University of Virginia Library

THE HISTORY
OF
NEW YORK, &c.

BOOK V.

1. CHAP. I.

To a profound philosopher, like myself, who
am apt to see clear through a subject, where the
penetration of ordinary people extends but half
way, there is no fact more simple and manifest,
than that the death of a great man, is a matter of

very little importance. Much as we think of ourselves,
and much as we may excite the empty plaudits
of the million, it is certain that the greatest
among us do actually fill but an exceeding small
space in the world; and it is equally certain, that
even that small space is quickly supplied, when we
leave it vacant. “Of what consequence is it,” said
the elegant Pliny, “that individuals appear, or
make their exit? the world is a theatre whose
scenes and actors are continually changing.” Never
did philosopher speak more correctly, and I
only wonder, that so wise a remark could have existed
so many ages, and mankind not have laid it
more to heart. Sage follows on in the footsteps of
sage; one hero just steps out of his triumphant car,
to make way for the hero who comes after him;
and of the proudest monarch it is merely said, that
—“he slept with his fathers, and his successor
reigned in his stead.”

The world, to tell the private truth, cares but
little for their loss, and if left to itself would soon
forget to grieve; and though a nation has often
been figuratively drowned in tears on the death of
a great man, yet it is ten chances to one if an individual
tear has been shed on the melancholy occasion,
excepting from the forlorn pen of some hungry author.
It is the historian, the biographer, and the
poet, who have the whole burden of grief to sustain;
who—unhappy varlets!—like undertakers in

England, act the part of chief mourners—who inflate
a nation with sighs it never heaved, and deluge
it with tears, it never dreamed of shedding. Thus
while the patriotic author is weeping and howling,
in prose, in blank verse, and in rhyme, and collecting
the drops of public sorrow into his volume, as
into a lachrymal vase, it is more than probable his
fellow citizens are eating and drinking, fiddling and
dancing; as utterly ignorant of the bitter lamentations
made in their name, as are those men of straw,
John, Doe, and Richard Roe, of the plaintiffs for
whom they are generously pleased on divers occasions
to become sureties.

The most glorious and praise-worthy hero that
ever desolated nations, might have mouldered into
oblivion among the rubbish of his own monument,
did not some kind historian take him into favour,
and benevolently transmit his name to posterity—
and much as the valiant William Kieft worried,
and bustled, and turmoiled, while he had the destinies
of a whole colony in his hand, I question seriously,
whether he will not be obliged to this authentic
history, for all his future celebrity.

His exit occasioned no convulsion in the city of
New Amsterdam, or its vicinity: the earth trembled
not, neither did any stars shoot from their
spheres—the heavens were not shrowded in black,
as poets would fain persuade us they have been, on
the unfortunate death of a hero—the rocks (hard

hearted vagabonds) melted not into tears; nor did
the trees hang their heads in silent sorrow; and as
to the sun, he laid abed the next night, just as long,
and shewed as jolly a face when he arose, as he
ever did on the same day of the month in any year,
either before or since. The good people of New
Amsterdam, one and all, declared that he had been
a very busy, active, bustling little governor; that
he was “the father of his country”—that he was
“the noblest work of God”—that “he was a man,
take him for all in all, they never should look upon
his like again”—together with sundry other civil
and affectionate speeches that are regularly said on
the death of all great men; after which they smoked
their pipes, thought no more about him, and
Peter Stuyvesant succeeded to his station.

Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and like the renowned
Wouter Van Twiller, he was also the best,
of our ancient dutch governors. Wouter having
surpassed all who preceded him; and Pieter, or
Piet, as he was sociably called by the old dutch
burghers, who were ever prone to familiarize
names, having never been equalled by any successor.
He was in fact the very man fitted by nature
to retrieve the desperate fortunes of her beloved
province, had not the fates or parcæ, Clotho, Lachesis
and Atropos, those most potent, immaculate
and unrelenting of all ancient and immortal spinsters,
destined them to inextricable confusion.

To say merely that he was a hero would be
doing him unparalleled injustice—he was in truth
a combination of heroes—for he was of a sturdy,
raw boned make like Ajax Telamon, so famous for
his prowess in belabouring the little Trojans—with
a pair of round shoulders, that Hercules would
have given his hide for, (meaning his lion's hide)
when he undertook to ease old Atlas of his load.
He was moreover as Plutarch describes Coriolanus,
not only terrible for the force of his arm, but
likewise of his voice, which sounded as though it
came out of a barrel; and like the self same warrior,
he possessed a sovereign contempt for the
sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was
enough of itself to make the very bowels of his
adversaries quake with terror and dismay. All
this martial excellency of appearance was inexpressibly
heightened by an accidental advantage,
with which I am surprised that neither Homer
nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes, for it
is worth all the paltry scars and wounds in the
Iliad and Eneid, or Lucan's Pharsalia into the bargain.
This was nothing less than a redoubtable
wooden leg, which was the only prize he had gained,
in bravely fighting the battles of his country;
but of which he was so proud, that he was often
heard to declare he valued it more than all his
other limbs put together; indeed so highly did he
esteem it, that he caused it to be gallantly enchased

and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to
be related in divers histories and legends that he
wore a silver leg.[1]

Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was
somewhat subject to extempore bursts of passion,
which were oft-times rather unpleasant to his
favourites and attendants, whose perceptions he
was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illustrious
imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their
shoulders with his walking staff.

But the resemblance for which I most value
him was that which he bore in many particulars to
the renowned Charlemagne. Though I cannot
find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, or Hobbes,
or Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine,
yet did he sometimes manifest a shrewdness and
sagacity in his measures, that one would hardly
expect from a man, who did not know Greek, and
had never studied the ancients. True it is, and I
confess it with sorrow, that he had an unreasonable
aversion to experiments, and was fond of
governing his province after the simplest manner—
but then he contrived to keep it in better order
than did the erudite Kieft, though he had all the
philosophers ancient and modern, to assist and
perplex him. I must likewise own that he made
but very few laws, but then again he took care that

those few were rigidly and impartially enforced---
and I do not know but justice on the whole, was as
well administered, as if there had been volumes of
sage acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected
and forgotten.

He was in fact the very reverse of his predecessors,
being neither tranquil and inert like Walter
the Doubter, nor restless and fidgetting, like
William the Testy, but a man, or rather a governor, of
such uncommon activity and decision of mind that
he never sought or accepted the advice of others;
depending confidently upon his single head, as did
the heroes of yore upon their single arms, to work
his way through all difficulties and dangers. To
tell the simple truth he wanted no other requisite
for a perfect statesman, than to think always right,
for no one can deny that he always acted as he
thought, and if he wanted in correctness he made
up for it in perseverance—An excellent quality!
since it is surely more dignified for a ruler to be
persevering and consistent in error, than wavering
and contradictory, in endeavouring to do what is
right; this much is certain, and I generously make
the maxim public, for the benefit of all legislators,
both great and small, who stand shaking in the wind,
without knowing which way to steer—a ruler
who acts according to his own will is sure of
pleasing himself, while he who seeks to consult the
wishes and whims of others, runs a great risk of

pleasing nobody. The clock that stands still, and
points resolutely in one direction, is certain of being
right twice in the four and twenty hours—while
others may keep going continually, and continually
be going wrong.

Nor did this magnanimous virtue escape the
discernment of the good people of Nieuw Nederlants;
on the contrary so high an opinion had they
of the independent mind and vigorous intellects of
their new governor, that they universally called
him Hard-koppig Piet, or Peter the Headstrong—a
great compliment to his understanding!

If from all that I have said thou dost not gather,
worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough,
sturdy, valiant, weatherbeaten, mettlesome, leathernsided,
lion hearted, generous spirited, obstinate,
old “seventy six” of a governor, thou art a very
numscull at drawing conclusions.

This most excellent governor, whose character I
have thus attempted feebly to delineate, commenced
his administration on the 29th of May 1647: a remarkably
stormy day, distinguished in all the
almanacks of the time, which have come down to
us, by the name of Windy Friday. As he was
very jealous of his personal and official dignity, he
was inaugurated into office with great ceremony;
the goodly oaken chair of the renowned Wouter
Van Twiller, being carefully preserved for such
occasions; in like manner as the chair and stone

were reverentially preserved at Schone in Scotland,
for the coronation of the caledonian monarchs.

