USA > New York > New York City > The story of the city of New York > Part 7
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27
A guide-board off Coenties Slip warns vessels of fifty tons or under not to anchor between that board and the Battery under a heavy penalty. Another near the present Fulton Ferry forbids any vessel to anchor above that point. Quite a fleet of vessels are swinging at anchor between the two points, and we find ourselves studying with interest the names painted in quaint letters on their sterns. There is the Little Fox and the Little Crane, pioneer ships in the Manhattan trade, the Herring, man-of-war, armed with two metal guns, sixteen iron, and two stone guns, the Flower of Guilder, the Sea Mew, Or- ange Tree, Three Kings, Blue Cock, New Netherland's Fortune, Black Eagle, Great Christopher, Pear Tree, King Solomon, New Netherland Indian, Morning Star, and others. As we stand viewing the scene, old Gilles de Voocht, the haven-master, making his round of the wharves, draws near, and we address
100
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
him. "Aye," he replies, "a rare fleet, driven in mostly by the last noreaster. D 'ye mind the Hope, there ? a fine craft, a regular Amsterdam liner. Her skipper, Julian Blanck, was the first sea-captain to build a house in New Netherlands ; the New Am- sterdam, yonder is another regular packet, Captain Adrian Bloemmaert. Her consort, the Prince Mau- rice, was lost on Fire Island beach in 1659; not the last ship, I warrant thee, to lay her bones on those devilish sands. A pretty craft, is she not? The patroon's yacht yonder plies between New Amster- dam, Sopus, and Fort Orange (Albany). She will take thee quite to Orange for ten florins. She hath a gun on the deck forward hung on a pivot, and her skipper may by law suffer fine and imprisonment if he keep not a strict watch on the way both against the Tankitikes and Wequaegeseeks, the Mohawks, and Mohegans."
We are about leaving the dock when a commotion arises, and looking up we see that the flag on the fort flagstaff has been hoisted to the mast-head, which means that a Holland ship is in the offing. To modern Manhattanese such an event seems a trifle, but to the ship and to the burghers of that day it was . a great event. To the former it meant the end of an eight weeks' voyage, a tedious course by the Canaries and Guiana, the Caribbees and Curacoa, Bahamas and Bermudas. To the people it meant news from home-of fathers and mothers, husbands, wives, chil- dren ; it meant the news of the day-whatever had been done abroad for the last two months in war, politics, science, art, or religion ; it meant to the
-
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
IOI
merchants news of ventures, fate of .argosies. Even while we look scores of boats filled with men, eager for news, put off and urge their way toward the ship, while the populace throng the Battery and welcome the new-comer with cheers and wav- ing of hats and handkerchiefs. By and by a single gun thunders from the fort. The vessel rounds to
r
BROAD STREET, 1663.
off the Battery, the naval master boards her, inspects manifests and papers, and she is then allowed to pro- ceed to her anchorage and to transfer her passengers in boats to the shore.
In our leisurely progress we next halt on the arched stone bridge spanning the canal at Broad
102
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
Street, and look up that thoroughfare. It is well built up with solid stone and brick houses having checker-work fronts and quaint crow-step gables, as seen in the engraving, and right through the centre of the street runs a canal, with houses and the trav- elled way on either side. The homesick burghers must have something to remind them of father-land, so they have widened and deepened the bed of a brook that originally flowed through the street, planked its sides, and formed a canal navigable for boats, skiffs, and canoes, and very useful to the farmers and Indians who are wont to land there with loads of produce and game for the markets in the vicinity.
Let us now turn into Whitehall Street and ride slowly up to our tavern, which stands near the point where that street debouches on the Bowling Green. Whitehall was then the patrician quarter of the city. Stuyvesant's town mansion stood at its foot, being known far and wide as " the White Hall," and giving the street its name. On its northern side were rows of quaint Dutch houses such as have been described, and that looked down on the Battery and beyond over the sparkling bay. Behind each house was a garden aglow with flowers, and still behind that an orchard well stocked with apple, peach, plum, pear, quince, and apricot trees ; for the old chroniclers all agree that at this period the fruit and flower gardens of the New Amsterdam far outrivalled the old. Tall oaks and chestnuts, spared from the native forests, pelt us with glossy brown nuts as we pass, while squirrels, red and gray, chatter in their tops.
.
