of Jan Sol to mount guard, not a hundred yards from the great gate, or
land poort, which was situated in Broadway, near where Trinity Church
now stands. Beyond this, between Liberty and Courtlandt streets, stood
the company's windmill, where nearly all the flour was made for the
consumption of the little metropolis. The place where he took his
rounds was a sand bank, elevated above the surrounding objects, and
whence he could see the river, the opposite shore of New-Jersey, then
called Pavonia, the capacious bay, and the distant hills of Staten
Island. The night was calm, and the cloudless sky showed thousands of
wandering glories overhead, whose bright twinklings danced on the slow
undulating surface of the glassy mirror. All round there was perfect
silence and repose, nothing moved upon the land or the waters, neither
lights were burning nor dogs barking; these sagacious animals having
been taught, by a most infallible way of appealing to their instincts,
that it was unlawful to disturb the somniferous indulgences of their
masters. It was a scene for poetic inspiration, but Jan Sol was no
poet, although he often availed himself of the poetic license in his
stories. He was thinking of something else, besides the beauty of the
night and the scene. The truth is, his nerves were very much out of
order at that moment.
“It was about the time that witches made their first appearance in
the New World, whither they came, I suppose, to escape the pleasant
alternative of being either drowned or hanged, proffered to them in
those days by the good people of England. But they got out of the
frying pan into the fire, as history records, particularly to the
eastward of the Manhadoes, where some of them underwent the ordeal of
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Others fled to New-Amsterdam, greatly
to the discomfort of the good citizens, who took such umbrage at
broomsticks, that the industrious and cleanly housewife's vocation of
sweeping the parlour twelve times a day was considered as naught. It is
affirmed, that instead of a broom, they used the broad-brimmed Sunday
hats of their husbands in blowing away the dust, for fear of being
taken for witches. There was a universal panic, and a universal dust
throughout all the city.
“But this was not the worst of it either. Just about this time Dominie
Egidius Luyck prophesied the world was coming speedily to an end, as
plainly appeared from the great quantity of toad stools, which made
their appearance in the Ladies' Valley and Windmill Meadow after a
heavy rain. This prophecy was followed up by the appearance of the
northern lights, falling stars, and mysterious rattlings of invisible
carriages through the streets at midnight. To crown all, an inspired
fanatic had passed through the Broadway, crying out 'Wo, wo to the
crown of pride, and the drunkards of Ephraim. Two woes past, and the
third coming, except ye repent—repent—repent.' All these horrors now
encompassed the imagination of Jan Sol, as he paced the little sand
hillock with slow steps, and from time to time started at his shadow.
The half hour seemed an age, and never did anybody long so much for the
appearance of a corporal's guard to relieve him.
“He had not been on his watch more than ten minutes, or so, when,
happening to look towards the opposite shore of Pavonia, he saw
something moving on the waters like a canoe shooting across the river.
Five hundred Indians with tomahawks and scalping knives all at once
stood before the little sentinel, whose imagination was ready cocked
and primed for the reception of all sorts of horrors. He had a great
mind to fire his gun, and alarm the garrison, but a little of the fear
of his companions' jokes restrained him for that time. However, he
drew a pistol, and refreshed his courage with a little of the genuine
Schiedam, after which he ventured to look that way again. But the canoe
had disappeared in a most miraculous manner, and Jan was satisfied in
his own mind, that it was neither more nor less than the ghost of a
canoe. There was not much consolation in this; but it was better than
the five hundred Indians, with their tomahawks and scalping knives.
“The night breeze now sprung up with its chilling dews, and cooled
Jan's courage till it nearly fell down to the freezing point. The wind,
or some other cause, produced a sort of creaking and moaning in the
old crazy windmill, which drew the eyes of the little sentinel in that
direction. At that moment, Jan saw a head slowly rising and peeping
over the wall, directly in a line with the windmill. His eyes became
riveted to the spot, with the irresistible fascination of overwhelming
terror. Gradually the head was followed by shoulders, body and legs,
which Jan swore belonged to a giant at least sixteen ells high. After
sitting a moment upon the wall, the figure, according to Jan's relation
before the governor next morning, put forth a pair of enormous wings,
and whirling itself round and round in a circle—while its eyes flashed
fire, and its teeth appeared like live coals—actually flew down from
the wall towards the governor's garden, where it disappeared, or rather
sank into the ground, close by the garden gate. Jan fired his gun,
and one might have supposed he killed himself, for he fell flat on his
face, apparently as dead as a door nail.