I must not omit to mention that the tempestuous
state of the elements, together with its being that
unlucky day of the week, termed “hanging day,”
did not fail to excite much grave speculation, and
divers very reasonable apprehensions, among the
more ancient and enlightened inhabitants; and
several of the sager sex, who were reputed to be
not a little skilled in the science and mystery of
astrology and fortune telling, did declare outright,
that they were fearful omens of a disastrous
administration—an event that came to be lamentably
verified, and which proves, beyond dispute, the
wisdom of attending to those preternatural intimations,
furnished by dreams and visions, the flying
of birds, falling of stones and cackling of geese, on
which the sages and rulers of ancient times placed
such judicious reliance—or to those shootings of
stars, eclipses of the moon, howlings of dogs and
flarings of candles, carefully noted and interpreted
by the oracular old sybils of our day; who,
in my humble opinion, are the legitimate possessors
and preservers of the ancient science of divination.
This much is certain, that governor Stuyvesant
succeeded to the chair of state, at a turbulent
period; when foes thronged and threatened from
without; when anarchy and stiff necked opposition
reigned rampant within; and when the authority

of their high mightinesses the lords states general,
though founded on the broad dutch bottom
of unoffending imbecility; though supported by
economy, and defended by speeches, protests,
proclamations, flagstaffs, trumpeters and windmills
—vacillated, oscillated, tottered, tumbled and was
finally prostrated in the dirt, by british invaders, in
much the same manner that our majestic, stupendous,
but ricketty shingle steeples, will some
day or other be toppled about our ears by a brisk
north wester.

2. CHAP. II.

The very first movements of the great Peter, on
taking the reins of government, displayed the magnanimity
of his mind, though they occasioned not a
little marvel and uneasiness among the people of the
Manhattoes. Finding himself constantly interrupted
by the opposition and annoyed by the sage advice
of his privy council, the members of which
had acquired the unreasonable habit of thinking and
speaking for themselves during the preceding reign;
he determined at once to put a stop to such a grievous
abomination. Scarcely therefore had he entered
upon his authority than he kicked out of office
all those meddlesome spirits that composed the
factious cabinet of William the Testy, in place of
whom he chose unto himself councillors from
those fat, somniferous, respectable families, that
had flourished and slumbered under the easy reign
of Walter the Doubter. All these he caused to be
furnished with abundance of fair long pipes, and to
be regaled with frequent corporation dinners, admonishing
then to smoke and eat and sleep for the

good of the nation, while he took all the burden of
government upon his own shoulders—an arrangement
to which they all gave a hearty grunt of acquiescence.

Nor did he stop here, but made a hideous rout
among the ingenious inventions and expedients of
his learned predecessor—demolishing his flagstaffs
and wind-mills, which like mighty giants,
guarded the ramparts of New Amsterdam—pitching
to the duyvel whole batteries of quaker guns—
rooting up his patent gallows, where caitiff vagabonds
were suspended by the breech, and in a word,
turning topsy-turvy the whole philosophic, economic
and wind-mill system of the immortal sage of
Saardam.

The honest folk of New Amsterdam, began to
quake now for the fate of their matchless champion
Antony the trumpeter, who had acquired
prodigious favour in the eyes of the women by
means of his whiskers and his trumpet. Him did
Peter the Headstrong, cause to be brought into his
presence, and eyeing him for a moment from head
to foot, with a countenance that would have appalled
any thing else than a sounder of brass—“Prythee
who and what art thou?” said he.—“Sire,” replied
the other in no wise dismayed,—“for my
name, it is Antony Van Corlear—for my parentage,
I am the son of my mother—for my profession

I am champion and garrison of this great city
of New Amsterdam.”---“I doubt me much,” said
Peter Stuyvesant,” that thou art some scurvy costard-monger
knave—how didst thou acquire this
paramount honour and dignity?”—“Marry sir,”
replied the other, “like many a great man before
me, simply by sounding my own trumpet.”—“Aye,
is it so?” quoth the governor, why then let us have
a relish of thy art.” Whereupon he put his instrument
to his lips and sounded a charge, with such
a tremendous outset, such a delectable quaver, and
such a triumphant cadence that it was enough to
make your heart leap out of your mouth only to be
within a mile of it. Like as a war-worn charger,
while sporting in peaceful plains, if by chance he
hears the strains of martial music, pricks up his
ears, and snorts and paws and kindles at the noise,
so did the heroic soul of the mighty Peter joy to
hear the clangour of the trumpet; for of him might
truly be said what was recorded of the renowned
St. George of England, “there was nothing in all
the world that more rejoiced his heart, than to hear
the pleasant sound of war, and see the soldiers
brandish forth their steeled weapons.” Casting
his eyes more kindly therefore, upon the sturdy
Van Corlear, and finding him to be a jolly, fat little
man, shrewd in his discourse, yet of great discretion
and immeasurable wind, he straightway
conceived an astonishing kindness for him; and
discharging him from the troublesome duty of garrisoning,
defending and alarming the city, ever
after retained him about his person, as his chief
favourite, confidential envoy and trusty squire. Instead
of disturbing the city with disastrous notes,
he was instructed to play so as to delight the governor,
while at his repasts, as did the minstrels
of yore in the days of glorious chivalry—and on
all public occasions, to rejoice the ears of the people
with warlike melody—thereby keeping alive a
noble and martial spirit.

Many other alterations and reformations, both
for the better and for the worse, did the governor
make, of which my time will not serve me to record
the particulars, suffice it to say, he soon contrived
to make the province feel that he was its
master, and treated the sovereign people with such
tyrannical rigour, that they were all fain to hold
their tongues, stay at home and attend to their business;
insomuch that party feuds and distinctions
were almost forgotten, and many thriving keepers
of taverns and dram-shops, were utterly ruined for
want of business.

Indeed the critical state of public affairs at this
time, demanded the utmost vigilance, and promptitude.
The formidable council of the Amphyctions,
which had caused so much tribulation to the un

fortunate Kieft, still continued augmenting its
forces, and threatened to link within its union, all
the mighty principalities and powers of the cast.
In the very year following the inauguration of governor
Stuyvesant a grand deputation departed
from the city of Providence (famous for its dusty
streets, and beauteous women,) in behalf of the
puissant plantation of Rhode Island, praying to be
admitted into the league.

The following mention is made of this application
in the records still extant, of that assemblage
of worthies.[2]

I confess the very sight of this fearful document,
made me to quake for the safety of my beloved
province. The name of Alexander, however
misspelt, has been warlike in every age, and though
its fierceness is in some measure softened by being
coupled with the gentle cognomen of Partridge,
still, like the colour of scarlet, it bears an exceeding
great resemblance to the sound of a trumpet.
From the style of the letter, moreover, and the soldierlike
ignorance of orthography displayed by the
noble captain Alicxsander Partridg in spelling his
own name, we may picture to ourselves this mighty
man of Rhodes like a second Ajax, strong in arms,
great in the field, but in other respects, (meaning
no disparagement) as great a dom cop, as if he had
been educated among that learned people of Thrace,
who Aristotle most slanderously assures us, could
not count beyond the number four.

But whatever might be the threatening aspect
of this famous confederation, Peter Stuyvesant
was not a man to be kept in a state of incertitude
and vague apprehension; he liked nothing so much
as to meet danger face to face, and take it by the
beard. Determined therefore to put an end to all
these petty maraudings on the borders, he wrote
two or three categorical letters to the grand council,
which though neither couched in bad latin, nor yet
graced by rhetorical tropes about wolfs and lambs,

and beetle flies, yet had more effect than all the
elaborate epistles, protests and proclamations of his
learned predecessor, put together. In consequence
of his urgent propositions, the sage council of the
amphyctions agreed to enter into a final adjustment
of grievances and settlement of boundaries, to the
end that a perpetual and happy peace might take
place between the two powers. For this purpose
governor Stuyvesant deputed two ambassadors, to
negotiate with commissioners from the grand council
of the league, and a treaty was solemnly concluded
at Hartford. On receiving intelligence of this
event, the whole community was in an uproar of
exultation. The trumpet of the sturdy Van Corlear,
sounded all day with joyful clangour from the
ramparts of Fort Amsterdam, and at night the city
was magnificently illuminated with two hundred
and fifty tallow candles; besides a barrel of tar,
which was burnt before the governor's house, on
the cheering aspect of public affairs.

And now my worthy, but simple reader, is
doubtless, like the great and good Peter, congratulating
himself with the idea, that his feelings will
no longer be molested by afflicting details of stolen
horses, broken heads, impounded hogs, and all the
other catalogue of heart-rending cruelties, that disgraced
these border wars. But if my reader should
indulge in such expectations, it is only another proof,

among the many he has already given in the course
of this work, of his utter ignorance of state affairs—
and this lamentable ignorance on his part, obliges
me to enter into a very profound dissertation, to
which I call his attention in the next chapter—
wherein I will shew that Peter Stuyvesant has already
committed a great error in politics; and by
effecting a peace, has materially jeopardized the
tranquility of the province.

3. CHAP. III.

It was the opinion of that poetical philosopher
Lucretius, that war was the original state of man;
whom he described as being primitively a savage
beast of prey, engaged in a constant state of hostility
with his own species, and that this ferocious spirit
was tamed and ameliorated by society. The same
opinion has been advocated by the learned Hobbes,
nor have there been wanting a host of sage philosophers
to admit and defend it.

