University of Virginia Library

In which the Troubles of New-Amsterdam appear to thicken—Showing
the bravery, in Time of Peril, of a People
who defend themselves by Resolutions.

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

The sovereign people all crowded into the market-place,
herding together with the instinct of sheep, who
seek for safety in each other's company, when the shepherd

and his dog are absent, and the wolf is prowling round
the fold. Far from finding relief, however, they only
increased each other's terrors. Each man looked ruefully
in his neighbour's face, in search of encouragement,
but only found, in its wo-begone lineaments, a confirmation
of his own dismay. Not a word now was to
be heard of conquering Great Britain, not a whisper
about the sovereign virtues of economy—while the old
women heightened the general gloom, by clamorously
bewailing their fate, and incessantly calling for protection
on St. Nicholas and Peter Stuyvesant.

Oh, how did they bewail the absence of the lion-hearted
Peter!—and how did they long for the comforting presence
of Anthony Van Corlear! Indeed, a gloomy uncertainty
hung over the fate of these adventurous heroes.
Day after day had elapsed since the alarming message
from the governor, without bringing any further tidings
of his safety. Many a fearful conjecture was hazarded
as to what had befallen him and his loyal squire. Had
they not been devoured alive by the cannibals of Marble-head
and Cape Cod? Were they not put to the question
by the great council of Amphyctions? Were they not
smothered in onions by the terrible men of Pyquag? In
the midst of this consternation and perplexity, when
horror, like a mighty night-mare, sat brooding upon the
little, fat, plethoric city of New-Amsterdam, the ears of
the multitude were suddenly startled by a strange and
distant sound—it approached—it grew louder and louder
—and now it resounded at the city gate. The public
could not be mistaken in the well known sound. A
shout of joy burst from their lips, as the gallant Peter,
covered with dust, and followed by his faithful trumpeter,
came galloping into the market-place.

The first transports of the populace having subsided,
they gathered round the honest Anthony, as he dismounted
from his horse, overwhelming him with greetings
and congratulations. In breathless accents he
related to them the marvellous adventures through which
the old governor and himself had gone, in making their
escape from the clutches of the terrible Amphyctions.
But though the Stuyvesant manuscript, with its customary
minuteness where any thing touching the great
Peter is concerned, is very particular as to the incidents
of this masterly retreat, yet the particular state of the
public affairs will not allow me to indulge in a full

recital thereof. Let it suffice to say, that, while Peter
Stuyvesant was anxiously revolving in his mind how he
could make good his escape with honour and dignity,
certain of the ships sent out for the conquest of the
Manhattoes touched at the eastern ports, to obtain needful
supplies, and to call on the grand council of the
league for its promised co-operation. Upon hearing of
this, the vigilant Peter perceiving that a moment's delay
were fatal, made a secret and precipitate decampment;
though much did it grieve his lofty soul, to be obliged to
turn his back even upon a nation of foes. Many hair-breadth
'scapes and divers perilous mishaps did they sustain,
as they scoured, without sound of trumpet, through
the fair regions of the east. Already was the country in
an uproar with hostile preparation, and they were obliged
to take a large circuit in their flight, lurking along,
through the woody mountains of the Devil's Backbone;
from whence the valiant Peter sallied forth one day, like
a lion, and put to rout a whole legion of squatters, consisting
of three generations of a prolific family, who were
already on their way to take possession of some corner of
the New Netherlands. Nay, the faithful Anthony had
great difficulty at sundry times to prevent him, in the
excess of his wrath, from descending down from the
mountains, and falling sword in hand upon certain of
the border-towns, who were marshalling forth their draggle-tailed
militia.

The first movements of the governor, on reaching his
dwelling, was to mount the roof, from whence he contemplated
with rueful aspect the hostile squadron. This
had already come to an anchor in the bay, and consisted
of two stout frigates, having on board, as John Josselyn,
Gent. informs us, “three hundred valiant red coats.”
Having taken this survey, he sat himself down, and
wrote an epistle to the commander, demanding his reason
of anchoring in the harbour without obtaining previous
permission so to do. This letter was couched in
the most dignified and courteous terms, though I have it
from undoubted authority, that his teeth were clenched,
and he had a bitter sardonic grin upon his visage all the
while he wrote. Having despatched his letter, the grim
Peter stumped to and fro about the town, with a most
war-betokening countenance, his hand thrust into his
breeches pockets, and whistling a low Dutch Psalm tune,
which bore no small resemblance to the music of a northeast

wind, when a storm is brewing. The very dogs, as
they eyed him, skulked away in dismay—while all the
old and ugly women of New-Amsterdam ran howling at
his heels, imploring him to save them from murder, robbery,
and pitiless ravishment!

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

Peter Stuyvesant read over this friendly epistle with
some such harmony of aspect as we may suppose a crusty
farmer, who has long been fattening upon his neighbour's
soil, reads the loving letter of John Styles, that warns him
of an action of ejectment. The old governor, however,
was not to be taken by surprise, but thrusting the summons
into his breeches pocket, he stalked three times
across the room, took a pinch of snuff with great vehemence,
and then loftily waving his hand, promised to
send an answer the next morning. In the mean time he
called a general council of war of his privy counsellors
and burgomasters, not for the purpose of asking their advice,
for that, as has been already shown, he valued not a
rush; but to make known to them his sovereign determination,
and require their prompt adherence.