“Here he was found by the relief guard, about five minutes afterwards,
with his face buried in the sand hill. The moment they touched him,
he began to roar out with awful vociferation, ‘Wo, wo to the crown of
pride, and the drunkards of Ephraim.’ They could make nothing of Jan
or his story, and forthwith carried him to the ‘big house,’ as it was
called, where the governor resided, and who, together with the whole
corporation and city, had been waked by the discharge of the gun. Such
a thing had not happened within the memory of man. Jan told his story,
and swore to it afterwards; but all he got by it, was a ride on the
wooden horse the next morning. The story, however, took wind, and there
was more liquor sold that day at the Stadt Herberg, or city tavern,
than for a whole week before. Coming upon the back of the dominie's
toad stools, the northern lights, the rumbling of the invisible wheels,
and the mysterious denunciation of the drunkards of Ephraim, it made
a great impression; and many, not to say all, believed there must be
something in it. Several people went to church the next day, who had
not been there since they were christened.
“Measures were taken the following night, and for several nights
afterwards, to detect this gigantic spectre, but in vain. Nothing
appeared to disturb the quiet repose of the guard and the city, till
the next Saturday night, when it came to Jan Sol's turn to take his
watch upon the sand hill, about the same hour as before. They say Jan
fortified himself with a double allowance of Schiedam, and put a little
Dutch Bible in the pocket of one of his breeches. But all would not do,
for many people were ready to swear afterwards, that his hair stood on
end so sturdily that he could hardly keep his tin cap upon it. Ghosts,
hobgoblins, and all that sort of thing, have not only a propensity to
visit some one particular person, but are likewise extremely regular in
their habits, as well as in their hours of appearing. Exactly at the
same hour the little canoe shot from Pavonia—the night breeze sprang up
as before—the old windmill began to creak and moan—the gigantic spectre
peered over the wall at the same spot as before, and cautiously glaring
round with his fiery eyes, unfurled his mighty wings, and after turning
a few somersets, flew towards the gate of the governor's garden, where
he disappeared as before. This time Jan was too far gone to fire his
matchlock, but a few minutes after he was found almost insensible with
fright, by the relief guard, who carried him before the governor next
morning, where he swore to the same story, and was complimented with
another ride on the wooden horse.
“But the repetition of a miracle is sure to make it less miraculous;
and a wonder twice told is almost half proved. People began to believe,
and from believing, to be sure there was something out of the way, at
least, in this affair. Miracles, like misfortunes, never come single;
and almost every one had a wonder of his own to reinforce that of the
little Dutch sentinel. At least fifty of them happened within less than
a week, each more alarming than the other. Doors opened at midnight, by
invisible hands—strange black cats with green eyes, and sparks of fire
flying out of their backs, appeared at different times—the old mahogany
chests of drawers made divers strange noises, and sometimes went off
with a report almost as loud as a pistol—and an old woman coming into
market with cabbages before daylight in the morning, met a black
figure, she could almost swear had a tail and a cloven foot. A horseman
was heard in the middle of the night galloping furiously towards the
land poort, crying ‘Whoa! whoa!’ with a hollow voice; and what was very
singular, though several persons got up to look out of the windows,
not one could see the least sign of horse or horseman. In short, the
whole city of New-Amsterdam was in a panic, and he was a bold man that
did not run away from his own shadow. Even the ‘big house’ where the
governor dwelt, was infected, insomuch that his excellency doubled his
guards, and slept with loaded pistols at his bedside. One of these made
a voluntary discharge one night, and the bullet passed right through
the picture of Admiral Van Tromp, which hung up in the chamber. If it
had been the admiral himself he would have been killed as sure as a
gun. This accident was considered as very remarkable, as there were no
hair triggers in those days, to go off of themselves.
