University of Virginia Library

BOOK VII.

1. CHAP. I.

The history of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant,
furnishes a melancholy picture of the incessant cares
and vexations inseparable from government; and
may serve as a solemn warning, to all who are ambitious
of attaining the seat of power. Though crowned
with victory, enriched by conquest, and returning
in triumph to his splendid metropolis, his exultation
was checked by beholding the sad abuses that
had taken place during the short interval of his absence.

The populace, unfortunately for their own comfort,
had taken a deep draught of the intoxicating
cup of power, during the reign of William the Testy;

and though, upon the accession of Peter Stuyvesant
they felt, with a certain instinctive perception,
which mobs as well as cattle possess, that the
reins of government had passed into stronger hands,
yet could they not help fretting and chafing and
champing upon the bit, in restive silence. No
sooner, therefore, was the great Peter's back turned,
than the quid nuncs and pot-house politicians of the
city immediately broke loose, and indulged in the
most ungovernable freaks and gambols.

It seems by some strange and inscrutable fatality,
to be the destiny of most countries, and (more
especially of your enlightened republics,) always to
be governed by the most incompetent man in the
nation, so that you will scarcely find an individual
throughout the whole community, but who shall detect
to you innumerable errors in administration,
and shall convince you in the end, that had he
been at the head of affairs, matters would have gone
on a thousand times more prosperously. Strange!
that government, which seems to be so generally understood
should invariably be so erroneously administered—strange,
that the talent of legislation so
prodigally bestowed, should be denied to the only
man in the nation, to whose station it is requisite!

Thus it was in the present instance, not a man
of all the herd of pseudo politicians in New Amsterdam,
but was an oracle on topics of state, and
could have directed public affairs incomparably better

than Peter Stuyvesant. But so perverse was
the old governor in his disposition, that he would
never suffer one of the multitude of able counsellors
by whom he was surrounded, to intrude his advice
and save the country from distruction.

Scarcely therefore had he departed on his expedition
against the Swedes, than the old factions of
William Kieft's reign began to thrust their heads
above water, and to gather together in political
meetings, to discuss “the state of the nation.” At
these assemblages the busy burgomasters and their
officious schepens made a very considerable figure.
These worthy dignitaries were no longer the fat,
well fed, tranquil magistrates that presided in the
peaceful days of Wouter Van Twiller—On the contrary,
being elected by the people, they formed in
a manner, a sturdy bulwark, between the mob and
the administration. They were great candidates for
popularity, and strenuous advocates for the rights
of the rabble; resembling in disinterested zeal the
wide mouthed tribunes of ancient Rome, or those
virtuous patriots of modern days, emphatically denominated
“the friends of the people.”

Under the tuition of these profound politicians,
it is astonishing how suddenly enlightened the swinish
multitude became, in matters above their comprehensions.
Coblers, Tinkers and Taylors all at
once felt themselves inspired, like those religious
ideots, in the glorious times of monkish illumination;

and without any previous study or experience,
became instantly capable of directing all the movements
of government. Nor must I neglect to mention
a number of superannuated, wrong headed old
burghers, who had come over when boys, in the
crew of the Goede Vrouw, and were held up as infalliable
oracles by the enlightened mob. To suppose
a man who had helped to discover a country, did
not know how it ought to be governed was preposterous
in the extreme. It would have been deemed
as much a heresy, as at the present day to question
the political talents, and universal infallibility
of our old “heroes of '76”—and to doubt that he who
had fought for a government, however stupid he
might naturally be, was not competent to fill any
station under it.

But as Peter Stuyvesant had a singular inclination
to govern his province without the assistance
of his subjects, he felt highly incensed on his return
to find the factious appearance they had assumed
during his absence. His first measure therefore
was to restore perfect order, by prostrating the dignity
of the sovereign people in the dirt.

He accordingly watched his opportunity, and one
evening when the enlightened mob was gathered
together in full caucus, listening to a patriotic
speech from an inspired cobbler, the intrepid Peter,
like his great namesake of all the Russias, all at
once appeared among them with a countenance,

sufficient to petrify a mill stone. The whole meeting
was thrown in consternation—the orator seemed
to have received a paralytic stroke in the very
middle of a sublime sentence, he stood aghast with
open mouth and trembling knees, while the words
horror! tyranny! liberty! rights! taxes! death! destruction!
and a deluge of other patriotic phrases,
came roaring from his throat, before he had power
to close his lips. The shrewd Peter took no notice
of the skulking throng around him, but advancing
to the brawling bully-ruffian, and drawing out a
huge silver watch, which might have served in
times of yore as a town clock, and which is still retained
by his decendants as a family curiosity, requested
the orator to mend it, and set it going.
The orator humbly confessed it was utterly out of
his power, as he was unacquainted with the nature
of its construction. “Nay, but,” said Peter “try
your ingenuity man, you see all the springs and
wheels, and how easily the clumsiest hand may
stop it and pull it to pieces; and why should it not
be equally easy to regulate as to stop it.” The orator
declared that his trade was wholly different, he
was a poor cobbler, and had never meddled with a
watch in his life. There were men skilled in the
art, whose business it was to attend to those matters,
but for his part, he should only mar the workmanship,
and put the whole in confusion—“Why
harkee master of mine,” cried Peter, turning suddenly
upon him, with a countenance that almost
petrified the patcher of shoes into a perfect lapstone—“dost
thou pretend to meddle with the
movements of government—to regulate and correct
and patch and cobble a complicated machine, the
principles of which are above thy comprehension,
and its simplest operations too subtle for thy understanding;
when thou canst not correct a trifling
error in a common piece of mechanism, the whole
mystery of which is open to thy inspection?—Hence
with thee to the leather and stone, which are emblems
of thy head; cobble thy shoes and confine
thyself to the vocation for which heaven has fitted
thee—But,” elevating his voice until it made the
welkin ring, “if ever I catch thee, or any of thy
tribe, whether square-head, or platter breech, meddling
with affairs of government; by St. Nicholas
but I'll have every mother's bastard of ye flea'd
alive, and your hides stretched for drum heads,
that ye may henceforth make a noise to some purpose!”

This threat and the tremendous voice in which
it was uttered, caused the whole multitude to quake
with fear. The hair of the orator rose on his head
like his own swine's bristles, and not a knight of
the thimble present, but his mighty heart died
within him, and he felt as though he could have
verily escaped through the eye of a needle.

But though this measure produced the desired
effect, in reducing the community to order, yet it
tended to injure the popularity of the great Peter,
among the enlightened vulgar. Many accused
him of entertaining highly aristocratic sentiments,
and of leaning too much in favour of the patricians.
Indeed there was some appearance of ground for
such a suspicion, for in his time did first arise that
pride of family and ostentation of wealth, that has
since grown to such a height in this city.[18] Those
who drove their own waggons, kept their own cows,
and possessed the fee simple of a cabbage garden,
looked down, with the most gracious, though mortifying
condescension, on their less wealthy neighbours;
while those whose parents had been cabin
passengers in the Goede Vrouw, were continually
railing out, about the dignity of ancestry—Luxury
began to make its appearance under divers forms,
and even Peter Stuyvesant himself (though in
truth his station required a little state and dignity.)
appeared with great pomp of equipage on public
occasions, and always rode to church in a yellow
waggon with flaming red wheels!

From this picture my readers will perceive,
how very faithfully many of the peculiarities of our
ancestors have been retained by their descendants.
The pride of purse still prevails among our wealthy
citizens. And many a laborious tradesman, after
plodding in dust and obscurity in the morning of
his life, sits down out of breath in his latter days
to enact the gentleman, and enjoy the dignity
honestly earned by the sweat of his brow. In this
he resembles a notable, but ambitious housewife,
who after drudging and stewing all day in the
kitchen to prepare an entertainment; flounces into
the parlour of an evening, and swelters in all the
magnificence of a maudlin fine lady.

It is astonishing, moreover, to behold how many
great families have sprung up of late years, who
pride themselves excessively on the score of ancestry.
Thus he who can look up to his father without
humiliation assumes not a little importance—he
who can safely talk of his grandfather, is still more
vain-glorious, but he who can look back to his
great grandfather, without stumbling over a cobler's
stall, or running his head against a whipping post,
is absolutely intolerable in his pretensions to family
—bless us! what a piece of work is here, between
these mushrooms of an hour, and these mushrooms
of a day!

For my part I look upon our old dutch families
as the only local nobility, and the real lords of the

soil—nor can I ever see an honest old burgher
quietly smoking his pipe, but I look upon him with
reverence as a dignified descendant from the Van
Rensellaers, the Van Zandts, the Knickerbockers,
and the Van Tuyls.

But from what I have recounted in the former
part of this chapter, I would not have my reader
imagine, that the great Peter was a tyrannical governor,
ruling his subjects with a rod of iron—on
the contrary, where the dignity of authority was
not implicated, he abounded with generosity and
courteous condescension. In fact he really believed,
though I fear my more enlightened republican
readers will consider it a proof of his ignorance and
illiberality, that in preventing the cup of social life
from being dashed with the intoxicating ingredient
of politics, he promoted the tranquility and happiness
of the people—and by detaching their minds
from subjects which they could not understand,
and which only tended to inflame their passions,
he enabled them to attend more faithfully and industriously
to their proper callings; becoming more
useful citizens and more attentive to their families
and fortunes.

So far from having any unreasonable austerity,
he delighted to see the poor and the labouring
man rejoice, and for this purpose was a great promoter
of holidays and public amusements. Under
his reign was first introduced the custom of cracking

eggs at Paas or Easter. New year's day
was also observed with extravagant festivity—and
ushered in by the ringing of bells and firing of
guns. Every house was a temple to the jolly god
—Oceans of cherry brandy, true Hollands and mulled
cyder were set afloat on the occasion; and not
a poor man in town, but made it a point to get
drunk, out of a principle of pure economy—taking
in liquor enough to serve him for half a year afterwards.

It would have done one's heart good also to
have seen the valiant Peter, seated among the old
burghers and their wives of a saturday afternoon,
under the great trees that spread their shade over
the Battery, watching the young men and women,
as they danced on the green. Here he would
smoke his pipe, crack his joke, and forget the rugged
toils of war, in the sweet oblivious festivities
of peace. He would occasionally give a nod of
approbation to those of the young men who shuffled
and kicked most vigorously, and now and then
give a hearty smack, in all honesty of soul, to the
buxom lass that held out longest, and tired down
all her competitors—infallible proofs of her being
the best dancer. Once it is true the harmony of
the meeting was rather interrupted. A young
vrouw, of great figure in the gay world, and who,
having lately come from Holland, of course led the
fashions in the city, made her appearance in not

more than half a dozen petticoats, and these too of
most alarming shortness.—An universal whisper
ran through the assembly, the old ladies all felt
shocked in the extreme, the young ladies blushed,
and felt excessively for the “poor thing,” and even
the governor himself was observed to be a little
troubled in mind. To complete the astonishment
of the good folks, she undertook in the course of
a jig, to describe some astonishing figures in algebra,
which she had learned from a dancing master
at Rotterdam.—Whether she was too animated in
flourishing her feet, or whether some vagabond
Zephyr took the liberty of obtruding his services,
certain it is that in the course of a grand evolution,
that would not have disgraced a modern ball room,
she made a most unexpected display—Whereat
the whole assembly were thrown into great admiration,
several grave country members were not
a little moved, and the good Peter himself, who
was a man of unparalleled modesty, felt himself
grievously scandalized.

The shortness of the female dresses, which had
continued in fashion, ever since the days of William
Kieft, had long offended his eye, and though extremely
averse to meddling with the petticoats of the
ladies, yet he immediately recommended, that every
one should be furnished with a flounce to the bottom.
He likewise ordered that the ladies, and
indeed the gentlemen, should use no other step in

dancing, than shuffle and turn, and double trouble;
and forbade, under pain of his high displeasure, any
young lady thenceforth to attempt what was termed
“exhibiting the graces.”

These were the only restrictions he ever imposed
upon the sex, and these were considered by
them, as tyrannical oppressions, and resisted with
that becoming spirit, always manifested by the gentle
sex, whenever their privileges are invaded—
In fact, Peter Stuyvesant plainly perceived, that if
he attempted to push the matter any further, there
was danger of their leaving off petticoats altogether;
so like a wise man, experienced in the ways of
women, he held his peace, and suffered them ever
after to wear their petticoats and cut their capers, as
high as they pleased.

2. CHAP. II.

We are now approaching towards what may be
termed the very pith and marrow of our work,
and if I am not mistaken in my forebodings, we
shall have a world of business to dispatch, in the
ensuing chapters. Thus far have I come on prosperously,
and even beyond my expectations; for to
let the reader into a secret (and truly we have become
so extremely intimate, that I believe I shall
tell him all my secrets before we part) when I first
set out upon this marvellous, but faithful little history,
I felt horribly perplexed to think how I should
ever get through with it—and though I put a bold
face on the matter, and vapoured exceedingly, yet
was it naught but the blustering of a braggadocio
at the commencement of a quarrel, which he feels
sure he shall have to sneak out of in the end.

