University of Virginia Library

THE STORM SHIP.

In the golden age of the province of the
New Netherlands, when it was under the sway
of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called Walter
the Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes
were alarmed, one sultry afternoon, just about
the time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous
storm of thunder and lightning. The rain descended
in such torrents as absolutely to spatter
up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as
if the thunder rattled and rolled over the very
roofs of the houses. The lightning was seen
to play about the church of St. Nicholas, and
to strive three times, in vain, to strike its weather
cock. Garret Van Horne's new chimney
was split almost from top to bottom, and Doffue
Mildeberger was struck speechless from his bald
faced mare, just as as he was riding into town.
In a word, it was one of those unparalleled
storms that only happen once within the memory

of that venerable personage, known in all
towns by the appellation of “the oldest inhabitant.”

Great was the terror of the good old women
of the Manhattoes; they gathered their children
together and took refuge in the cellars, after
having hung a shoe on the iron point of every
bed post, lest they should attract the lightning.
At length the storm abated; the thunder sunk
into a growl, and the setting sun breaking from
under the fringed borders of the clouds, made
the broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea
of molten gold.

The word was given from the fort that a ship
was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth
to mouth, and street to street, and soon put the
little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship,
in those early times of the settlement, was an
event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It
brought them news from the old world, from the
land of their birth, from which they were so completely
severed. To the yearly ship, too, they
looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of

comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good
vrouw could not have her new cap, nor new
gown, until the arrival of the ship; the artist
waited for it for his tools; the burgomaster for
his pipe and his supply of hollands; the schoolboy
for his top and marbles; and the lordly
landholder for the bricks with which he was to
build his new mansion. Thus every one, rich
and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival
of “The Ship.” It was the great yearly
event of the town of New Amsterdam; and
from one end of the year to the other, the ship
—the ship—the ship—was the continual topic
of conversation.

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all
the populace down to the battery, to behold the
wished-for sight. It was not exactly the time
when she had been expected to arrive, and the
circumstance was a matter of some speculation.
Many were the groups collected about the battery.
Here and there might be seen a burgomaster of
slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion
with, great confidence, to a crowd of old women

and idle boys. At another place was a knot of
old weather beaten fellows, who had been seamen
or fishermen in their times, and were great
authorities on such occasions: these gave different
opinions, and caused great disputes among
their several adherents. But the man most
looked up to, and followed, and watched by the
crowd was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea captain
retired from service; the nautical oracle of
the place. He reconnoitred the ship through
an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas,
hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing—a
hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt
had always more weight with the public than
a speech from another man.

In the mean time the ship became more distinct
to the naked eye. She was a stout, round,
Dutch built vessel, with high bow and poop, and
bearing Dutch colours. The evening sun gilded
her bellying canvas, as she came riding over
the long waving billows. The sentinel who had
given notice of her approach declared, that he
first got sight of her when she was in the centre

of the bay; and that she broke suddenly upon
his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom
of the black thunder cloud. The by-standers
looked at Hans Van Pelt to see what he
would say to this report. Hans Van Pelt screwed
his mouth closer together and said nothing;
upon which some shook their heads, and others
shrugged their shoulders.

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made
no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the
Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her,
and, with some difficulty loaded and fired by
Hans Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in
artillery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass
through the ship, and to skip along the water
on the other side, but no notice was taken of it.
What was strange, she had all her sails set, and
sailed right against wind and tide, which were
both down the river.

Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise
harbour master, ordered his boat, and set off to
board her, but after rowing for two or three hours
he returned without success. Sometimes he

would get within one or two hundred yards of
her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be half
a mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen,
who were rather pursy and short winded,
stopped every now and then to take breath, and
spit on their hands; but this, it is probable, was a
mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to
see the crew, who were all dressed in the Dutch
style; the officers in doublets and high hats and
feathers. Not a word was spoken by any one
on board; they stood as motionless as so many
statues; and the ship seemed as if left to her own
government. Thus she kept on, away up the
river, lessening and lessening in the evening sunshine,
until she faded from sight, like a little
white cloud, melting away in a summer sky.

The appearance of this ship threw the governor
into one of the deepest doubts that ever beset
him in the whole course of his administration.
Fears were entertained for the security of the
infant settlements on the river, lest this might
be an enemy's ship in disguise sent to take
possession. The governor called together his
counsel repeatedly to assist him with their conjectures.

He sat in his chair of state, built of
timber from the sacred forest of the Hague; and
smoked his long jasmin pipe; and listened to
all that his counsellors had to say, on a subject
about which they knew nothing; but in spite of
all the conjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads,
the governor still continued to doubt.