“There was at that time a public-spirited little magistrate in office,
by the name of DIRCK SMET, a pipemaker by trade, who was the father
of more laws than all the lawyers before or after him, from Moses
down to the present time. He had the itch of legislation to a most
alarming degree, and like Titus, considered he had lost a day when he
had not begotten at least one law. A single circumstance or event, no
matter how insignificant, was enough for him. If a little boy happened
to frighten a sober Dutch horse, which, by-the-way, was no such easy
matter, by flying his kite, the worshipful Dirck Smet would forthwith
call a meeting of the common council, and, after declaiming a full hour
upon the dangers of kiteflying, get a law passed, denouncing a penalty
upon all wicked parents who allowed their children to indulge in that
pestilent amusement. If there happened a rumour of a man, a horse, a
cow, or any other animal being bitten by a mad dog, in some remote part
of New-England, or elsewhere, Dirck Smet would spout a speech enough
to make one's hair stand on end, about the horrors of hydrophobia, and
get a law passed against all the honest mastiffs of New-Amsterdam, who
had no more idea of running mad than I have at this moment. Owing to
the number of little creeks intersecting the city, and the quantity of
grass growing in the streets at that time, there was never a finer city
for raising flocks of geese than New-Amsterdam—in fact, there were as
many geese as inhabitants. Dirck declared war against these in a speech
of three hours, which so overpowered the council, that they all fell
asleep, and passed a law banishing the geese from the city; although
one of the members, who had the finest goose pond in the place, talked
very learnedly about the famous goose that saved the capitol. It is
said that Dirck's antipathy to these honest birds arose from having
been attacked and sorely buffeted by a valiant old gander, whose
premises he had chanced to invade on some occasion. He was, indeed, the
most arrant meddler and busybody of his day, always poking his nose
into holes and corners, ferreting out nuisances, and seeking pretexts
for new laws; so that if the people had paid any attention to them they
would have been under a worse tyranny than that of the Turk or the
Spaniard. But they were saved from this by a lucky circumstance—the
council thinking they did enough by making the laws, let them take care
of themselves afterwards; and honest Dirck Smet was too busy begetting
new laws, to mind what became of the old ones. Nevertheless, he got
the reputation of a most vigilant magistrate, which means a pestilent
intermeddler with people's domestic sports and occupations, and a most
industrious busybody in attempting impossibilities.
“As soon as Dirck Smet heard the story of the inroads of the winged
monster, he fell into a fever of anxiety to do something for the good
of the community. He was on the point of proposing a severe law against
winged monsters, but from this he was dissuaded by a judicious friend,
who represented the difficulty of catching this sort of delinquents,
and that this was absolutely necessary, before he could punish them.
Baffled in this point, he fumed about from one place to another,
insisting that something must be done for the quiet and security of the
city, and that a law of some kind or other was absolutely necessary
on the occasion, if it were only to show their zeal for the public
good. It was his opinion that a bad law was better than no law at all,
and that it would be an inexcusable piece of negligence to let these
interloping monsters fly over the wall with impunity.
“All this while his excellency the governor of New-Amsterdam said
nothing, but thought a great deal. He was a little jealous of the
popularity of Dirck Smet, who had got the title of Father of the City,
on account of having saved it from the horrors of flying kites, mad
dogs, and hissing ganders. In fact, they were two such great men, that
the city was not half large enough for them both, and the consequence
was, that instead of assisting, they only stood in each other's way,
like two carts in a narrow lane. We can have too much of a good
thing, even as regards laws and rulers. The governor was determined
to do nothing, for no other reason that could ever be discovered
than because his rival was so busy. The fears of the good citizens,
however, and their increasing clamours against the negligence of their
rulers, at length roused the activity of the governor, who forthwith
convened his council, to deliberate upon the best means of saving the
city of New-Amsterdam.
