shoulder; "a man is never a man till he can defy wind and weather,
range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and live on bass-wood
leaves!"
And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch drinking song,
swaying a short squab Dutch bottle in his hand, while his myrmidons
would join in chorus, until the woods echoed again;--as the good old
song has it:
"They all with a shout made the elements ring,
So soon as the office was o'er;
To feasting they went with true merriment.
And tippled strong liquor gillore."
In the midst of his jovialty, however, Heer Antony did not lose sight
of discretion. Though he pushed the bottle without reserve to Dolph,
yet he always took care to help his followers himself, knowing the
beings he had to deal with; and he was particular in granting but a
moderate allowance to the Indians. The repast being ended, the Indians
having drunk their liquor and smoked their pipes, now wrapped
themselves in their blankets, stretched themselves on the ground with
their feet to the fire, and soon fell asleep, like so many tired
hounds. The rest of the party remained chatting before the fire, which
the gloom of the forest, and the dampness of the air from the late
storm, rendered extremely grateful and comforting. The conversation
gradually moderated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned upon
hunting adventures, and exploits and perils in the wilderness; many of
which were so strange and improbable, that I will not venture to
repeat them, lest the veracity of Antony Vander Heyden and his
comrades should be brought into question. There were many legendary
tales told, also, about the river, and the settlements on its borders;
in which valuable kind of lore, the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed.
As the sturdy bush-beater sat in the twisted root of a tree, that
served him for a kind of arm-chair, dealing forth these wild stories,
with the fire gleaming on his strongly-marked visage, Dolph was again
repeatedly perplexed by something that reminded him of the phantom of
the haunted house; some vague resemblance, that could not be fixed
upon any precise feature or lineament, but which pervaded the general
air of his countenance and figure.
The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard being again discussed,
led to the relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that had
befallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in the earlier
periods of colonial history; most of which the Heer deliberately
attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared at this suggestion;
but the old gentleman assured him that it was very currently believed
by the settlers along the river, that these highlands were under the
dominion of supernatural and mischievous beings, which seemed to have
taken some pique against the Dutch colonists in the early time of the
settlement. In consequence of this, they have ever since taken
particular delight in venting their spleen, and indulging their
humours, upon the Dutch skippers; bothering them with flaws, head
winds, counter currents, and all kinds of impediments; insomuch, that
a Dutch navigator was always obliged to be exceedingly wary and
deliberate in his proceedings; to come to anchor at dusk; to drop his
peak, or take in sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling
over the mountains; in short, to take so many precautions, that he was
often apt to be an incredible time in toiling up the river.
Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of the air to be evil
spirits conjured up by the Indian wizards, in the early times of the
province, to revenge themselves on the strangers who had dispossessed
them of their country. They even attributed to their incantations the
misadventure which befell the renowned Hendrick Hudson, when he sailed
so gallantly up this river in quest of a north-west passage, and, as
he thought, run his ship aground; which they affirm was nothing more
nor less than a spell of these same wizards, to prevent his getting to
China in this direction.
The greater part, however, Heer Antony observed, accounted for all the
extraordinary circumstances attending this river, and the perplexities
of the skippers which navigated it, by the old legend of the
Storm-ship, which haunted Point-no-point. On finding Dolph to be
utterly ignorant of this tradition, the Heer stared at him for a
moment with surprise, and wondered where he had passed his life, to be
uninformed on so important a point of history. To pass away the
remainder of the evening, therefore, he undertook the tale, as far as
his memory would serve, in the very words in which it had been written
out by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New-Nederlandts. Giving,
then, a stir to the fire, that sent up its sparks among the trees like
a little volcano, he adjusted himself comfortably in his root of a
tree; and throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for a few
moments, to summon up his recollection, he related the following
legend.
THE STORM-SHIP.
In the golden age of the province of the New-Netherlands, when it was
under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter,
the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed, one sultry afternoon, just
about the time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of
thunder and lightning. The rain descended in such torrents, as
absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as if
the thunder rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses; the
lightning was seen to play about the church of St. Nicholas, and to
strive three times, in vain, to strike its weather-cock. Garret Van
Horne's new chimney was split almost from top to bottom; and Doffue
Mildeberger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as he
was riding into town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled
storms, that only happen once within the memory of that venerable
personage, known in all towns by the appellation of "the oldest
inhabitant."
Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. They
gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars;
after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, lest it
should attract the lightning. At length the storm abated: the thunder
sunk into a growl; and the setting sun, breaking from under the
fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to
gleam like a sea of molten, gold.
The word was given from the fort, that a ship was standing up the bay.
It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, and soon put the
little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early
times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the
inhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land of
their birth, from which they were so completely severed: to the yearly
ship, too, they looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of
comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have her
new cap, nor new gown, until the arrival of the ship; the artist
waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his
supply of Hollands, the school-boy for his top and marbles, and the
lordly landholder for the bricks with which he was to build his new
mansion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out
for the arrival of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the town
of New-Amsterdam; and from one end of the year to the other, the
ship--the ship--the ship--was the continual topic of conversation.
The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down to
the battery, to behold the wished-for sight. It was not exactly the
time when she had been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was a
matter of some speculation. Many were the groups collected about the
battery. Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow and
pompous gravity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowd
of old women and idle boys. At another place was a knot of old
weatherbeaten fellows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their
times, and were great authorities on such occasions; these gave
different opinions, and caused great disputes among their several
adherents: but the man most looked up to, and followed and watched by
the crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea-captain retired from
service, the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship
through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a
Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however, from Hans Van
Pelt had always more weight with the public than a speech from another
man.
In the meantime, the ship became more distinct to the naked eye: she
was a stout, round Dutch-built vessel, with high bow and poop, and
bearing Dutch colours. The evening sun gilded her bellying canvas, as
she came riding over the long waving billows. The sentinel who had
given notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of her
when she was in the centre of the bay; and that she broke suddenly on
his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black
thunder-cloud. The bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he
would say to this report: Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer
together, and said nothing; upon which some shook their heads, and
others shrugged their shoulders.
The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and, passing by
the fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her,
and, with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the
garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely to
pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side,
but no notice was taken of it! What was strange, she had all her sails
set, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down the
river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise harbour-master,
ordered his boat, and set off to board her; but after rowing two or
three hours, he returned without success. Sometimes he would get
within one or two hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she
would be half a mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen, who
were rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every now and then to take
breath, and spit on their hands; but this, it is probable, was a mere
scandal. He got near enough, however, to see the crew; who were all
dressed in the Dutch style, the officers in doublets and high hats and
feathers: not a word was spoken by any one on board; they stood as
motionless as so many statues, and the ship seemed as if left to her
own government. Thus she kept on away up the river, lessening and
lessening in the evening sunshine, until she faded from sight, like a
little white cloud melting away in the summer sky.
The appearance of this ship threw the governor into one of the deepest
doubts that ever beset him in the whole course of his administration.
Fears were entertained for the security of the infant settlements on
the river, lest this might be an enemy's ship in disguise, sent to
take possession. The governor called together his council repeatedly
to assist him with their conjectures. He sat in his chair of state,
built of timber from the sacred forest of the Hague, and smoking his
long jasmine pipe, and listened to all that his counsellors had to say
on a subject about which they knew nothing; but, in spite of all the
conjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads, the governor still
continued to doubt.
Messengers were despatched to different places on the river; but they
returned without any tidings--the ship had made no port. Day after
day, and week after week, elapsed; but she never returned down the
Hudson. As, however, the council seemed solicitous for intelligence,
they had it in abundance. The captains of the sloops seldom arrived
without bringing some report of having seen the strange ship at
different parts of the river; sometimes near the Palisadoes; sometimes
off Croton Point, and sometimes in the highlands; but she never was
reported as having been seen above the highlands. The crews of the
sloops, it is true, generally differed among themselves in their
accounts of these apparitions; but they may have arisen from the
uncertain situations in which they saw her. Sometimes it was by the
flashes of the thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy night, and giving
glimpses of her careering across Tappaan Zee, or the wide waste of
Haverstraw Bay. At one moment she would appear close upon them, as if
likely to run them down, and would throw them into great bustle and
alarm; but the next flash would show her far off, always sailing
against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight nights, she would be
seen under some high bluff of the highlands, all in deep shadow,
excepting her top-sails glittering in the moonbeams; by the time,
however, that the voyagers would reach the place, there would be no
ship to be seen; and when they had passed on for some distance, and
looked back, behold! there she was again with her top-sails in tha
moonshine! Her appearance was always just after, or just before, or
just in the midst of, unruly weather; and she was known by all the
skippers and voyagers of the Hudson, by the name of "the storm-ship."
