USA > New York > New York City > A history of New-York : from the beginning of the world to the end of the Dutch dynasty > Part 24
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But what, Oh muse !- was the rage of the gallant Peter, when from afar he saw his army yield ? With a voice of thunder did he roar after his recreant warriors. The men of the Manhattoes plucked up new courage when they heard their leader-or rather they dreaded his fierce displeasure, of which they stood in more awe than of all the Swedes in Chris- tendom-but the daring Peter, not waiting for their aid, plunged, sword in hand, into the thickest of the foe. Then did he display some such incredible achievements as have never been known since the miraculous days of the giants. Wherever he went, the enemy shrunk before him-with fierce impet- uosity he pushed forward, driving the Swedes, like dogs, into their own ditch-but as he fearlessly ad- vanced, the foe thronged in his rear, and hung upon his flank with fearful peril. One crafty Swede, ad- vancing warily on one side, drove his dastard sword full at the hero's heart; but the protecting power that watches over the safety of all great and good men, turned aside the hostile blade, and directed ,4
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to a side pocket, where reposed an enormous iron tobacco-box, endowed, like the shield of Achilles, with supernatural powers-no doubt in consequence of its being piously decorated with a portrait of the blessed St. Nicholas. Thus was the dreadful blow repelled, but not without occasioning to the great Peter a fearful loss of wind.
Like as a furious bear, when gored by curs, turns fiercely round, gnashes his teeth, and springs upon the foe, so did our hero turn upon the treacherous Swede. The miserable varlet sought in flight for safety -- but the active Peter, seizing him by an im- measurable queue, that dangled from his head-" Ah, whoreson caterpillar !" roared he, "here is what shall make dog's meat of thee !" So saying, he whirl- ed his trusty sword, and made a blow that would have decapitated him, but that the pitying steel struck short, and shaved the queue for ever from his crown. At this very moment a cunning arquebusier, perched on the summit of a neighbouring mound, levelled his deadly instrument, and would have sent the gallant Stuyvesant a wailing ghost to haunt the Stygian shore-had not the watchful Minerva, who had just stopped to tie up her garter, seen the great peril of her favourite chief, and despatched old Boreas with his bellows ; who, in the very nick of time, just as the match descended to the pan, gave such a lucky blast, as blew all the priming from the touch- hole !
Thus waged the horrid fight-when the stout Ri- singh, surveying the battle from the top of a little
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ravelin, perceived his faithful troops banged, beaten, and kicked by the invincible Peter. Language can- not describe the choler with which he was seized at the sight-he only stopped for a moment to disbur- then himself of five thousand anathemas ; and then drawing his immeasurable falchion, straddled down to the field of combat, with some such thundering strides as Jupiter is said by Hesiod to have taken when he strode down the spheres, to hurl his thun- derbolts at the Titans.
No sooner did these two rival heroes come face to face, than they each made a prodigious start, such as is made by your most experienced stage champions. Then did they regard each other for a moment, with bitter aspect, like two furious ram-cats, on the very point of a clapper-clawing. Then did they throw themselves in one attitude, then in another, striking their swords on the ground, first on the right side, then on the left-at last, at it they went with incred- ible ferocity. Words cannot tell the prodigies of strength and valour displayed in this direful encoun- ter-an encounter, compared to which the far-famed battles of Ajax with Hector, of Eneas with Turnus, Orlando with Rodomont, Guy of Warwick with Col brand the Dane, or that renowned Welsh knight, Sir Owen of the Mountains with the giant Guylon, were all gentle sports and holyday recreations. At length the valiant Peter, watching his opportunity, aimed a fearful blow, with the full intention of cleaving his adversary to the very chine; but Risingh, nimbly raising his sword, warded it off so narrowly, that
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glancing on one side, it shaved away a huge canteen that he always carried swung on one side; thence pursuing its trenchant course, it severed off a deep coat-pocket, stored with bread and cheese-all which dainties rolling among the armies, occasioned a fear- ful scrambling between the Swedes and Dutchmen, and made the general battle to wax ten times more furious than ever.
Enraged to see his military stores thus wofully laid waste, the stout Risingh, collecting all his forces, aimed a mighty blow full at the hero's crest. In vain did his fierce little cocked hat oppose its course; the biting steel clove through the stubborn ram-beaver, and would infallibly have cracked his crown, but that the skull was of such adamantine hardness, that the brittle weapon shivered into pieces, shedding a thousand sparks, like beams of glory, round his grizzly visage.