Messengers were despatched to different places
on the river; but they returned without any
tidings; the ship had made no port. Day after
day, and week after week elapsed; but she never
returned down the Hudson. As, however, the
council seemed solicitous for intelligence, they
soon had it in abundance. The captains of the
sloops seldom arrived without bringing some report
of having seen the strange ship, at different
parts of the river. Sometimes near the Pallisadoes;
sometimes off Croton point; and sometimes
in the Highlands; but she was never reported
as having been seen above the Highlands.
The crews of the sloops, it is true, generally differed
among themselves in their accounts of
these apparitions; but that may have arisen

from the uncertain situations in which they saw
her. Sometimes it was by the flashes of a thunder
storm, lighting up a pitchy night, and giving
glimpses of her careering across Tappaan Zee, or
the wide waste of Haverstraw Bay. At one
moment she would appear close upon them, as if
likely to run them down; and would throw
them into great bustle and alarm, when the next
flash would show her far off; always sailing
against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moon-light
nights, she would be seen under some high
bluff of the Highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting
her top-sails glittering in the moon-beams.
By the time, however, that the voyagers
would reach the place, there would be no ship
to be seen; and when they had passed on for
some distance, and looked back, behold! there
she was again, with her top-sails in the moon-shine!
Her appearance was always just after,
or just before, or just in the midst of unruly
weather; and she was known by all the skippers
and voyagers of the Hudson by the name of “the
Storm Ship.”

These reports perplexed the governor and his
council more than ever; and it would be endless
to repeat the conjectures and opinions that
were uttered on the subject. Some quoted
cases in point of ships seen off the coast of
New-England navigated by witches and goblins.
Old Hans Van Pelt, who had been more
than once to the Dutch colony at the Cape of
Good Hope, insisted that this must be the Flying
Dutchman, which had so long haunted Table
Bay, but being unable to make port, had
now sought another harbour. Others suggested
that, if it really was a supernatural apparition,
as there was every natural reason to believe,
it might be Hendrick Hudson and his crew of
the Half Moon; who, it was well known, had
once run aground in the upper part of the river,
in seeking a north-west passage to China. This
opinion had very little weight with the governor;
but it passed current out of doors. Indeed, it
had already been reported that Hendrick Hudson
and his crew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain;
and it appeared very reasonable to suppose

that his ship might infest the river where
the enterprise was baffled; or that it might bear
the shadowy crew to their periodical revels in
the mountain.

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts
and doubts of the sage Wouter and his council;
and the Storm Ship ceased to be a subject of
deliberation at the board. It continued, however,
to be a matter of popular belief and marvellous
anecdote throughout the whole time of
the Dutch government; and particularly just before
the capture of New-Amsterdam, and the
subjugation of the province, by the English
squadron. About that time the Storm Ship
was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee; about
Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken,
and her appearance was supposed to be ominous
of the approaching squall in public affairs,
and the downfall of Dutch domination.

Since that time we have no authentic accounts
of her, though it is said she still haunts
the Highlands, and cruises about Point-no-point.
People who live along the river insist that they

sometimes see her in summer moonlight; and
that in a deep, still midnight, they have heard
the chant of her crew, as if heaving the lead;
but sights and sounds are so deceptive along
the mountainous shores, and about the wide
bays and long reaches of this great river, that
I confess I have very strong doubts upon the
subject.

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things
have been seen in these Highlands in storms,
which are considered as connected with the old
story of the ship. The captains of the river
craft talk of a little bulbous-bottomed Dutch
goblin, in trunk hose, and sugar-loaf'd hat, with
a speaking trumpet in his hand; which they say
keeps about the Dunderberg Mountain. They
declare that they have heard him, in stormy
weather, in the midst of the turmoil, giving orders
in low Dutch for the piping up of a fresh gust of
wind, or the rattling off of another thunder clap.
That sometimes he has been seen surrounded by
a crew of little imps in broad breeches and short
doublets, tumbling head over heels in the rack

and mist, and playing a thousand gambols in
the air; or buzzing like a swarm of flies about
Antony's Nose; and that, at such time, the
hurry-scurry of the storm was always greatest.
One time a sloop, in passing by Dunderberg,
was overtaken by a thundergust that came
scouring down from the mountain, and seemed
to burst just over the vessel. Though tight and
well ballasted, yet she laboured dreadfully and
rocked until the water came over the gunwale.
All the crew were amazed; when it was discovered
that there was a little white sugar-loaf hat on
the mast head; which was known at once for
the hat of the Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody,
however, dared to climb to the mast head
and get rid of this terrible hat. The sloop continued
labouring and rocking as if she would
have rolled her mast overboard. She seemed
in continual danger either of upsetting or of running
on shore. In this way she drove quite
through the Highlands, until she had passed
Pollopel's Island; where, it is said, the jurisdiction
of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No
sooner had she passed this bourne, than the little
hat all at once spun up into the air like a top;
whirled up all the clouds into a vortex; and
hurried them back to the summit of the Dunderberg;
while the sloop righted herself, and sailed
on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. Nothing
saved her from utter wreck but the fortunate
circumstance of having a horse shoe nailed
against the mast; a wise precaution against evil
spirits, which has since been adopted by all the
Dutch captains that navigate this haunted river.

There is another story told of this foul weather
urchin, by Skipper Daniel Ouslesticker of
Fishkill, who was never known to tell a lie.
He declared that in a severe squall he saw him
seated astride of his bowsprit, riding the sloop
ashore, full butt, against Antony's Nose,
and that he was exorcised by Dominie Van
Gieson of Esopus, who happened to be on
board, and who sung the hymn of St. Nicholas;
whereupon the goblin threw himself up in the
air like a ball, and went off in a whirlwind,
carrying away with him the nightcap of the

dominie's wife, which was discovered the next
Sunday morning hanging on the weathercock
of Esopus church steeple, at least forty miles
off! After several events of this kind had taken
place the regular skippers of the river, for a
long time, did not venture to pass the Dunderberg
without lowering their peak, out of homage
to the Heer of the Mountain; and it was
observed that all such as paid this tribute of respect
were suffered to pass unmolested.

