Moon_, one filled with men armed with bows and arrows, who seemed to be
in war paint. Hudson was suspicious of treachery, so only allowed two
of the braves to come on board, whom he dressed up in red coats. The
remaining savages returned to the shore, and presently another canoe
approached in which were two lone warriors. One of them was allowed to
come on deck, Hudson intending to keep him as a hostage to insure the
good behavior of his fellow citizens on the Isle of Manhattan.
The redskins, however, did not seem to like their fair-skinned
brothers, and one immediately dove into the sea and swam hastily
ashore. Expecting an immediate attack, Hudson weighed anchor and
floated the _Half Moon_ off into the channel of the Narrows, where he
again anchored for the night. He expected an assault, but none came, so
he set sail, next morning, for the Bay of New York, which he says that
he found to be “an excellent harbor for all winds.” He again anchored,
and the _Half Moon_ was soon surrounded by the Indians, who were
apparently friendly “making a great show of love, and giving tobacco
and Indian wheat.” The navigators, however, were afraid of an attack
and kept continually upon their guard, yet the red men departed to the
shore, and all was peace and quiet, save for the mewing of the sea
gulls and the squawking of a great blue heron, as he winged his way to
the inland marshes.
The dreamy haze of September hung over the swirling, blue river as
Henry Hudson gazed up the stream which was to ever afterwards bear
his name, and, upon the morning of the twelfth, he weighed anchor, and
steered towards the northwest. Twenty-eight canoes had visited him
that morning, filled with redskinned men, women and children, who had
brought oysters and clams to trade for blue beads and glass trinkets.
The braves smoked great tobacco pipes of yellow color and their cheeks
were smeared with red ochre, so that the mariners were suspicious of
them, and, although they traded with them, allowed none to come upon
the deck.
The wind was unpropitious, so the _Half Moon_ only sailed about two
leagues, when it anchored for the night. Yet, next day, the wind was
fresher, so the vessel proceeded to travel about eleven miles, until it
came opposite the present town of Yonkers, where the anchor was again
let down. The redskins immediately crowded around the boat, but none
were allowed to come on board, as the navigators feared treachery.
The weather continued to be fair, so the _Half Moon_ proceeded upon her
way, and, driven by a strong breeze, finally anchored in a region where
the land was very high and mountainous, evidently the neighborhood of
the Highlands and near the present site of the West Point Military
Academy. No cries of “Battalion, Attention!” “Squads, Right!” or
“Forward, March!” then echoed from the peaceful shore; instead of this,
the mariners heard the hooting of a great, brown owl, while far off
upon the mountain-side glimmered the camp-fire of a straggling band
of Indians. As night descended upon the wilderness, the scream of a
panther reverberated from the dense foliage of the high hills, which
were beautiful with the first changing colors of autumn. The stream
was narrowing, instead of expanding, so, thought Hudson, could it be
possible that, after all, there was no passage to the East Indies?
A filmy mist hung over the rippling waters of the stream, next morning,
but as the sun shone, a clear wind arose which seemed to blow it away.
As Hudson gave orders to his men to haul up the anchor, a sudden splash
near the vessel’s side made him run to the gunwale and look eagerly
into the water, expecting to see a small whale, or a porpoise. Instead,
the head of a redskin bobbed up in the ripples of the stream, as with
furious strokes, one of the braves who had been held prisoner, swam
towards the shore. Another head appeared. The two red men, who had been
held as hostages, had escaped through the port hole.
The Indians soon reached the banks of the stream, climbed out, and
standing there with clenched fists, shook them vindictively at the
white men, making loud and angry cries. Not at all worried at the
happening, Hudson kept on up the now narrowing river, passed by
high mountains upon either side, and finally came in sight of other
mountains, about fifty miles from his former anchorage. Here the
redskins came out to view the curious vessel, and, says Hudson in his
journal, they were “very loving people and very old men, who treated us
very kindly.” The anchor was cast and a boat was sent off with sailors
to catch fish, of which there was a great abundance.
Going ashore, next day, the brave navigator there met an old chieftain
who lived in a circular house and was surrounded by forty men and
seventeen women. The aged redskin was hospitably inclined and begged
the white man to come and feast with him, an invitation which Hudson
readily accepted. Two mats were immediately spread for him to sit upon
and food was brought forward in large, red bowls made of wood. Several
natives were meantime dispatched into the woods in search of game.