These reports perplexed, the governor and his council more than ever;
and it would be endless to repeat the conjectures and opinions that
were uttered on the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships seen
off the coast of New-England, navigated by witches and goblins. Old
Hans Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch colony at the
Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must be the Flying Dutchman
which had so long haunted Table Bay, but, being unable to make port,
had now sought another harbour. Others suggested, that, if it really
was a supernatural apparition, as there was every natural reason to
believe, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew of the Half-Moon;
who, it was well-known, had once run aground in the upper part of the
river, in seeking a north-west passage to China. This opinion had very
little weight with the governor, but it passed current out of doors;
for indeed it had already been reported, that Hendrick Hudson and his
crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain; and it appeared very reasonable
to suppose, that his ship might infest the river, where the enterprise
was baffled, or that it might bear the shadowy crew to their
periodical revels in the mountain.
Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and doubts of the sage
Wouter and his council, and the storm-ship ceased to be a subject of
deliberation at the board. It continued, however, to be a matter of
popular belief and marvellous anecdote through the whole time of the
Dutch government, and particularly just before the capture of
New-Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the province by the English
squadron. About that time the storm-ship was repeatedly seen in the
Tappaan Zee, and about Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken; and
her appearance was supposed to be ominous of the approaching squall in
public affairs, and the downfall of Dutch domination.
Since that time, we have no authentic accounts of her; though it is
said she still haunts the highlands and cruises about Point-no-point.
People who live along the river, insist that they sometimes see her in
summer moonlight; and that in a deep still midnight, they have heard
the chant of her crew, as if heaving the lead; but sights and sounds
are so deceptive along the mountainous shores, and about the wide bays
and long reaches of this great river, that I confess I have very
strong doubts upon the subject.
It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have been seen in
these highlands in storms, which are considered as connected with the
old story of the ship. The captains of the river craft talk of a
little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk hose and sugar-loafed
hat, with a speaking trumpet in his hand, which they say keeps about
the Dunderberg.[16] They declare they have heard him, in stormy
weather, in the midst of the turmoil, giving orders in Low Dutch for
the piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of another
thunder-clap. That sometimes he has been seen surrounded by a crew of
little imps in broad breeches and short doublets; tumbling
head-over-heels in the rack and mist, and playing a thousand gambols
in the air; or buzzing like a swarm of flies about Antony's Nose; and
that, at such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was always
greatest. One time, a sloop, in passing by the Dunderberg, was
overtaken by a thunder-gust, that came scouring round the mountain,
and seemed to burst just over the vessel. Though tight and well
ballasted, yet she laboured dreadfully, until the water came over the
gunwale. All the crew were amazed, when it was discovered that there
was a little white sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, which was known at
once to be that of the Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, dared
to climb to the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The sloop
continued labouring and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mast
overboard. She seemed in continual danger either of upsetting or of
running on shore. In this way she drove quite through the highlands,
until she had passed Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, the
jurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No sooner had she
passed this bourne, than the little hat, all at once, spun up into the
air like a top, whirled up all the clouds into a vortex, and hurried
them back to the summit of the Dunderberg, while the sloop righted
herself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. Nothing saved
her from utter wreck, but the fortunate circumstance of having a
horse-shoe nailed against the mast--a wise precaution against evil
spirits, which has since been adopted by all the Dutch captains that
navigate this haunted river.
[Footnote 16: i.e., the "Thunder-Mountain," so called from its echoes.]
There is another story told of this foul-weather urchin, by Skipper
Daniel Ouslesticker, of Fish-Hill, who was never known to tell a lie.