“Such,” said Antony Vander Heyden, “are
a few of the stories written down by Selyn, the
poet, concerning this Storm Ship; which he affirms
to have brought this colony of mischievous
imps into the province from some old ghost-ridden
country of Europe. I could give you a
host more if necessary; for all the accidents
that so often befall the river craft in the Highlands
are said to be tricks played off by these

imps of the Dunderberg; but I see that you are
nodding, so let us turn in for the night.”

The moon had now just raised her silver
horns above the round back of old Bull Hill;
and lit up the gray rocks and shagged forests;
and glittered on the waving bosom of the river.
The night dew was falling, and the late gloomy
mountains began to soften and put on a gray
aerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred
the fire and threw on fresh fuel to qualify
the damp of the night air. They then prepared
a bed of branches and dry leaves under a
ledge of rocks for Dolph; while Antony Vander
Heyden, wrapping himself up in a huge coat
made of skins, stretched himself before the fire.
It was some time, however, before Dolph
could close his eyes. He lay contemplating the
strange scene before him. The wild woods and
rocks around; the fire throwing fitful gleams on
the faces of the sleeping savages. And the Heer
Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely, reminded
him of the nightly visitant to the Haunted
House. Now and then he heard the cry of

some animal from the forest; or the hooting of
the owl; or the notes of the whippoorwill which
seemed to abound among these solitudes; or the
splash of a sturgeon, leaping out of the river,
and falling back full length on its placid surface.
He contrasted all this with his accustomed nest
in the garret room of the doctor's mansion;
where the only sounds he heard at night were
the church clock telling the hour; the drowsy
voice of the watchman drawling out that all was
well; the deep snoring of the doctor's clubbed
nose from below stairs; or the cautious labours
of some carpenter rat, gnawing in the wainscot.

His thoughts then wandered to his poor old
mother: what would she think of his mysterious
disappearance; what anxiety and distress
would she not suffer? This was the thought that
would continually intrude itself to mar his present
enjoyment. It brought with it a feeling of
pain and compunction, and he fell asleep with
the tears yet standing in his eyes.

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would
be a fine opportunity for weaving in strange adventures,

among these wild mountains, and roving
hunters; and, after involving my hero in
a variety of perils, and unheard-of difficulties,
rescuing him from them all by some miraculous
contrivance; but as this is absolutely a true
story, I must content myself with simple facts,
and keep to probabilities.

At an early hour of the next day, therefore, after
a hearty morning's meal, the encampment
broke up, and our adventurers embarked in the
pinnace of Antony Vander Heyden. There being
no wind for the sails, the Indians rowed her
gently along, keeping time to a kind of chant
of one of the white men. The day was serene
and beautiful; the river without a wave; and
as the vessel cleft the glassy water, it left a long
undulating track behind. The crows who had
scented the hunters' banquet were already
gathering and hovering in the air, just where a
column of thin blue smoke, rising from among
the trees, showed the place of their last night's
quarters. As they coasted along the bases of
the mountains the Heer Antony pointed out to

Dolph a bald eagle, the sovereign of these regions,
who sat perched on a dry tree that projected
over the river; and with eye turned upwards,
seemed to be drinking in the splendour
of the morning sun. Their approach disturbed
the monarch's meditations. He first spread one
wing, and then the other; balanced himself for
a moment; and then, quitting his perch with
dignified composure, wheeled slowly over their
heads. Dolph snatched up a gun, and sent a
whistling ball after him, that cut some of the
feathers from his wing; the report of the gun
leaped sharply from rock to rock, and awakened
a thousand echoes; but the monarch of the
air sailed calmly on, ascending higher and higher,
and wheeling widely as he ascended; soaring
up the green bosom of the woody mountain,
until he disappeared over the brow of a beetling
precipice. Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by
this proud tranquillity, and almost reproached
himself for having so wantonly insulted this
majestic bird. Heer Antony told him, laughing,
to remember that he was not yet out of the territories
of the lord of the Dunderberg; and an old
Indian shook his head, and observed that there
was bad luck in killing an eagle; the hunter, on
the contrary, should always leave him a portion
of his spoils.

Nothing, however, occurred to molest them
on their voyage. They passed pleasantly through
these magnificent and lonely scenes until they
came to where Pollopel's Island lies like a floating
bower at the extremity of the Highlands.
Here they landed until the heat of the day should
abate, or a breeze spring up that might supersede
the labour of the oar. Some prepared the midday
meal, while others reposed under the shade
of the trees in luxurious summer indolence;
looking drowsily forth upon the beauty of the
scene. On the one side were the Highlands,
vast and cragged, feathered to the top with forests,
and throwing their shadows on the glassy
water that dimpled at their feet; on the other
side was a wide expanse of the river, like a
broad lake, with long sunny reaches and green
headlands; and the distant line of Shawungunk

Mountains waving along a clear horizon, or chequered
by a fleecy cloud.

