THE REIGN OF PETER STUYVESANT, AND HIS
TROUBLES WITH THE AMPHICTYONIC COUNCIL.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a jolly, bald man
sitting in a chair with a large napkin tucked into his collar, holding a
spoon over a steaming bowl of soup.]
=Chapter I.=
IN WHICH THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN IS SHOWN TO BE NO VERY INCONSOLABLE
MATTER OF SORROW—AND HOW PETER STUYVESANT ACQUIRED A GREAT NAME FROM THE
UNCOMMON STRENGTH OF HIS HEAD.
To a profound philosopher like myself, who am apt to see clear through a
subject, where the penetration of ordinary people extends but halfway,
there is no fact more simple and manifest than that the death of a great
man is a matter of very little importance. Much as we may think of
ourselves, and much as we may excite the empty plaudits of the million,
it is certain that the greatest among us do actually fill but an
exceedingly small space in the world; and it is equally certain, that
even that small space is quickly supplied when we leave it vacant. “Of
what consequence is it,” said Pliny, “that individuals appear, or make
their exit? the world is a theatre whose scenes and actors are
continually changing.” Never did philosopher speak more correctly; and I
only wonder that so wise a remark could have existed so many ages, and
mankind not have laid it more to heart. Sage follows on in the footsteps
of sage; one hero just steps out of his triumphal car, to make way for
the hero who comes after him; and of the proudest monarch it is merely
said, that “he slept with his fathers, and his successor reigned in his
stead.”
The world, to tell the private truth, cares but little for their loss,
and if left to itself would soon forget to grieve; and though a nation
has often been figuratively drowned in tears on the death of a great
man, yet it is ten to one if an individual tear has been shed on the
occasion, excepting from the forlorn pen of some hungry author. It is
the historian, the biographer, and the poet, who have the whole burden
of grief to sustain,—who—kind souls!—like undertakers in England, act
the part of chief mourners,—who inflate a nation with sighs it never
heaved, and deluged it with tears it never dreamt of shedding. Thus,
while the patriotic author is weeping and howling, in prose, in blank
verse, and in rhyme, and collecting the drops of public sorrow into his
volume, as into a lachrymal vase, it is more than probable his
fellow-citizens are eating and drinking, fiddling, and dancing, as
utterly ignorant of the bitter lamentations made in their name as are
those men of straw, John Doe and Richard Roe, of the plaintiffs for whom
they are generously pleased to become sureties.
[Illustration:
“DRINKING, FIDDLING, AND DANCING.”
]
The most glorious hero that ever desolated nations might have mouldered
into oblivion among the rubbish of his own monument, did not some
historian take him into favor, and benevolently transmit his name to
posterity; and much as the valiant William Kieft worried, and bustled,
and turmoiled, while he had the destinies of a whole colony in his hand,
I question seriously whether he will not be obliged to this authentic
history for all his future celebrity.
His exit occasioned no convulsion in the city of New Amsterdam nor its
vicinity: the earth trembled not, neither did any stars shoot from their
spheres; the heavens were not shrouded in black, as poets would fain
persuade us they have been, on the death of a hero; the rocks
(hard-hearted varlets!) melted not into tears, nor did the trees hang
their heads in silent sorrow: and as to the sun, he lay abed the next
night just as long, and showed as jolly a face when he rose as he ever
did on the same day of the month in any year, either before or since.
The good people of New Amsterdam, one and all, declared that he had been
a very busy, active, bustling little governor; that he was “the father
of his country”; that he was “the noblest work of God”; that “he was a
man, take him for all in all, they ne’er should look upon his like
again”; together with sundry other civil and affectionate speeches
regularly said on the death of all great men: after which they smoked
their pipes, thought no more about him, and Peter Stuyvesant succeeded
to his station.
Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned Wouter Van
Twiller, the best of our ancient Dutch governors. Wouter having
surpassed all who preceded him, and Peter, or Piet, as he was sociably
called by the old Dutch burghers, who were ever prone to familiarize
names, having never been equalled by any successor. He was in fact the
very man fitted by nature to retrieve the desperate fortunes of her
beloved province, had not the Fates, those most potent and unrelenting
of all ancient spinsters, destined them to inextricable confusion.
To say merely that he was a hero, would be doing him great injustice: he
was in truth a combination of heroes; for he was of a sturdy, raw-boned
make, like Ajax Telamon, with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules
would have given his hide for (meaning his lion’s hide) when he
undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, moreover, as Plutarch
describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for the force of his arm, but
likewise of his voice, which sounded as though it came out of a barrel;
and, like the self-same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for
the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of itself to
make the very bowels of his adversaries quake with terror and dismay.
All this martial excellency of appearance was inexpressibly heightened
by an accidental advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer
nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes. This was nothing less than a
wooden leg, which was the only prize he had gained in bravely fighting
the battles of his country, but of which he was so proud, that he was
often heard to declare he valued it more than all his other limbs put
together; indeed so highly did he esteem it, that he had it gallantly
enchased and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be related
in divers histories and legends that he wore a silver leg.[4]
Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was somewhat subject to
extempore bursts of passion, which were rather unpleasant to his
favorites and attendants, whose perceptions he was apt to quicken, after
the manner of his illustrious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing
their shoulders with his walking-staff.
Though I cannot find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, or Hobbes, or
Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine, yet did he sometimes manifest a
shrewdness and sagacity in his measures, that one would hardly expect
from a man who did not know Greek, and had never studied the ancients.
True it is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he had an unreasonable
aversion to experiments, and was fond of governing his province after
the simplest manner; but then he contrived to keep it in better order
than did the erudite Kieft, though he had all the philosophers, ancient
and modern, to assist and perplex him. I must likewise own that he made
but very few laws; but then, again, he took care that those few were
rigidly and impartially enforced; and I do not know but justice, on the
whole, was as well administered as if there had been volumes of sage
acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected and forgotten.
He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, being neither
tranquil and inert, like Walter the Doubter, nor restless and fidgeting,
like William the Testy,—but a man, or rather a governor, of such
uncommon activity and decision of mind, that he never sought nor
accepted the advice of others,—depending bravely upon his single head,
as would a hero of yore upon his single arm, to carry him through all
difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple truth, he wanted nothing
more to complete him as a statesman than to think always right; for no
one can say but that he always acted as he thought. He was never a man
to flinch when he found himself in a scrape, but to dash forward through
thick and thin, trusting, by hook or by crook, to make all things
straight in the end. In a word, he possessed, in an eminent degree, that
great quality in a statesman, called perseverance by the polite, but
nicknamed obstinacy by the vulgar,—a wonderful salve for official
blunders, since he who perseveres in error without flinching gets the
credit of boldness and consistency, while he who wavers in seeking to do
what is right gets stigmatized as a trimmer. This much is certain; and
it is a maxim well worthy the attention of all legislators, great and
small, who stand shaking in the wind, irresolute which way to steer,
that a ruler who follows his own will pleases himself, while he who
seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims of others runs great risk of
pleasing nobody. There is nothing, too, like putting down one’s foot
resolutely when in doubt, and letting things take their course. The
clock that stands still points right twice in the four-and-twenty hours,
while others may keep going continually and be continually going wrong.
Nor did this magnanimous quality escape the discernment of the good
people of Nieuw Nederlandts; on the contrary, so much were they struck
with the independent will and vigorous resolution displayed on all
occasions by their new governor, that they universally called him
Hard-Kopping Piet, or Peter the Headstrong,—a great compliment to the
strength of his understanding.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a wall-mounted cuckoo
clock with Roman numerals, decorative scrollwork, and three long hanging
weights.]
If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that
Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weather-beaten,
mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion-hearted, generous-spirited
old governor, either I have written to but little purpose, or thou art
very dull at drawing conclusions.
The most excellent governor commenced his administration on the 29th of
May, 1647,—a remarkably stormy day, distinguished in all the almanacs of
the time which have come down to us by the name of _Windy Friday_. As he
was very jealous of his personal and official dignity, he was
inaugurated into office with great ceremony,—the goodly oaken chair of
the renowned Wouter Van Twiller being carefully preserved for such
occasions, in like manner as the chair and stone were reverentially
preserved at Schone, in Scotland, for the coronation of the Caledonian
monarchs.
I must not omit to mention that the tempestuous state of the elements,
together with its being that unlucky day of the week termed
“hanging-day,” did not fail to excite much grave speculation and divers
very reasonable apprehensions among the more ancient and enlightened
inhabitants; and several of the sager sex, who were reputed to be not a
little skilled in the mystery of astrology and fortune-telling, did
declare outright that they were omens of a disastrous administration;—an
event that came to be lamentably verified, and which proves beyond
dispute the wisdom of attending to those preternatural intimations
furnished by dreams and visions, the flying of birds, falling of stones,
and cackling of geese, on which the sages and rulers of ancient times
placed such reliance; or to those shooting of stars, eclipses of the
moon, howlings of dogs, and flarings of candles, carefully noted and
interpreted by the oracular sibyls of our day,—who, in my humble
opinion, are the legitimate inheritors and preservers of the ancient
science of divination. This much is certain, that Governor Stuyvesant
succeeded to the chair of state at a turbulent period; when foes
thronged and threatened from without; when anarchy and stiff-necked
opposition reigned rampant within; when the authority of their High
Mightinesses the Lords States-General, though supported by economy and
defended by speeches, protests, and proclamations, yet tottered to its
very centre; and when the great city of New Amsterdam, though fortified
by flagstaffs, trumpeters, and wind-mills, seemed, like some fair lady
of easy virtue, to lie open to attack, and ready to yield to the first
invader.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a traditional tower
windmill with four large sails, standing on a small grassy mound.]
=Chapter II.=
SHOWING HOW PETER THE HEADSTRONG BESTIRRED HIMSELF AMONG THE RATS AND
COBWEBS ON ENTERING INTO OFFICE—HIS INTERVIEW WITH ANTONY THE TRUMPETER,
AND HIS PERILOUS MEDDLING WITH THE CURRENCY.
The very first movements of the great Peter, on taking the reins of
government, displayed his magnanimity, though they occasioned not a
little marvel and uneasiness among the people of the Manhattoes. Finding
himself constantly interrupted by the opposition, and annoyed by the
advice of his privy council, the members of which had acquired the
unreasonable habit of thinking and speaking for themselves during the
preceding reign, he determined at once to put a stop to such grievous
abominations. Scarcely, therefore, had he entered upon his authority,
than he turned out of office all the meddlesome spirits of the factious
cabinet of William the Testy; in place of whom he chose unto himself
counsellors from those fat, somniferous, respectable burghers who had
flourished and slumbered under the easy reign of Walter the Doubter. All
these he caused to be furnished with abundance of fair long pipes, and
to be regaled with frequent corporation dinners, admonishing them to
smoke, and eat, and sleep for the good of the nation, while he took the
burden of government upon his own shoulders—an arrangement to which they
all gave hearty acquiescence.
Nor did he stop here, but made a hideous rout among the inventions and
expedients of his learned predecessor,—rooting up his patent gallows,
where caitiff vagabonds were suspended by the waistband,—demolishing his
flagstaffs and wind-mills, which, like mighty giants, guarded the
ramparts of New Amsterdam,—pitching to the duyvel whole batteries of
quaker guns,—and, in a word, turning topsy-turvy the whole philosophic,
economic, and wind-mill system of the immortal sage of Saardam.
The honest folk of New Amsterdam began to quake now for the fate of
their matchless champion, Antony the Trumpeter, who had acquired
prodigious favor in the eyes of the women, by means of his whiskers and
his trumpet. Him did Peter the Headstrong cause to be brought into his
presence, and eying him a moment from head to foot, with a countenance
that would have appalled anything else than a sounder of
brass,—“Pr’ythee, who and what art thou?” said he. “Sire,” replied the
other, in no wise dismayed, “for my name, it is Antony Van Corlear; for
my parentage, I am the son of my mother; for my profession, I am
champion and garrison of this great city of New Amsterdam.” “I doubt me
much,” said Peter Stuyvesant, “that thou art some scurvy costard-monger
knave. How didst thou acquire this paramount honor and dignity?” “Marry,
sir,” replied the other, “like many a great man before me, simply _by
sounding my own trumpet_.” “Ay, is it so?” quoth the governor; “why,
then let us have a relish of thy art.” Whereupon the good Antony put his
instrument to his lips, and sounded a charge with such a tremendous
outset, such a delectable quaver, and such a triumphant cadence, that it
was enough to make one’s heart leap out of one’s mouth only to be within
a mile of it. Like as a war-worn charger, grazing in peaceful plains,
starts at a strain of martial music, pricks up his ears, and snorts, and
paws, and kindles at the noise, so did the heroic Peter joy to hear the
clangor of the trumpet; for of him might truly be said, what was
recorded of the renowned St. George of England, “there was nothing in
all the world that more rejoiced his heart than to hear the pleasant
sound of war, and see the soldiers brandish forth their steeled
weapons.” Casting his eye more kindly, therefore, upon the sturdy Van
Corlear, and finding him to be a jovial varlet, shrewd in his discourse,
yet of great discretion and immeasurable wind, he straightway conceived
a vast kindness for him, and discharged him from the troublesome duty of
garrisoning, defending, and alarming the city, ever after retained him
about his person, as his chief favorite, confidential envoy, and trusty
squire. Instead of disturbing the city with disastrous notes, he was
instructed to play so as to delight the governor while at his repasts,
as did the minstrels of yore in the days of glorious chivalry,—and on
all public occasions to rejoice the ears of the people with warlike
melody,—thereby keeping alive a noble and martial spirit.
[Illustration:
“SO AS TO DELIGHT THE GOVERNOR WHILE AT HIS REPASTS.”
]
But the measure of the valiant Peter which produced the greatest
agitation in the community, was his laying his hand upon the currency.
He had old-fashioned notions in favor of gold and silver, which he
considered the true standards of wealth and mediums of commerce; and one
of his first edicts was, that all duties to government should be paid in
those precious metals, and that seawant, or wampum, should no longer be
a legal tender.
Here was a blow at public prosperity! All those who speculated on the
rise and fall of this fluctuating currency, found their calling at an
end; those, too, who had hoarded Indian money by barrels-full, found
their capital shrunk in amount; but, above all, the Yankee traders, who
were accustomed to flood the market with newly coined oyster-shells, and
to abstract Dutch merchandise in exchange, were loud-mouthed in decrying
this “tampering with the currency.” It was clipping the wings of
commerce; it was checking the development of public prosperity; trade
would be at an end; goods would moulder on the shelves; grain would rot
in the granaries; grass would grow in the market-place. In a word, no
one who has not heard the outcries and howlings of a modern Tarshish, at
any check upon “paper-money,” can have any idea of the clamor against
Peter the Headstrong, for checking the circulation of oyster-shells.
In fact, trade did shrink into narrower channels; but then the stream
was deep as it was broad; the honest Dutchmen sold less goods; but then
they got the worth of them, either in silver and gold, or in codfish,
tin ware, apple-brandy, Weathersfield onions, wooden bowls, and other
articles of Yankee barter. The ingenious people of the east, however,
indemnified themselves another way for having to abandon the coinage of
oyster-shells; for about this time we are told that wooden nutmegs made
their first appearance in New Amsterdam, to the great annoyance of the
Dutch housewives.
NOTE.
_From a manuscript record of the province; Lib. N. Y. His.
Society._—We have been unable to render your inhabitants wiser and
prevent their being further imposed upon than to declare absolutely
and peremptorily that henceforward seawant shall be bullion,—not
longer admissible in trade, without any value, as it is indeed. So
that every one may be upon his guard to no longer barter away his
wares and merchandises for these bubbles,—at least not to accept them
at a higher rate, or in a larger quantity, than as they may want them
in their trade with the savages.
In this way your English [Yankee] neighbors shall no longer be enabled
to draw the best wares and merchandises from our country for
nothing,—the beavers and furs not excepted. This has indeed long since
been insufferable, although it ought chiefly to be imputed to the
imprudent penuriousness of our own merchants and inhabitants, who, it
is to be hoped, shall through the abolition of this seawant become
wiser and more prudent.
_27th January, 1662._
Seawant falls into disrepute; duties to be paid in silver coin.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a rugged man in a
buckled hat carrying a musket over his shoulder, with pouches hanging
from his neck and one hand outstretched.]
=Chapter III.=
HOW THE YANKEE LEAGUE WAXED MORE AND MORE POTENT; AND HOW IT OUTWITTED
THE GOOD PETER IN TREATY-MAKING.
Now it came to pass, that, while Peter Stuyvesant was busy regulating
the internal affairs of his domain, the great Yankee league, which had
caused such tribulation to William the Testy, continued to increase in
extent and power. The grand Amphictyonic council of the league was held
at Boston, where it spun a web, which threatened to link within it all
the mighty principalities and powers of the east. The object proposed by
this formidable combination was, mutual protection and defence against
their savage neighbors; but all the world knows the real aim was to form
a grand crusade against the Nieuw Nederlandts, and to get possession of
the city of the Manhattoes,—as devout an object of enterprise and
ambition to the Yankees as was ever the capture of Jerusalem to ancient
crusaders.
In the very year following the inauguration of Governor Stuyvesant, a
grand deputation departed from the city of Providence (famous for its
dusty streets and beauteous women) in behalf of the plantation of Rhode
Island, praying to be admitted into the league.
The following minute of this deputation appears in the ancient records
of the council.[5]
“Mr. Will. Cottington and Captain Partridg of Rhoode Island presented
this insewing request to the commissioners in wrighting—
“Our request and motion is in behalfe of Rhoode Iland, that wee the
Ilanders of Rhoode-Iland may be rescauied into combination with all the
united colonyes of New England in a firme and perpetual league of
friendship and amity of ofence and defence, mutuall advice and succor
upon all just occasions for our mutuall safety and wellfaire, etc.
“WILL COTTINGTON,
“ALICXSANDER PARTRIDG.”
There was certainly something in the very physiognomy of this document
that might well inspire apprehension. The name of Alexander, however
misspelt, has been warlike in every age; and though its fierceness is in
some measure softened by being coupled with the gentle cognomen of
Partridge, still, like the color of scarlet, it bears an exceeding great
resemblance to the sound of a trumpet. From the style of the letter,
moreover, and the soldier-like ignorance of orthography displayed by the
noble Captain Alicxsander Partridg in spelling his own name, we may
picture to ourselves this mighty man of Rhodes, strong in arms, potent
in the field, and as great a scholar as though he had been educated
among that learned people of Thrace, who, Aristotle assures us, could
not count beyond the number four.
The result of this great Yankee league was augmented audacity on the
part of the moss-troopers of Connecticut,—pushing their encroachments
farther and farther into the territories of their High Mightinesses, so
that even the inhabitants of New Amsterdam began to draw short breath
and to find themselves exceedingly cramped for elbow-room.
Peter Stuyvesant was not a man to submit quietly to such intrusions; his
first impulse was to march at once to the frontier and kick these
squatting Yankees out of the country; but, bethinking himself in time
that he was now a governor and legislator, the policy of the statesman
for once cooled the fire of the old soldier, and he determined to try
his hand at negotiation. A correspondence accordingly ensued between him
and the grand council of the league; and it was agreed that
commissioners from either side should meet at Hartford, to settle
boundaries, adjust grievances, and establish a “perpetual and happy
peace.”
The commissioners on the part of the Manhattoes were chosen, according
to immemorial usage of that venerable metropolis, from among the “wisest
and weightiest” men of the community, that is to say, men with the
oldest heads and heaviest pockets. Among these sages the veteran
navigator, Hans Reinier Oothout, who had made such extensive discoveries
during the time of Oloffe the Dreamer, was looked up to as an oracle in
all matters of the kind; and he was ready to produce the very spy-glass
with which he first spied the mouth of the Connecticut River from his
mast-head; and all the world knows the discovery of the mouth of a river
gives prior right to all the lands drained by its waters.
It was with feelings of pride and exultation that the good people of the
Manhattoes saw two of the richest and most ponderous burghers departing
on the embassy,—men whose word on ’change was oracular, and in whose
presence no poor man ventured to appear without taking off his hat: when
it was seen, too, that the veteran Reinier Oothout accompanied them with
his spy-glass under his arm, all the old men and old women predicted
that men of such weight, with such evidence, would leave the Yankees no
alternative but to pack up their tin kettles and wooden wares, put wife
and children in a cart, and abandon all the lands of their High
Mightinesses, on which they had squatted.
In truth, the commissioners sent to Hartford by the league seemed in no
wise calculated to compete with men of such capacity. They were two lean
Yankee lawyers, litigious-looking varlets, and evidently men of no
substance, since they had no rotundity in the belt, and there was no
jingling of money in their pockets; it is true, they had longer heads
than the Dutchmen; but if the heads of the latter were flat at top, they
were broad at bottom, and what was wanting in height of forehead was
made up by a double chin.
[Illustration:
“A NANTUCKET WHALER, WITH A SPY-GLASS TWICE AS LONG!”
]
The negotiation turned as usual upon the good old corner-stone of
original discovery,—according to the principle that he who first sees a
new country has an unquestionable right to it. This being admitted, the
veteran Oothout, at a concerted signal, stepped forth in the assembly
with the identical tarpauling spy-glass in his hand, with which he had
discovered the mouth of the Connecticut, while the worthy Dutch
commissioners lolled back in their chairs, secretly chuckling at the
idea of having for once got the weather-gage of the Yankees; but what
was their dismay when the latter produced a Nantucket whaler with a
spy-glass twice as long, with which he discovered the whole coast, quite
down to the Manhattoes, and so crooked, that he had spied with it up the
whole course of the Connecticut River. This principle pushed home,
therefore, the Yankees had a right to the whole country bordering on the
Sound; nay, the city of New Amsterdam was a mere Dutch squatting-place
on their territories.
I forbear to dwell upon the confusion of the worthy Dutch commissioners
at finding their main pillar of proof thus knocked from under them;
neither will I pretend to describe the consternation of the wise men at
the Manhattoes when they learned how their commissioners had been
out-trumped by the Yankees, and how the latter pretended to claim to the
very gates of New Amsterdam.
Long was the negotiation protracted, and long was the public mind kept
in a state of anxiety. There are two modes of settling boundary
questions when the claims of the opposite are irreconcilable. One is by
an appeal to arms, in which case the weakest party is apt to lose its
right, and get a broken head into the bargain; the other mode is by
compromise, or mutual concession,—that is to say, one party cedes half
of its claims, and the other party half of its rights; he who grasps
most gets most, and the whole is pronounced an equitable division,
“perfectly honorable to both parties.”
[Illustration:
“THE OLD WOMEN REJOICED THAT THERE WAS TO BE NO WAR.”
]
The latter mode was adopted in the present instance. The Yankees gave up
claims to vast tracts of the Nieuw Nederlandts which they had never
seen, and all right to the land of Manna-hata and the city of New
Amsterdam, to which they had no right at all; while the Dutch, in
return, agreed that the Yankees should retain possession of the frontier
places where they had squatted, and of both sides of the Connecticut
River.
When the news of this treaty arrived at New Amsterdam, the whole city
was in an uproar of exultation. The old women rejoiced that there was to
be no war, the old men that their cabbage-gardens were safe from
invasion; while the political sages pronounced the treaty a great
triumph over the Yankees, considering how much they had claimed, and how
little they had been “fobbed off with.”
And now my worthy reader is, doubtless, like the great and good Peter,
congratulating himself with the idea that his feelings will no longer be
harassed by afflicting details of stolen horses, broken heads, impounded
hogs, and all the other catalogue of heart-rending cruelties that
disgraced these border wars. But if he should indulge in such
expectations, it is a proof that he is but little versed in the
paradoxical ways of cabinets; to convince him of which, I solicit his
serious attention to my next chapter, wherein I will show that Peter
Stuyvesant has already committed a great error in politics, and, by
effecting a peace, has materially hazarded the tranquillity of the
province.
=Chapter IV.=
CONTAINING DIVERS SPECULATIONS ON WAR AND NEGOTIATIONS—SHOWING THAT A
TREATY OF PEACE IS A GREAT NATIONAL EVIL.
It was the opinion of that poetical philosopher, Lucretius, that war was
the original state of man, whom he described as being primitively a
savage beast of prey, engaged in a constant state of hostility with his
own species, and that this ferocious spirit was tamed and ameliorated by
society. The same opinion has been advocated by Hobbes,[6] nor have
there been wanting many other philosophers to admit and defend.
For my part, though prodigiously fond of these valuable speculations, so
complimentary to human nature, yet, in this instance, I am inclined to
take the proposition by halves, believing with Horace,[7] that, though
war may have been originally the favorite amusement and industrious
employment of our progenitors, yet, like many other excellent habits, so
far from being ameliorated, it has been cultivated and confirmed by
refinement and civilization, and increases in exact proportion as we
approach towards that state of perfection which is the _ne plus ultra_
of modern philosophy.
The first conflict between man and man was the mere exertion of physical
force, unaided by auxiliary weapons; his arm was his buckler, his fist
was his mace, and a broken head the catastrophe of his encounters. The
battle of unassisted strength was succeeded by the more rugged one of
stones and clubs, and war assumed a sanguinary aspect. As man advanced
in refinement, as his faculties expanded, and as his sensibilities
became more exquisite, he grew rapidly more ingenious and experienced in
the art of murdering his fellow-beings. He invented a thousand devices
to defend and to assault: the helmet, the cuirass, and the buckler, the
sword, the dart, and the javelin, prepared him to elude the wound as
well as to launch the blow. Still urging on, in the career of
philanthropic invention, he enlarges and heightens his powers of defence
and injury:—The Aries, the Scorpio, the Balista, and the Catapulta, give
a horror and sublimity to war, and magnify its glory, by increasing its
desolation. Still insatiable, though armed with machinery that seemed to
reach the limits of destructive invention, and to yield a power of
injury commensurate even with the desires of revenge,—still deeper
researches must be made in the diabolical arcana. With furious zeal he
dives into the bowels of the earth; he toils midst poisonous minerals
and deadly salts,—the sublime discovery of gun-powder blazes upon the
world—and finally the dreadful art of fighting by proclamation seems to
endow the demon of war with ubiquity and omnipotence!
This, indeed, is grand!—this, indeed, marks the powers of mind, and
bespeaks that divine endowment of reason, which distinguishes us from
the animals, our inferiors. The unenlightened brutes content themselves
with the native force which Providence has assigned them. The angry bull
butts with his horns, as did his progenitors before him; the lion, the
leopard, and the tiger seek only with their talons and their fangs to
gratify their sanguinary fury; and even the subtle serpent darts the
same venom, and uses the same wiles, as did his sire before the flood.
Man alone, blessed with the inventive mind, goes on from discovery to
discovery,—enlarges and multiplies his powers of destruction, arrogates
the tremendous weapons of Deity itself, and tasks creation to assist him
in murdering his brother-worm!
[Illustration:
“THE ANGRY BULL BUTTS WITH HIS HORNS.”
]
In proportion as the art of war has increased in improvement has the art
of preserving peace advanced in equal ratio; and as we have discovered,
in this age of wonders and inventions, that proclamation is the most
formidable engine in war, so have we discovered the no less ingenious
mode of maintaining peace by perpetual negotiations.
A treaty, or, to speak more correctly, a negotiation, therefore,
according to the acceptation of experienced statesmen, learned in these
matters, is no longer an attempt to accommodate differences, to
ascertain rights, and to establish an equitable exchange of kind
offices, but a contest of skill between two powers, which shall
overreach and take in the other. It is a cunning endeavor to obtain by
peaceful manœuvre, and the chicanery of cabinets, those advantages which
a nation would otherwise have wrested by force of arms,—in the same
manner as a conscientious highwayman reforms and becomes a quiet and
praiseworthy citizen, contenting himself with cheating his neighbor out
of that property he would formerly have seized with open violence.
In fact, the only time when two nations can be said to be in a state of
perfect amity is, when a negotiation is open, and a treaty pending.
Then, when there are no stipulations entered into, no bonds to restrain
the will, no specific limits to awaken the captious jealousy of right
implanted in our nature, when each party has some advantage to hope and
expect from the other, then it is that the two nations are wonderfully
gracious and friendly,—their ministers professing the highest mutual
regard, exchanging _billet-doux_, making fine speeches, and indulging in
all those little diplomatic flirtations, coquetries, and fondlings, that
do so marvellously tickle the good-humor of the respective nations. Thus
it may paradoxically be said, that there is never so good an
understanding between two nations as when there is a little
misunderstanding,—and that so long as they are on no terms at all, they
are on the best terms in the world!
[Illustration:
TWO AMBASSADORS.
]
I do not by any means pretend to claim the merit of having made the
above discovery. It has, in fact, long been secretly acted upon by
certain enlightened cabinets, and is, together with divers other notable
theories, privately copied out of the commonplace book of an illustrious
gentleman, who has been member of congress, and enjoyed the unlimited
confidence of heads of departments. To this principle may be ascribed
the wonderful ingenuity shown of late years in protracting and
interrupting negotiations. Hence the cunning measure of appointing as
ambassador some political pettifogger skilled in delays, sophisms, and
misapprehensions, and dexterous in the art of baffling argument,—or some
blundering statesman, whose errors and misconstructions may be a plea
for refusing to ratify his engagements. And hence, too, that most
notable expedient, so popular with our government, of sending out a
brace of ambassadors,—between whom, having each an individual will to
consult, character to establish, and interest to promote, you may as
well look for unanimity and concord as between two lovers with one
mistress, two dogs with one bone, or two naked rogues with one pair of
breeches. This disagreement, therefore, is continually breeding delays
and impediments, in consequence of which the negotiation goes on
swimmingly—inasmuch as there is no prospect of its ever coming to a
close. Nothing is lost by these delays and obstacles but time; and in a
negotiation, according to the theory I have exposed, all time lost is in
reality so much time gained:—with what delightful paradoxes does modern
political economy abound!
Now all that I have here advanced is so notoriously true, that I almost
blush to take up the time of my readers with treating of matters which
must many a time have stared them in the face. But the proposition to
which I would most earnestly call their attention is this, that, though
a negotiation be the most harmonizing of all national transactions, yet
a treaty of peace is a great political evil, and one of the most
fruitful sources of war.
I have rarely seen an instance of any special contract between
individuals that did not produce jealousies, bickerings, and often
downright ruptures between them; nor did I ever know of a treaty between
two nations that did not occasion continual misunderstandings. How many
worthy country neighbors have I known, who, after living in peace and
good-fellowship for years, have been thrown into a state of distrust,
cavilling, and animosity, by some ill-starred agreement about fences,
runs of water, and stray cattle! And how many well-meaning nations, who
would otherwise have remained in the most amicable disposition towards
each other, have been brought to swords’ points about the infringement
or misconstruction of some treaty, which in an evil hour they had
concluded, by way of making their amity more sure!
Treaties at best are but complied with so long as interest requires
their fulfilment; consequently, they are virtually binding on the weaker
party only, or, in plain truth, they are not binding at all. No nation
will wantonly go to war with another if it has nothing to gain thereby,
and therefore needs no treaty to restrain it from violence; and if it
have anything to gain, I much question, from what I have witnessed of
the righteous conduct of nations, whether any treaty could be made so
strong that it could not thrust the sword through—nay, I would hold ten
to one, the treaty itself would be the very source to which resort would
be had to find a pretext for hostilities.
Thus, therefore, I conclude,—that, though it is the best of all policies
for a nation to keep up a constant negotiation with its neighbors, yet
it is the summit of folly for it ever to be beguiled into a treaty; for
then comes on nonfulfilment and infraction, then remonstrance, then
altercation, then retaliation, then recrimination, and finally open war.
In a word, negotiation is like courtship, a time of sweet words, gallant
speeches, soft looks, and endearing caresses,—but the marriage ceremony
is the signal for hostilities.
[Illustration:
“SNIVELLING SCOURINGS, BROILS, AND MARAUDINGS, KEPT UP ON THE EASTERN
FRONTIERS.”
]
If my painstaking reader be not somewhat perplexed by the ratiocination
of the foregoing passage, he will perceive, at a glance, that the Great
Peter, in concluding a treaty with his eastern neighbors, was guilty of
lamentable error in policy. In fact, to this unlucky agreement may be
traced a world of bickerings and heart-burnings, between the parties,
about fancied or pretended infringements of treaty-stipulations; in all
which the Yankees were prone to indemnify themselves by a “dig into the
sides” of the New Netherlands. But, in sooth, these border feuds, albeit
they gave great annoyance to the good burghers of Manna-hata, were so
pitiful in their nature, that a grave historian like myself, who grudges
the time spent in anything less than the revolutions of states and fall
of empires, would deem them unworthy of being inscribed on his page. The
reader is, therefore, to take it for granted, though I scorn to waste,
in the detail, that time which my furrowed brow and trembling hand
inform me is invaluable, that all the while the Great Peter was occupied
in those tremendous and bloody contests which I shall shortly rehearse;
there was a continued series of little, dirty, snivelling scourings,
broils, and maraudings kept up on the eastern frontiers by the
moss-troopers of Connecticut. But, like that mirror of chivalry, the
sage and valorous Don Quixote, I leave these petty contests for some
future Sancho Panza of an historian, while I reserve my prowess and my
pen for achievements of higher dignity; for at this moment I hear a
direful and portentous note issuing from the bosom of the great council
of the league, and resounding throughout the regions of the east,
menacing the fame and fortunes of Peter Stuyvesant. I call, therefore,
upon the reader to leave behind him all the paltry brawls of the
Connecticut borders, and to press forward with me to the relief of our
favorite hero, who, I foresee, will be woefully beset by the implacable
Yankees in the next chapter.
=Chapter V.=
HOW PETER STUYVESANT WAS GRIEVOUSLY BELIED BY THE GREAT COUNCIL OF THE
LEAGUE; AND HOW HE SENT ANTONY THE TRUMPETER TO TAKE TO THE COUNCIL A
PIECE OF HIS MIND.
That the reader may be aware of the peril at this moment menacing Peter
Stuyvesant and his capital, I must remind him of the old charge advanced
in the council of the league in the time of William the Testy, that the
Nederlanders were carrying on a trade “damnable and injurious to the
colonists,” in furnishing the savages with “guns, powther, and shott.”
This, as I then suggested, was a crafty device of the Yankee confederacy
to have a snug cause of war _in petto_, in case any favorable
opportunity should present of attempting the conquest of the New
Nederlands: the great object of Yankee ambition.
Accordingly we now find, when every other ground of complaint had
apparently been removed by treaty, this nefarious charge revived with
tenfold virulence, and hurled like a thunderbolt at the very head of
Peter Stuyvesant; happily his head, like that of the great bull of the
Wabash, was proof against such missiles.
To be explicit, we are told that, in the year 1651, the great
confederacy of the east accused the immaculate Peter, the soul of honor
and heart of steel, of secretly endeavoring, by gifts and promises, to
instigate the Narroheganset, Mohaque, and Pequot Indians, to surprise
and massacre the Yankee settlements. “For,” as the grand council
observed, “the Indians round about for divers hundred miles cercute
seeme to have drunk deepe of an intoxicating cupp, att or from the
Manhattoes against the English, whoe have sought their good, both in
bodily and spirituall respects.”
