strange noises, grievous mishaps, and unaccountable appearances. The
noises were such as those who heard them could not describe, and, for
that reason, I hope the courteous reader will excuse me, if I say
nothing more about them; the mishaps were of certain mysterious broken
heads, black eyes, and sore bruises received, as was affirmed, from
unknown assailants; and the mysterious appearances consisted in lights
moving about, at midnight, in the Ladies' Valley, since called Maiden
Lane, which might have passed for lightning bugs, only people that saw
them said they were as big as jack-a-lanterns. Besides these, there
were seen divers stars shooting about in the sky, and an old yffrouw,
being called out after midnight on a special occasion, did certify that
she saw two stars fighting with each other, and making the sparks fly
at every blow. Other strange things happened on that memorable night,
which alarmed the good citizens, and excited the vigilance of the
magistrates.
The next night, matters were still worse. The lights in the Ladies'
Valley were larger and more numerous; the noises waxed more alarming
and unaccountable; and the stranger, while he continued to act and
say nothing all day, snored louder than ever. At length, Yffrouw
Swighauser, being thereunto, as I suspect, instigated by a stomachful
feeling, on account of the stranger's having got possession of her
favourite's seat, and set her a crying, did prevail, by divers means,
of which, thank Heaven, I have little experience, being a bachelor,
to have her husband go and make a complaint against the stranger, as
having some diabolical agency in these matters.
“_Wat donner meen je_, wife?” quoth mynheer; “what have I to say
against the man? He is a very civil, good sort of a body, and never
makes any disturbance except in his sleep.”
“Ay, there it is,” replied the yffrouw. “I never heard such a snore in
all my life. Why, it's no more like yours than the grunt of a pig is to
the roar of a lion. It's unnatural.”
Mynheer did not like this comparison, and answered and said, “By St.
Johannes de Dooper, whoever says I snore like a pig is no better than a
goose.”
The yffrouw had a point to gain, or mynheer Swighauser would have
repented this rejoinder.
“My duck-a-deary,” said she, “whoever says you don't snore like a
fiddle has no more ear for music than a mole—I mean a squeaking
fiddle,” quoth she, aside.
Without further prosecuting this dialogue, let it suffice to say that
the yffrouw at length wrought upon mynheer to present the stranger unto
Alderman Schlepevalcker as a mysterious person, who came from—nobody
knew where, for—nobody knew what; and for aught he knew to the
contrary, was at the bottom of all the disturbances that had beset the
good people of Nieuw-Amsterdam for the last two nights. Accordingly,
the honest man went on his way to the Stadt Huys, where the excellent
magistrate was taking his turn in presiding over the peace of the city
of Nieuw-Amsterdam, and told all he knew, together with much more
besides.
During this communication, the worthy alderman exclaimed, from time to
time, “Indeedaad!” “Onbegrypelyk!” “Goeden Hemel!” “Is het mogelyk!”
“Vuur envlammen!” and finally dismissed Mynheer Swighauser, desiring
him to watch the stranger, and come next day with the result of his
observations. After which he went home to consult his pillow, which he
considered worth all the law books in the world.
The honest publican returned to the City Tavern, where he found supper
all ready; and the stranger, sitting down as usual in the old place,
ate a hearty meal without uttering one word. The yffrouw was out of all
patience with him, seeing she never before had a guest in the house
four-and-twenty hours, without knowing all about him. The upshot of the
interview with the worthy magistrate being disclosed to the yffrouw, it
was agreed in secret to set old Quashee, the black hostler, to watch
the stranger; though the yffrouw told her husband he might as well set
a wooden image to do it, for Quashee was the most notorious sleepyhead
in all Nieuw-Amsterdam, not excepting himself.
“Well, well,” quoth mynheer, “_men weet niet hoe een koe een haas
vangan kan_;” which means, “There is no saying that a cow won't catch
a hare,” and so the matter was settled.