Stunned with the blow, the valiant Peter reeled, turned up his eyes, and beheld fifty thousand suns, besides moons and stars, dancing about the firmament -at length, missing his footing, by reason of his wooden leg, down he came, on his seat of honour, with a crash that shook the surrounding hills, and would infallibly have wrecked his anatomical system, had he not been received into a cushion softer than velvet, which Providence, or Minerva, or St. Nicho- las, or some kindly cow, had benevolently prepared for his reception.
The furious Risingh, in despite of that noble maxim, cherished by all true knights, that " fair play VOL. II. M
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is a jewel," hastened to take advantage of the hero's fall ; but just as he was stooping to give the fatal blow, the ever-vigilant Peter bestowed him a sturdy thwack over the sconce with his wooden leg, that set some dozen chimes of bells ringing triple bob majors in his cerebellum. The bewildered Swede staggered with the blow, and in the mean time the wary Peter, espying a pocket-pistol lying hard by, (which had dropped from the wallet of his faithful 'squire and trumpeter, Van Corlear, during his furious encounter with the drummer,) discharged it full at the head of the reeling Risingh-Let not my reader mistake-it was not a murderous weapon loaded with powder and ball, but a little sturdy stone pottle, charged to the muzzle with a double dram of true Dutch courage, which the knowing Van Corlear al- ways carried about him by way of replenishing his valour. The hideous missive sung through the air, and true to it course, as was the mighty fragment of a rock discharged at Hector by bully Ajax, encoun- tered the huge head of the gigantic Swede with match- less violence.
This heaven-directed blow decided the eventful battle. The ponderous pericranium of General Jan Risingh sunk upon his breast; his knees tottered under him ; a deathlike torpor seized upon his giant frame, and he tumbled to the earth with such tre- mendous violence, that old Pluto started with affright, lest he should have broken through the roof of his infernal palace.
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His fall was the signal of defeat and victory-The Swedes gave way-the Dutch pressed forward ; the former took to their heels, the latter hotly pursued- some entered with them, pell-mell, through the sally- port-others stormed the bastion, and others scram- bled over the curtain. Thus, in a little while, the impregnable fortress of Fort Christina, which like another Troy had stood a siege of full ten hours, was finally carried by assault, without the loss of a single man on either side. Victory, in the likeness of a gigantic ox fly, sat perched upon the cocked hat of the gallant Stuyvesant ; and it was universally de- clared, by all the writers whom he hired to write the history of his expedition, that on this memorable day he gained a sufficient quantity of glory to immor- talize a dozen of the greatest herocs in Christendom!
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CHAPTER VIII.
In which the author and the reader, while reposing after the battle, fall into a very grave discourse- after which is recorded the conduct of Peter Stuy- vesant after his victory.
THANKS to St. Nicholas, we have safely finished this tremendous battle : let us sit down, my worthy reader, and cool ourselves, for I am in a prodigious sweat and agitation-Truly this fighting of battles is hot work ! and if your great commanders did but know what trouble they give their historians, they would not have the conscience to achieve so many horrible victories. But methinks I hear my reader complain, that throughout this boasted battle, there is not the least slaughter, nor a single individual maimed, if we except the unhappy Swede, who was shorne of his queue by the trenchant blade of Peter Stuyvesant ; all which, he observes, is a great outrage on probability, and highly injurious to the interest of the narration.
This is certainly an objection of no little moment ; but it arises entirely from the obscurity that envelops the remote periods of time, about which I have un- dertaken to write. Thus, though, doubtless, from the importance of the object, and the prowess of the parties concerned, there must have been terrible car- nage, and prodigies of valour displayed, before the
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walls of Christina, yet, notwithstanding that I have consulted every history, manuscript, and tradition, touching this memorable, though long-forgotten battle, I cannot find mention made of a single man killed or wounded in the whole affair.
This is, without doubt, owing to the extreme mod esty of our forefathers, who, like their descendants, were never prone to vaunt of their achievements ; but it is a virtue that places their historian in a most embarrassing predicament ; for, having promised my readers a hideous and unparalleled battle, and having worked them up into a warlike and bloodthirsty state of mind, to put them off without any havoc and slaughter, was as bitter a disappointment as to sum- mon a multitude of good people to attend an execu- tion, and then cruelly balk by a reprieve.
