University of Virginia Library

6. CHAP. VI.

“Strike while the Iron is hot,” was a favourite
saying of Peter the Great, while an apprentice in a
blacksmith's shop, at Amsterdam. It is one of
those proverbial sayings, which speak a word to
the ear, but a volume to the understanding—and
contain a world of wisdom, condensed within a
narrow compass—Thus every art and profession
has thrown a gem of the kind, into the public stock,
enriching society by some sage maxim and pithy
apothegm drawn from its own experience; in which
is conveyed, not only the arcana of that individual
art or profession, but also the important secret of a
prosperous and happy life. “Cut your coat according
to your cloth,” says the taylor—“Stick to
your last,” cries the cobler—“Make hay while the
sun shines,” says the farmer—“Prevention is better
than cure,” hints the physician—Surely a man
has but to travel through the world, with open ears,
and by the time he is grey, he will have all the
wisdom of Solomon—and then he has nothing to

do but to grow young again, and turn it to the best
advantage.

“Strike while the Iron is hot,” was not more
invariably the saying of Peter the great, than it was
the practice of Peter the Headstrong. Like as a
mighty alderman, when at a corporation feast the
first spoonful of turtle soup salutes his palate, feels
his impatient appetite but ten fold quickened, and
redoubles his vigorous attacks upon the tureen,
while his voracious eyes, projecting from his head,
roll greedily round devouring every thing at table—
so did the mettlesome Peter Stuyvesant, feel that
intolerable hunger for martial glory, which raged
within his very bowels, inflamed by the capture of
Fort Casimer, and nothing could allay it, but the
conquest of all New Sweden. No sooner therefore
had he secured his conquest, than he stumped resolutely
on, flushed with success, to gather fresh
laurels at Fort Christina.[16]

This was the grand Swedish post, established
on a small river (or as it is termed, creek,) of the
same name, which empties into the Delaware; and
here that crafty governor Jan Risingh, like another
Charles the twelfth, commanded his subjects in
person.

Thus have I fairly pitted two of the most
potent chieftans that ever this country beheld,
against each other, and what will be the result of
their contest, I am equally anxious with my readers
to ascertain. This will doubtless appear a paradox
to such of them, as do not know the way in
which I write. The fact is, that as I am not engaged
in a work of imagination, but a faithful and
veritable history, it is not necessary, that I should
trouble my head, by anticipating its incidents and
catastrophe. On the contrary, I generally make it
a rule, not to examine the annals of the times
whereof I treat, further than exactly a page in advance
of my own work; hence I am equally interested
in the progress of my history, with him who
reads it, and equally unconscious, what occurrence
is next to happen. Darkness and doubt hang over
each coming chapter—with trembling pen and anxious
mind I conduct my beloved native city through
the dangers and difficulties, with which it is continually
surrounded; and in treating of my favourite
hero, the gallant Peter Stuyvesant, I often shrink
back with dismay, as I turn another page, lest I
should find his undaunted spirit hurrying him into
some dolorous misadventure.

Thus am I situated at present. I have just
conducted him into the very teeth of peril—nor can
I tell, any more than my reader, what will be the
issue of this horrid din of arms, with which our

ears are mutually assailed. It is true, I possess
one advantage over my reader, which tends marvelously
to soothe my apprehensions—which is, that
though I cannot save the life of my favourite hero,
nor absolutely contradict the event of a battle, (both
of which misrepresentations, though much practised
by the French writers, of the present reign, I
hold to be utterly unworthy of a scrupulous historian)
yet I can now and then make him bestow
on his enemy a sturdy back stroke, sufficient to fell
a giant; though in honest truth he may never have
done any thing of the kind—or I can drive his
antagonist clear round and round the field, as did
Dan Homer most falsely make that fine fellow
Hector scamper like a poltroon around the walls of
Troy; for which in my humble opinion the prince
of Poets, deserved to have his head broken—as no
doubt he would, had those terrible fellows the
Edinburgh reviewers, existed in those days—or if
my hero should be pushed too hard by his opponent,
I can just step in, and with one dash of my pen,
give him a hearty thwack over the sconce, that would
have cracked the scull of Hercules himself—like a
faithful second in boxing, who when he sees his
principal down, and likely to be worsted, puts in a
sly blow, that knocks the wind out of his adversary,
and changes the whole state of the contest.

I am aware that many conscientious readers
will be ready to cry out “foul play!” whenever I

render such assistance—but I insist that it is one
of those little privileges, strenuously asserted and
exercised by historiographers of all ages—and one
which has never been disputed. An historian, in
fact, is in some measure bound in honour to stand
by his hero—the fame of the latter is entrusted to
his hands, and it is his duty to do the best by it he
can. Never was there a general, an admiral or
any other commander, who in giving an account of
any battle he had fought, did not sorely belabour
the enemy; and I have no doubt that, had my
heroes written the history of their own atchievements,
they would have hit much harder blows,
than any I shall recount. Standing forth therefore,
as the guardian of their fame, it behoves me to do
them the same justice, they would have done themselves;
and if I happen to be a little hard upon the
Swedes, I give free leave to any of their descendants,
who may write a history of the state of Delaware,
to take fair retaliation, and thump Peter Stuyvesant
as hard as they please.

Therefore stand by for broken heads and bloody
noses! my pen has long itched for a battle—siege
after siege have I carried on, without blows or bloodshed;
but now I have at length got a chance, and
I vow to heaven and St. Nicholas, that, let the
chronicles of the times say what they please, neither
Sallust, Livy, Tacitus, Polybius, or any other battle
monger of them all, did ever record a fiercer

fight, than that in which my valiant chieftans are
now about to engage.