103
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
By and by we come to the inn. It is a tall, two- story structure of Holland brick, with checker-work cornices, and at each gable an immense chimney of Manhattan blue stone, which bears, in clumsy iron figures, the date of its erection. There are the usual crow-step gables, and in addition, three long, narrow windows in the roof, the upper surface of each flush with the ridge-pole, the whole much resembling those curious structures built by the wasp on the interiors of barns and out-buildings in summer days. Projecting over the street is a wide, brick-floored, vine-covered stoep, or porch, furnished with wooden benches, while a long wooden arm extending over the street suspends a creaking sign-board, on which, in the guise of a very fat bow-legged Dutchman, is painted Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of Old and New Amsterdam.
As soon as we draw rein, the host, worthy Martin Cregier, president of the burgomasters and captain of the burgher guard, appears at the door to wel- come us, while an hostler holds our stirrups, for the inn prides itself on being able properly to entertain distinguished guests. Governors of the neighboring colonies, commissioners seeking the Dutch city to settle vexed questions of boundaries or runaway slaves, titled visitors from abroad, military and naval officers, great merchants, Virginia cavaliers, book- making travellers,-in fact, every visitor of quality seeking the city, is at once referred to the inn of Burgomaster Cregier. We will pass through the two-leaved oaken door into the wide hall. On one side is the parlor or drawing-room, with oiled
104
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
floor and cumbersome Dutch furniture ; on the other, the great public room of the inn. We look curi- ously about. The floor is sprinkled with fine white sand brought in the " Vlie boats " from Coney Island, and done into many quirls and curlacues by Gretch- en's broom. On the walls are hung deers' antlers, serving as racks, on which rests the long goose gun of the landlord and the fire-arms of his guests. There is also a great cupboard in the corner, well filled with decanters, glasses, and black bottles of ancient Hollands and rare old Madeira, and near it a rack stuck full of long pipes, each inscribed with the name of the owner. The tap-room opens off from the apartment in the rear. This public room is a sort of meeting-place or exchange for the merchants and gentry of the town-a club-house where they meet to hear and retail the news and discuss new ventures and projects. Two stout merchants are already there seated at a little table, drinking Sopus beer and smoking contemplatively. Placards quite cover the walls, and we have noticed many on the doors and sides of the buildings and on street corners as we passed. One, as we read, gives us a vivid idea of the iron rule of the Director.
" Item. Tavern-keepers and tapsters, from now hence- forward, shall not sell, barter, nor give as a present either by the first, second, or third hand, nor provide the natives with any beer, wine, brandy, or spirituous liquors, on pain of forfeiting their business, and an arbitrary cor- rection at the discretion of the Judge.
"Item. To prevent all fightings and mischiefs, they shall be obliged to notify the officer immediately in case any one
105
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
be wounded or hurt at their house, on pain of forfeiting their business, and one pound Flemish for every hour after the wound or hurt has been inflicted, and is con- cealed by the tapster or tavern-keeper.
" Item. The ordinances heretofore published against un- reasonable night revelling and immoderate drinking on the Sabbath, shall be observed with more strict attention and care by the tavern-keepers and tapsters, to wit : that they shall not admit nor entertain any company in the evening after the ringing of the farmer's bell, nor sell, nor furnish beer or liquor to any person-travellers and boarders alone excepted-on the Sunday before three o'clock in the afternoon when divine service is finished, under the penalty thereto affixed by law."
And on another placard, this bounty :
"Whereas, we are informed of the great ravages the wolf commits on the small cattle ; therefore, to animate and encourage the proprietors who will go out and shoot the same, we have resolved to authorize the assistant Schout and Schepens to give public notice that whoever shall exhibit a wolf to them which hath been shot on this island, on this side Haarlem, shall be promptly paid therefor by them, for a wolf fl. 20, and for a she-wolf fl. 30 in wampum or the value thereof."