This charge they pretended to support by the evidence of divers Indians,
who were probably moved by that spirit of truth which is said to reside
in the bottle, and who swore to the fact as sturdily as though they had
been so many Christian troopers.
[Illustration:
MY GREAT-GRANDFATHER WAS INJURED.
]
Though descended from a family which suffered much injury from the losel
Yankees of those times, my great-grandfather having had a yoke of oxen
and his best pacer stolen, and having received a pair of black eyes and
a bloody nose in one of these border wars, and my grandfather, when a
very little boy tending pigs, having been kidnapped and severely flogged
by a long-sided Connecticut schoolmaster,—yet I should have passed over
all these wrongs with forgiveness and oblivion,—I could even have
suffered them to have broken Everet Ducking’s head,—to have kicked the
doughty Jacobus Van Curlet and his ragged regiment out of doors,—to have
carried every hog into captivity, and depopulated every hen-roost on the
face of the earth with perfect impunity,—but this wanton attack upon one
of the most gallant and irreproachable heroes of modern times is too
much even for me to digest, and has overset, with a single puff, the
patience of the historian, and the forbearance of the Dutchman.
Oh, reader, it was false! I swear to thee, it was false!—if thou hast
any respect to my word,—if the undeviating character for veracity, which
I have endeavored to maintain throughout this work, has its due weight
upon thee, thou wilt not give thy faith to this tale of slander; for I
pledge my honor and my immortal fame to thee, that the gallant Peter
Stuyvesant was not only innocent of this foul conspiracy, but would have
suffered his right arm or even his wooden leg to consume with slow and
everlasting flames, rather than attempt to destroy his enemies in any
other way than open, generous warfare;—beshrew those caitiff scouts,
that conspired to sully his honest name by such an imputation!
Peter Stuyvesant, though haply he may never have heard of a
knight-errant, had as true a heart of chivalry as ever beat at the round
table of King Arthur. In the honest bosom of this heroic Dutchman dwelt
the seven noble virtues of knighthood, flourishing among his hardy
qualities like wild flowers among rocks. He was, in truth, a hero of
chivalry struck off by nature at a single heat, and though little care
may have been taken to refine her workmanship, he stood forth a miracle
of her skill. In all his dealings he was headstrong perhaps, but open
and aboveboard; if there was anything in the whole world he most loathed
and despised, it was cunning and secret wile; “straight forward” was his
motto, and he would at any time rather run his hard head against a stone
wall than attempt to get round it.
Such was Peter Stuyvesant; and if my admiration of him has on this
occasion transported my style beyond the sober gravity which becomes the
philosophic recorder of historic events, I must plead as an apology,
that, though a little gray-headed Dutchman, arrived almost at the
down-hill of life, I still retain a lingering spark of that fire which
kindles in the eye of youth when contemplating the virtues of ancient
worthies. Blessed, thrice and nine times blessed be the good St.
Nicholas, if I have indeed escaped that apathy which chills the
sympathies of age and paralyzes every glow of enthusiasm.
The first measure of Peter Stuyvesant, on hearing of this slanderous
charge, would have been worthy of a man who had studied for years in the
chivalrous library of Don Quixote. Drawing his sword and laying it
across the table, to put him in proper tune, he took pen in hand and
indited a proud and lofty letter to the council of the league,
reproaching them with giving ear to the slanders of heathen savages
against a Christian, a soldier, and a cavalier; declaring, that, whoever
charged him with the plot in question, lied in his throat; to prove
which he offered to meet the president of the council or any of his
compeers, or their champion, Captain Alicxsander Partridg, that mighty
man of Rhodes, in single combat,—wherein he trusted to vindicate his
honor by the prowess of his arm.
This missive was intrusted to his trumpeter and squire, Antony Van
Corlear, that man of emergencies, with orders to travel night and day,
sparing neither whip nor spur, seeing that he carried the vindication of
his patron’s fame in his saddle-bags.
The loyal Antony accomplished his mission with great speed and
considerable loss of leather. He delivered his missive with becoming
ceremony, accompanying it with a flourish of defiance on his trumpet to
the whole council, ending with a significant and nasal twang full in the
face of Captain Partridg, who nearly jumped out of his skin in an
ecstasy of astonishment.
[Illustration:
“TWANGING HIS TRUMPET LIKE A VERY DEVIL.”
]
The grand council was composed of men too cool and practical to be put
readily into a heat, or to indulge in knight-errantry; and above all to
run a tilt with such a fiery hero as Peter the Headstrong. They knew the
advantage, however, to have always a snug, justifiable cause of war in
reserve with a neighbor, who had territories worth invading; so they
devised a reply to Peter Stuyvesant, calculated to keep up the “raw”
which they had established.
On receiving this answer, Antony Van Corlear remounted the Flanders mare
which he always rode, and trotted merrily back to the Manhattoes,
solacing himself by the way according to his wont; twanging his trumpet
like a very devil, so that the sweet valleys and banks of the
Connecticut resounded with the warlike melody; bringing all the folks to
the windows as he passed through Hartford and Pyquag, and Middletown,
and all the other border towns, ogling and winking at the women, and
making aërial wind-mills from the end of his nose at their husbands, and
stopping occasionally in the villages to eat pumpkin-pies, dance at
country frolics, and bundle with the Yankee lasses—whom he rejoiced
exceedingly with his soul-stirring instrument.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of an eccentric-looking
person with round glasses and a very tall, pointed hat, peeking over the
top of an open book.]
=Chapter VI.=
HOW PETER STUYVESANT DEMANDED A COURT OF HONOR—AND WHAT THE COURT OF
HONOR AWARDED TO HIM.
The reply of the grand council to Peter Stuyvesant was couched in the
coolest and most diplomatic language. They assured him that “his
confident denials of the barbarous plot alleged against him would weigh
little against the testimony of divers sober and respectable Indians”;
that “his guilt was proved to their perfect satisfaction,” so that they
must still require and seek due _satisfaction and security_; ending
with—“so we rest, sir—Yours in ways of righteousness.”
I forbear to say how the lion-hearted Peter roared and ramped at finding
himself more and more entangled in the meshes thus artfully drawn around
him by the knowing Yankees. Impatient, however, of suffering so gross an
aspersion to rest upon his honest name, he sent a second messenger to
the council, reiterating his denial of the treachery imputed to him, and
offering to submit his conduct to the scrutiny of a court of honor. His
offer was readily accepted; and now he looked forward with confidence to
an august tribunal to be assembled at the Manhattoes, formed of
high-minded cavaliers, peradventure governors and commanders of the
confederate plantations, when the matter might be investigated by his
peers, in a manner befitting his rank and dignity.
While he was awaiting the arrival of such high functionaries, behold,
one sunshiny afternoon there rode into the great gate of the Manhattoes
two lean, hungry-looking Yankees, mounted on Narragansett pacers, with
saddle-bags under their bottoms, and green satchels under their arms,
who looked marvellously like two pettifogging attorneys beating the hoof
from one county court to another in quest of lawsuits; and, in sooth,
though they may have passed under different names at the time, I have
reason to suspect they were the identical varlets who had negotiated the
worthy Dutch commissioners out of the Connecticut River.
[Illustration:
“THE KNOWING COMMISSIONERS WINKED TO EACH OTHER.”
]
It was a rule with these indefatigable missionaries never to let the
grass grow under their feet. Scarce had they, therefore, alighted at the
inn and deposited their saddle-bags, than they made their way to the
residence of the governor. They found him, according to custom, smoking
his afternoon pipe on the “stoop,” or bench at the porch of his house,
and announced themselves, at once, as commissioners sent by the grand
council of the east to investigate the truth of certain charges advanced
against him.
The good Peter took his pipe from his mouth, and gazed at them for a
moment in mute astonishment. By way of expediting business, they were
proceeding on the spot to put some preliminary questions,—asking him,
peradventure, whether he pleaded guilty or not guilty, considering him
something in the light of a culprit at the bar,—when they were brought
to a pause by seeing him lay down his pipe and begin to fumble with his
walking-staff. For a moment those present would not have given half a
crown for both the crowns of the commissioners; but Peter Stuyvesant
repressed his mighty wrath and stayed his hand; he scanned the varlets
from head to foot, satchels and all, with a look of ineffable scorn;
then strode into the house, slammed the door after him, and commanded
that they should never again be admitted to his presence.
The knowing commissioners winked to each other, and made a certificate
on the spot that the governor had refused to answer their
interrogatories or to submit to their examination. They then proceeded
to rummage about the city for two or three days, in quest of what they
called evidence, perplexing Indians and old women with their
cross-questioning until they had stuffed their satchels and saddle-bags
with all kinds of apocryphal tales, rumors, and calumnies; with these
they mounted their Narragansett pacers and travelled back to the grand
council; neither did the proud-hearted Peter trouble himself to hinder
their researches nor impede their departure; he was too mindful of their
sacred character as envoys; but I warrant me, had they played the same
tricks with William the Testy, he would have had them tucked up by the
waistband and treated to an aërial gambol on his patent gallows.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a grumpy-looking man
with a goatee, wearing a tattered coat and a wide-brimmed hat with a
feather, holding a large wooden club with both hands.]
=Chapter VII.=
HOW “DRUM ECCLESIASTIC” WAS BEATEN THROUGHOUT CONNECTICUT FOR A CRUSADE
AGAINST THE NEW NETHERLANDS, AND HOW PETER STUYVESANT TOOK MEASURES TO
FORTIFY HIS CAPITAL.
The grand council of the east held a solemn meeting on the return of
their envoys. As no advocate appeared in behalf of Peter Stuyvesant,
everything went against him. His haughty refusal to submit to the
questioning of the commissioners was construed into a consciousness of
guilt. The contents of the satchels and saddle-bags were poured forth
before the council and appeared a mountain of evidence. A pale, bilious
orator took the floor, and declaimed for hours and in belligerent terms.
He was one of those furious zealots who blow the bellows of faction
until the whole furnace of politics is red-hot with sparks and cinders.
What was it to him if he should set the house on fire, so that he might
boil his pot by the blaze. He was from the borders of Connecticut; his
constituents lived by marauding their Dutch neighbors, and were the
greatest poachers in Christendom, excepting the Scotch border nobles.
His eloquence had its effect, and it was determined to set on foot an
expedition against the Nieuw Nederlandts.
It was necessary, however, to prepare the public mind for this measure.
Accordingly the arguments of the orator were echoed from the pulpit for
several succeeding Sundays, and a crusade was preached up against Peter
Stuyvesant and his devoted city.
This is the first we hear of the “drum ecclesiastic” beating up for
recruits in worldly warfare in our country. It has since been called
into frequent use. A cunning politician often lurks under the clerical
robe; things spiritual and things temporal are strangely jumbled
together, like drugs on an apothecary’s shelf; and instead of a peaceful
sermon, the simple seeker after righteousness has often a political
pamphlet thrust down his throat, labelled with a pious text from
Scripture.
And now nothing was talked of but an expedition against the Manhattoes.
It pleased the populace, who had a vehement prejudice against the Dutch,
considering them a vastly inferior race, who had sought the new world
for the lucre of gain, not the liberty of conscience; who were mere
heretics and infidels, inasmuch as they refused to believe in witches
and sea-serpents, and had faith in the virtues of horse-shoes nailed to
the door; ate pork without molasses; held pumpkins in contempt, and were
in perpetual breach of the eleventh commandment of all true Yankees,
“Thou shalt have codfish dinners on Saturdays.”
No sooner did Peter Stuyvesant get wind of the storm that was brewing in
the east than he set to work to prepare for it. He was not one of those
economical rulers, who postpone the expense of fortifying until the
enemy is at the door. There is nothing, he would say, that keeps off
enemies and crows more than the smell of gun-powder. He proceeded,
therefore, with all diligence, to put the province and its metropolis in
a posture of defence.
Among the remnants which remained from the days of William the Testy
were the militia laws,—by which the inhabitants were obliged to turn out
twice a year, with such military equipments as it pleased God,—and were
put under the command of tailors and man-milliners, who, though on
ordinary occasions they might have been the meekest, most pippinhearted
little men in the world, were very devils at parade, when they had
cocked hats on their heads and swords by their sides. Under the
instructions of these periodical warriors, the peaceful burghers of the
Manhattoes were schooled in iron war, and became so hardy in the process
of time, that they could march through sun and rain, from one end of the
town to the other, without flinching,—and so intrepid and adroit, that
they could face to the right, wheel to the left, and fire without
winking or blinking.
Peter Stuyvesant, like all old soldiers who have seen service and smelt
gun-powder, had no great respect for militia troops; however, he
determined to give them a trial, and accordingly called for a general
muster, inspection, and review. But, oh Mars and Bellona! what a
turning-out was here! Here came old Roelant Cuckaburt, with a short
blunderbuss on his shoulder, and a long horseman’s sword trailing by his
side; and Barent Dirkson, with something that looked like a copper
kettle turned upside down on his head, and a couple of old horse-pistols
in his belt; and Dirk Volkertson, with a long duck fowling-piece without
any ramrod; and a host more, armed higgledy-piggledy,—with swords,
hatchets, snickersnees, crowbars, broomsticks, and what not; the
officers distinguished from the rest by having their slouched hats
cocked up with pins, and surmounted with cock-tail feathers.
The sturdy Peter eyed this nondescript host with some such rueful aspect
as a man would eye the devil, and determined to give his feather-bed
soldiers a seasoning. He accordingly put them through their manual
exercise over and over again; trudged them backwards and forwards about
the streets of New Amsterdam until their short legs ached and their fat
sides sweated again; and finally encamped them in the evening on the
summit of a hill without the city, to give them a taste of camp-life,
intending the next day to renew the toils and perils of the field. But
so it came to pass that in the night there fell a great and heavy rain,
and melted away the army, so that in the morning, when Gaffer Phœbus
shed his first beams upon the camp, scarce a warrior remained except
Peter Stuyvesant and his trumpeter Van Corlear.
[Illustration:
THE MILITIA.
]
This awful desolation of a whole army would have appalled a commander of
less nerve; but it served to confirm Peter’s want of confidence in the
militia system, which he thenceforward used to call, in joke,—for he
sometimes indulged in a joke,—William the Testy’s broken reed. He now
took into his service a goodly number of burly, broad-shouldered,
broad-bottomed Dutchmen; whom he paid in good silver and gold, and of
whom he boasted, that, whether they could stand fire or not, they were
at least water-proof. He fortified the city, too, with pickets and
palisadoes, extending across the island from river to river, and, above
all, cast up mud batteries, or redoubts, on the point of the island
where it divided the beautiful bosom of the bay.
These latter redoubts, in process of time, came to be pleasantly overrun
by a carpet of grass and clover, and overshadowed by wide-spreading elms
and sycamores, among the branches of which the birds would build their
nests and rejoice the ear with their melodious notes. Under these trees,
too, the old burghers would smoke their afternoon pipe, contemplating
the golden sun as he sank in the west, an emblem of the tranquil end
toward which they were declining. Here, too, would the young men and
maidens of the town take their evening stroll, watching the silver
moonbeams as they trembled along the calm bosom of the bay, or lit up
the sail of some gliding bark, and peradventure interchanging the soft
vows of honest affection,—for to evening strolls in this favored spot
were traced most of the marriages in New Amsterdam.
[Illustration:
THE FORTIFICATIONS.
]
Such was the origin of that renowned promenade, THE BATTERY, which,
though ostensibly devoted to the stern purposes of war, has ever been
consecrated to the sweet delights of peace. The scene of many a gambol
in happy childhood,—of many a tender assignation in riper years, of many
a soothing walk in declining age,—the healthful resort of the feeble
invalid,—the Sunday refreshment of the dusty tradesman,—in fine, the
ornament and delight of New York, and the pride of the lovely island of
Manna-hata.
=Chapter VIII.=
HOW THE YANKEE CRUSADE AGAINST THE NEW NETHERLANDS WAS BAFFLED BY THE
SUDDEN OUTBREAK OF WITCHCRAFT AMONG THE PEOPLE OF THE EAST.
Having thus provided for the temporary security of New Amsterdam, and
guarded it against any sudden surprise, the gallant Peter took a hearty
pinch of snuff, and snapping his fingers, set the great council of
Amphictyons and their champion, the redoubtable Alicxsander Partridg, at
defiance. In the meantime the moss-troopers of Connecticut, the warriors
of New Haven and Hartford, and Pyquag, otherwise called Weathersfield,
famous for its onions and its witches, and of all the other
border-towns, were in a prodigious turmoil, furbishing up their rusty
weapons, shouting aloud for war, and anticipating easy conquests, and
glorious rummaging of the fat little Dutch villages.
In the midst of these warlike preparations, however, they received the
chilling news that the colony of Massachusetts refused to back them in
this righteous war. It seems that the gallant conduct of Peter
Stuyvesant, the generous warmth of his vindication, and the chivalrous
spirit of his defiance, though lost upon the grand council of the
league, had carried conviction to the general court of Massachusetts,
which nobly refused to believe him guilty of the villanous plot laid at
his door.[8]
The defection of so important a colony paralyzed the councils of the
league, some such dissension arose among its members as prevailed of
yore in the camp of the brawling warriors of Greece, and in the end the
crusade against the Manhattoes was abandoned.
It is said that the moss-troopers of Connecticut were sorely
disappointed; but well for them that their belligerent cravings were not
gratified: for by my faith, whatever might have been the ultimate result
of a conflict with all the powers of the east, in the interim the
stomachful heroes of Pyquag would have been choked with their own
onions, and all the border-towns of Connecticut would have had such a
scouring from the lion-hearted Peter and his robustious myrmidons, that
I warrant me they would not have had the stomach to squat on the land or
invade the hen-roost of a Nederlander for a century to come.
But it was not merely the refusal of Massachusetts to join in their
unholy crusade that confounded the councils of the league; for about
this time broke out in the New England provinces the awful plague of
witchcraft, which spread like pestilence through the land. Such a
howling abomination could not be suffered to remain long unnoticed; it
soon excited the fiery indignation of those guardians of the
commonwealth who whilom had evinced such active benevolence in the
conversion of Quakers and Anabaptists. The grand council of the league
publicly set their faces against the crime, and bloody laws were enacted
against all “solem conversing or compacting with the divil by way of
conjuracion or the like.”[9] Strict search, too, was made after witches,
who were easily detected by devil’s pinches,—by being able to weep but
three tears, and those out of the left eye,—and by having a most
suspicious predilection for black cats and broomsticks! What is
particularly worthy of admiration is, that this terrible art, which has
baffled the studies and researches of philosophers, astrologers,
theurgists, and other sages, was chiefly confined to the most ignorant,
decrepit, and ugly old women in the community, with scarce more brains
than the broomsticks they rode upon.
[Illustration:
“HAVING A MOST SUSPICIOUS PREDILECTION FOR BLACK CATS AND
BROOMSTICKS!”
]
When once an alarm is sounded, the public, who dearly love to be in a
panic, are always ready to keep it up. Raise but the cry of yellow
fever, and immediately every headache, indigestion, and overflowing of
the bile is pronounced the terrible epidemic; cry out mad dog, and every
unlucky cur in the street is in jeopardy: so in the present instance,
whoever was troubled with colic or lumbago was sure to be bewitched,—and
woe to any unlucky old woman living in the neighborhood!
It is incredible the number of offences that were detected, “for every
one of which,” says the reverend Cotton Mather, in that excellent work,
the _History of New England_, “we have such a sufficient evidence, that
no reasonable man in this whole country ever did question them; _and it
will be unreasonable to do it in any other_.”[10]
Indeed, that authentic and judicious historian John Josselyn, Gent.,
furnishes us with unquestionable facts on this subject. “There are
none,” observes he, “that beg in this country, but there be witches too
many,—bottle-bellied witches, and others, that produce many strange
apparitions, if you will believe report, of a shallop at sea manned with
women,—and of a ship and great red horse standing by the mainmast; the
ship being in a small cove to the eastward, vanished of a sudden,” etc.
The number of delinquents, however, and their magical devices, were not
more remarkable than their diabolical obstinacy. Though exhorted in the
most solemn, persuasive, and affectionate manner to confess themselves
guilty, and be burnt for the good of religion and the entertainment of
the public, yet did they most pertinaciously persist in asserting their
innocence. Such incredible obstinacy was in itself deserving of
immediate punishment, and was sufficient proof, if proof were necessary,
that they were in league with the devil, who is perverseness itself. But
their judges were just and merciful, and were determined to punish none
that were not convicted on the best of testimony; not that they needed
any evidence to satisfy their own minds,—for, like true and experienced
judges, their minds were perfectly made up, and they were thoroughly
satisfied of the guilt of the prisoners before they proceeded to try
them,—but still something was necessary to convince the community at
large,—to quiet those prying quidnuncs who should come after them,—in
short, the world must be satisfied. Oh, the world—the world!—all the
world knows the world of trouble the world is eternally occasioning! The
worthy judges therefore, were driven to the necessity of sifting,
detecting, and making evident as noonday, matters which were at the
commencement all clearly understood and firmly decided upon in their own
pericraniums,—so that it may truly be said, that the witches were burnt
to gratify the populace of the day, but were tried for the satisfaction
of the whole world that should come after them!
[Illustration:
“THE WORTHY JUDGES.”
]
Finding, therefore, that neither exhortation, sound reason, nor friendly
entreaty had any avail on these hardened offenders, they resorted to the
more urgent arguments of torture; and having thus absolutely wrung the
truth from their stubborn lips, they condemned them to undergo the
roasting due unto the heinous crimes they had confessed. Some even
carried their perverseness so far as to expire under the torture,
protesting their innocence to the last; but these were looked upon as
thoroughly and absolutely possessed by the devil; and the pious
by-standers only lamented that they had not lived a little longer, to
have perished in the flames.
In the city of Ephesus, we are told that the plague was expelled by
stoning a ragged old beggar to death, whom Apollonius pointed out as
being the evil spirit that caused it, and who actually showed himself to
be a demon, by changing into a shagged dog. In like manner, and by
measures equally sagacious, a salutary check was given to this growing
evil. The witches were all burnt, banished, or panic-struck, and in a
little while there was not an ugly old woman to be found throughout New
England,—which is doubtless one reason why all the young women there are
so handsome. Those honest folk who had suffered from their incantations
gradually recovered, excepting such as had been afflicted with twitches
and aches, which, however, assumed the less alarming aspects of
rheumatisms, sciatics, and lumbagos; and the good people of New England,
abandoning the study of the occult sciences, turned their attention to
the more profitable hocus-pocus of trade, and soon became expert in the
legerdemain art of turning a penny. Still, however, a tinge of the old
leaven is discernible, even unto this day, in their characters: witches
occasionally start up among them in different disguises, as physicians,
civilians, and divines. The people at large show a keenness, a
cleverness, and a profundity of wisdom, that savors strongly of
witchcraft; and it has been remarked, that, whenever any stones fall
from the moon, the greater part of them is sure to tumble into New
England!
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a woman kneeling on the
ground holding a small bowl, with a young child standing close beside
her.]
=Chapter IX.=
WHICH RECORDS THE RISE AND RENOWN OF A MILITARY COMMANDER, SHOWING THAT
A MAN, LIKE A BLADDER, MAY BE PUFFED UP TO GREATNESS BY MERE WIND;
TOGETHER WITH THE CATASTROPHE OF A VETERAN AND HIS QUEUE.
When treating of these tempestuous times, the unknown writer of the
Stuyvesant manuscript breaks out into an apostrophe in praise of the
good St. Nicholas, to whose protecting care he ascribes the dissensions
which broke out in the council of the league, and the direful witchcraft
which filled all Yankee-land as with Egyptian darkness.
A portentous gloom, says he, hung lowering over the fair valleys of the
east: the pleasant banks of the Connecticut no longer echoed to the
sounds of the rustic gayety; grisly phantoms glided about each wild
brook and silent glen; fearful apparitions were seen in the air; strange
voices were heard in solitary places; and the border-towns were so
occupied in detecting and punishing losel witches, that, for a time, all
talk of war was suspended, and New Amsterdam and its inhabitants seemed
to be totally forgotten.
I must not conceal the fact that at one time there was some danger of
this plague of witchcraft extending into the New Netherlands; and
certain witches, mounted on broomsticks, are said to have been seen
whisking in the air over some of the Dutch villages near the borders;
but the worthy Nederlanders took the precaution to nail horse-shoes to
their doors, which it is well known are effectual barriers against all
diabolical vermin of the kind. Many of those horse-shoes may be seen at
this very day on ancient mansions and barns, remaining from the days of
the patriarchs: nay, the custom is still kept up among some of our
legitimate Dutch yeomanry, who inherit from their forefathers a desire
to keep witches and Yankees out of the country.
[Illustration:
JAN JANSEN ALPENDAM.
]
And now the great Peter, having no immediate hostility to apprehend from
the east, turned his face, with characteristic vigilance, to his
southern frontiers. The attentive reader will recollect that certain
freebooting Swedes had become very troublesome in this quarter in the
latter part of the reign of William the Testy, setting at naught the
proclamations of that veritable potentate, and putting his admiral, the
intrepid Jan Jansen Alpendam, to a perfect nonplus. To check the
incursions of these Swedes, Peter Stuyvesant now ordered a force to that
frontier, giving the command of it to General Jacobus Van Poffenburgh,
an officer who had risen to great importance during the reign of
Wilhelmus Kieft. He had, if histories speak true, been second in command
to the doughty Van Curlet, when he and his warriors were inhumanly
kicked out of Fort Goed Hoop by the Yankees. In that memorable affair
Van Poffenburgh is said to have received more kicks in a certain
honorable part than any of his comrades, in consequence of which, on the
resignation of Van Curlet, he had been promoted to his place, being
considered a hero who had seen service, and suffered in his country’s
cause.
It is tropically observed by honest old Socrates, that heaven infuses
into some men at their birth a portion of intellectual gold, into others
of intellectual silver, while others are intellectually furnished with
iron and brass. Of the last class was General Van Poffenburgh; and it
would seem as if dame Nature, who will sometimes be partial, had given
him brass enough for a dozen ordinary braziers. All this he had
contrived to pass off upon William the Testy for genuine gold; and the
little governor would sit for hours and listen to his gun-powder stories
of exploits, which left those of Tirante the White, Don Belianis of
Greece, or St. George and the Dragon quite in the background. Having
been promoted by William Kieft to the command of his whole disposable
forces, he gave importance to his station by the grandiloquence of his
bulletins, always styling himself Commander-in-chief of the Armies of
the New Netherlands, though in sober truth, these armies were nothing
more than a handful of hen-stealing, bottle-bruising ragamuffins.
In person he was not very tall, but exceedingly round; neither did his
bulk proceed from his being fat, but windy, being blown up by a
prodigious conviction of his own importance, until he resembled one of
those bags of wind given by Æolus, in an incredible fit of generosity,
to that vagabond warrior Ulysses. His windy endowments had long excited
the admiration of Antony Van Corlear, who is said to have hinted more
than once to William the Testy, that in making Van Poffenburgh a general
he had spoiled an admirable trumpeter.
As it is the practice in ancient story to give the reader a description
of the arms and equipments of every noted warrior, I will bestow a word
upon the dress of this redoubtable commander. It comported with his
character, being so crossed and slashed, and embroidered with lace and
tinsel, that he seemed to have as much brass without as nature had
stored away within. He was swathed, too, in a crimson sash, of the size
and texture of a fishing-net,—doubtless to keep his swelling heart from
bursting through his ribs. His face glowed with furnace-heat from
between a huge pair of well-powdered whiskers; and his valorous soul
seemed ready to bounce out of a pair of large, glassy, blinking eyes,
projecting like those of a lobster.
I swear to thee, worthy reader, if history and tradition belie not this
warrior, I would give all the money in my pocket to have seen him
accoutred _cap-à-pie_,—booted to the middle, sashed to the chin, crowned
with an overshadowing cocked hat, and girded with a leathern belt ten
inches broad, from which trailed a falchion, of a length that I dare not
mention. Thus equipped, he strutted about, as bitter-looking a man of
war as the far-famed More, of More-hall, when he sallied forth to slay
the dragon of Wantley. For what says the ballad?
“Had you but seen him in this dress,
How fierce he looked and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig.
“He frighted all—cats, dogs, and all,
Each cow, each horse, and each hog;
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.”[11]
[Illustration:
“HE FRIGHTED ALL—CATS, DOGS, AND ALL.”
]
I must confess this general, with all his outward valor and ventosity,
was not exactly an officer to Peter Stuyvesant’s taste, but he stood
foremost in the army list of William the Testy: and it is probable the
good Peter, who was conscientious in his dealings with all men, and had
his military notions of precedence, thought it but fair to give a chance
of proving his right to his dignities.
To this copper captain, therefore, was confided the command of the
troops destined to protect the southern frontier; and scarce had he
departed for his station than bulletins began to arrive from him,
describing his undaunted march through savage deserts, over
insurmountable mountains, across impassable rivers, and through
impenetrable forests, conquering vast tracts of uninhabited country, and
encountering more perils than did Xenophon in his far-famed retreat with
his ten thousand Grecians.
Peter Stuyvesant read all these grandiloquent despatches with a dubious
screwing of the mouth and shaking of the head; but Antony Van Corlear
repeated these contents in the streets and market-places with an
appropriate flourish upon his trumpet, and the windy victories of the
general resounded through the streets of New Amsterdam.
On arriving at the southern frontier, Van Poffenburgh proceeded to erect
a fortress, or stronghold, on the South or Delaware River. At first he
bethought him to call it Fort Stuyvesant, in honor of the governor,—a
lowly kind of homage prevalent in our country among speculators,
military commanders, and office-seekers of all kinds, by which our maps
come to be studded with the names of political patrons and temporary
great men; in the present instance, Van Poffenburgh carried his homage
to the most lowly degree, giving his fortress the name of Fort Casimir,
in honor, it is said, of a favorite pair of brimstone trunk-breeches of
his Excellency.
As this fort will be found to give rise to important events, it may be
worth while to notice that it was afterwards called Nieuw Amstel, and
was the germ of the present flourishing town of New Castle, or, more
properly speaking, No Castle, there being nothing of the kind on the
premises.
His fortress being finished, it would have done any man’s heart good to
behold the swelling dignity with which the general would stride in and
out a dozen times a day, surveying it in front and in rear, on this side
and on that; how he would strut backwards and forwards, in full
regimentals, on the top of the ramparts,—like a vainglorious
cock-pigeon, swelling and vaporing on the top of a dove-cot.
There is a kind of valorous spleen which, like wind, is apt to grow
unruly in the stomachs of newly made soldiers, compelling them to
box-lobby brawls and broken-headed quarrels, unless there can be found
some more harmless way to give it vent. It is recorded in the delectable
romance of Pierce Forest, that a young knight, being dubbed by King
Alexander, did incontinently gallop into an adjacent forest and belabor
the trees with such might and main, that he not merely eased off the
sudden effervescence of his valor, but convinced the whole court that he
was the most potent and courageous cavalier on the face of the earth. In
like manner the commander of Fort Casimir, when he found his martial
spirit waxing too hot within him, would sally forth into the fields and
lay about him most lustily with his sabre,—decapitating cabbages by
platoons, hewing down lofty sunflowers, which he termed gigantic Swedes,
and if, perchance, he espied a colony of big-bellied pumpkins quietly
basking in the sun,—“Ah! caitiff Yankees,” would he roar, “have I caught
ye at last?”—So saying, with one sweep of his sword he would cleave the
unhappy vegetables from their chins to their waistbands; by which
warlike havoc his choler being in some sort allayed, he would return
into the fortress with the full conviction that he was a very miracle of
military prowess.
[Illustration:
VAN POFFENBURGH’S VALOR.
]
He was a disciplinarian, too, of the first order. Woe to any unlucky
soldier who did not hold up his head and turn out his toes when on
parade, or who did not salute the general in proper style as he passed.
Having one day, in his Bible researches, encountered the history of
Absalom and his melancholy end, the general bethought him, that, in a
country abounding with forests, his soldiers were in constant risk of a
like catastrophe; he therefore, in an evil hour, issued orders for
cropping the hair of both officers and men throughout the garrison.
Now, so it happened, that among his officers was a sturdy veteran named
Keldermeester, who had cherished, through a long life, a mop of hair not
a little resembling the shag of a Newfoundland dog, terminating in a
queue like the handle of a frying-pan, and queued so tightly to his head
that his eyes and mouth generally stood ajar, and his eyebrows were
drawn up to the top of his forehead. It may naturally be supposed that
the possessor of so goodly an appendage would resist with abhorrence an
order condemning it to the shears. On hearing the general orders, he
discharged a tempest of veteran, soldier-like oaths, and dunder and
blixums,—swore he would break any man’s head who attempted to meddle
with his tail,—queued it stiffer than ever, and whisked it about the
garrison as fiercely as the tail of a crocodile.
[Illustration:
KELDERMEESTER.
]
The eel-skin queue of old Keldermeester became instantly an affair of
the utmost importance. The Commander-in-chief was too enlightened an
officer not to perceive that the discipline of the garrison, the
subordination and good order of the armies of the Nieuw Nederlandts, the
consequent safety of the whole province, and ultimately the dignity and
prosperity of their High Mightinesses the Lords States-General,
imperiously demanded the docking of that stubborn queue. He decreed,
therefore, that old Keldermeester should be publicly shorn of his
glories in presence of the whole garrison; the old man as resolutely
stood on the defensive; whereupon he was arrested, and tried by
court-martial for mutiny, desertion, and all the other list of offences
noticed in the articles of war, ending with a “videlicet, in wearing an
eel-skin queue, three feet long, contrary to orders.” Then came on
arraignments, and trials, and pleadings; and the whole garrison was in a
ferment about this unfortunate queue. As it is well known that the
commander of a frontier post has the power of acting pretty much after
his own will, there is little doubt but that the veteran would have been
hanged or shot at least, had he not luckily fallen ill of a fever,
through mere chagrin and mortification,—and deserted from all earthly
command, with his beloved locks unviolated. His obstinacy remained
unshaken to the very last moment, when he directed that he should be
carried to his grave with his eel-skin queue sticking out of a hole in
his coffin.
This magnanimous affair obtained the general great credit as a
disciplinarian; but it is hinted that he was ever afterwards subject to
bad dreams and fearful visitations in the night, when the grizzly
spectrum of old Keldermeester would stand sentinel by his bedside, erect
as a pump, his enormous queue strutting out like the handle.
=Book VI.=
CONTAINING THE SECOND PART OF THE REIGN OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG, AND HIS
GALLANT ACHIEVEMENTS ON THE DELAWARE.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a traditional tower
windmill with four large sails, standing on a small grassy mound.]
=Chapter I.=
IN WHICH IS EXHIBITED A WARLIKE PORTRAIT OF THE GREAT PETER—OF THE WINDY
CONTEST OF GENERAL VAN POFFENBURGH AND GENERAL PRINTZ, AND OF THE
MOSQUITO WAR ON THE DELAWARE.
