University of Virginia Library

THE STORM-SHIP.

In the golden age of the province of the New Netherlands,
when under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called
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 fell
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 weathercock. 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 he was riding into town. In a word, it was one
of those unparalleled storms which 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 it should attract the lightning.
At length the storm abated; the thunder sank 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 meantime 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 colors. 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 on his sight,
just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud.
The bystanders 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 harbor-master, ordered his boat, and set off to board
her; but after rowing 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 the 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 council repeatedly to assist him with their conjectures.

He sat in his chair of state, built of timber from the
sacred forest of the Hague, smoking his long jasmin pipe, and
listening 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 dispatched 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 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 Palisadoes, sometimes off
Croton Point, and sometimes in the Highlands; but she never
was 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 the 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; but the next flash would show her far off, always
sailing against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight
nights, she would be seen under some high bluff of the Highlands,
all in deep shadow, excepting her topsails glittering in
the moonbeams; by the time, however, that the voyagers
reached the place, no ship was 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 moonshine! Her
appearance was always just after, or just before, or just in the
midst of unruly weather; and she was known among 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 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 harbor. 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 Halfmoon, 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, for, 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,
a matter of popular belief and marvellous anecdote
through 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,
and 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-loafed hat, with a speaking trumpet in his
hand, which they say keeps the Dunderberg.[1] 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 times, the hurry-scurry of the storm
was always greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by the
Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder-gust, that came
scouring round the mountain, and seemed to burst just over the
vessel. Though tight and well ballasted, she labored dreadfully,
and 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, known at once to be
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 laboring and rocking, as if she
would have rolled her mast overboard, and 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 Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, the jurisdiction of the
Dunderberg potentate ceases. No sooner had she passed this
bourne, than the little hat 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, since 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
sang 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 nighteap 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. Several events of this kind having taken place, the regular
skippers of the river, for a long time, did not venture to
pass the Dunderberg without lowering their peaks, 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.[2]

“Such,” said Antony Vander Heyden, “are a few of the
stories written down by Selyne the poet, concerning this storm-ship;
which he affirms to have brought a crew 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 just raised her silver horns above the round
back of Old Bull Hill, and lit up the grey 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 grey 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 in a huge coat 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 whip-poor-will, 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 at night
were the church clock telling the hour; the drowsy voice of
the watchman, drawling out all was well; the deep snoring
of the doctor's clubbed nose from below stairs; or the cautious
labors 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 thought 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 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 hunter's
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 basis 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 splendor 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 magnificent and lonely scenes,
until they came to where Pollopol's Island lay, 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 labor of the oar. Some prepared the
mid-day 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 checkered by a fleecy cloud.

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their cruise along
the river; this vagrant, amphibious life, careering across silver
sheets of water; coasting wild woodland shores; banqueting on

shady promontories, with the spreading tree over head, the
river curling its light foam on one's feet, the 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 favor 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 anything so
completely to his taste as this wild, hap-hazard life. He was
the very man to second Antony Vander Heyden in his rambling
humors, and gained continually on his affections. The heart
of the old bush-whacker yearned towards the young man, who
seemed thus growing up in his own likeness; and as they
approached to 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 meantime we can take an
occasional bout at shooting and fishing, for it is a pity that such
talents should lie 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;
everybody 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, and inhabited
almost exclusively by the descendants of the original
Dutch settlers, not having as yet been discovered and colonized
by the restless people of New England. Everything was
quiet and orderly; everything 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 caterpillars swinging,

in long silken strings, from their fine 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 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's 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 owner's door; 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 stronghold of the patriarchs, where they had all
grown up together from childhood, to call each other 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 grey 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 homebred damsel. Dolph gazed at her with
wonder and delight; never had he seen, as he thought, anything
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 swell—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 of the opulence of his predecessors. The
chambers were furnished with good old mahogany; the
beaufets and cupboards glittered with embossed silver and
painted china. Over the parlor 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 humors; corrected,
perhaps, by a little quiet management of the daughter's.
There was a great degree of patriarchal simplicity and good-humored
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 favorite 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 above twinkled brightly, and now
and then a firefly 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 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 meantime the visitors, 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 a 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, though, on parting for the night,
he squeezed Dolph heartily by the hand, looked kindly in his

face, and shook his head knowingly, for the Heer well remembered
what he himself had been at the youngster's age.