“Dirck Smet, who was ex-officio a member, was in his glory on this
occasion, and talked so much that there was no time for acting. At
length, however, the inward man gave out, and he had not breath to say
anything more. It was then, tradition says, that a silent old member,
who never made a set speech in his life, proposed, in as few words as
possible, and in a quiet colloquial manner, that measures should be
first taken to ascertain the truth of the story, after which means
might be found to detect the miracle or the impostor, whatever it might
be. It is affirmed the whole council was astonished that a man should
be able to say so much in so few words, and that henceforth the silent
member was considered the wisest of them all. Even Dirck Smet held his
tongue for the rest of the sitting, thus furnishing another striking
proof, my children, that good sense is an overmatch for the most
confirmed garrulity. The same old gentleman suggested, that as Saturday
night seemed to be the period chosen for his two visits by the winged
monster, it would be advisable to place some of the most trusty of the
city guard in ambush in the vicinity of the spot where, according to
the testimony of Jan Sol, he had flown over the wall, to intercept
him there, or at least overtake him in his progress to the governor's
garden. Everybody wondered at the wisdom of this proposal, which
was adopted with only one dissenting voice. Dirck Smet moved, as an
amendment, that the word ‘progress’ should be changed to ‘flight,’ but
it was negatived, greatly to his mortification, and therefore he voted
against the whole proposition, declaring it went against his conscience.
“Accordingly, the next Saturday night a party was got in readiness,
of six picked men of the city guard, under the command of Captain
Balthaser Knyff, of immortal memory, who had faced more ghosts in his
generation than any man living. The whole band was equipped with an
extraordinary number of nether garments for defence, and fortified
with double allowance of Schiedam, to keep up their courage in this
arduous service. The captain was considered a person of the greatest
weight in all the city; and in addition to this, he added to his
specific gravity, by stuffing into his pocket all the leaden weights
he could borrow of a neighbouring grocer, for he did not know but
the monster might fly away with him. His comrades remonstrated that
this additional weight would impede his pursuit of the foe; but the
captain nobly replied, ‘it was beneath a soldier to run, either from or
after an enemy.’ The most perfect secrecy was preserved in all these
arrangements.
“Thus equipped, they took their station, about eleven o'clock on the
Saturday night following the last appearance of the winged monster,
under cover of one of the neighbouring houses, and there waited the
coming of the mysterious visiter. Twelve o'clock, the favourite hour
of spectres of all sorts, came and passed, yet no spectre appeared
peeping over the wall. By this time they began to be wearied with
long watching, and it was proposed that they should take turns, one
at a time, while the others slept off the fatigue of such unheard-of
service. The lot fell upon Jan Sol, who being, as it were, a sort
of old acquaintance of the spectre, was supposed to be particularly
qualified for this honour. Jan forthwith posted himself at the corner
of the house, upon one leg, to make sure of keeping awake, as he
had whilome seen the New-Amsterdam geese do, ere they were banished
from the city, by the inflexible patriotism of Dirck Smet, the great
lawgiver.
“The little Dutch sentinel stood for about half an hour, sometimes on
one leg, sometimes on the other, with his head full of hobgoblins and
his heart full of fears. All was silent as the grave, save the sonorous
music of the captain's vocal nose, or, as it might be poetically
expressed, ‘living lyre,’ which ever and anon snorted a low requiem to
the waning night. The moon was on the swift decrease, and now exhibited
an arch not unlike a bright Indian bow, suspended in the west, a
little above the distant horizon. Gradually it sank behind the hills,
leaving the world to the guardianship of the watchmen of the night, the
twinkling stars. Scarcely a minute after, the heart of honest Jan was
sent bumping against his trusty ribs, by the appearance of something
slowly rising above the indistinct line of the city wall, which I ought
to observe was made of wood. The spectre gradually mounted higher
and higher, and rested on the very spot where he had seen it twice
before. The teeth of Jan Sol chattered, and his knees knocked against
each other—but he stood his ground manfully, and either would not or
could not run away. This time the spectre, though he appeared with two
enormous wings projecting from his shoulders, did not whirl them round,
or expand them in the manner he had done before. After sitting perched
for a few moments on the wall, he flew down to the ground, and crept
cautiously along, under cover of the wall, in a direction towards the
big house. At this moment, the trusty Jan with some difficulty roused
his companions, and silently pointed to the spectre gliding along as
before related. Whether it was that it saw or heard something to alarm
it, I cannot say; but scarcely had the redoubtable Captain Knyff risen,
and shaken from his valiant spirit the fumes of sleep and Schiedam,
when the spirit took as it were to itself wings, and sped rapidly
towards the gate of the governor's garden. The party pursued, with
the exception of the captain, who carried too much weight for a race,
and arrived within sight of the gate just in time to see the spectre
vanish, either under, over, or inside of it, they could not tell
which. When they got to the gate, they found it fast locked, a proof,
if any had been wanting, that it must have been something supernatural.