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of
their cruize along the river. This vagrant amphibious
life, careering across silver sheets of
water; coasting wild woodland shores; banquetting
on shady promontories; with the spreading
tree overhead, the river curling its light foam
to one's feet, and distant mountain, and rock and
tree, and snowy cloud, and deep blue sky, all
mingling in summer beauty before one; all this,
though never cloying in the enjoyment, would
be but tedious in narration.

When encamped by the water side, some of
the party would go into the woods and hunt;
others would fish; sometimes they would amuse
themselves by shooting at a mark, by leaping, by
running, by wrestling; and Dolph gained great
favour in the eyes of Antony Vander Heyden,
by his skill and adroitness in all these exercises,
which the Heer considered as the highest of
manly accomplishments.

Thus did they coast jollily on, choosing only
the pleasant hours for voyaging; sometimes in
the cool morning dawn; sometimes in the sober
evening twilight; and sometimes when the
moonshine spangled the crisp curling waves,
that whispered along the sides of their little bark.
Never had Dolph felt so completely in his element;
never had he met with any thing so completely
to his taste as this wild, hap-hazard life.
He was the very man to second Antony Vander
Heyden in his rambling humours, and gained
continually on his affections. The heart of the
old bushwhacker yearned towards the young
man, who seemed thus growing up in his own
likeness; and as they approached the end of their
voyage he could not help inquiring a little into
his history. Dolph frankly told him his course
of life, his severe medical studies, his little proficiency,
and his very dubious prospects. The
Heer was shocked to find that such amazing
talents and accomplishments were to be cramped
and buried under a doctor's wig. He had a sovereign
contempt for the healing art, having never

had any other physician than the butcher. He
bore a mortal grudge to all kinds of study also,
ever since he had been flogged about an unintelligible
book when he was a boy. But to think
that a young fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful
abilities, who could shoot, fish, run, jump,
ride and wrestle, should be obliged to roll pills
and administer juleps for a living—'twas monstrous!
He told Dolph never to despair, but to
“throw physic to the dogs,” for a young fellow
of his prodigious talents could never fail to make
his way. “As you seem to have no acquaintance
in Albany,” said Heer Antony, “you shall go
home with me, and remain under my roof until
you can look about you; and, in the mean time,
we can take an occasional bout at shooting and
fishing, for it is a pity such talents should be
idle.”

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was
not hard to be persuaded. Indeed, on turning
over matters in his mind, which he did very sagely
and deliberately, he could not but think that Antony
Vander Heyden was, “somehow or other,”

connected with the story of the Haunted House;
that the misadventure in the Highlands which
had thrown them so strangely together was,
“somehow or other,” to work out something
good; in short, there is nothing so convenient as
this “somehow or other” way of accommodating
one's self to circumstances; it is the main
stay of a heedless actor and tardy reasoner, like
Dolph Heyliger; and he who can, in this loose,
easy way, link foregone evil to anticipated good,
possesses a secret of happiness almost equal to
the philosopher's stone.

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's
companion seemed to cause universal satisfaction.
Many were the greetings at the river side,
and the salutations in the streets; the dogs
bounded before him; the boys whooped as he
passed; every body seemed to know Antony
Vander Heyden. Dolph followed on in silence,
admiring the neatness of this worthy burgh; for
in those days Albany was in all its glory; inhabited
almost exclusively by the descendants of
the original Dutch settlers; it had not as yet

been discovered and colonized by the restless
people of New-England. Every thing was quiet
and orderly; every thing was conducted calmly
and leisurely. No hurry, no bustle; no struggling
and scrambling for existence. The grass
grew about the unpaved streets, and relieved the
eye by its refreshing verdure. Tall sycamores,
or pendent willows, shaded the houses, with catterpillars
swinging in long silken strings from
their branches, or moths fluttering about like
coxcombs, in joy at their gay transformation.
The houses were built in the old Dutch style,
with the gable ends towards the street. The
thrifty housewife was seated on a bench before
her door, in a close crimped cap, bright flowered
gown and white apron, busily employed in knitting.
The husband smoked his pipe on the opposite
bench, and the little pet negro girl, seated
on the step at her mistress' feet, was industriously
plying her needle. The swallows sported
about the eaves, or skimmed along the streets
and brought back some rich booty for their clamorous
young; and the little housekeeping wren
flew in and out of a Lilliputian house, or an old
hat nailed against the wall. The cows were
coming home, lowing through the streets to be
milked at their owners' doors, and if, perchance,
there were any loiterers, some negro urchin with
a long goad was gently urging them homewards.

As Dolph's companion passed on he received
a tranquil nod from the burghers, and a friendly
word from their wives; all calling him familiarly
by the name of Antony, for it was the custom
in this strong hold of the patriarchs, where they
had all grown up together from childhood, to
call every one by the christian name. The
Heer did not pause to have his usual jokes with
them, for he was impatient to reach his home.
At length they arrived at his mansion. It was
of some magnitude, in the Dutch style, with
large iron figures on the gables, that gave the
date of its erection, and showed that it had been
built in the earliest times of the settlement.

