University of Virginia Library

2. CHAP. II.

Whoever first described common fame, or rumour,
as belonging to the sager sex, was a very owl
for shrewdness. She has in truth certain feminine
qualities to an astonishing degree; particularly that
benevolent anxiety to take care of the affairs of
others, which keeps her continually hunting after
secrets, and gadding about, proclaiming them.
Whatever is done openly and in the face of the
world, she takes but transient notice of, but whenever
a transaction is done in a corner, and attempted
to be shrouded in mystery, then her goddesship
is at her wit's end to find it out, and takes a most
mischievous and lady-like pleasure in publishing it
to the world. It is this truly feminine propensity
that induces her continually to be prying into cabinets
of princes; listening at the key holes of senate
chambers, and peering through chinks and
crannies, when our worthy Congress are sitting
with closed doors, deliberating between a dozen
excellent modes of ruining the nation. It is this
which makes her so obnoxious to all wary statesmen

and intriguing commanders—such a stumbling
block to private negociations and secret expeditions;
which she often betrays, by means and instruments
which never would have been thought of by any
but a female head.

Thus it was in the case of the affair of Fort Casimer.
No doubt the cunning Risingh imagined,
that by securing the garrison, he should for a long
time prevent the history of its fate from reaching the
ears of the gallant Stuyvesant; but his exploit was
blown to the world when he least expected it, and
by one of the last beings he would ever have suspected
of enlisting as trumpeter to the wide mouthed
deity.

This was one Dirk Schuiler (or Skulker),
a kind of hanger on to the garrison; who seemed
to belong to no body, and in a manner to be self outlawed.
One of those vagabond Cosmopolites, who
shirk about the world, as if they had no right or
business in it, and who infest the skirts of society,
like poachers and interlopers. Every garrison
and country village has one or more scape goats of
this kind, whose life is a kind of enigma, whose existence
is without motive, who comes from the
Lord knows where, who lives the Lord knows
how, and seems to be made for no other earthly
purpose but to keep up the antient and honourable
order of idleness—This vagrant philosopher was
supposed to have some Indian blood in his veins,

which was manifested by a certain Indian complexion
and cast of countenance; but more especially
by his propensities and habits. He was a tall, lank
fellow, swift of foot and long-winded. He was
generally equipped in a half Indian dress, with
belt, leggings, and moccasons. His hair hung in
straight gallows locks, about his ears, and added
not a little to his shirking demeanour. It is an old
remark, that persons of Indian mixture are half civilized,
half savage, and half devil, a third half being
expressly provided for their particular convenience.
It is for similar reasons, and probably with
equal truth, that the back-wood-men of Kentucky
are styled half man, half horse and half alligator, by
the settlers on the Mississippi, and held accordingly
in great respect and abhorrence.

The above character may have presented itself
to the garrison as applicable to Dirk Schuiler, whom
they familiarly dubbed Galgenbrok, or Gallows
Dirk. Certain it is, he appeared to acknowledge
allegiance to no one—was an utter enemy to work,
holding it in no manner of estimation—but lounged
about the fort, depending upon chance for a subsistence;
getting drunk whenever he could get liquor,
and stealing whatever he could lay his hands
on. Every day or two he was sure to get a sound
rib-roasting for some of his misdemeanours, which
however, as it broke no bones, he made very
light of, and scrupled not to repeat the offence,

whenever another opportunity presented. Sometimes
in consequence of some flagrant villainy, he
would abscond from the garrison, and be absent for
a month at a time; skulking about the woods and
swamps, with a long fowling piece on his shoulder,
laying in ambush for game—or squatting himself
down on the edge of a pond catching fish for hours
together, and bearing no little resemblance to that
notable bird ycleped the Mud-poke. When he
thought his crimes had been forgotten or forgiven, he
would sneak back to the fort with a bundle of skins,
or a bunch of poultry which perchance he had stolen,
and exchange them for liquor, with which, having
well soaked his carcass, he would lay in the sun and
enjoy all the luxurious indolence of that swinish philosopher
Diogenes. He was the terror of all the farm
yards in the country; into which he made fearful
inroads; and sometimes he would make his sudden
appearance at the garrison at day break, with the
whole neighbourhood at his heels; like a scoundrel
thief of a fox, detected in his maraudings and hunted
to his hole. Such was this Dirk Schuiler; and
from the total indifference he shewed to the world
or its concerns, and from his true Indian stoicism
and taciturnity, no one would ever have dreamt,
that he would have been the publisher of the treachery
of Risingh.