When I reflected, that this illustrious province,
though of prodigious importance in the eyes of its
inhabitants and its historian, had in sober sadness,
but little wealth or other spoils to reward the trouble

of assailing it, and that it had little to expect
from running wantonly into war, save a sound
drubbing—When I pondered all these things in my
mind, I began utterly to despair, that I should find
either battles, or bloodshed, or any other of those
calamities, which give importance to a nation, to
enliven my history withal.—I regarded this most
amiable of provinces, in the light of an unhappy
maiden, to whom Heaven had not granted sufficient
charms, to excite the diabolical attempts of wicked
man; who had no cruel father to persecute and oppress
her, no abominable ravisher to run away with
her, and who had not strength nor courage enough, of
her own accord, to act the heroine, and go in “quest
of adventures”—in short, who was doomed to vegetate,
in a tranquil, unmolested, hopeless, howling
state of virginity, and finally to die in peace, without
bequeathing a single misery, or outrage, to
those warehouses of sentimental woe, the circulating
libraries.

But thanks to my better stars, they have decreed
otherwise. It is with some communities, as it is
with certain meddlesome individuals, they have a
wonderful facility at getting into scrapes, and I
have always remarked, that those are most liable to
get in, who have the least talent at getting out again.
This is doubtless occasioned by the excessive valour
of those little states; for I have likewise noticed,
that this rampant and ungovernable virtue, is always

most unruly where most confined; which accounts
for its raging and vapouring so amazingly in little
states, little men, and ugly little women more especially.
Thus this little province of Nieuw Nederlandts
has already drawn upon itself a host of
enemies; has had as many hard knocks, as would
gratify the ambition of the most warlike nation;
and is in sober sadness, a very forlorn, distressed,
and woe begone little province!—all which was
no doubt kindly ordered by providence, to give
interest and sublimity, to this most pathetic of
histories.

But I forbear to enter into a detail of the pitiful
maraudings and harrassments, that for a long while
after the victory on the Delaware, continued to
insult the dignity and disturb the repose of the
Nederlanders. Never shall the pen which has
been gloriously wielded in the tremendous battle
of Fort Christina, be drawn in scurvy border broils
and frontier skirmishings—nor the historian who
put to flight stout Risingh and his host, and conquered
all New Sweden, be doomed to battle it in
defence of a pig stye or a hen roost, and wage
ignoble strife with squatters and moss troopers!
Forbid it all ye muses, that a Knickerbocker should
ever so far forget what is due to his family and
himself!

Suffice it then in brevity to say, that the implacable
hostility of the people of the east, which had

so miraculously been prevented from breaking out,
as my readers must remember, by the sudden prevalence
of witchcraft, and the dissensions in the
council of Amphyctions, now again displayed itself
in a thousand grievous and bitter scourings upon
the borders.

Scarcely a month passed but what the little
dutch settlements on the frontiers were alarmed by
the sudden appearance of an invading army from
Connecticut. This would advance resolutely through
the country, like a puissant caravan of the deserts,
the women and children mounted in carts loaded
with pots and kettles, as though they meant to boil
the honest dutchmen alive, and devour them like
so many lobsters. At the tail of these carts would
stalk a crew of long limbed, lank sided varlets, with
axes on their shoulders and packs on their backs,
resolutely bent upon improving the country in despite
of its proprietors. These settling themselves
down, would in a little while completely dislodge
the unfortunate Nederlanders; elbowing them out
of those rich little bottoms and fertile valleys, in
which your dutch yeomanry are so famous for
nestling themselves—For it is notorious that wherever
these shrewd men of the east get a footing, the
honest dutchmen do gradually disappear, retiring
slowly like the Indians before the whites; being
totally discomfited by the talking, chaffering, swapping,
bargaining disposition of their new neighbours.

All these audacious infringements on the territories
of their high mightinesses were accompanied,
as has before been hinted, by a world of rascally
brawls, ribroastings and bundlings, which would
doubtlessly have incensed the valiant Peter to wreak
immediate chastisement, had he not at the very
same time been perplexed by distressing accounts,
from Mynheer Beckman, who commanded the
territories at South river.

The rebellious Swedes who had so graciously
been suffered to remain about the Delaware, already
began to shew signs of mutiny and disaffection.
But what was worse, a peremptory claim was laid
to the whole territory, as the rightful property of
lord Baltimore, by Fendal, a chieftain who ruled
over the colony of Maryland, or Merry-land as it
was anciently called, because that the inhabitants
not having the fear of the Lord before their eyes,
were notoriously prone to get fuddled and make
merry with mint julep and apple toddy. Nay, so
hostile was this bully Fendal, that he threatened,
unless his claim was instantly complied with, to
march incontinently at the head of a potent force
of the roaring boys of Merryland, together with a
great and mighty train of giants who infested the
banks of the Susquehanna[19] —and to lay waste and
depopulate the whole country of South river.

By this it is manifest that this boasted colony,
like all great acquisitions of territory, soon became
a greater evil to the conqueror, than the loss of it
was to the conquered, and caused greater uneasiness
and trouble, than all the territory of the New
Netherlands besides. Thus providence wisely orders,
that one evil shall balance another. The conqueror
who wrests the property of his neighbour,
who wrongs a nation and desolates a country,
though he may acquire increase of empire, and immortal
fame, yet ensures his own inevitable punishment.
He takes to himself a cause of endless anxiety—he
incorporates with his late sound domain,
a loose part—a rotten disaffected member; which
is an exhaustless source of internal treason and disunion,
and external altercation and hostility—Happy
is that nation, which compact, united, loyal in
all its parts, and concentrated in its strength, seeks
no idle acquisition of unprofitable and ungovernable

territory—which, content to be prosperous and
happy, has no ambition to be great. It is like a
man well organized in all his system, sound in
health, and full of vigour; unincumbered by useless
trappings, and fixed in an unshaken attitude.
But the nation, insatiable of territory, whose domains
are scattered, feebly united, and weakly organized,
is like a senseless miser sprawling among
golden stores, open to every attack, and unable to
defend the riches he vainly endeavours to overshadow.

At the time of receiving the alarming dispatches
from South river, the great Peter was busily employed
in quelling certain Indian troubles that had
broken out about Esopus, and was moreover meditating
how to relieve his eastern borders, on the
Connecticut. He however sent word so Mynheer
Beckman to be of good heart, to maintain incessant
vigilance, and to let him know if matters wore a
more threatening appearance; in which case he
would incontinently repair with his warriors of the
Hudson, to spoil the merriment of these Merry
landers; for he coveted exceedingly to have a bout,
hand to hand, with some half a score of these giants
—having never encountered a giant in his whole
life, unless we may so call the stout Risingh, and
he was but a little one.

Nothing however appeared further to molest
the tranquillity of Mynheer Beckman and his

colony. Fendal and his Myrmidons remained at
home, carousing it soundly upon hoe cakes, bacon,
and mint julep, and running horses, and fighting
cocks, for which they were greatly renowned. At
hearing of this Peter Stuyvesant was highly rejoiced,
for notwithstanding his inclination to measure
weapons with these monstrous men of the
Susquehanna, yet he had already as much employment
nearer home, as he could turn his hands to.
Little did he think, worthy soul, that this southern
calm, was but the deceitful prelude to a most terrible
and fatal storm, then brewing, which was soon
to burst forth and overwhelm the unsuspecting
city of New Amsterdam!

Now so it was, that while this excellent governor
was, like a second Cato, giving his little senate
laws, and not only giving them, but enforcing them
too—while he was incessantly travelling the rounds
of his beloved province—posting from place to
place to redress grievances, and while busy at one
corner of his dominions all the rest getting into an
uproar—At this very time, I say, a dark and direful
plot was hatching against him, in that nursery
of monstrous projects, the British Cabinet. The
news of his atchievements on the Delaware, according
to a sage old historian of New Amsterdam,
had occasioned not a little talk and marvel in the
courts of Europe. And the same profound writer
assures us that the cabinet of England began to

entertain great jealousy and uneasiness at the
encreasing power of the Manhattoes, and the valour
of its sturdy yeomanry.

Agents we are told, were at work from the
Amphyctionic council of the East, earnestly urging
the cabinet to assist them in subjugating this
fierce and terrible little province, and that sagacious
cabinet, which ever likes to be dabbling in dirty
water, had already began to lend an ear to their
importunities. Just at this time Lord Baltimore,
whose bullying agent, as has before been mentioned,
had so alarmed Mynheer Beckman, laid his
claim before the cabinet to the lands of South river,
which he complained were unjustly and forcibly
detained from him, by these daring usurpers of the
New Nederlandts.

At this it is said his majesty Charles II, who
though Defender of the Faith, was an arrant,
lounging, rake-helly roystering wag of a Prince,
settled the whole matter by a dash of the pen, by
which he made a present of a large tract of North
America, including the province of New Netherlands,
to his brother the duke of York—a donation
truly loyal, since none but great monarchs have a
right to give away, what does not belong to them.

That this munificent gift might not be merely
nominal, his majesty on the 12th of March 1664,
ordered that a gallant armament should be forthwith
prepared, to invade the city of New Amsterdam

by land and water, and put his brother in
complete possession of the premises.

Thus critically are situated the affairs of the
New Netherlanders. The honest burghers, so far
from thinking of the jeopardy in which their interests
are placed, are soberly smoking their pipes
and thinking of nothing at all—the privy councillors
of the province, are at this moment snoring in full
quorum, like the drones of five hundred bagpipes,
while the active Peter, who takes all the labour of
thinking and acting upon himself, is busily devising
some method of bringing the grand council of
Amphyctions to terms. In the mean while an
angry cloud is darkly scowling on the horizon—
soon shall it rattle about the ears of these dozing
Nederlanders and put the mettle of their stout
hearted governor completely to the trial.

But come what may, I here pledge my veracity,
that in all warlike conflicts and subtle perplexities,
he shall still acquit himself with the gallant bearing
and spotless honour of a noble minded obstinate
old cavalier—Forward then to the charge!—shine
out propitious stars on the renowned city of the
Manhattoes; and may the blessing of St. Nicholas
go with thee—honest Peter Stuyvesant!

3. CHAP. III.

Great nations resemble great men in this particular,
that their greatness is seldom known, until
they get in trouble; adversity has therefore, been
wisely denominated the ordeal of true greatness,
which like gold, can never receive its real estimation
until it has passed through the furnace. In
proportion therefore as a nation, a community or
an individual (possessing the inherent quality of
greatness) is involved in perils and misfortunes,
in proportion does it rise in grandeur—and even
when sinking under calamity, like a house on fire,
makes a more glorious display, than ever it did, in
the fairest period of its prosperity.

The vast empire of China, though teeming
with population and imbibing and concentrating the
wealth of nations, has vegetated through a succession
of drowsy ages; and were it not for its internal
revolution, and the subversion of its ancient
government by the Tartars, might have presented
nothing but an uninteresting detail of dull, monotonous
prosperity. Pompeia and Herculaneum
might have passed into oblivion, with a herd of

their contemporaries, had they not been fortunately
overwhelmed by a volcano. The renowned city
of Troy has acquired celebrity only from its ten
years distress, and final conflagration—Paris rises
in importance, by the plots and massacres, which
have ended in the exaltation of the illustrious Napoleon—and
even the mighty London itself, has
skulked through the records of time, celebrated for
nothing of moment, excepting the Plague, the great
fire and Guy Faux's gunpowder plot! Thus cities
and empires seem to creep along, enlarging in silent
obscurity under the pen of the historian, until at
length they burst forth in some tremendous calamity—and
snatch as it were, immortality from the
explosion!

The above principle being plainly advanced,
strikingly illustrated, and readily admitted, my reader
will need but little discernment to perceive,
that the city of New Amsterdam and its dependent
province, are on the high road to greatness.
Dangers and hostilities threaten them from every
side, and it is really a matter of astonishment to
me, how so small a state, has been able in so short
a time, to entangle itself in so many difficulties.
Ever since the province was first taken by the
nose, at the fort of Good Hope, in the tranquil
days of Wouter Van Twiller, has it been gradually
encreasing in historic importance; and never
could it have had a more appropriate chieftain to

conduct it to the pinnacle of grandeur, than Peter
Stuyvesant.

He was an iron headed old veteran, in whose
fiery heart sat enthroned all those five kinds of
courage described by Aristotle, and had the philosopher
mentioned five hundred more to the back
of them, I verily believe, he would have been
found master of them all—The only misfortune
was, that he was deficient in the better part of
valour called discretion, a cold blooded virtue which
could not exist in the tropical climate of his mighty
soul. Hence it was he was continually hurrying
into those unheard of enterprises that gave an air
of chivalric romance to al his history, and hence it
was that he now conceived a project, the very
thought of which makes me to tremble while I
write.

