University of Virginia Library

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.