Hitherto, most venerable and courteous reader, have I shown thee the
administration of the valorous Stuyvesant, under the mild moonshine of
peace, or rather the grim tranquillity of awful expectation; but now the
war-drum rumbles from afar, the brazen trumpet brays its thrilling note,
and the rude crash of hostile arms speaks fearful prophecies of coming
troubles. The gallant warrior starts from soft repose, from golden
visions and voluptuous ease, where in the dulcet, “piping time of peace”
he sought sweet solace after all his toils. No more in beauty’s siren
lap reclined, he weaves fair garlands for his lady’s brows; no more
entwines with flowers his shining sword, nor through the livelong lazy
summer’s day chants forth his love-sick soul in madrigals. To manhood
roused, he spurns the amorous flute; doffs from his brawny back the robe
of peace, and clothes his pampered limbs in panoply of steel. O’er his
dark brow, where late the myrtle waved, where wanton roses breathed
enervate love, he rears the beaming casque and nodding plume; grasps the
bright shield, and shakes the ponderous lance; or mounts with eager
pride his fiery steed, and burns for deeds of glorious chivalry!
But soft, worthy reader! I would not have you imagine that any _preux
chevalier_, thus hideously begirt with iron, existed in the city of New
Amsterdam. This is but a lofty and gigantic mode, in which we heroic
writers always talk of war, thereby to give it a noble and imposing
aspect,—equipping our warriors with bucklers, helms, and lances, and
such like outlandish and obsolete weapons, the like of which perchance
they had never seen or heard of,—in the same manner that a cunning
statuary arrays a modern general or an admiral in the accoutrements of a
Cæsar or an Alexander. The simple truth, then, of all this oratorical
nourish is this, that the valiant Peter Stuyvesant all of a sudden found
it necessary to scour his rusty blade, which too long had rusted in its
scabbard, and prepare himself to undergo those hardy toils of war in
which his mighty soul so much delighted.
[Illustration:
PETRUS STUYVESANT.
]
Methinks I at this moment behold him in my imagination, or rather, I
behold his goodly portrait, which still hangs up in the family mansion
of the Stuyvesants, arrayed in all the terrors of a true Dutch general.
His regimental coat of German blue, gorgeously decorated with a goodly
show of large brass buttons, reaching from his waistband to his chin;
the voluminous skirts turned up at the corners and separating gallantly
behind, so as to display the seat of a sumptuous pair of
brimstone-colored trunk breeches; a graceful style still prevalent among
the warriors of our day, and which is in conformity to the custom of
ancient heroes, who scorned to defend themselves in rear. His face
rendered exceeding terrible and warlike by a pair of black mustachios;
his hair strutting out on each side in stiffly pomatumed ear-locks, and
descending in a rat-tail queue below his waist; a shining stock of black
leather supporting his chin, and a little but fierce cocked hat, stuck
with a gallant and fiery air over his left eye. Such was the chivalric
port of Peter the Headstrong; and when he made a sudden halt, planted
himself firmly on his solid supporter, with his wooden leg, inlaid with
silver, a little in advance, in order to strengthen his position, his
right hand grasping a gold-headed cane, his left resting upon the pommel
of his sword, his head dressing spiritedly to the right, with a most
appalling and hard-favored frown upon his brow,—he presented altogether
one of the most commanding, bitter-looking, and soldier-like figures
that ever strutted upon canvas.—Proceed we now to inquire the cause of
this warlike preparation.
In the preceding chapter we have spoken of the founding of Fort
Casimir, and of the merciless warfare waged by its commander upon
cabbages, sunflowers, and pumpkins, for want of better occasion to
flesh his sword. Now it came to pass, that, higher up the Delaware, at
his stronghold of Tinnekonk, resided one Jan Printz, who styled
himself Governor of New Sweden. If history belie not this redoubtable
Swede, he was a rival worthy of the windy and inflated commander of
Fort Casimir, for master David Pieterzen de Vrie, in his excellent
book of voyages, describes him as “weighing upwards of four hundred
pounds,” a huge feeder and bowser in proportion, taking three
potations pottle-deep at every meal. He had a garrison after his own
heart at Tinnekonk,—guzzling, deep-drinking swashbucklers, who made
the wild woods ring with their carousals.
No sooner did this robustious commander hear of the erection of Fort
Casimir, than he sent a message to Van Poffenburgh, warning him off the
land, as being within the bounds of his jurisdiction.
To this General Van Poffenburgh replied that the land belonged to their
High Mightinesses, having been regularly purchased of the natives, as
discoverers from the Manhattoes, as witness the breeches of their
land-measurer Ten Broeck.
To this the governor rejoined that the land had previously been sold by
the Indians to the Swedes, and consequently was under the petticoat
government of her Swedish majesty, Christina; and woe be to any mortal
that wore breeches who should dare to meddle even with the hem of her
sacred garment.
I forbear to dilate upon the war of words which was kept up for some
time by these windy commanders; Van Poffenburgh, however, had served
under William the Testy, and was a veteran in this kind of warfare.
Governor Printz, finding he was not to be dislodged by these long shots,
now determined upon coming to closer quarters. Accordingly, he descended
the river in great force and fume, and erected a rival fortress just one
Swedish mile below Fort Casimir, to which he gave the name of
Helsenburg.
[Illustration:
JAN PRINTZ.
]
And now commenced a tremendous rivalry between these two doughty
commanders, striving to out-strut and out-swell each other like a couple
of belligerent turkey-cocks. There was a contest who should run up the
tallest flagstaff and display the broadest flag; all day long there was
a furious rolling of drums and twanging of trumpets in either fortress,
and whichever had the wind in its favor would keep up a continual firing
of cannon, to taunt its antagonist with the smell of gun-powder.
On all these points of windy warfare the antagonists were well matched;
but so it happened, that, the Swedish fortress being lower down the
river, all the Dutch vessels bound to Fort Casimir with supplies had to
pass it. Governor Printz at once took advantage of this circumstance,
and compelled them to lower their flags as they passed under the guns of
his battery.
[Illustration:
THE MOSQUITO PLAGUE.
]
This was a deadly wound to the Dutch pride of General Van Poffenburgh,
and sorely would he swell when from the ramparts of Fort Casimir he
beheld the flag of their High Mightinesses struck to the rival fortress.
To heighten his vexation, Governor Printz, who, as has been shown, was a
huge trencherman, took the liberty of having the first rummage of every
Dutch merchant-ship, and securing to himself and his guzzling garrison
all the little round Dutch cheeses, all the Dutch herrings, the
gingerbread, the sweetmeats, the curious stone jugs of gin, and all the
other Dutch luxuries, on their way for the solace of Fort Casimir. It is
possible he may have paid to the Dutch skippers the full value of their
commodities; but what consolation was this to Jacobus Van Poffenburgh
and his garrison, who thus found their favorite supplies cut off, and
diverted into the larders of the hostile camp? For some time this war of
the cupboard was carried on to the great festivity and jollification of
the Swedes, while the warriors of Fort Casimir found their hearts, or
rather their stomachs, daily failing them. At length the summer heats
and summer showers set in, and now, lo and behold, a great miracle was
wrought for the relief of the Nederlandts, not a little resembling one
of the plagues of Egypt; for it came to pass that a great cloud of
mosquitoes arose out of the marshy borders of the river and settled upon
the fortress of Helsenburg, being, doubtless, attracted by the scent of
the fresh blood of these Swedish gormandizers. Nay, it is said that the
body of Jan Printz alone, which was as big and as full of blood as that
of a prize-ox, was sufficient to attract the mosquitoes from every part
of the country. For some time the garrison endeavored to hold out, but
it was all in vain; the mosquitoes penetrated into every chink and
crevice, and gave them no rest day nor night; and as to Governor Jan
Printz, he moved about as in a cloud, with mosquito music in his ears,
and mosquito stings to the very end of his nose. Finally the garrison
was fairly driven out of the fortress, and obliged to retreat to
Tinnekonk; nay, it is said that the mosquitoes followed Jan Printz even
thither, and absolutely drove him out of the country; certain it is, he
embarked for Sweden shortly afterwards, and Jan Claudius Risingh was
sent to govern New Sweden in his stead.
Such was the famous mosquito war on the Delaware, of which General Van
Poffenburgh would fain have been the hero; but the devout people of the
Nieuw Nederlandts always ascribed the discomfiture of the Swedes to the
miraculous intervention of St. Nicholas. As to the fortress of
Helsenburg, it fell to ruin; but the story of its strange destruction
was perpetuated by the Swedish name of Myggenborg, that is to say,
Mosquito Castle.[12]
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a hairy, wild-looking
man with a mohawk sitting on the ground, holding his arms and looking
toward a musket in the grass.]
=Chapter II.=
OF JAN RISINGH, HIS GIANTLY PERSON AND CRAFTY DEEDS; AND OF THE
CATASTROPHE AT FORT CASIMIR.
Jan Claudius Risingh, who succeeded to the command of New Sweden, looms
largely in ancient records as a gigantic Swede, who, had he not been
rather knock-kneed and splay-footed, might have served for the model of
a Samson or a Hercules. He was no less rapacious than mighty, and,
withal, as crafty as he was rapacious; so that there is very little
doubt, that, had he lived some four or five centuries since, he would
have figured as one of those wicked giants who took a cruel pleasure in
pocketing beautiful princesses and distressed damsels, when gadding
about the world, and locking them up in enchanted castles, without a
toilet, a change of linen, or any other convenience. In consequence of
which enormities they fell under the high displeasure of chivalry, and
all true, loyal, and gallant knights were instructed to attack and slay
outright any miscreant they might happen to find above six feet high;
which is doubtless one reason why the race of large men is nearly
extinct, and the generations of latter ages are so exceedingly small.
Governor Risingh, notwithstanding his giantly condition, was, as I have
hinted, a man of craft. He was not a man to ruffle the vanity of General
Van Poffenburgh, or to rub his self-conceit against the grain. On the
contrary, as he sailed up the Delaware, he paused before Fort Casimir,
displayed his flag, and fired a royal salute before dropping anchor. The
salute would doubtless have been returned, had not the guns been
dismounted; as it was, a veteran sentinel, who had been napping at his
post, and had suffered his match to go out, returned the compliment by
discharging his musket with the spark of a pipe borrowed from a comrade.
Governor Risingh accepted this as a courteous reply, and treated the
fortress to a second salute, well knowing its commander was apt to be
marvellously delighted with these little ceremonials, considering them
so many acts of homage paid to his greatness. He then prepared to land
with a military retinue of thirty men, a prodigious pageant in the
wilderness.
[Illustration:
“THE MAIN GUARD WAS TURNED OUT.”
]
And now took place a terrible rummage and racket in Fort Casimir, to
receive such a visitor in proper style, and to make an imposing
appearance. The main guard was turned out as soon as possible, equipped
to the best advantage in the few suits of regimentals, which had to do
duty by turns with the whole garrison. One tall, lank fellow appeared in
a little man’s coat, with the buttons between his shoulders; the skirts
scarce covering his bottom; his hands hanging like spades out of the
sleeves and the coat linked in front by worsted loops made out of a pair
of red garters. Another had a cocked hat stuck on the back of his head,
and decorated with a bunch of cock’s tails; a third had a pair of rusty
gaiters hanging about his heels; while a fourth, a little duck-legged
fellow, was equipped in a pair of the general’s cast-off breeches, which
he held up with one hand while he grasped his firelock with the other.
The rest were accoutred in similar style, except three ragamuffins
without shirts, and with but a pair and a half of breeches between them;
wherefore they were sent to the black hole, to keep them out of sight,
that they might not disgrace the fortress.
His men being thus gallantly arrayed,—those who lacked muskets
shouldering spades and pickaxes, and every man being ordered to tuck in
his shirt-tail and pull up his brogues,—General Van Poffenburgh first
took a sturdy draught of foaming ale, which, like the magnanimous More
of More-hall,[13] was his invariable practice on all great occasions;
this done, he put himself at their head, and issued forth from his
castle, like a mighty giant, just refreshed with wine. But when the two
heroes met, they began a scene of warlike parade that beggars all
description. The shrewd Risingh, who had grown gray much before his time
in consequence of his craftiness, saw at one glance the ruling passion
of the great Van Poffenburgh, and humored him in all his valorous
fantasies.
Their detachments were accordingly drawn up in front of each other; they
carried arms and they presented arms; they gave the standing salute and
the passing salute; they rolled their drums, they nourished their fifes,
and they waved their colors; they faced to the left, and they faced to
the right, and they faced to the rightabout; they wheeled forward, and
they wheeled backward, and they wheeled into _echellon_; they marched
and they countermarched, by grand divisions, by single divisions, and by
subdivisions; by platoons, by sections, and by files; in quick time, in
slow time, and in no time at all; for, having gone through all the
evolutions of two great armies, including the eighteen manœuvres of
Dundas; having exhausted all they could recollect or imagine of military
tactics, including sundry strange and irregular evolutions, the like of
which were never seen before nor since, except among certain of our
newly raised militia,—the two commanders and their respective troops
came at length to a dead halt, completely exhausted by the toils of war.
Never did two valiant trainband captains, or two buskined theatric
heroes, in the renowned tragedies of Pizarro, Tom Thumb, or any other
heroical and fighting tragedy, marshal their gallows-looking,
duck-legged, heavy-heeled myrmidons with more glory and self-admiration.
[Illustration:
“WITH GREAT CEREMONY, INTO THE FORT.”
]
These military compliments being finished, General Van Poffenburgh
escorted his illustrious visitor, with great ceremony, into the Fort;
attended him throughout the fortifications; showed him the horn-works,
crown-works, half-moons, and various other outworks, or rather the
places where they ought to be erected, and where they might be erected
if he pleased; plainly demonstrating that it was a place of “great
capability,” and though at present but a little redoubt, yet that it was
evidently a formidable fortress, in embryo. This survey over, he next
had the whole garrison put under arms, exercised, and reviewed; and
concluded by ordering the three bridewell birds to be hauled out of the
black hole, brought up to the halberds, and soundly flogged, for the
amusement of his visitor, and to convince him that he was a great
disciplinarian.
The cunning Risingh, while he pretended to be struck dumb outright with
the puissance of the great Van Poffenburgh, took silent note of the
incompetency of his garrison,—of which he gave a wink to his trusty
followers, who tipped each other the wink, and laughed most
obstreperously—in their sleeves.
The inspection, review, and flogging being concluded, the party
adjourned to the table; for among his other great qualities, the general
was remarkably addicted to huge carousals, and in one afternoon’s
campaign would leave more dead men on the field than he ever did in the
whole course of his military career. Many bulletins of these bloodless
victories do still remain on record; and the whole province was once
thrown into amaze by the return of one of his campaigns, wherein it was
stated, that, though, like Captain Bobadil, he had only twenty men to
back him, yet in the short space of six months he had conquered and
utterly annihilated sixty oxen, ninety hogs, one hundred sheep, ten
thousand cabbages, one thousand bushels of potatoes, one hundred and
fifty kilderkins of small beer, two thousand seven hundred and
thirty-five pipes, seventy-eight pounds of sugar-plums, and forty bars
of iron, besides sundry small meats, game, poultry, and garden-stuff:—an
achievement unparalleled since the days of Pantagruel and his
all-devouring army, and which showed that it was only necessary to let
Van Poffenburgh and his garrison loose in an enemy’s country, and in a
little while they would breed a famine, and starve all the inhabitants.
No sooner, therefore, had the general received intimation of the visit
of Governor Risingh, than he ordered a great dinner to be prepared, and
privately sent out a detachment of the most experienced veterans, to rob
all the hen-roosts in the neighborhood, and lay the pigsties under
contribution,—a service which they discharged with such zeal and
promptitude, that the garrison-table groaned under the weight of their
spoils.
[Illustration:
“TO ROB ALL THE HEN-ROOSTS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD.”
]
I wish, with all my heart, my readers could see the valiant Van
Poffenburgh, as he presided at the head of the banquet; it was a sight
worth beholding:—there he sat, in his greatest glory, surrounded by his
soldiers, like that famous wine-bibber, Alexander, whose thirsty virtues
he did most ably imitate,—telling astonishing stories of his
hair-breadth adventures and heroic exploits; at which, though all his
auditors knew them to be incontinent lies and outrageous gasconadoes,
yet did they cast up their eyes in admiration, and utter many
interjections of astonishment. Nor could the general pronounce anything
that bore the remotest resemblance to a joke, but the stout Risingh
would strike his brawny fist upon the table till every glass rattled
again, throw himself back in the chair, utter gigantic peals of
laughter, and swear most horribly it was the best joke he ever heard in
his life. Thus all was rout and revelry and hideous carousal within Fort
Casimir; and so lustily did Van Poffenburgh ply the bottle, that in less
than four short hours he made himself and his whole garrison, who all
sedulously emulated in the deeds of their chieftain, dead drunk, with
singing songs, quaffing bumpers, and drinking patriotic toasts, none of
which but was as long as a Welsh pedigree or a plea in chancery.
No sooner did things come to this pass, than Risingh and his Swedes, who
had cunningly kept themselves sober, rose on their entertainers, tied
them neck and heels, and took formal possession of the fort, and all its
dependencies, in the name of Queen Christina of Sweden, administering at
the same time an oath of allegiance to all the Dutch soldiers who could
be made sober enough to swallow it. Risingh then put the fortification
in order, appointed his discreet and vigilant friend Suen Schüte,
otherwise called Skytte, a tall, wind-dried, water-drinking Swede, to
the command, and departed, bearing with him this truly amiable garrison
and its puissant commander, who, when brought to himself by a sound
drubbing, bore no little resemblance to a “deboshed fish,” or bloated
sea-monster, caught upon dry land.
The transportation of the garrison was done to prevent the transmission
of intelligence to New Amsterdam; for much as the cunning Risingh
exulted in his stratagem, yet did he dread the vengeance of the sturdy
Peter Stuyvesant, whose name spread as much terror in the neighborhood
as did whilom that of the unconquerable Scanderbeg among his scurvy
enemies the Turks.
=Chapter III.=
SHOWING HOW PROFOUND SECRETS ARE OFTEN BROUGHT TO LIGHT; WITH THE
PROCEEDINGS OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG WHEN HE HEARD OF THE MISFORTUNES OF
GENERAL VAN POFFENBURGH.
Whoever first described common fame, or rumor, as belonging to the sager
sex, was a very owl for shrewdness. She has in truth certain feminine
qualities to an astonishing degree, particularly that benevolent anxiety
to take care of the affairs of others, which keeps her continually
hunting after secrets, and gadding about proclaiming them. Whatever is
done openly and in the face of the world, she takes but transient notice
of; but whenever a transaction is done in a corner, and attempted to be
shrouded in mystery, then her goddess-ship is at her wit’s end to find
it out, and takes a most mischievous and lady-like pleasure in
publishing it to the world.
It is this truly feminine propensity which induces her continually
to be prying into the cabinets of princes, listening at the
key-holes of senate-chambers, and peering through chinks and
crannies, when our worthy Congress are sitting with closed doors;
deliberating between a dozen excellent modes of ruining the nation.
It is this which makes her so baneful to all wary statesmen and
intriguing commanders,—such a stumbling-block to private
negotiations and secret expeditions,—betraying them by means and
instruments which never would have been thought of by any but a
female head.
Thus it was in the case of the affair of Fort Casimir. No doubt the
cunning Risingh imagined, that, by securing the garrison, he should for
a long time prevent the history of its fate from reaching the ears of
the gallant Stuyvesant; but his exploit was blown to the world when he
least expected, and by one of the last beings he would ever have
suspected of enlisting as trumpeter to the wide-mouthed deity.
[Illustration:
DIRK SCHUILER.
]
This was one Dirk Schuiler (or Skulker), a kind of hanger-on to the
garrison, who seemed to belong to nobody, and in a manner to be
self-outlawed. He was one of those vagabond cosmopolites who shark about
the world as if they had no right or business in it, and who infest the
skirts of society like poachers and interlopers. Every garrison and
country village has one or more scape-goats of this kind, whose life is
a kind of enigma, whose existence is without motive, who comes from the
Lord knows where, who lives the Lord knows how, and who seems created
for no other earthly purpose but to keep up the ancient and honorable
order of idleness. This vagrant philosopher was supposed to have some
Indian blood in his veins, which was manifested by a certain Indian
complexion and cast of countenance, but more especially by his
propensities and habits. He was a tall, lank fellow, swift of foot, and
long-winded. He was generally equipped in a half Indian dress, with
belt, leggings, and moccasins. His hair hung in straight gallows-locks
about his ears, and added not a little to his sharking demeanor. It is
an old remark, that persons of Indian mixture are half civilized, half
savage, and half devil,—a third half being provided for their particular
convenience. It is for similar reasons and probably with equal truth,
that the backwoodsmen of Kentucky are styled half man, half horse, and
half alligator, by the settlers on the Mississippi, and held accordingly
in great respect and abhorrence.
The above character may have presented itself to the garrison as
applicable to Dirk Schuiler, whom they familiarly dubbed Gallows Dirk.
Certain it is, he acknowledged allegiance to no one,—was an utter enemy
to work, holding it in no manner of estimation,—but lounging about the
fort, depending upon chance for a subsistence, getting drunk whenever he
could get liquor, and stealing whatever he could lay his hands on. Every
day or two he was sure to get a sound rib-roasting for some of his
misdemeanors, which, however, as it broke no bones, he made very light
of, and scrupled not to repeat the offence whenever another opportunity
presented. Sometimes, in consequence of some flagrant villany, he would
abscond from the garrison, and be absent for a month at a time, skulking
about the woods and swamps, with a long fowling-piece on his shoulder,
lying in ambush for game,—or squatting himself down on the edge of a
pond, catching fish for hours together, and bearing no little
resemblance to that notable bird of the crane family, ycleped the
Mudpoke. When he thought his crimes had been forgotten or forgiven, he
would sneak back to the fort with a bundle of skins, or a load of
poultry, which, perchance, he had stolen, and would exchange them for
liquor, with which having well soaked his carcass, he would lie in the
sun and enjoy all the luxurious indolence of that swinish philosopher
Diogenes. He was the terror of all the farmyards in the country into
which he made fearful inroads; and sometimes he would make his sudden
appearance in the garrison at daybreak, with the whole neighborhood at
his heels,—like the scoundrel thief of a fox, detected in his maraudings
and hunted to his hole. Such was this Dirk Schuiler; and from the total
indifference he showed to the world and its concerns, and from his truly
Indian stoicism and taciturnity, no one would ever have dreamt that he
would have been the publisher of the treachery of Risingh.
When the carousal was going on, which proved so fatal to the brave
Poffenburgh and his watchful garrison, Dirk skulked about from room to
room, being a kind of privileged vagrant, or useless hound, whom nobody
noticed. But though a fellow of few words, yet, like your taciturn
people, his eyes and ears were always open, and in the course of his
prowlings he overheard the whole plot of the Swedes. Dirk immediately
settled in his own mind how he should turn the matter to his own
advantage. He played the perfect jack-of-both-sides, that is to say, he
made a prize of everything that came in his reach, robbed both parties,
stuck the copper-bound cocked hat of the puissant Van Poffenburgh on his
head, whipped a huge pair of Risingh’s jackboots under his arm, and took
to his heels just before the catastrophe and confusion at the garrison.
[Illustration:
“AND PADDLED OVER TO NEW AMSTERDAM.”
]
Finding himself completely dislodged from his haunt in this quarter, he
directed his flight towards his native place, New Amsterdam, whence he
had formerly been obliged to abscond precipitately, in consequence of
misfortune in business,—that is to say, having been detected in the act
of sheep-stealing. After wandering many days in the woods, toiling
through swamps, fording brooks, swimming various rivers, and
encountering a world of hardships that would have killed any other being
but an Indian, a backwoodsman, or the devil, he at length arrived, half
famished, and lank as a starved weasel, at Communipaw, where he stole a
canoe, and paddled over to New Amsterdam. Immediately on landing, he
repaired to Governor Stuyvesant, and, in more words than he had ever
spoken before in the whole course of his life, gave an account of the
disastrous affair.
On receiving these direful tidings, the valiant Peter started from his
seat, dashed the pipe he was smoking against the back of the chimney,
thrust a prodigious quid of tobacco into his left cheek, pulled up his
galligaskins, and strode up and down the room, humming, as was customary
with him when in a passion, a hideous northwest ditty. But, as I have
before shown, he was not a man to vent his spleen in idle vaporing. His
first measure, after the paroxysm of wrath had subsided, was to stump up
stairs to a huge wooden chest, which served as his armory, from whence
he drew forth that identical suit of regimentals described in the
preceding chapter. In these portentous habiliments he arrayed himself
like Achilles in the armor of Vulcan, maintaining all the while an
appalling silence, knitting his brows, and drawing his breath through
his clenched teeth. Being hastily equipped, he strode down into the
parlor and jerked down his trusty sword from over the fireplace, where
it was usually suspended; but before he girded it on his thigh, he drew
it from its scabbard, and as his eye coursed along the rusty blade, a
grim smile stole over his iron visage; it was the first smile that had
visited his countenance for five long weeks; but every one who beheld it
prophesied that there would soon be warm work in the province!
Thus armed at all points, with grisly war depicted in each feature, his
very cocked hat assuming an air of uncommon defiance, he instantly put
himself upon the alert, and despatched Antony Van Corlear hither and
thither, this way and that way, through all the muddy streets and
crooked lanes of the city, summoning by sound of trumpet his trusty
peers to assemble in instant council. This done, by way of expediting
matters, according to the custom of people in a hurry, he kept in
continual bustle, shifting from chair to chair, popping his head out of
every window, and stumping up and down stairs with his wooden leg in
such brisk and incessant motion, that, as we are informed by an
authentic historian of the times, the continual clatter bore no small
resemblance to the music of a cooper hooping a flour-barrel.
[Illustration:
“AND STUMPING UP AND DOWN STAIRS.”
]
A summons so peremptory, and from a man of the governor’s mettle, was
not to be trifled with: the sages forthwith repaired to the
council-chamber, seated themselves with the utmost tranquillity, and
lighting their long pipes, gazed with unruffled composure on his
Excellency and his regimentals,—being, as all councillors should be, not
easily flustered, nor taken by surprise. The governor, looking around
for a moment with a lofty and soldier-like air, and, resting one hand on
the pommel of his sword, and flinging the other forth in a free and
spirited manner, addressed them in a short but soul-stirring harangue.
I am extremely sorry that I have not the advantages of Livy, Thucydides,
Plutarch, and others of my predecessors, who were furnished, as I am
told, with the speeches of all their heroes, taken down in shorthand by
the most accurate stenographers of the time,—whereby they were enabled
wonderfully to enrich their histories, and delight their readers with
sublime strains of eloquence. Not having such important auxiliaries, I
cannot possibly pronounce what was the tenor of Governor Stuyvesant’s
speech. I am bold, however, to say, from the tenor of his character,
that he did not wrap his rugged subject in silks and ermines and other
sickly trickeries of phrase, but spoke forth like a man of nerve and
vigor, who scorned to shrink in words from those dangers which he stood
ready to encounter in very deed. This much is certain, that he concluded
by announcing his determination to lead on his troops in person, and
rout these costard-monger Swedes from their usurped quarters at Fort
Casimir. To this hardy resolution, such of his council as were awake
gave their usual signal of concurrence; and as to the rest, who had
fallen asleep about the middle of the harangue (their “usual custom in
the afternoon”), they made not the least objection.
And now was seen in the fair city of New Amsterdam a prodigious bustle
and preparation for iron war. Recruiting parties marched hither and
thither, calling lustily upon all the scrubs, the runagates, and
tatterdemalions of the Manhattoes and its vicinity, who had any ambition
of sixpence a day, and immortal fame into the bargain, to enlist in the
cause of glory:—for I would have you note that your warlike heroes who
trudge in the rear of conquerors are generally of that illustrious class
of gentlemen who are equal candidates for the army or the bridewell, the
halberds or the whipping-post,—for whom dame Fortune has cast an even
die, whether they shall make their exit by the sword or the halter, and
whose deaths shall, at all events, be a lofty example to their
countrymen.
But, notwithstanding all this martial rout and invitation, the ranks of
honor were but scantily supplied, so averse were the peaceful burghers
of New Amsterdam from enlisting in foreign broils, of stirring beyond
that home which rounded all their earthly ideas. Upon beholding this,
the great Peter, whose noble heart was all on fire with war and sweet
revenge, determined to wait no longer for the tardy assistance of these
oily citizens, but to muster up his merry men of the Hudson, who,
brought up among woods, and wilds, and savage beasts, like our yeomen of
Kentucky, delighted in nothing so much as desperate adventures and
perilous expeditions through the wilderness. Thus resolving, he ordered
his trusty squire Antony Van Corlear to have his state galley prepared
and duly victualled; which being performed, he attended public service
at the great church of St. Nicholas, like a true and pious governor; and
then leaving peremptory orders with his council to have the chivalry of
the Manhattoes marshalled out and appointed against his return, departed
upon his recruiting voyage up the waters of the Hudson.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a short, grumpy man in
17th-century attire standing with his arms crossed and a scowling
expression.]
=Chapter IV.=
CONTAINING PETER STUYVESANT’S VOYAGE UP THE HUDSON, AND THE WONDERS AND
DELIGHTS OF THAT RENOWNED RIVER.
Now did the soft breezes of the south steal sweetly over the face of
nature, tempering the panting heat of summer into genial and prolific
warmth; when that miracle of hardihood and chivalric virtue, the
dauntless Peter Stuyvesant, spread his canvas to the wind, and departed
from the fair island of Manna-hata. The galley in which he embarked was
sumptuously adorned with pendants and streamers of gorgeous dyes, which
fluttered gayly in the wind, or drooped their ends into the bosom of the
stream. The bow and poop of this majestic vessel were gallantly bedight,
after the rarest Dutch fashion, with figures of little pursy Cupids with
periwigs on their heads, and bearing in their hands garlands of flowers,
the like of which are not to be found in any book of botany, being the
matchless flowers which flourished in the golden age, and exist no
longer, unless it be in the imaginations of ingenious carvers of wood
and discolorers of canvas.
Thus rarely decorated, in style befitting the puissant potentate of the
Manhattoes, did the galley of Peter Stuyvesant launch forth upon the
bosom of the lordly Hudson, which, as it rolled its broad waves to the
ocean, seemed to pause for a while and swell with pride, as if conscious
of the illustrious burden it sustained.
But trust me, gentlefolk, far other was the scene presented to the
contemplation of the crew from that which may be witnessed at this
degenerate day. Wildness and savage majesty reigned on the borders of
this mighty river; the hand of cultivation had not as yet laid low the
dark forest, and tamed the features of the landscape; nor had the
frequent sail of commerce broken in upon the profound and awful solitude
of ages. Here and there might be seen a rude wigwam perched among the
cliffs of the mountains, with its curling column of smoke mounting in
the transparent atmosphere,—but so loftily situated that the whoopings
of the savage children, gambolling on the margin of the dizzy heights,
fell almost as faintly on the ear as do the notes of the lark when lost
in the azure vault of heaven. Now and then, from the beetling brow of
some precipice, the wild deer would look timidly down upon the splendid
pageant as it passed below, and then, tossing his antlers in the air,
would bound away into the thickest of the forest.
Through such scenes did the stately vessel of Peter Stuyvesant pass. Now
did they skirt the bases of the rocky heights of Jersey, which spring up
like everlasting walls, reaching from the waves unto the heavens, and
were fashioned, if tradition may be believed, in times long past, by the
mighty spirit Manetho, to protect his favorite abodes from the
unhallowed eyes of mortals. Now did they career it gayly across the vast
expanse of Tappan Bay, whose wide-extended shores present a variety of
delectable scenery,—here the bold promontory, crowned with embowering
trees, advancing into the bay,—there the long woodland slope, sweeping
up from the shore in rich luxuriance, and terminating in the upland
precipice,—while at a distance a long waving line of rocky heights threw
their gigantic shades across the water. Now would they pass where some
modest little interval, opening among these stupendous scenes, yet
retreating as it were for protection into the embraces of the
neighboring mountains, displayed a rural paradise, fraught with sweet
and pastoral beauties,—the velvet-tufted lawn, the bushy copse, the
tinkling rivulet, stealing through the fresh and vivid verdure, on whose
banks was situated some little Indian village, or, peradventure, the
rude cabin of some solitary hunter.
[Illustration:
“SOME LITTLE INDIAN VILLAGE.”
]
The different periods of the revolving day seemed each, with cunning
magic, to diffuse a different charm over the scene. Now would the jovial
sun break gloriously from the east, blazing from the summits of the
hills, and sparkling the landscape with a thousand dewy gems; while
along the borders of the river were seen the heavy masses of mist,
which, like midnight caitiffs disturbed at his approach, made a sluggish
retreat, rolling in sullen reluctance up the mountains. At such times
all was brightness, and life, and gayety,—the atmosphere was of an
indescribable pureness and transparency,—the birds broke forth in wanton
madrigals, and the freshening breezes wafted the vessel merrily on her
course. But when the sun sunk amid a flood of glory in the west,
mantling the heavens and the earth with a thousand gorgeous dyes, then
all was calm, and silent, and magnificent. The late swelling sail hung
lifelessly against the mast;—the seamen, with folded arms, leaned
against the shrouds, lost in that involuntary musing which the sober
grandeur of nature commands in the rudest of her children. The vast
bosom of the Hudson was like an unruffled mirror, reflecting the golden
splendor of the heavens, excepting that now and then a bark canoe would
steal across its surface, filled with painted savages, whose gay
feathers glared brightly as perchance a lingering ray of the setting sun
gleamed upon them from the western mountains.
But when the hour of twilight spread its majestic mists around, then did
the face of nature assume a thousand fugitive charms, which to the
worthy heart that seeks enjoyment in the glorious works of its Maker are
inexpressibly captivating. The mellow dubious light that prevailed just
served to tinge with illusive colors the softened features of the
scenery. The deceived but delighted eye sought vainly to discern in the
broad masses of shade the separating line between the land and water, or
to distinguish the fading objects that seemed sinking into chaos. Now
did the busy fancy supply the feebleness of vision, producing with
industrious craft a fairy creation of her own. Under her plastic wand
the barren rocks frowned upon the watery waste in the semblance of lofty
towers and high embattled castles,—trees assumed the direful forms of
mighty giants, and the inaccessible summits of the mountains seemed
peopled with a thousand shadowy beings.
Now broke forth from the shores the notes of an innumerable variety of
insects, which filled the air with a strange but not inharmonious
concert, while ever and anon was heard the melancholy plaint of the
whippoorwill, who, perched on some lone tree, wearied the ear of night
with his incessant moanings. The mind, soothed into a hallowed
melancholy, listened with pensive stillness to catch and distinguish
each sound that vaguely echoed from the shore,—now and then startled
perchance by the whoop of some straggling savage, or by the dreary howl
of a wolf, stealing forth upon his nightly prowlings.
[Illustration:
THE OMNIPOTENT MANETHO.
]
Thus happily did they pursue their course, until they entered upon those
awful defiles denominated THE HIGHLANDS; where it would seem that the
gigantic Titans had erst waged their impious war with heaven, piling up
cliffs on cliffs, and hurling vast masses of rock in wild confusion. But
in sooth very different is the history of these cloud-capt mountains.
These in ancient days, before the Hudson poured its waters from the
lakes, formed one vast prison, within whose rocky bosom the omnipotent
Manetho confined the rebellious spirits who repined at his control.
Here, bound in adamantine chains, or jammed in rifted pines, or crushed
by ponderous rocks, they groaned for many an age. At length the
conquering Hudson, in its career towards the ocean, burst open their
prison-house, rolling its tide triumphantly through the stupendous
ruins.
