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[Illustration: "You are not my maid-servant, Catherine,"
he said gently. (P. 57.)]
THE GERMAN PIONEERS
A TALE OF THE MOHAWK
BY
FREDERICK SPIELHAGEN.
_TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY_
The REV. LEVI STERNBERG. D. D.
CHICAGO:
Donohue, Henneberry & Co.
1891.
* * * * *
Copyright, 1891
BY
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.
* * * * *
THE GERMAN PIONEERS
CHAPTER I
On a certain forenoon in the month of April, 1758, there was unusual
activity in the harbor of New York. In spite of the disagreeable
weather--which had now already lasted two days, with dense fogs and
drizzling rain, and even then, from low, gray clouds, was drenching the
multitude--there stood upon the quay dense groups of people looking at
a large Dutch three-master, which had already lain a couple of days in
the roadstead, and now was swinging at anchor in the troubled water
nearer shore.
"The gentlemen would have done better to have remained at home," said a
little man, referring to two broad-shouldered farmers, who stood near.
"I will eat my tailor's goose and not be called Samuel Squenz if, out
of the skin-covered skeletons which have thus far passed here on their
way to the state-house to take the oath of allegiance to our king--whom
may God bless--they can select a single ordinary farmhand."
"Have you seen them?" asked another, who had just joined the group.
"Have I seen them!" replied Samuel Squenz. "We have all seen them. I
tell you, neighbor, had they come out of the grave after lying there
four months they could not have more bones and less flesh. Surely four
months in the grave and four months on that Hollander amounts to about
the same thing."
"The poor devils!" said the other.
"Ah, what poor devils?" called out a man, distinguished from those
around him by his larger wig, more careful dress, rotund body, red,
flabby cheeks, and German accent. "Poor devils! What brings them here?
What are we to do with the starved ragamuffins, of whom one half could
not pay full fare? Now according to our wise laws a wage-sale must be
openly made, as was yesterday advertised both in the 'Gazette' and in
the 'Journal.'"
"They bring us nothing into the country except the dirty rags they have
on and ship-fever, from which may God protect us," called out Samuel
Squenz. "I kept nose and mouth shut as the vermin crept past us."
"It is a sin," said neighbor Flint.
"It is a shame," snarled neighbor Bill.
"Therefore I have always said," continued the man, with the red,
hanging cheeks, "that we should do as they do in Philadelphia, where
for the last thirty years they have levied a poll-tax of forty
shillings on every imported Dutchman, just as they do on a nigger. But
here a man may preach and preach, but it is to deaf ears. I will not
stay out in the rain on account of these ragamuffins. Good day,
gentlemen."
The big man touched his three-cornered hat, but, instead of leaving the
place, went with heavy strides to the edge of the quay and looked at
the ship, which had by this time raised its anchor and was being slowly
driven on by the tide.
"It is a sin," said neighbor Flint.
"It is a shame," snarled neighbor Bill.
"That is--for Mr. Pitcher to speak so," cried one who now came up and
had heard the last words of him who was just leaving.
"What do you mean by that, Mr. Brown?" asked Samuel Squenz,
respectfully lifting his cap.
"Isn't it a shame, now," said Mr. Brown, a small, old, lean man, who
spoke with much animation, and while speaking gesticulated violently
with his lean little arms. "Isn't it a shame for one to speak so
contemptuously about his own countrymen? Is not this Mr. Pitcher just
as good, or as bad as the poor devils there on the ship? Did not his
parents, in 1710, while Robert Hunter was governor, come to New York
with the great immigration, from the Palatinate? They were good,
respectable people, whom I knew well, who had a hard time of it, and
who honestly and honorably worked up to their subsequent better
condition. They do not deserve that this, their son, whom I have seen
running about the streets barefoot, should so utterly forget them and
slander their memory as to change his name from the German, Krug, into
the English, Pitcher. Pitcher indeed! The old Krug was, I think, made
out of better clay than this young English Pitcher, who reviles these
immigrants and thereby creeps under the same cover with the Dutch who
sell people for a term of years, and deal in human flesh as you do,
neighbor Flint, with beef, and you, neighbor Bill, with cheese and
butter."
The old man thrust his bamboo cane angrily into the moist ground.
"It is a sin," said neighbor Flint.
"It is a shame," said neighbor Bill.
"With your permission, neighbors," said Samuel Squenz, "I will not
praise Mr. Pitcher, though he gives me work. One must, however, honor
his father, though he was a miserable Dutchman. Nor will I have
anything to do with those who deal in human flesh, or sell people for a
term of years. May the Lord forgive Mr. Pitcher if he meddles with such
a business. But I cannot blame those to whom this immigration is an
open grief, and who declare it to be injurious to the commonwealth.
These vagabonds take the bread from our mouths, and stuff it into their
unwashed mouths, while they are too stupid or too lazy to earn a
shilling."
"Do you see that man near the edge of the quay close to Mr. Pitcher?"
said Mr. Brown.
"The young farmer?"
"The same. How do you like him?"
