A history of New York from the beginning of the world to the end of the Dutch dynasty |
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR. |
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 | A history of New York |  |
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.
It was sometime, if I recollect right, in the
early part of the Fall of 1808, that a stranger applied
for lodgings at the Independent Columbian Hotel
in Mulberry Street, of which I am landlord. He
was a small brisk looking old gentleman, dressed
in a rusty black coat, a pair of olive velvet breeches,
and a small cocked hat. He had a few grey hairs
plaited and clubbed behind, and his beard seemed
to be of some four and twenty hours growth. The
only piece of finery which he bore about him, was
a bright pair of square silver shoe buckles, and all
his baggage was contained in a pair of saddle bags
which he carried under his arm. His whole appearance
was something out of the common run,
and my wife, who is a very shrewd body, at once
set him down for some eminent country school-master.
As the Independent Columbian Hotel is a very
small house, I was a little puzzled at first where
to put him; but my wife, who seemed taken with
which is genteely set off with the profiles of
the whole family, done in black, by those two great
painters Jarvis and Wood; and commands a very
pleasant view of the new grounds on the Collect,
together with the rear of the Poor house and Bridewell
and the full front of the Hospital, so that it is
the cheerfullest room in the whole house.
During the whole time that he stayed with us,
we found him a very worthy good sort of an old
gentleman, though a little queer in his ways. He
would keep in his room for days together, and if
any of the children cried or made a noise about his
door, he would bounce out in a great passion, with
his hands full of papers, and say something about
“deranging his ideas,” which made my wife believe
sometimes that he was not altogether compos.
Indeed there was more than one reason to make
her think so, for his room was always covered with
scraps of paper and old mouldy books, laying about
at sixes and sevens, which he would never let any
body touch; for he said he had laid them all away
in their proper places, so that he might know where
to find them; though for that matter, he was half
book or writing which he had carefully put out of
the way. I shall never forget what a pother he
once made, because my wife cleaned out his room
when his back was turned, and put every thing to
rights; for he swore he should never be able to
get his papers in order again in a twelvemonth—
Upon this my wife ventured to ask him what he
did with so many books and papers, and he told
her that he was “seeking for immortality,” which
made her think more than ever, that the poor old
gentleman's head was a little cracked.
He was a very inquisitive body, and when not
in his room was continually poking about town,
hearing all the news and prying into every thing
that was going on; this was particularly the case
about election time, when he did nothing but bustle
about from poll to poll, attending all ward meetings
and committee rooms; though I could never find
that he took part with either side of the question.
On the contrary he would come home and rail at
both parties with great wrath—and plainly proved
one day, to the satisfaction of my wife and three old
ladies who were drinking tea with her, one of whom
like two rogues, each tugging at a skirt of the
nation, and that in the end they would tear the
very coat off of its back and expose its nakedness.
Indeed he was an oracle among the neighbours,
who would collect around him to hear him talk of
an afternoon, as he smoaked his pipe on the bench
before the door; and I really believe he would have
brought over the whole neighbourhood to his own
side of the question, if they could ever have found
out what it was.
He was very much given to argue, or as he
called it philosophize, about the most trifling matter,
and to do him justice, I never knew any body that
was a match for him, except it was a grave looking
gentleman who called now and then to see him, and
often posed him in an argument. But this is
nothing surprising, as I have since found out this
stranger is the city librarian, and of course must be
a man of great learning; and I have my doubts, if
he had not some hand in the following history.
As our lodger had heen a long time with us, and
we had never received any pay, my wife began to
be somewhat uneasy, and curious to find out who,
put the question to his friend, the librarian, who replied
in his dry way, that he was one of the Literati;
which she supposed to mean some new party in
politics. I scorn to push a lodger for his pay, so I
let day after day pass on without dunning the old
gentleman for a farthing; but my wife, who always
takes these matters on herself, and is as I said a
shrewd kind of a woman, at last got out of patience,
and hinted, that she thought it high time “some
people should have a sight of some people's money.”
To which the old gentleman replied, in a mighty
touchy manner, that she need not make herself uneasy,
for that he had a treasure there (pointing to
his saddle-bags) worth her whole house put together.
This was the only answer we could ever
get from him; and as my wife, by some of those
odd ways in which women find out every thing,
learnt that he was of very great connexions, being
related to the Knickerbockers of Scaghtikoke, and
cousin-german to the Congress-man of that name,
she did not like to treat him uncivilly. What is
more, she even offered, merely by way of making
things easy, to let him live scot-free, if he would
and get the neighbours to send their children also;
but the old gentleman took it in such dudgeon, and
seemed so affronted at being taken for a school-master,
that she never dared speak on the subject
again.
About two month's ago, he went out of a morning,
with a bundle in his hand—and has never been
heard of since. All kinds of inquiries were made
after him, but in vain. I wrote to his relations at
Scaghtikoke, but they sent for answer, that he had
not been there since the year before last, when he
had a great dispute with the Congress-man about
politics, and left the place in a huff, and they had
neither heard nor seen any thing of him from that
time to this. I must own I felt very much worried
about the poor old gentleman, for I thought something
bad must have happened to him, that he
should be missing so long, and never return to pay
his bill. I therefore advertised him in the newspapers,
and though my melancholy advertisement
was published by several humane printers, yet I
have never been able to learn any thing satisfactory
about him.
My wife now said it was high time to take care
of ourselves, and see if he had left any thing behind
in his room, that would pay us for his board and
lodging. We found nothing however, but some old
books and musty writings, and his pair of saddle
bags, which being opened in presence of the librarian,
contained only a few articles of worn out
clothes, and a large bundle of blotted paper. On
looking over this, the librarian told us, he had no
doubt it was the treasure which the old gentleman
had spoken about; as it proved to be a most excellent
and faithful HISTORY OF NEW YORK, which he
advised us by all means to publish: assuring us that
it would be so eagerly bought up by a discerning
public, that he had no doubt it would be enough to
pay our arrears ten times over. Upon this we
got a very learned school-master, who teaches our
children, to prepare it for the press, which he accordingly
has done, and has moreover, added to it a
number of notes of his own; and an engraving of
the city, as it was, at the time Mr. Knickerbocker
writes about.
This, therefore, is a true statement of my reasons
for having this work printed, without waiting
that if he ever returns (though I much fear some
unhappy accident has befallen him) I stand ready
to account with him, like a true and honest man.
Which is all at present—
New York.
| A history of New York | |