Still, however, do many of them lurk about their old abodes; and these
it is, according to venerable legends, that cause the echoes which
resound throughout these awful solitudes,—which are nothing but their
angry clamors when any noise disturbs the profoundness of their repose.
For when the elements are agitated by tempest, when the winds are up and
the thunder rolls, then horrible is the yelling and howling of these
troubled spirits, making the mountains to rebellow with their hideous
uproar; for at such times it is said that they think the great Manetho
is returning once more to plunge them in gloomy caverns, and renew their
intolerable captivity.
But all these fair and glorious scenes were lost upon the gallant
Stuyvesant; naught occupied his mind but thoughts of iron war, and proud
anticipations of hardy deeds of arms. Neither did his honest crew
trouble their heads with any romantic speculations of the kind. The
pilot at the helm quietly smoked his pipe, thinking of nothing either
past, present, or to come;—those of his comrades who were not
industriously smoking under the hatches were listening with open mouths
to Antony Van Corlear, who, seated on the windlass, was relating to them
the marvellous history of those myriads of fire-flies that sparkled like
gems and spangles upon the dusky robe of night. These, according to
tradition, were originally a race of pestilent sempiternous beldames,
who peopled these parts long before the memory of man, being of that
abominated race emphatically called _brimstones_, and who, for their
innumerable sins against the children of men, and to furnish an awful
warning to the beauteous sex, were doomed to infest the earth in the
shape of these threatening and terrible little bugs, enduring the
internal torments of that fire which they formerly carried in their
hearts and breathed forth in their words, but now are sentenced to bear
about forever—in their tails!
And now I am going to tell a fact, which I doubt much my readers will
hesitate to believe; but if they do, they are welcome not to believe a
word in this whole history, for nothing which it contains is more true.
It must be known that the nose of Antony the trumpeter was of a very
lusty size, strutting boldly from his countenance like a mountain of
Golconda; being sumptuously bedecked with rubies and other precious
stones,—the true regalia of a king of good fellows, which jolly Bacchus
grants to all who bouse it heartily at the flagon. Now thus it happened,
that bright and early in the morning, the good Antony, having washed his
burly visage, was leaning over the quarter-railing of the galley,
contemplating it in the glassy wave below. Just at this moment the
illustrious sun, breaking in all its splendor from behind a high bluff
of the highlands, did dart one of his most potent beams full upon the
refulgent nose of the sounder of brass—the reflection of which shot
straightway down, hissing-hot, into the water, and killed a mighty
sturgeon that was sporting beside the vessel! This huge monster, being
with infinite labor hoisted on board, furnished a luxurious repast to
all the crew, being accounted of excellent flavor, excepting about the
wound, where it smacked a little of brimstone; and this, on my veracity,
was the first time that ever sturgeon was eaten in these parts by
Christian people.[14]
When this astonishing miracle came to be made known to Peter Stuyvesant,
and he tasted of the unknown fish, he, as may well be supposed,
marvelled exceedingly; and as a monument thereof, he gave the name of
_Antony’s Nose_ to a stout promontory in the neighborhood; and it has
continued to be called Antony’s Nose ever since that time.
[Illustration:
THE KILLING OF THE STURGEON.
]
But hold: whither am I wandering? By the mass, if I attempt to accompany
the good Peter Stuyvesant on this voyage, I shall never make an end; for
never was there a voyage so fraught with marvellous incidents, nor a
river so abounding with transcendent beauties, worthy of being severally
recorded. Even now I have it on the point of my pen to relate how his
crew were most horribly frightened, on going on shore above the
highlands, by a gang of merry roistering devils, frisking and curveting
on a flat rock, which projected into the river, and which is called the
_Duyvel’s Dans-Kamer_ to this very day. But no! Diedrich Knickerbocker,
it becomes thee not to idle thus in thy historic warfaring.
Recollect that, while dwelling with the fond garrulity of age over these
fairy scenes, endeared to thee by the recollections of thy youth, and
the charms of a thousand legendary tales, which beguiled the simple ear
of thy childhood,—recollect that thou art trifling with those fleeting
moments which should be devoted to loftier themes. Is not
Time—relentless Time!—shaking, with palsied hand, his almost exhausted
hour-glass before thee? Hasten then to pursue thy weary task, lest the
last sands be run ere thou hast finished thy history of the Manhattoes.
Let us, then, commit the dauntless Peter, his brave galley, and his
loyal crew, to the protection of the blessed St. Nicholas; who, I have
no doubt, will prosper him in his voyage, while we await his return at
the great city of New Amsterdam.
=Chapter V.=
DESCRIBING THE POWERFUL ARMY THAT ASSEMBLED AT THE CITY OF NEW
AMSTERDAM—TOGETHER WITH THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN PETER THE HEADSTRONG AND
GENERAL VAN POFFENBURGH, AND PETER’S SENTIMENTS TOUCHING UNFORTUNATE
GREAT MEN.
While thus the enterprising Peter was coasting, with flowing sail, up
the shores of the lordly Hudson, and arousing all the phlegmatic little
Dutch settlements upon its borders, a great and puissant concourse of
warriors was assembling at the city of New Amsterdam. And here that
invaluable fragment of antiquity, the Stuyvesant manuscript, is more
than commonly particular; by which means I am enabled to record the
illustrious host that encamped itself in the public square in front of
the fort, at present denominated the Bowling Green.
In the centre, then, was pitched the tent of the men of battle of the
Manhattoes, who, being the inmates of the metropolis, composed the
life-guards of the governor. These were commanded by the valiant Stoffel
Brinkerhoff, who whilom had acquired such immortal fame at Oyster Bay;
they displayed as a standard a beaver _rampant_ on a field of orange,
being the arms of the province, and denoting the persevering industry
and the amphibious origin of the Nederlanders.[15]
On their right hand might be seen the vassals of that renowned Mynheer,
Michael Paw,[16] who lorded it over the fair regions of ancient Pavonia,
and the lands away south even unto the Navesink mountains,[17] and was
moreover patroon of Gibbet Island. His standard was borne by his trusty
squire, Cornelius Van Vorst; consisting of a huge oyster _recumbent_
upon a sea-green field; being the armorial bearings of his favorite
metropolis, Communipaw. He brought to the camp a stout force of
warriors, heavily armed, being each clad in ten pair of linsey-woolsey
breeches, and overshadowed by broad-brimmed beavers, with short pipes
twisted in their hat-bands. These were the men who vegetated in the mud
along the shores of Pavonia, being of the race of genuine copperheads,
and were fabled to have sprung from oysters.
At a little distance was encamped the tribe of warriors who came from
the neighborhood of Hell-gate. These were commanded by the Suy Dams, and
the Van Dams,—incontinent hard swearers, as their names betoken. They
were terrible-looking fellows, clad in broad-skirted gaberdines, of that
curious-colored cloth called thunder and lightning,—and bore as a
standard three devil’s darning-needles, _volant_, in a flame-colored
field.
[Illustration:
“THESE WERE OF A SOUR ASPECT.”
]
Hard by was the tent of the men of battle from the marshy borders of the
Waale-Boght[18] and the country thereabouts. These were of a sour
aspect, by reason that they lived on crabs, which abound in these parts.
They were the first institutors of that honorable order of knighthood
called _Fly-market shirks_, and, if tradition speak true, did likewise
introduce the far-famed step in dancing called “double trouble.” They
were commanded by the fearless Jacobus Varra Vanger,—and had, moreover,
a jolly band of Breuckelen[19] ferry-men, who performed a brave concerto
on conch shells.
[Illustration:
“AS THEY DEFILED THROUGH THE PRINCIPAL GATE THAT STOOD AT THE HEAD OF
WALL STREET.”
]
But I refrain from pursuing this minute description, which goes on to
describe the warriors of Bloemen-dael, and Weehawk, and Hoboken, and
sundry other places, well known in history and song; for now do the
notes of martial music alarm the people of New Amsterdam, sounding afar
from beyond the walls of the city. But this alarm was in a little while
relieved, for lo! from the midst of a vast cloud of dust, they
recognized the brimstone-colored breeches and splendid silver leg, of
Peter Stuyvesant, glaring in the sunbeams; and beheld him approaching at
the head of a formidable army, which he had mustered along the banks of
the Hudson. And here the excellent but anonymous writer of the
Stuyvesant manuscript breaks out into a brave and glorious description
of the forces, as they defiled through the principal gate of the city,
that stood by the head of Wall Street.
First of all came the Van Bummels, who inhabit the pleasant borders of
the Bronx: these were short fat men, wearing exceeding large
trunk-breeches, and were renowned for feats of the trencher. They were
the first inventors of suppawn, or mush and milk.—Close in their rear
marched the Van Vlotens, of Kaatskill, horrible quaffers of new cider,
and arrant braggarts in their liquor.—After them came the Van Pelts of
Groodt Esopus, dexterous horsemen, mounted upon goodly switch-tailed
steeds of the Esopus breed. These were mighty hunters of minks and
musk-rats, whence came the word _Peltry_.—Then the Van Nests of
Kinderhoeck, valiant robbers of birds’-nests, as their name denotes. To
these, if reports may be believed, we are indebted for the invention of
slap-jacks, or buckwheat-cakes.—Then the Van Higginbottoms, of Wapping’s
creek. These came armed with ferules and birchen rods, being a race of
schoolmasters, who first discovered the marvellous sympathy between the
seat of honor and the seat of intellect,—and that the shortest way to
get knowledge into the head was to hammer it into the bottom.—Then the
Van Grolls of Antony’s Nose, who carried their liquor in fair round
little pottles, by reason they could not bouse it out of their canteens,
having such rare long noses.—Then the Gardeniers of Hudson and
thereabouts, distinguished by many triumphant feats, such as robbing
watermelon-patches, smoking rabbits out of their holes, and the like,
and by being great lovers of roasted pigs’ tails. These were the
ancestors of the renowned congressman of that name.—Then the Van Hœsens,
of Sing-Sing, great choristers and players upon the jews-harp. These
marched two and two, singing the great song of St. Nicholas.—Then the
Couenhovens, of Sleepy Hollow. These gave birth to a jolly race of
publicans, who first discovered the magic artifice of conjuring a quart
of wine into a pint bottle.—Then the Van Kortlandts, who lived on the
wild banks of the Croton, and were great killers of wild ducks, being
much spoken of for their skill in shooting with the long bow.—Then the
Van Bunschotens, of Nyack and Kakiat, who were the first that did ever
kick with the left foot. They were gallant bushwhackers and hunters of
raccoons by moonlight.—Then the Van Winkles of Haerlem, potent suckers
of eggs, and noted for running of horses, and running up of scores at
taverns. They were the first that ever winked with both eyes at
once.—Lastly came the KNICKERBOCKERS, of the great town of Schaghtikoke,
where the folk lay stones upon the houses in windy weather, lest they
should be blown away. These derive their name, as some say, from
_Knicker_, to shake, and _Beker_, a goblet, indicating thereby that they
were sturdy toss-pots of yore; but, in truth, it was derived from
_Knicker_, to nod, and _Boeken_, books: plainly meaning that they were
great nodders or dozers over books. From them did descend the writer of
this history.
Such was the legion of sturdy bush-beaters that poured in at the grand
gate of New Amsterdam; the Stuyvesant manuscript indeed speaks of many
more, whose names I omit to mention, seeing that it behooves me to
hasten to matters of greater moment. Nothing could surpass the joy and
martial pride of the lion-hearted Peter as he reviewed this mighty host
of warriors, and he determined no longer to defer the gratification of
his much-wished-for revenge upon the scoundrel Swedes at Fort Casimir.
But before I hasten to record those unmatchable events which will be
found in the sequel of this faithful history, let me pause to notice the
fate of Jacobus Van Poffenburgh, the discomfited commander-in-chief of
the armies of the New Netherlands. Such is the inherent uncharitableness
of human nature, that scarcely did the news become public of his
deplorable discomfiture at Fort Casimir, than a thousand scurvy rumors
were set afloat in New Amsterdam, wherein it was insinuated that he had
in reality a treacherous understanding with the Swedish commander; that
he had long been in the practice of privately communicating with the
Swedes; together with divers hints about “secret-service money.” To all
of which deadly charges I do not give a jot more credit than I think
they deserve.
Certain it is, that the general vindicated his character by the most
vehement oaths and protestations, and put every man out of the ranks of
honor who dared to doubt his integrity. Moreover, on returning to New
Amsterdam, he paraded up and down the streets with a crew of hard
swearers at his heels,—sturdy bottle-companions, whom he gorged and
fattened, and who were ready to bolster him through all the courts of
justice,—heroes of his own kidney, fierce-whiskered, broad-shouldered,
colbrand-looking swaggerers,—not one of whom but looked as though he
could eat up an ox, and pick his teeth with the horns. These
lifeguard-men quarrelled all his quarrels, were ready to fight all his
battles, and scowled at every man that turned up his nose at the
general, as though they would devour him alive. Their conversation was
interspersed with oaths like minute guns, and every bombastic
rodomontade was rounded off by a thundering execration, like a patriotic
toast honored with a discharge of artillery.
[Illustration:
“A CREW OF HARD SWEARERS.”
]
All these valorous vaporings had a considerable effect in convincing
certain profound sages, who began to think the general a hero of
unmatchable loftiness and magnanimity of soul, particularly as he was
continually protesting _on the honor of a soldier_,—a marvellously
high-sounding asseveration. Nay, one of the members of the council went
so far as to propose they should immortalize him by an imperishable
statue of plaster-of-Paris.
But the vigilant Peter the Headstrong was not thus to be deceived.
Sending privately for the commander-in-chief of all the armies, and
having heard all his story, garnished with the customary pious oaths,
protestations, and ejaculations,—“Harkee, comrade,” cried he, “though by
your own account you are the most brave, upright, and honorable man in
the whole province, yet do you lie under the misfortune of being
damnably traduced, and immeasurably despised. Now, though it is
certainly hard to punish a man for his misfortunes, and though it is
very possible you are totally innocent of the crimes laid to your
charge, yet as heaven, doubtless for some wise purpose, sees fit at
present to withhold all proofs of your innocence, far be it from me to
counteract its sovereign will. Besides, I cannot consent to venture my
armies with a commander whom they despise, nor to trust the welfare of
my people to a champion whom they distrust. Retire, therefore, my
friend, from the irksome toils and cares of public life, with this
comforting reflection, that, if guilty, you are but enjoying your just
reward, and if innocent, you are not the first great and good man who
has most wrongfully been slandered and maltreated in this wicked
world,—doubtless to be better treated in a better world, where there
shall be neither error, calumny, nor persecution. In the meantime let me
never see your face again, for I have a horrible antipathy to the
countenances of unfortunate great men like yourself.”
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a man in 17th-century
attire, wearing a tall hat and puffy breeches, aiming a long-barreled
musket or pistol.]
=Chapter VI.=
IN WHICH THE AUTHOR DISCOURSES VERY INGENUOUSLY OF HIMSELF—AFTER WHICH
IS TO BE FOUND MUCH INTERESTING HISTORY ABOUT PETER THE HEADSTRONG AND
HIS FOLLOWERS.
As my readers and myself are about entering on as many perils as ever a
confederacy of meddlesome knights-errant wilfully ran their heads into,
it is meet that, like those hardy adventurers, we should join hands,
bury all differences, and swear to stand by one another, in weal or woe,
to the end of the enterprise. My readers must doubtless perceive how
completely I have altered my tone and deportment since we first set out
together. I warrant they then thought me a crabbed, cynical, impertinent
little son of a Dutchman; for I scarcely gave them a civil word, nor so
much as touched my beaver, when I had occasion to address them. But as
we jogged along together on the high road of my history, I gradually
began to relax, to grow more courteous, and occasionally to enter into
familiar discourse, until at length I came to conceive a most social,
companionable kind of regard for them. This is just my way: I am always
a little cold and reserved at first, particularly to people whom I
neither know nor care for, and am only to be completely won by long
intimacy.
Besides, why should I have been sociable to the crowd of how-d’ye-do
acquaintances that flocked around me at my first appearance? Many were
merely attracted by a new face; and having stared me full in the
title-page, walked off without saying a word: while others lingered
yawningly through the preface, and, having gratified their short-lived
curiosity, soon dropped off one by one. But, more especially to try
their mettle, I had recourse to an expedient, similar to one which we
are told was used by that peerless flower of chivalry, King Arthur; who,
before he admitted any knight to his intimacy, first required that he
should show himself superior to danger or hardships, by encountering
unheard-of mishaps, slaying some dozen giants, vanquishing wicked
enchanters, not to say a word of dwarfs, hippogriffs, and fiery dragons.
On a similar principle did I cunningly lead my readers, at the first
sally, into two or three knotty chapters, where they were most wofully
belabored and buffeted by a host of pagan philosophers, and infidel
writers. Though naturally a very grave man, yet could I scarcely refrain
from smiling outright at seeing the utter confusion and dismay of my
valiant cavaliers. Some dropped down dead (asleep) on the field; others
threw down my book in the middle of the first chapter, took to their
heels, and never ceased scampering until they had fairly run it out of
sight: when they stopped to take breath, to tell their friends what
troubles they had undergone, and to warn all others from venturing on so
thankless an expedition. Every page thinned my ranks more and more; and
of the vast multitude that first set out, but a comparatively few made
shift to survive, in exceedingly battered condition, through the five
introductory chapters.
What, then! would you have had me take such sunshine, faint-hearted
recreants to my bosom at our first acquaintance? No, no; I reserved my
friendship for those who deserved it, for those who undauntedly bore me
company, in spite of difficulties, dangers, and fatigues. And now, as to
those who adhere to me at present, I take them affectionately by the
hand. Worthy and thrice-beloved readers! brave and well-tried comrades!
who have faithfully followed my footsteps through all my wanderings,—I
salute you from my heart,—I pledge myself to stand by you to the last,
and to conduct you (so Heaven speed this trusty weapon which I now hold
between my fingers) triumphantly to the end of this our stupendous
undertaking.
But, hark! while we are thus talking, the city of New Amsterdam is in a
bustle. The host of warriors encamped in the Bowling Green are striking
their tents; the brazen trumpet of Antony Van Corlear makes the welkin
to resound with portentous clangor; the drums beat; the standards of the
Manhattoes, of Hell-gate, and of Michael Paw, wave proudly in the air.
And now behold where the mariners are busily employed hoisting the sails
of yon topsail schooner, and those clump-built sloops, which are to waft
the army of the Nederlanders to gather immortal honors on the Delaware!
[Illustration:
“CRAMMED THE POCKETS OF HER HERO WITH GINGERBREAD AND DOUGHNUTS.”
]
The entire population of the city, man, woman, and child, turned out to
behold the chivalry of New Amsterdam, as it paraded the streets previous
to embarkation. Many a handkerchief was waved out of the windows; many a
fair nose was blown in melodious sorrow on the mournful occasion. The
grief of the fair dames and beauteous damsels of Granada could not have
been more vociferous on the banishment of the gallant tribe of
Abencerrages than was that of the kind-hearted fair ones of New
Amsterdam on the departure of their intrepid warriors. Every love-sick
maiden fondly crammed the pockets of her hero with gingerbread and
doughnuts; many a copper ring was exchanged, and crooked sixpence
broken, in pledge of eternal constancy; and there remain extant to this
day some love-verses written on that occasion, sufficiently crabbed and
incomprehensible to confound the whole universe.
But it was a moving sight to see the buxom lasses, how they hung about
the doughty Antony Van Corlear,—for he was a jolly, rosy-faced, lusty
bachelor, fond of his joke, and withal a desperate rogue among the
women. Fain would they have kept him to comfort them while the army was
away; for, besides what I have said of him, it is no more than justice
to add, that he was a kind-hearted soul, noted for his benevolent
attentions in comforting disconsolate wives during the absence of their
husbands; and this made him to be very much regarded by the honest
burghers of the city. But nothing could keep the valiant Antony from
following the heels of the old governor, whom he loved as he did his
very soul; so, embracing all the young vrouws, and giving every one of
them that had good teeth and rosy lips a dozen hearty smacks, he
departed, loaded with their kind wishes.
Nor was the departure of the gallant Peter among the least causes of
public distress. Though the old governor was by no means indulgent to
the follies and waywardness of his subjects, yet somehow or other he had
become strangely popular among the people. There is something so
captivating in personal bravery, that, with the common mass of mankind,
it takes the lead of most other merits. The simple folk of New Amsterdam
looked upon Peter Stuyvesant as a prodigy of valor. His wooden leg, that
trophy of his martial encounters, was regarded with reverence and
admiration. Every old burgher had a budget of miraculous stories to tell
about the exploits of Hardkoppig Piet, wherewith he regaled his children
of a long winter night, and on which he dwelt with as much delight and
exaggeration as do our honest country yeomen on the hardy adventures of
old General Putnam (or, as he is familiarly termed, _Old Put_) during
our glorious Revolution. Not an individual but verily believed the old
governor was a match for Beëlzebub himself; and there was even a story
told, with great mystery, and under the rose, of his having shot the
devil with a silver bullet one dark stormy night, as he was sailing in a
canoe through Hell-gate,—but this I do not record as being an absolute
fact. Perish the man who would let fall a drop to discolor the pure
stream of history!
[Illustration:
“HAVING SHOT THE DEVIL WITH A SILVER BULLET ONE DARK STORMY NIGHT.”
]
Certain it is, not an old woman in New Amsterdam but considered Peter
Stuyvesant as a tower of strength, and rested satisfied that the public
welfare was secure so long as he was in the city. It is not surprising,
then, that they looked upon his departure as a sore affliction. With
heavy hearts they dragged at the heels of his troop, as they marched
down to the riverside to embark. The governor, from the stern of his
schooner, gave a short but truly patriarchal address to his citizens,
wherein he recommended them to comport like loyal and peaceable
subjects,—to go to church regularly on Sundays, and to mind their
business all the week besides. That the women should be dutiful and
affectionate to their husbands,—looking after nobody’s concerns but
their own,—eschewing all gossipings and morning gaddings,—and carrying
short tongues and long petticoats. That the men should abstain from
intermeddling in public concerns, intrusting the cares of government to
the officers appointed to support them,—staying at home, like good
citizens, making money for themselves, and getting children for the
benefit of their country. That the burgomasters should look well to the
public interest,—not oppressing the poor nor indulging the rich,—not
tasking their ingenuity to devise new laws, but faithfully enforcing
those which were already made,—rather bending their attention to prevent
evil than to punish it; ever recollecting that civil magistrates should
consider themselves more as guardians of public morals than rat-catchers
employed to entrap public delinquents. Finally, he exhorted them, one
and all, high and low, rich and poor, to conduct themselves _as well as
they could_, assuring them that if they faithfully and conscientiously
complied with this golden rule, there was no danger but that they would
all conduct themselves well enough. This done, he gave them a paternal
benediction, the sturdy Antony sounded a most loving farewell with his
trumpet, the jolly crews put up a shout of triumph, and the invincible
armada swept off proudly down the bay.
The good people of New Amsterdam crowded down to the Battery,—that blest
resort, from whence so many a tender prayer has been wafted, so many a
fair hand waved, so many a tearful look been cast by love-sick damsel,
after the lessening bark, bearing her adventurous swain to distant
climes!—Here the populace watched with straining eyes the gallant
squadron, as it slowly floated down the bay, and when the intervening
land at the Narrows shut it from their sight, gradually dispersed with
silent tongues and downcast countenances.
A heavy gloom hung over the late bustling city: the honest burghers
smoked their pipes in profound thoughtfulness, casting many a wistful
look to the weather-cock on the church of St. Nicholas; and all the old
women, having no longer the presence of Peter Stuyvesant to hearten
them, gathered their children home, and barricaded the doors and windows
every evening at sundown.
In the meanwhile the armada of the sturdy Peter proceeded prosperously
on its voyage; and after encountering about as many storms, and
water-spouts, and whales, and other horrors and phenomena as generally
befall adventurous landsmen in perilous voyages of the kind, and after
undergoing a severe scouring from that deplorable and unpitied malady
called seasickness, the whole squadron arrived safely in the Delaware.
[Illustration:
“BARRICADED THE DOORS AND WINDOWS EVERY EVENING AT SUNDOWN.”
]
Without so much as dropping anchor and giving his wearied ships time to
breathe, after laboring so long on the ocean, the intrepid Peter pursued
his course up the Delaware, and made a sudden appearance before Fort
Casimir. Having summoned the astonished garrison by a terrific blast
from the trumpet of the long-winded Van Corlear, he demanded, in a tone
of thunder, an instant surrender of the fort. To this demand, Suen
Skytte, the wind-dried commandant, replied in a shrill, whiffling voice,
which, by reason of his extreme spareness, sounded like the wind
whistling through a broken bellows,—“That he had no very strong reason
for refusing, except that the demand was particularly disagreeable, as
he had been ordered to maintain his post to the last extremity.” He
requested time, therefore, to consult with Governor Risingh, and
proposed a truce for that purpose.
The choleric Peter, indignant at having his rightful fort so
treacherously taken from him, and thus pertinaciously withheld, refused
the proposed armistice, and swore by the pipe of St. Nicholas, which,
like the sacred fire, was never extinguished, that unless the fort were
surrendered in ten minutes, he would incontinently storm the works, make
all the garrison run the gauntlet, and split their scoundrel of a
commander like a pickled shad. To give this menace the greater effect,
he drew forth his trusty sword, and shook it at them with such a fierce
and vigorous motion, that doubtless, if it had not been exceedingly
rusty, it would have lightened terror into the eyes and hearts of the
enemy. He then ordered his men to bring a broadside to bear upon the
fort, consisting of two swivels, three muskets, a long duck
fowling-piece, and two brace of horse-pistols.
In the meantime the sturdy Van Corlear marshalled all the forces, and
commenced his warlike operations. Distending his cheeks like a very
Boreas, he kept up a most horrific twanging of his trumpet,—the lusty
choristers of Sing-Sing broke forth into a hideous song of battle,—the
warriors of Breuckelen and the Wallabout blew a potent and astonishing
blast on their conch shells,—altogether forming as outrageous a concerto
as though five thousand French fiddlers were displaying their skill in a
modern overture.
Whether the formidable front of war thus suddenly presented smote the
garrison with sore dismay,—or whether the concluding terms of the
summons, which mentioned that he should surrender “at discretion,” were
mistaken by Suen Skytte, who, though a Swede, was a very considerate,
easy-tempered man, as a compliment to his discretion, I will not take
upon me to say; certain it is he found it impossible to resist so
courteous a demand. Accordingly, in the very nick of time, just as the
cabin-boy had gone after a coal of fire to discharge the swivel, a
_chamade_ was beat on the rampart by the only drum in the garrison, to
the no small satisfaction of both parties, who, notwithstanding their
great stomach for fighting, had full as good an inclination to eat a
quiet dinner as to exchange black eyes and bloody noses.
[Illustration:
“MARCHED OUT WITH THE HONORS OF WAR.”
]
Thus did this impregnable fortress once more return to the domination of
their High Mightinesses. Skytte and his garrison of twenty men were
allowed to march out with the honors of war; and the victorious Peter,
who was as generous as brave, permitted them to keep possession of all
their arms and ammunition,—the same on inspection being found totally
unfit for service, having long rusted in the magazine of the fortress,
even before it was wrested by the Swedes from the windy Van Poffenburgh.
But I must not omit to mention that the governor was so well pleased
with the service of his faithful squire, Van Corlear, in the reduction
of this great fortress, that he made him on the spot lord of a goodly
domain in the vicinity of New Amsterdam,—which goes by the name of
Corlear’s Hook unto this very day.
The unexampled liberality of Peter Stuyvesant towards the Swedes,
occasioned great surprise in the city of New Amsterdam,—nay, certain
factious individuals, who had been enlightened by political meetings in
the days of William the Testy, but who had not dared to indulge their
meddlesome habits under the eye of their present ruler, now, emboldened
by his absence, gave vent to their censures in the street. Murmurs were
heard in the very council-chamber of New Amsterdam; and there is no
knowing whether they might not have broken out into downright speeches
and invectives, had not Peter Stuyvesant privately sent home his
walking-staff, to be laid as a mace on the table of the council-chamber,
in the midst of his counsellors; who, like wise men, took the hint, and
forever after held their peace.
[Illustration: "A]
jolly man in a nightcap or baker's hat, smiling while holding out a tray
of freshly baked rolls."
=Chapter VII.=
SHOWING THE GREAT ADVANTAGE THAT THE AUTHOR HAS OVER HIS READER IN TIME
OF BATTLE—TOGETHER WITH DIVERS PORTENTOUS MOVEMENTS; WHICH BETOKEN THAT
SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN.
Like as a mighty alderman, when at a corporation feast the first
spoonful of turtle-soup salutes his palate, feels his appetite but
tenfold quickened, and redoubles his vigorous attacks upon the tureen,
while his projecting eyes roll greedily round, devouring everything at
table, so did the mettlesome Peter Stuyvesant feel that hunger for
martial glory, which raged within his bowels, inflamed by the capture of
Fort Casimir, and nothing could allay it but the conquest of all New
Sweden. No sooner, therefore, had he secured his conquest, than he
stumped resolutely on, flushed with success, to gather fresh laurels at
Fort Christina.[20]
This was the grand Swedish post, established on a small river (or, as it
is improperly termed, creek) of the same name; and here that crafty
governor Jan Risingh lay grimly drawn up, like a gray-bearded spider in
the citadel of his web.
But before we hurry into the direful scenes which must attend the
meeting of two such potent chieftains, it is advisable to pause for a
moment, and hold a kind of warlike council. Battles should not be rushed
into, precipitately by the historian and his readers, any more than by
the general and his soldiers. The great commanders of antiquity never
engaged the enemy without previously preparing the minds of their
followers by animating harangues, spiriting them up to heroic deeds,
assuring them of the protection of the gods, and inspiring them with a
confidence in the prowess of their leaders. So the historian should
awaken the attention and enlist the passions of his readers; and having
set them all on fire with the importance of his subject, he should put
himself at their head, flourish his pen, and lead them on to the
thickest of the fight.
[Illustration:
ANIMATING HARANGUES.
]
An illustrious example of this rule may be seen in that mirror of
historians, the immortal Thucydides. Having arrived at the breaking out
of the Peloponnesian war, one of his commentators observes that “he
sounds the charge in all the disposition and spirit of Homer. He
catalogues the allies on both sides. He awakens our expectations, and
fast engages our attention. All mankind are concerned in the important
point now going to be decided. Endeavors are made to disclose futurity.
Heaven itself is interested in the dispute. The earth totters, and
nature seems to labor with the great event. This is his solemn, sublime
manner of setting out. Thus he magnifies a war between two, as Rapin
styles them, petty states; and thus artfully he supports a little
subject by treating it in a great and noble method.”
In like manner, having conducted my readers into the very teeth of
peril,—having followed the adventurous Peter and his band into foreign
regions, surrounded by foes, and stunned by the horrid din of arms,—at
this important moment, while darkness and doubt hang o’er each coming
chapter, I hold it meet to harangue them, and prepare them for the
events that are to follow.
And here I would premise one great advantage which, as historian, I
possess over my reader; and this it is, that, though I cannot save the
life of my favorite hero, nor absolutely contradict the event of a
battle (both which liberties, though often taken by the French writers
of the present reign, I hold to be utterly unworthy of a scrupulous
historian), yet I can now and then make him bestow on his enemy a sturdy
back-stroke sufficient to fell a giant,—though, in honest truth, he may
never have done anything of the kind,—or I can drive his antagonist
clear round and round the field, as did Homer make that fine fellow
Hector scamper like a poltroon round the walls of Troy; for which, if
ever they have encountered one another in the Elysian fields, I’ll
warrant the prince of poets has had to make the most humble apology.
I am aware that many conscientious readers will be ready to cry out
“foul play!” whenever I render a little assistance to my hero, but I
consider it one of those privileges exercised by historians of all ages,
and one which has never been disputed. An historian is, in fact, as it
were, bound in honor to stand by his hero; the fame of the latter is
intrusted to his hands, and it is his duty to do the best by it he can.
Never was there a general, an admiral, or any other commander, who, in
giving account of any battle he had fought, did not sorely belabor the
enemy; and I have no doubt that, had my heroes written the history of
their own achievements, they would have dealt much harder blows than any
that I shall recount. Standing forth, therefore, as the guardian of
their fame, it behooves me to do them the same justice they would have
done themselves; and if I happen to be a little hard upon the Swedes, I
give free leave to any of their descendants, who may write a story of
the State of Delaware to take fair retaliation, and belabor Peter
Stuyvesant as hard as they please.
Therefore stand by for broken heads and bloody noses! My pen hath long
itched for a battle; siege after siege have I carried on without blows
or bloodshed; but now I have at length got a chance, and I vow to Heaven
and St. Nicholas, that, let the chronicles of the times say what they
please, neither Sallust, Livy, Tacitus, Polybius, nor any other
historian, did ever record a fiercer fight than that in which my valiant
chieftains are now about to engage.
And you, oh most excellent readers, whom, for your faithful adherence, I
could cherish in the warmest corner of my heart, be not uneasy,—trust
the fate of our favorite Stuyvesant with me, for by the rood, come what
may, I’ll stick by Hardkoppig Piet to the last. I’ll make him drive
about these losels vile, as did the renowned Launcelot of the Lake a
herd of recreant Cornish knights; and if he does fall, let me never draw
my pen to fight another battle in behalf of a brave man, if I don’t make
these lubberly Swedes pay for it.
No sooner had Peter Stuyvesant arrived at Fort Christina than he
proceeded without delay to intrench himself, and immediately on running
his first parallel, despatched Antony Van Corlear to summon the fortress
to surrender. Van Corlear was received with all due formality,
hoodwinked at the portal, and conducted through a pestiferous smell of
salt fish and onions to the citadel, a substantial hut built on pine
logs. His eyes were here uncovered, and he found himself in the august
presence of Governor Risingh. This chieftain, as I have before noted,
was a very giantly man, and was clad in a coarse blue coat, strapped
round the waist with a leathern belt, which caused the enormous skirts
and pockets to set off with a warlike sweep. His ponderous legs were
cased in a pair of foxy-colored jackboots, and he was straddling in the
attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes before a bit of broken looking-glass,
shaving himself with a villanously dull razor. This afflicting operation
caused him to make a series of horrible grimaces, which heightened
exceedingly the grisly terrors of his visage. On Antony Van Corlear’s
being announced, the grim commander paused for a moment in the midst of
one of his most hard-favored contortions, and after eying him askance
over the shoulder, with a kind of snarling grin on his countenance,
resumed his labors at the glass.
[Illustration:
“BEFORE A BIT OF BROKEN LOOKING-GLASS SHAVING HIMSELF.”
]
This iron harvest being reaped, he turned once more to the trumpeter,
and demanded the purport of his errand. Antony Van Corlear delivered in
a few words, being a kind of shorthand speaker, a long message from his
Excellency, recounting the whole history of the province, with a
recapitulation of grievances and enumeration of claims, and concluding
with a peremptory demand of instant surrender; which done, he turned
aside, took his nose between his thumb and fingers, and blew a
tremendous blast, not unlike the flourish of a trumpet of
defiance,—which it had doubtless learned from a long and intimate
neighborhood with that melodious instrument.