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had preceded
him, and the whole household was on
the look out. A crew of negroes, large and

small, had collected in front of the house to receive
him. The old white-headed ones, who
had grown gray in his service, grinned for joy,
and made many awkward bows and grimaces;
and the little ones capered about his knees. But
the most happy being in the household was a
little, plump, blooming lass, his only child, and
the darling of his heart. She came bounding
out of the house; but the sight of a strange
young man with her father, called up for a moment,
all the bashfulness of a home-bred damsel.
Dolph gazed at her with wonder and delight;
never had he seen, as he thought, any thing so
comely in the shape of woman. She was dressed
in the good old Dutch taste, with long stays
and full short petticoats, so admirably adapted to
show and set off the female form. Her hair,
turned up under a small round cap, displayed
the fairness of her forehead; she had fine blue
laughing eyes; a trim, slender waist, and soft
swel — but, in a word, she was a little Dutch
divinity, and Dolph, who never stopped half
way in a new impulse, fell desperately in love
with her.

Dolph was now ushered into the house with
a hearty welcome. In the interior was a mingled
display of Heer Antony's taste and habits, and
the opulence of his predecessors. The chambers
were furnished with good old carved mahogany.
The beaufets and cupboards glittered with embossed
silver and painted china. Over the parlour
fireplace was, as usual, the family coat of
arms painted and framed, above which was a
long duck fowling piece, flanked by an Indian
pouch and a powder-horn. The room was decorated
with many Indian articles, such as pipes
of peace, tomahawks, scalping knives, hunting
pouches and belts of wampum, and there were
various kinds of fishing tackle, and two or three
fowling pieces in the corners. The household
affairs seemed to be conducted in some measure
after the master's humours; corrected, perhaps,
by a little quiet management of the daughter's.
There was a great degree of patriarchal simplicity,
and good humoured indulgence. The negroes

came into the room without being called,
merely to look at their master, and hear of his
adventures; they would stand listening at the
door until he had finished a story, and then go
off on a broad grin, to repeat it in the kitchen.
A couple of pet negro children were playing
about the floor with the dogs, and sharing with
them their bread and butter. All the domestics
looked hearty and happy; and when the table
was set for the evening repast, the variety and
abundance of good household luxuries bore testimony
to the open handed liberality of the Heer,
and the notable housewifery of his daughter.

In the evening there dropped in several of the
worthies of the place, the Van Rennsellaers,
and the Gansevoorts, and the Rosebooms, and
others of Antony Vander Heyden's intimates,
to hear an account of his expedition; for he was
the Sindbad of Albany, and his exploits and adventures
were favourite topics of conversation
among the inhabitants. While these sat gossiping
together about the door of the hall, and
telling long twilight stories, Dolph was cosily

seated, entertaining the daughter on a window
bench. He had already got on intimate terms,
for those were not times of false reserve and
idle ceremony; and, besides, there is something
wonderfully propitious to a lover's suit in the
delightful dusk of a long summer evening. It
gives courage to the most timid tongue, and
hides the blushes of the bashful. The stars
alone twinkled brightly, and now and then a
fire-fly streamed his transient light before the
window; or, wandering into the room, flew
gleaming about the ceiling.

What Dolph whispered in her ear that long
summer evening it is impossible to say. His
words were so low and indistinct that they have
never reached the ear of the historian. It is
probable, however, that they were to the purpose,
for he had a natural talent at pleasing the
sex, and was never long in company with a petticoat
without paying proper court to it. In
the mean time, the visiters, one by one, departed.
Antony Vander Heyden, who had fairly talked
himself silent, sat nodding alone in his chair by

the door, when he was suddenly aroused by the
hearty salute with which Dolph Heyliger had
unguardedly rounded off one of his periods, and
which echoed through the still chamber like the
report of a pistol. The Heer started up, rubbed
his eyes, called for lights, and observed that it
was high time to go to bed. On parting for the
night he squeezed Dolph heartily by the hand;
looked waggishly in his face; shook his head
knowingly—“Ah, Dolph! Dolph!” said he,
chuckling, “I see you're a sly dog—just like I
was at your age!”

The chamber in which our hero was lodged
was spacious, and pannelled with oak. It was
furnished with clothes presses, and mighty chests
of drawers, well waxed and glittering with brass
ornaments. These contained ample stock of
family linen; for the Dutch housewives had always
a laudable pride in showing off their household
treasures to strangers.

Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take
particular note of the objects around him; yet
he could not help continually comparing the free

open-hearted cheeriness of this establishment,
with the starveling, sordid, joyless housekeeping
at Doctor Knypperhausen's. Still, there was
something that marred the enjoyment; the idea
that he must take leave of his hearty host, and
pretty hostess, and cast himself once more adrift
upon the world. To linger here would be folly.
He should only get deeper in love; and for a
poor varlet, like himself, to aspire to the daughter
of the great Heer Vander Heyden—it was
madness to think of such a thing! The very
kindness that the girl had shown towards him,
prompted him, on reflection, to hasten his departure;
it would be a poor return for the frank
hospitality of his host, to entangle his daughter's
heart in an injudicious attachment. In a word,
Dolph was like many other young reasoners, of
exceeding good hearts, and giddy heads, who
think after they act, and act differently from what
they think; who make excellent determinations
over night, and forget to keep them the next
morning.