As the sun sinks behind the noble forest trees that line Broadway, we sit with other guests on the stoep, where pipes and spiced sangaree are brought us by neat-handed Phillis. Looking down the line of Whitehall Street, we see on every stoep beautiful women and staid, bearded men, the former laughing and chatting among themselves or with acquaint- ances who, strolling by, stop for an exchange of
106
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
friendly gossip; the latter stolidly smoking their pipes. We view the moving panorama before us with undisguised interest. Down on the fort the sentry paces his beat. Lovers, two by two, stroll by and out on the Battery Green. We can but be impressed by the beauty of the maidens, who, in- deed, are celebrated on foreign shores. Carriages filled with ladies and gentlemen roll by, and anon the governor's coach, with the richly dressed ladies of his family within, bowing and smiling. Nor are the commonalty absent. There are laborers in long toil-stained frocks, bare-armed peasant-girls in waist and short gown, turbaned wenches market bent, herdsmen guiding sheep and cattle to the weekly fair, goatherds driving in their flocks to be milked, and outlandish carts, drawn indifferently by horses, donkeys, and oxen, bringing to market the produce of the outlying farms. Anon comes a band of Indians, in single file, moving stolidly, looking neither to right nor left, and clad in array capable of moving even Motley to laughter. One wears a blanket only ; another sports a doublet of bear-skin; his fellow a coat of raccoon skins ; and, to complete the grotesque array, the last is clad in a long mantle made of the feathers of the wild turkey. The party bear between them two fine bucks, a brace of wild turkeys, and quarters of a bear, and we at once place them as a hunting party coming to market with the fruits of the chase. By and by, in the stone church within the fort, a bell tolls ponderously-one, two, three- up to nine,-the curfew bell, called by the people the " Farmer's bell," probably because at that time the
107
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
city gates were closed, and none might return to their homes without. As its last notes cease, the lights fade from the stores and houses, the streets become silent, and soon New Amsterdam is lost in slumber. At the same moment Phillis comes to show us to our rooms. She leads the way to a large square room overhead, and in its smooth partition wall lets down a sort of trap-door, which discloses an opening with- in like a cupboard, in which are placed two great, soft, downy feather-beds. She sets down the tallow dip and departs, whereupon we disrobe and pop into the cupboard between the feather-beds. Phillis then returns, closes the door, and removes the light, leaving the guest to sleep peacefully in his box until morning. As there are several of these cupboards in the guest-chamber, the economy in room of Dutch sleeping arrangements is apparent.
We spend many succeeding days wandering about the city. The Bowling Green pleases us most. It is the "Common " laid out by the City Fathers, at an early day, in memory of the village green of father-land, the scene of public rejoicings and festivities, the parade of the military, and treaty ground of the Indians. Schoolboys are playing there on the morning we first visit it, and dozens of cute little blackamoors are trudging back and forth carrying water from the town pump next the fort. Now and then Gretchen comes with sleeves rolled above her elbows, and stout ankles visible beneath her scant skirt. One day, as we sit beneath a tow- ering elm, we are joined by a lean and withered old man in clerical garb-long black coat, black small-
108
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
clothes, and black stock,-whom we soon discover to be Jan Gillertsen, the "koeck," or bell-ringer. He sits down and converses with us in the grave and formal language of the day, in the course of which we learn that he had been once bell-ringer in the Great Kirk at the Hague, with its carillon of thirty bells, and that love for his daughter, the fair, blue-eyed Judith, wife to one of the city merchants, had brought him thither. By and by he invites us up into his chamber, beneath the belfry of the church in the fort. Over the door are carved these words :
This holy cell
Is Dedicated to the Son of Peace.
Che foot of bar neber profaned this floor,
Hor both borath here with his contentious boice
Affright these buildings. Charity bith prayer, Humility with abstinente, combined,
Are here the guardians of a saintly mind.
Within is a small octagonal chamber barely furnished with a pallet, a large round claw-footed table, a few chairs, a quaintly carved cabinet, which contains, besides the church plate, some old black-letter tomes and illuminated missals. There are besides several engravings of scriptural scenes on the wall, an hour- glass, and a fine old Nuremberg clock. The bell- rope comes through the ceiling from the belfry overhead, and the flutter of bats and owls in the chamber above easily suggests the presence of un- canny spirits. The old koeck held a grave office.
" He was," says one, "like him set upon a watch-tower of whom the prophet speaks. The city could not well go
.
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 109
on without him. He rang the laborers to their tasks, and at night called them to their firesides. He sum- moned the magistrates to court, the schoolmaster to his classes, the condemned to his doom. He rang the merry marriage peal, the Christmas chimes, tolled for the dead and the solemn funeral, and at nine his bell gave over the city to silence and slumber. On the Sabbath he called men to worship their Maker ; and day by day, in the belfry, he watched for the devouring flame that might, God letting, destroy the city."