Governor Risingh heard him through, trumpet and all, but with infinite
impatience,—leaning at times, as was his usual custom, on the pommel of
his sword, and at times twirling a huge steel watch-chain, or snapping
his fingers. Van Corlear having finished, he bluntly replied, that Peter
Stuyvesant and his summons might go to the d——l, whither he hoped to
send him and his crew of ragamuffins before supper-time. Then
unsheathing his brass-hilted sword, and throwing away the
scabbard,—“’Fore gad,” quod he, “but I will not sheathe thee again until
I make a scabbard of the smoke-dried leathern hide of this runagate
Dutchman.” Then having flung a fierce defiance in the teeth of his
adversary by the lips of his messenger, the latter was reconducted to
the portal with all the ceremonious civility due to the trumpeter,
squire, and ambassador of so great a commander; and being again
unblinded, was courteously dismissed with a tweak of the nose, to assist
him in recollecting his message.
No sooner did the gallant Peter receive this insolent reply then he let
fly a tremendous volley of red-hot execrations, which would infallibly
have battered down the fortifications, and blown up the powder-magazine
about the ears of the fiery Swede, had not the ramparts been remarkably
strong, and the magazine bomb-proof. Perceiving that the works withstood
this terrific blast, and that it was utterly impossible (as it really
was in those unphilosophic days) to carry on a war with words, he
ordered his merry men to all prepare for an immediate assault. But here
a strange murmur broke out among his troops, beginning with the tribe of
the Van Bummels, those valiant trenchermen of the Bronx, and spreading
from man to man, accompanied with certain mutinous looks and
discontented murmurs. For once in his life, and only for once, did the
great Peter turn pale, for he verily thought his warriors were going to
falter in this hour of perilous trial, and thus to tarnish forever the
fame of the province of New Netherlands.
But soon did he discover, to his great joy, that in his suspicion he
deeply wronged his most undaunted army; for the cause of this agitation
and uneasiness simply was, that the hour of dinner was at hand, and it
would have almost broken the hearts of these regular Dutch warriors to
have broken in upon the invariable routine of their habits. Besides, it
was an established rule among our ancestors always to fight upon a full
stomach; and to this may be doubtless attributed the circumstance that
they came to be so renowned in arms.
And now are the hearty men of the Manhattoes, and their no less hearty
comrades, all lustily engaged under the trees, buffeting stoutly with
the contents of their wallets, and taking such affectionate embraces of
their canteens and pottles as though they verily believed they were to
be the last. And as I foresee we shall have hot work in a page or two, I
advise my readers to do the same, for which purpose I will bring this
chapter to a close,—giving them my word of honor, that no advantage
shall be taken of this armistice to surprise, or in any wise molest, the
honest Nederlanders while at their vigorous repast.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a jolly, bald man
sitting in a chair with a large napkin tucked into his collar, holding a
spoon over a steaming bowl of soup.]
=Chapter VIII.=
CONTAINING THE MOST HORRIBLE BATTLE EVER RECORDED IN POETRY OR PROSE;
WITH THE ADMIRABLE EXPLOITS OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG.
Now had the Dutchmen snatched a huge repast, and finding themselves
wonderfully encouraged and animated thereby, prepared to take the field.
Expectation, says the writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript,—Expectation
now stood on stilts. The world forgot to turn round, or rather stood
still, that it might witness the affray,—like a round-bellied alderman,
watching the combat of two chivalrous flies upon his jerkin. The eyes of
all mankind, as usual in such cases, were turned upon Fort Christina.
The sun, like a little man in a crowd at a puppet-show, scampered about
the heavens, popping his head here and there, and endeavoring to get a
peep between the unmannerly clouds that obtruded themselves in his way.
The historians filled their ink-horns; the poets went without their
dinners, either that they might buy paper and goose-quills, or because
they could not get anything to eat. Antiquity scowled sulkily out of its
grave, to see itself outdone,—while even Posterity stood mute, gazing in
gaping ecstasy of retrospection on the eventful field.
The immortal deities, who whilom had seen service at the “affair” of
Troy, now mounted their feather-bed clouds, and sailed over the plain,
or mingled among the combatants in different disguises, all itching to
have a finger in the pie. Jupiter sent off his thunderbolt to a noted
coppersmith, to have it furbished up for the direful occasion. Venus
vowed by her chastity to patronize the Swedes, and in semblance of a
blear-eyed trull paraded the battlements of Fort Christina, accompanied
by Diana, as a sergeant’s widow, of cracked reputation. The noted bully,
Mars, stuck two horse-pistols into his belt, shouldered a rusty
firelock, and gallantly swaggered at their elbow, as a drunken
corporal,—while Apollo trudged in their rear, as a bandy-legged fifer,
playing most villanously out of tune.
[Illustration:
MARS AS A DRUNKEN COPORAL.
]
On the other side, the ox-eyed Juno, who had gained a pair of black eyes
overnight, in one of her curtain-lectures with old Jupiter, displayed
her haughty beauties on a baggage-wagon; Minerva, as a brawny
gin-sutler, tucked up her skirts, brandished her fists, and swore most
heroically, in exceeding bad Dutch (having but lately studied the
language), by way of keeping up the spirits of the soldiers; while
Vulcan halted as a club-footed blacksmith, lately promoted to be a
captain of militia. All was silent awe, or bustling preparation: war
reared his horrid front, gnashed loud his iron fangs, and shook his
direful crest of bristling bayonets.
And now the mighty chieftains marshalled out their hosts. Here stood
stout Risingh, firm as a thousand rocks,—incrusted with stockades, and
intrenched to the chin in mud batteries. His valiant soldiery lined the
breastwork in grim array, each having his mustachios fiercely greased,
and his hair pomatumed back, and queued so stiffly, that he grinned
above the ramparts like a grisly death’s-head.
There came on the intrepid Peter,—his brows knit, his teeth set, his
fists clenched, almost breathing forth volumes of smoke, so fierce was
the fire that raged within his bosom. His faithful squire Van Corlear
trudged valiantly at his heels, with his trumpet gorgeously bedecked
with red and yellow ribbons, the remembrances of his fair mistresses at
the Manhattoes. Then came waddling on the sturdy chivalry of the Hudson.
There were the Van Wycks, and the Van Dycks, and the Ten Eycks; the Van
Nesses, the Van Tassels, the Van Grolls; the Van Hœsens, the Van
Giesons, and the Van Blarcoms; the Van Warts, the Van Winkles, the Van
Dams; the Van Pelts, the Van Rippers, and the Van Brunts. There were the
Van Hornes, the Van Hooks, the Van Bunschotens; the Van Gelders, the Van
Arsdales, and the Van Bummels; the Vander Belts, the Vander Hoofs, the
Vander Voorts, the Vander Lyns, the Vander Pools, and the Vander
Spiegles;—then came the Hoffmans, the Hooghlands, the Hoppers, the
Cloppers, the Ryckmans, the Dyckmans, the Hogebooms, the Rosebooms, the
Oothouts, the Quackenbosses, the Roerbacks, the Garrebrantzes, the
Bensons, the Brouwers, the Waldrons, the Onderdonks, the Varra Vangers,
the Schermerhorns, the Stoutenburghs, the Brinkerhoffs, the Bontecous,
the Knickerbockers, the Hockstrassers, the Ten Breecheses and the Tough
Breecheses, with a host more of worthies, whose names are too crabbed to
be written, or if they could be written, it would be impossible for man
to utter,—all fortified with a mighty dinner, and, to use the words of a
great Dutch poet,
“Brimful of wrath and cabbage.”
For an instant the mighty Peter paused in the midst of his career, and
mounting on a stump, addressed his troops in eloquent Low Dutch,
exhorting them to fight like _duyvels_, and assuring them that if they
conquered, they should get plenty of booty,—if they fell, they should be
allowed the satisfaction, while dying, of reflecting that it was in the
service of their country, and after they were dead, of seeing their
names inscribed in the temple of renown, and handed down, in company
with all the other great men of the year, for the admiration of
posterity. Finally, he swore to them, on the word of a governor (and
they knew him too well to doubt it for a moment), that if he caught any
mother’s son of them looking pale, or playing craven, he would curry his
hide till he made him run out of it like a snake in spring-time. Then
lugging out his trusty sabre, he brandished it three times over his
head, ordered Van Corlear to sound a charge, and shouting the words “St.
Nicholas and the Manhattoes!” courageously dashed forwards. His warlike
followers, who had employed the interval in lighting their pipes,
instantly stuck them into their mouths, gave a furious puff, and charged
gallantly under cover of the smoke.
[Illustration:
THE CHARGE.
]
The Swedish garrison, ordered by the cunning Risingh not to fire until
they could distinguish the whites of their assailants’ eyes, stood in
horrid silence on the covertway, until the eager Dutchmen had ascended
the glacis. Then did they pour into them such a tremendous volley, that
the very hills quaked around, and were terrified even unto an
incontinence of water, insomuch that certain springs burst forth from
their sides, which continue to run until the present day. Not a Dutchman
but would have bitten the dust beneath that dreadful fire, had not the
protecting Minerva kindly taken care that the Swedes should, one and
all, observe their usual custom of shutting their eyes, and turning away
their heads at the moment of discharge.
The Swedes followed up their fire by leaping the counterscarp, and
falling tooth and nail upon the foe with furious outcries. And now might
be seen prodigies of valor, unmatched in history or song. Here was the
sturdy Stoffel Brinkerhoff brandishing his quarterstaff, like the giant
Blanderon his oak-tree (for he scorned to carry any other weapon), and
drumming a horrific tune upon the hard heads of the Swedish soldiery.
There were the Van Kortlandts, posted at a distance, like the Locrain
archers of yore, and plying it most potently with the long-bow, for
which they were so justly renowned. On a rising knoll were gathered the
valiant men of Sing-Sing, assisting marvellously in the fight, by
chanting the great song of St. Nicholas; but as to the Gardeniers of
Hudson, they were absent on a marauding party, laying waste the
neighboring watermelon patches.
In a different part of the field were the Van Grolls of Antony’s Nose,
struggling to get to the thickest of the fight, but horribly perplexed
in a defile between two hills, by reason of the length of their noses.
So also the Van Bunschotens of Nyack and Kakiat, so renowned for kicking
with the left foot, were brought to a stand for want of wind, in
consequence of the hearty dinner they had eaten, and would have been put
to utter rout but for the arrival of a gallant corps of voltigeurs,
composed of the Hoppers, who advanced nimbly to their assistance on one
foot. Nor must I omit to mention the valiant achievements of Antony Van
Corlear, who, for a good quarter of an hour, waged stubborn fight with a
little pursy Swedish drummer, whose hide he drummed most magnificently,
and whom he would infallibly have annihilated on the spot, but that he
had come into the battle with no other weapon but his trumpet.
But now the combat thickened. On came the mighty Jacobus Varra Vanger
and the fighting men of the Wallabout; after them thundered the Van
Pelts of Esopus, together with the Van Rippers and the Van Brunts,
bearing down all before them; then the Suy Dams, and the Van Dams,
pressing forward with many a blustering oath, at the head of the
warriors at Hell-gate, clad in their thunder-and-lightning gaberdines;
and lastly, the standard-bearers and body-guard of Peter Stuyvesant,
bearing the great beaver of the Manhattoes.
[Illustration:
THE DESPERATE STRUGGLE.
]
And now commenced the horrid din, the desperate struggle, the maddening
ferocity, the frantic desperation, the confusion and self-abandonment of
war. Dutchman and Swede commingled, tugged, panted, and blowed. The
heavens were darkened with a tempest of missives. Bang! went the guns;
whack! went the broad-swords; thump! went the cudgels; crash! went the
musket-stocks; blows, kicks, cuffs, scratches, black eyes and bloody
noses swelling the horrors of the scene! Thick thwack, cut and hack,
helter-skelter, higgledly-piggledly, hurly-burly, head-over-heels,
rough-and-tumble! Dunder and blixum! swore the Dutchmen; splitter and
splutter! cried the Swedes. Storm the works! shouted Hardkoppig Peter.
Fire the mine! roared stout Risingh. Tanta-rar-ra-ra! twanged the
trumpet of Antony Van Corlear;—until all voice and sound became
unintelligible,—grunts of pain, yells of fury, and shouts of triumph
mingling in one hideous clamor. The earth shook as if struck with a
paralytic stroke; trees shrunk aghast, and withered at the sight; rocks
burrowed in the ground like rabbits; and even Christina creek turned
from its course, and ran up a hill in breathless terror!
Long hung the contest doubtful; for though a heavy shower of rain, sent
by the “cloud-compelling Jove,” in some measure cooled their ardor, as
doth a bucket of water thrown on a group of fighting mastiffs, yet did
they but pause for a moment, to return with tenfold fury to the charge.
Just at this juncture a vast and dense column of smoke was seen slowly
rolling toward the scene of battle. The combatants paused for a moment,
gazing in mute astonishment, until the wind, dispelling the murky cloud,
revealed the flaunting banner of Michael Paw, the Patroon of Communipaw.
That valiant chieftain came fearlessly on at the head of a phalanx of
oysterfed Pavonians and a _corps de reserve_ of the Van Arsdales and Van
Bummels, who had remained behind to digest the enormous dinner they had
eaten. These now trudged manfully forward, smoking their pipes with
outrageous vigor, so as to raise the awful cloud that has been
mentioned, but marching exceedingly slow, being short of leg, and of
great rotundity in the belt.
And now the deities who watched over the fortunes of the Nederlanders
having unthinkingly left the field, and stepped into a neighboring
tavern to refresh themselves with a pot of beer, a direful catastrophe
had wellnigh ensued. Scarce had the myrmidons of Michael Paw attained
the front of battle, when the Swedes, instructed by the cunning Risingh,
levelled a shower of blows full at their tobacco-pipes. Astounded at
this assault, and dismayed at the havoc of their pipes, these ponderous
warriors gave way, and like a drove of frightened elephants broke
through the ranks of their own army. The little Hoppers were borne down
in the surge; the sacred banner emblazoned with the gigantic oyster of
Communipaw was trampled in the dirt; on blundered and thundered the
heavy-sterned fugitives, the Swedes pressing on their rear and applying
their feet _a parte poste_ of the Van Arsdales and the Van Bummels with
a vigor that prodigiously accelerated their movements; nor did the
renowned Michael Paw himself fail to receive divers grievous and
dishonorable visitations of shoe-leather.
[Illustration:
“ON BLUNDERED AND THUNDERED THE HEAVY-STERNED FUGITIVES.”
]
But what, oh Muse! was the rage of Peter Stuyvesant, when from afar he
saw his army giving way! In the transports of his wrath he sent forth a
roar, enough to shake the very hills. The men of the Manhattoes plucked
up new courage at the sound, or rather, they rallied at the voice of
their leader, of whom they stood more in awe than of all the Swedes in
Christendom. Without waiting for their aid, the daring Peter dashed,
sword in hand, into the thickest of the foe. Then might be seen
achievements worthy of the days of the giants. Wherever he went, the
enemy shrank before him; the Swedes fled to right and left, or were
driven, like dogs, into their own ditch; but as he pushed forward singly
with headlong courage, the foe closed behind and hung upon his rear. One
aimed a blow full at his heart; but the protecting power which watches
over the great and good turned aside the hostile blade and directed it
to a side-pocket, where reposed an enormous iron tobacco-box, endowed,
like the shield of Achilles, with supernatural powers, doubtless from
bearing the portrait of the blessed St. Nicholas. Peter Stuyvesant
turned like an angry bear upon the foe, and seizing him, as he fled, by
an immeasurable queue, “Ah, whoreson caterpillar,” roared he, “here’s
what shall make worms’ meat of thee!” So saying, he whirled his sword,
and dealt a blow that would have decapitated the varlet, but that the
pitying steel struck short and shaved the queue forever from his crown.
At this moment an arquebusier levelled his piece from a neighboring
mound, with deadly aim; but the watchful Minerva, who had just stopped
to tie up her garter, seeing the peril of her favorite hero; sent old
Boreas with his bellows, who, as the match descended to the pan, gave a
blast that blew the priming from the touch-hole.
Thus waged the fight, when the stout Risingh, surveying the field from
the top of a little ravelin, perceived his troops banged, beaten, and
kicked by the invincible Peter. Drawing his falchion and uttering a
thousand anathemas, he strode down to the scene of combat with such
thundering strides as Jupiter is said by Hesiod to have taken when he
strode down the spheres to hurl his thunderbolts at the Titans.
When the rival heroes came face to face, each made a prodigious start in
the style of a veteran stage-champion. Then did they regard each other
for a moment with the bitter aspect of two furious ram-cats on the point
of a clapper-clawing. Then did they throw themselves into one attitude,
then into another, striking their swords on the ground, first on the
right side, then on the left; at last at it they went, with incredible
ferocity. Words cannot tell the prodigies of strength and valor
displayed in this direful encounter,—an encounter compared to which the
far-famed battles of Ajax with Hector, of Æneas with Turnus, Orlando
with Rodomont, Guy of Warwick with Colbrand the Dane, or of that
renowned Welsh knight, Sir Owen of the Mountains, with the giant Guylon,
were all gentle sports and holiday recreations. At length the valiant
Peter, watching his opportunity, aimed a blow, enough to cleave his
adversary to the very chine; but Risingh, nimbly raising his sword,
warded it off so narrowly, that, glancing on one side, it shaved away a
huge canteen in which he carried his liquor,—thence pursuing its
trenchant course, it severed off a deep coat-pocket, stored with bread
and cheese,—which provant rolling among the armies, occasioned a fearful
scrambling between the Swedes and Dutchmen, and made the general battle
to wax more furious than ever.
Enraged to see his military stores laid waste, the stout Risingh,
collecting all his forces, aimed a mighty blow full at the hero’s crest.
In vain did his fierce little cocked hat oppose its course. The biting
steel clove through the stubborn ram beaver, and would have cracked the
crown of any one not endowed with supernatural hardness of head; but the
brittle weapon shivered in pieces on the skull of Hardkoppig Piet,
shedding a thousand sparks, like beams of glory, round his grisly
visage.
The good Peter reeled with the blow, and turning up his eyes beheld a
thousand suns, besides moons and stars, dancing about the firmament; at
length, missing his footing, by reason of his wooden leg, down he came
on his seat of honor with a crash which shook the surrounding hills, and
might have wrecked his frame, had he not been received into a cushion
softer than velvet, which Providence, or Minerva, or St. Nicholas, or
some cow, had benevolently prepared for his reception.
The furious Risingh, in spite of the maxim, cherished by all true
knights, that “fair play is a jewel,” hastened to take advantage of the
hero’s fall; but, as he stooped to give a fatal blow, Peter Stuyvesant
dealt him a thwack over the sconce with his wooden leg, which sent a
chime of bells ringing triple bob-majors in his cerebellum. The
bewildered Swede staggered with the blow, and the wary Peter seizing a
pocket-pistol, which lay hard by, discharged it full at the head of the
reeling Risingh. Let not my reader mistake; it was not a murderous
weapon loaded with powder and ball, but a little sturdy stone pottle
charged to the muzzle with a double dram of true Dutch courage, which
the knowing Antony Van Corlear carried about him by way of replenishing
his valor, and which had dropped from his wallet during his furious
encounter with the drummer. The hideous weapon sang through the air, and
true to its course as was the fragment of a rock discharged at Hector by
bully Ajax, encountered the head of the gigantic Swede with matchless
violence.
[Illustration:
“THIS HEAVEN-DIRECTED BLOW DECIDED THE BATTLE.”
]
This heaven-directed blow decided the battle. The ponderous pericranium
of General Jan Risingh sank upon his breast; his knees tottered under
him; a death-like torpor seized upon his frame, and he tumbled to the
earth with such violence, that old Pluto started with affright, lest he
should have broken through the roof of his infernal palace.
His fall was the signal of defeat and victory: the Swedes gave way, the
Dutch pressed forward; the former took to their heels, the latter hotly
pursued. Some entered with them, pell-mell, through the sally-port;
others stormed the bastion, and others scrambled over the curtain. Thus
in a little while the fortress of Fort Christina, which, like another
Troy, had stood a siege of full ten hours, was carried by assault,
without the loss of a single man on either side. Victory, in the
likeness of a gigantic ox-fly, sat perched upon the cocked hat of the
gallant Stuyvesant; and it was declared, by all the writers whom he
hired to write the history of his expedition, that on this memorable day
he gained a sufficient quantity of glory to immortalize a dozen of the
greatest heroes in Christendom!
=Chapter IX.=
IN WHICH THE AUTHOR AND THE READER, WHILE REPOSING AFTER THE BATTLE,
FALL INTO A VERY GRAVE DISCOURSE—AFTER WHICH IS RECORDED THE CONDUCT OF
PETER STUYVESANT AFTER HIS VICTORY.
Thanks to St. Nicholas, we have safely finished this tremendous battle:
let us sit down, my worthy reader, and cool ourselves, for I am in a
prodigious sweat and agitation; truly, this fighting of battles is hot
work! and if your great commanders did but know what trouble they give
their historians, they would not have the conscience to achieve so many
horrible victories. But methinks I hear my reader complain, that
throughout this boasted battle there is not the least slaughter, not a
single individual maimed, if we except the unhappy Swede, who was shorn
of his queue by the trenchant blade of Peter Stuyvesant; all which, he
observes, is a great outrage on probability, and highly injurious to the
interest of the narration.
This is certainly an objection of no little moment, but it arises
entirely from the obscurity enveloping the remote periods of time about
which I have undertaken to write. Thus, though doubtless, from the
importance of the object and the prowess of the parties concerned, there
must have been terrible carnage, and prodigies of valor displayed before
the walls of Christina, yet, notwithstanding that I have consulted every
history, manuscript, and tradition, touching this memorable though
long-forgotten battle, I cannot find mention made of a single man killed
or wounded in the whole affair.
This is, without doubt, owing to the extreme modesty of our forefathers,
who, unlike their descendants, were never prone to vaunt of their
achievements; but it is a virtue which places their historian in a most
embarrassing predicament; for, having promised my readers a hideous and
unparalleled battle, and having worked them up into a warlike and
bloodthirsty state of mind, to put them off without any havoc and
slaughter would have been as bitter a disappointment as to summon a
multitude of good people to attend an execution, and then cruelly balk
them by a reprieve.
Had the fates only allowed me some half a score of dead men, I had been
content; for I would have made them such heroes as abounded in the olden
time, but whose race is now unfortunately extinct,—any one of whom, if
we may believe those authentic writers, the poets, could drive great
armies, like sheep, before him, and conquer and desolate whole cities by
his single arm.
But seeing that I had not a single life at my disposal, all that was
left me was to make the most I could of my battle, by means of kicks,
and cuffs, and bruises, and such like ignoble wounds. And here I cannot
but compare my dilemma, in some sort, to that of the divine Milton, who,
having arrayed with sublime preparation his immortal hosts against each
other, is sadly put to it how to manage them, and how he shall make the
end of his battle answer to the beginning, inasmuch as, being mere
spirits, he cannot deal a mortal blow, nor even give a flesh wound to
any of his combatants. For my part, the greatest difficulty I found was,
when I had once put my warriors in a passion, and let them loose into
the midst of the enemy, to keep them from doing mischief. Many a time
had I to restrain the sturdy Peter from cleaving a gigantic Swede to the
very waistband, or spitting half a dozen little fellows on his sword,
like so many sparrows. And when I had set some hundred of missives
flying in the air, I did not dare to suffer one of them to reach the
ground, lest it should have put an end to some unlucky Dutchman.
[Illustration:
“SPITTING HALF A DOZEN LITTLE FELLOWS ON HIS SWORD.”
]
The reader cannot conceive how mortifying it is to a writer thus in a
manner to have his hands tied, and how many tempting opportunities I had
to wink at, where I might have made as fine a death-blow as any recorded
in history or song.
From my own experience I begin to doubt most potently of the
authenticity of many of Homer’s stories. I verily believe, that, when he
had once launched one of his favorite heroes among a crowd of the enemy,
he cut down many an honest fellow, without any authority for so doing,
excepting that he presented a fair mark,—and that often a poor fellow
was sent to grim Pluto’s domains, merely because he had a name that
would give a sounding turn to a period. But I disclaim all such
unprincipled liberties; let me but have truth and the law on my side,
and no man would fight harder than myself; but since the various records
I consulted did not warrant it, I had too much conscience to kill a
single soldier. By St. Nicholas, but it would have been a pretty piece
of business! My enemies, the critics, who I foresee will be ready enough
to lay any crime they can discover at my door, might have charged me
with murder outright, and I should have esteemed myself lucky to escape
with no harsher verdict than manslaughter!
And now, gentle reader, that we are tranquilly sitting down here,
smoking our pipes, permit me to indulge in a melancholy reflection which
at this moment passes across my mind. How vain, how fleeting, how
uncertain are all those gaudy bubbles after which we are panting and
toiling in this world of fair delusions! The wealth which the miser has
amassed with so many weary days, so many sleepless nights, a spendthrift
here may squander away in joyless prodigality; the noblest monuments
which pride has ever reared to perpetuate a name, the hand of time will
shortly tumble into ruins; and even the brightest laurels, gained by
feats of arms, may wither, and be forever blighted by the chilling
neglect of mankind. “How many illustrious heroes,” said the good
Boëtius, “who were once the pride and glory of the age, hath the silence
of historians buried in eternal oblivion!” And this it was that induced
the Spartans, when they went to battle, solemnly to sacrifice to the
Muses, supplicating that their achievements might be worthily recorded.
Had not Homer tuned his lofty lyre, observes the elegant Cicero, the
valor of Achilles had remained unsung. And such, too, after all the
toils and perils he had braved, after all the gallant actions he had
achieved, such too had nearly been the fate of the chivalric Peter
Stuyvesant, but that I fortunately stepped in and engraved his name on
the indelible tablet of history, just as the caitiff Time was silently
brushing it away forever!
[Illustration:
“THE SHADES OF DEPARTED AND LONG-FORGOTTEN HEROES.”
]
The more I reflect, the more I am astonished at the important character
of the historian. He is the sovereign censor to decide upon the renown
or infamy of his fellow-men. He is the patron of kings and conquerors,
on whom it depends whether they shall live in after-ages, or be
forgotten as were their ancestors before them. The tyrant may oppress,
while the object of his tyranny exists; but the historian possesses
superior might, for his power extends even beyond the grave. The shades
of departed and long-forgotten heroes anxiously bend down from above,
while he writes, watching each movement of his pen, whether it shall
pass by their names with neglect, or inscribe them on the deathless
pages of renown. Even the drop of ink which hangs trembling on his pen,
which he may either dash upon the floor, or waste in idle
scrawlings—that very drop, which to him is not worth the twentieth part
of a farthing, may be of incalculable value to some departed worthy, may
elevate half a score, in one moment, to immortality, who would have
given worlds, had they possessed them, to insure the glorious meed.
Let not my readers imagine, however, that I am indulging in vainglorious
boastings, or am anxious to blazon forth the importance of my tribe. On
the contrary, I shrink when I reflect on the awful responsibility we
historians assume; I shudder to think what direful commotions and
calamities we occasion in the world; I swear to thee, honest reader, as
I am a man, I weep at the very idea! Why, let me ask, are so many
illustrious men daily tearing themselves away from the embraces of their
families, slighting the smiles of beauty, despising the allurements of
fortune, and exposing themselves to the miseries of war? Why are kings
desolating empires, and depopulating whole countries? In short, what
induces all great men of all ages and countries to commit so many
victories and misdeeds, and inflict so many miseries upon mankind and
upon themselves, but the mere hope that some historian will kindly take
them into notice, and admit them into a corner of his volume? For, in
short, the mighty object of all their toils, their hardships, and
privations, is nothing but _immortal fame_. And what is immortal
fame?—why, half a page of dirty paper! Alas! alas! how humiliating the
idea, that the renown of so great a man as Peter Stuyvesant should
depend upon the pen of so little a man as Diedrich Knickerbocker!
And now, having refreshed ourselves after the fatigues and perils of the
field, it behooves us to return once more to the scene of conflict, and
inquire what were the results of this renowned conquest. The fortress of
Christina being the fair metropolis, and in a manner the key to New
Sweden, its capture was speedily followed by the entire subjugation of
the province. This was not a little promoted by the gallant and
courteous deportment of the chivalric Peter. Though a man terrible in
battle, yet in the hour of victory was he endued with a spirit generous,
merciful, and humane. He vaunted not over his enemies, nor did he make
defeat more galling by unmanly insults; for like that mirror of knightly
virtue, the renowned Paladin Orlando, he was more anxious to do great
actions than to talk of them after they were done. He put no man to
death; ordered no houses to be burnt down; permitted no ravages to be
perpetrated on the property of the vanquished; and even gave one of his
bravest officers a severe admonishment with his walking-staff, for
having been detected in the act of sacking a hen-roost.
He moreover issued a proclamation, inviting the inhabitants to submit to
the authority of their High Mightinesses; but declaring, with unexampled
clemency, that whoever refused should be lodged at the public expense,
in a goodly castle provided for the purpose, and have an armed retinue
to wait on them in the bargain. In consequence of these beneficent
terms, about thirty Swedes stepped manfully forward and took the oath of
allegiance; in reward for which they were graciously permitted to remain
on the banks of the Delaware, where their descendants reside at this
very day. I am told, however, by divers observant travellers, that they
have never been able to get over the chapfallen looks of their
ancestors, but that they still do strangely transmit from father to son
manifest marks of the sound drubbing given them by the sturdy
Amsterdammers.
[Illustration:
“MYNHEER WILLIAM BEEKMAN.”
]
The whole country of New Sweden, having thus yielded to the arms of the
triumphant Peter, was reduced to a colony called South River, and placed
under the superintendence of a lieutenant-governor, subject to the
control of the supreme government of New Amsterdam. This great dignitary
was called Mynheer William Beekman, or rather _Beck_-man, who derived
his surname, as did Ovidious Naso of yore, from the lordly dimensions of
his nose, which projected from the centre of his countenance, like the
beak of a parrot. He was the great progenitor of the tribe of the
Beekmans, one of the most ancient and honorable families of the
province, the members of which do gratefully commemorate the origin of
their dignity,—not as your noble families in England would do, by having
a glowing proboscis emblazoned in their escutcheon, but by one and all
wearing a right goodly nose, stuck in the very middle of their faces.
Thus was this perilous enterprise gloriously terminated, with the loss
of only two men: Wolfert Van Horne, a tall spare man, who was knocked
overboard by the boom of a sloop in a flaw of wind; and fat Brom Van
Bummels, who was suddenly carried off by an indigestion; both, however,
were immortalized, as having bravely fallen in the service of their
country. True it is, Peter Stuyvesant had one of his limbs terribly
fractured in the act of storming the fortress; but as it was fortunately
his wooden leg, the wound was promptly and effectually healed.
And now nothing remains to this branch of my history but to mention that
this immaculate hero, and his victorious army, returned joyously to the
Manhattoes; where they made a solemn and triumphant entry, bearing with
them the conquered Risingh, and the remnant of his battered crew, who
had refused allegiance; for it appears that the gigantic Swede had only
fallen into a swoon, at the end of the battle, from which he was
speedily restored by a wholesome tweak of the nose.
[Illustration:
“THE OLD WOMEN FLOCKED AROUND ANTONY.”
]
These captive heroes were lodged, according to the promise of the
governor, at the public expense, in a fair and spacious castle,—being
the prison of state, of which Stoffel Brinkerhoff, the immortal
conqueror of Oyster Bay, was appointed governor, and which has ever
since remained in the possession of his descendants.[21]
It was a pleasant and goodly sight to witness the joy of the people of
New Amsterdam, at beholding their warriors once more return from this
war in the wilderness. The old women thronged round Antony Van Corlear,
who gave the whole history of the campaign with matchless accuracy,
saving that he took the credit of fighting the whole battle himself, and
especially of vanquishing the stout Risingh,—which he considered himself
as clearly entitled to, seeing that it was effected by his own stone
pottle.
The schoolmasters throughout the town gave holiday to their little
urchins, who followed in droves after the drums, with paper caps on
their heads, and sticks in their breeches, thus taking the first lesson
in the art of war. As to the sturdy rabble, they thronged at the heels
of Peter Stuyvesant wherever he went, waving their greasy hats in the
air, and shouting “Hardkoppig Piet forever!”
It was indeed a day of roaring rout and jubilee. A huge dinner was
prepared at the Stadthouse in honor of the conquerors, where were
assembled in one glorious constellation the great and little luminaries
of New Amsterdam. There were the lordly Schout and his obsequious
deputy; the burgomasters with their officious schepens at their elbows;
the subaltern officers at the elbows of the schepens, and so on down to
the lowest hanger-on of police: every tag having his rag at his side, to
finish his pipe, drink off his heel-taps, and laugh at his flights of
immortal dulness. In short,—for a city feast is a city feast all the
world over, and has been a city feast ever since the creation,—the
dinner went off much the same as do our great corporation junketings and
Fourth-of-July banquets. Loads of fish, flesh, and fowl were devoured,
oceans of liquor drank, thousands of pipes smoked, and many a dull joke
honored with much obstreperous fat-sided laughter.
I must not omit to mention that to this far-famed victory, Peter
Stuyvesant was indebted for another of his many titles; for so hugely
delighted were the honest burghers with his achievements, that they
unanimously honored him with the name of _Pieter de Groodt_, that is to
say, Peter the Great, or, as it was translated into English by the
people of New Amsterdam, for the benefit of their New England visitors,
_Piet de pig_,—an appellation which he maintained even unto the day of
his death.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a stern, portly man in
17th-century attire, wearing a tall hat, a fur-collared coat, and a
belted tunic.]
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a stout man with a large
belly, wearing a nightcap and holding a long pipe while looking over his
shoulder.]
=BOOK VII.=
CONTAINING THE THIRD PART OF THE REIGN OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG—HIS
TROUBLES WITH THE BRITISH NATION, AND THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE DUTCH
DYNASTY.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a man with a mustache
wearing a large, dark, wide-brimmed hat and smoking a long-stemmed
pipe.]
=Chapter I.=
HOW PETER STUYVESANT RELIEVED THE SOVEREIGN PEOPLE FROM THE BURDEN OF
TAKING CARE OF THE NATION; WITH SUNDRY PARTICULARS OF HIS CONDUCT IN
TIME OF PEACE, AND OF THE RISE OF A GREAT DUTCH ARISTOCRACY.
The history of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant furnishes an edifying
picture of the cares and vexations inseparable from sovereignty, and a
solemn warning to all who are ambitious of attaining the seat of honor.
Though returning in triumph and crowned with victory, his exultation was
checked on observing the abuses which had sprung up in New Amsterdam
during his short absence. His walking-staff, which he had sent home to
act as vice-gerent, had, it is true, kept his council-chamber in
order,—the counsellors eying it with awe, as it lay in grim repose upon
the table, and smoking their pipes in silence,—but its control extended
not out of doors.
The populace unfortunately had had too much their own way under the
slack though fitful reign of William the Testy; and though upon the
accession of Peter Stuyvesant they had felt, with the instinctive
perception which mobs as well as cattle possess, that the reins of
government had passed into stronger hands, yet could they not help
fretting and chafing and champing upon the bit, in restive silence.