After awhile the braves returned with a pair of pigeons which were
roasted upon the fire. A feast was now held, consisting of corn,
beans, pigeon and fat dog, after which Hudson was requested to spend
the night. “I must return,” said the mariner, but this seemed to worry
the chief redskin, so that his people took all of their arrows, and,
breaking them in pieces, threw them into the fire, as they supposed
that the explorer was afraid of them. However, Hudson would not remain
in the wigwam, preferring to sleep among his own compatriots.
After trading with the red men, who brought Indian corn, pumpkins and
tobacco to the ship, the _Half Moon_ was again steered up-stream,
until the water was found to be very shoal. This was probably near the
spot where the city of Hudson has grown up. The weather was warm and
enervating, but the vessel was kept upon her course until she reached
several small islands in the middle of the river, and also very shallow
water, which made it impossible to proceed. As night came on, the
vessel drifted near the shore and grounded. But she was floated off by
means of an anchor, and again lay peacefully in the stream.
Hudson had now proceeded about as far as he could go, and saw that
it was impossible to reach the East Indies by way of the winding
water-course upon which his vessel lay. His men who had been sent
up-stream to explore, in the small boat, brought back word that there
was nothing but still shallower water above. So it was apparent that
the vessel must return to the sea again, and another passage must
be sought for. Yet, before he returned, he determined to make an
experiment with some of these many Indians who were crowding about his
vessel, in order to learn if they were really treacherous, or were
peacefully inclined. This experiment was to be by means of the famous
Holland gin, or “fire water” of the white men, and it was decided to
place some of the red men under its influence.
Next day, several of the Indian braves were invited down to the broad
cabin of the _Half Moon_, where gin and brandy was given them, until
they were all as merry as a marriage bell.
Their squaws looked innocently on as their lords and masters betook
plentifully of the cup that cheers, and saw all of them become, first
merry, then boisterous, then drowsy. Finally one Indian brave became so
deeply intoxicated that he fell asleep upon a bench, snoring with right
good will. All of his companions now arose in great fright, for they
feared that he was poisoned. Taking to their canoes, they cried out
with some show of anger: “You pale faces have sent our brother to the
Land of the Great Spirit. Ugh! Ugh! You have poisoned him!” They did
not, however, forget their poor companion, and several soon returned,
bringing with them long strings of beads which they offered to Hudson,
saying: “Take these, brother, and let us have our miserable friend.
He has gone to the Land of the Hereafter!” But the mariner declined,
answering:
“Let your brother sleep. He is safe with us and will get well. The
Great Spirit is watching over him and you need fear nothing.”
The redskin slept peacefully all night, and, when his frightened
countrymen came out to see him, next day, they were rejoiced to find
him alive and smiling. Crying out, “Ugh! Ugh! The white man was right.
The Great Spirit has looked carefully after our brother,” the red
men paddled him joyfully to the shore, but soon returned, bringing
beads and tobacco, which they gave to Hudson. They also presented him
with a large platter of venison. “Pray take this, brother,” said a
bronze-skinned chieftain. “We love our brother, for he has let no harm
come to our beloved friend who has loved the fire water far too well.
Ugh! Ugh!”
Disappointed in not finding the passage to the far East, Hudson now
prepared to return. But how far had he gone? Writers seem to disagree
upon this point, yet, when one considers that the _Half Moon_ was a
small boat, not as large as many of the stone sloops which now sail in
the North River, it is reasonable to suppose that it went up the Hudson
to a place about in the neighborhood of where Albany now stands, while
the boat which was sent on ahead to explore the stream, advanced as far
as the town of Waterford.
It was now the twenty-seventh day of September, the weather was
balmy, and the leaves of the forest were turning with the first chill
of Autumn. The _Half Moon_ drifted slowly down the broadening river,
passing the home of the hospitable, old chieftain, near Catskill’s
Landing. The redskin came out in his canoe, begging Hudson to come
ashore and eat with him; but the wind was too fresh for the navigator
to listen to his invitation, so the boat kept on down-stream, leaving
the old chief “very sorrowful for their departure.” Toward night the
vessel anchored near what is now known as Red Hook Landing, where the
sailors had splendid fishing in the blue depths of the magnificent
water-course.