“In pursuance of their instructions, the guard roused the governor,
his household, and his troops, with the intention of searching the
garden, and, if necessary, every part of his house, for the purpose
of detecting this mysterious intruder. The garden was surrounded by a
high brick wall, the top of which bristled with iron spikes and pieces
of bottles set in mortar. It was worth a man's life to get over it.
There was no getting in or out except by the gate, on the outside of
which the governor stationed two trusty fellows, with orders to stand
a little apart, and perfectly quiet. Now all the governor's household
was wide awake, and in a rustle of anxiety and trepidation, except
one alone, who did not make her appearance. This was the governor's
only daughter, as pretty a little Dutch damsel as ever crossed Kissing
Bridge, or rambled over the green fields of the Manhadoes. Compared
to the queer little bodies that figure nowadays in the Broadway,
seemingly composed of nothing but hats, feathers, and flounces, she was
a composition of real flesh and blood, which is better than all the
gauze, silk, tulle, and gros de Naples in the world. “A man marries a
milliner's shop instead of a woman nowadays,” said the old gentleman,
glancing a little archly at the fashionable paraphernalia of his pretty
pet granddaughter. “Her face and form was all unsophisticated native
beauty, and her dress all simplicity and grace.”
“Is that her picture hanging in the back parlour?” asked the little
girl, in a sly way.”
“Yes; but the picture does not do justice either to the beauty or the
dress of the original.”
“I hope not,” said the other; “for if it does, I am sure I would not be
like her for the world.”
“Pshaw, you baggage,” replied the old gentleman, “you'll never be fit
to hold a candle to her.”
“The search now commenced with great vigour in the garden, although Jan
Sol openly declared it as his opinion, that they might look themselves
blind before they found the spectre, who could fly over a wall as easy
as a grasshopper. He accordingly kept aloof from the retired part of
the garden, and stuck close to his noble commander, Captain Knyff, who
by this time had come up with the pursuers. All search, however, proved
vain; for after a close investigation of more than an hour, it was
unanimously agreed that the intruder, whether man, monster, or ghost,
could not possibly be hid in the garden. The governor then determined
to have the house searched, and accordingly the whole party entered for
that purpose, with the exception of the two sentinels without the gate.
Here, while rummaging in closets, peering under beds, and looking up
chimneys in vain, they were alarmed by a sudden shout from the garden,
which made their hearts quake with exceeding apprehension. The shout
was succeeded by loud talking and apparent tugging and struggling,
as if between persons engaged in hot contention. At the same moment
the governor's daughter rushed into her chamber, and throwing herself
on the bed with a loud shriek, remained insensible for some time.
Everybody was sure she had seen the spectre.
“It appears that while the search was going on in the big house, and
the attention of everybody employed in that direction, the sentinels
outside the gate heard the key cautiously turned inside, then, after
a little pause, slowly open. A face then peeped out as if to take an
observation, and the owner, apparently satisfied that the coast was
clear, darted forward. The first step, he unluckily tripped over a
rope which these trusty fellows had drawn across the gate, and fell
full length on the ground. Before he could recover his feet the two
sentinels were upon him, and in spite of his exertions kept him down,
until their shouts drew the rest of the guard to their assistance. The
spectre was then secured with ropes, and safely lodged in the cellar
under a strong escort, to await his examination the next morning. Jan
Sol was one of the band, though he insisted it was all nonsense to
mount guard over a spectre.