Scarcely, therefore, had he departed on his expedition against the
Swedes, than the old factions of William Kieft’s reign had again thrust
their heads above water. Pot-house meetings were again held to “discuss
the state of the nation,” where cobblers, tinkers, and tailors, the
self-dubbed “friends of the people,” once more felt themselves inspired
with the gift of legislation, and undertook to lecture on every movement
of government.
Now, as Peter Stuyvesant had a singular inclination to govern the
province by his individual will, his first move, on his return, was to
put a stop to this gratuitous legislation. Accordingly, one evening,
when an inspired cobbler was holding forth to an assemblage of the kind,
the intrepid Peter suddenly made his appearance, with his ominous
walking-staff in his hand, and a countenance sufficient to petrify a
mill-stone. The whole meeting was thrown into confusion,—the orator
stood aghast, with open mouth and trembling knees, while “horror!
tyranny! liberty! rights! taxes! death! destruction!” and a host of
other patriotic phrases were bolted forth before he had time to close
his lips. Peter took no notice of the skulking throng, but strode up to
the brawling bully-ruffian, and pulling out a huge silver watch, which
might have served in times of yore as a town clock, and which is still
retained by his descendants as a family curiosity, requested the orator
to mend it, and set it going. The orator humbly confessed it was utterly
out of his power, as he was unacquainted with the nature of its
construction. “Nay, but,” said Peter, “try your ingenuity, man: you see
all the springs and wheels, and how easily the clumsiest hand may stop
it, and pull it to pieces; and why should it not be equally easy to
regulate as to stop it?” The orator declared that his trade was wholly
different,—that he was a poor cobbler, and had never meddled with a
watch in his life,—that there were men skilled in the art, whose
business it was to attend to those matters; but for his part, he should
only mar the workmanship and put the whole in confusion. “Why, harkee,
master of mine,” cried Peter,—turning suddenly upon him, with a
countenance that almost petrified the patcher of shoes into a perfect
lapstone,—“dost thou pretend to meddle with the movements of
government,—to regulate, and correct, and patch, and cobble a
complicated machine, the principles of which are above thy
comprehension, and its simplest operations too subtle for thy
understanding, when thou canst not correct a trifling error in a common
piece of mechanism, the whole mystery of which is open to thy
inspection?—Hence with thee to the leather and stone, which are emblems
of thy head; cobble thy shoes, and confine thyself to the vocation for
which Heaven has fitted thee. But,” elevating his voice until it made
the welkin ring, “if ever I catch thee, or any of thy tribe, meddling
again with the affairs of government, by St. Nicholas, but I’ll have
every mother’s bastard of ye flayed alive, and your hides stretched for
drumheads, that ye may thenceforth make a noise to some purpose!”
[Illustration:
“‘NAY, BUT,’ SAID PETER, ‘TRY YOUR INGENUITY, MAN.’”
]
This threat, and the tremendous voice in which it was uttered, caused
the whole multitude to quake with fear. The hair of the orator rose on
his head like his own swines’ bristles, and not a knight of the thimble
present but his heart died within him, and he felt as though he could
have verily escaped through the eye of a needle. The assembly dispersed
in silent consternation; the pseudo-statesmen, who had hitherto
undertaken to regulate public affairs, were now fain to stay at home,
hold their tongues, and take care of their families; and party feuds
died away to such a degree, that many thriving keepers of taverns and
dram-shops were utterly ruined for want of business. But though this
measure produced the desired effect in putting an extinguisher on the
new lights just brightening up, yet did it tend to injure the popularity
of the Great Peter with the thinking part of the community, that is to
say, that part which thinks for others instead of for themselves, or, in
other words, who attend to everybody’s business but their own. These
accused the old governor of being highly aristocratical; and in truth
there seems to have been some ground for such an accusation; for he
carried himself with a lofty, soldier-like air, and was somewhat
particular in dress, appearing, when not in uniform, in rich apparel of
the antique flaundrish cut, and was especially noted for having his
sound leg (which was a very comely one) always arrayed in a red stocking
and high-heeled shoe.
Justice he often dispensed in the primitive patriarchal way, seated on
the “stoep” before his door, under the shade of a great buttonwood tree;
but all visits of form and state were received with something of court
ceremony in the best parlor; where Antony the Trumpeter officiated as
high chamberlain. On public occasions he appeared with a great pomp of
equipage, and always rode to church in a yellow wagon with flaming red
wheels.
[Illustration:
“SEATED ON THE ‘STOEP’ BEFORE HIS DOOR.”
]
These symptoms of state and ceremony, as we have hinted, were much
cavilled at by the thinking (and talking) part of the community. They
had been accustomed to find easy access to their former governors, and
in particular had lived on terms of extreme intimacy with William the
Testy; and they accused Peter Stuyvesant of assuming too much dignity
and reserve, and of wrapping himself in mystery. Others, however, have
pretended to discover in all this a shrewd policy on the part of the old
governor. It is certainly of the first importance, say they, that a
country should be governed by wise men: but then it is almost equally
important that the people should think them wise; for this belief alone
can produce willing subordination. To keep up, however, this desirable
confidence, in rulers, the people should be allowed to see as little of
them as possible. It is the mystery which envelopes great men, that
gives them half their greatness. There is a kind of superstitious
reverence for office which leads us to exaggerate the merits of the
occupant, and to suppose that he must be wiser than common men. He,
however, who gains access to cabinets, soon finds out by what
foolishness the world is governed. He finds that there is quackery in
legislation as in everything else; that rulers have their whims and
errors as well as other men, are not so wonderfully superior as he had
imagined, since even he may occasionally confute them in argument. Thus
awe subsides into confidence, confidence inspires familiarity, and
familiarity produces contempt. Such was the case, say they, with William
the Testy. By making himself too easy of access, he enabled every
scrub-politician to measure wits with him, and to find out the true
dimensions not only of his person but of his mind: and thus it was that,
by being familiarly scanned, he was discovered to be a very little man.
Peter Stuyvesant on the contrary, say they, by conducting himself with
dignity and loftiness, was looked up to with great reverence. As he
never gave credit for very profound ones; every movement, however
intrinsically unimportant, was a matter of speculation; and his very red
stockings excited some respect, as being different from the stockings of
other men.
Another charge against Peter Stuyvesant was that he had a great leaning
in favor of the patricians; and indeed in his time rose many of those
mighty Dutch families which have taken such vigorous root, and branched
out so luxuriantly in our State. Some, to be sure, were of earlier date,
such as the Van Kortlandts, the Van Zandts, the Ten Broecks, the Harden
Broeks, and others of Pavonian renown, who gloried in the title of
“Discoverers,” from having been engaged in the nautical expedition from
Communipaw, in which they so heroically braved the terrors of Hell-gate
and Buttermilk Channel, and discovered a site for New Amsterdam.
Others claimed to themselves the appellation of “Conquerors,” from their
gallant achievements in New Sweden and their victory over the Yankees at
Oyster Bay. Such was that list of warlike worthies heretofore
enumerated, beginning with the Van Wycks, the Van Dycks, and the Ten
Eycks, and extending to the Rutgers, the Bensons, the Brinkerhoffs, and
the Schermerhorns,—a roll equal to the Doomsday-Book of William the
Conqueror, and establishing the heroic origin of many an ancient
aristocratical Dutch family. These, after all, are the only legitimate
nobility and lords of the soil; these are the real “beavers of the
Manhattoes”; and much does it grieve me in modern days to see them
elbowed aside by foreign invaders, and more especially by those
ingenious people, “the Sons of the Pilgrims”; who out-bargain them in
the market, out-speculate them on the exchange, out-top them in fortune,
and run up mushroom palaces so high, that the tallest Dutch family
mansion has not wind enough left for its weather-cock.
In the proud days of Peter Stuyvesant, however, the good old Dutch
aristocracy loomed out in all its grandeur. The burly burgher, in
round-crowned flaundrish hat with brim of vast circumference, in portly
gabardine and bulbous multiplicity of breeches, sat on his “stoep,” and
smoked his pipe in lordly silence; nor did it ever enter his brain that
the active, restless Yankee, whom he saw through his half-shut eyes
worrying about in dog-day heat, ever intent on the main chance, was one
day to usurp control over these goodly Dutch domains. Already, however,
the races regarded each other with disparaging eyes. The Yankees
sneeringly spoke of the round-crowned burghers of the Manhattoes as the
“Copperheads,” while the latter, glorying in their own nether rotundity,
and observing the slack galligaskins of their rivals, flapping like an
empty sail against the mast, retorted upon them with the opprobrious
appellation of “Platter-breeches.”
[Illustration:
“PLATTER-BREECHES.”
]
=Chapter II.=
HOW PETER STUYVESANT LABORED TO CIVILIZE THE COMMUNITY—HOW HE WAS A
GREAT PROMOTER OF HOLIDAYS—HOW HE INSTITUTED KISSING ON NEW YEAR’S
DAY—HOW HE DISTRIBUTED FIDDLES THROUGHOUT THE NEW NETHERLANDS—HOW HE
VENTURED TO REFORM THE LADIES’ PETTICOATS, AND HOW HE CAUGHT A TARTAR.
From what I have recounted in the foregoing chapter, I would not have it
imagined that the great Peter was a tyrannical potentate, ruling with a
rod of iron. On the contrary, where the dignity of office permitted, he
abounded in generosity and condescension. If he refused the brawling
multitude the right of misrule, he at least endeavored to rule them in
righteousness. To spread abundance in the land, he obliged the bakers to
give thirteen loaves to the dozen, a golden rule which remains a
monument of his beneficence. So far from indulging in unreasonable
austerity, he delighted to see the poor and the laboring man rejoice;
and for this purpose he was a great promoter of holidays. Under his
reign there was a great cracking of eggs at Paas or Easter; Whitsuntide
or Pinxter also flourished in all its bloom; and never were stockings
better filled on the eve of the blessed St. Nicholas.
New Year’s day, however, was his favorite festival, and was ushered in
by the ringing of bells and firing of guns. On that genial day the
fountains of hospitality were broken up, and the whole community was
deluged with cherry-brandy, true Hollands, and mulled cider; every house
was a temple of the jolly god; and many a provident vagabond got drunk
out of pure economy—taking in liquor enough gratis to serve him half a
year afterwards.
The great assemblage, however, was at the governor’s house, whither
repaired all the burghers of New Amsterdam with their wives and
daughters, pranked out in their best attire. On this occasion the good
Peter was devoutly observant of the pious Dutch rite of kissing the
women-kind for a Happy New Year; and it is traditional that Antony the
Trumpeter, who acted as gentleman usher, took toll of all who were young
and handsome, as they passed through the antechamber. This venerable
custom, thus happily introduced, was followed with such zeal by high and
low, that on New Year’s day, during the reign of Peter Stuyvesant, New
Amsterdam was the most thoroughly be-kissed community in all
Christendom. Another great measure of Peter Stuyvesant for public
improvement was the distribution of fiddles throughout the land. These
were placed in the hands of veteran negroes, who were despatched as
missionaries to every part of the province. This measure, it is said,
was first suggested by Antony the Trumpeter; and the effect was
marvellous. Instead of those “indignation meetings” set on foot in the
time of William the Testy, where men met together to rail at public
abuses, groan over the evils of the times, and make each other
miserable, there were joyous gatherings of the two sexes to dance and
make merry. Now were instituted “quilting bees,” and “husking bees,” and
other rural assemblages, where, under the inspiring influence of the
fiddle, toil was enlivened by gayety and followed up by the dance.
“Raising-bees” also were frequent, where houses sprung up at the wagging
of the fiddle-sticks, as the walls of Thebes sprang up of yore to the
sound of the lyre of Amphion.
[Illustration:
NEW YEAR’S DAY AT THE GOVERNOR’S.
]
Jolly autumn, which pours its treasures over hill and dale, was in those
days a season for the lifting of the heel as well as the heart; labor
came dancing in the train of abundance, and frolic prevailed throughout
the land. Happy days! when the yeomanry of the Nieuw Nederlandts were
merry rather than wise; and when the notes of the fiddle, those
harbingers of good-humor and good-will, resounded at the close of the
day from every hamlet along the Hudson!
Nor was it in rural communities alone that Peter Stuyvesant introduced
his favorite engine of civilization. Under his rule the fiddle acquired
that potent sway in New Amsterdam which it has ever since retained.
Weekly assemblages were held, not in heated ballrooms at midnight hours,
but on Saturday afternoons, by the golden light of the sun, on the green
lawn of the Battery,—with Antony the Trumpeter for master of ceremonies.
Here would the good Peter take his seat under the spreading trees, among
the old burghers and their wives, and watch the mazes of the dance. Here
would he smoke his pipe, crack his joke, and forget the rugged toils of
war in the sweet oblivious festivities of peace, giving a nod of
approbation to those of the young men who shuffled and kicked most
vigorously,—and now and then a hearty smack, in all honesty of soul, to
the buxom lass who held out longest, and tired down every
competitor,—infallible proof of her being the best dancer.
[Illustration:
THE DANCE.
]
Once, it is true, the harmony of these meetings was in danger of
interruption. A young belle, just returned from a visit to Holland, who
of course led the fashions, made her appearance in not more than half a
dozen petticoats, and these of alarming shortness. A whisper and a
nutter ran though the assembly. The young men, of course, were lost in
admiration; but the old ladies were shocked in the extreme, especially
those who had marriageable daughters; the young ladies blushed and felt
excessively for the “poor thing,” and even the governor himself appeared
to be in some kind of perturbation.
To complete the confusion of the good folks, she undertook, in the
course of a jig, to describe some figures in algebra taught her by a
dancing-master at Rotterdam. Unfortunately, at the highest flourish of
her feet some vagabond zephyr obtruded his services, and a display of
the graces took place, at which all the ladies present were thrown into
great consternation; several grave country members were not a little
moved, and the good Peter Stuyvesant himself was grievously scandalized.
The shortness of the females’ dress, which had continued in fashion ever
since the days of William Kieft, had long offended his eye; and though
extremely averse to meddling with the petticoats of the ladies, yet he
immediately recommended that every one should be furnished with a
flounce to the bottom. He likewise ordered that the ladies, and indeed
the gentlemen, should use no other step in dancing than “shuffle and
turn,” and “double trouble”; and forbade, under pain of his high
displeasure, any young lady thenceforth to attempt what was termed
“exhibiting the graces.”
These were the only restrictions he ever imposed upon the sex; and these
were considered by them as tyrannical oppressions, and resisted with
that becoming spirit manifested by the gentle sex whenever their
privileges are invaded. In fact, Antony Van Corlear, who, as has been
shown, was a sagacious man, experienced in the ways of women, took a
private occasion to intimate to the governor that a conspiracy was
forming among the young vrouws of New Amsterdam; and that, if the matter
were pushed any further, there was danger of their leaving off
petticoats altogether; whereupon the good Peter shrugged his shoulders,
dropped the subject, and ever after suffered the women to wear their
petticoats and cut their capers as high as they pleased,—a privilege
which they have jealously maintained in the Manhattoes unto the present
day.
=Chapter III.=
HOW TROUBLES THICKENED ON THE PROVINCE—HOW IT IS THREATENED BY THE
HELDERBERGERS, THE MERRYLANDERS, AND THE GIANTS OF THE SUSQUEHANNA.
In the last two chapters I have regaled the reader with a delectable
picture of the good Peter and his metropolis during an interval of
peace. It was, however, but a bit of blue sky in a stormy day; the
clouds are again gathering up from all points of the compass, and, if I
am not mistaken in my forebodings, we shall have rattling weather in the
ensuing chapters.
It is with some communities as it is with certain meddlesome
individuals: they have a wonderful facility at getting into scrapes; and
I have always remarked that those are most prone to get in who have the
least talent at getting out again. This is doubtless owing to the
excessive valor of those states; for I have likewise noticed that this
rampant quality is always most frothy and fussy where most confined;
which accounts for its vaporing so amazingly in little states, little
men, and ugly little women more especially.
Such is the case with this little province of the Nieuw Nederlandts;
which, by its exceeding valor, has already drawn upon itself a host of
enemies; has had fighting enough to satisfy a province twice its size;
and is in a fair way of becoming an exceedingly forlorn, well-belabored,
and woe-begone little province. All which was providentially ordered to
give interest and sublimity to this pathetic history.
The first interruption to the halcyon quiet of Peter Stuyvesant was
caused by hostile intelligence from the old belligerent nest of
Rensellaerstein. Killian, the lordly patroon of Rensellaerwick, was
again in the field, at the head of his myrmidons of the Helderberg,
seeking to annex the whole of the Kaatskill mountains to his dominions.
The Indian tribes of these mountains had likewise taken up the hatchet
and menaced the venerable Dutch settlement of Esopus.
Fain would I entertain the reader with the triumphant campaign of Peter
Stuyvesant in the haunted regions of those mountains, but that I hold
all Indian conflicts to be mere barbaric brawls, unworthy of the pen
which has recorded the classic war of Fort Christina; and as to these
Helderberg commotions, they are among the flatulencies which from time
to time afflict the bowels of this ancient province, as with a
wind-colic, and which I deem it seemly and decent to pass over in
silence.
The next storm of troubles was from the south. Scarcely had the worthy
Mynheer Beekman got warm in the seat of authority on the South River,
than enemies began to spring up all around him. Hard by was a formidable
race of savages inhabiting the gentle region watered by the Susquehanna,
of whom the following mention is made by Master Hariot, in his excellent
history:
“The Susquesahanocks are a giantly people, strange in proportion,
behavior, and attire—their voice sounding from them as out of a cave.
Their tobacco-pipes were three quarters of a yard long; carved at the
great end with a bird, beare, or other device, sufficient to beat out
the brains of a horse. The calfe of one of their legges measured three
quarters of a yard about; the rest of the limbs proportionable.”[22]
[Illustration:
A SUSQUESAHANOCK.
]
These gigantic savages and smokers caused no little disquiet in the mind
of Mynheer Beekman, threatening to cause a famine of tobacco in the
land; but his most formidable enemy was the roaring, roistering English
colony of Maryland, or, as it was anciently written, Merryland,—so
called because the inhabitants, not having the fear of the Lord before
their eyes, were prone to make merry and get fuddled with mint-julep and
apple-toddy. They were, moreover, great horse-racers and cock-fighters,
mighty wrestlers and jumpers, and enormous consumers of hoe-cake and
bacon. They lay claim to be the first inventors of those recondite
beverages, cock-tail, stone-fence, and sherry-cobbler, and to have
discovered the gastronomical merits of terrapins, soft crabs, and
canvas-back ducks.
This rantipole colony, founded by Lord Baltimore, a British nobleman,
was managed by his agent, a swaggering Englishman, commonly called
Fendall, that is to say, “offend all,”—a name given him for his bullying
propensities. These were seen in a message to Mynheer Beekman,
threatening him, unless he immediately swore allegiance to Lord
Baltimore as the rightful lord of the soil, to come, at the head of the
roaring boys of Merryland and the giants of the Susquehanna, and sweep
him and his Nederlanders out of the country.
The trusty sword of Peter Stuyvesant almost leaped from its scabbard
when he received missives from Mynheer Beekman, informing him of the
swaggering menaces of the bully Fendall; and as to the giantly warriors
of the Susquehanna, nothing would have more delighted him than a bout,
hand to hand, with half a score of them, having never encountered a
giant in the whole course of his campaigns, unless we may consider the
stout Risingh as such—and he was but a little one.
Nothing prevented his marching instantly to the South River and enacting
scenes still more glorious than those of Fort Christina, but the
necessity of first putting a stop to the increasing aggressions and
inroads of the Yankees, so as not to leave an enemy in his rear; but he
wrote to Mynheer Beekman to keep up a bold front and stout heart,
promising, as soon as he had settled affairs in the east, that he would
hasten to the south with his burly warriors of the Hudson, to lower the
crests of the giants, and mar the merriment of the Merrylanders.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a man in 17th-century
attire marching with a long musket over his shoulder and a confident
expression.]
=Chapter IV.=
HOW PETER STUYVESANT ADVENTURED INTO THE EAST COUNTRY, AND HOW HE FARED
THERE.
To explain the apparently sudden movement of Peter Stuyvesant against
the crafty men of the East Country, I would observe that, during his
campaigns on the South River, and in the enchanted regions of the
Catskill Mountains, the twelve tribes of the East had been more than
usually active in prosecuting their subtle scheme for the subjugation of
the Nieuw Nederlandts.
Independent of the incessant maraudings among hen-roosts and squattings
along the border, invading armies would penetrate, from time to time,
into the very heart of the country. As their prototypes of yore went
forth into the land of Canaan, with their wives and their children,
their men-servants and their maid-servants, their flocks and herds, to
settle themselves down in the land and possess it, so these chosen
people of modern days would progress through the country in patriarchal
style, conducting carts and wagons laden with household furniture, with
women and children piled on top, and pots and kettles dangling beneath.
At the tails of these vehicles would stalk a crew of long-limbed,
lank-sided varlets, with axes on their shoulders and packs on their
backs, resolutely bent upon “locating” themselves, as they termed it,
and improving the country. These were the most dangerous kind of
invaders. It is true they were guilty of no overt acts of hostility; but
it was notorious that, wherever they got a footing, the honest Dutchmen
gradually disappeared, retiring slowly, as do the Indians before the
white men, being in some way or other talked and chaffed, and bargained
and swapped, and, in plain English, elbowed out of all those rich
bottoms and fertile nooks in which our Dutch yeomanry are prone to
nestle themselves.
Peter Stuyvesant was at length roused to this kind of war in disguise,
by which the Yankees were craftily aiming to subjugate his dominions. He
was a man easily taken in, it is true, as all great-hearted men are apt
to be; but if he once found it out, his wrath was terrible. He now threw
diplomacy to the dogs—determined to appear no more by ambassadors, but
to repair in person to the great council of the Amphictyons, bearing the
sword in one hand and the olive-branch in the other, and giving them
their choice of sincere and honest peace, or open and iron war.
His privy councillors were astonished and dismayed when he announced his
determination. For once they ventured to remonstrate, setting forth the
rashness of venturing his sacred person in the midst of a strange and
barbarous people. They might as well have tried to turn a rusty
weather-cock with a broken-winded bellows. In the fiery heart of the
iron-headed Peter sat enthroned the five kinds of courage described by
Aristotle; and had the philosopher enumerated five hundred more, I
verily believe he would have possessed them all. As to that better part
of valor called discretion, it was too cold-blooded a virtue for his
tropical temperament.
Summoning, therefore, to his presence his trusty follower, Antony Van
Corlear, he commanded him to hold himself in readiness to accompany him
the following morning on this, his hazardous enterprise. Now Antony the
Trumpeter was by this time a little stricken in years, but by dint of
keeping up a good heart, and having never known care or sorrow (having
never been married), he was still a hearty, jocund, rubicund, gamesome
wag, and of great capacity in the doublet. This last was ascribed to his
living a jolly life on those domains at the Hook, which Peter Stuyvesant
had granted to him for his gallantry at Fort Casimir.
Be this as it may, there was nothing that more delighted Antony than
this command of the great Peter, for he could have followed the
stout-hearted old governor to the world’s end, with love and loyalty;
and he moreover still remembered the frolicking, and dancing, and
bundling, and other disports of the east country, and entertained dainty
recollections of numerous kind and buxom lasses, whom he longed
exceedingly again to encounter.
Thus then did the mirror of hardihood set forth, with no other attendant
but his trumpeter, upon one of the most perilous enterprises ever
recorded in the annals of knight-errantry. For a single warrior to
venture openly among a whole nation of foes,—but, above all, for a plain
downright Dutchman to think of negotiating with the whole council of New
England!—never was there known a more desperate undertaking!—Ever since
I have entered upon the chronicles of this peerless but hitherto
uncelebrated chieftain, has he kept me in a state of incessant action
and anxiety with the toils and dangers he is constantly encountering.
Oh! for a chapter of the tranquil reign of Wouter Van Twiller, that I
might repose on it as on a feather-bed!
Is it not enough, Peter Stuyvesant, that I have once already rescued
thee from the machinations of these terrible Amphictyons, by bringing
the powers of witchcraft to thine aid? Is it not enough, that I have
followed thee undaunted, like a guardian spirit, into the midst of the
horrid battle of Fort Christina?—that I have been put incessantly to my
trumps to keep thee safe and sound,—now warding off with my single pen
the shower of dastard blows that fell upon thy rear,—now narrowly
shielding thee from a deadly thrust, by a mere tobacco-box,—now casing
thy dauntless skull with adamant, when even thy stubborn ram-beaver
failed to resist the sword of the stout Risingh,—and now, not merely
bringing thee off alive, but triumphant, from the clutches of the
gigantic Swede, by the desperate means of a paltry stone pottle? Is not
all this enough, but must thou still be plunging into new difficulties,
and hazarding in headlong enterprises thyself, thy trumpeter, and thy
historian?
[Illustration:
A BUXOM LASS.
]
And now the ruddy-faced Aurora, like a buxom chambermaid, draws aside
the sable curtains of the night, and out bounces from his bed the jolly
red-haired Phœbus, startled at being caught so late in the embraces of
Dame Thetis. With many a stable-boy oath he harnesses his brazen-footed
steeds, and whips, and lashes, and splashes up the firmament, like a
loitering coachman, half an hour behind his time. And now behold that
imp of fame and prowess, the headstrong Peter, bestriding a raw-boned,
switch-tailed charger, gallantly arrayed in full regimentals, and
bracing on his thigh that trusty brass-hilted sword, which had wrought
such fearful deeds on the banks of the Delaware.
Behold hard after him his doughty trumpeter, Van Corlear, mounted on a
broken-winded, wall-eyed, calico mare, his stone pottle, which had laid
low the mighty Risingh, slung under his arm, and his trumpet displayed
vauntingly in his right hand, decorated with a gorgeous banner, on which
is emblazoned the great beaver of the Manhattoes. See him proudly
issuing out of the city-gate, like an iron-clad hero of yore, with his
faithful squire at his heels, the populace following with their eyes,
and shouting many a parting wish, and hearty cheering.—Farewell,
Hardkoppig Piet! Farewell, honest Antony!—Pleasant be your
wayfaring—prosperous your return! The stoutest hero that ever drew a
sword, and the worthiest trumpeter that ever trod shoe-leather.
[Illustration:
THE JOURNEY.
]
Legends are lamentably silent about the events that befell our
adventurers in this their adventurous travel, excepting the Stuyvesant
manuscript, which gives the substance of a pleasant little heroic poem,
written on the occasion by Dominie Ægidius Luyck,[23] who appears to
have been the poet-laureate of New Amsterdam. This inestimable
manuscript assures us, that it was a rare spectacle to behold the great
Peter and his loyal follower hailing the morning sun, and rejoicing in
the clear countenance of nature, as they pranced it through the pastoral
scenes of Bloemen Dael; which, in those days, was a sweet and rural
valley, beautified with many a bright wildflower, refreshed by many a
pure streamlet, and enlivened here and there by a delectable little
Dutch cottage, sheltered under some sloping hill, and almost buried in
embowering trees.
[Illustration:
“THEY BESTRODE THEIR CANES AND GALLOPED OFF IN HORRIBLE CONFUSION.”
]
Now did they enter upon the confines of Connecticut, where they
encountered many grievous difficulties and perils. At one place they
were assailed by a troop of country squires and militia colonels, who,
mounted on goodly steeds, hung upon their rear for several miles,
harassing them exceedingly with guesses and questions, more especially
the worthy Peter, whose silver-chased leg excited not a little marvel.
At another place, hard by the renowned town of Stamford, they were set
upon by a great and mighty legion of church-deacons, who imperiously
demanded of them five shillings, for travelling on Sunday, and
threatened to carry them captive to a neighboring church, whose steeple
peered above the trees; but these the valiant Peter put to rout with
little difficulty, insomuch that they bestrode their canes and galloped
off in horrible confusion, leaving their cocked hats behind in the hurry
of their flight. But not so easily did he escape from the hands of a
crafty man of Pyquag, who, with undaunted perseverance, and repeated
onsets, fairly bargained him out of his goodly switch-tailed charger,
leaving in place thereof a villanous, foundered Narragansett pacer.
But maugre all these hardships, they pursued their journey cheerily
along the course of the soft-flowing Connecticut, whose gentle waves,
says the song, roll through many a fertile vale and sunny plain,—now
reflecting the lofty spires of the bustling city, and now the rural
beauties of the humble hamlet,—now echoing with the busy hum of
commerce, and now with the cheerful song of the peasant.
At every town would Peter Stuyvesant, who was noted for warlike
punctilio, order the sturdy Antony to sound a courteous salutation;
though the manuscript observes, that the inhabitants were thrown into
great dismay when they heard of his approach. For the fame of his
incomparable achievements on the Delaware had spread throughout the east
country, and they dreaded lest he had come to take vengeance on their
manifold transgressions.
But the good Peter rode through these towns with a smiling aspect,
waving his hand with inexpressible majesty and condescension; for he
verily believed that the old clothes which these ingenious people had
thrust into their broken windows, and the festoons of dried apples and
peaches which ornamented the fronts of their houses, were so many
decorations in honor of his approach, as it was the custom in the days
of chivalry to compliment renowned heroes by sumptuous displays of
tapestry and gorgeous furniture. The women crowded to the doors to gaze
upon him as he passed, so much does prowess in arms delight the gentle
sex. The little children, too, ran after him in troops, staring with
wonder at his regimentals, his brimstone breeches, and the silver
garniture of his wooden leg. Nor must I omit to mention the joy which
many strapping wenches betrayed at beholding the jovial Van Corlear, who
had whilom delighted them so much with his trumpet, when he bore the
great Peter’s challenge to the Amphictyons. The kind-hearted Antony
alighted from his calico mare, and kissed them all with infinite
loving-kindness,—and was right pleased to see a crew of little
trumpeters crowding around him for his blessing, each of whom he patted
on the head, bade him be a good boy, and gave him a penny to buy
molasses candy.
=Chapter V.=
HOW THE YANKEES SECRETLY SOUGHT THE AID OF THE BRITISH CABINET IN THEIR
HOSTILE SCHEMES AGAINST THE MANHATTOES.
Now so it happened, that, while the great and good Peter Stuyvesant,
followed by his trusty squire, was making his chivalric progress through
the east country, a dark and direful scheme of war against his beloved
province was forming in that nursery of monstrous projects, the British
Cabinet. This, we are confidently informed, was the result of the secret
instigations of the great council of the league; who, finding themselves
totally incompetent to vie in arms with the heavy-sterned warriors of
the Manhattoes and their iron-headed commander, sent emissaries to the
British government, setting forth in eloquent language the wonders and
delights of this delicious little Dutch Canaan, and imploring that a
force might be sent out to invade it by sea, while they should
co-operate by land.
[Illustration:
LORD STERLING.
]
These emissaries arrived at a critical juncture, just as the British
Lion was beginning to bristle up his mane and wag his tail; for we are
assured by the anonymous writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript, that the
astounding victory of Peter Stuyvesant at Fort Christina had resounded
throughout Europe, and his annexation of the territory of New Sweden had
awakened the jealousy of the British Cabinet for their wild lands at the
south. This jealousy was brought to a head by the representations of
Lord Baltimore, who declared that the territory thus annexed lay within
the lands granted to him by the British crown, and he claimed to be
protected in his rights. Lord Sterling, another British subject, claimed
the whole of Nassau, or Long Island, once the Ophir of William the
Testy, but now the kitchen-garden of the Manhattoes, which he declared
to be British territory by the right of discovery, but unjustly usurped
by the Nederlanders. The result of all these rumors and representations
was a sudden zeal on the part of his Majesty Charles the Second, for the
safety and well-being of his transatlantic possessions, and especially
for the recovery of the New Netherlands, which Yankee logic had, somehow
or other, proved to be a continuity of the territory taken possession of
for the British crown for the Pilgrims, when they landed on Plymouth
Rock, fugitives from British oppression. All this goodly land, thus
wrongfully held by the Dutchmen, he presented, in a fit of affection, to
his brother, the Duke of York,—a donation truly royal, since none but
great sovereigns have a right to give away what does not belong to them.
That this munificent gift might not be merely nominal, his Majesty
ordered that an armament should be straightway despatched to invade the
city of New Amsterdam by land and water, and put his brother in complete
possession of the premises.
Thus critically situated are the affairs of the New Nederlanders. While
the honest burghers are smoking their pipes in sober security, and the
privy councillors are snoring in the council-chamber,—while Peter the
Headstrong is undauntedly making his way through the east country in the
confident hope by honest words and manly deeds to bring the grand
council to terms,—a hostile fleet is sweeping like a thunder-cloud
across the Atlantic, soon to rattle a storm of war about the ears of the
dozing Nederlanders, and to put the mettle of their governor to trial.
But come what may, I here pledge my veracity, that in all warlike
conflicts and doubtful perplexities he will ever acquit himself like a
gallant, noble-minded, obstinate old cavalier.—Forward, then, to the
charge! Shine out, propitious stars, on the renowned city of the
Manhattoes; and the blessing of St. Nicholas go with thee, honest Peter
Stuyvesant.
=Chapter VI.=
OF PETER STUYVESANT’S EXPEDITION INTO THE EAST COUNTRY, SHOWING THAT
THOUGH AN OLD BIRD, HE DID NOT UNDERSTAND TRAP.
Great nations resemble great men in this particular, that their
greatness is seldom known until they get in trouble; adversity,
therefore, has been wisely denominated the ordeal of true greatness,
which, like gold, can never receive its real estimation until it has
passed through the furnace. In proportion, therefore, as a nation, a
community, or an individual (possessing the inherent quality of
greatness) is involved in perils and misfortunes, in proportion does it
rise in grandeur, and even when sinking under calamity, makes, like a
house on fire, a more glorious display than ever it did in the fairest
period of its prosperity.
The vast empire of China, though teeming with population and imbibing
and concentrating the wealth of nations, has vegetated through a
succession of drowsy ages; and were it not for its internal revolutions,
and the subversion of its ancient government by the Tartars, might have
presented nothing but a dull detail of monotonous prosperity. Pompeii
and Herculaneum might have passed into oblivion, with a herd of their
contemporaries, had they not been fortunately overwhelmed by a volcano.
The renowned city of Troy acquired celebrity only from its ten years’
distress, and final conflagration; Paris rose in importance by the plots
and massacres which ended in the exaltation of Napoleon; and even the
mighty London has skulked through the records of time, celebrated for
nothing of moment excepting the plague, the great fire, and Guy Faux’s
gun-powder plot! Thus cities and empires creep along, enlarging in
silent obscurity, until they burst forth in some tremendous calamity—and
snatch, as it were, immortality from the explosion!
The above principle being admitted, my reader will plainly perceive that
the city of New Amsterdam and its dependent province are on the
high-road to greatness. Dangers and hostilities threaten from every
side, and it is really a matter of astonishment, how so small a state
has been able, in so short a time, to entangle itself in so many
difficulties. Ever since the province was first taken by the nose, at
the Fort of Goed Hoop, in the tranquil days of Wouter Van Twiller, has
it been gradually increasing in historic importance; and never could it
have had a more appropriate chieftain to conduct it to the pinnacle of
grandeur than Peter Stuyvesant.