“This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voyage,”
said he, as he almost buried himself in a
sumptuous feather bed, and drew the fresh white
sheets up to his chin. “Here am I, instead of
finding a bag of money to carry home, launched
in a strange place, with scarcely a stiver in my
pocket; and, what is worse, have jumped ashore
up to my very ears in love into the bargain.—
However,” added he, after some pause, stretching
himself and turning in bed, “I'm in good
quarters for the present, at least; so I'll e'en
enjoy the present moment and let the next take
care of itself.—I dare say all will work out
`some how or other', for the best.”

As he said these words he reached out his hand
to extinguish the candle, when he was suddenly
struck with astonishment and dismay, for he
thought he beheld the spectre of the Haunted
House staring at him from a dusky part of the
chamber. A second look reassured him; as he
perceived that what he had taken for the spectre
was in fact nothing but a Flemish portrait that
hung in a shadowy corner, just behind a clothes

press. It was, however, the precise representation
of his nightly visiter. The same cloak and
belted jerken; the same grizzled beard and fixed
eye; the same broad slouched hat, with a feather
hanging over one side. Dolph now called to
mind the resemblance he had frequently remarked
between his host and the old man of the Haunted
House, and was fully convinced that they were
in some way connected, and that some especial
destiny had governed his voyage. He lay gazing
on the portrait with almost as much awe as he
had gazed on the ghostly original, until the
shrill house clock warned him of the lateness of
the hour. He put out the light; but remained
for a long time turning over these curious circumstances
and coincidences in his mind, until
he fell asleep. His dreams partook of the nature
of his waking thoughts. He fancied that he
still lay gazing on the picture until by degrees
it became animated; that the figure descended
from the wall, and walked out of the room.
That he followed it and found himself by the
well, to which the old man pointed, smiled on
him, and disappeared.

In the morning, when Dolph waked, he found
his host standing by his bed side, who gave him
a hearty morning's salutation, and asked him how
he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily, and took
the occasion to inquire about the portrait that
hung against the wall. “Ah,” said Heer Antony,
“that's a portrait of old Killian Vanderspiegel,
once a burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on
some popular troubles, abandoned Holland, and
came over to the province during the government
of Peter Stuyvesant. He was my ancestor
by the mother's side, and an old miserly curmudgeon
he was. When the English took
possession of New-Amsterdam, in 1664, he retired
into the country. He fell into a melancholy,
apprehending that his wealth would be
taken from him, and that he would come to
beggary. He turned all his property into cash,
and used to hide it away. He was for a year
or two concealed in various places, fancying
himself sought after by the English, to strip him
of his wealth; and finally was found dead in
his bed one morning, without any one being

able to discover where he had concealed the
greater part of his money.”

When his host had left the room Dolph remained
for some time lost in thought. His
whole mind was occupied by what he had
heard. Vanderspiegel was his mother's family
name, and he recollected to have heard her
speak of this very Killian Vanderspiegel as one
of her ancestors. He had heard her say, too,
that her father was Killian's rightful heir, only
that the old man died without leaving any thing
to be inherited. It now appeared that Heer
Antony was likewise a descendant, and, perhaps,
an heir also, of this poor old rich man;
and that thus the Heyligers and the Vander
Heydens were remotely connected. “What,”
thought he, “if after all this is the interpretation
of my dream, that this is the way I am to
make my fortune by this voyage to Albany;
and that I am to find the old man's hidden
wealth in the bottom of that well? But
what an odd round-about mode of communicating
the matter! Why the vengeance could not

the old goblin have told me about the well at
once, without sending me all the way to Albany,
to hear a story that was to send me all
the way back again?”

These thoughts passed through his mind as
he was dressing. He descended the stairs, full
of perplexity, when the bright face of Marie
Vander Heyden suddenly beamed in smiles
upon him, and seemed to give him a clue to the
whole mystery. “After all,” thought he, “the
old goblin is in the right. If am to get his
wealth he means that I shall marry his pretty
descendant; thus both branches of the family
will be again united, and the property go on in
the proper channel.”

No sooner did this idea enter his head than it
carried conviction with it. He was now all impatience
to hurry back and secure the treasure;
which, he did not doubt, lay at the bottom of
the well; and which, he feared, every moment,
might be discovered by some other person.
“Who knows,” thought he, “but this night-walking
old fellow of the Haunted House may

be in the habit of haunting every visiter, and may
give a hint to some shrewder fellow than myself,
who will take a shorter cut to the well than by
the way of Albany?” He wished a thousand
times that the babbling old ghost was laid in the
Red Sea, and his rambling portrait with him.
He was in a perfect fever to depart. Two or
three days elapsed before any opportunity presented
for returning down the river. They were
ages to Dolph, notwithstanding that he was
basking in the smiles of the pretty Marie, and
daily getting more and more enamoured. At
length the very sloop from which he had been
knocked overboard prepared to make sail. Dolph
made an awkward apology to his host for his
sudden departure. Antony Vander Heyden was
sorely astonished. He had concerted half a
dozen excursions into the wilderness, and his
Indians were actually preparing for a grand expedition
to one of the lakes. He took Dolph
aside, and exerted his eloquence to get him to
give up all thoughts of business and to remain
with him; but in vain; and he at length gave
up the attempt, observing, “that it was a thousand
pities so fine a young man should throw
himself away.” Heer Antony, however, gave
him a hearty shake by the hand at parting, with
a favourite fowling piece, and an invitation to
come to his house whenever he revisited Albany.
The pretty little Marie said nothing; but as he
gave her a farewell kiss, her dimpled cheek
turned pale, and a tear stood in her eye.

