Like as an assemblage of belligerent cats, gibbering and caterwauling,
eyeing 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 barricaded 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 marketplace, 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 woebegone 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.
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 marketplace.
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 marvelous
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 escapes and divers
perilous mishaps did they sustain, as they scourged, without sound of
trumpet, through the fair regions of the east. Already was the country in
an uproar with hostile preparation, 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 marshaling forth their
draggle-tailed militia.
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 red coats." 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
the 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.
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 portentious 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 gunpowder 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.
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.