Had the inexorable fates only allowed me some half a score of dead men, I had been content; for [ would have made them such heroes as abounded in the olden time, but whose race is now unfortunately extinct-any one of whom, if we may believe those authentic writers, the poets, could drive great armies like sheep before him, and conquer and desolate whole cities by his single arm.
1
But seeing that I had not a single life at my dis- posal, all that was left me was to make the most 1 could of my battle, by means of kicks, and cuffs, and bruises, and such like ignoble wounds. And here I cannot but compare my dilemma, in some sort, to that of the divine Milton, who, having arrayed with sublime preparation his immortal hosts against each
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other, is sadly put to it how to manage them, and how he shall make the end of his battle answer to the beginning ; inasmuch as, being mere spirits, he cannot deal a mortal blow, nor even give a flesh wound to any of his combatants. For my part, the greatest difficulty I found, was, when I had once put my warriors in a passion, and let them loose into the midst of the enemy, to keep them from doing mis- chief. Many a time had I to restrain the sturdy Peter from cleaving a gigantic Swede to the very waistband, or spitting half-a-dozen little fellows on his sword, like so many sparrows: and when I had set some hundreds of missives flying in the air, I did not dare to suffer one of them to reach the ground, lest it should have put an end to some unlucky Dutchman.
The reader cannot conceive how mortifying it is to a writer, thus in a manner to have his hands tied, and how many tempting opportunities I had to wink at, where I might have made as fine a death-blow as ahy recorded in history or song.
From my own experience, I begin to doubt most potently of the authenticity of many of Homer's sto- ries. I verily believe, that when he had once lanched one of his favourite heroes among a crowd of the enemy, he cut down many an honest fellow, without any authority for so doing, excepting that he present- ed a fair mark-and that often a poor devil was sent to grim Pluto's domains, merely because he had a name that would give a sounding turn to a period. But I disclaim all such unprincipled liberties-let me but have truth and the law on my side, and no
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man would fight harder than myself: but since the various records I consulted did not warrant it, I had too much conscience to kill a single soldier. By St. Nicholas, but it would have been a pretty piece of business ! My enemies, the critics, who I foresee will be ready enough to lay any crime they can discover at my door, might have charged me with murder outright-and I should have estcemed myself lucky to escape with no harsher verdict than manslaughter!
And now, gentle reader, that we are tranquilly sit- ting down here, smoking our pipes, permit me to in- dulge in a melancholy reflection, which at this mo- ment passes across my mind .- How vain, how fleet -- ing, how uncertain are all those gaudy bubbles after which we are panting and toiling 'in this world of fair delusion! The wealth which the miser has amassed with so many weary days, so many sleepless nights, a spendthrift heir may squander away in joy- less prodigality. The noblest monuments which pride has ever reared to perpetuate a name, the hand of time will shortly tumble into ruins-and even the brightest laurels, gained by feats of arms, may wither and be for ever blighted by the chilling neglect of mankind .-- " How many illustrious heroes," says the good Boetius, " who were once the pride and glory of the age, hath the silence of historians buried in eternal oblivion !" And this it was that induced the Spartans, when they went to battle, solemnly to sacri- fice to the muses, supplicating that their achieve- ments should be worthily recorded. Had not Homer tuned his lofty lyre, observes the elegant Cicero, the
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' valour of Achilles had remained unsung. And such too, after all the toils and perils he had braved, after all the gallant actions he had achieved, such too had nearly been the fate of the chivalric Peter Stuy- vesant, but that I fortunately stepped in and engraved his name on the indelible tablet of history, just as the caitiff Time was silently brushing it away for ever.
The more I reflect, the more am I astonished at the important character of the historian. He is the sovereign censor, to decide upon the renown or infamy of his fellow-men-he is the patron of kings and conquerors, on whom it depends whether they shall live in after ages, or be forgotten, as were their ancestors before them. The tyrant may oppress while the object of his tyranny exists, but the histo- rian possesses superior might, for his power extends even beyond the grave. The shades of departed and long-forgotten heroes anxiously bend down from above, while he writes, watching each movement of his pen, whether it shall pass by their names with neglect, or inscribe them on the deathless pages of renown. Even the drop of ink that hangs trembling on his pen, which he may either dash upon the floor or waste in idle scrawlings-that very drop, which to him is not worth the twentieth part of a farthing, may be of incalculable value to some departed worthy -- may elevate half a score, in one moment, to im- mortality, who would have given worlds, had they possessed them, to insure the glorious mecd.
