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]
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
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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.