This was no other than to repair in person to
the mighty council of the Amphyctions, bearing
the sword in one hand and the olive branch in the
other—to require immediate reparation for the
innumerable violations of that treaty which in an
evil hour he had formed—to put a stop to those
repeated maraudings on the eastern borders—or
else to throw his gauntlet and appeal to arms for
satisfaction.

On declaring this resolution in his privy council,
the venerable members were seized with vast astonishment,
for once in their lives they ventured to

remonstrate, setting forth the rashness of exposing
his sacred person, in the midst of a strange and
barbarous people, with sundry other weighty remonstrances—all
which had about as much influence
upon the determination of the headstrong Peter,
as though you were to endeavour to turn a rusty
weather cock, with a broken winded bellows.

Summoning therefore to his presence, his trusty
follower Antony Van Corlear, he commanded him
to hold himself in readiness to accompany him the
following morning, on this his hazardous enterprise.
Now Antony the trumpeter was a little stricken
in years, yet by dint of keeping up a good heart,
and having never known care or sorrow (having
never been married) he was still a hearty, jocund
rubicond, gamesome wag, and of great capacity in
the doublet. This last was ascribed to his living a
jolly life on those domains at the Hook, which Peter
Stuyvesant had granted to him, for his gallantry at
Fort Casimer.

Be this as it may, there was nothing that more
delighted Antony, than this command of the great
Peter, for he could have followed the stout hearted
old governor to the world's end, with love and loyalty—and
he moreover still remembered the frolicking
and dancing and bundling, and other disports
of the east country, and entertained dainty recollection
of numerous kind and buxom lasses, whom
he longed exceedingly again to encounter.

Thus then did this mirror of hardihood set
forth, with no other attendant but his trumpeter,
upon one of the most perilous enterprises ever
recorded in the annals of Knight errantry.—For a
single warrior to venture openly among a whole
nation of foes; but above all, for a plain downright
dutchman to think of negociating with the whole
council of New England—never was there known
a more desperate undertaking!—Ever since I have
entered upon the chronicles of this peerless but
hitherto uncelebrated chieftain, has he kept me in
a state of incessant action and anxiety with the
toils and dangers he is constantly encountering—
Oh! for a chapter of the tranquil reign of Wouter
Van Twiller, that I might repose on it as on a
feather bed!

Is it not enough Peter Stuyvesant, that I have
once already rescued thee from the machinations
of these terrible Amphyctions, by bringing the
whole powers of witchcraft to thine aid?—Is it not
enough, that I have followed thee undaunted, like
a guardian spirit, into the midst of the horrid battle
of Fort Christina?—That I have been put incessantly
to my trumps to keep thee safe and sound—
now warding off with my single pen the shower
of dastard blows that fell upon thy rear—now narrowly
shielding thee from a deadly thrust, by a mere
tobacco box—now casing thy dauntless scull with
adamant, when even thy stubborn ram beaver failed

to resist the sword of the stout Risingh—and now,
not merely bringing thee off alive, but triumphant,
from the clutches of the gigantic Swede, by the
desperate means of a paltry stone pottle?—Is not
all this enough, but must thou still be plunging into
new difficulties and jeopardizing in headlong enterprises,
thyself, thy trumpeter, and thy historian!

But all this is empty talk. What influence can
I expect to have, when even his councillors, who
never before attempted to advise him in their lives,
have spoken to no effect. All that remains is quietly
to take up my pen, as did Antony his trumpet, and
faithfully follow at his heels—and I swear that, like
the latter, so truly do I love the hairbrained valour
of this fierce old Cavalier, that I feel as if I could
follow him through the world, even though (which
Heaven forefend) he should lead me through another
volume of adventures.

And now the ruddy faced Aurora, like a buxom
chamber-maid, draws aside the sable curtains of the
night, and out bounces from his bed the jolly red
haired Phœbus, startled at being caught so late in
the embraces of Dame Thetis. With many a stable
oath, he harnesses his brazen footed steeds, and
whips and lashes, and splashes up the firmament,
like a loitering post boy, half an hour behind his
time. And now behold that imp of fame and
prowess the headstrong Peter, bestriding a raw
boned, switch tailed charger, gallantly arrayed in

full regimentals, and bracing on his thigh that trusty
brass hilted sword, which had wrought such fearful
deeds on the banks of the Delaware.

Behold hard after him his doughty trumpeter
Van Corlear, mounted on a broken winded, wall
eyed, calico mare; his sturdy stone pottle which
had laid low the mighty Risingh, slung under his
arm, and his trumpet displayed vauntingly in his right
hand, decorated with a gorgeous banner, on which
is emblazoned the great beaver of the Manhattoes.
See them proudly issuing out of the city
gate, like an iron clad hero of yore, with his faithful
squire at his heels, the populace following them
with their eyes, and shouting many a parting wish,
and hearty cheering.—Farewel, Hard-koppig Piet!
Farewel honest Antony!—Pleasant be your wayfaring—prosperous
your return! The stoutest hero
that ever drew a sword, and the worthiest trumpeter
that ever trod shoe leather!

Legends are lamentably silent about the events
that befel our adventurers, in this their adventurous
travel, excepting the Stuyvesant Manuscript, which
gives the substance of a pleasant little heroic poem,
written on the occasion by Domine ægidius Luyck,[20]
who appears to have been the poet-laureat of New

Amsterdam. This inestimable manuscript assures
us, that it was a rare spectacle to behold the great
Peter and his loyal follower, hailing the morning
sun, and rejoicing in the clear countenance of
nature, as they pranced it through the pastoral
scenes of Bloemen Dael;[21] which in those days was
a sweet and rural valley, beautified with many a
bright wild flower, refreshed by many a pure
streamlet, and enlivened here and there by a delectable
little dutch cottage, sheltered under some gently
swelling hill, and almost buried in embowering
trees.

Now did they enter upon the confines of Connecticut,
where they encountered many grievous
difficulties and perils. At one place they were assailed
by some half a score of country squires and
militia colonels, who, mounted on goodly steeds, hung
upon their rear for several miles, harassing them
exceedingly with guesses and questions, more especially
the worthy Peter, whose silver chas'd leg excited
not a little marvel. At another place hard
by the renowned town of Stamford, they were set
upon by a great and mighty legion of church deacons,
who imperiously demanded of them five shillings,
for travelling on Sunday, and threatened to
carry them captive to a neighbouring church whose
steeple peer'd above the trees; but these the valiant

Peter put to rout with little difficulty, insomuch
that they bestrode their canes and gallopped off in
horrible confusion, leaving their cocked hats behind
in the hurry of their flight. But not so easily did
he escape from the hands of a crafty man of Pyquag;
who with undaunted perseverance, and repeated
onsets, fairly bargained him out of his goodly
switch-tailed charger, leaving in place thereof a
villainous, spavined, foundered Narraganset pacer.

But maugre all these hardships, they pursued
their journey cheerily, along the course of the soft
flowing Connecticut, whose gentle waves, says the
song, roll through many a fertile vale, and sunny
plain; now reflecting the lofty spires of the bustling
city, and now the rural beauties of the humble
hamlet; now echoing with the busy hum of commerce,
and now with the cheerful song of the peasant.

At every town would Peter Stuyvesant, who
was noted for warlike punctilio, order the sturdy
Antony to sound a courteous salutation; though
the manuscript observes, that the inhabitants were
thrown into great dismay, when they heard of his
approach. For the fame of his incomparable atchievements
on the Delaware, had spread throughout
the East country, and they dreaded lest he had
come to take vengeance on their manifold transgressions.

But the good Peter rode through these towns
with a smiling aspect; waving his hand with inexpressible
majesty and condescension; for he verily believed
that the old clothes which these ingenious people
had thrust into their broken windows, and the
festoons of dried apples and peaches which ornamented
the fronts of their houses, were so many
decorations in honour of his approach; as it was
the custom in days of chivalry, to compliment renowned
heroes, by sumptuous displays of tapestry
and gorgeous furniture. The women crowded to
the doors to gaze upon him as he passed, so much
does prowess in arms, delight the gentle sex. The
little children too ran after him in troops, staring
with wonder at his regimentals, his brimstone
breeches, and the silver garniture of his wooden leg.
Nor must I omit to mention the joy which many
strapping wenches betrayed, at beholding the jovial
Van Corlear, who had whilome delighted them so
much with his trumpet, when he bore the great
Peter's challenge to the Amphyctions. The kindhearted
Antony alighted from his calico mare, and
kissed them all with infinite loving kindness—and
was right pleased to see a crew of little trumpeters
crowding around him for his blessing; each of
whom he patted on the head, bade him be a good
boy, and gave him a penny to buy molasses candy.

The Stuyvesant manuscript makes but little
further mention of the governor's adventures upon

this expedition, excepting that he was received
with extravagant courtesy and respect by the great
council of the Amphyctions, who almost talked him
to death with complimentary and congratulatory
harangues. Of his negociations with the grand
council I shall say nothing, as there are more important
matters which call for the attention of myself,
my readers, and Peter Stuyvesant. Suffice it
to mention, it was like all other negociations—a
great deal was said, and very little done: one conversation
led to another—one conference begat
misunderstandings which it took a dozen conferences
to explain; at the end of which the parties
found themselves just where they were at first;
excepting that they had entangled themselves in a
host of questions of etiquette, and conceived a cordial
distrust of each other that rendered their future
negociations ten times more difficult than ever.[22]

In the midst of all these perplexities, which
bewildered the brain and incensed the ire of the
sturdy Peter, who was of all men in the world, perhaps,
the least fitted for diplomatic wiles, he privately
received the first intimation of the dark conspiracy
which had been matured in the Cabinet of
England. To this was added the astounding intelligence

that a hostile squadron had already sailed
from England, destined to reduce the province of
New Netherlands, and that the grand council of
Amphyctions had engaged to co-operate, by sending
a great army to invade New Amsterdam by
land.

Unfortunate Peter! did I not enter with sad
forebodings upon this ill starred expedition! did I
not tremble when I saw thee, with no other councillor
but thine own head, with no other armour but
an honest tongue, a spotless conscience and a rusty
sword! with no other protector but St. Nicholas—
and no other attendant but a brokenwinded trumpeter—Did
I not tremble when I beheld thee thus
sally forth, to contend with all the knowing powers
of New England.

Oh how did the sturdy old warrior rage and
roar, when he found himself thus entrapped, like a
lion in the hunter's toil. Now did he determine to
draw his trusty sword, and manfully to fight his
way through all the countries of the east. Now
did he resolve to break in upon the council of the
Amphyctions and put every mother's son of them
to death.—At length, as his direful wrath subsided,
he resorted to safer though less glorious expedients.

Concealing from the council his knowledge of
their machinations, he privately dispatched a trusty
messenger, with missives to his councillors at New

Amsterdam, apprizing them of the impending danger,
commanding them immediately to put the city
in a posture of defence, while in the mean time he
endeavoured to elude his enemies and come to
their assistance. This done he felt himself marvellously
relieved, rose slowly, shook himself like a
rhinoceros, and issued forth from his den, in much
the same manner as giant Despair is described to
have issued from Doubting castle, in the chivalric
history of the Pilgrim's Progress.

And now much does it grieve me that I must
leave the gallant Peter in this perilous jeopardy:
but it behoves us to hurry back and see what is
going on at New Amsterdam, for greatly do I fear
that city is already in a turmoil. Such was ever
the fate of Peter Stuyvesant, while doing one thing
with heart and soul, he was too apt to leave every
thing else at sixes and sevens. While, like a potentate
of yore, he was absent attending to those
things in person, which in modern days are trusted
to generals and ambassadors, his little territory at
home was sure to get in an uproar—All which was
owing to that uncommon strength of intellect, which
induced him to trust to nobody but himself, and
which had acquired him the renowned appellation
of Peter the Headstrong.

4. CHAP. IV.

There is no sight more truly interesting to a
philosopher, than to contemplate a community,
where every individual has a voice in public affairs,
where every individual thinks himself the atlas of
the nation, and where every individual thinks it his
duty to bestir himself for the good of his country—
I say, there is nothing more interesting to a philosopher,
than to see such a community in a sudden
bustle of war. Such a clamour of tongues—such
a bawling of patriotism—such running hither and
thither—every body in a hurry—every body up to
the ears in trouble—every body in the way, and every
body interrupting his industrious neighbour—who is
busily employed in doing nothing! It is like witnessing
a great fire, where every man is at work
like a hero—some dragging about empty engines—
others scampering with full buckets, and spilling the
contents into the boots of their neighbours—and
others ringing the church bells all night, by way of
putting out the fire. Little firemen—like sturdy
little knights storming a breach, clambering up and

down scaling ladders, and bawling through tin
trumpets, by way of directing the attack.—Here
one busy fellow, in his great zeal to save the property
of the unfortunate, catches up an anonymous
chamber utensil, and gallants it off with an air of
as much self importance, as if he had rescued a pot
of money—another throws looking glasses and
china, out of the window, by way of saving them
from the flames, while those who can do nothing
else, to assist in the great calamity run up and
down the streets with open throats, keeping up an
incessant cry of Fire! Fire! Fire!