Another grizzly old mustache whom we some- times find beneath the elm is the old trumpeter of Stuyvesant's men-at-arms. He has clean-cut features and a sardonic countenance, and when he stands erect it is with the inches and the air of a grenadier. He is full of martial recollections.
"Many a year is buried since I came," he begins. “It was in the year 1645. I remember it well, for in that year our Director, Kieft, held on the parade yonder his great council with the chiefs of the wild men. Verily they came in grand array-the chiefs, six of them, Oritany, who spoke for the Hackingsacks ; and Sesse- kennick and Willem, chiefs of the Tappaans ; and Rech- gawanak, Pacham, and Pennekeck, who spoke for the Onany ; Majanwettenemin, Marechawick, and Nyack, and Aepjen, chief of the Mohegans, who stood for the Wappinecks, the Wechquaesqueecks, the Sing Sings, and the Kicktawanks. These came in brave array, as I said, in their head-dresses of turkeys' feathers, and robes of dressed deer's hide, stuck full of eagle quills, with priceless belts of wampum about their necks and ankles ; and they sat in a half circle on the green, while the Direc-
-
IIO
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
tor and his councillors, likewise clad in their bravest, sat down to fill out the other half. Then the pipe of peace went around to all, and the great treaty was signed, after seven years of war. Afterward the Director thought it seemly to ask the chiefs to a great banquet in the burgo- master's tavern, whereat the Hollands, being ripe and ready, and more potent in heathen stomachs than in our own, the chiefs forsooth were put to bed in the inn, like babies ; yet had they the grace next morning to be heartily ashamed, and did hasten to put many miles of forest and river between themselves and the white man's fire-water."
This tale being exceedingly well received, the old soldier is led to tell another.
" I saw a braver sight here, however, under our present puissant Director, whom may the Lord God protect. It was on that Sunday he sailed for his happy victory over the Swedes, in 1655. After the sermon the burgher guard, seven hundred valiant men, mustered at the fort. At roll of drum they gathered before their colors, fully armed with both hand and side arms, their bandeleers well filled with powder and ball, their muskets properly loaded and provided with rests. Then they deployed upon the parade for inspection, while the whole town gazed, and the women pitied the caitiff Swedes. At last, preceded by drummers and trumpeter, the army marched up the 'Heere Straat' as far as the tavern of Wolfert Webber, who did refresh them with cakes and ale, after which they marched back, and went on board the fleet, which quickly bore them from our sight."
From the Parade we will enter and inspect the fort. It is a quadrangular earthwork, defended by
III
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
bastions faced with stone, on which are mounted twenty-two of the wide-mouthed guns of the day- bombards, culverins, serpentines, etc. These are of brass or bronze, and use stone as well as iron balls for missiles. The interior, or " parade," is a plain sur- face one hundred and fifty feet square, in the centre of
THE BATTERY IN 1663.
which is planted a tall flag-staff with rounds for ascend- ing, and from which floats the orange, white, and blue flag of the West India Company. On the north- west bastion is the quaint wind-mill shown in the en- graving, its tower turning on a pivot, such as one may still see in Holland, and on the eastern shore of Albe- marle Sound in North Carolina. There is another
II2
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
windmill on the North River shore slightly differing in form. The most prominent object within the fort, however, is the church of " Manhattan stone," built by Kieft in 1642, with its two peaked roofs, between which "the tower loomed aloft," the same tower in which the koeck keeps his lonely vigils. A marble slab in the front wall of the church bears this in- scription in Dutch : Ao. Do. MDCXLII. W. Kieft, Dr. Gr. Huft de Gernester dese Tempel doen Bou- wen. ("Anno Domini 1642. Wilhelm Kieft, Director General, hath the commonalty caused to build this temple.")
· The jail is on one side of the church, and the government house, a plain two-story structure of brick, also built by Kieft, on the other. Low stone barracks and storehouses complete the tale of buildings within the fort. Soldiers in gray jackets and baggy breeches are lounging about, and the towns-people with visiting friends promenade the ramparts, or form little groups on the parade -- for the fort is the lion of the young city-the seat of government, the church, the signal station and the scene of all military evolutions and displays ; a beautiful spot, too, with its views of harbor, rivers, and wooded shores. Sunday comes ; we will attend church, being curious to know more of the people and their religious customs. Half-past ten finds us in the fort near the church, just as the first stroke of the bell sounds, so that the church-goers pass in re- view before us. They come in two great streams, one down Broadway, another up Whitehall, and meet at the fort gate, Bowling Green being soon
II3
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
filled with the wagons and carts of country people, who have come from the green farms miles away, and out-span on the open spaces.