When the stranger retired to his room after supper, the old negro was
accordingly stationed outside the door, with strict injunctions to keep
himself awake, on pain of losing his Newyear present, and being shut up
in the stable all Newyear's day. But it is recorded of Quashee, that
the flesh was too strong for the spirit, though he had a noggin of
genuine Holland to comfort him, and that he fell into a profound nap,
which lasted till after sunrise next day, when he was found sitting
bolt upright on a three-legged stool, with his little black stump of
a pipe declining from the dexter corner of his mouth. Mynheer was
exceeding wroth, and did accommodate old Quashee with such a hearty
cuff on the side of his head, that he fell from the stool, and did
incontinently roll down the stairs and so into the kitchen, where he
was arrested by the great Dutch andirons. “_Een vervlockte jonge_,”
exclaimed Mynheer Swighauser, “_men weet niet, hoe een dubbeltje rollen
kan_”—in English, “There is no saying which way a sixpence will roll.”
At breakfast, the stranger was for the first time missing from his
meals, and this excited no small wonder in the family, which was
marvellously aggravated, when, after knocking some time and receiving
no answer, the door was opened, and the stranger found wanting.
“_Is het mogelyk!_” exclaimed the yffrouw, and “_Wat blixen!_” cried
mynheer. But their exclamations were speedily arrested by the arrival
of the reverend schout, Master Roelif, as he was commonly called, who
summoned them both forthwith to the Stadt Huys, at the command of his
worship Alderman Schlepevalker.
“_Ben je bedonnered?_” cried mynheer; “what can his worship want of my
wife now?”
“Never mind,” replied the good yffrouw, “_het is goed visschen in
troebel water_,” and so they followed Master Roelif to the Stadt House,
according to the behest of Alderman Schlepevalker, as aforesaid.
When they arrived there, whom should they see, in the middle of a
great crowd in the hall of justice, but that “_vervlocte hond_,” the
stranger, as the yffrouw was wont to call him, when he would not answer
her questions.
The stranger was standing with his hands tied behind, and apparently
unconscious, or indifferent to what was going forward around him. It
appears he had been detected very early in the morning in a remote
part of the King's Farm, as it was afterwards called, but which was
then a great forest full of rabbits and other game, standing over the
dead body of a man, whose name and person were equally unknown, no one
recollecting ever to have seen him before. On being interrogated on
the subject, he had not only declined answering, but affected to take
not the least heed of what they said to him. Under these suspicious
circumstances he was brought before the magistrate, charged with the
murder of the unknown person, whose body was also produced in proof of
the fact. No marks of violence were found on the body, but all agreed
that the man was dead, and that there must have been some cause for his
death. The vulgar are ever prone to suspicions, and albeit, are so fond
of seeing a man hanged, that they care little to inquire whether he is
guilty or not.
The worthy alderman, after ordering Master Roelif to call the people to
order, proceeded to interrogate the prisoner as followeth:—
“What is thy name?”
The stranger took not the least notice of him.
“What is thy name, _ben je bedonnered_?” repeated the worthy
magistrate, in a loud voice, and somewhat of a violent gesture of
impatience.
The stranger looked him in the face and nodded his head.
“_Wat donner is dat?_” cried the magistrate.
The stranger nodded as before.
“_Wat donner meen je?_”
Another nod. The worthy magistrate began, as it were, to wax wroth,
and demanded of the prisoner whence he came; but he had relapsed into
his usual indifference, and paid not the least attention, as before.
Whereupon the angry alderman committed him for trial, on the day but
one following, as the witnesses were all on the spot, and the prisoner
contumacious. In the interim, the body of the dead man had been
examined by the only two doctors of Nieuw-Amsterdam, Mynheer Van Dosum
and Mynheer Vander Cureum, who being rival practitioners, of course
differed entirely on the matter. Mynheer Van Dosum decided that the
unknown died by the hand of man, and Mynheer Vander Cureum, by the hand
of his Maker.
When the cause came to be tried, the stranger, as before, replied to
all questions, either by taking not the least notice, or nodding his
head. The worthy magistrate hereupon was sorely puzzled, whether this
ought to be construed into pleading guilty or not pleading at all. In
the former case his course was quite clear; in the latter, he did not
exactly know which way to steer his doubts. But fortunately having
no lawyers to confound him, he finally decided, after consulting
the ceiling of the courtroom, that as it was so easy for a man to
say not guilty, the omission or refusal to say it was tantamount to
a confession of guilt. Accordingly he condemned the prisoner to be
hanged, in spite of the declaration of Doctor Vander Cureum, that the
murdered man died of apoplexy.