“When the news arrived at Corinth,” says the
grave and profound Lucian—though I own the
story is rather trite, “that Philip was about to attack
them, the inhabitants were thrown into violent
alarm. Some ran to furbish up their arms; others
rolled stones to build up the walls—every body in
short, was employed, and every body was in the
way of his neighbour. Diogenes alone, was the
only man who could find nothing to do—whereupon
determining not to be idle when the welfare of his
country was at stake, he tucked up his robe, and
fell to rolling his tub with might and main, up and
down the Gymnasium.” In like manner did every
mother's son, in the patriotic community of New
Amsterdam, on receiving the missives of Peter
Stuyvesant, busy himself most mightily in putting
things in confusion, and assisting the general uproar.

“Every man”—saith the Stuyvesant Manuscript—
“flew to arms!”—by which is meant, that not one
of our honest dutch citizens would venture to
church or to market, without an old fashioned spit
of a sword, dangling at his side, and a long dutch
fowling piece on his shoulder—nor would he go
out of a night without a lanthorn; nor turn a
corner, without first peeping cautiously round, lest
he should come unawares upon a British army—
And we are informed, that Stoffel Brinkerhoff, who
was considered by the old women, almost as brave
a man as the governor himself—actually had two
one pound swivels mounted in his entry, one pointing
out at the front door, and the other at the
back.

But the most strenuous measure resorted to on
this aweful occasion, and one which has since been
found of wonderful efficacy, was to assemble popular
meetings. These brawling convocations, I have
already shewn, were extremely obnoxious to Peter
Stuyvesant, but as this was a moment of unusual
agitation, and as the old governor was not present
to repress them, they broke out with intolerable
violence. Hither therefore, the orators and politicians
repaired, and there seemed to be a competition
among them, who should bawl the loudest, and
exceed the other in hyperbolical bursts of patriotism,
and in resolutions to uphold and defend the government.
In these sage and all powerful meetings it

was determined nem. con. that they were the most
enlightened, the most dignified, the most formidable
and the most ancient community upon the face of
the earth—and finding that this resolution was so
universally and readily carried, another was immediately
proposed—whether it was not possible
and politic to exterminate Great Britain? upon
which sixty nine members spoke most eloquently
in the affirmative, and only one arose to suggest
some doubts—who as a punishment for his treasonable
presumption, was immediately seized by the
mob and tarred and feathered—which punishment
being equivalent to the Tarpeian Rock, he was
afterwards considered as an outcast from society
and his opinion went for nothing—The question
therefore, being unanimously carried in the affirmative,
it was recommended to the grand council to
pass it into a law; which was accordingly done—
By this measure the hearts of the people at large
were wonderfully encouraged, and they waxed exceeding
choleric and valourous—Indeed the first
paroxysm of alarm having in some measure subsided;
the old women having buried all the money
they could lay their hands on; and their husbands
daily getting fuddled with what was left—the community
began even to stand on the offensive. Songs
were manufactured in low dutch and sung about
the streets, wherein the English were most woefully
beaten, and shewn no quarter, and popular addresses
were made, wherein it was proved to a certainty,
that the fate of old England depended upon the
will of the New Amsterdammers.

Finally, to strike a violent blow at the very
vitals of Great Britain, a grand caucus of the wiser
inhabitants assembled; and having purchased all
the British manufactures they could find, they
made thereof a huge bonfire—and in the patriotic
glow of the moment, every man present, who had a
hat or breeches of English workmanship, pulled it
off and threw it most undauntedly into the flames—
to the irreparable detriment, loss and ruin of the
English manufacturers. In commemoration of this
great exploit, they erected a pole on the spot, with
a device on the top intended to represent the
province of Nieuw Nederlandts destroying Great
Britain, under the similitude of an Eagle picking
the little Island of Old England out of the globe;
but either through the unskillfulness of the sculptor,
or his ill timed waggery, it bore a striking resemblance
to a goose, vainly striving to get hold of a
dumpling.

5. CHAP. V.

It will need but very little witchcraft on the
part of my enlightened reader—particularly if he is
in any wise acquainted with the ways and habits of
that most potent and blustering monarch, the sovereign
people—to discover, that notwithstanding all
the incredible bustle and talk of war that stunned
him in the last chapter, the renowned city of New
Amsterdam is in sad reality, not a whit better prepared
for defence than before. Now, though the
people, having got over the first alarm, and finding
no enemy immediately at hand, had with that valour
of tongue, for which your illustrious rabble is
so famous, run into the opposite extreme, and by
dint of gallant vapouring and rodomontado had actually
talked themselves into the opinion that they
were the bravest and most powerful people under
the sun, yet were the privy councillors of Peter
Stuyvesant somewhat dubious on that point. They
dreaded moreover lest that stern hero should return
and find, that instead of obeying his peremptory
orders, they had wasted their time in listening

to the valiant hectorings of the mob, than which
they well knew there was nothing he held in more
exalted contempt.

To make up therefore as speedily as possible
for lost time, a grand divan of the councillors and
robustious Burgomasters was convened, to talk over
the critical state of the province and devise measures
for its safety. Two things were unanimously
agreed upon in this venerable assembly: first,
that the city required to be put in a state of defence—and
secondly, That as the danger was imminent,
there should no time be lost—which points
being settled, they immediately fell to making long
speeches and belabouring one another in endless
and intemperate disputes. For about this time
was this unhappy city first visited by that talking
endemic so universally prevalent in this country,
and which so invariably evinces itself, wherever a
number of wise men assemble together; breaking
out in long, windy speeches, caused, as physicians
suppose, by the foul air which is ever generated
in a crowd. Now it was, moreover, that they first
introduced the ingenious method of measuring the
merits of an harangue by the hour-glass; he being
considered the ablest orator who spoke longest on a
question—For which excellent invention it is recorded,
we are indebted to the same profound
dutch critic who judged of books by their bulk,

and gave a prize medal to a stupendous volume of
flummery—because it was “as tick as a cheese.”

The reporters of the day, therefore, in publishing
the debates of the grand council, seem merely
to have noticed the length of time each member
was on the floor—and the only record I can find of
the proceedings in the important business of which
we are treating, mentions, that “Mynheer—made
a very animated speech of six hours and a half, in
favour of fortification—He was followed by Mynheer—on
the other side, who spoke with great
clearness and precision for about eight hours—
Mynheer—suggested an amendment of the bill
by substituting in the eighth line, the words `four
and twenty,' instead of `twenty four,' in support of
which he offered a few remarks, which only took
up three hours and a quarter—and was followed by
Mynheer Windroer in a most pithy, nervous, concise,
elegant, ironical, argumentative strain of eloquence,
superior to any thing which ever issued
from the lips of a Cicero, a Demosthenes, or any
orator, either of antient or modern times—he occupied
the floor the whole of yesterday; this morning
he arose in continuation, and is in the middle
of the second branch of his discourse, at this present
writing; having already carried the council through
their second nap—We regret,” concludes this
worthy reporter, “that the irresistable propensity
of our Stenographer to nod, will prevent us from

giving the substance of this truly luminous and
lengthy speech.”

This sudden passion for endless harangues, so
little consonant with the customary gravity and
taciturnity of our sage forefathers, is supposed by
certain learned philosophers of the time, to have
been imbibed, together with divers other barbarous
propensities, from their savage neighbours; who
were peculiarly noted for their long talks and council
fires; and who would never undertake any affair
of the least importance, without previous debates
and harangues among their chiefs and old men.
But let its origin be what it may, it is without
doubt a cruel and distressing disease, which has
never been eradicated from the body politic to this
day; but is continually breaking out, on all occasions
of great agitation, in alarming and obnoxious
flatulencies, whereby the said body politic is grievously
afflicted, as with a wind cholic.

Thus then did Madam Wisdom, (who for some
unaccountable, but doubtlessly whimsical reason,
the wits of antiquity have represented under the
form of a woman) seem to take a mischievous
pleasure in jilting the grave and venerable councillors
of New Amsterdam. The old factions of
Square heads and Platter Breeches, which had been
almost strangled by the herculean grasp of Peter
Stuyvesant, now sprung up with tenfold violence—
To complete the public confusion and bewilderment,

the fatal word Economy, which one would
have thought was dead and buried with William
the Testy, was once more set afloat, like the apple
of discord, in the grand council of the New Nederlandts—according
to which sound principle of policy,
it was deemed more expedient to throw away twenty
thousand guilders upon an inefficient plan of defence,
than thirty thousand on a good and substantial one
—the province thus making a clear saving of ten
thousand guilders.

But when they came to discuss the mode of
defence, then began a war of words that baffles all
description. The members being, as I observed,
drawn out into opposite parties, were enabled to
proceed with amazing system and regularity in the
discussion of the questions before them. Whatever
was proposed by a Square head, was opposed by the
whole tribe of Platter breeches, who like true politicians,
considered it their first duty to effect the
downfall of the Square heads—their second, to elevate
themselves, and their third, to consult the welfare
of the country. This at least was the creed
of the most upright among the party, for as to the
great mass, they left the third consideration out of
the question altogether.

In this great collision of hard heads, it is astonishing
the number of projects for defence, that
were struck out, not one of which had ever been
heard of before, nor has been heard of since, unless

it be in very modern days—projects that threw
the windmill system of the ingenious Kieft completely
in the back ground—Still, however, nothing
could be decided on, for as fast as a formidable
host of air castles were reared by one party, they
were demolished by the other—the simple populace
stood gazing in anxious expectation of the mighty
egg, that was to be hatched, with all this cackling,
but they gazed in vain, for it appeared that the
grand council was determined to protect the province
as did the noble and gigantic Pantagruel his
army—by covering it with his tongue.

Indeed there was a magnanimous portion of
the members, fat, self important old burghers, who
smoked their pipes and said nothing, excepting to
negative every plan of defence that was offered.
These were of that class of wealthy old citizens
who having amassed a fortune, button up their
pockets, shut their mouths, look rich and are good
for nothing all the rest of their lives. Like some
phlegmetic oyster, which having swallowed a pearl,
closes its shell, settles down in the mud and parts
with its life sooner than its treasure. Every plan
of defence seemed to these worthy old gentlemen
pregnant with ruin. An armed force was a legion
of locusts, preying upon the public property—to
fit out a naval armament was to throw their money
into the sea—to build fortifications was to bury it in
the dirt. In short they settled it as a sovereign

maxim, so long as their pockets were full, no matter
how much they were drubbed—A kick left no
scar—a broken head cured itself—but an empty
purse was of all maladies the slowest to heal, and
one in which nature did nothing for the patient.

Thus did this venerable assembly of sages,
lavish away that time which the urgency of affairs
rendered invaluable, in empty brawls and long
winded arguments, without even agreeing, except
on the point with which they started, namely, that
there was no time to be lost, and delay was ruinous.
At length St. Nicholas, taking compassion
on their distracted situation, and anxious to preserve
them from total anarchy, so ordered, that in the
midst of one of their most noisy and patriotic debates,
when they had nearly fallen to loggerheads
in consequence of not being able to convince each
other, the question was happily settled by a messenger,
who bounced into the chamber and informed
them, that the hostile fleet had arrived, and
was actually advancing up the bay!

Thus was all further necessity of either fortifying
or disputing completely obviated, and thus was
the grand council saved a world of words, and the
province a world of expense—a most absolute and
glorious triumph of economy!

6. CHAP. VI.

Like a ward committee of politic cats, who,
when engaged in clamorous gibberings, and catterwaulings,
eyeing one another with hideous grimaces,
spitting in each other's faces, and on the point
of breaking forth into a general clapper-clawing, are
suddenly put to scampering rout and confusion
by the startling appearance of a house-dog—So was
the no less vociferous council of New Amsterdam,
amazed, astounded, and totally dispersed, by the
sudden arrival of the enemy. Every member made
the best of his way home, waddling along as fast as
his short legs could fag under their heavy burthen,
and wheezing as he went with corpulency and terror.
When he arrived at his castle, he barricadoed
the street door, and buried himself in the cider cellar,
without daring to peep out, lest he should have
his head carried off by a cannon ball.

The sovereign people all crowded into the market
place, herding together with the instinct of sheep
who seek for safety in each others company, when
the shepherd and his dog are absent and the wolf is
prowling round the fold. Far from finding relief

however, they only encreased each others terrors.
Each man looked ruefully in his neighbour's face, in
search of encouragement, but only found in its woe
begone lineaments, a confirmation of his own dismay.
Not a word now was to be heard of conquering
Great Britain, not a whisper about the sovereign
virtues of economy—while the old women
heightened the general gloom by clamorously bewailing
their fate, and incessantly calling for protection
on St. Nicholas and Peter Stuyvesant.