It is a pretty sight, this company of church-goers, for though the age was in many respects crude and hard, in the beauty and variety of costume it far exceeded ours. The ladies' gowns are left open in front to display the quilted petticoat, which in these days is the most important article of female dress. It is of different materials-cloth, silk, satin, camlet, and grosgrain ; and of colors to suit the taste of the wearer, red, blue, black, and white predominating. They wear colored hose, and low shoes with high heels, and colored hoods of silk or taffeta, instead of bonnets. Their hair is frizzled and curled, and sprinkled with powder ; they wear gold and diamond rings, on their fingers, and gold lockets on their bosoms, but greater attention seems to have been paid to their Bibles and psalm-books, which are richly bound in gold and silver, and attached by gold chains to their girdles. The gentlemen are elegantly attired in the costume of father-land. Their heads are covered with soft-felt hats, with wide brims looped up with rosettes, and with powdered " full- bottom " wigs. Their long coats are adorned with silver buttons, and the capacious pockets trimmed with silver lace. In material, there is colored stuff, red, blue, and buff ; black velvet, broadcloth, and silk. Their waistcoats, or doublets, are of velvet or cloth of brightest colors, and richly embroidered with silver lace. Their breeches, generally of the same 'material as their coats, end at the knee in black-silk
114
THE STORY OF NEW YORK.
stockings. Their shoes are low, and adorned with large silver buckles.
The worshippers have nearly all passed in when a carriage drives up to the fort entrance, and Gover- nor Stuyvesant and his party alight. There is the Governor, his wife, and his widowed sister, Mrs. Bayard. The Governor bears himself with a military air, despite the wooden leg, bound with silver bands, which replaced the one lost in honorable fight at St. Martins. His wife, a beautiful French lady, daughter of a famous Parisian divine, is worshipped by the gentlemen for her beauty, and envied by all the ladies for the Parisian elegance of her toilettes. We will follow the Governor's party into the church. It is a plain, bare edifice, with a very high pulpit, and above that a huge sounding-board. Scarcely are we seated when the tall forms of the burgomasters and schepens in their black offi- cial robes appear, preceded by the koeck and his assistants bearing the cushions for the official pew. At the same time Domine Megapolensis enters by the chancel door. At the foot of the pul- pit stairs he pauses, and with hat raised before his face, offers a silent invocation, while the people bow before him. As he seats himself in the pulpit, the zeikintrooster rises, and, facing the congregation, reads the morning lesson. The service proceeds. When the good domine's sermon has exceeded the hour limit marked by the sands in the hour-glass before him, the zeikintrooster announces the fact by three raps of his cane, and the sermon is brought to an end. Then the koeck inserts the public notices
115
SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.
to be read in the end of his mace, and hands them up to the minister. The reading being done, the deacons rise in their pews, while the domine delivers a short homily on the duty of remembering the poor, and then pass through the congregation, each bearing a long pole, to which a black velvet bag with a little bell is suspended, to receive the alms of the charita- ble. Service over, the people disperse to their homes, and the poor schout-fiscal is relieved of his irksome task of patrolling the streets, wand of office in hand, closing the doors of all tap-rooms, and chastising such negro slaves as he finds indulging in games, for although these people had holiday on Sunday, they were sternly prohibited from playing or gaming " during the hours of morning service." Having nothing better to do, we will follow one of the wagon parties which has come from the Walloon settlement on the Long Island shore-the nucleus of the pres- ent great city of Brooklyn. The wagon passes out of the water-gate before described, and along the river road to the ferry, which is near the present site of Fulton Ferry. There is a little house here- an open shed roofed with thatch,-a large flat- boat worked with sweeps, and several rude skiffs for conveying single passengers. A huge fish-horn hangs upon a tree near by, and seizing this, the Wal- loon blows a blast as loud as that which summoned Charlemagne at Roncesvalles. The old ferry-master and his slaves, away back in the forest, are a long time coming, and the traveller, to kill time, begins reading a placard which is affixed to the shed, and which, with many other rules and regulations, con-
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.