The prisoner received the sentence, and was conducted to prison without
saying a word in his defence, and without discovering the least
emotion on the occasion. He merely looked wistfully, first on the
worthy magistrate, then on his bonds, and then at Master Roelif, who,
according to the custom of such losel varlets in office, rudely pushed
him out of the court and dragged him to prison.
On the fourteenth day after his condemnation, it being considered that
sufficient time had been allowed him to repent of his sins, the poor
stranger was brought forth to execution. He was accompanied by the
good dominie, who had prepared his last dying speech and confession,
and certified that he died a repentant sinner. His face was pale and
sad, and his whole appearance bespoke weakness and suffering. He still
persisted in his obstinate silence, and seemed unconscious of what was
going forward; whether from indifference or despair, it was impossible
to decide. When placed on a coffin in the cart, and driven under the
gallows, he seemed for a moment to be aware of his situation, and the
bitter tears coursed one by one down his pallid cheeks. But he remained
silent as before; and when the rope was tied round his neck, only
looked wistfully with a sort of innocent wonder in the face of the
executioner.
All being now ready, and the gaping crowd on the tiptoe of expectation,
the dominie sang a devout hymn, and shaking hands for the last time
with the poor stranger, descended from the cart. The bell tolled the
signal for launching him into the illimitable ocean of eternity, when,
all at once, its dismal moanings were, as it were, hushed into silence
by the piercing shrieks of a female which seemed approaching from a
distance. Anon a voice was heard crying out, “Stop, stop, for the love
of Heaven stop; he is innocent!”
The crowd opened, and a woman of good appearance, seemingly about
forty-five years old, rushed forward, and throwing herself at the feet
of the worthy alderman, whose duty it was to preside at the execution
and maintain due order among the crowd, cried out aloud,
“Spare him, he is my son—he is innocent!“
“_Ben je bedonnered?_” cried the magistrate, “_he is een verdoemde
schurk_, and has confessed his crime by not denying it.”
“He cannot confess or deny it—he was born deaf and dumb!”
“_Goeden Hemel!_” exclaimed Alderman Schlepevalcker; “that accounts for
his not pleading guilty or not guilty. But art thou sure of it, good
woman?”
“Sure of it! Did not I give him birth, and did I not watch like one
hanging over the deathbed of an only child, year after year, to catch
some token that he could hear what I said? Did I not try and try, day
after day, month after month, year after year, to teach him only to
name the name of mother? and when at last I lost all hope that I should
ever hear the sound of his voice, did I not still bless Heaven that I
was not childless, though my son could not call me mother?”
“_Het is jammer!_” exclaimed the worthy magistrate, wiping his eyes.
“But still a dumb man may kill another, for all this. What have you to
say against that?”
At this moment the poor speechless youth recognised his mother,
and uttering a strange inarticulate scream, burst away from the
executioner, leaped from the cart, and throwing himself on her bosom,
sobbed as if his heart was breaking. The mother pressed him to her
heart in silent agony, and the absence of words only added to the deep
pathos of the meeting.
Alderman Schlepevalcker was sorely puzzled as well as affected on this
occasion, and after wiping his eyes, addressed the weeping mother.
“How came thy son hither?”
“He is accustomed to ramble about the country, sometimes all day,
alone; and one day having strayed farther than usual, lost his way,
and being unable to ask any information, wandered we knew not whither,
until a neighbour told us a rumour of a poor youth, who was about to be
executed at Nieuw-Amsterdam for refusing to answer questions. I thought
it might be my son, and came in time, I hope, to save him.”
“Why did not thy husband come with thee?”
“He is dead.”
“And thy father?”
“He died when I was a child.”
“And thy other relatives?”
“I have none but him,” pointing to the dumb youth.
“_Het is jammer!_ but how will he get rid of the charge of this foul
murder?”
“I will question him,” said the mother, who now made various signs,
which were replied to by the youth in the same way.
“What does he say?” asked the worthy magistrate.
“He says that he went forth early in the morning of the day; he was
found standing over the dead body, as soon as the gate was opened to
admit the country people, where he saw the dead man lying under a tree,
and was seized while thus occupied. He knows nothing more.”
“_Onbegrypelik!_ how can you understand all this?”
“Oh, sir, I have been used to study every look and action of his life
since he was a child, and can comprehend his inmost thoughts.”