Oh how did they bewail the absence of the lion
hearted Peter!—and how did they long for the comforting
presence of Antony Van Corlear! Indeed
a gloomy uncertainty hung over the fate of these
adventurous heroes. Day after day had elapsed
since the alarming message from the governor,
without bringing any further tidings of his safety.
Many a fearful conjecture was hazarded as to what
had befallen him and his loyal squire. Had they
not been devoured alive by the Cannibals of Piscataway
and Cape Cod?—where they not put to the
question by the great council of Amphyctions?—
where they not smothered in onions by the terrible
men of Pyquag?—In the midst of this consternation
and perplexity, when horror like a mighty
night-mare sat brooding upon the little, fat, plethoric
city of New Amsterdam, the ears of the multitude
were suddenly startled by a strange and distant
sound—it approached—it grew louder and

louder—and now it resounded at the city gate. The
public could not be mistaken in the well known
sound—A shout of joy burst from their lips as the
gallant Peter, covered with dust, and followed by
his faithful trumpeter, came gallopping into the market
place.

The first transports of the populace having subsided,
they gathered round the honest Antony, as
he dismounted from his horse, overwhelming him
with greetings and congratulations. In breathless
accents he related to them the marvellous adventures
through which the old governor and himself
had gone, in making their escape from the clutches
of the terrible Amphyctions. But though the
Stuyvesant Manuscript, with its customary minuteness
where any thing touching the great Peter is
concerned, is very particular, as to the incidents of
this masterly retreat, yet the critical state of the
public affairs, will not allow me to indulge in a full
recital thereof. Let it suffice to say, that while
Peter Stuyvesant was anxiously revolving in his
mind, how he could make good his escape with
honour and dignity, certain of the ships sent out
for the conquest of the Manhattoes touched at the
Eastern ports, to obtain needful supplies, and to call
on the grand council of the league, for its promised
co-operation. Upon hearing of this, the vigilant
Peter, perceiving that a moment's delay was fatal,
made a secret and precipitate decampment, though

much did it grieve his lofty soul, to be obliged to
turn his back even upon a nation of foes. Many
hair-breadth scapes and divers perilous mishaps,
did they sustain, as they scoured, without sound of
trumpet, through the fair regions of the east.
Already was the country in an uproar with hostile
preparation—and they were obliged to take a large
circuit in their flight, lurking along, through the
woody mountains of the Devil's back bone; from
whence the valiant Peter sallied forth one day, like a
lion, and put to route a whole legion of squatters,
consisting of three generations of a prolific family,
who were already on their way to take possession
of some corner of the New Netherlands. Nay,
the faithful Antony had great difficulty at sundry
times, to prevent him in the excess of his wrath,
from descending down from the mountains, and
falling sword in hand, upon certain of the border
towns, who were marshalling forth their draggletailed
militia.

The first movements of the governor on reaching
his dwelling, was to mount the roof, from
whence he contemplated with rueful aspect the hostile
squadron. This had already come to anchor
in the bay, and consisted of two stout frigates,
having on board, as John Josselyn, gent. informs
us, three hundred valiant red coats. Having taken
this survey, he sat himself down, and wrote an
epistle to the commander, demanding the reason of

his anchoring in the harbour without obtaining
previous permission so to do. This letter was
couched in the most dignified and courteous terms,
though I have it from undoubted authority, that
his teeth were clinched, and he had a bitter
sardonic grin upon his visage, all the while
he wrote. Having dispatched his letter, the grim
Peter stumped to and fro about the town, with a
most war-betokening countenance, his hands thrust
into his breeches pockets, and whistling a low dutch
psalm tune, which bore no small resemblance to
the music of a north east wind, when a storm is
brewing—the very dogs as they eyed him skulked
away in dismay—while all the old and ugly women
of New Amsterdam, ran howling at his heels, imploring
him to save them from murder, robbery,
and piteous ravishment!

The reply of Col. Nichols, who commanded
the invaders, was couched in terms of equal courtesy
with the letter of the governor—declaring the right
and title of his British Majesty to the province;
where he affirmed the dutch to be mere interlopers;
and demanding that the town, forts, &c. should be
forthwith rendered into his majesty's obedience
and protection—promising at the same time, life,
liberty, estate and free trade, to every dutch denizen,
who should readily submit to his majesty's
government.

Peter Stuyvesant read over this friendly epistle
with some such harmony of aspect as we may suppose

a crusty farmer, who has long been fattening
upon his neighbour's soil, reads the loving letter of
John Stiles, that warns him of an action of ejectment.
The old governor however, was not to be
taken by surprize, but thrusting, according to custom,
a huge quid of tobacco into his cheek, and
cramming the summons into his breeches pocket,
promised to answer it the next morning. In the
mean time he called a general council of war of his
privy councillors and Burgomasters, not for the
purpose of asking their advice, for that, as has been
already shewn, he valued not a rush; but to make
known unto them his sovereign determination, and
require their prompt adherence.

Before, however, he convened his council he resolved
upon three important points; first, never to
give up the city without a little hard fighting, for he
deemed it highly derogatory to the dignity of so renowned
a city, to suffer itself to be captured and stripped,
without receiving a few kicks into the bargain.
Secondly, that the majority of his grand council
were a crew of arrant platter breeches, utterly destitute
of true bottom—and thirdly—that he would
not therefore suffer them to see the summons of
Col. Nichols, lest the easy terms it held out, might
induce them to clamour for a surrender.

His orders being duly promulgated, it was a
piteous sight to behold the late valiant Burgomasters,
who had demolished the whole British empire

in their harangues; peeping ruefully out of their
nests, and then crawling cautiously forth, dodging
through narrow lanes and alleys; starting at every
little dog that barked, as if it had been a discharge of
artillery—mistaking lamp posts for British grenadiers,
and in the excess of their panic, metamorphosing
pumps into formidable soldiers, levelling
blunderbusses at their bosoms! Having however,
in despite of numerous perils and difficulties of the
kind, arrived safe, without the loss of a single man,
at the hall of assembly, they took their seats and
awaited in fearful silence the arrival of the governor.
In a few moments the wooden leg of the intrepid
Peter, was heard in regular and stout-hearted
thumps upon the stair case—He entered the cahmber,
arrayed in full suit of regimentals, a more
than ordinary quantity of flour shook into his ear
locks, and carrying his trusty toledo, not girded on
his thigh, but tucked under his arm. As the governor
never equipped himself in this portentous
manner, unless something of martial nature was
working within his fearless pericranium, his council
regarded him ruefully as a very Janus bearing
fire and sword in his iron countenance—and forgot
to light their pipes in breathless suspence.

The great Peter was as eloquent as he was
valorous—indeed these two rare qualities seemed
to go hand in hand in his composition; and, unlike
most great statesmen, whose victories are only

confined to the bloodless field of argument, he
was always ready to enforce his hardy words, by
no less hardy deeds. Like another Gustavus addressing
his Dalecarlians, he touched upon the
perils and hardships he had sustained in escaping
from his inexorable foes—He next reproached the
council for wasting in idle debate and impertinent
personalities that time which should have been
devoted to their country—he then recalled the
golden days of former prosperity, which were only
to be regained by manfully withstanding their
enemies—endeavoured to rouse their martial fire,
by reminding them of the time, when, before the
frowning walls of fort Christina, he led them on to
victory—when they had subdued a whole army of
fifty Swedes—and subjugated an immense extent
of uninhabited territory.—He strove likewise to
awaken their confidence, by assuring them of the
protection of St. Nicholas; who had hitherto
maintained them in safety; amid all the savages of
the wilderness, the witches and squatters of the
east, and the giants of Merry land. Finally he
informed them of the insolent summons he had
received, to surrender, but concluded by swearing
to defend the province as long as heaven was on
his side, and he had a wooden leg to stand upon.
Which noble sentence he emphasized by a tremendous
thwack with the broad side of his sword upon
the table, that totally electrified his auditors.

The privy councillors, who had long been accustomed
to the governor's way, and in fact had
been brought into as perfect dicipline, as were ever
the soldiers of the great Frederick; saw that there
was no use in saying a word—so lighted their pipes
and smoked away in silence, like fat and discreet
councillors. But the Burgomasters being less under
the governor's controul—considering themselves
as representatives of the sovereign people,
and being moreover inflated with considerable importance
and self-sufficiency, which they had acquired
at those notable schools of wisdom and morality,
the popular meetings; (whereof in fact I am
told certain of them had been chairmen) these I
say, were not so easily satisfied. Mustering up
fresh spirit, when they found there was some
chance of escaping from their present perilous jeopardy,
without the disagreeable alternative of fighting,
they arrogantly requested a copy of the summons
to surrender, that they might shew it to a
general meeting of the people.

So insolent and mutinous a request would have
been enough to have roused the gorge of the tranquil
Van Twiller himself—what then must have
been its effect upon the great Stuyvesant, who was
not only a Dutchman, a Governor, and a valiant
wooden legged soldier to boot, but withal a man of
the most stomachful and gunpowder disposition.
He burst forth into a blaze of heroical indignation,

to which the famous rage of Achilles was a mere
pouting fit—swore not a mother's son of them
should see a syllable of it—that they deserved,
every one of them, to be hung, drawn and quartered,
for traitorously daring to question the infallibility
of government—that as to their advice or
concurrence, he did not care a whiff of tobacco for
either—that he had long been harrassed and thwarted
by their cowardly councils; but that they might
henceforth go home, and go to bed like old women;
for he was determined to defend the colony himself,
without the assistance of them or their adherents!
So saying he tucked his sword under his
arm, cocked his hat upon his head, and girding
up his loins, stumped indignantly out of the council
chamber—every body making room for him as
he passed.

No sooner had he gone than the sturdy Burgomasters
called a public meeting in front of the
Stadt-house, where they appointed as chairman one
Dofue Roerback, a mighty gingerbread baker in the
land, and formerly of the cabinet of William the
Testy. He was looked up to, with great reverence
by the populace, who considered him a man of
dark knowledge, seeing he was the first that imprinted
new year cakes with the mysterious hieroglyphics
of the Cock and Breeches, and such like
magical devices.

This great Burgomaster, who still chewed the
cud of ill will against the valiant Stuyvesant, in consequence
of having been ignominiously kicked out
of his cabinet—addressed the greasy multitude in
an exceeding long-winded speech, in which he informed
them of the courteous summons to surrender—of
the governor's refusal to comply therewith
—of his denying the public a sight of the summons,
which he had no doubt, from the well known liberality,
humanity, and forbearance, of the British nation,
contained conditions highly to the honour and
advantage of the province.

He then proceeded to speak of his excellency
in high sounding terms, suitable to the dignity and
grandeur of his station, comparing him to Nero,
Caligula, and other great men of yore, of whom he
had often heard William the Testy discourse in his
learned moods—Assuring the people, that the history
of the world did not contain a despotic outrage
to equal the present, for atrocity, cruelty, tyranny,
blood-thirstiness, battle, murder, and sudden death
—that it would be recorded in letters of fire, on the
blood-stained tablet of history! that ages would
roll back with sudden horror, when they came to
view it! That the womb of time—(by the way
your orators and writers take strange liberties with
the womb of time, though some would fain have us
believe that time is an old gentleman) that the
womb of time, pregnant as it was with direful horrors,

would never produce a parallel enormity!—
that posterity would be struck dumb with petrifying
astonishment, and howl in unavailing indignation,
over the records of irremediable barbarity!—With
a variety of other heart-rending, soul stirring tropes
and figures, which I cannot enumerate—Neither
indeed need I, for they were exactly the same that
are used in all popular harangues and fourth of July
orations at the present day, and may be classed in
rhetoric under the general title of Rigmarole.

The patriotic address of Burgomaster Roerback
had a wonderful effect upon the populace, who, though
a race of sober phlegmatic Dutchmen, were amazing
quick at discerning insults; for your ragged
rabble, though it may bear injuries without a murmur,
yet is always marvellously jealous of its sovereign
dignity. They immediately fell into the
pangs of tumultuous labour, and brought forth, not
only a string of right wise and valiant resolutions,
but likewise a most resolute memorial, addressed
to the governor, remonstrating at his conduct—
which he no sooner received than he handed it into
the fire; and thus deprived posterity of an invaluable
document, that might have served as a precedent
to the enlightened coblers and taylors, of the
present day, in their sage intermeddlings with politics.

7. CHAP. VII.

Now did the high minded Pieter de Groodt,
shower down a pannier load of benedictions upon
his Burgomasters, for a set of self-willed, obstinate,
headstrong varlets, who would neither be convinced
nor persuaded; and determined henceforth to
have nothing more to do with them, but to consult
merely the opinion of his privy councillors, which
he knew from experience to be the best in the
world—inasmuch as it never differed from his own.
Nor did he omit, now that his hand was in, to bestow
some thousand left-handed compliments upon
the sovereign people; whom he railed at for a herd
of arrant poltroons, who had no relish for the glorious
hardships and illustrious misadventures of battle—but
would rather stay at home, and eat and
sleep in ignoble ease, than gain immortality and a
broken head, by valiantly fighting in a ditch!