Let not my readers imagine, however, that I am in- dulging in vain-glorious boastings, or am anxious to
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blazon forth the importance of my tribe. On the contrary, I shrink when I reflect on the awful re- sponsibility we historians assume-I shudder to think what direful commotions and calamities we occasion in the world-I swear to thee, honest reader, as I am a man, I weep at the very idea! Why, let me ask, are so many illustrious men daily tearing them- selves away from the embraces of their families- slighting the smiles of beauty-despising the allure- ments of fortune, and exposing themselves to the miseries of war ?- Why are kings desolating empires, and depopulating whole countries ? In short, what induces all great men, of all ages and countries, to commit so many victories and misdeeds, and inflict so many miseries upon mankind and on themselves, but the mere hope that some historian will kindly take them into notice, and admit them into a corner of his volume. For, in short, the mighty object of all their toils, their hardships, and privations, is noth- ing but immortal fame-and what is immortal fame ? -why, half a page of dirty paper !- Alas ! alas ! how humiliating the idea-that the renown of so great a man as Peter Stuyvesant should depend upon the pen of so little a man as Diedrich Knickerbocker !
And now, having refreshed ourselves after the fa- tigues and perils of the field, it behoves us to return once more to the scene of conflict, and inquire what were the results of this renowned conquest. The fortress of Christina being the fair metropolis, and in a manner the key to New-Sweden its capture was speedily followed by the entire subjugation of the
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province. This was not a little promoted by the gallant and courteous deportment of the chivalric Peter. Though a man terrible in battle, yet in the hour of victory was he endued with a spirit gene- rous, merciful, and humane-he vaunted not over his enemies, nor did he make defeat more galling by un- manly insults ; for like that mirror of knightly virtue, the renowned Paladin Orlando, he was more anxious to do great actions than to talk of them after they were done. He put no man to death; ordered no houses to be burnt down ; permitted no ravages to be perpetrated on the property of the vanquished, and even gave one of his bravest officers a severe ad- monishment with his walking-staff, for having been detected in the act of sacking a hen-roost.
He moreover issued a proclamation, inviting the inhabitants to submit to the authority of their High Mightinesses ; but declaring, with unexampled clem- ency, that whoever refused should be lodged, at the public expense, in a goodly castle provided for the purpose, and have an armed retinue to wait on them in the bargain. In consequence of these beneficent terms, about thirty Swedes stepped manfully forward and took the oath of allegiance; in reward for which, they were graciously permitted to remain on the banks of the Delaware, where their descendants reside at this very day. But I am told by divers oh- servant travellers, that they have never been able to get over the chapfallen looks of their ancestors, and do still unaccountably transmit from father to son
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manifest marks of the sound drubbing given them by the sturdy Amsterdammers.
The whole country of New-Sweden, having thus yielded to the arms of the triumphant Peter, was re- duced to a colony, called South River, and placed under the superintendence of a lieutenant-governor ; subject to the control of the supreme government at New-Amsterdam. This great dignitary was called Mynher William Beekman, or rather Beckman, who derived his surname, as did Ovidius Naso of yore, from the lordly dimensions of his nose, which pro- jected from the centre of his countenance like the beak of a parrot. He was the great progenitor of the tribe of the Beekmans, one of the most ancient and honourable families of the province, the mem- bers of which do gratefully commemorate the origin of their dignity, not as your noble families in Eng- land would do, by having a glowing proboscis em- blazoned in their escutcheon, but by one and all wearing a right goodly nose stuck in the very middle of their faces.
Thus was this perilous enterprise gloriously termi- nated with the loss of only two men-Wolfert Van Horne, a tall spare man, who was knocked over- board by the boom of a sloop, in a flaw of wind ; and fat Brom Van Bummel, who was suddenly carried off by an indigestion ; both, however, were immor- talized as having bravely fallen in the service of their country. True it is, Peter Stuyvesant had one of his limbs terribly fractured, being shattered to pieces in the act of storming the fortress ; but as it was for-
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tunately his wooden leg, the wound was promptly and effectually healed.