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel.
They hoisted sail; the wind was fair; they
soon lost sight of Albany, and its green hills,
and embowered islands. They were wafted
gaily past the Kaatskill mountains, whose fairy
heights were bright and cloudless. They passed
prosperously through the Highlands, without
any molestation from the Dunderberg goblin and
his crew; they swept on across Haverstraw
Bay; and by Croton Point; and through the
Tappaan Zee; and under the Pallisadoes; until,
on the afternoon of the third day, they saw the
promontory of Hoboken hanging like a cloud in

the air, and, shortly after, the roofs of the Manhattoes
rising out of the water.

Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's
house, for he was continually goaded by the
idea of the uneasiness she must experience on
his account. On his way thither he endeavoured
to arrange some mode of accounting for his
absence; but felt sadly at a loss; for, with all his
heedlessness, he was naturally frank and sincere,
and had never deceived her. He had conned
over something that he thought would do, when,
on entering the street in which her house was
situated, he was thunderstruck on beholding it
a heap of ruins. There had been a great fire,
which had destroyed several large houses, and
the humble dwelling of poor Dame Heyliger had
been involved in the conflagration. The walls
were not so completely destroyed but that Dolph
could perceive some traces of the scene of humble
quiet, the scene of his childhood. The fireplace
with a few of the tiles yet remained,
though shattered to pieces. The wreck of the
good old dame's elbow chair, and her Dutch

family bible reduced almost to a cinder lay
among the rubbish. For a moment Dolph's
head reeled; he was stunned as with a blow;
but the next was a moment of excruciating
agony, for the idea rushed to his mind that she
had perished in the flames. He was relieved
from the worst of his fears, by one of the neighbours
who informed him that his mother was
yet alive, but that, overcome with fright and
affliction, she lay ill at the house of old Peter
de Groodt, where she had taken refuge

Dolph hastened thither with the penitent
feeling of the prodigal son. He recalled all
her tenderness, her unwearied attention to his
comfort; her indulgence of his errors; her
fond blindness to his faults; and then he reflected
on his own idleness and want of consideration.
“Only let her live,” said Dolph
mentally, and clasping his hands, “and I'll
show myself indeed a son!”

He found old Peter de Groodt coming out
of the house. Peter started back on seeing
him, and was for a moment doubtful whether

it was not a ghost that stood before him. Then
shaking his head, he pointed to the door. “Ah,
young man! young man! you're in a hopeful
way truly!—go in, go in, and see your poor
mother more sick on your account than her
own.”

It required some preparation, however, before
Dolph's return could be made known to his
mother, and even then, the news almost overcame
her. When he was admitted to see her
he sunk down beside her bed. The poor woman
threw her arms round his neck.—“My boy
—my boy! art thou still alive?” For a time she
seemed to have forgotten all her losses and
troubles in her joy at his return. At length,
recollecting herself—“ah, my poor Dolph!”
said she, “thy mother can help thee no longer!
She can no longer help herself! What will
become of thee, my poor son!”

“Mother,” said Dolph, “don't talk in that
way. I've been too long a charge upon you;
it's now my part to take care of you in your old
days. But come, be of good heart. I'm here

again, sound and hearty. Something will yet
turn up—things will all `some how or other' turn
out for the best.”

As the hour of bed time approached, Dolph
sought his old quarters at the house of Dr. Knypperhausen.
The news of his return had preceded
him. He knocked dubiously at the door,
when the doctor's head in a red nightcap popped
out of one window, and the housekeeper's,
in a white nightcap, at another. Both were evidently
primed and charged for the occasion, and
such a volley of hard names and hard language
did they discharge upon the head of the delinquent
disciple, that in a few minutes not a window in
the street but had its particular nightcap. Suffice
it to say—the doctor's doors were forever
closed upon him; and he was fain, for the night,
to beg a lodging under the same roof that sheltered
his mother.