Resolutely bent however upon defending his
beloved city, in despite even of itself, he called unto
him his trusty Van Corlear, who was his right hand
man in all times of emergency. Him did he adjure
to take his war denouncing trumpet, and

mounting his horse, to beat up the country, night
and day—Sounding the alarm along the pastoral
borders of the Bronx—startling the wild solitudes
of Croton, arousing the rugged yeomanry of Wee-hawk
and Hoboken—the mighty men of battle of
Tappan Bay[23] —and the brave boys of Tarry town
and Sleepy hollow—together with all the other
warriors of the country round about; charging
them one and all, to sling their powder horns,
shoulder their fowling pieces, and march merrily
down to the Manhattoes.

Now there was nothing in all the world, the
divine sex excepted, that Antony Van Corlear loved
better than errands of this kind. So just stopping
to take a lusty dinner, and bracing to his side
his junk bottle, well charged with heart inspiring
Hollands, he issued jollily from the city gate, that
looked out upon what is at present called Broadway;
sounding as usual a farewell strain, that rung
in sprightly echoes through the winding streets
of New Amsterdam—Alas! never more were they
to be gladdened by the melody of their favourite
trumpeter!

It was a dark and stormy night when the good
Antony arrived at the famous creek (sagely denominated
Hærlem river) which separates the

island of Manna-hata from the main land. The
wind was high, the elements were in an uproar,
and no Charon could be found to ferry the adventurous
sounder of brass across the water. For a
short time he vapoured like an impatient ghost
upon the brink, and then, bethinking himself of the
urgency of his errand, took a hearty embrace of his
stone bottle, swore most valourously that he would
swim across, en spijt den Duyvel (in spite of the
devil!) and daringly plunged into the stream.—
Luckless Antony! scarce had he buffetted half way
over, when he was observed to struggle most violently
as if battling with the spirit of the waters—
instinctively he put his trumpet to his mouth and
giving a vehement blast—sunk forever to the bottom!

The potent clangour of his trumpet, like the
ivory horn of the renowned Paladin Orlando, when
expiring in the glorious field of Roncesvalles, rung
far and wide through the country, alarming the
neighbours round, who hurried in amazement to
the spot—Here an old Dutch burgher, famed for
his veracity, and who had been a witness of the
fact, related to them the melancholy affair; with
the fearful addition (to which I am slow of giving
belief) that he saw the duyvel, in the shape of a
huge Moss-bonker with an invisible fiery tail, and
vomiting boiling water, seize the sturdy Antony
by the leg, and drag him beneath the waves. Certain

it is, the place, with the adjoining promontory,
which projects into the Hudson, has been called
Spijt den duyvel, or Spiking devil, ever since—the
restless ghost of the unfortunate Antony still haunts
the surrounding solitudes, and his trumpet has often
been heard by the neighbours, of a stormy night,
mingling with the howling of the blast. No body
ever attempts to swim over the creek after dark;
on the contrary, a bridge has been built to guard
against such melancholy accidents in future—and
as to Moss-bonkers, they are held in such abhorrence,
that no true Dutchman will admit them to
his table, who loves good fish, and hates the devil.

Such was the end of Antony Van Corlear—
a man deserving of a better fate. He lived roundly
and soundly, like a true and jolly batchelor, until
the day of his death; but though he was never
married, yet did he leave behind some two or three
dozen children, in different parts of the country—
fine, chubby, brawling, flatulent little urchins, from
whom, if legends speak true, (and they are not apt
to lie) did descend the innumerable race of editors,
who people and defend this country, and who are
bountifully paid by the people for keeping up a constant
alarm—and making them miserable. Would
that they inherited the worth, as they do the wind,
of their renowned progenitor!

The tidings of this lamentable catastrophe imparted
a severer pang to the bosom of Peter Stuyvesant,

than did even the invasion of his beloved
Amsterdam. It came ruthlessly home to those
sweet affections that grow close around the heart,
and are nourished by its warmest current. As
some lorn pilgrim wandering in trackless wastes,
while the rude tempest whistles through his hoary
locks, and dreary night is gathering around, sees
stretched cold and lifeless, his faithful dog—the
sole companion of his lonely journeying, who had
shared his solitary meal, who had so often licked
his hand in humble gratitude, who had lain in his
bosom, and been unto him as a child—So did the
generous hearted hero of the Manhattoes contemplate
the untimely end of his faithful Antony. He
had been the humble attendant of his footsteps—he
had cheered him in many a heavy hour, by his
honest gaiety, and had followed him in loyalty and
affection, through many a scene of direful peril and
mishap—he was gone forever—and that too, at a
moment when every mongrel cur seemed skulking
from his side—This—Peter Stuyvesant—this was
the moment to try thy magnanimity; and this was
the moment, when thou didst indeed shine forth—
Peter the Headstrong!

The glare of day had long dispelled the horrors of
the last stormy night; still all was dull and gloomy.
The late jovial Apollo hid his face behind lugubrious
clouds, peeping out now and then, for an instant,
as if anxious, yet fearful, to see what was going

on, in his favourite city. This was the eventful
morning, when the great Peter was to give his reply,
to the audacious summons of the invaders. Already
was he closetted with his privy council, sitting in
grim state, brooding over the fate of his favourite
trumpeter, and anon boiling with indignation as the
insolence of his recreant Burgomasters flashed upon
his mind. While in this state of irritation, a courier
arrived in all haste from Winthrop, the subtle governor
of Connecticut, councilling him in the most
affectionate and disinterested manner to surrender
the province, and magnifying the dangers and calamities
to which a refusal would subject him.—
What a moment was this to intrude officious advice
upon a man, who never took advice in his whole
life!—The fiery old governor strode up and down
the chamber, with a vehemence, that made the
bosoms of his councillors to quake with awe—
railing at his unlucky fate, that thus made him the
constant butt of factious subjects, and jesuitical
advisers.

Just at this ill chosen juncture, the officious
Burgomasters, who were now completely on the
watch, and had got wind of the arrival of mysterious
dispatches, came marching in a resolute body, into
the room, with a legion of Schepens and toad-eaters
at their heels, and abruptly demanded a perusal of
the letter. Thus to be broken in upon by what he
esteemed a “rascal rabble,” and that too at the very

moment he was grinding under an irritation from
abroad, was too much for the spleen of the choleric
Peter. He tore the letter in a thousand pieces[24] —
threw it in the face of the nearest Burgomaster—
broke his pipe over the head of the next—hurled
his spitting box at an unlucky Schepen, who was
just making a masterly retreat out at the door, and
finally dissolved the whole meeting sine die, by
kicking them down stairs with his wooden leg!

As soon as the Burgomasters could recover
from the confusion into which their sudden exit
had thrown them, and had taken a little time to
breathe, they protested against the conduct of the
governor, which they did not hesitate to pronounce
tyrannical, unconstitutional, highly indecent, and
somewhat disrespectful. They then called a public
meeting, where they read the protest, and addressing
the assembly in a set speech related at
full length, and with appropriate colouring and exaggeration,
the despotic and vindictive deportment
of the governor; declaring that, for their own parts,
they did not value a straw the being kicked, cuffed,
and mauled by the timber toe of his excellency, but
they felt for the dignity of the sovereign people,
thus rudely insulted by the outrage committed on
the seats of honour of their representatives. The
latter part of the harangue had a violent effect upon

the sensibility of the people, as it came home at
once, to that delicacy of feeling and jealous pride
of character, vested in all true mobs: and there is
no knowing to what act of resentment they might
have been provoked, against the redoubtable Hard-koppig
Piet—had not the greasy rogues been somewhat
more afraid of their sturdy old governor, than
they were of St. Nicholas, the English—or the
D—l himself.

8. CHAP. VIII.

Pause, oh most considerate reader! and contemplate
for a moment the sublime and melancholy
scene, which the present crisis of our history
presents! An illustrious and venerable little
town—the metropolis of an immense extent of
flourishing but unenlightened, because uninhabited
country—Garrisoned by a doughty host of
orators, chairmen, committee-men, Burgomasters,
Schepens and old women—governed by a determined
and strong headed warrior, and fortified
by mud batteries, pallisadoes and resolutions.—
blockaded by sea, beleaguered by land, and threatened
with direful desolation from without; while
its very vitals are torn, and griped, and becholiced
with internal faction and commotion!
Never did the historic pen record a page of more
complicated distress, unless it be the strife that
distracted the Israelites during the siege of Jerusalem—where
discordant parties were cutting each
others throats, at the moment when the victorious
legions of Titus had toppled down their bulwarks,
and were carrying fire and sword, into the very
sanctum sanctorum of the temple.

Governor Stuyvesant having triumphantly, as
has been recorded, put his grand council to the
rout, and thus delivered himself from a multitude of
impertinent advisers, dispatched a categorical reply
to the commanders of the invading squadron;
wherein he asserted the right and title of their
High Mightinesses the lords States general to the
province of New Netherlands, and trusting in the
righteousness of his cause, set the whole British
nation at defiance! My anxiety to extricate my
readers, and myself, from these disastrous scenes,
prevents me from giving the whole of this most
courteous and gallant letter which concluded in
these manly and affectionate terms.

Thus having resolutely thrown his gauntlet,
the brave Hard-koppig Piet stuck a huge pair of
horse pistols in his belt, girded an immense powder

horn on his side—thrust his sound leg into a Hessian
boot, and clapping his fierce little war hat on
top of his head—paraded up and down in front of
his house, determined to defend his beloved city
to the last.

While all these woeful struggles and dissensions
were prevailing in the unhappy little city of New
Amsterdam, and while its worthy but ill starred
governor was framing the above quoted letter, the
English commanders did not remain idle. They
had agents secretly employed to foment the fears
and clamours of the populace, and moreover circulated
far and wide through the adjacent country a
proclamation, repeating the terms they had already
held out in their summons to surrender, and beguiling
the simple Nederlanders with the most
crafty and conciliating professions. They promised
every man who voluntarily submitted to the
authority of his British majesty, that he should retain
peaceable possession of his house, his vrouw
and his cabbage garden. That he should be suffered
to smoke his pipe, speak dutch, wear as
many breeches as he pleased, and import bricks,
tiles and stone jugs from Holland, instead of
manufacturing them on the spot—That he should
on no account be compelled to learn the English
language, or keep accounts in any other way than
by casting them up upon his fingers, and chalking
them down upon the crown of his hat; as is still

observed among the dutch yeomanry at the present
day. That every man should be allowed quietly
to inherit his father's hat, coat, shoe-buckles, pipe,
and every other personal appendage, and that no
man should be obliged to conform to any improvements,
inventions, or any other modern innovations,
but on the contrary should be permitted to
build his house, follow his trade, manage his farm,
rear his hogs, and educate his children, precisely
as his ancestors did before him since time immemorial—Finally,
that he should have all the benefits
of free trade, and should not be required to acknowledge
any other saint in the calendar than
saint Nicholas, who should thenceforward, as before,
be considered the tutelar saint of the city.

These terms, as may be supposed, appeared
very satisfactory to the people; who had a great
disposition to enjoy their property unmolested, and
a most singular aversion to engage in a contest,
where they could gain little more than honour and
broken heads—the first of which they held in philosophic
indifference, the latter in utter detestation.
By these insidious means, therefore, did the English
succeed in alienating the confidence and affections
of the populace from their gallant old governor,
whom they considered as obstinately bent upon
running them into hideous misadventures, and did
not hesitate to speak their minds freely, and abuse
him most heartily—behind his back.

Like as a mighty grampus, who though assailed
and buffeted by roaring waves and brawling surges,
still keeps on an undeviating course; and though overwhelmed
by boisterous billows, still emerges from
the troubled deep, spouting and blowing with tenfold
violence—so did the inflexible Peter pursue, unwavering,
his determined career, and rise contemptuous,
above the clamours of the rabble.

But when the British warriors found by the
tenor of his reply that he set their power at defiance,
they forthwith dispatched recruiting officers to Jamaica,
and Jericho, and Nineveh, and Quag, and
Patchog, and all those redoubtable towns which had
been subdued of yore by the immortal Stoffel Brinkerhoff,
stirring up the valiant progeny of Preserved
Fish, and Determined Cock, and those other illustrious
squatters, to assail the city of New Amsterdam
by land. In the mean while the hostile ships
made awful preparation to commence a vehement
assault by water.