And now nothing remains to this branch of my history, but to mention that this immaculate hero, and his victorious army, returned joyously to the Manhattoes, where they made a solemn and tri- umphant entry, bearing with them the conquered Ri- singh, and the remnant of his battered crew, who had refused allegiance: for it appears that the gigantic Swede had only fallen into a swoon at the end of the battle, from whence he was speedily restored by a wholesome tweak of the nose.
These captive heroes were lodged, according to the promise of the governor, at the public expense, in a fair and spacious castle ; being the prison of state, of which Stoffel Brinkerhoff, the immortal conqueror of Oyster Bay, was appointed governor ; and which has ever since remained in the possession of his descendants .*
It was a pleasant and goodly sight to witness the joy of the people of New-Amsterdam, at beholding their warriors once more return from this war in the wilderness. The old women thronged round Antony Van Corlear, who gave the whole history of the campaign with matchless accuracy ; saving that he took the credit of fighting the whole battle himself, and especially of vanishing the stout Risingh, which
This castle, though very much altered and modernized, is still in being, and stands at the corner of Pearl-street, facing Coenties' slip.
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he considered himself as clearly entitled to, seeing that it was effected by his own stone pottle.
The schoolmasters throughout the town gave holy- day to their little urchins, who followed in droves after the drums, with paper caps on their heads, and sticks in their breeches, thus taking the first lesson in the art of war. As to the sturdy rabble, they thronged at the heels of Peter Stuyvesant wherever he went, waving their greasy hats in the air, and shouting " Hard-koppig Piet for ever !"
It was, indeed, a day of roaring rout and jubilee. A huge dinner was prepared at the Stadt-house in honour of the conquerors, where were assembled, in one glorious constellation, the great and the little lu- minaries of New-Amsterdam. There were the lordly Schout and his obsequious deputy-the burgomasters with their officious schepens at their elbows-the subaltern officers at the elbows of the schepens, and so on to the lowest hanger-on of police; every Tag having his Rag at his side, to finish his pipe, drink off his heel-taps, and laugh at his flights of immortal dulness. In short-for a city feast is a city feast all the world over, and has been a city feast ever since the creation-the dinner went off much the same as do our great corporation junketings and fourth of July banquets. Loads of fish, flesh, and fowl were devoured, oceans of liquor drunk, thousands of pipes smoked, and many a dull joke honoured with much obstreperous fat-sided laughter.
I must not omit to mention, that to this far-famed VOL. II. N
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victory Peter Stuyvesant was indebted for another of his many titles-for so hugely delighted were the honest burghers with his achievements, that they unanimously honoured him with the name of Pietre de Groodt, that is to say, Peter the Great, or, as it was translated by the people of New-Amsterdam, Piet de Pig-an appellation which he maintained even unto the day of his death.
BOOK VII.
CONTAINING THE THIRD PART OF THE REIGN OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG-HIS TROUBLES WITH THE BRITISH NATION AND THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE DUTCH DYNASTY.
CHAPTER I.
How Peter Stuyvesant relieved the sovereign people from the burthen of taking care of the nation-with sundry particulars of his conduct in time of peace.
THE history of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant fur- nishes a melancholy picture of the incessant cares and vexations inseparable from government; and may serve as a solemn warning to all who are am- bitious of attaining the seat of power. Though crowned with victory, enriched by conquest, and returning in triumph to his metropolis, his exultation was checked by beholding the sad abuses that had taken place during the short interval of his absence.
The populace, unfortunately for their own comfort, had taken a deep draught of the intoxicating cup of power, during the reign of William the Testy ; and though upon the accession of Peter Stuyvesant, they felt, with a certain instinctive perception, which mobs as well as cattle possess, that the reins of government had passed into stronger hands, yet could they not
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help fretting and chafing and champing upon the bit, in restive silence.
It seems, by some strange and inscrutable fatality, to be the destiny of most countries, (and more espe- cially of your enlightened republics,) always to be governed by the most incompetent man in the na- tion-so that you will scarcely find an individual, throughout the whole community, who cannot point out innumerable errors in administration, and con- vince you, in the end, that had he been at the head of affairs, matters would have gone on a thousand times more prosperously. Strange ! that government, which seems to be so generally understood, should1 invariably be so erroneously administered-strange, that the talent of legislation, so prodigally bestowed, should be denied to the only man in the nation t, whose station it is requisite !
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