For my part, I am prodigiously fond of these
valuable speculations so complimentary to human
nature, and which are so ingeniously calculated
to make beasts of both writer and reader; but in
this instance I am inclined to take the proposition
by halves, believing with old Horace,[3] that though
war may have been originally the favourite amusement
and industrious employment of our progenitors,
yet like many other excellent habits, so far

from being ameliorated, it has been cultivated and
confirmed by refinement and civilization, and encreases
in exact proportion as we approach towards
that state of perfection, which is the ne plus
ultra of modern philosophy.

The first conflict between man and man was the
mere exertion of physical force, unaided by auxiliary
weapons—his arm was his buckler, his fist was his
mace, and a broken head the catastrophe of his
encounters. The battle of unassisted strength,
was succeeded by the more rugged one of stones
and clubs, and war assumed a sanguinary aspect.
As man advanced in refinement, as his faculties
expanded, and his sensibilities became more exquisite,
he grew rapidly more ingenious and experienced,
in the art of murdering his fellow beings. He
invented a thousand devices to defend and to
assault—the helmet, the cuirass and the buckler;
the sword, the dart and the javelin, prepared him
to elude the wound, as well as to launch the blow.
Still urging on, in the brilliant and philanthropic
career of invention, he enlarges and heightens his
powers of defence and injury—The Aries, the
Scorpio, the Balista and the Catapulta, give a horror
and sublimity to war, and magnify its glory, by
encreasing its desolation. Still insatiable; though
armed with machinery that seemed to reach the
limits of destructive invention, and to yield a power
of injury, commensurate, even to the desires of

revenge—still deeper researches must be made in
the diabolical arcana. With furious zeal he dives
into the bowels of the earth; he toils midst poisonous
minerals and deadly salts—the sublime
discovery of gunpowder, blazes upon the world
—and finally the dreadful art of fighting by proclamation,
seems to endow the demon of war, with
ubiquity and omnipotence!

By the hand of my body but this is grand!—this
indeed marks the powers of mind, and bespeaks that
divine endowment of reason, which distinguishes us
from the animals, our inferiors. The unenlightened
brutes content themselves with the native force
which providence has assigned them. The angry
bull butts with his horns, as did his progenitors before
him—the lion, the leopard, and the tyger, seek
only with their talons and their fangs, to gratify
their sanguinary fury; and even the subtle serpent
darts the same venom, and uses the same wiles, as
did his sire before the flood. Man alone, blessed
with the inventive mind, goes on from discovery to
discovery—enlarges and multiplies his powers of
destruction; arrogates the tremendous weapons of
deity itself, and tasks creation to assist him, in murdering
his brother worm!

In proportion as the art of war has increased in
improvement, has the art of preserving peace advanced
in equal ratio. But as I have already been
very prolix to but little purpose, in the first part of

this truly philosophic chapter, I shall not fatigue my
patient, but unlearned reader, in tracing the history
of the art of making peace. Suffice it to say, as we
have discovered in this age of wonders and inventions,
that proclamation is the most formidable engine
in war, so have we discovered the no less ingenious
mode of maintaining peace by perpetual negociations.

A treaty, or to speak more correctly a negociation,
therefore, according to the acceptation of your
experienced statesmen, learned in these matters, is
no longer an attempt to accommodate differences, to
ascertain rights, and to establish an equitable exchange
of kind offices; but a contest of skill between
two powers, which shall over-reach and take in the
other. It is a cunning endeavour to obtain by
peaceful manœuvre, and the chicanery of cabinets,
those advantages, which a nation would otherwise
have wrested by force of arms.—In the same manner
that a conscientious highway-man reforms and
becomes an excellent and praiseworthy citizen contenting
himself with cheating his neighbour out of
that property he would formerly have seized with
open violence.

In fact the only time when two nations can be
said to be in a state of perfect amity, is when a negociation
is open, and a treaty pending. Then as
there are no stipulations entered into, no bonds to

restrain the will, no specific limits to awaken that
captious jealousy of right implanted in our nature,
as both parties have some advantage to hope and
expect from the other, then it is that the two nations
are as gracious and friendly to each other, as
two rogues making a bargain. Their ministers
professing the highest mutual regard, exchanging
billets-doux, making fine speeches and indulging
in all those little diplomatic flirtations, coquetries
and fondlings, that do so marvelously tickle the
good humour of the respective nations. Thus
it may paradoxically be said, that there is never
so good an understanding between two nations,
as when there is a little misunderstanding—and
that so long as they are on no terms, they are on
the best terms in the world!

As I am of all men in the world, particularly
historians, the most candid and unassuming, I would
not for an instant claim the merit of having made
the above political discovery. It has in fact long
been secretly acted upon by certain enlightened
cabinets, and is, together with divers other notable
theories, privately copied out of the common place
book of an illustrious gentleman, who has been
member of congress, and enjoyed the unlimited confidence
of heads of department. To this principle
may be ascribed the wonderful ingenuity that has
been shewn of late years in protracting and interrupting
negociations.—Hence the cunning measure

of appointing as ambassador, some political pettifogger
skilled in delays, sophisms, and misconstructions,
and dexterous in the art of baffling argument—
or some blundering statesman, whose stupid errors
and misconstructions may be a plea for refusing to
ratify his engagements. And hence too that most
notable expedient, so popular with our government,
of sending out a brace of ambassadors; who having
each an individual will to consult, character to
establish, and interest to promote, you may as well
look for unanimity and concord between them, as
between two lovers with one mistress, two dogs
with one bone, or two naked rogues and one pair
of breeches. This disagreement therefore is continually
breeding delays and impediments, in consequence
of which the negociation goes on swimmingly—inasmuch
as there is no prospect of its
ever coming to a close. Nothing is lost by these
delays and obstacles but time, and in a negociation,
according to the theory I have exposed, all time
lost, is in reality so much time gained—with what
delightful paradoxes, does the modern arcana of
political economy abound!

Now all that I have here advanced is so
notoriously true, that I almost blush to take up the
time of my readers, with treating of matters which
must many a time have stared them in the face.
But the proposition to which I would most earnestly
call their attention is this, that though a negociation

is the most harmonizing of all national transactions,
yet a treaty of peace is a great political evil and one
of the most fruitful sources of war.

I have rarely seen an instance in my time, of
any special contract between individuals, that did
not produce jealousies, bickerings, and often downright
ruptures between them; nor did I ever know
of a treaty between two nations, that did not keep
them continually in hot water. How many worthy
country neighbours have I known, who after living
in peace and good fellowship for years, have been
thrown into a state of distrust, cavilling and animosity,
by some ill starred agreement about fences,
runs of water, and stray cattle. And how many
well meaning nations, who would otherwise have
remained in the most amiable disposition towards
each other, have been brought to loggerheads
about the infringement, or misconstruction of some
treaty, which in an evil hour they had constructed
by way of making their amity more sure.

Treaties at best are but complied with so long as
interest requires their fulfillment; consequently they
are virtually binding on the weaker party only, or
in other words, they are not really binding at all.
No nation will wantonly go to war with another if
it has nothing to gain thereby, and therefore needs
no treaty to restrain it from violence; and if it has
any thing to gain, I much question, from what I
have witnessed of the righteous conduct of nations,

whether any treaty could be made so strong, that
it could not thrust the sword through—nay I would
hold ten to one, the treaty itself, would be the very
source to which resort would be had, to find a
pretext for hostilities.

Thus therefore I sagely conclude—that though it
is the best of all policies for a nation to keep up a
constant negociation with its neighbours, it is the
utmost summit of folly, for it ever to be beguiled
into a treaty; for then comes on the non-fulfilment
and infraction, then remonstrance, then altercation,
then retaliation, then recrimination and finally open
war. In a word, negociation is like courtship, a
time of sweet words, gallant speeches, soft looks
and endearing caresses, but the marriage ceremony
is the signal for hostilities—and thus ends this very
abstruse though very instructive chapter.

4. CHAP. IV.

If my pains-taking reader, whose perception,
it is a hundred to one, is as obtuse as a beetle's, is
not somewhat perplexed, in the course of the ratiocination
of my last chapter; he will doubtless, at
one glance perceive, that the great Peter, in concluding
a treaty with his eastern neighbours, was guilty
of a most notable error and heterodoxy in politics.
To this unlucky agreement may justly be ascribed
a world of little infringements, altercations,
negociations and bickerings, which afterwards took
place between the irreproachable Stuyvesant, and
the evil disposed council of amphyctions; in all
which, with the impartial justice of an historian, I
pronounce the latter to have been invariably in the
wrong. All these did not a little disturb the constitutional
serenity of the good and substantial
burghers of Mannahata—otherwise called Manhattoes,
but more vulgarly known by the name of Manhattan.
But in sooth they were so very scurvy
and pitiful in their nature and effects, that a grave
historian like me, who grudges the time spent in
any thing less than recording the fall of empires,

and the revolution of worlds, would think them unworthy
to be recorded in his sacred page.

