University of Virginia Library

Of Peter Stuyvesant's expedition into the East Country;
showing that, though an old Bird, he did not understand
Trap.

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

display than ever it did, in the fairest period of its
prosperity.

The vast empire of China, though teeming with population,
and imbibing and concentrating the wealth of nations,
has vegetated through a succession of drowsy ages;
and were it not for its internal revolution, and the subversion
of its ancient government by the Tartars, might
have presented nothing but an uninteresting detail of dull,
monotonous prosperity. Pompeii and Herculaneum
might have passed into oblivion, with a herd of their contemporaries,
had they not been fortunately overwhelmed
by a volcano. The renowned city of Troy has acquired
celebrity only from its ten years' distress and final conflagration;
Paris rises in importance by the plots and
massacres which have ended in the exaltation of the illustrious
Napoleon; and even the mighty London itself
has skulked through the records of time, celebrated for
nothing of moment, excepting the plague, the great fire,
and Guy Faux's gunpowder plot! Thus cities and empires
seem to creep along, enlarging in silent obscurity
under the pen of the historian, until at length they burst
forth in some tremendous calamity, and snatch, as it
were, immortality from the explosion!

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

In the fiery heart of this iron-headed old warrior sat enthroned
all those five kinds of courage described by Aristotle;
and had the philosopher mentioned five hundred
more to the back of them, I verily believe, he would have
been found master of them all. The only misfortune was,
that he was deficient in the better part of valour called discretion,
a cold-blooded virtue which could not exist in the
tropical climate of his mighty soul. Hence it was, he was
continually hurrying into those unheard-of enterprises that
gave an air of chivalric romance to all his history; and

and hence it was, that he now conceived a project worthy
of the hero of La Mancha himself.

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

On declaring this resolution in his privy council, the
venerable members were seized with vast astonishment:
for once in their lives they ventured to remonstrate, setting
forth the rashness of exposing his sacred person in
the midst of a strange and barbarous people, with sundry
other weighty remonstrances—all which had about as
much influence upon the determination of the headstrong
Peter, as though you were to endeavour to turn a rusty
weathercock with a broken-winded bellows.

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

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

Thus, then, did this mirror of hardihood set forth, with
no other attendant but his trumpeter, upon one of the most
perilous enterprises ever recorded in the annals of knight-errantry.
For a single warrior to venture openly among
a whole nation of foes; but, above all, for a plain, downright
Dutchman to think of negotiating with the whole

council of New-England—never was there known a more
desperate undertaking! Ever since I have entered upon
the chronicles of this peerless, but hitherto uncelebrated
chieftain, has he kept me in a state of incessant action
and anxiety with the toils and dangers he is constantly
encountering. Oh! for a chapter of the tranquil reign of
Wouter Van Twiller, that I might repose on it as on a
feather bed!

Is it not enough, Peter Stuyvesant, that I have once already
rescued thee from the machinations of these terrible
Amphyctions, by bringing the whole powers of witchcraft
to thine aid?—is it not enough, that I have followed thee
undaunted, like a guardian spirit, into the misdst of the
horrid battle of Fort Christina? That I have been put
incessantly to my trumps to keep thee safe and sound—
now warding off with my single pen the shower of dastard
blows that fell upon thy rear—now narrowly shielding
thee from a deadly thrust, by a mere tobacco-box—now
casing thy dauntless skull with adamant, when even thy
stubborn ram-beaver failed to resist the sword of the stout
Risingh—and now, not merely bringing thee off alive, but
triumphant, from the clutches of the gigantic Swede, by
the desperate means of a paltry stone pottle?—Is not all
this enough, but must thou still be plunging into new difficulties,
and jeopardizing in headlong enterprises thyself,
thy trumpeter, and thy historian?

And now the ruddy faced Aurora, like a buxom chambermaid,
draws aside the sable curtains of the night, and
out bounces from his bed the jolly red haired Phœbus,
startled at being caught so late in the embraces of Dame
Thetis. With many a stable oath, he harnesses his brazen-footed
steeds, and whips and lashes, and splashes up
the firmament, like a loitering post-boy, half an hour behind
his time. And now behold that imp of fame and
prowess, the headstrong Peter, bestriding a raw-boned,
switch-tailed charger, gallantly arrayed in full regimentals,
and bracing on his thigh that trusty brass-hilted sword,
which had wrought such fearful deeds on the banks of
the Delaware.