The streets of New Amsterdam now presented
a scene of wild dismay and consternation. In vain
did the gallant Stuyvesant order the citizens to arm
and assemble in the public square or market place.
The whole party of Platter breeches in the course of
a single night had changed into arrant old women—a
metamorphosis only to be paralleled by the prodigies
recorded by Livy as having happened at Rome at
the approach of Hannibal, when statues sweated in

pure affright, goats were converted into sheep, and
cocks turning into hens ran cackling about the
streets.

The harrassed Peter, thus menaced from without
and tormented from within—baited by the burgomasters
and hooted at by the rabble, chafed and
growled and raged like a furious bear tied to a stake
and worried by a legion of scoundrel curs. Finding
however that all further attempt to defend the city
was in vain, and hearing that an irruption of borderers
and moss troopers was ready to deluge him
from the east, he was at length compelled, in spite
of his mighty heart, which swelled in his throat
until it had nearly choked him, to consent to a treaty
of surrender.

Words cannot express the transports of the
people, on receiving this agreeable intelligence;
had they obtained a conquest over their enemies,
they could not have indulged greater delight—The
streets resounded with their congratulations—they
extolled their governor as the father and deliverer
of his country—they crowded to his house to testify
their gratitude, and were ten times more noisy in
their plaudits, than when he returned, with victory
perched upon his beaver, from the glorious capture
of Fort Christina—But the indignant Peter shut up
his doors and windows and took refuge in the innermost
recesses of his mansion, that he might not
hear the ignoble rejoicings of the rabble.

In consequence of this consent of the governor,
a parley was demanded of the besieging forces to
treat of the terms of surrender. Accordingly a
deputation of six commissioners was appointed on
both sides, and on the 27th August, 1664, a capitulation
highly favourable to the province, and
honourable to Peter Stuyvesant, was agreed to by
the enemy, who had conceived a high opinion of
the valour of the men of the Manhattoes, and the
magnanimity and unbounded discretion of their
governor.

One thing alone remained, which was, that the
articles of surrender should be ratified, and signed
by the chivalric Peter—When the commissioners
respectfully waited upon him for this purpose, they
were received by the hardy old warrior, with the
most grim and bitter courtesy. His warlike accoutrements
were laid aside—an old India night gown
was wrapped around his rugged limbs, a red woollen
night cap overshadowed his frowning brow, and an
iron grey beard, of three days growth, heightened
the grizly terrors of his visage. Thrice did he
seize a little worn out stump of a pen, and essay
to sign the loathesome paper—thrice did he clinch
his teeth, and make a most horrible countenance,
as though a pestiferous dose of rhubarb, senna, and
ipecacuanha, had been offered to his lips, at length
dashing it from him, he seized his brass hilted
sword, and jerking it from the scabbard, swore by

St. Nicholas, he'd sooner die than yield to any
power under heaven.

In vain was every attempt to shake this sturdy
resolution—menaces, remonstrances, revilings were
exhausted to no purpose—for two whole days was
the house of the valiant Peter besieged by the
clamourous rabble, and for two whole days did he
betake himself to his arms, and persist in a magnanimous
refusal to ratify the capitulation—thus, like
a second Horatius Cocles, bearing the whole brunt
of war, and defending this modern Rome, with the
prowess of his single arm!

At length the populace finding that boisterous
measures, did but incense more determined opposition,
bethought themselves of a humble expedient,
by which haply, the governor's lofty ire might be
soothed, and his resolution undermined. And now
a solemn and mournful procession, headed by the
Burgomasters, and Schepens, and followed by the
enlightened vulgar, moves slowly to the governor's
dwelling—bearing the unfortunate capitulation.
Here they found the stout old hero, drawn up like
a giant into his castle—the doors strongly barricadoed,
and himself in full regimentals, with his
cocked hat on his head, firmly posted with a blunderbuss
at the garret window.

There was something in this formidable position
that struck even the ignoble vulgar, with awe and
admiration. The brawling multitude could not but

reflect with self abasement, upon their own degenerate
conduct, when they beheld their hardy but deserted
old governor, thus faithful to his post, like a
forlorn hope, and fully prepared to defend his ungrateful
city to the last. These compunctions however,
were soon overwhelmed, by the recurring
tide of public apprehension. The populace arranged
themselves before the house, taking off their
hats, with most respectful humility—One of the
Burgomasters, of that popular class of orators, who,
as old Sallust observes, are “talkative rather than
eloquent” stepped forth and addressed the governor
in a speech of three hours length; detailing in
the most pathetic terms the calamitous situation of
the province, and urging him in a constant repetition
of the same arguments and words, to sign the
capitulation.

The mighty Peter eyed him from his little garret
window in grim silence—now and then his eye
would glance over the surrounding rabble, and an
indignant grin, like that of an angry mastiff, would
mark his iron visage—But though he was a man of
most undaunted mettle—though he had a heart as
big as an ox, and a head that would have set adamant
to scorn—yet after all he was a mere mortal:
—wearied out by these repeated oppositions and
this eternal haranguing, and perceiving that unless
he complied, the inhabitants would follow ther inclinations,
or rather their fears, without waiting for

his consent, he testily ordered them to hand him
up the paper. It was accordingly hoisted to him
on the end of a pole, and having scrawled his name
at the bottom of it, he excommunicated them all for
a set of cowardly, mutinous, degenerate platterbreeches—threw
the capitulation at their heads,
slammed down the window, and was heard stumping
down stairs with the most vehement indignation.
The rabble incontinently took to their heels; even
the Burgomasters were not slow in evacuating the
premises, fearing lest the sturdy Peter might issue
from his den, and greet them with some unwelcome
testimonial of his displeasure.

9. CHAP. IX.

Among the numerous events, which are each
in their turn the most direful and melancholy of
all possible occurrences, in your interesting and
authentic history; there is none that occasions
such heart rending grief to your historian of sensibility,
as the decline and fall of your renowned and
mighty empires! Like your well disciplined funeral
orator, whose feelings are properly tutored to ebb
and flow, to blaze in enthusiastic eulogy, or gush
in overwhelming sorrow—who has reduced his
impetuous grief to a kind of manual—has prepared
to slap his breast at a comma, strike his forehead
at a semicolon; start with horror at a dash—and
burst into an ungovernable paroxysm of despair at
a note of admiration! Like unto him your woe begone
historian ascends the rostrum; bends in
dumb pathos over the ruins of departed greatness;
casts an upbraiding eye to heaven, a glance of indignant
misery on the surrounding world; settles
his features into an expression of unutterable agony,
and having by this eloquent preparation, invoked
the whole animate and inanimate creation to unite

with him in sorrow, draws slowly his white handkerchief
from his pocket, and as he applies it to his
face, seems to sob to his readers, in the words of a
most tear shedding dutch author, “You who have
noses, prepare to blow them now!”—or rather, to
quote more literally “let every man blow his own
nose!”

Where is the reader who can contemplate
without emotion, the disastrous events by which
the great dynasties of the world have been extinguished?
When wandering, with mental eye
amid the awful and gigantic ruins of kingdoms,
states and empires—marking the tremendous convulsions
that shook their foundations and wrought
their lamentable downfall—the bosom of the melancholy
enquirer swells with sympathy, commensurate
to the sublimity of the surrounding horrors—
each petty feeling—each private misery, is overpowered
and forgotten; like a helpless mortal
struggling under the night mare; so the unhappy
reader pants and groans, and labours, under one
stupendous grief—one vast immoveable idea—one
immense, one mountainous—one overwhelming
mass of woe!

Behold the great Assyrian Empire, founded by
Nimrod, that mighty hunter,; extending its domains
over the fairest portion of the globe—encreasing
in splendour through a long lapse of fifteen
centuries, and terminating ingloriously in the reign of

the effeminate Sardinapalus, consumed in the conflagration
of his capital by the Median Arbaces.

Behold its successor, the Median Empire, augmented
by the warlike power of Persia, under the
sceptre of the immortal Cyrus, and the Egyptian
conquests of the desert-braving Cambyses—accumulating
strength and glory during seven centuries
—but shook to its centre, and finally overthrown,
in the memorable battles of the Granicus, the Issus,
and the plains of Arbela, by the all conquering arm
of Alexander.

Behold next the Grecian Empire; brilliant, but
brief, as the warlike meteor with which it rose and
descended—existing but seven years, in a blaze of
glory—and perishing, with its hero, in a scene of
ignominious debauchery.

Behold next the Roman Eagle, fledged in her
Ausonean aerie, but wheeling her victorious flight
over the fertile plains of Asia—the burning desarts
of Africa, and at length spreading wide her triumphant
wings, the mistress of the world! But mark
her fate—view the imperial Rome, the emporium
of taste and science—the paragon of cities—the
metropolis of the universe—ravaged, sacked and
overturned by successive hordes of fierce barbarians—and
the unwieldly empire, like a huge but
over ripe pumpkin, splitting into the western empire
of the renowned Charlemagne, and the eastern
or Greek Empire of Leo the Great—which latter,

after enduring through six long centuries, is dismembered
by the unhallowed hands of the Saracens.

Behold the Saracenic empire, swayed by the
puissant Gengis Khan, lording it over these conquered
domains, and, under the reign of Tamerlane
subduing the whole Eastern region. Then
cast an eye towards the Persian mountains. Mark
how the fiery shepherd Othman, with his fierce
compeers, descend like a whirlwind on the Nicomedian
plains. Lo! the late fearless Saracen succumbs—he
flies! he falls! His dynasty is destroyed,
and the Ottoman crescent is reared triumphant on
its ruins!

Behold—but why should we behold any more?
Why should we rake among the ashes of extinguished
greatness?—Kingdoms, Principalities, and
Powers, have each had their rise, their progress,
and their fall—each in its turn has swayed a mighty
sceptre—each has returned to its primeval nothingness.
And thus did it fare with the empire of
their High Mightinesses, at the illustrious metropolis
of the Manhattoes, under the peaceful reign
of Walter the Doubter—the fractious reign of
William the Testy, and the chivalric reign of Peter
Stuyvesant—alias, Pieter de Groodt—alias, Hard-koppig-Piet—which
meaneth Peter the Headstrong!

The patron of refinement, hospitality, and the
elegant arts, it shone resplendent, like a jewel in a
dunghill, deriving additional lustre from the barbarism

of the savage tribes, and European hordes,
by which it was surrounded. But alas! neither
virtue, nor talents, eloquence, nor economy, can
avert the inavertable stroke of fate. The Dutch
Dynasty, pressed, and assailed on every side, approached
to its destined end. It had been puffed,
and blown up from small beginnings, to a most corpulent
rotundity—it had resisted the constant incroachments
of its neighbouring foes, with phlegmatic
magnanimity—but the sudden shock of
invasion was too much for its strength.

Thus have I seen a crew of truant urchins,
beating and belabouring a distended bladder, which
maintained its size, uninjured by their assaults—
At length an unlucky brat, more knowing than the
rest, collecting all his might, bounces down with his
bottom upon the inflated globe—The contact of
contending spheres is aweful and destructive—the
bloated membrane yields—it bursts, it explodes
with a noise strange and equivocal, wonderfully resembling
thunder—and is no more.

And now nought remains but sadly and reluctantly
to deliver up this excellent little city into the
hands of its invaders. Willingly would I, like
the impetuous Peter, draw my trusty weapon and
defend it through another volume; but truth, unalterable
truth forbids the rash attempt, and what
is more imperious still, a phantom, hideous, huge
and black, forever haunts my mind, the direful

spectrum of my landlord's bill—which like a carrion
crow hovers around my slow expiring history,
impatient of its death, to gorge upon its carcass.

Suffice it then in brevity to say, that within
three hours after the surrender, a legion of British
beef fed warriors poured into New Amsterdam,
taking possession of the fort and batteries. And
now might be heard the busy sound of hammers
made by the old Dutch burghers, who industriously
nailed up their doors and windows to protect
their vrouws from these fierce barbarians;
whom they contemplated in silent sullenness from
the attic story, as they paraded through the streets.

Thus did Col. Richard Nichols, the commander
of the British force enter into quiet possession
of the conquered realm as locum tenant for the
duke of York. The victory was attended with no
other outrage than that of changing the name of
the province and its metropolis, which thenceforth
were denominated New York, and so have continued
to be called unto the present day. The inhabitants
according to treaty were allowed to maintain
quiet possession of their property, but so inveterately
did they retain their abhorrence to the
British nation, that in a private meeting of the
leading citizens, it was unanimously determined
never to ask any of their conquerors to dinner.

Such was the fate of the renowned province
of New Netherlands, and it formed but one link

in a subtle chain of events, originating at the capture
of Fort Casimer, which has produced the present
convulsions of the globe!—Let not this assertion
excite a smile of incredulity, for extravagant
as it may seem, there is nothing admits of more
conclusive proof—Attend then gentle reader to
this plain deduction, which if thou are a king, an
emperor, or other powerful potentate, I advise thee
to treasure up in thy heart—though little expectation
have I that my work will fall into such hands,
for well I know the care of crafty ministers, to
keep all grave and edifying books of the kind out of
the way of unhappy monarchs—lest peradventure
they should read them and learn wisdom.