The chamber in which our hero was lodged was spacious,
and panelled 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 notice
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
Knipperhausen's. Still something 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 himself 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, `somehow of
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 phantom of the
haunted house staring on him from a dusky part of the chamber.
A second look reassured him, as he perceived that what he
had taken for a spectre was, in fact, nothing but a Flemish
portrait, hanging in a shadowy corner, just behind a clothes-press.
It was, however, the precise representation of his nightly
visitor. The same cloak and belted jerkin, 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 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 he waked, he found his host standing
by his bedside, who gave him a hearty morning's salutation, and
asked him how he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily, but
took occasion to inquire about the portrait that hung against
the wall. “Ah,” said Heer Antony, “that's a portrait of old
Killian Vander Spiegel, 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 he 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. Vander Spiegel was his mother's family name;
and he recollected to have heard her speak of this very Killian
Vander Spiegel 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 anything to be inherited. It
now appeared that Heer Antony was likewise a descendant,
and perhaps an heir, also, of this poor 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 plague 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 while 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 I 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 visitor, 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 enamored.

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 abandon
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 favorite 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, 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
Palisadoes, until, in 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. He was puzzling his brains, as he
went along, to think how he should account for his absence,
without betraying the secrets of the haunted house. In the
midst of these cogitations, he entered the street in which his
mother's house was situated, when he was thunderstruck at
beholding it a heap of ruins.

There had evidently 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
distinguish some traces of the scene of his childhood. The
fireplace, about which he had often played, still remained,
ornamented with Dutch tiles, illustrating passages in Bible
history, on which he had many a time gazed with admiration.
Among the rubbish lay the wreck of the good dame's elbow-chair,
from which she had given him so many a wholesome
precept; and hard by it was the family Bible, with brass clasps;
now, alas! reduced almost to a cinder.

For a moment Dolph was overcome by this dismal sight, for
he was seized with the fear that his mother had perished in
the flames. He was relieved, however, from this horrible
apprehension, by one of the neighbors, who happened to come
by and informed him that his mother was yet alive.

The good woman had, indeed, lost everything by this

unlooked for calamity; for the populace had been so intent
upon saving the fine furniture of her rich neighbors, that the
little tenement, and the little all of poor Dame Heyliger, had
been suffered to consume without interruption; nay, had it not
been for the gallant assistance of her old crony, Peter de
Groodt, the worthy dame and her cat might have shared the
fate of their habitation.

As it was, she had been overcome with fright and affliction,
and lay ill in body and sick at heart. The public, however,
had showed her its wonted kindness. The furniture of her rich
neighbors being, as far as possible, rescued from the flames;
themselves duly and ceremoniously visited and condoled with
on the injury of their property, and their ladies commiserated
on the agitation of their nerves; the public, at length, began to
recollect something about poor Dame Heyliger. She forthwith
became again a subject of universal sympathy; everybody
pitied her more than ever; and if pity could but have been
coined into cash—good Lord! how rich she would have been!

It was now determined, in good earnest, that something
ought to be done for her without delay. The Dominie, therefore,
put up prayers for her on Sunday, in which all the
congregation joined most heartily. Even Cobus Groesbeek,
the alderman, and Mynheer Milledollar, the great Dutch
merchant, stood up in their pews, and did not spare their voices
on the occasion; and it was thought the prayers of such great
men could not but have their due weight. Doctor Knipperhausen,
too, visited her professionally, and gave her abundance
of advice gratis, and was universally lauded for his charity.
As to her old friend, Peter de Groodt, he was a poor man,
whose pity, and prayers, and advice, could be of but little
avail, so he gave her all that was in his power—he gave her
shelter.

To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, did Dolph
turn his steps. On his way thither, he recalled all the tenderness
and kindness of his simple-hearted parent, her indulgence
of his errors, her blindness to his faults; and then he bethought

himself of his own idle, harum-scarum life. “I've been a sad
scapegrace,” said Dolph, shaking his head sorrowfully. “I've
been a complete sink-pocket, that's the truth of it!—But,”
added he briskly, and clasping his hands, “only let her live—
only let her live—and I'll show myself indeed a son!”

As Dolph approached the house he met Peter de Groodt
coming out of it. The old man started back aghast, doubting
whether it was not a ghost that stood before him. It being
bright daylight, however, Peter soon plucked up heart, satisfied
that no ghost dare show his face in such clear sunshine. Dolph
now learned from the worthy sexton the consternation and
rumor to which his mysterious disappearance had given rise.
It had been universally believed that he had been spirited away
by those hobgoblin gentry that infested the haunted house; and
old Abraham Vandozer, who lived by the great buttonwood
trees, near the three-mile stone, affirmed, that he had heard a
terrible noise in the air, as he was going home late at night,
which seemed just as if a flock of wild-geese were overhead,
passing off towards the northward. The haunted house was,
in consequence, looked upon with ten times more awe than
ever; nobody would venture to pass a night in it for the
world, and even the doctor had ceased to make his expeditions
to it in the daytime.