When the carousal was going on, which proved
so fatal to the brave Von Poffenburgh and his

watchful garrison, Dirk skulked about from room
to room, being a kind of privileged vagrant, or useless
hound, whom nobody noticed. But though a
fellow of few words, yet like your taciturn people,
his eyes and ears were always open, and in the
course of his prowlings he overheard the whole plot
of the Swedes. Dirk immediately settled in his
own mind, how he should turn the matter to his
own advantage. He played the perfect jack-of-both-sides—that
is to say, he made a prize of every
thing that came in his reach, robbed both parties,
stuck the copper bound cocked hat of the puissant
Von Poffenburgh, on his head, whipped a huge
pair of Risingh's jack boots under his arm, and
took to his heels, just before the denouement and
confusion at the garrison.

Finding himself completely dislodged from his
haunt in this quarter, he directed his flight towards
his native place, New Amsterdam, from whence
he had formerly been obliged to abscond precipitately,
in consequence of misfortune in business—
in other words, having been detected in the act of
sheep stealing. After wandering many days in the
woods, toiling through swamps, fording brooks,
swimming various rivers, and encountering a world
of hardships that would have killed any other being,
but an Indian, a back-wood-man, or the devil,
he at length arrived, half famished, and lank as a
starved weazle at Communipaw, where he stole a

canoe and paddled over to New Amsterdam. Immediately
on landing, he repaired to governor Stuyvesant,
and in more words than he had ever spoken
before, in the whole course of his life, gave an account
of the disastrous affair.

On receiving these direful tidings the valiant
Peter started from his seat, as did the stout king
Arthur when at “merry Carleile,” the news was
brought him of the uncourteous misdeeds of the
“grim barone”—without uttering a word, he dashed
the pipe he was smoking against the back of the
chimney—thrust a prodigious quid of negro head
tobacco into his left cheek—pulled up his galligaskins,
and strode up and down the room, humming,
as was customary with him, when in a passion a
most hideous north-west ditty. But, as I have before
shewn, he was not a man to vent his spleen in
idle vapouring. His first measure after the paroxysm
of wrath had subsided, was to stump up stairs, to
a huge wooden chest, which served as his armoury,
from whence he drew forth that identical suit of
regimentals described in the preceding chapter. In
these portentous habiliments he arrayed himself,
like Achilles in the armour of Vulcan, maintaining
all the while a most appalling silence; knitting his
brows and drawing his breath through his clinched
teeth. Being hastily equipped, he thundered down
into the parlour like a second Magog—jerked down
his trusty sword, from over the fire place, where it

was usually suspended; but before he girded it on
his thigh he drew it from its scabbard, and as his
eye coursed along the rusty blade, a grim smile
stole over his iron visage—It was the first smile
that had visited his countenance for five long weeks;
but every one who beheld it, prophesied that there
would soon be warm work in the province!

Thus armed at all points, with grizly war depicted
in each feature; his very cocked hat assuming
an air of uncommon defiance; he instantly put
himself on the alert, and dispatched Antony Van
Corlear hither and thither, this way and that way,
through all the muddy streets and crooked lanes of
the city: summoning by sound of trumpet his trusty
peers to assemble in instant council.—This done,
by way of expediting matters, according to the custom
of people in a hurry, he kept in continual bustle,
thrusting his bottom into every chair, popping his
head out of every window, and stumping up and
down stairs with his wooden leg in such brisk and
incessant motion, that, as I am informed by an authentic
historian of the times, the continual clatter
bore no small resemblance to the music of a cooper,
hooping a flour barrel.