And thou, most excellent reader, who, for thy
faithful adherence to my heels, I could lodge in the
best parlour of my heart—be not uneasy—trust the
fate of our favourite Stuyvesant to me—for by the
rood, come what will, I'll stick by Hard-koppig
Piet to the last; I'll make him drive about these
lossels vile as did the renowned Launcelot of the
lake, a herd of recreant cornish Knights—and if he
does fall, let me never draw my pen to fight another
battle, in behalf of a brave man, if I don't make
these lubberly Swedes pay for it!

No sooner had Peter Stuyvesant arrived before
fort Christina than he proceeded without delay to
entrench himself, and immediately on running his
first parallel, dispatched Antony Van Corlear, that
incomparable trumpeter, to summon the fortress to
surrender. Van Corlear was received with all due
formality, hoodwinked at the portal, and conducted
through a pestiferous smell of salt fish and onions,
to the citadel, a substantial hut built of pine logs.
His eyes were here uncovered, and he found himself
in the august presence of governor Risingh,
who, having been accidentally likened to Charles
XII, the intelligent reader will instantly perceive,
must have been a tall, robustious, able bodied, mean
looking man, clad in a coarse blue coat with brass
buttons, a shirt which for a week, had longed in vain

for the wash-tub, a pair of foxey coloured jack
boots—and engaged in the act of shaving his grizly
beard, at a bit of broken looking glass, with a villainous
patent Brummagem razor. Antony Van
Corlear delivered in a few words, being a kind of
short hand speaker, a long message from his excellency,
recounting the whole history of the province,
with a recapitulation of grievances, enumeration of
claims, &c.&c. and concluding with a peremptory demand
of instant surrender: which done, he turned
aside, took his nose between his thumb and finger,
and blew a tremendous blast, not unlike the flourish
of a trumpet of defiance—which it had doubtless
learned from a long and intimate neighbourhood
with that melodious instrument.

Governor Risingh heard him through, trumpet
and all, but with infinite impatience; leaning at
times, as was his usual custom, on the pommel of
his sword, and at times twirling a huge steel watch
chain or snapping his fingers. Van Corlear having
finished he bluntly replied, that Peter Stuyvesant
and his summons might go to the D—l, whither
he hoped to send him and his crew of raggamuffins
before supper time. Then unsheathing his brass
hilted sword, and throwing away the scabbard—
“Fore gad,” quod he, “but I will not sheathe thee
again, until I make a scabbard of the smoke dried
leathern hide, of this runegate Dutchman.” Then
having flung a fierce defiance in the teeth of his

adversary, by the lips of his messenger, the latter
was reconducted to the portal, with all the ceremonious
civility due to the trumpeter, squire and
ambassador of so great a commander, and being
again unblinded, was courteously dismissed with a
tweak of the nose, to assist him in recollecting his
message.

No sooner did the gallant Peter receive this
insolent reply, than he let fly a tremendous volley
of red hot, four and forty pounder execrations,
that would infallibly have battered down the fortifications
and blown up the powder magazines, about
the ears of the fiery Swede, had not the ramparts
been remarkably strong, and the magazine bomb
proof. Perceiving that the works withstood this
terrific blast, and that it was utterly impossible (as
it really was in those unphilosophic days) to carry
on a war with words, he ordered his merry men all,
to prepare for immediate assault. But here a
strange murmur broke out among his troops, beginning
with the tribe of the Van Bummels, those
valiant trencher men of the Bronx, and spreading
from man to man, accompanied with certain mutinous
looks and discontented murmurs. For once
in his life, and only for once, did the great Peter
turn pale, for he verily thought his warriors were
going to faulter in this hour of perilous trial, and
thus tarnish forever the fame of the province of
New Nederlands.

But soon did he discover to his great joy, that
in this suspicion he deeply wronged this most undaunted
army; for the cause of this agitation and
uneasiness simply was, that the hour of dinner was
at hand, and it would have almost broken the hearts
of these regular dutch warriors, to have broken in
upon the invariable routine of their habits. Beside
it was an established rule among our valiant ancestors,
always to fight upon a full stomach, and to this
may be doubtless attributed the circumstance that
they came to be so renowned in arms.

And now are the hearty men of the Manhattoes,
and their no less hearty comrades, all lustily engaged
under the trees, buffeting stoutly with the contents of
their wallets, and taking such affectionate embraces
of their canteens and pottles, as though they verily
believed they were to be the last. And as I foresee
we shall have hot work in a page or two, I advise
my readers to do the same, for which purpose I
will bring this chapter to a close; giving them my
word of honour that no advantage shall be taken
of this armistice, to surprise, or in any wise
molest, the honest Nederlanders, while at their vigorous
repast.

Before we part however, I have one small
favour to ask of them; which is, that when I have
set both armies by the cars in the next chapter, and
am hurrying about, like a very devil, in the midst—
they will just stand a little on one side, out of harms

way—and on no account attempt to interrupt me
by a single question or remonstrance. As the
whole spirit, hurry and sublimity of the battle will
depend on my exertions, the moment I should stop
to speak, the whole business would stand still—
wherefore I shall not be able to say a word to my
readers, throughout the whole of the next chapter,
but I promise them in the one after, I'll listen to
all they have to say, and answer any questions they
may ask.