Behold, hard after him, his doughty trumpeter, Van
Corlear, mounted on a broken-winded, wall-eyed, calico
mare; his stone pottle which had laid low the mighty
Risingh, slung under his arm, and his trumpet displayed
vauntingly in his right hand, decorated with a gorgeous
banner, on which is emblazoned the great beaver of the

Manhattoes. See him proudly issuing out of the city
gate, like an iron-clad hero of yore, with his faithful squire
at his heels, the populace following them with their eyes,
and shouting many a parting wish, and hearty cheering.
—Farewell, Hard-koppig Piet! Farewell, honest Anthony!—Pleasant
be your wayfaring—prosperous your
return! The stoutest hero that ever drew a sword, and
the worthiest trumpeter that ever trod shoe leather.

Legends are lamentably silent about the events that
befell our adventurers, in this their adventurous travel,
excepting the Stuyvesant manuscript, which gives the
substance of a pleasant little heroic poem, written on the
occasion by Domini ægidus Luyck,[1] who appears to
have been the poet-laureate of New-Amsterdam. This
inestimable manuscript assures us, that it was a rare spectacle
to behold the great Peter, and his loyal follower, hailing
the morning sun, and rejoicing in the clear countenance
of nature, as they pranced it through the pastoral
scenes of Bloomen Dael;[2] which, in those days, was a
wild flower, refreshed by many a pure streamlet, and enlivened
here and there by a delectable little Dutch cottage,
sheltering under some sloping hill, and almost buried in
embowering trees.

Now did they enter upon the confines of Connecticut,
where they encountered many grievous difficulties and perils.
At one place they were assailed by a troop of country
squires and militia colonels, who, mounted on goodly
steeds, hung upon their rear for several miles, harassing
them exceedingly with guesses and questions, more especially
the worthy Peter, whose silver chased leg excited
not a little marvel. At another place, hard by the renowned
town of Stamford, they were set upon by a great
and mighty legion of church deacons, who imperiously
demanded of them five shillings for travelling on Sunday,
and threatened to carry them captive to a neighbouring
church, whose steeple peered above the trees: but these
the valiant Peter put to rout with little difficulty, insomuch
that they bestrode their canes and gallopped off in
horrible confusion, leaving their cocked hats behind in the

hurry of their flight. But not so easily did he escape from
the hands of a crafty man of Pyquag; who, with undaunted
perseverance, and repeated onsets, fairly bargained
him out of his goodly switched-tailed charger, leaving him
in place thereof a villanous, spavined, foundered Narraganset
pacer.

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

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

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

each of whom he patted on the head, bade him be a good
boy, and gave him a penny to buy molasses candy.

The Stuyvesant manuscript makes but little further
mention of the governor's adventures upon this expedition,
excepting that he was received with extravagant courtesy
and respect by the great council of the Amphyctions, who
almost talked him to death with complimentary and congratulatory
harangues. I will not detain my readers by
dwelling on his negotiations with the grand council.
Suffice it to mention, it was like all other negotiations—a
great deal was said, and very little done: one conversation
led to another—one conference begat misunderstandings
which it took a dozen conferences to explain; at the end
of which the parties found themselves just where they
were at first; excepting that they had entangled themselves
in a host of questions of etiquette, and conceived a cordial
distrust of each other, that rendered their future negotiations
ten times more difficult than ever.[3]

In the midst of all these perplexities, which bewildered
the brain and incensed the ire of the sturdy Peter, who
was, perhaps, of all men in the world, least fitted for diplomatic
wiles, he privately received the first intimation of
the dark conspiracy which had been matured in the Cabinet
of England. To this was added the astounding
intelligence that a hostile squadron had already sailed
from England, destined to reduce the province of New-Netherlands,
and that the grand council of Amphyctions
had engaged to co-operate, by sending a great army to invade
New-Amsterdam by land!

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

Oh how did the sturdy old warrior rage and roar, when
he found himself thus intrapped, like a lion in the hunter's

toil! Now did he determine to draw his trusty
sword, and manfully to fight his way through all the
countries of the east. Now did he resolve to break in
upon the council of the Amphyctions, and put every
mother's son of them to death. At length, as his direful
wrath subsided, he resorted to safer though less glorious
expedients.

Concealing from the council his knowledge of their
machinations, he privately despatched a trusty messenger
with missives to his counsellors at New-Amsterdam, apprising
them of the impending danger, commanding them
immediately to put the city in a posture of defence, while
in the mean time he would endeavour to elude his enemies
and come to their assistance. This done, he felt himself
marvellously relieved, rose slowly, shook himself like a
rhinoceros, and issued forth from his den, in much the
same manner as Giant Despair is described to have issued
from Doubting Castle, in the chivalric history of the
Pilgrim's Progress.

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