The reader is therefore to take it for granted,
though I scorn to waste in the detail, that time,
which my furrowed brow and trembling hand, inform
me is invaluable, that all the while the great
Peter was occupied in those tremendous and bloody
contests, that I shall shortly rehearse, there was a
continued series of little, dirty, snivelling, pettifogging
skirmishes, scourings, broils and maraudings
made on the eastern frontiers, by the notorious
moss troopers of Connecticut. But like that mirror
of chivalry, the sage and valourous Don Quixote,
I leave these petty contests for some future
Sancho Panza of an historian, while I reserve my
prowess and my pen for achievements of higher
dignity.

Now did the great Peter conclude, that his labours
had come to a close in the east, and that he
had nothing to do but apply himself to the internal
prosperity of his beloved Manhattoes. Though a
man of great modesty, he could not help boasting
that he had at length shut the temple of Janus, and
that, were all rulers like a certain person who should
be nameless, it would never be opened again. But
the exultation of the worthy governor was put to a
speedy check, for scarce was the treaty concluded,
and hardly was the ink dried on the paper, before
the crafty and discourteous council of the league

sought a new pretence for reilluming the flames of
discord.

In the year 1651, with a flagitious hardihood
that makes my gorge to rise while I write, they accused
the immaculate Peter—the soul of honour
and heart of steel—that by divers gifts and promises
he had been secretly endeavouring to instigate
the Narrohigansett (or Narraganset) Mohaque and
Pequot Indians, to surprize and massacre the English
settlements. For, as the council maliciously
observed, “the Indians round about for divers hundred
miles cercute, seeme to have drunke deep of
an intoxicating cupp, att or from the Monhatoes
against the English, whoe have sought there good,
both in bodily and sperituall respects.” To support
their most unrighteous accusation, they examined
divers Indians, who all swore to the fact as sturdily
as if they had been so many christian troopers.
And to be more sure of their veracity, the knowing
council previously made every mother's son of them
devoutly drunk, remembering the old proverb—In
vino veritas.

Though descended from a family which suffered
much injury from the losel Yankees of those
times; my great grandfather having had a yoke of
oxen and his best pacer stolen, and having received
a pair of black eyes and a bloody nose, in one of
these border wars; and my grandfather, when a
very little boy tending the pigs, having been kidnapped

and severely flogged by a long sided Connecticut
schoolmaster—Yet I should have passed
over all these wrongs with forgiveness and oblivion
—I could even have suffered them to have broken
Evert Ducking's head, to have kicked the doughty
Jacobus Van Curlet and his ragged regiment out
of doors, carried every hog into captivity, and depopulated
every hen roost, on the face of the earth
with perfect impunity—But this wanton, wicked
and unparalleled attack, upon one of the most
gallant and irreproachable heroes of modern times,
is too much even for me to digest, and has overset,
with a single puff, the patience of the historian and
the forbearance of the Dutchman.

Oh reader it was false!—I swear to thee it
was false!—if thou hast any respect for my word—
if the undeviating and unimpeached character for
veracity, which I have hitherto borne throughout
this work, has its due weight with thee, thou wilt
not give thy faith to this tale of slander; for I
pledge my honour and my immortal fame to thee,
that the gallant Peter Stuyvesant, was not only
innocent of this foul conspiracy, but would have
suffered his right arm, or even his wooden leg to
consume with slow and everlasting flames, rather
than attempt to destroy his enemies in any other
way, than open generous warfare—Beshrew those
caitiff scouts, that conspired to sully his honest
name by such an imputation!

Peter Stuyvesant, though he perhaps had never
heard of a Knight Errant; yet had he as true a
heart of chivalry as ever beat at the round table of
King Arthur. There was a spirit of native gallantry,
a noble and generous hardihood diffused
through his rugged manners, which altogether gave
unquestionable tokens of an heroic mind. He was,
in truth, a hero of chivalry struck off by the hand
of nature at a single heat, and though she had taken
no further care to polish and refine her workmanship,
he stood forth a miracle of her skill.

But not to be figurative, (a fault in historic
writing which I particularly) eschew the great Peter
possessed in an eminent degree, the seven renowned
and noble virtues of knighthood; which, as he
had never consulted authors, in the disciplining and
cultivating of his mind, I verily believe must have
been stowed away in a corner of his heart by dame
nature herself—where they flourished, among his
hardy qualities, like so many sweet wild flowers,
shooting forth and thriving with redundant luxuriance
among stubborn rocks. Such was the mind
of Peter the Headstrong, and if my admiration for
it, has on this occasion, transported my style beyond
the sober gravity which becomes the laborious
scribe of historic events, I can plead as an apology,
that though a little, grey headed Dutchman, arrived
almost at the bottom of the down-hill of life, I
still retain some portion of that celestial fire, which

sparkles in the eye of youth, when contemplating
the virtues and atchievements of ancient worthies.
Blessed, thrice and nine times blessed, be the good
St. Nicholas—that I have escaped the influence of
that chilling apathy, which too often freezes the
sympathies of age; which like a churlish spirit,
sits at the portals of the heart, repulsing every
genial sentiment, and paralyzing every spontaneous
glow of enthusiasm.

No sooner then, did this scoundrel imputation
on his honour reach the ear of Peter Stuyvesant,
than he proceeded in a manner which would have
redounded to his credit, even if he had studied for
years, in the library of Don Quixote himself. He
immediately dispatched his valiant trumpeter and
squire, Antony Van Corlear, with orders to ride
night and day, as herald, to the Amphyctionic
council, reproaching them in terms of noble indignation,
for giving ear to the slanders of heathen infidels,
against the character of a Christian, a gentleman
and a soldier—and declaring, that as to the
treacherous and bloody plot alledged against him,
whoever affirmed it to be true, he lied in his teeth!
—to prove which he defied the president of the
council and all of his compeers, or if they pleased,
their puissant champion, captain Alicxsander Partridg
that mighty man of Rhodes, to meet him in
single combat, where he would trust the vindication
of his innocence to the prowess of his arm.

This challenge being delivered with due ceremony,
Antony Van Corlear sounded a trumpet of
defiance before the whole council, ending with a
most horrific and nasal twang, full in the face of
captain Partridg, who almost jumped out of his
skin in an extacy of astonishment, at the noise. This
done he mounted a tall Flanders mare, which he
always rode, and trotted merrily towards the Manhattoes—passing
through Hartford, and Pyquag
and Middletown and all the other border towns—
twanging his trumpet like a very devil, so that the
sweet vallies and banks of the Connecticut resounded
with the warlike melody—and stopping occasionally
to eat pumpkin pies, dance at country frolicks,
and bundle with the beauteous lasses of those
parts—whom he rejoiced exceedingly with his soul
stirring instrument.

But the grand council being composed of considerate
men, had no idea of running a tilting with
such a fiery hero as the hardy Peter—on the contrary
they sent him an answer, couched in the
meekest, the most mild and provoking terms, in
which they assured him that his guilt was proved
to their perfect satisfaction, by the testimony of
divers sage and respectable Indians, and concluding
with this truly amiable paragraph.—“For
youer confidant denialls of the Barbarous plott
charged, will waigh little in ballance against such

evidence, soe that we must still require and seeke
due satisfaction and cecuritie, soe we rest,

Sir,
Youres in wayes of Righteousness, &c.”

I am conscious that the above transaction has
been differently recorded by certain historians of the
east, and elsewhere; who seem to have inherited
the bitter enmity of their ancestors to the brave
Peter—and much good may their inheritance do
them. These moss troopers in literature, whom I
regard with sovereign scorn, as mere vampers up of
vulgar prejudices and fabulous legends, declare, that
Peter Stuyvesant requested to have the charges
against him, enquired into, by commissioners to be
appointed for the purpose; and yet that when such
commissioners were appointed, he refused to submit
to their examination. Now this is partly true
—he did indeed, most gallantly offer, when that he
found a deaf ear was turned to his challenge, to submit
his conduct to the rigorous inspection of a court
of honour—but then he expected to find it an august
tribunal, composed of courteous gentlemen, the governors
and nobility, of the confederate plantations,
and of the province of New Netherlands; where he
might be tried by his peers, in a manner worthy of
his rank and dignity—whereas, let me perish, if
they did not send on to the Manhattoes two lean
sided hungry pettifoggers, mounted on Narraganset

pacers, with saddle bags under their bottoms, and
green satchels under their arms, as if they were
about to beat the hoof from one county court to
another—in search of a law suit.