This truly headstrong hero having successfully effected his daring
progress through the east country, girded up his loins as he approached
Boston, and prepared for the grand onslaught with the Amphictyons, which
was to be the crowning achievement of the campaign. Throwing Antony Van
Corlear, who, with his calico mare formed his escort and army a little
in the advance, and bidding him be of stout heart and great wind, he
placed himself firmly in his saddle, cocked his hat more fiercely over
his left eye, summoned all the heroism of his soul into his countenance,
and, with one arm akimbo, the hand resting on the pommel of his sword,
rode into the great metropolis of the league, Antony sounding his
trumpet before him in a manner to electrify the whole community.
Never was there such a stir in Boston as on this occasion; never such a
hurrying hither and thither about the streets; such popping of heads out
of windows; such gathering of knots in market-places. Peter Stuyvesant
was a straightforward man, and prone to do everything aboveboard. He
would have ridden at once to the great council-house of the league and
sounded a parley; but the grand council knew the mettlesome hero they
had to deal with, and were not for doing things in a hurry. On the
contrary, they sent forth deputations to meet him on the way, to receive
him in a style befitting the great potentate of the Manhattoes, and to
multiply all kind of honors, and ceremonies, and formalities, and other
courteous impediments in his path. Solemn banquets were accordingly
given him, equal to thanksgiving feasts. Complimentary speeches were
made him, wherein he was entertained with the surpassing virtues,
long-sufferings, and achievements of the Pilgrim Fathers; and it is even
said he was treated to a sight of Plymouth Rock,—that great corner-stone
of Yankee empire.
I will not detain my readers by recounting the endless devices by which
time was wasted, and obstacles and delays multiplied to the infinite
annoyance of the impatient Peter. Neither will I fatigue them by
dwelling on his negotiations with the grand council, when he at length
brought them to business. Suffice it to say, it was like most other
diplomatic negotiations: a great deal was said and very little done; one
conversation led to another, one conference begot misunderstandings
which it took a dozen conferences to explain, at the end of which both
parties found themselves just where they had begun, but ten times less
likely to come to an agreement.
[Illustration:
“HE WAS TREATED TO A SIGHT OF PLYMOUTH ROCK.”
]
In the midst of these perplexities which bewildered the brain and
incensed the ire of honest Peter, he received private intelligence of
the dark conspiracy matured in the British cabinet, with the astounding
fact that a British squadron was already on the way to invade New
Amsterdam by sea, and that the grand council of Amphictyons, while thus
beguiling him with subtleties, were actually prepared to co-operate by
land!
Oh! how did the sturdy old warrior rage and roar, when he found himself
thus entrapped, like a lion in the hunter’s toil! Now did he draw his
trusty sword, and determine to break in upon the council of the
Amphictyons and put every mother’s son of them to death. Now did he
resolve to fight his way throughout all the region of the east and to
lay waste Connecticut River!
Gallant, but unfortunate Peter! Did I not enter with sad forebodings on
this ill-starred expedition? Did I not tremble when I saw thee, with no
other counsellor than thine own head; no other armor but an honest
tongue, a spotless conscience, and a rusty sword; no other protector but
St. Nicholas, and no other attendant but a trumpeter; did I not tremble
when I beheld thee thus sally forth to contend with all the knowing
powers of New England?
It was a long time before the kind-hearted expostulations of Antony Van
Corlear, aided by the soothing melody of his trumpet, could lower the
spirits of Peter Stuyvesant from their warlike and vindictive tones, and
prevent his making widows and orphans of half the population of Boston.
With great difficulty he was prevailed upon to bottle up his wrath for
the present, to conceal from the council his knowledge of their
machinations, and by effecting his escape, to be able to arrive in time
for the salvation of the Manhattoes.
The latter suggestion awakened a new ray of hope in his bosom; he
forthwith despatched a secret message to his councillors at New
Amsterdam, apprising them of their danger, and commanding them to put
the city in a posture of defence, promising to come as soon as possible
to their assistance. This done, he felt marvellously relieved, rose
slowly, shook himself like a rhinoceros, and issued forth from his den,
in much the same manner as Giant Despair is described to have issued
from Doubting Castle, in the chivalric history of the Pilgrim’s
Progress.
And now much does it grieve me that I must leave the gallant Peter in
this imminent jeopardy; but it behooves us to hurry back and see what is
going on at New Amsterdam, for greatly do I fear that city is already in
a turmoil. Such was ever the fate of Peter Stuyvesant; while doing one
thing with heart and soul, he was too apt to leave everything else at
sixes and sevens. While, like a potentate of yore, he was absent
attending to those things in person which in modern days are trusted to
generals and ambassadors, his little territory at home was sure to get
in an uproar; all which was owing to that uncommon strength of
intellect, which induced him to trust to nobody but himself, and which
had acquired him the renowned appellation of Peter the Headstrong.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a person hurriedly
stepping out of a small wooden shed or outhouse while carrying a
squawking chicken or small animal.]
=Chapter VII.=
HOW THE PEOPLE OF NEW AMSTERDAM WERE THROWN INTO A GREAT PANIC BY THE
NEWS OF THE THREATENED INVASION, AND THE MANNER IN WHICH THEY FORTIFIED
THEMSELVES.
There is no sight more truly interesting to a philosopher than a
community where every individual has a voice in public affairs, where
every individual considers himself the Atlas of the nation, and where
every individual thinks it his duty to bestir himself for the good of
his country: I say, there is nothing more interesting to a philosopher
than such a community in a sudden bustle of war. Such clamor of
tongues—such patriotic bawling—such running hither and thither—everybody
in a hurry—everybody in trouble—everybody in the way, and everybody
interrupting his neighbor—who is busily employed in doing nothing! It is
like witnessing a great fire, where the whole community are agog—some
dragging about empty engines—others scampering with full buckets, and
spilling the contents into their neighbor’s boots—and others ringing the
church-bells all night, by way of putting out the fire. Little firemen,
like sturdy little knights storming a breach, clambering up and down
scaling-ladders, and bawling through tin trumpets, by way of directing
the attack. Here a fellow, in his great zeal to save the property of the
unfortunate, catches up an anonymous chamber-utensil, and gallants it
off with an air of as much self-importance as if he had rescued a pot of
money; there another throws looking-glasses and china out of the window,
to save them from the flames; whilst those who can do nothing else run
up and down the streets keeping up an incessant cry of _Fire! Fire!
Fire!_
“When the news arrived at Sinope,” says Lucian,—though I own the story
is rather trite,—“that Philip was about to attack them, the inhabitants
were thrown into violent alarm. Some ran to furbish up their arms;
others rolled stones to build up the walls,—everybody, in short, was
employed, and everybody in the way of his neighbor. Diogenes alone could
find nothing to do; whereupon, not to be idle when the welfare of his
country was at stake, he tucked up his robe, and fell to rolling his tub
with might and main up and down the Gymnasium.” In like manner did every
mother’s son in the patriotic community of New Amsterdam, on receiving
the missive of Peter Stuyvesant, busy himself most mightily in putting
things in confusion, and assisting the general uproar. “Every man”—saith
the Stuyvesant manuscript—“flew to arms!”—by which is meant, that not
one of our honest Dutch citizens would venture to church or to market
without an old-fashioned spit of a sword dangling at his side, and a
long Dutch fowling-piece on his shoulder; nor would he go out of a night
without a lantern; nor turn a corner without first peeping cautiously
round, lest he should come unawares upon a British army;—and we are
informed that Stoffel Brinkerhoff, who was considered by the old women
almost as brave a man as the governor himself, actually had two
one-pound swivels mounted in his entry, one pointing out at the front
door, and the other at the back.
[Illustration:
“NOR WOULD HE GO OUT OF A NIGHT WITHOUT A LANTERN.”
]
But the most strenuous measure resorted to on this awful occasion, and
one which has since been found of wonderful efficacy, was to assemble
popular meetings. These brawling convocations, I have already shown,
were extremely offensive to Peter Stuyvesant; but as this was a moment
of unusual agitation, and as the old governor was not present to repress
them, they broke out with intolerable violence. Hither, therefore, the
orators and politicians repaired, striving who should bawl loudest, and
exceed the others in hyperbolical bursts of patriotism, and in
resolutions to uphold and defend the government. In these sage meetings
it was resolved that they were the most enlightened, the most dignified,
the most formidable, and the most ancient community upon the face of the
earth. This resolution being carried unanimously, another was
immediately proposed,—whether it were not possible and politic to
exterminate Great Britain? upon which sixty-nine members spoke in the
affirmative, and only one arose to suggest some doubts, who as a
punishment for his treasonable presumption, was immediately seized by
the mob, and tarred and feathered,—which punishment being equivalent to
the Tarpeian Rock, he was afterwards considered as an outcast from
society, and his opinion went for nothing. The question, therefore,
being unanimously carried in the affirmative, it was recommended to the
grand council to pass it into a law; which was accordingly done. By this
measure the hearts of the people at large were wonderfully encouraged,
and they waxed exceedingly choleric and valorous. Indeed, the first
paroxysm of alarm having in some measure subsided,—the old women having
buried all the money they could lay their hands on, and their husbands
daily getting fuddled with what was left,—the community began even to
stand on the offensive. Songs were manufactured in Low Dutch and sung
about the streets, wherein the English were most wofully beaten, and
shown no quarter; and popular addresses were made, wherein it was
proved, to a certainty, that the fate of Old England depended upon the
will of the New Amsterdammers.
Finally, to strike a violent blow at the very vitals of Great Britain, a
multitude of the wiser inhabitants assembled, and having purchased all
the British manufactures they could find, they made thereof a huge
bonfire; and, in the patriotic glow of the moment, every man present,
who had a hat or breeches of English workmanship, pulled it off, and
threw it into the flames,—to the irreparable detriment, loss, and ruin
of the English manufacturers. In commemoration of this great exploit,
they erected a pole on the spot, with a device on the top intended to
represent the province of Nieuw Nederlandts destroying Great Britain,
under the similitude of an Eagle picking the little Island of Old
England out of the globe; but either through the unskilfulness of the
sculptor, or his ill-timed waggery, it bore a striking resemblance to a
goose, vainly striving to get hold of a dumpling.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of an Indigenous person in
profile, wearing a headband with a feather or crest, large earrings, and
a fur-collared robe.]
=Chapter VIII.=
HOW THE GRAND COUNCIL OF THE NEW NETHERLANDS WERE MIRACULOUSLY GIFTED
WITH LONG TONGUES IN THE MOMENT OF EMERGENCY—SHOWING THE VALUE OF WORDS
IN WARFARE.
It will need but little penetration in any one conversant with the ways
of that wise but windy potentate, the sovereign people, to discover that
notwithstanding all the warlike bluster and bustle of the last chapter,
the city of New Amsterdam was not a whit more prepared for war than
before. The privy councillors of Peter Stuyvesant were aware of this;
and, having received his private orders to put the city in an immediate
posture of defence, they called a meeting of the oldest and richest
burghers to assist them with their wisdom. These were that order of
citizens commonly termed “men of the greatest weight in the community”;
their weight being estimated by the heaviness of their heads and of
their purses. Their wisdom in fact is apt to be of a ponderous kind, and
to hang like a mill-stone round the neck of the community.
Two things were unanimously determined in this assembly of venerables:
First, that the city required to be put in a state of defence; and,
Second, that, as the danger was imminent, there should be no time lost:
which point being settled, they fell to making long speeches and
belaboring one another in endless and intemperate disputes. For about
this time was this unhappy city first visited by that talking endemic so
prevalent in this country, and which so invariably evinces itself
wherever a number of wise men assemble together, breaking out in long,
windy speeches, caused, as physicians suppose, by the foul air which is
ever generated in a crowd. Now it was, moreover, that they first
introduced the ingenious method of measuring the merits of an harangue
by the hour-glass, he being considered the ablest orator who spoke
longest on a question. For which excellent invention, it is recorded, we
are indebted to the same profound Dutch critic who judged of books by
their size.
[Illustration:
THE LONG TALK AT THE COUNCIL-FIRE.
]
This sudden passion for endless harangues, so little consonant with the
customary gravity and taciturnity of our sage forefathers, was supposed
by certain philosophers to have been imbibed, together with divers other
barbarous propensities, from their savage neighbors; who were
particularly noted for _long talks_ and _council-fires_, and never
undertook any affair of the least importance without previous debates
and harangues among their chiefs and _old men_. But the real cause was,
that the people, in electing their representatives to the grand council,
were particular in choosing them for their talents at talking, without
inquiring whether they possessed the more rare, difficult, and ofttimes
important talent of holding their tongues. The consequence was, that
this deliberative body was composed of the most loquacious men in the
community. As they considered themselves placed there to talk, every man
concluded that his duty to his constituents, and, what is more, his
popularity with them, required that he should harangue on every subject,
whether he understood it or not. There was an ancient mode of burying a
chieftain, by every soldier throwing his shield full of earth on the
corpse, until a mighty mound was formed; so, whenever a question was
brought forward in this assembly, every member pressing forward to throw
on his quantum of wisdom, the subject was quickly buried under a
mountain of words.
We are told that disciples, on entering the school of Pythagoras, were
for two years enjoined silence, and forbidden either to ask questions,
or make remarks. After they had thus acquired the inestimable art of
holding their tongues, they were gradually permitted to make inquiries,
and finally to communicate their own opinions.
With what a beneficial effect could this wise regulation of Pythagoras
be introduced in modern legislative bodies,—and how wonderfully would it
have tended to expedite business in the grand council of the Manhattoes!
At this perilous juncture the fatal word _economy_, the stumbling-block
of William the Testy, had been once more set afloat, according to which
the cheapest plan of defence was insisted upon as the best; it being
deemed a great stroke of policy in furnishing powder to economize in
ball.
Thus did dame Wisdom (whom the wags of antiquity have humorously
personified as a woman) seem to take a mischievous pleasure in jilting
the venerable councillors of New Amsterdam. To add to the confusion, the
old factions of Short Pipes and Long Pipes, which had been almost
strangled by the Herculean grasp of Peter Stuyvesant, now sprang up with
tenfold vigor. Whatever was proposed by Short Pipe was opposed by the
whole tribe of Long Pipes, who, like true partisans, deemed it their
first duty to effect the downfall of their rivals, their second, to
elevate themselves, and their third, to consult the public good; though
many left the third consideration out of question altogether.
In this great collision of hard heads it is astonishing the number of
projects that were struck out,—projects which threw the wind-mill system
of William the Testy completely in the background. These were almost
uniformly opposed by the “men of the greatest weight in the community!”
your weighty men, though slow to devise, being always great at
“negativing.” Among these were a set of fat, self-important old
burghers, who smoked their pipes, and said nothing except to negative
every plan of defence proposed. These were that class of “conservatives”
who, having amassed a fortune, button up their pockets, shut their
mouths, sink, as it were, into themselves, and pass the rest of their
lives in the in-dwelling beatitude of conscious wealth; as some
phlegmatic oyster, having swallowed a pearl, closes its shell, sinks in
the mud, and devotes the rest of its life to the conservation of its
treasure. Every plan of defence seemed to these worthy old gentlemen
pregnant with ruin. An armed force was a legion of locusts preying upon
the public property; to fit out a naval armament was to throw their
money into the sea; to build fortifications was to bury it in the dirt.
In short, they settled it as a sovereign maxim, so long as their pockets
were full, no matter how much they were drubbed. A kick left no scar; a
broken head cured itself; but an empty purse was of all maladies the
slowest to heal, and one in which nature did nothing for the patient.
[Illustration:
“THE SUDDEN ENTRANCE OF A MESSENGER.”
]
Thus did this venerable assembly of sages lavish away that time which
the urgency of affairs rendered invaluable, in empty brawls and
long-winded speeches, without ever agreeing, except on the point with
which they started, namely, that there was no time to be lost, and delay
was ruinous. At length, St. Nicholas taking compassion on their
distracted situation, and anxious to preserve them from anarchy, so
ordered, that in the midst of one of their most noisy debates, on the
subject of fortification and defence, when they had nearly fallen to
loggerheads in consequence of not being able to convince each other, the
question was happily settled by the sudden entrance of a messenger, who
informed them that a hostile fleet had arrived, and was actually
advancing up the bay!
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a stern-faced man in
17th-century attire, wearing a tall feathered hat and a ruff collar,
while playing a large field drum.]
=Chapter IX.=
IN WHICH THE TROUBLES OF NEW AMSTERDAM APPEARED TO THICKEN—SHOWING THE
BRAVERY, IN TIME OF PERIL, OF A PEOPLE WHO DEFEND THEMSELVES BY
RESOLUTION.
Like as an assemblage of belligerent cats, gibbering and caterwauling,
eying one another with hideous grimaces and contortions, spitting in
each other’s faces, and on the point of a general clapper-clawing, are
suddenly put to scampering rout and confusion by the appearance of a
house-dog, so was the no less vociferous council of New Amsterdam
amazed, astounded, and totally dispersed by the sudden arrival of the
enemy. Every member waddled home as fast as his short legs could carry
him, wheezing as he went with corpulency and terror. Arrived at his
castle, he barricadoed the street-door, and buried himself in the
cider-cellar, without venturing to peep out, lest he should have his
head carried off by a cannon-ball.
The sovereign people crowded into the market-place, herding together
with the instinct of sheep, who seek safety in each other’s company when
the shepherd and his dog are absent, and the wolf is prowling round the
fold. Far from finding relief, however, they only increased each other’s
terrors. Each man looked ruefully in his neighbor’s face, in search of
encouragement, but only found in its woe-begone lineaments a
confirmation of his own dismay. Not a word now was to be heard of
conquering Great Britain, not a whisper about the sovereign virtues of
economy,—while the old women heightened the general gloom by clamorously
bewailing their fate, and calling for protection on St. Nicholas and
Peter Stuyvesant.
[Illustration:
THE ARRIVAL OF PETER.
]
Oh, how did they bewail the absence of the lion-hearted Peter! and how
did they long for the comforting presence of Antony Van Corlear! Indeed,
a gloomy uncertainty hung over the fate of these adventurous heroes. Day
after day had elapsed since the alarming message from the governor
without bringing any further tidings of his safety. Many a fearful
conjecture was hazarded as to what had befallen him and his loyal
squire. Had they not been devoured alive by the cannibals of Marblehead
and Cape Cod?—had they not been put to the question by the great council
of Amphictyons?—had they not been smothered in onions by the terrible
men of Pyquag? In the midst of this consternation and perplexity, when
horror, like a mighty nightmare, sat brooding upon the little, fat,
plethoric city of New Amsterdam, the ears of the multitude were suddenly
startled by the distant sound of a trumpet: it approached, it grew
louder and louder, and now it resounded at the city gate. The public
could not be mistaken in the well-known sound; a shout of joy burst from
their lips, as the gallant Peter, covered with dust, and followed by his
faithful trumpeter, came galloping into the market-place.
The first transports of the populace having subsided, they gathered
round the honest Antony, as he dismounted, overwhelming him with
greetings and congratulations. In breathless accents he related to them
the marvellous adventures through which the old governor and himself had
gone, in making their escape from the clutches of the terrible
Amphictyons. But though the Stuyvesant manuscript, with its customary
minuteness where anything touching the great Peter is concerned, is very
particular as to the incidents of this masterly retreat, the state of
the public affairs will not allow me to indulge in a full recital
thereof. Let it suffice to say, that, while Peter Stuyvesant was
anxiously revolving in his mind how he could make good his escape with
honor and dignity, certain of the ships sent out for the conquest of the
Manhattoes touched at the eastern ports to obtain supplies, and to call
on the grand council of the league for its promised co-operation. Upon
hearing of this, the vigilant Peter, perceiving that a moment’s delay
were fatal, made a secret and precipitate decampment; though much did it
grieve his lofty soul to be obliged to turn his back even upon a nation
of foes. Many hair-breadth ’scapes and divers perilous mishaps did they
sustain, as they scoured, without sound of trumpet, through the fair
regions of the east. Already was the country in an uproar with hostile
preparations, and they were obliged to take a large circuit in their
flight, lurking along through the woody mountains of the Devil’s
backbone; whence the valiant Peter sallied forth one day like a lion,
and put to rout a whole legion of squatters, consisting of three
generations of a prolific family, who were already on their way to take
possession of some corner of the New Netherlands. Nay, the faithful
Antony had great difficulty, at sundry times, to prevent him, in the
excess of his wrath, from descending down from the mountains, and
falling, sword in hand, upon certain of the border-towns, who were
marshalling forth their draggle-tailed militia.
[Illustration:
“THE ROOF, WHENCE HE CONTEMPLATES WITH RUEFUL ASPECT THE HOSTILE
SQUADRON.”
]
The first movement of the governor, on reaching his dwelling, was to
mount the roof, whence he contemplated with rueful aspect the hostile
squadron. This had already come to anchor in the bay, and consisted of
two stout frigates, having on board, as John Josselyn, Gent., informs
us, “three hundred valiant redcoats.” Having taken this survey, he sat
himself down and wrote an epistle to the commander, demanding the reason
of his anchoring in the harbor without obtaining previous permission so
to do. This letter was couched in the most dignified and courteous
terms, though I have it from undoubted authority that his teeth were
clinched, and he had a bitter, sardonic grin upon his visage all the
while he wrote. Having despatched his letter, the grim Peter stumped to
and fro about the town with a most war-betokening countenance, his hands
thrust into his breeches-pockets, and whistling a Low Dutch psalm-tune,
which bore no small resemblance to the music of a northeast wind, when a
storm is brewing. The very dogs as they eyed him skulked away in dismay;
while all the old and ugly women of New Amsterdam ran howling at his
heels, imploring him to save them from murder, robbery, and pitiless
ravishment!
The reply of Colonel Nicholas, who commanded the invaders, was couched
in terms of equal courtesy with the letter of the governor; declaring
the right and title of his British Majesty to the province; where he
affirmed the Dutch to be mere interlopers; and demanding that the town,
forts, etc., should be forthwith rendered into his Majesty’s obedience
and protection; promising, at the same time, life, liberty, estate, and
free trade to every Dutch denizen who should readily submit to his
Majesty’s government.
Peter Stuyvesant read over this friendly epistle with some such harmony
of aspect as we may suppose a crusty farmer reads the loving letter of
John Stiles, warning him of an action of ejectment. He was not, however,
to be taken by surprise; but, thrusting the summons into his
breeches-pocket, stalked three times across the room, took a pinch of
snuff with great vehemence, and then, loftily waving his hand, promised
to send an answer next morning. He now summoned a general meeting of his
privy councillors and burgomasters, not to ask their advice, for,
confident in his own strong head, he needed no man’s counsel, but
apparently to give them a piece of his mind on their late craven
conduct.
[Illustration:
“METAMORPHOSING PUMPS INTO FORMIDABLE SOLDIERS.”
]
His orders being duly promulgated, it was a piteous sight to behold the
late valiant burgomasters, who had demolished the whole British empire
in their harangues, peeping ruefully out of their hiding-places;
crawling cautiously forth; dodging through narrow lanes and alleys;
starting at every little dog that barked; mistaking lamp-posts for
British grenadiers; and, in the excess of their panic, metamorphosing
pumps into formidable soldiers levelling blunderbusses at their bosoms!
Having, however, in despite of numerous perils and difficulties of the
kind, arrived safe, without the loss of a single man, at the hall of
assembly, they took their seats, and awaited in fearful silence the
arrival of the governor. In a few moments the wooden leg of the intrepid
Peter was heard in regular and stout-hearted thumps upon the staircase.
He entered the chamber, arrayed in full suit of regimentals, and
carrying his trusty toledo, not girded on his thigh, but tucked under
his arm. As the governor never equipped himself in this portentous
manner unless something of martial nature were working within his
pericranium, his council regarded him ruefully, as if they saw fire and
sword in his iron countenance, and forgot to light their pipes in
breathless suspense.
His first words were, to rate his council soundly for having wasted in
idle debate and party feud the time which should have been devoted to
putting the city in a state of defence. He was particularly indignant at
those brawlers who had disgraced the councils of the province by empty
bickerings and scurrilous invectives against an absent enemy. He now
called upon them to make good their words by deeds, as the enemy they
had defied and derided was at the gate. Finally, he informed them of the
summons he had received to surrender, but concluded by swearing to
defend the province as long as Heaven was on his side and he had a
wooden leg to stand upon; which warlike sentence he emphasized by a
thwack with the flat of his sword upon the table, that quite electrified
his auditors.
The privy councillors, who had long since been brought into as perfect
discipline as were ever the soldiers of the great Frederick, knew there
was no use in saying a word,—so lighted their pipes, and smoked away in
silence, like fat and discreet councillors. But the burgomasters, being
inflated with considerable importance and self-sufficiency, acquired at
popular meetings, were not so easily satisfied. Mustering up fresh
spirit, when they found there was some chance of escaping from their
present jeopardy without the disagreeable alternative of fighting, they
requested a copy of the summons to surrender, that they might show it to
a general meeting of the people.
So insolent and mutinous a request would have been enough to have roused
the gorge of the tranquil Van Twiller himself,—what then must have been
its effect upon the great Stuyvesant, who was not only a Dutchman, a
governor, and a valiant wooden-legged soldier to boot, but withal a man
of the most stomachful and gun-powder disposition? He burst forth into a
blaze of indignation,—swore not a mother’s son of them should see a
syllable of it,—that as to their advice or concurrence, he did not care
a whiff of tobacco for either,—that they might go home, and go to bed
like old women; for he was determined to defend the colony himself,
without the assistance of them or their adherents! So saying he tucked
his sword under his arm, cocked his hat upon his head, and girding up
his loins, stumped indignantly out of the council-chamber, everybody
making room for him as he passed.
No sooner was he gone than the busy burgomasters called a public meeting
in front of the Stadthouse, where they appointed as chairman one Dofue
Roerback, formerly a meddlesome member of the cabinet during the reign
of William the Testy, but kicked out of office by Peter Stuyvesant on
taking the reins of government. He was, withal, a mighty gingerbread
baker in the land, and reverenced by the populace as a man of dark
knowledge, seeing that he was the first to imprint New-Year cakes with
the mysterious hieroglyphics of the Cock and Breeches, and such like
magical devices.
This burgomaster, who still chewed the cud of ill-will against Peter
Stuyvesant, addressed the multitude in what is called a patriotic
speech, informing them of the courteous summons which the governor had
received, to surrender, of his refusal to comply therewith, and of his
denying the public even a sight of the summons, which doubtless
contained conditions highly to the honor and advantage of the province.
[Illustration:
“A PUBLIC MEETING IN FRONT OF THE STADTHOUSE.”
]
He then proceeded to speak of his Excellency in high-sounding terms of
vituperation, suited to the dignity of his station; comparing him to
Nero, Caligula, and other flagrant great men of yore; assuring the
people that the history of the world did not contain a despotic outrage
equal to the present. That it would be recorded in letters of fire, on
the blood-stained tablet of history! That ages would roll back with
sudden horror when they came to view it! That the womb of time (by the
way, your orators and writers take strange liberties with the womb of
time, though some would fain have us believe that time is an old
gentleman)—that the womb of time, pregnant as it was with direful
horrors, would never produce a parallel enormity!—with a variety of
other heart-rending, soul-stirring tropes and figures, which I cannot
enumerate; neither, indeed, need I, for they were of the kind which even
to the present day form the style of popular harangues and patriotic
orations, and may be classed in rhetoric under the general title of
RIGMAROLE.
The result of this speech of the inspired burgomaster was a memorial
addressed to the governor, remonstrating in good round terms on his
conduct. It was proposed that Dofue Roerback himself should be the
bearer of this memorial; but this he warily declined, having no
inclination of coming again within kicking distance of his Excellency.
Who did deliver it has never been named in history, in which neglect he
has suffered grievous wrong; seeing that he was equally worthy of blazon
with him perpetuated in Scottish song and story by the surname of
Bell-the-cat. All we know of the fate of this memorial is, that it was
used by the grim Peter to light his pipe; which, from the vehemence with
which he smoked it, was evidently anything but a pipe of peace.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of an Indigenous person
with a feathered headdress sitting on the edge of a dugout canoe on a
beach, watching a European sailing ship in the distance.]
=Chapter X.=
CONTAINING A DOLEFUL DISASTER OF ANTONY THE TRUMPETER—AND HOW PETER
STUYVESANT, LIKE A SECOND CROMWELL, SUDDENLY DISSOLVED A RUMP
PARLIAMENT.
Now did the high-minded Pieter de Groodt shower down a pannier-load of
maledictions upon his burgomasters for a set of self-willed, obstinate,
factious varlets, who would neither be convinced nor persuaded. Nor did
he omit to bestow some left-handed compliments upon the sovereign
people, as a herd of poltroons, who had no relish for the glorious
hardships and illustrious misadventures of battle, but would rather stay
at home, and eat and sleep in ignoble ease, than fight in a ditch for
immortality and a broken head.
Resolutely bent, however, upon defending his beloved city, in despite
even of itself, he called unto him his trusty Van Corlear, who was his
right-hand man in all times of emergency. Him did he adjure to take his
war-denouncing trumpet, and mounting his horse, to beat up the country
night and day,—sounding the alarm along the pastoral borders of the
Bronx,—startling the wild solitudes of Croton,—arousing the rugged
yeomanry of Weehawk and Hoboken,—the mighty men of battle of Tappan
Bay,—and the brave boys of Tarry-Town, Petticoat-Lane, and
Sleepy-Hollow,—charging them one and all to sling their powder-horns,
shoulder their fowling-pieces, and march merrily down to the Manhattoes.
Now there was nothing in all the world, the divine sex excepted, that
Antony Van Corlear loved better than errands of this kind. So just
stopping to take a lusty dinner, and bracing to his side his
junk-bottle, well charged with heart-inspiring Hollands, he issued
jollily from the city gate, which looked out upon what is at present
called Broadway, sounding a farewell strain, that rung in sprightly
echoes through the winding streets of New Amsterdam. Alas! never more
were they to be gladdened by the melody of their favorite trumpeter!
It was a dark and stormy night when the good Antony arrived at the creek
(sagely denominated Haerlem _River_) which separates the island of
Manna-hata from the mainland. The wind was high, the elements were in an
uproar, and no Charon could be found to ferry the adventurous sounder of
brass across the water. For a short time he vapored like an impatient
ghost upon the brink, and then bethinking himself of the urgency of his
errand, took a hearty embrace of his stone bottle, swore most valorously
that he would swim across in spite of the devil! (Spyt den Duyvel!) and
daringly plunged into the stream. Luckless Antony! Scarce had he
buffeted halfway over, when he was observed to struggle violently, as if
battling with the spirit of the waters,—instinctively he put his trumpet
to his mouth, and giving a vehement blast—sank forever to the bottom!
[Illustration:
THE DEATH OF ANTONY VAN CORLEAR.
]
The clangor of his trumpet, like that of the ivory horn of the renowned
Paladin Orlando, when expiring in the glorious field of Roncesvalles,
rang far and wide through the country, alarming the neighbors round, who
hurried in amazement to the spot. Here an old Dutch burgher, famed for
his veracity, and who had been a witness of the fact, related to them
the melancholy affair; with the fearful addition (to which I am slow in
giving belief) that he saw the duyvel, in the shape of a huge
mossbonker, seize the sturdy Antony by the leg, and drag him beneath the
waves. Certain it is, the place, with the adjoining promontory, which
projects into the Hudson, has been called _Spyt den Duyvel_ ever since;
the ghost of the unfortunate Antony still haunts the surrounding
solitudes, and his trumpet has often been heard by the neighbors, of a
stormy night, mingling with the howling of the blast. Nobody ever
attempts to swim across the creek after dark; on the contrary, a bridge
has been built to guard against such melancholy accidents in future; and
as to the mossbonkers, they are held in such abhorrence, that no true
Dutchman will admit them to his table, who loves good fish and hates the
devil.
Such was the end of Antony Van Corlear,—a man deserving of a better
fate. He lived roundly and soundly, like a true and jolly bachelor,
until the day of his death; but though he was never married, yet did he
leave behind some two or three dozen children, in different parts of the
country,—fine, chubby, brawling, flatulent little urchins; from whom, if
legends speak true, (and they are not apt to lie) did descend the
innumerable race of editors, who people and defend this country, and who
are bountifully paid by the people for keeping up a constant alarm—and
making them miserable. It is hinted, too, that in his various
expeditions into the East he did much towards promoting the population
of the country; in proof of which is adduced the notorious propensity of
the people of those parts to sound their own trumpet.
As some way-worn pilgrim, when the tempest whistles through his locks,
and night is gathering round, beholds his faithful dog, the companion
and solace of his journeying, stretched lifeless at his feet, so did the
generous-hearted hero of the Manhattoes contemplate the untimely end of
Antony Van Corlear. He had been the faithful attendant of his footsteps;
he had charmed him in many a weary hour by his honest gayety and the
martial melody of his trumpet, and had followed him with unflinching
loyalty and affection through many a scene of direful peril and mishap.
He was gone forever! and that, too, at a moment when every mongrel cur
was skulking from his side. This, Peter Stuyvesant, was the moment to
try thy fortitude; and this was the moment when thou didst indeed shine
forth Peter the _Headstrong_!
[Illustration:
“APOLLO PEEPING OUT NOW AND THEN FOR AN INSTANT.”
]
The glare of day had long dispelled the horrors of the stormy night;
still all was dull and gloomy. The late jovial Apollo hid his face
behind lugubrious clouds, peeping out now and then for an instant, as if
anxious, yet fearful, to see what was going on in his favorite city.
This was the eventful morning when the great Peter was to give his reply
to the summons of the invaders. Already was he closeted with his privy
council, sitting in grim state, brooding over the fate of his favorite
trumpeter, and anon boiling with indignation as the insolence of his
recreant burgomasters flashed upon his mind.—While in this state of
irritation, a courier arrived in all haste from Winthrop, the subtle
governor of Connecticut, counselling him, in the most affectionate and
disinterested manner, to surrender the province, and magnifying the
dangers and calamities to which a refusal would subject him.—What a
moment was this to intrude officious advice upon a man who never took
advice in his whole life!—The fiery old governor strode up and down the
chamber with the vehemence that made the bosoms of his councillors to
quake with awe,—railing at his unlucky fate, that thus made him the
constant butt of factious subjects, and jesuitical advisers.
Just at this ill-chosen juncture, the officious burgomasters, who had
heard of the arrival of mysterious despatches, came marching in a body
into the room, with a legion of schepens and toad-eaters at their heels,
and abruptly demanded a perusal of the letter. This was too much for the
spleen of Peter Stuyvesant. He tore the letter in a thousand
pieces,—threw it in the face of the nearest burgomaster,—broke his pipe
over the head of the next,—hurled his spitting-box at an unlucky
schepen, who was just retreating out at the door, and finally prorogued
the whole meeting _sine die_, by kicking them down-stairs with his
wooden leg.