Now, detained for a day by head winds, the ship dropped slowly down the
river, passing the famous highlands of the Hudson where the mountains
looked as if there were some metal, or mineral in them. “The hills
seemed to be all blasted, some of them barren with few or no trees
on them.” The Indians still crowded around the boat, several of them
bringing a stone on board which was like emery, for it would cut iron
or steel. On the 1st day of October, with a fair wind behind, the _Half
Moon_ sailed through the highlands, and, reaching a point opposite
Stony point, was becalmed, and cast anchor.
No sooner had the pronged holding-iron touched bottom than the redskins
came crowding around, astonished at everything they saw, and desirous
of trade. They offered pumpkins, beaver skins, and dried plums for
exchange, but apparently could not procure all that they wished, for
one fellow was prompted to steal. Paddling his birch bark canoe near
the stern of the _Half Moon_, he crawled up the rudder into the cabin
window and made off with a pillow and some clothes. Jumping stealthily
into his canoe, he paddled away as fast as he was able, but was seen
by the Mate, who shot and killed him. As he dropped lifeless into the
stern of his canoe, the remaining red men fled in terror, some even
leaping overboard to swim for it. Meanwhile the ship’s boat was manned
and a number of sailors were sent to rescue the stolen articles, which
were easily obtained. As the boat headed for the _Half Moon_, one of
the swimming redskins took hold of the stern and endeavored to overturn
her. When he did this, the cook drew a sword, and, making a vicious
blow at him, cut off his hand. Shrieking with pain, the poor creature
sank to the bottom, never to rise again. The sailors hastened their
rowing, were soon on board the ship, and, fearing an attack, hoisted
sail in order to drop down the stream to the mouth of the Croton River.
The next day was a clear one, with a fair wind, so the _Half Moon_
sailed twenty-one miles to a position somewhere near the head of
Manhattan Island, where there was quite a deal of trouble in store for
these valiant navigators. As you remember, on the way up the stream,
Hudson had held two red men captive, who had escaped through the
porthole. These had returned to their fellows, angry and indignant
at their captivity, and had raised their compatriots to a revengeful
spirit against these white interlopers. The warriors had assembled
along the shores of the river, and, as the _Half Moon_ approached, a
canoe neared the vessel, in which was one of those who had escaped,
and many others, armed with bows and with arrows. Although they
attempted to come on board, the wise Hudson would not allow this to be
done. Showing anger by their gesticulations, the redskins withdrew, but
presently two canoes filled with armed warriors dropped under the stem
and began to attack the vessel by showering arrows at her. The mariners
fired six muskets at the red men and three of them fell dead in the
bottom of their birch-bark canoes.
The Indians who were on the shore, and had been keeping a keen watch
upon the affair, now moved down to the beach in a solid body (there
were about one hundred in all) and shot arrows at the ship, as she
floated by. A cannon was now loaded with ball and was discharged among
them, whereby two of them fell mortally wounded. The remainder fled
into the woods, with the exception of nine or ten desperate men, who,
resolved upon revenge, jumped into a canoe and advanced to fight the
ship at close quarters. But the cannon was again discharged, the canoe
was pierced by the ball, and three or four redskins were killed by
musket shots. The rest swam to shore.
The ship was sailing slowly onward, and, after skirting the shore for
about two miles, dropped anchor beneath the cliffs at Hoboken. The day
following was a stormy one, but the fourth of October was clear, with
an excellent wind, so the _Half Moon_ weighed anchor, passed through
the bay, and, with all sails set, shoved her nose into the swirling
billows of the broad Atlantic, leaving the noble river far astern.
The mate was in favor of wintering in Newfoundland, and of then seeking
a passage to the Far East by means of the Davis Strait, but Hudson
opposed this. The course of the _Half Moon_ was kept in a line for
England, where, on the seventh day of November, after an absence of
a little more than seven months from Amsterdam, she glided into the
harbor of Dartmouth. The crew, as you doubtless remember, was composed
partly of English, partly of Dutch sailors, and, it is said that the
Englishmen refused to allow their Captain to sail into a Dutch harbor.