The chivalric Peter, as well he might, took no
notice of these cunning varlets; who with professional
industry fell to prying and sifting about, in quest of
ex parte evidence; bothering and perplexing divers
simple Indians and old women, with their cross
questioning, until they contradicted and forswore
themselves most horribly—as is every day done in
our courts of justice. Thus having dispatched
their errand to their full satisfation, they returned
to the grand council with their satchels and saddlebags
stuffed full of the most scurvy rumours, apocryphal
stories and outrageous heresies, that ever
were heard—for all which the great Peter did not
care a tobacco stopper; but I warrant me had they
attempted to play off the same trick upon William
the Testy, he would have treated them both to an
ærial gambol on his patent gallows.

The grand council of the east, held a very solemn
meeting on the return of their envoys, and after they
had pondered a long time on the situation of affairs,
were upon the point of adjourning without being able
to agree upon any thing. At this critical moment one
of those little, meddlesome, indefatigable spirits, who
endeavour to establish a character for patriotism by
blowing the bellows of party, until the whole furnace

of politics is red-hot with sparks and cinders
—and who have just cunning enough to know, that
there is no time so favourable for getting on the people's
backs, as when they are in a state of turmoil,
and attending to every body's business but their
own—This aspiring imp of faction, who was called
a great politician, because he had secured a seat in
council by calumniating all his opponents—He I
say, conceived this a fit opportunity to strike a blow
that should secure his popularity among his constituents,
who lived on the borders of Nieuw Nederlandt,
and were the greatest poachers in Christendom,
excepting the Scotch border nobles. Like a
second Peter the hermit, therefore, he stood forth
and preached up a crusade against Peter Stuyvesant,
and his devoted city.

He made a speech which lasted three days, according
to the ancient custom in these parts, in which
he represented the dutch as a race of impious heretics,
who neither believed in witchcraft, nor the
sovereign virtues of horse shoes—who, left their
country for the lucre of gain, not like themselves
for the enjoyment of liberty of conscience—who, in
short, were a race of mere cannibals and anthropophagi,
inasmuch as they never eat cod-fish on saturdays,
devoured swine's flesh without molasses, and
held pumpkins in utter contempt.

This speech had the desired effect, for the council,
being awakened by their serjeant at arms, rubbed

their eyes, and declared that it was just and
politic to declare instant war against these unchristian
anti-pumpkinites. But it was necessary that
the people at large should first be prepared for this
measure, and for this purpose the arguments of the
little orator were earnestly preached from the pulpit
for several sundays subsequent, and earnestly
recommended to the consideration of every good
Christian, who professed, as well as practised the
doctrine of meekness, charity, and the forgiveness
of injuries. This is the first time we hear of the
“Drum Ecclesiastic” beating up for political recruits
in our country; and it proved of such signal
efficacy, that it has since been called into frequent
service throughout our union. A cunning politician
is often found skulking under the clerical robe, with
an outside all religion, and an inside all political
rancour. Things spiritual and things temporal are
strangely jumbled together, like poisons and antidotes
on an apothecary's shelf, and instead of a devout
sermon, the simple church-going folk, have
often a political pamphlet, thrust down their throats,
labeled with a pious text from Scripture.

5. CHAP. V.

But notwithstanding that the grand council, as
I have already shewn, were amazingly discreet in
their proceedings respecting the New Netherlands,
and conducted the whole with almost as much
silence and mystery, as does the sage British cabinet
one of its ill star'd secret expeditions—yet did the
ever watchful Peter receive as full and accurate information
of every movement, as does the court of
France of all the notable enterprises I have mentioned.—He
accordingly set himself to work, to
render the machinations of his bitter adversaries
abortive.

I know that many will censure the precipitation
of this stout hearted old governor, in that he hurried
into the expenses of fortification, without ascertaining
whether they were necessary, by prudently
waiting until the enemy was at the door.
But they should recollect Peter Stuyvesant had not
the benefit of an insight into the modern arcana of
politics, and was strangely bigotted to certain obsolete

maxims of the old school; among which he
firmly believed, that, to render a country respected
abroad, it was necessary to make it formidable at
home—and that a nation should place its reliance
for peace and security, more upon its own strength,
than on the justice or good will of its neighbours.—
He proceeded therefore, with all diligence, to put
the province and metropolis in a strong posture
of defence.

Among the few remnants of ingenious inventions
which remained from the days of William the
Testy, were those impregnable bulwarks of public
safety, militia laws; by which the inhabitants were
obliged to turn out twice a year, with such military
equipments—as it pleased God; and were put under
the command of very valiant taylors, and man
milliners, who though on ordinary occasions, the
meekest, pippen-hearted little men in the world,
were very devils at parades and court-martials,
when they had cocked hats on their heads, and
swords by their sides. Under the instructions of
these periodical warriors, the gallant train bands
made marvellous proficiency in the mystery of gunpowder.
They were taught to face to the right, to
wheel to the left, to snap off empty firelocks without
winking, to turn a corner without any great uproar
or irregularity, and to march through sun and
rain from one end of the town to the other without
flinching—until in the end they became so valourous

that they fired off blank cartridges, without so
much as turning away their heads—could hear the
largest field piece discharged, without stopping
their ears or falling into much confusion—and would
even go through all the fatigues and perils of a summer
day's parade, without having their ranks much
thinned by desertion!

True it is, the genius of this truly pacific people
was so little given to war, that during the intervals
which occurred between field days, they generally
contrived to forget all the military tuition they
had received; so that when they re-appeared on parade,
they scarcely knew the butt end of the musket
from the muzzle, and invariably mistook the right
shoulder for the left—a mistake which however
was soon obviated by shrewdly chalking their left
arms. But whatever might be their blunders and
aukwardness, the sagacious Kieft, declared them to
be of but little importance—since, as he judiciously
observed, one campaign would be of more instruction
to them than a hundred parades; for though
two-thirds of them might be food for powder, yet
such of the other third as did not run away, would
become most experienced veterans.

The great Stuyvesant had no particular veneration
for the ingenious experiments and institutions
of his shrewd predecessor, and among other things,
held the militia system in very considerable contempt,
which he was often heard to call in joke—for

he was sometimes fond of a joke—governor Kieft's
broken reed. As, however, the present emergency
was pressing, he was obliged to avail himself of such
means of defence as were next at hand, and accordingly
appointed a general inspection and parade of
the train bands. But oh! Mars and Bellona, and
all ye other powers of war, both great and small,
what a turning out was here!—Here came men
without officers, and officers without men—long
fowling pieces, and short blunderbusses—muskets
of all sorts and sizes, some without bayonets, others
without locks, others without stocks, and many
without lock, stock, or barrel.—Cartridge-boxes,
shot belts, powder-horns, swords, hatchets, snicker-snees,
crow-bars, and broomsticks, all mingled
higgledy, piggledy—like one of our continental armies
at the breaking out of the revolution.

The sturdy Peter eyed this ragged regiment
with some such rueful aspect, as a man would eye
the devil; but knowing, like a wise man, that all
he had to do was to make the best out of a bad bargain,
he determined to give his heroes a seasoning.
Having therefore drilled them through the manual
exercise over and over again, he ordered the
fifes to strike up a quick march, and trudged his
sturdy boots backwards and forwards, about the
streets of New Amsterdam, and the fields adjacent,
till I warrant me, their short legs ached, and
their fat sides sweated again. But this was not

all; the martial spirit of the old governor caught
fire from the sprightly music of the fife, and he resolved
to try the mettle of his troops, and give
them a taste of the hardships of iron war. To
this end he encamped them as the shades of evening
fell, upon a hill formerly called Bunker's hill, at
some distance from the town, with a full intention
of initiating them into the dicipline of camps, and
of renewing the next day, the toils and perils of
the field. But so it came to pass, that in the night
there fell a great and heavy rain, which descended
in torrents upon the camp, and the mighty army
of swing tails strangely melted away before it; so
that when Gaffer Phœbus came to shed his morning
beams upon the place, saving Peter Stuyvesant
and his trumpeter Van Corlear, scarce one was to
be found of all the multitude, that had taken roost
there the night before.

This awful dissolution of his army would have
appalled a commander of less nerve than Peter
Stuyvesant; but he considered it as a matter of
but small importance, though he thenceforward
regarded the militia system with ten times greater
contempt than ever, and took care to provide himself
with a good garrison of chosen men, whom
he kept in pay, of whom he boasted that they at
least possessed the quality, indispensible in soldiers,
of being water proof.

The next care of the vigilant Stuyvesant, was

to strengthen and fortify New Amsterdam. For
this purpose he reared a substantial barrier that
reached across the island from river to river, being
the distance of a full half a mile!—a most stupendous
work, and scarcely to be rivalled in the opinion
of the old inhabitants, by the great wall of China,
or the Roman wall erected in Great Britain against
the incursions of the Scots, or the wall of brass
that Dr. Faustus proposed to build round Germany,
by the aid of the devil.

The materials of which this wall was constructed
are differently described, but from a majority of
opinions I am inclined to believe that it was a
picket fence of especial good pine posts, intended
to protect the city, not merely from the sudden invasions
of foreign enemies, but likewise from the
incursions of the neighbouring Indians.

