The Epic of New York City

by Edward Robb Ellis

  Fortunately for the Dutch, the Indians seemed unable to mount an unremitting siege on the fort but limited themselves to hit-and-run raids. The Dutch also were lucky enough to find an able leader. An Englishman, named Captain John Underhill, arrived here at the critical moment. Underhill was an expert Indian fighter, who had taken part in the war against the Pequot tribe in Connecticut. He brought fifty English soldiers and settlers to New Amsterdam, was guaranteed payment for his services, and then decided to strike the enemy an annihilating blow.

  The biggest Indian stronghold was a village in the rugged country north of Stamford, Connecticut. Captain Underhill embarked from Manhattan in 3 yachts, which carried his own small force and the 130 to 150 Dutch soldiers finally sent here from Holland. The combined body landed at Greenwich, marched a full day, and then fell on the Indian settlement one winter’s night. Before daybreak the battle was over. That ghastly night of the full moon 8 Indians escaped; the snow was reddened by the bloody corpses of 700 tribesmen. Underhill’s small army lost only 15 men.

  After this overwhelming victory, Dutch forces sallied forth from Fort Amsterdam, invaded Westchester County, and killed 500 more redskins. The Indians sued for peace, and a treaty was signed on August 29,1645.

  During this Indian war the Dutch colonists had lost much and suffered greatly. They blamed everything on Governor Kieft; both private individuals and the Eight Men complained about him to Holland. Kieft was summoned home to defend himself against charges of blundering and cowardice. On the return voyage the ship was sunk, and Kieft drowned. Then a grizzled warrior with a wooden leg stumped onto the scene.

  Chapter 3

  PETER STUYVESANT TAKES COMMAND

  PETER STUYVESANT sat. The town elders stood. He kept his hat on. They took theirs off. It was a long time before he even condescended to notice them. This ominous scene took place on May 27, 1647, when Stuyvesant was inaugurated as the new director general of New Netherland.

  At last, in a room tight with tension, he spoke: “I shall govern you as a father his children, for the advantage of the chartered West India Company, and these burghers, and this land.” Everyone noted the sequence of values. When Stuyvesant added that “every man should have justice done him,” the tension broke, and the people clapped until their palms reddened. Nonetheless, one observer reflected sourly that the new governor was behaving like the czar of Russia. Some in the group analyzed the name Stuyvesant, a compound of the Dutch word stuyven, meaning to stir up, and the English sand. Would their new overlord stir up the sand, kick up dust?

  Curious eyes scanned the face and figure of Peter Stuyvesant. Long locks of hair dangled on both sides of his swarthy cheeks. Frown lines cut deep into the bridge of his hawklike nose. He was clean-shaven and stubborn-chinned. For a fifty-five-year-old man he was well preserved. His sturdy soldier’s body, a little above medium height, had weathered many a campaign. Faultlessly dressed in the height of Dutch fashion, Peter Stuyvesant wore a wide collar that spread over his velvet jacket like a white water lily. Ornamental slits in his jacket sleeves revealed full puffed shirtsleeves underneath. His copious breeches were fastened to his hose at the knees by handsome scarves, tied into knots. A cloth rose decorated his shoe.

  His left shoe. His only shoe. Peter Stuyvesant had lost his right leg. The people of New Amsterdam sneaked glances at that wooden leg bound in silver bands. In time to come they were to hear the rat-a-tat-tat of his artificial limb when Peg Leg Peter became angry. A few even learned how he had lost his leg.

  Born in Holland and the son of a minister, Stuyvesant had gone through college and then hired himself out as a soldier for the militant Dutch West India Company. His quick mind, strong character, and personal magnetism lifted him to the governorship of the island of Curaçao. During a raid against the Portuguese of nearby St. Martin Island he was wounded so badly that he was invalided back to Holland, where his right leg was amputated. He was complimented for his courage but censured for his misjudgment in launching the attack.