As soon as the burgomasters could recover from their confusion and had
time to breathe, they called a public meeting, where they related at
full length, and with appropriate coloring and exaggeration, the
despotic and vindictive deportment of the governor; declaring that, for
their own parts, they did not value a straw the being kicked, cuffed,
and mauled by the timber toe of his Excellency, but that they felt for
the dignity of the sovereign people, thus rudely insulted by the outrage
committed on the seat of honor of their representatives. The latter part
of the harangue came home at once to that delicacy of feeling and
jealous pride of character vested in all true mobs,—who, though they may
bear injuries without a murmur, yet are marvellously jealous of their
sovereign dignity; and there is no knowing to what act of resentment
they might have been provoked, had they not been somewhat more afraid of
their sturdy old governor than they were of St. Nicholas, the English—or
the d—l himself.
=Chapter XI.=
HOW PETER STUYVESANT DEFENDED THE CITY OF NEW AMSTERDAM FOR SEVERAL
DAYS, BY DINT OF THE STRENGTH OF HIS HEAD.
There is something exceedingly sublime and melancholy in the spectacle
which the present crisis of our history presents. An illustrious and
venerable little city,—the metropolis of a vast extent of uninhabited
country,—garrisoned by a doughty host of orators, chairmen,
committee-men, burgomasters, schepens, and old women,—governed by a
determined and strong-headed warrior, and fortified by mud batteries,
palisadoes, and resolutions,—blockaded by sea, beleaguered by land, and
threatened with direful desolation from without, while its very vitals
are torn with internal faction and commotion! Never did historic pen
record a page of more complicated distress, unless it be the strife that
distracted the Israelites, during the siege of Jerusalem,—where
discordant parties were cutting each other’s throats, at the moment when
the victorious legions of Titus had toppled down their bulwarks, and
were carrying fire and sword into the very _sanctum sanctorum_ of the
temple.
Governor Stuyvesant having triumphantly put his grand council to the
rout, and delivered himself from a multitude of impertinent advisers,
despatched a categorical reply to the commanders of the invading
squadron; wherein he asserted the right and title of their High
Mightinesses the Lords States-General to the province of New
Netherlands, and trusting in the righteousness of his cause, set the
whole British nation at defiance!
My anxiety to extricate my readers and myself from these disastrous
scenes prevents me from giving the whole of this gallant letter, which
concluded in these manly and affectionate terms:—
“As touching the threats in your conclusion, we have nothing to
answer, only that we fear nothing but what God (who is as just as
merciful) shall lay upon us; all things being in his gracious
disposal, and we may as well be preserved by him with small forces as
by a great army; which makes us to wish you all happiness and
prosperity, and recommend you to his protection. My lords, your thrice
humble and affectionate servant and friend,
“P. STUYVESANT.”
Thus having thrown his gauntlet, the brave Peter stuck a pair of
horse-pistols in his belt, girded an immense powder-horn on his
side,—thrust his sound leg into a Hessian boot, and clapping his fierce
little war-hat on the top of his head,—paraded up and down in front of
his house, determined to defend his beloved city to the last.
While all these struggles and dissensions were prevailing in the unhappy
city of New Amsterdam, and while its worthy but ill-starred governor was
framing the above-quoted letter, the English commanders did not remain
idle. They had agents secretly employed to foment the fears and clamors
of the populace; and moreover circulated far and wide, through the
adjacent country, a proclamation, repeating the terms they had already
held out in their summons to surrender, at the same time beguiling the
simple Nederlanders with the most crafty and conciliating professions.
They promised that every man who voluntarily submitted to the authority
of his British Majesty should retain peaceful possession of his house,
his vrouw, and his cabbage-garden. That he should be suffered to smoke
his pipe, speak Dutch, wear as many breeches as he pleased, and import
bricks, tiles, and stone jugs from Holland, instead of manufacturing
them on the spot. That he should on no account be compelled to learn the
English language, nor eat codfish on Saturdays, nor keep accounts in any
other way than by casting them up on his fingers, and chalking them down
upon the crown of his hat; as is observed among the Dutch yeomanry at
the present day. That every man should be allowed quietly to inherit his
father’s hat, coat, shoe buckles, pipe, and every other personal
appendage; and that no man should be obliged to conform to any
improvements, inventions, or any other modern innovations; but, on the
contrary, should be permitted to build his house, follow his trade,
manage his farm, rear his hogs, and educate his children, precisely as
his ancestors had done before him from time immemorial. Finally, that he
should have all the benefits of free trade, and should not be required
to acknowledge any other saint in the calendar than St. Nicholas, who
should thenceforward, as before, be considered the tutelar saint of the
city.
These terms, as may be supposed, appeared very satisfactory to the
people, who had a great disposition to enjoy their property unmolested,
and a most singular aversion to engage in a contest, where they could
gain little more than honor and broken heads,—the first of which they
held in philosophic indifference, the latter in utter detestation. By
these insidious means, therefore, did the English succeed in alienating
the confidence and affections of the populace from their gallant old
governor, whom they considered as obstinately bent upon running them
into hideous misadventures; and did not hesitate to speak their minds
freely, and abuse him most heartily—behind his back.
Like as a mighty grampus when assailed and buffeted by roaring waves and
brawling surges, still keeps on an undeviating course, rising above the
boisterous billows, spouting and blowing as he emerges,—so did the
inflexible Peter pursue, unwavering, his determined career, and rise,
contemptuous, above the clamors of the rabble.
But when the British warriors found that he set their power at defiance,
they despatched recruiting officers to Jamaica, and Jericho, and
Nineveh, and Quag, and Patchog, and all those towns on Long Island which
had been subdued of yore by Stoffel Brinkerhoff; stirring up the progeny
of Preserved Fish, and Determined Cock, and those other New-England
squatters, to assail the city of New Amsterdam by land, while the
hostile ships prepared for an assault by water.
[Illustration:
DETERMINED COCK.
]
The streets of New Amsterdam now presented a scene of wild dismay and
consternation. In vain did Peter Stuyvesant order the citizens to arm
and assemble on the Battery. Blank terror reigned over the community.
The whole party of Short Pipes in the course of a single night had
changed into arrant old women—a metamorphosis only to be paralleled by
the prodigies recorded by Livy as having happened at Rome at the
approach of Hannibal, when statues sweated in pure affright, goats were
converted into sheep, and cocks, turning into hens, ran cackling about
the street.
Thus baffled in all attempts to put the city in a state of defence,
blockaded from without, tormented from within, and menaced with a Yankee
invasion, even the stiff-necked will of Peter Stuyvesant for once gave
way, and in spite of his mighty heart, which swelled in his throat until
it nearly choked him, he consented to a treaty of surrender.
Words cannot express the transports of the populace, on receiving this
intelligence; had they obtained a conquest over their enemies, they
could not have indulged greater delight. The streets resounded with
their congratulations,—they extolled their governor as the father and
deliverer of his country,—they crowded to his house to testify their
gratitude, and were ten times more noisy in their plaudits then when he
returned, with victory perched upon his beaver, from the glorious
capture of Fort Christina. But the indignant Peter shut his doors and
windows, and took refuge in the innermost recesses of his mansion, that
he might not hear the ignoble rejoicings of the rabble.
Commissioners were now appointed on both sides, and a capitulation was
speedily arranged; all that was wanting to ratify it was that it should
be signed by the governor. When the commissioners waited upon him for
this purpose, they were received with grim and bitter courtesy. His
warlike accoutrements were laid aside,—an old Indian night-gown was
wrapped about his rugged limbs, a red night-cap overshadowed his
frowning brow, an iron-gray beard of three days’ growth gave additional
grimness to his visage. Thrice did he seize a worn-out stump of a pen,
and essay to sign the loathsome paper,—thrice did he clinch his teeth,
and make a horrible countenance, as though a dose of rhubarb, senna, and
ipecacuanha had been offered to his lips; at length, dashing it from
him, he seized his brass-hilted sword, and jerking it from the scabbard,
swore by St. Nicholas, to sooner die than yield to any power under
heaven.
For two whole days did he persist in this magnanimous resolution, during
which his house was besieged by the rabble, and menaces and clamorous
revilings exhausted to no purpose. And now another course was adopted to
soothe, if possible, his mighty ire. A procession was formed by the
burgomasters and schepens, followed by the populace, to bear the
capitulation in state to the governor’s dwelling. They found the castle
strongly barricadoed, and the old hero in full regimentals with his
cocked hat on his head, posted with a blunderbuss at the garret-window.
There was something in this formidable position that struck even the
ignoble vulgar with awe and admiration. The brawling multitude could not
but reflect with self-abasement upon their own pusillanimous conduct,
when they beheld their hardy but deserted old governor, thus faithful to
his post, like a forlorn hope, and fully prepared to defend his
ungrateful city to the last. These compunctions, however, were soon
overwhelmed by the recurring tide of public apprehension. The populace
arranged themselves before the house, taking off their hats with most
respectful humility; Burgomaster Roerback, who was of that popular class
of orators described by Sallust as being “talkative rather than
eloquent,” stepped forth and addressed the governor in a speech of three
hours’ length, detailing, in the most pathetic terms, the calamitous
situation of the province, and urging him in a constant repetition of
the same arguments and words to sign the capitulation.
The mighty Peter eyed him from his garret-window in grim silence,—now
and then his eye would glance over the surrounding rabble, and an
indignant grin, like that of an angry mastiff, would mark his iron
visage. But though a man of most undaunted mettle,—though he had a heart
as big as an ox, and a head that would have set adamant to scorn,—yet
after all he was a mere mortal. Wearied out by these repeated
oppositions, and this eternal haranguing, and perceiving that unless he
complied, the inhabitants would follow their own inclination, or rather
their fears, without waiting for his consent, or, what was still worse,
the Yankees would have time to pour in their forces and claim a share in
the conquest, he testily ordered them to hand up the paper. It was
accordingly hoisted to him on the end of a pole; and having scrawled his
name at the bottom of it, he anathematized them all for a set of
cowardly, mutinous, degenerate poltroons, threw the capitulation at
their heads, slammed down the window, and was heard stumping down-stairs
with vehement indignation. The rabble incontinently took to their heels;
even the burgomasters were not slow in evacuating the premises, fearing
lest the sturdy Peter might issue from his den, and greet them with some
unwelcome testimonial of his displeasure.
[Illustration:
“A LEGION OF BRITISH BEEF-FED WARRIORS POURED INTO NEW AMSTERDAM.”
]
Within three hours after the surrender, a legion of British beef-fed
warriors poured into New Amsterdam, taking possession of the fort and
batteries. And now might be heard, from all quarters, the sound of
hammers made by the old Dutch burghers, in nailing up their doors and
windows, to protect their vrouws from these fierce barbarians, whom they
contemplated in silent sullenness from the garret-windows as they
paraded through the streets.
Thus did Colonel Richard Nichols, the commander of the British forces,
enter into quiet possession of the conquered realm as _locum tenens_ for
the Duke of York. The victory was attended with no other outrage than
that of changing the name of the province and its metropolis, which
thenceforth were denominated NEW YORK, and so have continued to be
called unto the present day. The inhabitants, according to treaty, were
allowed to maintain quiet possession of their property; but so
inveterately did they retain their abhorrence of the British nation,
that in a private meeting of the leading citizens it was unanimously
determined never to ask any of their conquerors to dinner.
NOTE.—Modern historians assert that when the New Netherlands were thus
overrun by the British, as Spain in ancient days by the Saracens, a
resolute band refused to bend the neck to the invader. Led by one
Garret Van Horne, a valorous and gigantic Dutchman, they crossed the
bay and buried themselves among the marshes and cabbage-gardens of
Communipaw; as did Pelayo and his followers among the mountains of
Asturias. Here their descendants have remained ever since, keeping
themselves apart, like seed-corn, to re-people the city with the
genuine breed whenever it shall be effectually recovered from its
intruders. It is said the genuine descendants of the Nederlanders who
inhabit New York, still look with longing eyes to the green marshes of
ancient Pavonia, as did the conquered Spaniards of yore to the stern
mountains of Asturias, considering these the regions whence
deliverance is to come.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a man in 17th-century
attire standing on the deck of a ship, blowing a long trumpet with a
banner attached.]
=Chapter XII.=
CONTAINING THE DIGNIFIED RETIREMENT, AND MORTAL SURRENDER OF PETER THE
HEADSTRONG.
Thus, then, have I concluded this great historical enterprise; but
before I lay aside my weary pen, there yet remains to be performed one
pious duty. If among the variety of readers who may peruse this book,
there should haply be found any of those souls of true nobility, which
glow with celestial fire as the history of the generous and the brave,
they will doubtless be anxious to know the fate of the gallant Peter
Stuyvesant. To gratify one such sterling heart of gold I would go more
lengths than to instruct the cold-blooded curiosity of a whole
fraternity of philosophers.
No sooner had that high-mettled cavalier signed the articles of
capitulation, than, determined not to witness the humiliation of his
favorite city, he turned his back on its walls and made a growling
retreat to his _bouwery_, or country-seat, which was situated about two
miles off; where he passed the remainder of his days in patriarchal
retirement. There he enjoyed that tranquillity of mind which he had
never known amid the distracting cares of government; and tasted the
sweets of absolute and uncontrolled authority, which his factious
subjects had so often dashed with the bitterness of opposition.
No persuasions could ever induce him to revisit the city; on the
contrary, he would always have his great arm-chair placed with its back
to the windows which looked in that direction, until a thick grove of
trees planted by his own hand grew up and formed a screen that
effectually excluded it from the prospect. He railed continually at the
degenerate innovations and improvements introduced by the conquerors;
forbade a word of their detested language to be spoken in his family,—a
prohibition readily obeyed, since none of the household could speak
anything but Dutch,—and even ordered a fine avenue to be cut down in
front of his house because it consisted of English cherry-trees.
[Illustration:
“CONDUCTED EVERY STRAY HOG OR COW IN TRIUMPH TO THE POUND.”
]
The same incessant vigilance, which blazed forth when he had a vast
province under his care, now showed itself with equal vigor, though in
narrower limits. He patrolled with unceasing watchfulness the boundaries
of his little territory; repelled every encroachment with intrepid
promptness; punished every vagrant depredation upon his orchard or his
farmyard with inflexible severity; and conducted every stray hog or cow
in triumph to the pound. But to the indignant neighbor, the friendless
stranger, or the weary wanderer, his spacious doors were ever open, and
his capacious fireplace, that emblem of his own warm and generous heart,
had always a corner to receive and cherish them. There was an exception
to this, I must confess, in case the ill-starred applicant were an
Englishman or a Yankee; to whom, though he might extend the hand of
assistance, he could never be brought to yield the rites of hospitality.
Nay, if peradventure some straggling merchant of the East should stop at
his door, with his cartload of tin ware or wooden bowls, the fiery Peter
would issue forth like a giant from his castle, and make such a furious
clattering among his pots and kettles, that the vender of “_notions_”
was fain to betake himself to instant flight.
His suit of regimentals, worn threadbare by the brush, were carefully
hung up in the state bed-chamber, and regularly aired the first fair day
of every month; and his cocked hat and trusty sword were suspended in
grim repose over the parlor mantelpiece, forming supporters to a
full-length portrait of the renowned Admiral Van Tromp. In his domestic
empire he maintained strict discipline and a well-organized despotic
government; but though his own will was the supreme law, yet the good of
his subjects was his constant object. He watched over, not merely their
immediate comforts, but their morals, and their ultimate welfare; for he
gave them abundance of excellent admonition, nor could any of them
complain, that, when occasion required, he was by any means niggardly in
bestowing wholesome correction.
The good old Dutch festivals, those periodical demonstrations of an
overflowing heart and a thankful spirit, which are falling into sad
disuse among my fellow-citizens, were faithfully observed in the mansion
of Governor Stuyvesant. New Year was truly a day of open-handed
liberality, of jocund revelry, and warm-hearted congratulation, when the
bosom swelled with genial good fellowship, and the plenteous table was
attended with an unceremonious freedom, and honest broad-mouthed
merriment, unknown in these days of degeneracy and refinement. Paas and
Pinxter were scrupulously observed throughout his dominions; nor was the
day of St. Nicholas suffered to pass by, without making presents,
hanging the stocking in the chimney, and complying with all its other
ceremonies.
[Illustration:
“ON APRIL FOOL’S ERRANDS FOR PIGEON’S MILK.”
]
Once a year, on the first day of April, he used to array himself in full
regimentals, being the anniversary of his triumphal entry into New
Amsterdam, after the conquest of New Sweden. This was always a kind of
_saturnalia_ among the domestics, when they considered themselves at
liberty, in some measure, to say and do what they pleased: for on this
day their master was always observed to unbend, and become exceeding
pleasant and jocose, sending the old gray-headed negroes on April-fool’s
errands for pigeon’s milk; not one of whom but allowed himself to be
taken in, and humored his old master’s jokes, as became a faithful and
well-disciplined dependant. Thus did he reign, happily and peacefully on
his own land—injuring no man—envying no man—molested by no outward
strifes—perplexed by no internal commotions;—and mighty monarchs of the
earth, who were vainly seeking to maintain peace, and promote the
welfare of mankind, by war and desolation, would have done well to have
made a voyage to the little island of Manna-hata, and learned a lesson
in government from the domestic economy of Peter Stuyvesant.
In process of time, however, the old governor, like all other children
of mortality, began to exhibit evident tokens of decay. Like an aged
oak, which, though it long has braved the fury of the elements, and
still retains its gigantic proportions, begins to shake and groan with
every blast—so was it with the gallant Peter; for though he still bore
the port and semblance of what he was in the days of his hardihood and
chivalry, yet did age and infirmity begin to sap the vigor of his
frame,—but his heart, that unconquerable citadel, still triumphed
unsubdued. With matchless avidity would he listen to every article of
intelligence concerning the battles between the English and Dutch,—still
would his pulse beat high whenever he heard of the victories of De
Ruyter, and his countenance lower, and his eyebrows knit, when fortune
turned in favor of the English. At length, as on a certain day he had
just smoked his fifth pipe, and was napping after dinner, in his
arm-chair, conquering the whole British nation in his dreams, he was
suddenly aroused by a ringing of bells, rattling of drums, and roaring
of cannon, that put all his blood in a ferment. But when he learnt that
these rejoicings were in honor of a great victory obtained by the
combined English and French fleets over the brave De Ruyter, and the
younger Van Tromp, it went so much to his heart, that he took to his
bed, and in less than three days was brought to death’s door, by a
violent cholera morbus! Even in this extremity he still displayed the
unconquerable spirit of Peter _the Headstrong_; holding out to the last
gasp, with inflexible obstinacy, against a whole army of old women who
were bent upon driving the enemy out of his bowels, in the true Dutch
mode of defence, by inundation.
While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of dissolution, news was
brought him that the brave De Ruyter had made good his retreat, with
little loss, and meant once more to meet the enemy in battle. The
closing eye of the old warrior kindled with martial fire at the
words,—he partly raised himself in bed,—clinched his withered hand, as
if he felt within his gripe that sword which waved in triumph before the
walls of Fort Christina, and giving a grim smile of exultation, sank
back upon his pillow, and expired.
Thus died Peter Stuyvesant,—a valiant soldier—a loyal subject—an upright
governor, and an honest Dutchman,—who wanted only a few empires to
desolate, to have been immortalized as a hero!
His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the utmost grandeur and
solemnity. The town was perfectly emptied of its inhabitants, who
crowded in throngs to pay the last sad honors to their good old
governor. All his sterling qualities rushed in full tide upon their
recollection, while the memory of his foibles and his faults had expired
with him. The ancient burghers contended who should have the privilege
of bearing the pall; the populace strove who should walk nearest to the
bier; and the melancholy procession was closed by a number of
gray-headed negroes, who had wintered and summered in the household of
their departed master for the greater part of a century.
[Illustration:
“WELL, DEN! HARDKOPPIG PETER BEN GONE AT LAST!”
]
With sad and gloomy countenances, the multitude gathered round the
grave. They dwelt with mournful hearts on the sturdy virtues, the signal
services, and the gallant exploits of the brave old worthy. They
recalled, with secret upbraidings, their own factious oppositions to his
government; and many an ancient burgher, whose phlegmatic features had
never been known to relax, nor his eyes to moisten, was now observed to
puff a pensive pipe, and the big drops to steal down his cheek, while he
muttered with affectionate accent, and melancholy shake of the
head—“Well, den!—Hardkoppig Peter ben gone at last!”
His remains were deposited in the family vault, under a chapel which he
had piously erected on his estate, and dedicated to St. Nicholas,—and
which stood on the identical spot at present occupied by St. Mark’s
church, where his tombstone is still to be seen. His estate, or
_bouwery_, as it was called, has ever continued in the possession of his
descendants, who, by the uniform integrity of their conduct, and their
strict adherence to the customs and manners that prevailed in the “_good
old times_,” have proved themselves worthy of their illustrious
ancestor. Many a time and oft has the farm been haunted at night by
enterprising money-diggers, in quest of pots of gold, said to have been
buried by the old governor, though I cannot learn that any of them have
ever been enriched by their researches; and who is there, among my
native-born fellow-citizens, that does not remember when, in the
mischievous days of his boyhood, he conceived it a great exploit to rob
“Stuyvesant’s orchard” on a holiday afternoon?
At this stronghold of the family may still be seen certain memorials of
the immortal Peter. His full-length portrait frowns in martial terrors
from the parlor-wall; his cocked hat and sword still hang up in the best
bedroom; his brimstone-colored breeches were for a long while suspended
in the hall, until some years since they occasioned a dispute between a
new-married couple; and his silver-mounted wooden leg is still treasured
up in the store-room, as an invaluable relique.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of three men in
17th-century attire gathered around a table; one man in the foreground
smokes a long pipe while the two across from him look on with stern or
concerned expressions.]
=Chapter XIII.=
THE AUTHOR’S REFLECTIONS UPON WHAT HAS BEEN SAID.
Among the numerous events, which are each in their turn the most direful
and melancholy of all possible occurrences, in your interesting and
authentic history, there is none that occasions such deep and
heart-rending grief as the decline and fall of your renowned and mighty
empires. Where is the reader who can contemplate without emotion the
disastrous events by which the great dynasties of the world have been
extinguished? While wandering, in imagination, among the gigantic ruins
of states and empires, and marking the tremendous convulsions that
wrought their overthrow, the bosom of the melancholy inquirer swells
with sympathy commensurate to the surrounding desolation. Kingdoms,
principalities, and powers, have each had their rise, their progress,
and their downfall,—each in its turn has swayed a potent sceptre,—each
has returned to its primeval nothingness. And thus did it fare with the
empire of their High Mightinesses, at the Manhattoes, under the peaceful
reign of Walter the Doubter, the fretful reign of William the Testy, and
the chivalric reign of Peter the Headstrong.
Its history is fruitful of instruction, and worthy of being pondered
over attentively, for it is by thus raking among the ashes of departed
greatness, that the sparks of true knowledge are to be found, and the
lamp of wisdom illuminated. Let then the reign of Walter the Doubter
warn against yielding to that sleek, contented security, and that
overweening fondness for comfort and repose, which are produced by a
state of prosperity and peace. These tend to unnerve a nation; to
destroy its pride of character; to render it patient of insult; deaf to
the calls of honor and of justice; and cause it to cling to peace, like
the sluggard to his pillow, at the expense of every valuable duty and
consideration. Such supineness insures the very evil from which it
shrinks. One right yielded up produces the usurpation of a second; one
encroachment passively suffered makes way for another; and the nation
which thus, through a doting love of peace, has sacrificed honor and
interest, will at length have to fight for existence.
Let the disastrous reign of William the Testy serve as a salutary
warning against that fitful, feverish mode of legislation, which acts
without system; depends on shifts and projects, and trusts to lucky
contingencies. Which hesitates, and wavers, and at length decides with
the rashness of ignorance and imbecility. Which stoops for popularity by
courting the prejudices and flattering the arrogance, rather than
commanding the respect of the rabble. Which seeks safety in a multitude
of counsellors, and distracts itself by a variety of contradictory
schemes and opinions. Which mistakes procrastination for wariness—hurry
for decision—parsimony for economy—bustle for business—and vaporing for
valor. Which is violent in council, sanguine in expectation, precipitate
in action, and feeble in execution. Which undertakes enterprises without
forethought, enters upon them without preparation, conducts them with
energy, and ends them in confusion and defeat.
Let the reign of the good Stuyvesant show the effects of vigor and
decision even when destitute of cool judgment, and surrounded by
perplexities. Let it show how frankness, probity, and high-souled
courage will command respect, and secure honor, even where success is
unattainable. But at the same time, let it caution against a too ready
reliance on the good faith of others, and a too honest confidence in the
loving professions of powerful neighbors, who are most friendly when
they most mean to betray. Let it teach a judicious attention to the
opinions and wishes of the many, who, in times of peril, must be soothed
and led, or apprehension will overpower the deference to authority.
Let the empty wordiness of his factious subjects; their intemperate
harangues; their violent “resolutions”; their hectorings against an
absent enemy, and their pusillanimity on his approach, teach us to
distrust and despise those clamorous patriots whose courage dwells but
in the tongue. Let them serve as a lesson to repress that insolence of
speech, destitute of real force, which too often breaks forth in popular
bodies, and bespeaks the vanity rather than the spirit of a nation. Let
them caution us against vaunting too much of our own power and prowess,
and reviling a noble enemy. True gallantry of soul would always lead us
to treat a foe with courtesy and proud punctilio; a contrary conduct but
takes from the merit of victory, and renders defeat doubly disgraceful.
But I cease to dwell on the stores of excellent examples to be drawn
from the ancient chronicles of the Manhattoes. He who reads attentively
will discover the threads of gold which run throughout the web of
history, and are invisible to the dull eye of ignorance. But, before I
conclude, let me point out a solemn warning, furnished in the subtle
chain of events by which the capture of Fort Casimir has produced the
present convulsions of our globe.
Attend then, gentle reader, to this plain deduction, which, if thou art
a king, an emperor, or other powerful potentate, I advise thee to
treasure up in thy heart,—though little expectation have I that my work
shall fall into such hands, for well I know the care of crafty
ministers, to keep all grave and edifying books of the kind out of the
way of unhappy monarchs—lest peradventure they should read them and
learn wisdom.
By the treacherous surprisal of Fort Casimir, then, did the crafty
Swedes enjoy a transient triumph; but drew upon their heads the
vengeance of Peter Stuyvesant, who wrested all New Sweden from their
hands. By the conquest of New Sweden, Peter Stuyvesant aroused the
claims of Lord Baltimore, who appealed to the Cabinet of Great Britain;
who subdued the whole province of New Netherlands. By this great
achievement the whole extent of North America, from Nova Scotia to the
Floridas, was rendered one entire dependency upon the British crown. But
mark the consequence: the hitherto scattered colonies being thus
consolidated, and having no rival colonies to check or keep them in awe.
waxed great and powerful, and finally becoming too strong for the
mother-country, were enabled to shake off its bonds, and by a glorious
revolution became an independent empire. But the chain of effect stopped
not here: the successful revolution in America produced the sanguinary
revolution in France; which produced the puissant Bonaparte; who
produced the French despotism; which has thrown the whole world in
confusion! Thus have these great powers been successively punished for
their ill-starred conquests; and thus, as I asserted, have all the
present convulsions, revolutions, and disasters that overwhelm mankind,
originated in the capture of the little Fort Casimir, as recorded in
this eventful history.
And now, worthy reader, ere I take a sad farewell,—which, alas! must be
forever,—willingly would I part in cordial fellowship, and bespeak thy
kind-hearted remembrance. That I have not written a better history of
the days of the patriarchs is not my fault; had any other person written
one as good, I should not have attempted it at all. That many will
hereafter spring up and surpass me in excellence, I have very little
doubt, and still less care; well knowing that, when the great
Christovallo Colon (who is vulgarly called Columbus) had once stood his
egg upon its end, every one at table could stand his up a thousand times
more dexterously. Should any reader find matter of offence in this
history, I should heartily grieve, though I would on no account question
his penetration by telling him he was mistaken—his good-nature by
telling him he was captious—or his pure conscience by telling him he was
startled at a shadow. Surely when so ingenious in finding offence where
none was intended, it were a thousand pities he should not be suffered
to enjoy the benefit of his discovery.
I have too high an opinion of the understanding of my fellow-citizens to
think of yielding them instruction, and I covet too much their
good-will, to forfeit it by giving them good advice. I am none of those
cynics who despise the world, because it despises them: on the contrary,
though but low in its regard, I look up to it with the most perfect
good-nature, and my only sorrow is, that it does not prove itself more
worthy of the unbounded love I bear it. If, however, in this my historic
production—the scanty fruit of a long and laborious life—I have failed
to gratify the dainty palate of the age, I can only lament my
misfortune—for it is too late in the season for me ever to hope to
repair it. Already has withering age showered his sterile snows upon my
brow; in a little while, and this genial warmth which still lingers
around my heart, and throbs—worthy reader—throbs kindly towards thyself,
will be chilled forever. Haply this frail compound of dust, which while
alive may have given birth to naught but unprofitable weeds, may form a
humble sod of the valley, whence may spring many a sweet wild flower, to
adorn my beloved island of Manna-hata!
THE END.
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of two simple, four-petaled
flowers on thin stems against a dark, cross-hatched background.]
[Illustration: A vintage pen-and-ink drawing of a slender man in
17th-century peasant attire, smiling as he carries a sack and a mallet
or large hoe over his shoulder.]
-----
Footnote 1:
The old Welsh bards believed that King Arthur was not dead, but
carried awaie by the fairies into some pleasant place, where he sholde
remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reigne in as great
authority as ever.—HOLLINSHED.
The Britons suppose that he shall come yet and conquere all Britaigne,
for certes, this is the prophicye of Merlyn—He say’d that his deth
shall be doubteous; and said soth for men thereof yet have doubte and
shullen for ever more—for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is
dede.—DR. LEEW, CHRON.
Footnote 2:
Diedrich Knickerbocker, in his scrupulous search after truth, is
sometimes too fastidious in regard to facts which border a little on
the marvellous. The story of the golden ore rests on something better
than mere tradition. The venerable Adrian Van der Donck, Doctor of
Laws, in his description of the New Netherlands, asserts it from his
own observation as an eye-witness. He was present, he says, in 1645,
at a treaty between Governor Kieft and the Mohawk Indians, in which
one of the latter, in painting himself for the ceremony, used a
pigment, the weight and shining appearance of which excited the
curiosity of the governor and Mynheer Van der Donck. They obtained a
lump, and gave it to be proved by a skilful doctor of medicine,
Johannes de la Montagne, one of the councillors of the New
Netherlands. It was put into a crucible, and yielded two pieces of
gold, worth about three guilders. All this, continues Adrian Van der
Donck, was kept secret. As soon as peace was made with the Mohawks, an
officer and a few men were sent to the mountain (in the region of the
Kaatskill), under the guidance of an Indian, to search for the
precious mineral. They brought back a bucket full of ore; which, being
submitted to the crucible, proved as productive as the first. William
Kieft now thought the discovery certain. He sent a confidential
person, Arent Corsen, with a bag full of the mineral, to New Haven, to
take passage in an English ship for England, thence to proceed to
Holland. The vessel sailed at Christmas, but never reached her port.
All on board perished.
In the year 1647, Wilhelmus Kieft himself embarked on board the
_Princess_ taking with him specimens of the supposed mineral. The ship
was never heard of more!
Some have supposed that the mineral in question was not gold, but
pyrites; but we have the assertion of Adrian Van der Donck, an
eye-witness, and the experiment of Johannes de la Montagne, a learned
doctor of medicine, on the golden side of the question. Cornelius Van
Tienhooven, also, at that time secretary of the New Netherlands,
declared in Holland that he had tested several specimens of the
mineral, which proved satisfactory.[3]
It would appear, however, that these golden treasures of the Kaatskill
always brought ill-luck: as is evidenced in the fate of Arent Corsen
and Wilhelmus Kieft, and the wreck of the ships in which they
attempted to convey the treasure across the ocean. The golden mines
have never since been explored, but remain among the mysteries of the
Kaatskill mountains, and under the protection of the goblins which
haunt them.
Footnote 3:
See Van der Donck’s “Description of the New Netherlands.” _Collect.
New York Hist. Society_, Vol. I., p. 161.
Footnote 4:
See the histories of Masters Josselyn and Blome.
Footnote 5:
Haz. _Col. Stat. Pap._
Footnote 6:
Hobbes’ _Leviathan_, Part i., ch. 13.
Footnote 7:
Quum prorepserunt primis animalia terris,
Mutuum ac turpe pecus, glandem atque cubilia propter,
Unguibus et pugnis, dein fustibus, atque ita porro
Pugnabant armis, quæ post fabricaverat usus.
Hor., _Sat._, L. i., S. 3.
Footnote 8:
Hazard’s _State Papers_.
Footnote 9:
New Plymouth record.
Footnote 10:
Mather’s _Hist. New Eng._ B. 6, ch. 7.
Footnote 11:
Ballad of “Dragon of Wantley.”
Footnote 12:
Acrelius’ _History N. Sweden_. For some notice of this miraculous
discomfiture of the Swedes, see _N. Y. His. Col._, new series, Vol.
I., p. 412.
Footnote 13:
“... as soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,
And a quart of aqua vitæ.”
“Dragon of Wantley.”
Footnote 14:
The learned Hans Megapolensis, treating of the country about Albany,
in a letter which was written some time after the settlement, says:
“There is in the river great plenty of sturgeon, which we Christians
do not make use of, but the Indians eat them greedily.”
Footnote 15:
This was likewise the great seal of the New Netherlands, as may still
be seen in ancient records.
Footnote 16:
Besides what is related in the Stuyvesant MS., I have found mention
made of this illustrious patroon in another manuscript, which says:
“De Heer (or the squire) Michael Paw, a Dutch subject, about 10th Aug.
1630, by deed purchased Staten Island. N. B. The same Michael Paw had
what the Dutch call a colonie at Pavonia, on the Jersey shore,
opposite New York, and his overseer in 1636 was named Corns. Van
Vorst; a person of the same name in 1769 owned Pawles Hook and a large
farm at Pavonia, and is a lineal descendant from Van Vorst.”
Footnote 17:
So called from the Navesink tribe of Indians that inhabited these
parts. At present they are erroneously denominated the Neversink, or
Neversunk mountains.
Footnote 18:
Since corrupted into the _Wallabout_; the bay where the Navy Yard is
situated.
Footnote 19:
Now spelt Brooklyn.
Footnote 20:
At present a flourishing town, called Christiana, or Christeen, about
thirty-seven miles from Philadelphia, on the post-road to Baltimore.
Footnote 21:
This castle, though very much altered and modernized, is still in
being, and stands at the corner of Pearl Street, facing Coentie’s
slip.
Footnote 22:
Hariot’s _Journal_, Purch. Pilgrims.
Footnote 23:
This Luyck was moreover rector of the Latin School in Nieuw
Nederlandts, 1663. There are two pieces addressed to Ægidius Luyck in
D. Selyn’s MSS. of poesies, upon his marriage with Judith Isendoorn.
Old MS.
[Illustration: Endpaper]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Page Changed from Changed to
54 vulgar,—a wonderful slave for vulgar,—a wonderful salve for
official blunders official blunders
140 its antagonist with the smell of its antagonist with the smell of
gun-power gun-powder
158 Her hair hung in straight His hair hung in straight
gallows-locks about his ears gallows-locks about his ears
● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
● Renumbered footnotes and moved them all to the end of the final
chapter.
● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
● Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=.
● Images without captions use HTML alt text.
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