University of Virginia Library

3. CHAP. III.

Manifold are the tastes and dispositions of
the enlightened literati, who turn over the pages of
history. Some there be whose hearts are brim
full of the yeast of courage, and whose bosoms do
work, and swell, and foam with untried valour,
like a barrel of new cider, or a train-band captain,
fresh from under the hands of his taylor. This
doughty class of readers can be satisfied with nothing
but bloody battles, and horrible encounters;
they must be continually storming forts, sacking
cities, springing mines, marching up to the muzzles
of cannons, charging bayonet through every
page, and revelling in gun-powder and carnage.
Others, who are of a less martial, but equally ardent
imagination, and who, withal, are a little given
to the marvellous, will dwell with wonderous satisfaction
on descriptions of prodigies, unheard of
events, hair-breadth escapes, hardy adventures, and
all those astonishing narrations, that just amble
along the boundary line of possibility.—A third
class, who, not to speak slightingly of them, are of

a lighter turn, and skin over the records of past
times, as they do over the edifying pages of a novel,
merely for relaxation and innocent amusement;
do singularly delight in treasons, executions, sabine
rapes, tarquin outrages, conflagrations, murders,
and all the other catalogue of hideous crimes,
that like Cayenne in cookery, do give a pungency
and flavour, to the dull detail of history—while a
fourth class, of more philosophic habits, do diligently
pore over the musty chronicles of time, to
investigate the operations of the human mind, and
watch the gradual changes in men and manners,
effected by the progress of knowledge, the vicissitudes
of events, or the influence of situation.

If the three first classes find but little wherewithal
to solace themselves, in the tranquil reign of
Wouter Van Twiller, I entreat them to exert their
patience for a while, and bear with the tedious picture
of happiness, prosperity and peace, which my
duty as a faithful historian obliges me to draw;
and I promise them, that as soon as I can possibly
light upon any thing horrible, uncommon or impossible,
it shall go hard, but I will make it afford
them entertainment. This being premised, I turn
with great complacency to the fourth class of my
readers, who are men, or, if possible, women, after
my own heart; grave, philosophical and investigating;
fond of analyzing characters, of taking a start
from first causes, and so hunting a nation down,

through all the mazes of innovation and improvement.
Such will naturally be anxious to witness
the first development of the newly hatched colony,
and the primitive manners and customs, prevalent
among its inhabitants, during the halcyon reign
of Van Twiller or the doubter.

To describe minutely the gradual advances,
from the rude log hut, to the stately dutch mansion,
with a brick front, glass windows, and shingle
roof—from the tangled thicket, to the luxuriant
cabbage garden, and from the skulking Indian to
the ponderous burgomaster, would probably be fatiguing
to my reader, and certainly very inconvenient
to myself; suffice it to say, trees were cut
down, stumps grubbed up, bushes cleared away,
until the new city rose gradually from amid swamps
and stinkweeds, like a mighty fungus, springing
from a mass of rotten wood.

The sage council, as has been mentioned in a
preceding chapter, not being able to determine upon
any plan for the building of their city—the cows,
in a laudable fit of patriotism, took it under their
particular charge, and as they went to and from
pasture, established paths through the bushes, on
each side of which the good folks built their houses;
which is one cause of the rambling and picturesque
turns and labyrinths, which distinguish certain
streets of New York, at this very day.

Some, it must be noted, who were strenuous
partizans of Mynheer Ten Breeches, (or Ten
Brock) vexed that his plan of digging canals was
not adopted, made a compromise with their inclinations,
by establishing themselves on the margins
of those creeks and inlets, which meandered through
various parts of the ground laid out for improvement.
To these may be particularly ascribed the first
settlement of Broad street; which originally was
built along a creek, that ran up, to what at present
is called Wall street. The lower part soon became
very busy and populous; and a ferry house[2] was
in process of time established at the head of it;
being at that day called “the head of inland navigation.”

The disciples of Mynheer Toughbreeches, on
the other hand, no less enterprising, and more industrious
than their rivals, stationed themselves
along the shore of the river, and laboured with unexampled
perseverance, in making little docks and
dykes, from which originated that multitude of
mud traps with which this city is fringed. To
these docks would the old Burghers repair, just at
those hours when the falling tide had left the beach

uncovered, that they might snuff up the fragrant
effluvia of mud and mire; which they observed had
a true wholesome smell, and reminded them of the
canals of Holland. To the indefatigable labours,
and praiseworthy example of this latter class of
projectors, are we indebted for the acres of artificial
ground, on which several of our streets, in the
vicinity of the rivers are built; and which, if we
may credit the assertions of several learned physicians
of this city, have been very efficacious in
producing the yellow fever.

The houses of the higher class, were generally
constructed of wood, excepting the gable end, which
was of small black and yellow dutch bricks, and
always faced on the street, as our ancestors, like
their descendants, were very much given to outward
shew, and were noted for putting the best leg foremost.
The house was always furnished with
abundance of large doors and small windows on
every floor, the date of its erection was curiously
designated by iron figures on the front, and on the
top of the roof was perched a fierce little weather
cock, to let the family into the important secret,
which way the wind blew. These, like the weather
cocks on the tops of our steeples, pointed so many
different ways, that every man could have a wind
to his mind; and you would have thought old Eolus
had set all his bags of wind adrift, pell mell, to
gambol about this windy metropolis—the most

Some, it must be noted, who were strenuous
partizans of Mynheer Ten Breeches, (or Ten
Brock) vexed that his plan of digging canals was
not adopted, made a compromise with their inclinations,
by establishing themselves on the margins
of those creeks and inlets, which meandered through
various parts of the ground laid out for improvement.
To these may be particularly ascribed the first
settlement of Broad street; which originally was
built along a creek, that ran up, to what at present
is called Wall street. The lower part soon became
very busy and populous; and a ferry house[3] was
in process of time established at the head of it;
being at that day called “the head of inland navigation.”

The disciples of Mynheer Toughbreeches, on
the other hand, no less enterprising, and more industrious
than their rivals, stationed themselves
along the shore of the river, and laboured with unexampled
perseverance, in making little docks and
dykes, from which originated that multitude of
mud traps with which this city is fringed. To
these docks would the old Burghers repair, just at
those hours when the falling tide had left the beach

have the tails of mermaids—but this I look upon
to be a mere sport of fancy, or what is worse, a
wilful misrepresentation.

The grand parlour was the sanctum sanctorum,
where the passion for cleaning was indulged without
controul. In this sacred apartment no one
was permitted to enter, excepting the mistress and
her confidential maid, who visited it once a week,
for the purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning,
and putting things to rights—always taking the
precaution of leaving their shoes at the door, and
entering devoutly, on their stocking feet. After
scrubbing the floor, sprinkling it with fine white
sand, which was curiously stroked into angles, and
curves, and rhomboids, with a broom—after washing
the windows, rubbing and polishing the furniture,
and putting a new bunch of evergreens in the
fire-place—the window shutters were again closed
to keep out the flies, and the room carefully locked
up until the revolution of time, brought round the
weekly cleaning day.

As to the family, they always entered in at the
gate, and most generally lived in the kitchen. To
have seen a numerous household assembled around
the fire, one would have imagined that he was
transported back to those happy days of primeval
simplicity, which float before our imaginations like
golden visions. The fire-places were of a truly
patriarchal magnitude, where the whole family,

old and young, master and servant, black and
white, nay even the very cat and dog, enjoyed a
community of privilege, and had each a prescriptive
right to a corner. Here the old burgher would set
in perfect silence, puffing his pipe, looking in the
fire with half shut eyes, and thinking of nothing
for hours together; the goede vrouw on the opposite
side would employ herself diligently in spinning
her yarn, or knitting stockings. The young
foks would crowd around th hearth, listening with
breathless attention to some old crone of a negro,
who was the oracle of the family,--and who, perched
like a raven in a corner of the chimney, would
croak forth for a long winter afternoon, a string of incredible
stories about New England witches--grisly
ghosts--horses without heads--and hairbreadth
scapes and bloody encounters among the Indians.

In those happy days a well regulated family
always rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and
went to bed at sun down. Dinner was invariably
a private meal, and the fat old burghers shewed incontestible
symptoms of disappropriation and uneasiness,
at being surpised by a visit from a neighbour
on such occasions. But though our worthy
ancestors were thus singularly averse to giving dinners,
yet they kept up the social bands of intimacy
by occasional banquettings, called tea parties.

As this is the first introduction of those delectable
orgies which have since become so fashionable

in this city, I am conscious my fair readers will be
very curious to receive information on the subject.
Sorry am I, that there will be but little in my description
calculated to excite their admiration. I
can neither delight them with accounts of suffocating
crowds, nor brilliant drawing rooms, nor
towering feathers, nor sparkling diamonds, nor immeasurable
trains. I can detail no choice anecdotes
of scandal, for in those primitive times the
simple folk were either too stupid, or too good natured
to pull each other's characters to pieces—
nor can I furnish any whimsical anecdotes of brag—
how one lady cheated, or another bounced into a passion;
for as yet there was no junto of dulcet old
dowagers, who met to win each other's money, and
lose their own tempers at a card table.

These fashionable parties were generally confined
to the higher classes, or noblesse, that is to
say, such as kept their own cows, and drove their
own waggons. The company commonly assembled
at three o'clock, and went away about six, unless
it was in winter time, when the fashionable
hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might
get home before dark. I do not find that they
ever treated their company to iced creams, jellies
or syllabubs; or regaled them with musty almonds,
mouldy raisins, or sour oranges, as is often done in
the present age of refinement.—Our ancestors were
fond of more sturdy, substantial fare. The tea table

was crowned with a huge earthen dish, well
stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut up
into mouthfuls, and swimming in doup or gravy.
The company being seated around the genial board,
and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity
in launching at the fattest pieces in this
mighty dish—in much the same manner as sailors
harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indians spear salmon
in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced
with immense apple pies, or saucers full of preserved
peaches and pears; but it was always sure to
boast an enormous dish of balls of sweetened
dough, fried in hog's fat, and called dough nuts, or
oly koeks—a delicious kind of cake, at present,
scarce known in this city, excepting in genuine
dutch families; but which retains its pre-eminent
station at the tea tables in Albany.

The tea was served out of a majestic delft teapot,
ornamented with paintings of fat little dutch
shepherds and shepherdesses, tending pigs—with
boats sailing in the air, and houses built in the
clouds, and sundry other ingenious dutch fantasies.
The beaux distinguished themselves by their adroitness
in replenishing this pot, from a huge copper
tea kettle, which would have made the pigmy macaronies
of these degenerate days, sweat, merely to
look at it. To sweeten the beverage, a lump of
sugar was laid beside each cup—and the company
alternately nibbled and sipped with great decorum,

until an improvement was introduced by a shrewd
and economic old lady, which was to suspend a
large lump directly over the tea table, by a string
from the ceiling, so that it could be swung from
mouth to mouth—an ingenious expedient, which is
still kept up by some families in Albany; but which
prevails without exception, in Communipaw, Bergen,
Flat-Bush, and all our uncontaminated dutch
villages.

At these primitive tea-parties the utmost propriety
and dignity of deportment prevailed. No
flirting nor coquetting—no gambling of old ladies
nor hoyden chattering and romping of young ones—
No self satisfied struttings of wealthy gentlemen
with their brains in their pockets—nor amusing
conceits, and monkey divertisements of smart young
gentlemen, with no brains at all. On the contrary,
the young ladies seated themselves demurely in
their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit their own
woollen stockings; nor ever opened their lips, excepting
to say yah Mynher, or yah, ya Vrouw, to
any question that was asked them; behaving in all
things, like decent, well educated damsels. As to
the gentlemen, each of them tranquilly smoked his
pipe, and seemed lost in contemplation of the blue
and white tiles, with which the fire-places were decorated;
wherein sundry passages of scripture,
were piously pourtrayed—Tobit and his dog figured
to great advantage; Haman swung conspicuously

on his gibbet, and Jonah appeared most manfully
bouncing out of the whale, like Harlequin
through a barrel of fire.

The parties broke up without noise and without
confusion—for, strange as it may seem, the ladies
and gentlemen were content to take their own cloaks
and shawls and hats; not dreaming, simple souls!
of the ingenious system of exchange established in
modern days; by which those who first leave a
party are authorized to choose the best shawl or hat
they can find—a custom which has doubtless arisen
in consequence of our commercial habits. They
were carried home by their own carriages, that is
to say, by the vehicles nature had provided them,
excepting such of the wealthy, as could afford to
keep a waggon. The gentlemen gallantly attended
their fair ones to their respective abodes, and took
leave of them with a hearty smack at the door:
which as it was an established piece of etiquette,
done in perfect simplicity and honesty of heart, occasioned
no scandal at that time, nor should it at
the present—if our great grandfathers approved of
the custom, it would argue a great want of reverence
in their descendants to say a word against it.