Dutch historians declare, that, as the English King was jealous of the
bold mariner’s enterprises, he was not allowed to sail to Holland. At
any rate, Hudson remembered his duty to his employers, and sent them a
journal and chart of his discoveries, pointing with great pride to what
he called “the Great River of the Mountains.” The Dutch soon came over
to settle the new-found country, and named the stream the North River,
to distinguish it from the Delaware, or South River. The Indians called
it Cahohatatea, Mahackaneghtue, and sometimes Shatemuck.
This successful voyage had now given Hudson a great name, and his
discoveries fired his old employers of the London Company with
enthusiasm. So they again called him into their service, determined
to make an effort to find the North West passage by examining the
inlets of this wonderful continent of America,—more particularly Davis
Strait, through which it was supposed a channel might be found into the
“Great South Sea.” Hudson was furnished with the ship _Discovery_, of
fifty-five tons, which, equipped and manned with twenty-three men, set
out for the Far West. This journey was to be his last one.
Upon the 17th. of April, 1610, the _Discovery_ passed out of the mouth
of the Thames, and, sailing near the coast of Scotland, the Orkney,
Shetland and Faroe Islands, left the coast of Ireland astern, and
headed for the barren shores of Greenland. Great numbers of whales
were encountered, and two of these sea monsters dove underneath the
ship, but did the craft no harm. It was soon evident that there was
a turbulent and mutinous disposition among the crew,—Robert Juet,
the Mate, being the chief offender, for he had remarked to one of the
sailors that there would be bloodshed before the voyage was over, and
he was evidently plotting to seize the vessel, even at this early date.
The history of this journey is very similar to that of most of the
Arctic explorers. Hudson and his men met great, floating fields of
ice; were chilled by the perpetual frost and snow; and were finally
starved into a submissive recognition of the fact that there could be
no passage to Asia through the desolate region of the frozen North.
Yet, the adventurous mariner discovered the great bay which bears
his name and also the strait which is known as Hudson Strait. Forced
to winter upon the land near Cape Digges, he soon discovered that
his food supply was so low, that, should not succor come to him, he
and his men would die of starvation. Luckily, there were many white
partridges, or ptarmigan, near the ship, which supplied them with
provender, and, when Spring came, great numbers of swans, of geese,
ducks and other water-fowl came soaring by. Unfortunately they went
farther North to breed, so the poor explorers were forced to search the
hills, the woods, and the valleys for anything which might afford them
subsistence, even eating the moss which grew upon the ground.
About the time when the ice began to break up, a brown-skinned savage,
doubtless an Eskimo, put in his appearance, and, as he was treated
well, returned in a day or so, bringing beaver and other skins, which
he gave to Hudson and his men, in return for presents which he had
received the day before. He went away, promising to visit them again,
but, as he did not do so, it is evident that he did not think that the
white men had given him good treatment.
The ice had now begun to melt, so the ship was headed southward. It was
the middle of June, yet there were still great quantities of floating
ice, so much, in fact, that the vessel was obliged to anchor. The food
supply was about exhausted and all that was left was a little bread and
a few pounds of cheese. Hudson now told one of the crew to search the
chests of all of the men in order to find any provisions which might be
concealed there. The sailor obeyed and brought the Captain thirty cakes
in a bag. When the crew learned this, they were greatly exasperated,
and plotted open mutiny against the famous navigator.
The vessel had been detained about a week in the ice when the first
signs of mutiny appeared. Two sailors, called Greene and Wilson, the
latter being the Boatswain, came one night to another mariner called
Pricket, and told him that several of the crew had resolved to seize
Hudson and set him adrift in a boat with all those on board who had
been disabled by sickness.
“There are only a few days’ provisions left,” said Greene, “and the
master seems to be entirely irresolute which way to go. I, myself, have
eaten nothing for three days, so our only hope is to take command of
the ship, and, after escaping from these regions, we will go back to
England.”
Pricket remonstrated with them, saying: “If you stain yourselves with
so great a crime you will be banished from England forever. Pray delay
your intention for four or five days, when we will be free of the ice
and can doubtless get plenty of fish in our nets.”
Upon this Greene took up the Bible which lay there and swore that he
would “do no man harm, and that what he did was for the good of the
voyage and nothing else.”