“_Goeden Hemel!_ is all this true? but he must go back to prison, while
I wait on the governor to solicit his pardon. Wilt thou accompany him?”
“Oh yes!—but no. I will go with thee to the governor. He will not deny
the petition of a mother for the life of her only child.”
Accordingly, the worthy magistrate calling on Doctor Vander Cureum on
his way, proceeded to the governor's house, accompanied by the mother
of the youth, who repeated what he had told her by signs. The doctor
also again certified, in the most positive manner, that the supposed
murdered man had died of apoplexy, brought on, as he supposed, by
excessive drinking; and the good governor, moved by the benevolence of
his heart, did thereupon grant the poor youth an unconditional pardon.
He was rewarded by the tears, the thanks, and the blessings of the now
happy mother.
“Where dost thou abide?” asked the governor. “If it is at a distance,
I will send some one to protect thee.”
“My home is beyond the fresh water river.”
“_Wat blikslager!_ thou belongest to the Splutterkins, who—but no
matter, thou shalt have protection in thy journey home.“ The governor,
being somewhat of a conscientious man, instead of swearing by the
lightning, did piously asseverate by the tinman.
The young man was forthwith released, to the unutterable joy of the
mother, and the infinite content of the Yffrouw Swighauser, who, now
that she knew the cause of his silence, forgave him with all her heart.
The next day the mother and son departed towards home, accompanied by
an escort provided by the good governor, the commander of which carried
a stout defiance to the Yankees; and the last words of that upright and
excellent magistrate, Alderman Schlepevalcker, as he looked kindly at
the youth, were,
”_Het is jammer_—it is a pity.”
CLAAS SCHLASCHENSCHLINGER.
Thrice blessed St. Nicholas! may thy memory and thine honours endure
for ever and a day! It is true that certain arch calumniators, such as
Romish priests, and the like, have claimed thee as a Catholic saint,
affirming, with unparalleled insolence, that ever since the pestilent
heresy of the illustrious John Calvin, there hath not been so much as
a single saint in the Reformed Dutch Church. But beshrew these keepers
of fasts, and other abominations, the truth is not, never was, nor ever
will be in their mouths, or their hearts! Doth not everybody know that
the blessed St. Nicholas was of the Reformed Dutch Church, and that the
cunning Romanists did incontinently filch him from us to keep their
own calendar in countenance? The splutterkins! But I will restrain the
outpourings of my wrath, and contenting myself with having proved that
the good saint was of the true faith, proceed with my story, which
is of undoubted authority, since I had it from a descendant of Claas
Schlaschenschlinger himself, who lives in great honour and glory at the
Waalboght on Long Island, and is moreover a justice of the peace and
deacon of the church.
Nicholas, or, according to the true orthography, Claas
Schlaschenschlinger, was of a respectable parentage, being born
at Saardam, in our good faderland, where his ancestors had been
proprietors of the greatest windmill in all the country round, ever
since the period when that bloody tyrant, Philip of Spain, was driven
from the Low Countries the invincible valour of the Dutch, under the
good Prince of Orange. It is said in a certain credible tradition, that
one of the family had done a good turn to the worshipful St. Nicholas,
in secreting him from the persecutions of the Romanists, who now,
forsooth, claim him to themselves! and that ever afterwards the saint
took special interest and cognizance in their affairs.
While at Saardam, little Claas, who was the youngest of a goodly family
of seventeen children, was observed to be a great favourite of St.
Nicholas, whose namesake he was, who always brought him a cake or two
extra at his Christmas visits, and otherwise distinguished him above
his brothers and sisters; whereat they were not a little jealous, and
did sometimes slyly abstract some of the little rogue's benefactions,
converting them to their own comfort and recreation.
In the process of time, Claas grew to be a stout lad, and withal a
little wild, as he did sometimes neglect the great windmill, the which
he had charge of in turn with the rest of his brothers, whereby it
more than once came to serious damage. Upon these occasions, the worthy
father, who had a reverend care of the morals of his children, was
accustomed to give him the bastinado; but as Claas wore a competent
outfit of breeches, he did not much mind it, not he; only it made him a
little angry, for he was a boy of great spirit. About the time, I say,
that Claas had arrived at the years of two or three and twenty, and was
considered a stout boy for his age, there was great talk of settling
a colony at the Manhadoes, which the famous Heinrick Hudson had
discovered long years before. Many people of good name and substance
were preparing to emigrate there, seeing it was described as a land
flowing with milk and honey—that is to say, abounding in shad and
herrings—and affording mighty bargains of beaver and other skins.