A summons so peremptory, and from a man of
the governor's mettle, was not to be trifled with:
the sages forthwith repaired to the council chamber,
where the gallant Stuyvesant entered in martial
style, and took his chair, like another Charlemagne,

among his Paladins. The councillors seated themselves
with the utmost tranquillity, and lighting their
long pipes, gazed with unruffled composure on his
excellency and his regimentals; being, as all councillors
should be, not easily flustered, or taken by
surprise. The governor, not giving them time to
recover from the astonishment they did not feel,
addressed them in a short, but soul stirring harangue.

I am extremely sorry, that I have not the advantages
of Livy, Thucydides, Plutarch and others of my
predecessors, who were furnished as I am told, with
the speeches of all their great emperors, generals,
and orators, taken down in short hand, by the most
accurate stenographers of the time; whereby they
were enabled wonderfully to enrich their histories,
and delight their readers with sublime strains of eloqence.
Not having such important auxiliaries, I cannot
possibly pronounce, what was the tenor of governor
Stuyvesant's speech. Whether he with maiden
coyness hinted to his hearers that “there was a speck
of war in the horison;”—that it would be necessary
to resort to the “unprofitable trial of which could
do each other the most harm,”—or any other delicate
construction of language, whereby the odious
subject of war, is handled so fastidiously and
modestly by modern statesmen; as a gentleman
volunteer handles his filthy salt-petre weapons with
gloves, lest he should soil his dainty fingers.

I am bold however to say, from the tenor of Peter
Stuyvesant's character, that he did not wrap his
rugged subject in silks and ermines, and other sickly
trickeries of phrase; but spoke forth, like a man
of nerve and vigour, who scorned to shrink in
words, from those dangers which he stood ready to
encounter in very deed. This much is certain, that
he concluded by announcing his determination of
leading on his troops in person, and routing these
costard-monger Swedes, from their usurped quarters
at Fort Casimer. To this hardy resolution,
such of his council as were awake, gave their usual
signal of concurrence, and as to the rest, who had
fallen asleep about the middle of the harangue (their
“usual custom in the afternoon”)—they made not
the least objection.

And now was seen in the fair city of New Amsterdam,
a prodigious bustle and preparation for
iron war. Recruiting parties marched hither and
thither, trailing long standards in the mud, with
which as at the present day the streets were benevolently
covered, for the benefit of those unfortunate
wights who are aggrieved with corns. Thus did
they lustily call upon and invite all the scrubs, the
runagates and the tatterdemalions of the Manhattoes
and its vicinity, who had any ambition of six pence
a day, and immortal fame into the bargain, to enlist
in the cause of glory. For I would have you
note that your warlike heroes who trudge in the

rear of conquerors, are generally of that illustrious
class of gentlemen, who are equal candidates for the
army or the bridewell—the halberts or the whipping
post—for whom dame fortune has cast an even
die whether they shall make their exit by the sword
or the halter—and whose deaths shall, at all events,
be a lofty example to their countrymen.

But notwithstanding all this martial rout and
invitation, the ranks of honour were but scantily
supplied; so averse were the peaceful burghers of
New Amsterdam to enlist in foreign broils, or stir
beyond that home, which rounded all their earthly
ideas. Upon beholding this, the great Peter whose
noble heart was all on fire with war and sweet revenge,
determined to wait no longer for the tardy
assistance of these oily citizens, but to muster up
his merry men of the Hudson; who, brought up
among woods and wilds and savage beasts, like our
yeomen of Kentucky, delighted in nothing so much
as desperate adventures and perilous expeditions
through the wilderness. Thus resolving, he ordered
his trusty squire Antony Van Corlear to have his
state galley prepared and duly victualled; which being
faithfully performed he attended public service
at the great church of St. Nicholas, like a true
and pious governor, and then leaving peremptory
orders with his council to have the chivalry
of the Manhattoes marshalled out and appointed
against his return, departed upon his recruiting
voyage, up the waters of the Hudson.