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

His orders being duly promulgated, it was a piteous
sight to behold the late valiant burgomasters, who had
demolished the whole British empire in their harangues;
peeping ruefully out of their hiding places, and then crawling

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

The great Peter was as eloquent as he was valorous;
indeed, these two rare qualities seemed to go hand in
hand in his composition; and, unlike most great statesmen,
whose victories are only confined to the bloodless
field of argument, he was always ready to enforce his
hardy words by no less hardy deeds. His speeches were
generally marked by a simplicity approaching to bluntness,
and by truly categorical decision. Addressing the grand
council, he touched briefly upon the perils and hardships
he had sustained, in escaping from his crafty foes. He
next reproached the council for wasting in idle debate
and party feuds that time which should have been devoted
to their country. He was particularly indignant at those
brawlers, who, conscious of individual security, had disgraced
the councils of the province, by impotent hectorings
and scurrilous invectives, against a noble and powerful
enemy—those cowardly curs who were incessant in their
barkings and yelpings at the lion, while distant or asleep,
but the moment he approached, were the first to skulk
away. He now called on those who had been so valiant
in their threats against Great Britain, to stand forth and
support their vauntings by their actions—for it was deeds,
not words, that bespoke the spirit of a nation. He proceeded
to recall the golden days of former prosperity,
which were only to be gained by manfully withstanding

their enemies; for the peace, he observed, which is effected
by force of arms, is always more sure and durable than
that which is patched up by temporary accommodations.
He endeavoured, moreover, to arouse their martial fire,
by reminding them of the time, when, before the frowning
walls of fort Christina, he had led them on to victory.
He strove likewise to awaken their confidence, by assuring
them of the protection of St. Nicholas, who had hitherto
maintained them in safety, amid all the savages of the
wilderness, the witches and squatters of the east, and the
giants of Merry-land. Finally, he informed them of the
insolent summons he had received, to surrender; but concluded
by swearing to defend the province as long as
heaven was on his side, and he had a wooden leg to stand
upon. Which noble sentence he emphasized by a tremendous
thwack with the broad side of his sword upon
the table, that totally electrified his auditors.

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

So insolent and mutinous a request would have been
enough to have aroused the gorge of the tranquil Van
Twiller himself—what then must have been its effects upon
the great Stuyvesant, who was not only a Dutchman, a
governor, and a valiant wooden-legged soldier to boot, but
withal a man of the most stomachful and gunpowder disposition.
He burst forth into a blaze of noble indignation,
to which the famous rage of Achilles was a mere pouting
fit—swore not a mother's son of them should see a syllable
of it—that they deserved, every one of them, to be
hanged, drawn, and quartered, for traitorously daring to

question the infallibility of government; that as to their
advice and concurrence, he did not care a whiff of tobacco
for either; that he had long been harassed and thwarted
by their cowardly councils; but that they might thence
forth go home, and go to bed like old women, for he was
determined to defend the colony himself, without the assistance
of them or their adherents! So saying, he tucked
his sword under his arm, cocked his hat upon his head,
and girding up his loins, stumped indignantly out of the
council-chamber, every body making room for him as he
passed.

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

This great burgomaster, who still chewed the cud of ill
will against the valiant Stuyvesant, in consequence of
having been ignominiously kicked out of his cabinet at the
time of his taking the reins of government, addressed the
greasy multitude in what is called a patriotic speech; in
which he informed them of the courteous summons to surrender—of
the governor's refusal to comply therewith—
of his denying the public a sight of the summons, which,
he had no doubt, contained conditions highly to the honour
and advantage of the province.

He then proceeded to speak of his excellency in high
sounding terms, suitable to the dignity and grandeur of
his station, comparing him to Nero, Caligula, and those
other great men of yore, who are generally quoted by
popular orators on similar occasions. Assuring the people
that the history of the world did not contain a despotic
outrage to equal the present for atrocity, cruelty, tyranny,
and blood-thirstiness; that it would be recorded in letters
of fire on the blood stained tablet of history! that ages
would roll back with sudden horror, when they came to
view it! That the womb of time—(by the way your orators
and writers take strange liberties with the womb of time,
though some would fain have us believe that time is an old
gentleman)—that the womb of time, pregnant as it was
with direful horrors, would never produce a parallel enormity!—with

a variety of other heart-rending, soul-stirring
tropes and figures, which I cannot enumerate. Neither,
indeed need I, for they were exactly the same that are
used in all popular harangues and patriotic orations at the
present day, and may be classed in rhetoric under the general
title of Rigmarole.

The speech of this inspired burgomaster being finished,
the meeting fell into a kind of popular fermentation, which
produced not only a string of right wise resolutions, but
likewise a most resolute memorial, addressed to the governor,
remonstrating at his conduct; which was no sooner
handed to him, than he handed it into the fire; and thus
deprived posterity of an invaluable document, that might
have served as a precedent to the enlightened cobblers
and tailors of the present day; in their sage intermeddlings
with politics.