Now Claas began to cherish an earnest longing to visit these parts, for
he was tired of tending the windmill, and besides he had a natural love
for marshes and creeks, and being a shrewd lad, concluded that there
must be plenty of these where beavers and such like abounded. But his
father and the Vrouw Schlaschenschlinger did eschew and anathematize
this notion of Claas's, and placed him apprentice to an eminent
shoemaker, to learn that useful art and mystery. Claas considered it
derogatory to the son of the proprietor of the greatest windmill in all
Saardam to carry the lapstone, and wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, or
some such thing. But his father told him in so many words, that there
were more lawyers than clients in the town already, and that a good
cobbler saved more people from being sick, than all the doctors cured.
So Claas became apprentice to the shoemaking business, and served out
his time, after which he got to be his own master, and determined to
put in practice his design of visiting the Manhadoes, of which he had
never lost sight.
After much ado, Mynheer Schlaschenschlinger, and the good vrouw,
consented unwillingly to let him follow the bent of his inclinations,
and accordingly all things were got ready for his departure for the
New World, in company with a party which was going out under that
renowned Lord Michael Paauw, who was proceeding to settle his domain
of Pavonia, which lieth directly opposite to New-Amsterdam. Mynheer
Schlaschenschlinger fitted out his son nobly, and becoming the owner
of the largest windmill in all Saardam, equipping him with awls, and
knives, and wax, and thread, together with a bench, and a goodly
lapstone, considering in his own mind that the great scarcity of stones
in Holland might, peradventure, extend to the Manhadoes. Now all being
prepared, it was settled that Claas should depart on the next day but
one, the next being St. Nicholas his day, and a great festival among
the people of Holland.
According to custom, ever since the days of the blessed saint, they had
a plentiful supper of waffles and chocolate—that pestilent beverage
tea not having yet come into fashion—and sat up talking of Claas, his
adventures, and what he would see and hear in the Manhadoes, till it
was almost nine o'clock. Upon this, mynheer ordered them all to bed,
being scandalized at such unseasonable hours. In the morning when Claas
got up, and went to put on his stocking, he felt something hard at the
toe, and turning it inside out, there fell on the floor the bowl of a
pipe of the genuine _Meershaum_, which seemed to have been used beyond
memory since its polish was a thousand times more soft and delightsome
than ivory or tortoise shell, and its lustre past all price. Would that
the blessed saint would bestow such a one on me!
Claas was delighted; he kissed it as if he had been an idolatrous
Romanist—which, by the blessing of Saint Nicholas, he was not—and
bestowing it in the bottom of his strong oaken chest, resolved like
unto a prudent Dutchman, never to use it for fear of accidents. In a
few hours afterwards, he parted from his parents, his family, and his
home; his father gave him a history of the bloody wars and persecutions
of Philip of Spain; a small purse of guilders, and abundance of advice
for the government of his future life; but his mother gave him what
was more precious than all these—her tears, her blessing, and a little
Dutch Bible with silver clasps. Bibles were not so plenty then as
they are now, and were considered as the greatest treasures of the
household. His brothers and sisters took an affectionate farewell of
him, and asked his pardon for stealing his Newyear cookies. So Claas
kissed his mother, promising, if it pleased Heaven, to send her stores
of herrings and beaver skins, whereat she was marvellously comforted;
and he went on his way, as it were sorrowfully rejoicing.
I shall pass over the journey, and the voyage to the Manhadoes, saving
the relation of a curious matter that occurred after the ship had
been about ninety days at sea, and they were supposed to be well on
their way to the port of New-Amsterdam. It came into the heads of
the passengers to while away the time as they were lying to one day
with the sails all furled, except one or two, which I name not, for
a special reason, contrary to the practice of most writers—namely,
because I am ignorant thereof—having the sails thus furled, I say, on
account of certain suspicious-looking clouds, the which the captain,
who kept a bright lookout day and night, had seen hovering overhead,
with no good intentions, it came into the noddles of divers of the
passengers to pass the time by opening their chests, and comparing
their respective outfits, for they were an honest set of people, and
not afraid of being robbed.