Some traditions it is true, have ascribed the
building of this wall to a later period, but they are
wholly incorrect; for a memorandum in the Stuyvesant
manuscript, dated towards the middle of the
governor's reign, mentions this wall particularly, as
a very strong and curious piece of workmanship,
and the admiration of all the savages in the neighbourhood.
And it mentions moreover the alarming
circumstance of a drove of stray cows, breaking
through the grand wall of a dark night; by which
the whole community of New Amsterdam was
thrown into as great panic, as were the people of

Rome, by the sudden irruptions of the Gauls, or
the valiant citizens of Philadelphia, during the
time of our revolution: by a fleet of empty kegs
floating down the Delaware.[4]

But the vigilance of the governor was more
especially manifested by an additional fortification
which he erected as an out work to fort Amsterdam,
to protect the sea bord, or water edge. I
have ascertained by the most painful and minute
investigation, that it was neither fortified according
to the method of Evrard de Bar-le-duc, that
earliest inventor of complete system; the dutch
plan of Marollois; the French method invented by
by Antoine de Ville; the Flemish of Stevin de
Bruges; the Polish of Adam de Treitach, or the
Italian of Sardi.

He did not pursue either of the three systems
of Pagan; the three of Vauban; the three of Scheiter;
the three of Coehorn, that illustrious dutchman,
who adapted all his plans to the defence of

low and marshy countries—or the hundred and
sixty methods, laid down by Francisco Marchi of
Bologna.

The fortification did not consist of a Polygon,
inscribed in a circle, according to Alain Manesson
Maillet; nor with four long batteries, agreeably to
the expensive system of Blondel; nor with the
fortification a rebours of Dona Rosetti, nor the
Caponiere Couverte, of the ingenious St. Julien;
nor with angular polygons and numerous casemates,
as recommended by Antoine d'Herbert; who
served under the duke of Wirtemberg, grandfather
to the second wife, and first queen of Jerome
Bonaparte—otherwise called Jerry Sneak.

It was neither furnished with bastions, fashioned
after the original invention of Zisca, the
Bohemian; nor those used by Achmet Bassa, at
Otranto in 1480; nor those recommended by San
Micheli of Verona; neither those of triangular
form, treated of by Specle, the high dutch engineer
of Strasbourg, or the famous wooden bastions,
since erected in this renowned city, the destruction
of which, is recorded in a former chapter. In
fact governor Stuyvesant, like the celebrated Montalembert,
held bastions in absolute contempt; yet
did he not like him substitute a tenaille angulaire
des polygons à ailerons.

He did not make use of Myrtella towers, as
are now erecting at Quebec; neither did he erect

flagstaffs and windmills as was done by his illustrious
predecessor of Saardam; nor did he employ
circular castellated towers, or batteries with two
tier of heavy artillery, and a third of columbiads on
the top; as are now erecting for the defence of this
defenceless city.

My readers will perhaps be surprized, that out
of so many systems, governor Stuyvesant should
find none to suit him; this may be tolerably accounted
for, by the simple fact, that many of them
were unfortunately invented long since his time;
and as to the rest, he was as ignorant of them, as
the child that never was and never will be born.
In truth, it is more than probable, that had they all
been spread before him, with as many more into
the bargain; that same peculiarity of mind, that
acquired him the name of Hard-kopping Piet,
would have induced him to follow his own plans,
in preference to them all. In a word, he pursued
no system either past, present or to come; he
equally disdained to imitate his predecessors, of
whom he had never heard—his contemporaries,
whom he did not know; or his unborn successors,
whom, to say the truth, he never once thought of
in his whole life. His great and capacious mind
was convinced, that the simplest method is often
the most efficient and certainly the most expeditious,
he therefore fortified the water edge with a formidable
mud breast work, solidly faced, after the

manner of the dutch ovens common in those days,
with clam shells.

These frowning bulwarks in process of time,
came to be pleasantly overrun by a verdant carpet
of grass and clover, and their high embankments
overshadowed by wide spreading sycamores, among
whose foilage the little birds sported about, making
the air to resound with their joyous notes. The
old burghers would repair of an afternoon to smoke
their pipes under the shade of their branches, contemplating
the golden sun as he gradually sunk
into the west an emblem of that tranquil end toward
which themselves were hastening—while the young
men and the damsels of the town would take many
a moonlight stroll among these favourite haunts,
watching the silver beams of chaste Cynthia, tremble
along the calm bosom of the bay, or light up
the white sail of some gliding bark, and interchanging
the honest vows of constant affection.
Such was the origin of that renowned walk, the
Battery, which though ostensibly devoted to the
purposes of war, has ever been consecrated to the
sweet delights of peace. The favourite walk of
declining age—the healthful resort of the feeble
invalid—the sunday refreshment of the dusty tradesman—the
scene of many a boyish gambol—the
rendezvous of many a tender assignation—the
comfort of the citizen—the ornament of New York,
and the pride of the lovely island of Mannahata.

6. CHAP. VI.

Having thus provided for the temporary security
of New Amsterdam, and guarded it against
any sudden surprise, the gallant Peter took a hearty
pinch of snuff, and snapping his fingers, set the
great council of Amphyctions, aud their champion,
the doughty Alicxsander Partridg at defiance. It
is impossible to say, notwithstanding, what might
have been the issue of this affair, had not the great
council been all at once involved in huge perplexity,
and as much horrible dissension sown among its
members, as of yore was stirred up in the camp of
the brawling warriors of Greece.

The all potent council of the league, as I have
shewn in my last chapter, had already announced its
hostile determinations, and already was the mighty
colony of New Haven and the puissant town of Pyquag,
otherwise called Wethersfield—famous for
its onions and its witches—and the great trading
house of Hartford, and all the other redoubtable little
border towns, in a prodigious turmoil, furbishing
up their rusty fowling pieces and shouting aloud for
war; by which they anticipated easy conquests, and

gorgeous spoils, from the little fat dutch villages.
But this joyous brawling was soon silenced by the
conduct of the colony of Massachusetts. Struck
with the gallant spirit of the brave old Peter, and
convinced by the chivalric frankness and heroic
warmth of his vindication, they refused to believe
him guilty of the infamous plot most wrongfully
laid at his door. With a generosity for which I
would yield them immortal honour, they declared,
that no determination of the grand council of the
league, should bind the general court of Massachusetts,
to join in an offensive war, which should appear
to such general court to be unjust.[5]

This refusal immediately involved the colony
of Massachusetts and the other combined colonies,
in very serious difficulties and disputes, and would
no doubt have produced a dissolution of the confederacy,
but that the great council of Amphyctions,
finding that they could not stand alone, if mutilated
by the loss of so important a member as Massachusetts,
were fain to abandon for the present their hostile
machinations against the Manhattoes. Such is
the marvellous energy and puissance of those notable
confederacies, composed of a number of sturdy,
self-will'd, discordant parts, loosely banded together
by a puny general government. As it is however,
the warlike towns of Connecticut, had no

cause to deplore this disappointment of their martial
ardour; for by my faith—though the combined
powers of the league might have been too potent
in the end, for the robustious warriors of the Manhattoes—yet
in the interim would the lion hearted
Peter and his myrmidons, have choaked the stomachful
heroes of Pyquag with their own onions,
and have given the other little border towns such a
scouring, that I warrant they would have had no
stomach to squat on the land, or invade the hen-roost
of a New Nederlander for a century to come.

Indeed there was more than one cause to divert
the attention of the good people of the east, from
their hostile purposes; for just about this time were
they horribly beleagured and harassed by the inroads
of the prince of darkness, divers of whose
liege subjects they detected, lurking within their
camp, all of whom they incontinently roasted as so
many spies, and dangerous enemies. Not to speak
in parables, we are informed, that at this juncture,
the unfortunate “east countrie” was exceedingly
troubled and confounded by multitudes of losel
witches, who wrought strange devices to beguile
and distress the multitude; and notwithstanding numerous
judicious and bloody laws had been enacted,
against all “solem conversing or compacting with
the divil, by way of conjuracon or the like,”[6] yet

did the dark crime of witchcraft continue to encrease
to an alarming degree, that would almost
transcend belief, were not the fact too well authenticated
to be even doubted for an instant.

What is particularly worthy of admiration is,
that this terrible art, which so long has baffled the
painful researches, and abstruse studies of philosophers,
astrologers, alchymists, theurgists and other
sages, was chiefly confined to the most ignorant,
decrepid, ugly, abominable old women in the community,
who had scarcely more brains than the
broomsticks they rode upon. Where they first acquired
their infernal education—whether from the
works of the ancient Theurgists—the demonology
of the Egyptians—the belomancy, or divination by
arrows of the Scythians—the spectrology of the
Germans—the magic of the Persians—the enchantment
of the Laplanders, or from the archives of
the dark and mysterious caverns of the Dom Daniel,
is a question pregnant with a host of learned
and ingenious doubts—particularly as most of them
were totally unversed in the occult mysteries of the
alphabet.