There were many poor fellows who were ill and it was determined to
maroon them in the boat with Hudson, so that the mutineers could do as
they wished with the _Discovery_, and would not be hampered by either
their master or any one who could not work the ship. It was decided to
put the plot into execution at day-break.
As Hudson came up from the cabin, next morning, after eating a scanty
breakfast, he was immediately seized by two sailors and his arms were
bound fast behind him.
“What does this mean, men?” cried he, with great indignation.
Only sneers of defiance greeted his question. He now called upon the
ship’s carpenter to help him, telling him that he was bound, but, as
this poor fellow was also surrounded by mutineers, he could render him
no assistance.
The boat was now hauled alongside, and the sick and the lame were made
to come up from below. They were told to get in, and Hudson’s little
son was forced to clamber over the steep sides of the vessel, and to
lie upon the bottom of the boat. The sails were now hoisted upon the
_Discovery_, and she stood eastward with a fair wind, dragging the
poor fellows in the boat, astern. In a few hours, being clear of the
ice, the rope leading to the shallop was cut, and soon afterwards the
mutineers lost sight of Henry Hudson forever.
The hardy adventurer was never heard of again. As for the mutineers,
although they steered for Ireland, before they reached the coast they
were so weakened that no one was found strong enough to stand by the
helm. When only one fowl was left for their subsistence and another day
would be their last, they abandoned all care of the vessel and prepared
to meet their fate. Suddenly the joyful cry of “a sail” was heard,
and a fishing vessel came alongside which took them into a harbor of
Ireland. They arrived in London after an absence of one year and five
months.
The English people were horrified to learn of the treatment which
the mutinous crew had administered to Henry Hudson and sent out two
vessels, the next Spring, in the hope of learning something of the fate
of this brave navigator. Yet nothing was ever seen or heard of the
unfortunate discoverer, who perished amidst the fogs and the ice of
that bleak, northern ocean.
Hudson was brave, resourceful, and resolute. He has been accused of
cruelty to the Indians, and of want of high principle in causing their
general intoxication when sailing upon the great river which was to
be named after him. Yet you must remember that he had a mutinous body
of men under his command, and could not easily restrain them from
returning insult for injury, when their redskinned friends shot arrows
at them. The death of the nine Indians killed at the head of Manhattan
Island may be said to have been caused in a war of self-defense. As for
the charge of heartlessness in getting the redskins intoxicated, you
must also remember, that, like his men, he was suspicious and alarmed,
and therefore was determined to learn the honesty or treachery of
the Indians by any means whatsoever. In England, they grieved deeply
for the death of such a gallant countryman, and in the new world he
has perpetual monuments to his memory, for here a great bay, a city,
and a mighty river, all bear the name of this brave yet unfortunate
navigator.
THE WIND FROM THE NORTHLAND
The wind blew from the northland, as the frozen bergs went by,
And it sobbed a song through the grizzly murk, to the bobbing siren’s
cry.
It sang of men of daring, and it whined of maids of the mist,
Who burnish the shields of their men-at-arms, where the ice with the
sunset’s kissed.
Ah! it told of Leif the Lucky, with his sword and his Vikings bold,
Who hounded the bear to his cavern in the land where the penguins
scold.
We heard the clang of their axes; we were jarred with the crash of
their swords,
As the blaring bugles shrilled their notes in thin, transparent words.
And the wind sang of brave Hudson, and it sobbed for his starving son,
As, adrift in a boat, they were chilled by the glut of that night
without a sun.
And the blast sobbed out its tale of death, of Baffin, Franklin, and
Kane,
Of Marvin, de Long, and Parry; of the days of sorrow and pain.
Yet, the blinding sea-mew caroled with joy, as it whined by the
loitering fleet,
Which cruised where the cod and the haddock shoal, at the rock-ribbed
island’s feet.
And it shouted and roared a pæan, to the heroes who’d carried a flag,
A bit of a piece of red, white, and blue, to the spot where the
ice-drifts sag,
As it southward flew, it grew and it grew, ’til it roared out a
rollicking psalm,
To Peary, MacMillan, Borup; brave travelers, silent and calm.
Southward it sang its slogan, where the tossing palm groves sway,
And it rolled out a cheer of three times three, for “Uncle Sam and the
U. S. A.!”
PIERRE ESPRIT RADISSON: