University of Virginia Library

8. CHAP. VIII.

By this time my readers must fully perceive,
what an arduous task I have undertaken—collecting
and collating with painful minuteness, the chronicles
of past times, whose events almost defy the
powers of research—raking in a little kind of Herculaneum
of history, which had lain nearly for
ages, buried under the rubbish of years, and almost
totally forgotten—raking up the limbs and fragments
of disjointed facts, and endeavouring to put
them scrupulously together, so as to restore them
to their original form and connection—now lugging
forth the character of an almost forgotten hero, like
a mutilated statue—now decyphering a half defaced
inscription, and now lighting upon a mouldering
manuscript, which after painful study, scarce repays
the trouble of perusal.

In such case how much has the reader to depend
upon the honour and probity of his author, lest like
a cunning antiquarian, he either impose upon him
some spurious fabrication of his own, for a precious
relique from antiquity—or else dress up the dismembered
fragment, with such false trappings, that

it is scarcely possible to distinguish the truth from
the fiction with which it is enveloped. This is a
grievance which I have more than once had to lament,
in the course of my wearisome researches
among the works of my fellow historians; who have
strangely disguised and distorted the facts respecting
this country; and particularly respecting the
great province of New Netherlands; as will be
perceived by any who will take the trouble to compare
their romantic effusions, tricked out in the
meretricious gauds of fable, with this excellent little
history—universally to be renowned for its severe
simplicity and unerring truth.

I have had more vexations of the kind to encounter,
in those parts of my history which treat
of the transactions on the eastern border, than in
any other, in consequence of the troops of historians
who have infested these quarters, and have
shewn the honest people of New Nederlandt no
mercy in their works. Among the rest, Mr.
Benjamin Trumbull arrogantly declares that “the
Dutch were always mere intruders.”—Now to this
I shall make no other reply, than to proceed in the
steady narration of my history, which will contain
not only proofs that the Dutch had clear title and
possession in the fair valleys of the Connecticut,
and that they were wrongfully dispossessed thereof—but
likewise that they have been scandalously
maltreated ever since, by the misrepresentations of

the crafty historians of New England. And in this
I shall be guided by a spirit of truth and impartiality,
and a regard to my immortal fame—for I
would not wittingly dishonour my work by a single
falsehood, misrepresentation or prejudice, though
it should gain our forefathers the whole country
of New England.

It was at an early period of the province, and previous
to the arrival of the renowned Wouter—that
the cabinet of Nieuw Nederlandts purchased the
lands about the Connecticut, and established, for
their superintendance and protection, a fortified post
on the banks of the river, which was called Fort Goed
Hoop, and was situated hard by the present fair
city of Hartford. The command of this important
post, together with the rank, title, and appointments
of commissary, were given in charge to the gallant
Jacobus Van Curlet, or as some historians will have
it Van Curlis—a most doughty soldier of that stomachful
class of which we have such numbers on parade
days—who are famous for eating all they kill.
He was of a very soldierlike appearance, and would
have been an exceeding tall man, had his legs been
in proportion to his body; but the latter being long,
and the former uncommonly short, it gave him the
uncouth appearance of a tall man's body, mounted
upon a little man's legs. He made up for this turnspit
construction of body by throwing his legs to
such an extent when he marched, that you would

have sworn he had on the identical seven league
boots of the farfamed Jack the giant killer; and so
astonishingly high did he tread on any great military
occasion, that his soldiers were oft times alarmed,
lest the little man should trample himself under
foot.

But notwithstanding the erection of this fort,
and the appointment of this ugly little man of war
as a commander, the intrepid Yankees, continued
those daring interlopings which I have hinted at in
my last chapter; and taking advantage of the
character which the cabinet of Wouter Van Twiller
soon acquired, for profound and phlegmatic
tranquillity—did audaciously invade the territories
of the Nieuw Nederlandts, and squat themselves
down within the very jurisdiction of fort
Goed Hoop.

On beholding this outrage, the long bodied Van
Curlet proceeded as became a prompt and valiant
officer. He immediately protested against these
unwarrantable encroachments, in low dutch, by
way of inspiring more terror, and forthwith dispatched
a copy of the protest to the governor at
New Amsterdam, together with a long and bitter
account of the aggressions of the enemy. This
done, he ordered his men, one and all to be of good
cheer—shut the gate of the fort, smoked three
pipes, went to bed and awaited the result with a
resolute and intrepid tranquillity, that greatly ani

mated his adherents, and no doubt struck sore dismay
and affright into the hearts of the enemy.

Now it came to pass, that about this time, the
renowned Wouter Van Twiller, full of years and
honours, and council dinners, had reached that period
of life and faculty which, according to the
great Gulliver, entitle a man to admission into
the ancient order of Struldbruggs. He employed
his time in smoking his turkish pipe, amid an assemblage
of sages, equally enlightened, and nearly
as venerable as himself, and who for their silence,
their gravity, their wisdom, and their cautious
averseness to coming to any conclusion in business,
are only to be equalled by certain profound corporations
which I have known in my time. Upon
reading the protest of the gallant Jacobus Van Curlet
therefore, his excellency fell straightway into one
of the deepest doubts that ever he was known to
encounter; his capacious head gradually drooped
on his chest,[4] he closed his eyes and inclined his
ear to one side, as if listening with great attention to
the discussion that was going on in his belly;
which all who knew him, declared to be the huge
court-house, or council chamber of his thoughts;
forming to his head what the house of representatives

does to the senate. An inarticulate sound,
very much resembling a snore, occasionally escaped
him—but the nature of this internal cogitation,
was never known, as he never opened his lips on
the subject to man, woman or child. In the mean
time, the protest of Van Curlet laid quietly on the table,
where it served to light the pipes of the venerable
sages assembled in council; and in the great smoke
which they raised, the gallant Jacobus, his protest,
and his mighty Fort Goed Hoop, were soon as
completely beclouded and forgotten, as is a question
of emergency swallowed up in the speeches
and resolutions of a modern session of congress.

There are certain emergencies when your profound
legislators and sage deliberative councils, are
mightily in the way of a nation; and when an
ounce of hair-brained decision, is worth a pound of
sage doubt, and cautious discussion. Such at least
was the case at present; for while the renowned
Wouter Van Twiller was daily battling with his
doubts, and his resolution growing weaker and
weaker in the contest, the enemy pushed further
and further into his territories, and assumed a most
formidable appearance in the neighbourhood of
Fort Goed Hoop. Here they founded the mighty
town of Pyquag, or as it has since been called
Weathersfield, a place which, if we may credit the
assertions of that worthy historian John Josselyn,
Gent. “hath been infamous by reason of the witches

therein.”—And so daring did these men of Pyquag
become, that they extended those plantations of
onions, for which their town is illustrious, under
the very noses of the garrison of Fort Goed Hoop—
insomuch that the honest dutchmen could not look
toward that quarter, without tears in their eyes.

This crying injustice was regarded with proper
indignation by the gallant Jacobus Van Curlet. He
absolutely trembled with the amazing violence of
his choler and the exacerbations of his valour;
which seemed to be the more turbulent in their
workings, from the length of the body, in which
they were agitated. He forthwith proceeded to
strengthen his redoubts, heighten his breastworks,
deepen his fosse, and fortify his position with a
double row of abbatis; after which valiant precautions,
he with unexampled intrepidity, dispatched a
fresh courier with tremendous accounts of his perilous
situation. Never did the modern hero, who
immortalized himself at the second Sabine war,
shew greater valour in the art of letter writing, or
distinguish himself more gloriously upon paper,
than the heroic Van Curlet.

The courier chosen to bear these alarming dispatches,
was a fat, oily little man, as being least
liable to be worn out, or to lose leather on the journey;
and to insure his speed, he was mounted on
the fleetest waggon horse in the garrison; remarkable
for his length of limb, largeness of bone, and hardness

of trot; and so tall, that the little messenger
was obliged to climb on his back by means of his
tail and crupper. Such extraordinary speed did he
make, that he arrived at Fort Amsterdam in little
less than a month, though the distance was full two
hundred pipes, or about 120 miles.

The extraordinary appearance of this portentous
stranger would have thrown the whole town of
New Amsterdam into a quandary, had the good
people troubled themselves about any thing more
than their domestic affairs. With an appearance
of great hurry and business, and smoking a short
travelling pipe, he proceeded on a long swing trot
through the muddy lanes of the metropolis, demolishing
whole batches of dirt pies, which the little
dutch children were making in the road; and for
which kind of pastry the children of this city have
ever been famous—On arriving at the governor's
house he climbed down from his steed in great trepidation;
roused the grey headed door keeper, old Skaats
who like his lineal decendant, and faithful representative,
the venerable crier of our court, was nodding
at his post—rattled at the door of the council chamber,
and startled the members as they were dozing
over a plan for establishing a public market.

At that very moment a gentle grunt, or rather a
deep drawn snore was heard from the chair of the
governor; a whiff of smoke was at the same instant
observed to escape from his lips, and a slight cloud

to ascend from the bowl of his pipe. The council
of course supposed him engaged in deep sleep for
the good of the community, and according to custom
in all such cases established, every man bawled
out silence, in order to maintain tranquillity; when
of a sudden, the door flew open and the little courier
straddled into the apartment, cased to the middle
in a pair of Hessian boots, which he had got into for
the sake of expedition. In his right hand he held forth
the ominous dispatches, and with his left he grasped
firmly the waist-band of his galligaskins; which
had unfortunately given way, in the exertion of
descending from his horse. He stumped resolutely
up to the governor, and with more hurry than
perspicuity delivered his message. But fortunately
his ill tidings came too late, to ruffle the tranquillity
of this most tranquil of rulers. His venerable
excellency had just breathed and smoked his
last—his lungs and his pipe having been exhausted
together, and his peaceful soul, as Dan Homer
would have said, having escaped in the last whiff
that curled from his tobacco pipe.—In a word the
renowned Wouter Van Twiller, alias Walter the
Doubter, who had so often slumbered with his cotemporaries,
now slept with his fathers, and Wilhelmus
Kieft governed in his stead.