He declared, that, in a severe squall, he saw him seated astride of
his bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full butt against Antony's
Nose; and that he was exorcised by Dominie Van Gieson, of Esopus, who
happened to be on board, and who sung the hymn of St. Nicholas;
whereupon the goblin threw himself up in the air like a ball, and went
off in a whirlwind, carrying away with him the nightcap of the
Dominie's wife; which was discovered the next Sunday morning hanging
on the weather-cock of Esopus church steeple, at least forty miles
off! After several events of this kind had taken place, the regular
skippers of the river, for a long time, did not venture to pass the
Dunderberg, without lowering their peaks, out of homage to the Heer of
the mountain; and it was observed that all such as paid this tribute
of respect were suffered to pass unmolested.[17]
[Footnote 17: Among the superstitions which prevailed in the colonies
during the early times of the settlements, there seems to have been a
singular one about phantom ships. The superstitious fancies of men are
always apt to turn upon those objects which concern their daily
occupations. The solitary ship, which, from year to year, came like a
raven in the wilderness, bringing to the inhabitants of a settlement
the comforts of life from the world from which they were cut off, was
apt to be present to their dreams, whether sleeping or waking. The
accidental sight from shore, of a sail gliding along the horizon, in
those, as yet, lonely seas, was apt to be a matter of much talk and
speculation. There is mention made in one of the early New-England
writers, of a ship navigated by witches, with a great horse that stood
by the mainmast. I have met with another story, somewhere, of a ship
that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil weather, with sails all
set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number of
guests, yet not a living being on board. These phantom ships always
sailed in the eye of the wind; or ploughed their way with great
velocity, making the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not a
breath of air was stirring.
Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea into a
little tale which, within a small compass, contains the very essence
of this species of supernatural fiction. I allude to his Spectre-Ship
bound to Dead-man's Isle.]
* * * * *
"Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, "are a few of the stories written
down by Selyne the poet concerning this storm-ship; which he affirms
to have brought this colony of mischievous imps into the province,
from some old ghost-ridden country of Europe. I could give you a host
more, if necessary; for all the accidents that so often befall the
river craft in the highlands, are said to be tricks played off by
these imps of the Dunderberg; but I see that you are nodding, so let
us turn in for the night."
The moon had just raised her silver horns above the round back of old
Bull-Hill, and lit up the gray rocks and shagged forests, and
glittered on the waving bosom of the river. The night-dew was falling,
and the late gloomy mountains began to soften, and put on a gray
aerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, and threw
on fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the night air. They then prepared
a bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge of rocks, for Dolph;
while Antony Vander Heyden, wrapping himself up in a huge coat made of
skins, stretched himself before the fire. It was some time, however,
before Dolph could close his eyes. He lay contemplating the strange
scene before him: the wild woods and rocks around--the fire, throwing
fitful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages--and the Heer
Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely reminded him of the
nightly visitant to the haunted house. Now and then he heard the cry
of some animal from the forest; or the hooting of the owl; or the
notes of the whip-poor-will, which seemed to abound among these
solitudes; or the splash of a sturgeon, leaping out of the river, and
falling back full length on its placid surface. He contrasted all this
with his accustomed nest in the garret-room of the doctor's mansion;
where the only sounds he heard at night were the church-clock telling
the hour; the drowsy voice of the watchman, drawling out all was well;
the deep snoring of the doctor's clubbed nose from below stairs; or
the cautious labours of some carpenter rat gnawing in the wainscot.
His thoughts then wandered to his poor old mother: what would she
think of his mysterious disappearance?--what anxiety and distress
would she not suffer? This was the thought that would continually
intrude itself, to mar his present enjoyment. It brought with it a
feeling of pain and compunction, and he fell asleep with the tears yet
standing in his eyes.
Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a fine opportunity for
weaving in strange adventures among these wild mountains and roving
hunters; and, after involving my hero in a variety of perils and
difficulties, rescuing him from them all by some miraculous
contrivance: but as this is absolutely a true story, I must content
myself with simple facts, and keep to probabilities.