When once an alarm is sounded, the public,
who love dearly to be in a panic, are not long in
want of proofs to support it—raise but the cry of
yellow fever, and immediately every head-ache,
and indigestion, and overflowing of the bile is pronounced
the terrible epidemic—In like manner in

the present instance, whoever was troubled with a
cholic or lumbago, was sure to be bewitched, and
woe to any unlucky old woman that lived in his
neighbourhood. Such a howling abomination could
not be suffered to remain long unnoticed, and it accordingly
soon attracted the fiery indignation of the
sober and reflective part of the community—more
especially of those, who, whilome, had evinced so
much active benevolence in the conversion of quakers
and anabaptists. The grand council of the
amphyctions publicly set their faces against so
deadly and dangerous a sin, and a severe scrutiny
took place after those nefarious witches, who were
easily detected by devil's pinches, black cats, broomsticks,
and the circumstance of their only being
able to weep three tears, and those out of the left
eye.

It is incredible the number of offences that were
detected, “for every one of which,” says the profound
and reverend Cotton Mather, in that excellent
work, the history of New England—“we have
such a sufficient evidence, that no reasonable man
in this whole country ever did question them; and
it will be unreasonable to do it in any other.”[7]

Indeed, that authentic and judicious historian
John Josselyn, Gent. furnishes us with unquestionable
facts on this subject. “There are none,” observes

he “that beg in this country, but there be
witches too many—bottle bellied witches and others,
that produce many strange apparitions, if you will believe
report of a shalop at sea manned with women
—and of a ship and great red horse standing by the
main mast; the ship being in a small cove to the eastward
vanished of a sudden,” &c.

The number of delinquents, however, and their
magical devices, were not more remarkable than
their diabolical obstinacy. Though exhorted in the
most solemn, persuasive and affectionate manner,
to confess themselves guilty, and be burnt for the
good of religion, and the entertainment of the public;
yet did they most pertinaciously persist in asserting
their innocence. Such incredible obstinacy
was in itself deserving of immediate punishment,
and was sufficient proof, if proof were necessary,
that they were in league with the devil, who is perverseness
itself. But their judges were just and
merciful, and were determined to punish none that
were not convicted on the best of testimony; not
that they needed any evidence to satisfy their
own minds, for, like true and experienced judges
their minds were perfectly made up, and they
were thoroughly satisfied of the guilt of the
prisoners before they proceeded to try them; but
still something was necessary to convince the
community at large—to quiet those prying quid
nuncs who should come after them—in short, the

world must be satisfied. Oh the world—the world!
—all the world knows the world of trouble the world
is eternally occasioning!—The worthy judges therefore,
like myself in this most authentic, minute and
satisfactory of all histories, were driven to the necessity
of sifting, detecting and making evident as
noon day, matters which were at the commencement
all clearly understood and firmly decided upon
in their own own pericraniums—so that it may truly
be said, that the witches were burnt, to gratify the
populace of the day—but were tried for the satisfaction
of the whole world that should come after
them!

Finding therefore that neither exhortation, sound
reason, nor friendly entreaty had any avail on these
hardened offenders, they resorted to the more urgent
arguments of the torture, and having thus absolutely
wrung the truth from their stubborn lips—
they condemned them to undergo the roasting due
unto the heinous crimes they had confessed. Some
even carried their perverseness so far, as to expire
under the torture, protesting their innocence to the
last; but these were looked upon as thoroughly and
absolutely possessed, and governed by the devil,
and the pious bye-standers, only lamented that they
had not lived a little longer, to have perished in the
flames.

In the city of Ephesus, we are told, that the
plague was expelled by stoning a ragged old beggar

to death, whom Appolonius pointed out as being
the evil spirit that caused it, and who actually
shewed himself to be a demon, by changing into a
shagged dog. In like manner, and by measures
equally sagacious, a salutary check was given to
this growing evil. The witches were all burnt,
banished or panic struck, and in a little while
there was not an ugly old woman to be found
throughout New England—which is doubtless one
reason why all their young women are so handsome.
Those honest folk who had suffered from their incantations
gradually recovered, excepting such as
had been afflicted with twitches and aches, which,
however assumed the less alarming aspects of rheumatisms,
sciatics and lumbagos—and the good
people of New England, abandoning the study of
the occult sciences, turned their attention to the
more profitable hocus pocus of trade, and soon became
expert in the legerdemain art of turning a penny.
Still however, a tinge of the old leaven is discernable,
even unto this day, in their characters—
witches occasionally start up among them in different
disguises, as physicians, civilians, and divines.
The people at large shew a 'cuteness, a cleverness,
and a profundity of wisdom, that savours strongly
of witchcraft—and it has been remarked, that whenever
any stones fall from the moon, the greater part
of them are sure to tumble into New England!

7. CHAP VII.

When treating of these tempestuous times, the
unknown writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript,
breaks out into a vehement apostrophe, in praise of
the good St. Nicholas; to whose protecting care he
entirely ascribes the strange dissentions that broke
out in the council of the amphyctions, and the
direful witchcraft that prevailed in the east country
—whereby the hostile machinations against the
Nederlanders were for a time frustrated, and his
favourite city of New Amsterdam, preserved from
imminent peril and deadly warfare. Darkness
and lowering superstition hung over the fair valleys
of the east; the pleasant banks of the Connecticut,
no longer echoed with the sounds of rustic gaiety;
direful phantoms and portentous apparitions were
seen in the air—gliding spectrums haunted every
wildbrook and dreary glen—strange voices, made by
viewless forms, were heard in desart solitudes—and
the border towns were so occupied in detecting and
punishing the knowing old women, that had produced
these alarming appearances, that for a while

the province of New Nederlandt and its inhabitants
were totally forgotten.

The great Peter therefore, finding that nothing
was to be immediately apprehended from his eastern
neighbours, turned himself about with a praiseworthy
vigilance that ever distinguished him, to put
a stop to the insults of the Swedes. These lossel
freebooters my attentive reader will recollect had
begun to be very troublesome towards the latter part
of the reign of William the Testy, having set the
proclamations of that doughty little governor at
naught, and put the intrepid Jan Jansen Alpendam
to a perfect non plus!

Peter Stuyvesant, however, as has already been
shewn, was a governor of different habits and turn
of mind—without more ado he immediately issued
orders for raising a corps of troops to be stationed
on the southern frontier, under the command of
brigadier general Jacobus Von Poffenburgh. This
illustrious warrior had risen to great importance
during the reign of Wihelmus Keift, and if histories
speak true, was second in command to the gallant
Van Curlet, when he and his ragged regiment were
inhumanly kicked out of Fort Good Hope by the
Yankees. In consequence of having been in such
a “memorable affair,” and of having received
more wounds on a certain honourable part that
shall be nameless, than any of his comrades, he was
ever after considered as a hero, who had “seen

some service.” Certain it is, he enjoyed the unlimited
confidence and friendship of William the
Testy; who would sit for hours and listen with
wonder to his gunpowder narratives of surprising
victories—he had never gained: and dreadful battles—from
which he had run away; and the governor
was once heard to declare that had he lived in
ancient times, he might unquestionably have claimed
the armour of Achilles—being not merely like
Ajax, a mighty blustering man of battle, but in the
cabinet a second Ulysses, that is to say, very valiant
of speech and long winded—all which, as nobody
in New Amsterdam knew aught of the ancient
heroes in question, passed totally uncontradicted.

It was tropically observed by honest old Socrates,
of hen-pecked memory, that heaven had infused
into some men at their birth a portion of intellectual
gold; into others of intellectual silver; while others
were bounteously furnished out with abundance of
brass and iron—now of this last class was undoubtedly
the great general Von Poffenburgh, and from
the great display he continually made, I am inclined
to think that dame nature, who will sometimes be
partial, had blessed him with enough of those
valuable materials to have fitted up a dozen ordinary
braziers. But what is most to be admired is, that he
contrived to pass off all his brass and copper upon
Wilhelmus Kieft, who was no great judge of base
coin, as pure and genuine gold. The consequence

was, that upon the resignation of Jacobus Van Curlet,
who after the loss of fort Goed Hoop retired
like a veteran general, to live under the shade of
his laurels, the mighty “copper captain” was promoted
to his station. This he filled with great
importance, always styling himself “commander
in chief of the armies of the New Netherlands;”
though to tell the truth the armies, or rather army,
consisted of a handful of half uniformed, hen
stealing, bottle bruizing raggamuffins.

Such was the character of the warrior appointed
by Peter Stuyvesant to defend his southern frontier,
nor may it be uninteresting to my reader to have a
glimpse of his person. He was not very tall, but
notwithstanding, a huge, full bodied man, whose
size did not so much arise from his being fat, as
windy; being so completely inflated with his own
importance, that he resembled one of those puffed
up bags of wind, which old Eolus, in an incredible
fit of generosity, gave to that vagabond warrior
Ulysses.