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph
was out at the Haunted House. Every thing
appeared just as he had left it. The fields were
grass-grown and matted, and it appeared as if

no body had traversed them since his departure.
With palpitating heart he hastened to the well.
He looked down into it, and saw that it was of
great depth, with water at the bottom. He had
provided himself with a strong line, such as the
fishermen use on the banks of Newfoundland.
At the end was a heavy plummet and a large
fish hook. With this he began to sound the
bottom of the well, and to angle about in the
water. He found that the water was of some
depth; there appeared also to be much rubbish;
stones from the top having fallen in. Several
times his hook got entangled, and he came near
breaking his line. Now and then, too, he hauled
up mere trash, such as the skull of a horse,
an iron hoop, and a shattered iron-bound bucket.
He had now been for several hours employed
without finding any thing to repay his trouble
or to encourage him to proceed. He began to
think himself a great fool, to be thus decoyed into
a wild goose chase by mere dreams, and was on
the point of throwing line and all into the well,
and giving up all farther angling. “One more
cast of the line,” said he, “and that shall be the
last!” As he sounded, he felt the plummet slip
as it were through the insterstices of loose
stones; and, as he drew back the line, he felt
that the hook had taken hold of something heavy.
He had to manage his line with great caution lest
it should be broken by the strain upon it. By degrees
the rubbish that lay upon the article which
he had hooked gave way; he drew it to the
surface of the water, and what was his rapture
at seeing something like silver glittering at the
end of his line! Almost breathless with anxiety,
he drew it up to the mouth of the well, surprised
at its great weight, and fearing every instant that
his hook would slip from its hold, and his prize
tumble again to the bottom. At length he landed
it safe beside the well. It was a great silver
porringer, of an ancient form, richly embossed,
and with armorial bearings similar to those over
his mother's mantlepiece, engraved on its side.
The lid was fastened down by several twists of
wire. Dolph loosened them with a trembling
hand, and on lifting the lid, behold! the vessel
was filled with broad golden pieces, of a coinage
which he had never seen before! It was evident
he had lit on the place where old Killian
Vanderspiegel had concealed his treasure.

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he
cautiously retired, and buried his pot of money
in a secret place. He now spread terrible stories
about the Haunted House, and deterred
every one from approaching it; while he made
frequent visits to it, in stormy days, when no one
was stirring in the neighbouring fields; though,
to tell the truth, he did not care to venture there
in the dark. For once in his life he was diligent
and industrious; and followed up his new
trade of angling with such perseverance and
success, that in a little while he had hooked up
wealth enough to make him, in those moderate
days, a rich burgher for life.

It would be tedious to detail minutely the
rest of his story. To tell how he gradually
managed to bring his property into use without
exciting surprise and inquiry. How he satisfied
all scruples with regard to retaining the property,

and at the same time gratified his own
feelings by marrying the pretty Marie Vander
Heyden, and how he and Heer Antony had
many a merry and roving expedition together.

I must not omit to say, however, that Dolph
took his mother home to live with him, and cherished
her in her old days. The good dame, too,
had the satisfaction of no longer hearing her son
made the theme of censure; on the contrary, he
grew daily in public esteem; every body spoke
well of him and his wines; and the lordliest
burgomaster was never known to decline his invitation
to dinner. Dolph often related, at his
own table, the wicked pranks which had once
been the abhorence of the town; but they were
now considered excellent jokes, and the gravest
dignitary was ready to die with laughing at them.
No one was more struck with Dolph's increasing
merit than his old master the Doctor; and
so forgiving was Dolph in his temper, that he
absolutely employed the Doctor as his family
physician; only taking care that his prescriptions
should always be thrown out of the window.

His mother had often her junto of old
cronies to take a snug cup of tea with her in her
comfortable little parlour; and Peter de Groodt,
as he sat by the fire side, with one of her grandchildren
on his knee, would many a time congratulate
her upon her son's turning out so great
a man; upon which the good old soul would
wag her head with exultation, and exclaim, “Ah
neighbour! neighbour! did I not say that Dolph
would one day or other hold up his head with
the best of them?”

Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily
and prosperously, growing merrier as he grew
older and wiser, and completely falsifying the
old proverb, about money got over the devil's
back; for he made good use of his wealth, and
became a distinguished citizen, and a valuable
member of the community. He was a great
promoter of public institutions, such as beef-steak
societies, and catch clubs. He presided
at all public dinners, and was the first that introduced
turtle from the West Indies. He improved
the breed of race horses, and game cocks;

he was a great patron of modest merit, insomuch
that any one who could sing a good song,
or tell a good story, was sure to find a place at
his table; and his benevolence became so well
known, that every now and then a bantling was
laid at his door; which he never failed to take
into the house and cherish as his own.

He was a member too of the corporation, made
several laws for the protection of game and oysters,
and bequeathed to the board a large silver
punch bowl, made out of the identical porringer
before mentioned, and which is in the possession
of the corporation to this very day.

Finally, he died, at a florid and jolly old age,
of an apoplexy at a corporation feast, and was
buried with great honours, in the yard of the little
Dutch church in Garden Street, where his
tomb-stone may still be seen, with an epitaph in
Dutch verse, by his friend Mynheer Justus Benson,
an ancient and excellent poet of the Manhattoes.

The foregoing tale rests on better authority
than most tales of the kind, as I have it at second

hand from the lips of Dolph Heyliger himself.
He never related it until towards the latter part
of his life, and then in great confidence, (for he
was very discreet,) to a few particular cronies at
his own table, over an extra bowl of punch;
and strange as the hobgoblin parts of the story
may seem, there never was a single doubt expressed
on the subject by any of his guests. It
may not be amiss, before concluding, to observe,
that in addition to his other accomplishments,
Dolph Heyliger was noted for being the ablest
drawer of the long bow in the whole province.