It required some preparation before Dolph's return could be
made known to his mother, the poor soul having bewailed him
as lost; and her spirits having been sorely broken down by a
number of comforters, who daily cheered her with stories of
ghosts, and of people carried away by the devil. He found her
confined to her bed, with the other member of the Heyliger
family, the good dame's cat, purring beside her, but sadly
singed, and utterly despoiled of those whiskers which were the
glory of her physiognomy. The poor woman threw her arms
about Dolph's 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. Even the sage
grimalkin showed indubitable signs of joy at the return of the

youngster. She saw, perhaps, that they were a forlorn and
undone family, and felt a touch of that kindliness which fellow-sufferers
only know. But, in truth, cats are a slandered
people; they have more affection in them than the world commonly
gives them credit for.

The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw one being, at
least, beside herself, rejoiced at her son's return. “Tib knows
thee! poor dumb beast!” said she, smoothing down the
mottled coat of her favorite; then recollecting herself, with a
melancholy shake of the head, “Ah, my poor Dolph!” exclaimed
she, “thy mother can help thee no longer! She can
no longer help herself! What will become of thee, my poor
boy!”

“Mother,” said Dolph, “don't talk in that strain; I've been
too long a charge upon you; it's now my part to take care
of you in your old days. Come! be of good heart! you, and
I, and Tib will all see better days. I'm here, you see, young,
and sound, and hearty; then don't let us despair; I dare say
things will all, somehow or other, turn out for the best.”

While this scene was going on with the Heyliger family, the
news was carried to Doctor Knipperhausen, of the safe return
of his disciple. The little doctor scarce knew whether to
rejoice or be sorry at the tidings. He was happy at having the
foul reports which had prevailed concerning his country
mansion thus disproved; but he grieved at having his disciple,
of whom he had supposed himself fairly disencumbered, thus
drifting back, a heavy charge upon his hands. While balancing
between these two feelings, he was determined by the counsels
of Frau Ilsy, who advised him to take advantage of the truant
absence of the youngster, and shut the door upon him for
ever.

At the hour of bed-time, therefore, when it was supposed the
recreant disciple would seek his old quarters, everything was
prepared for his reception. Dolph, having talked his mother
into a state of tranquillity, sought the mansion of his quondam
master, and raised the knocker with a faltering hand. Scarcely,

however, had it given a dubious rap, when the doctor's head,
in a red night-cap, popped out of one window, and the
housekeeper's, in a white night-cap, out of another. He was
now greeted with a tremendous volley of hard names and hard
language , mingled with invaluable pieces of advice, such as
are seldom ventured to be given excepting to a friend in distress,
or a culprit at the bar. In a few moments, not a window
in the street but had its particular night-cap, listening to the
shrill treble of Frau Ilsy, and the guttural croaking of Dr.
Knipperhausen; and the word went from window to window,
“Ah! here's Dolph Heyliger come back, and at his old pranks
again.” In short, poor Dolph found he was likely to get
nothing from the doctor but good advice, a commodity so
abundant as even to be thrown out of the window; so he was
fain to beat a retreat, and take up his quarters for the night
under the lowly roof of honest Peter de Groodt.

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph was out at the
haunted house. Everything looked just as he had left it. The
fields were grass-grown and matted, and appeared as if nobody
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. The
water was of some depth; there was also 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 several hours employed without finding anything 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-goosechase
by mere dreams, and was on the point of throwing line
and all into the well, and giving up all further 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 interstices 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
which lay upon the article 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 engraved on its side, similar
to those over his mother's mantel-piece. 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 Killian Vander Spiegel 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 neighboring
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 this 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; everybody 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 abhorrence
of the town; but they were now considered excellent
jokes, and the gravest dignitary was fain to hold his sides when
listening to them. No one was more struck with Dolph's increasing
merit than his old master the doctor; and so forgiving
was Dolph, that he absolutely employed the doctor as his
family physician, only taking care that his prescriptions should
be always 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 parlor; and Peter de Groodt, as he sat by
the fireside, with one of her grandchildren on his knee, would
many a time congratulate her upon her son turning out so great
a man; upon which the good old soul would wag her head
with exultation, and exclaim, “Ah, neighbor, neighbor! 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,
and was so great a patron of modest merit, that any one who

could sing a good song, or tell a good story, was sure to find
a place at his table.

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, in a florid old age, of an apoplexy at a corporation
feast, and was buried with great honors in the yard of
the little Dutch church in Garden-street, where his tombstone
may still be seen, with a modest epitaph in Dutch, by his friend
Mynheer Justus Benson, an ancient and excellent poet of the
province.

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 till towards the latter
part of his life, and then in great confidence (for he was very
discreet), to a few of his particular cronies at his own table,
over a supernumerary 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.