His dress comported with his character, for he
had almost as much brass and copper without, as
nature had stored away within—His coat was crossed
and slashed, and carbonadoed, with stripes of
copper lace, and swathed round the body with a
crimson sash, of the size and texture of a fishing
net, doubtless to keep his valiant heart from bursting
through his ribs. His head and whiskers were pro

fusely powdered, from the midst of which his full
blooded face glowed like a fiery furnace; and his
magnanimous soul seemed ready to bounce out at
a pair of large glassy blinking eyes, which projected
like those of a lobster.

I swear to thee, worthy reader, if report belie
not this great general, I would give half my fortune
(which at this moment is not enough to pay
the bill of my landlord) to have seen him accoutered
cap-a-pie, in martial array—booted to the
middle—sashed to the chin—collared to the ears—
whiskered to the muzzle—crowned with an overshadowing
cocked-hat, and girded with a leathern
belt ten inches broad, from which trailed a faulchion
of a length that I dare not mention.

Thus equipped, he strutted about, as bitter looking
a man of war as the far-famed More of More
Hall, when he sallied forth, armed at all points, to
slay the Dragon of Wantley—

Notwithstanding all the great endowments and
transcendent qualities of this renowned general, I
must confess he was not exactly the kind of man
that the gallant Peter the Headstrong would have
chosen to command his troops—but the truth is, that
in those days the province did not abound, as at present,
in great military characters; who like so many
Cincinnatuses people every little village—marshalling
out cabbages, instead of soldiers, and signalizing
themselves in the corn field, instead of the
field of battle. Who have surrendered the toils of
war, for the more useful but inglorious arts of
peace, and so blended the laurel with the olive, that
you may have a general for a landlord, a colonel
for a stage driver, and your horse shod by a valiant
“captain of volunteers”—Neither had the great
Stuyvesant an opportunity of choosing, like modern
rulers, from a loyal band of editors of newspapers—
no mention being made in the histories of the times,
of any such class of mercenaries, being retained in
pay by government, either as trumpeters, champions,
or body guards. The redoubtable general
Von Poffenburgh, therefore, was appointed to the
command of the new levied troops; chiefly because
there were no competitors for the station, and partly
because it would have been a breach of military
etiquette, to have appointed a younger officer over
his head—an injustice, which the great Peter would
rather have died than have committed.

No sooner did this thrice valiant copper captain
receive marching orders, than he conducted
his army undauntedly to the southern frontier;
through wild lands and savage deserts; over insurmountable
mountains, across impassable floods
and through impenetrable forests; subduing a vast
tract of uninhabited country, and overturning, discomfiting
and making incredible slaughter of certain
hostile hosts of grass-hoppers, toads and pismires,
which had gathered together to oppose his
progress—an achievement unequalled in the pages
of history, save by the farfamed retreat of old
Xenephon and his ten thousand Grecians. All
this accomplished, he established on the South (or
Delaware) river, a redoubtable redoubt, named
Fort Casimer, in honour of a favourite pair of
brimstone coloured trunk breeches of the governor's.
As this fort will be found to give rise to
very important and interesting events, it may be
worth while to notice that it was afterwards called
Neiuw Amstel, and was the original germ of the
present flourishing town of New Castle, an appellation
erroneously substituted for No Castle,
there neither being, nor ever having been a castle,
or any thing of the kind upon the premises.

The Swedes did not suffer tamely this menacing
movement of the Nederlanders; on the contrary
Jan Printz, at that time governor of New
Sweden, issued a sturdy protest against what he

termed an encroachment upon his jurisdiction.—
But the valiant Von Poffenburgh had become too
well versed in the nature of proclamations and protests,
while he served under William the Testy,
to be in any wise daunted by such paper warfare.
His fortress being finished, it would have done
any man's heart good to behold into what a magnitude
he immediately swelled. He would stride in
and out a dozen times a day, surveying it in front
and in rear; on this side and on that.—Then would
he dress himself in full regimentals, and strut backwards
and forwards, for hours together, on the top
of his little rampart—like a vain glorious cock
pidgeon vapouring on the top of his coop. In a
word, unless my readers have noticed, with curious
eye, the petty commander of a little, snivelling,
military post, swelling with all the vanity
of new regimentals, and the pomposity derived
from commanding a handful of tatterdemalions,
I despair of giving them any adequate idea of
the prodigious dignity of general Von Poffenburgh.

It is recorded in the delectable romance of
Pierce Forest, that a young knight being dubbed
by king Alexander, did incontinently gallop into an
adjoining forest, and belaboured the trees with such
might and main, that the whole court were convinced
that he was the most potent and courageous
gentleman on the face of the earth. In like manner

the great general Von Poffenburgh would ease
off that valourous spleen, which like wind is so apt
to grow unruly in the stomachs of new made soldiers,
impelling them to box-lobby brawls, and broken
headed quarrels.—For at such times, when he
found his martial spirit waxing hot within him, he
would prudently sally forth into the fields, and lugging
out his trusty sabre, of full two flemish ells in
length, would lay about him most lustily, decapitating
cabbages by platoons—hewing down whole
phalanxes of sunflowers, which he termed gigantic
Swedes; and if peradventure, he espied a colony of
honest big bellied pumpkins quietly basking themselves
in the sun, “ah caitiff Yankees,” would he
roar, “have I caught ye at last!”—so saying, with
one sweep of his sword, he would cleave the unhappy
vegetables from their chins to their waistbands:
by which warlike havoc, his choler being in some
sort allayed, he would return to his garrison with a
full conviction, that he was a very miracle of military
prowess.

The next ambition of general Von Poffenburgh
was to be thought a strict disciplinarian. Well
knowing that discipline is the soul of all military
enterprize, he enforced it with the most rigorous
precision; obliging every man to turn out his toes,
and hold up his head on parade, and prescribing the
breadth of their ruffles to all such as had any shirts
to their backs.

Having one day, in the course of his devout researches
in the bible, (for the pious Eneas himself,
could not exceed him in outward religion) encountered
the history of Absalom and his melancholy
end; the general in an evil hour, issued orders for
cropping the hair of both officers and men throughout
the garrison. Now it came to pass, that among
his officers was one Kildermeester; a sturdy old
veteran, who had cherished through the course of a
long life, a rugged mop of hair, not a little resembling
the shag of a Newfoundland dog; terminating
with an immoderate queue, like the handle of
a frying pan; and queued so tightly to his head,
that his eyes and mouth generally stood ajar, and
his eye-brows were drawn up to the top of his forehead.
It may naturally be supposed that the possessor
of so goodly an appendage would resist with
abhorrence, an order condemning it to the shears.
Sampson himself could not have held his wig more
sacred, and on hearing the general orders, he discharged
a tempest of veteran, soldier-like oaths,
and dunder and blixums—swore he would break any
man's head who attempted to meddle with his tail—
queued it stiffer than ever, and whisked it about
the garrison, as fiercely as the tail of a crocodile.

The eel-skin queue of old Kildermeester, became
instantly an affair of the utmost importance. The
commander in chief was too enlightened an officer
not to perceive, that the discipline of the garrison,

the subordination and good order of the armies of
the Nieuw Nederlandts, the consequent safety of
the whole province, and ultimately the dignity and
prosperity of their high mightinesses, the lords
states general, but above all, the dignity of the
great general Von Poffenburgh, all imperiously demanded
the docking of that stubborn queue. He
therefore patriotically determined that old Kildermeester
should be publicly shorn of his glories in
presence of the whole garrison—the old man as resolutely
stood on the defensive—whereupon the
general, as became a great man, was highly exasperated,
and the offender was arrested and tried
by a court martial for mutiny, desertion and all the
other rigmarole of offences noticed in the articles of
war, ending with a “videlicit, in wearing an eel-skin
queue, three feet long, contrary to orders”—Then
came on arraignments, and trials, and pleadings,
and convictings, and the whole country was in a
ferment about this unfortunate queue. As it is
well known that the commander of a distant frontier
post has the power of acting pretty much after his
own will, there is little doubt but that the old veteran
would have been hanged or shot at least, had he
not luckily fallen ill of a fever, through mere chagrin
and mortification—and most flagitiously deserted
from all earthly command, with his beloved
locks unviolated. His obstinacy remained unshaken
to the very last moment, when he directed that
he should be carried to his grave with his eel-skin
queue sticking out of a knot hole in his coffin.

This magnanimous affair obtained the general
great credit as an excellent disciplinarian, but it is
hinted that he was ever after subject to bad dreams,
and fearful visitations in the night—when the grizly
spectrum of old Kildermeester would stand centinel
by his bed side, erect as a pump, his enormous
queue strutting out like the handle.