By the treacherous surprisal of Fort Casimer,
then, did the crafty Swedes enjoy a transient triumph;
but drew upon their heads the vengeance
of Peter Stuyvesant, who wrested all New Sweden
from their hands—By the conquest of New Sweden
Peter Stuyvesant aroused the claims of Lord Baltimore,
who appealed to the cabinet of Great Britain,
who subdued the whole province of New Netherlands—By
this great atchievement the whole
extent of North America from Nova Scotia to
the Floridas, was rendered one entire dependency
upon the British crown—but mark the consequence
—The hitherto scattered colonies being thus consolidated,
and having no rival colonies to check
or keep them in awe, waxed great and powerful,

and finally becoming too strong for the mother
country, were enabled to shake off its bonds, and by
a glorious revolution became an independent empire—But
the chain of effects stopped not here;
the successful revolution in America produced the
sanguinary revolution in France, which produced
the puissant Buonaparte who produced the French
Despotism, which has thrown the whole world in
confusion!—Thus have these great powers been
successively punished for their ill-starred conquests
—and thus, as I asserted, have all the present convulsions,
revolutions and disasters that overwhelm
mankind, originated in the capture of little Fort
Casimer, as recorded in this eventful history.

Let then the potentates of Europe, beware how
they meddle with our beloved country. If the
surprisal of a comparatively insignificant fort has
overturned the economy of empires, what (reasoning
from analogy) would be the effect of conquering
a vast republic?—It would set all the stars and
planets by the ears—the moon would go to loggerheads
with the sun—the whole system of nature
would be hurled into chaos—unless it was providentially
rescued by the Millenium!

10. CHAP. X.

Thus then have I concluded this renowned
historical enterprize; but before I lay aside my
weary pen, there yet remains to be performed one
pious duty. If among the incredible host of readers
that shall peruse this book, there should haply be
found any of those souls of true nobility, which
glow with celestial fire, at the history of the generous
and the brave, they will doubtless be anxious
to know the fate of the gallant Peter Stuyvesant.
To gratify one such sterling heart of gold I would
go more lengths, than to instruct the cold blooded
curiosity of a whole fraternity of philosophers.

No sooner had that high mettled cavalier signed
the articles of capitulation than, determined not to
witness the humiliation of his favourite city, he
turned his back upon its walls and made a growling
retreat to his Bouwery, or country seat, which
was situated about two miles off, where he passed
the remainder of his days in patriarchal retirement.
There he enjoyed that tranquillity of
mind, which he had never known amid the distracting
cares of government, and tasted the sweets of
absolute and uncontrouled authority, which his

factious subjects had so often dashed with the bitterness
of opposition.

No persuasions could ever induce him to revisit
the city—on the contrary he would always have his
great arm chair placed with its back to the windows,
which looked in that direction; until a thick grove
of trees planted by his own hand grew up and
formed a screen, that effectually excluded it from
the prospect. He railed continually at the degenerate
innovations and improvements introduced by
the conquerors—forbade a word of their detested
language to be spoken in his family, a prohibition
readily obeyed, since none of the household could
speak any thing but dutch—and even ordered a fine
avenue to be cut down in front of his house, because
it consisted of English cherry trees.

The same incessant vigilance, that blazed forth
when he had a vast province under his care, now
shewed itself with equal vigour, though in narrower
limits. He patrolled with unceasing watchfulness
around the boundaries of his little territory;
repelled every encroachment with intrepid promptness;
punished every vagrant depredation upon his
orchard or his farm yard with inflexible severity—
and conducted every stray hog or cow in triumph
to the pound. But to the indigent neighbour, the
friendless stranger, or the weary wanderer, his spacious
door was ever open, and his capacious fire
place, that emblem of his own warm and generous

heart, had always a corner to receive and cherish
them. There was an exception to this, I must
confess, in case the ill starred applicant was an Englishman
or a Yankee, to whom, though he might
extend the hand of assistance, he could never be
brought to yield the rites of hospitality. Nay, if
peradventure some straggling merchant of the east,
should stop at his door with his cart load of tin
ware or wooden bowls, the fiery Peter would issue
forth like a giant from his castle, and make such a
furious clattering among his pots and kettles, that
the vender of “notions” was fain to betake himself
to instant flight.

His ancient suit of regimentals, worn threadbare
by the brush, were carefully hung up in the state
bed chamber, and regularly aired the first fair day
of every month—and his cocked hat and trusty
sword, were suspended in grim repose, over the
parlour mantle-piece, forming supporters to a full
length portrait of the renowned admiral Von
Tromp. In his domestic empire he maintained
strict discipline, and a well organized, despotic
government; but though his own will was the supreme
law, yet the good of his subjects was his
constant object. He watched over, not merely,
their immediate comforts, but their morals, and their
ultimate welfare; for he gave them abundance of
excellent admonition, nor could any of them complain,
that when occasion required, he was by any

means niggardly in bestowing wholesome correction.

The good old Dutch festivals, those periodical
demonstrations of an overflowing heart and a thankful
spirit, which are falling into sad disuse among
my fellow citizens, were faithfully observed in the
mansion of governor Stuyvesant. New year was
truly a day of open handed liberality, of jocund revelry,
and warm hearted congratulation—when the
bosom seemed to swell with genial good-fellowship
—and the plenteous table, was attended with an unceremonious
freedom, and honest broad mouthed
merriment, unknown in these days of degeneracy
and refinement. Paas and Pinxter were scrupulously
observed throughout his dominions; nor
was the day of St. Nicholas suffered to pass by,
without making presents, hanging the stocking in
the chimney, and complying with all its other ceremonies.

Once a year, on the first day of April, he used
to array himself in full regimentals, being the anniversary
of his triumphal entry into New Amsterdam,
after the conquest of New Sweden. This
was always a kind of saturnalia among the domestics,
when they considered themselves at liberty in
some measure, to say and do what they pleased;
for on this day their master was always observed to
unbend, and become exceeding pleasant and jocose,
sending the old greyheaded negroes on April fools
errands for pigeons milk; not one of whom but allowed

himself to be taken in, and humoured his
old master's jokes; as became a faithful and well
disciplined dependant. Thus did he reign, happily
and peacefully on his own land—injuring no man—
envying no man—molested by no outward strifes;
perplexed by no internal commotions—and the
mighty monarchs of the earth, who were vainly
seeking to maintain peace, and promote the welfare
of mankind, by war and desolation, would have
done well to have made a voyage to the little island
of Manna-hata, and learned a lesson in government,
from the domestic economy of Peter Stuyvesant.

In process of time, however, the old governor,
like all other children of mortality, began to exhibit
evident tokens of decay. Like an aged oak,
which though it long has braved the fury of the
elements, and still retains its gigantic proportions,
yet begins to shake and groan with every blast—
so the gallant Peter, though he still bore the port
and semblance of what he was, in the days of his
hardihood and chivalry, yet did age and infirmity
begin to sap the vigour of his frame—but his heart,
that most unconquerable citadel, still triumphed
unsubdued. With matchless avidity, would he
listen to every article of intelligence, concerning
the battles between the English and Dutch—Still
would his pulse beat high, whenever he heard of
the victories of De Ruyter—and his countenance
lower, and his eye brows knit, when fortune turned

in favour of the English. At length, as on a certain
day, he had just smoked his fifth pipe, and was
napping after dinner, in his arm chair, conquering
the whole British nation in his dreams, he was
suddenly aroused by a most fearful ringing of bells,
rattling of drums, and roaring of cannon, that put all
his blood in a ferment. But when he learnt, that
these rejoicings were in honour of a great victory
obtained by the combined English and French
fleets, over the brave De Ruyter, and the younger
Von Tromp, it went so much to his heart, that he
took to his bed, and in less than three days, was
brought to death's door, by a violent cholera morbus!
But even in this extremity, he still displayed the
unconquerable spirit of Peter the Headstrong; holding
out, to the last gasp, with most inflexible obstinacy,
against a whole army of old women, who were
bent upon driving the enemy out of his bowels,
after a true Dutch mode of defence, by inundating
the seat of war, with catnip and penny royal.

While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of
dissolution; news was brought him, that the brave
De Ruyter, had suffered but little loss—had made
good his retreat—and meant once more to meet
the enemy in battle. The closing eye of the old
warrior kindled at the words—he partly raised himself
in bed—a flash of martial fire beamed across
his visage—he clinched his withered hand, as if
he felt within his gripe that sword which waved

in triumph before the walls of Fort Christina, and
giving a grim smile of exultation, sunk back upon
his pillow, and expired.

Thus died Peter Stuyvesant, a valiant soldier
—a loyal subject—an upright governor, and an
honest Dutchman—who wanted only a few empires
to desolate, to have been immortalized as a
hero!

His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the
utmost grandeur and solemnity. The town was
perfectly emptied of its inhabitants, who crowded
in throngs to pay the last sad honours to their good
old governor. All his sterling qualities rushed in
full tide upon their recollections, while the memory
of his foibles, and his faults, had expired with him.
The ancient burghers contended who should have
the privilege of bearing the pall; the populace
strove who should walk nearest to the bier—and
the melancholy procession was closed by a number
of grey headed negroes, who had wintered and summered
in the household of their departed master,
for the greater part of a century.

With sad and gloomy countenances the multitude
gathered round the grave. They dwelt with
mournful hearts, on the sturdy virtues, the signal
services and the gallant exploits of the brave old
veteran. They recalled with secret upbraidings,
their own factious oppositions to his government
—and many an ancient burgher, whose phlegmatic

features had never been known to relax, nor his
eyes to moisten—was now observed to puff a pensive
pipe, and the big drop to steal down his cheek
—while he muttered with affectionate accent and
melancholy shake of the head—“Well den—Hard-kopping
Piet ben gone at last!”

His remains were deposited in the family
vault, under a chapel, which he had piously
erected on his estate and dedicated to St. Nicholas
—and which stood on the identical spot at present
occupied by St. Mark's church, where his tomb
stone is still to be seen. His estate, or Bouwery, as
it was called, has ever continued in the possession
of his descendants, who by the uniform integrity of
their conduct, and their strict adherence to the
customs and manners that prevailed in the good old
times, have proved themselves worthy of their illustrious
ancestor. Many a time and oft, has the
farm been haunted at night by enterprizing money-diggers,
in quest of pots of gold, said to have been
buried by the old governor—though I cannot learn
that any of them have ever been enriched by their
researches—and who is there, among my native
born fellow citizens, that does not remember, when
in the mischievous days of his boyhood, he conceived
it a great exploit, to rob “Stuyvesant's orchard”
on a holliday afternoon.

At this strong hold of the family may still be
seen certain memorials of the immortal Peter. His

full length portrait frowns in martial terrors from
the parlour wall—his cocked hat and sword still
hang up in the best bed room—His brimstone
coloured breeches were for a long while suspended
in the hall, until some years since they occasioned
a dispute between a new married couple—and his
silver mounted wooden leg is still treasured up in
the store room as an invaluable relique.

And now worthy reader, ere I take a sad farewell—which
alas! must be forever—willingly would
I part in cordial fellowship, and bespeak thy kind
hearted remembrance. That I have not written a
better history of the days of the patriarchs is not
my fault—had any other person written one, as good
I should not have attempted it at all.—That many
will hereafter spring up and surpass me in excellence,
I have very little doubt, and still less care;
well knowing, that when the great Christovallo Colon
(who is vulgarly called Columbus) had once stood
his egg upon its end, every one at table could stand
his up a thousand times more dexterously.—Should
any reader find matter of offence in this history, I
should heartily grieve, though I would on no account
question his penetration by telling him he is
mistaken—his good nature by telling him he is
captious—or his pure conscience by telling him he
is startled at a shadow.—Surely if he is so ingenious

in finding offence where none is intended, it were a
thousand pities he should not be suffered to enjoy
the benefit of his discovery.

I have too high an opinion of the understanding
of my fellow citizens, to think of yielding them
any instruction, and I covet too much their good
will, to forfeit it by giving them good advice.
I am none of those cynics who despise the world,
because it despises them—on the contrary, though
but low in its regard I look up to it with the most
perfect good nature, and my only sorrow is, that it
does not prove itself worthy of the unbounded love
I bear it.

If however in this my historic production—the
scanty fruit of a long and laborious life—I have
failed to gratify the dainty palate of the age, I can
only lament my misfortune—for it is too late in the
season for me even to hope to repair it. Already
has withering age showered his sterile snows upon
my brow; in a little while, and this genial warmth
which still lingers around my heart, and throbs—
worthy reader—throbs kindly towards thyself, shall
be chilled forever. Haply this frail compound of
dust, which while alive may have given birth to
naught but unprofitable weeds, may form a humble
sod of the valley, from whence shall spring many a
sweet wild flower, to adorn my beloved island of
Manna-hata!