"He is a noble looking fellow, though I cannot approve of the cut of
his coat."
"Now this young man is also German, called Lambert Sternberg. He lives
on Canada Creek, and I have just, in my office, counted out one hundred
pounds into his hands, and have given him a commission for another
hundred pounds if he delivers to my correspondents in Albany this fall
by October, on my account, the tar and rosin agreed upon."
"Is it possible," said Samuel Squenz. "Yes, yes, there are exceptions."
"Not at all an exception," earnestly replied Mr. Brown. "Lambert
Sternberg's brother is a fur-hunter and has, for six years, been in a
mutually advantageous partnership with my neighbor Squirrel. So
likewise there live on Canada Creek, on the Mohawk, and on the
Schoharie dozens, yes, hundreds of excellent people, who have in their
veins as pure German blood as you and I have English blood. By diligent
labor they have placed themselves in comfortable circumstances; and it
would have gone still better with them had not the Government, instead
of aiding and protecting them, thrown obstacles in their way. This time
the young man was obliged to take his long journey to New York to
maintain his and his neighbors' rights to the pine trees growing on
their own ground--a right as clear as the sun--and yet, God only knows
what the issue would have been, had I not intervened and showed the
Governor that the purchaser of land, first from the Indians, then from
the government, should not be forced to buy it again for the third time
from the first swindler who crowds himself in and manages to get some
show of title."
Mr. Brown spoke with great earnestness. Most of his hearers, whose eyes
wandered back and forth between the speaker and the farmer at the edge
of the quay, seemed to be convinced. However Samuel Squenz would not
keep quiet, but cried out with a grieved voice:
"What do you thus show, Mr. Brown, except that these scamps swallow up
the land to which we, and our children, and our children's children,
are entitled? And one must not speak of injury done to the
commonwealth! I would like to know what else it should be called?"
"A strengthening," cried Mr. Brown; "a strengthening and an
establishing of the commonwealth. That would be the right word. Is it
not a blessing for us all that outside, on the farthest border, these
poor Germans have settled, and, if God permit, will settle still
farther, and, by their position, are in constant conflict with the
French, and whom we have to thank that you, and I, and all of us here
in New York, can peacefully prosecute our business. When last fall
Captain Belletre, with his French and Indians, fell upon the valley of
the Mohawk, who hindered that he did not reach Albany, and God knows
how much further? We did not, for two years ago we allowed Fort Oswego
to be taken; and General Abercrombie, who commands at Albany, had done
nothing to protect the threatened points until October when Belletre
came. I ask again, who hindered? The Germans, who fought as well as
they could under the lead of their watchful captain, Nicolas Herkimer,
though they lost forty killed and one hundred and two prisoners, not to
speak of the $50,000 damage done by the thieving, burning murderers.
That is an injury to the commonwealth, Mr. Squenz, of which you may
take occasion to think, Mr. Squenz, and therewith I commend you to
God."
The choleric old gentleman had spoken in such a passion that, in spite
of the rain, he took off, not only his hat, but also his wig, and was
now wiping his bald head with his handkerchief as he left the group and
shuffled over to the young countryman, who still stood in the same
place on the quay looking at the ship. Now, however, as the old man
patted him on the shoulder, he turned about with the appearance of one
who has just been awakened out of a dream. It could not have been a
pleasant dream. On the fine, dark-complexioned face there was a trace
of deep grief, and the large, blue, kind, German eyes looked very sad.
"Ah, Mr. Brown," said the young man, "I supposed you had long since
gone home."
"While I stood but ten steps behind you and spent my breath in
defending you! But so it is with you Germans. To strike home when it
comes to the worst--that you can do; but to speak for yourselves--to
maintain your rights against the simpletons who look at you over the
shoulder and who shrug the shoulder over you--that you leave for
others."
"What has happened, Mr. Brown?" said the young man.
"What has happened! The old story. I have again rushed into the fire
for you sleepy fellows--I, an old fool. Do you think--but for this
morning I have already vexed myself enough on your account, and I can
surely reckon on having an attack of the colic this evening. And this
weather besides--the devil take the weather, and the Germans too! Come,
Mr. Lambert, come."
The old man moved about uneasily.
"I would like to stay a little longer," said Lambert, hanging back.
"You have no time to lose if you mean to go by the Albany boat. It
leaves at three o'clock, and you also wanted to get your horse shod."
Lambert turned from the ship, which by this time had come quite near,
to his business friend, and from him again to the ship.
"If you will permit me," said Lambert.
"Do as you please," cried the old man. "You may look at your countrymen
and spoil your appetite for dinner. Or you may buy a young blockhead
who will eat the hair off your head, or a handsome maid who would not
behave at home, but is naturally good enough for you--or perhaps rather
two--that your brother Conrad may also be provided for. Do as you
please, but let me go home. We eat at twelve, and Mrs. Brown likes her
guests to be punctual. Good morning."
Mr. Brown held down his hat, which the wind threatened to take off,
with his bamboo cane, and hurried away at the moment when a dull sound
from Broadway indicated that the immigrants were returning.