  While convalescing, Stuyvesant was nursed by his sister, Annake, of whom he was extremely fond. Eleven years older than Peter, she was tall, rather unattractive, but as determined in her own quiet way as her stormy brother. Peter and Annake married a brother and sister. He took to wife the lovely Judith Bayard, by whom he had two sons. Annake wed Samuel Bayard. The Bayards were descended from eminent Huguenots, who had fled from France to Holland to escape persecution.

  Mrs. Stuyvesant was a beautiful blonde, with a voice as sweet as her husband’s was harsh. She enjoyed music and dressed herself in the height of French fashion. Besides speaking French and Dutch fluently, she acquired a good command of the English language after her arrival here. Peter was a master of Latin but spoke English haltingly.

  Soon after the Stuyvesants had landed in New Amsterdam, Annake’s husband died in Holland. Deciding to join her brother, she sailed from the homeland with her three sons and their tutor. This scholar proved to be so unscholarly that the widow took over the education of her children. In the New World she met and married one of the colony’s officials, Nicholas Verlett.

  Peter Stuyvesant had been ordered to put New Netherland on a paying basis. Conditions were troubled: trade faltering, smuggling widespread, money lacking, morals murky, and reforms needed. To help him govern the colony, Stuyvesant appointed a five-man council, but this was a mere gesture. He ran the whole show. One of his first problems was how to impose taxes—not to levy tribute on the Indians, as the foolish Kieft had tried to do. No, Stuyvesant would have to tax the white colonists themselves, even though for two centuries Dutchmen had declared that taxation without representation was tyranny.

  With company approval, Stuyvesant decided to grant the colonists the appearance of representation and then tap their tills. He ordered the people to elect eighteen of their “most notable, reasonable, honest and respectable” men. When this was done, he himself chose half of the eighteen to serve as an advisory board. The function of these Nine Men was to assist, when called on, in providing for the general welfare. The history of Stuyvesant’s seventeen-year rule is that of a struggle between him and the people, who wanted a truly popular government.

  Taxes were imposed, but it was difficult to collect them. Kieft’s blunders and greed left the colonists with little respect for any representative of the company. Kieft had not departed immediately on his ill-starred voyage to Holland after his dismissal as director general. In fact, during Stuyvesant’s inauguration the deposed governor stood beside his successor and even insisted on saying a few words. Kieft thanked the people for their fidelity, wished them happiness, and bade them farewell. From the audience there arose murmurs: “We’re glad your reign is over,” and “Good riddance!”

  Then someone suggested that Kieft should be voted the conventional thanks for his official conduct. Two men said bluntly that they had no reason to thank him and would not do so. One of them was named Kuyter. The other was Melyn. Both had lost much in the Indian war provoked by Kieft. By this time everyone knew the gruesome details of the Pavonia Massacre. Dutch soldiers had snatched Indian children from their mothers’ breasts and hacked the infants to death. Other sucklings had been bound to boards, tortured, and then murdered. Still other Indian children had been thrown into the river by the cruel Dutchmen.

  During the confrontation between Kieft on the one hand and Kuyter and Melyn on the other, these gory matters were not mentioned. Nevertheless, as Stuyvesant heard his predecessor defied and humiliated, the scowl lines deepened in his stern face. But Kuyter and Melyn were not content to let it go at that. After Stuyvesant’s inauguration, after he had begun his work of reconstruction and reform, these two stubborn Dutchmen urged that an investigation be held to determine the cause of the late Indian war. They suggested that colonists should testify, evidence be compiled, and a report about Kieft’s conduct be sent to Holland.

  Stuyvesant now appointed a commission to pass on the propriety of such an inquiry. However, the moment it a
ssembled, he blasted Kuyter and Melyn, calling them “two malignant fellows” and “disturbers of the peace.” A company man to the core, Stuyvesant sided with Kieft from the very start. Trumped-up charges were brought against Kuyter and Melyn. They were accused of slandering and threatening the former governor. Then they were arrested on charges of rebellion and sedition and brought to trial almost immediately.

  The trial, which lasted several days, stirred up wild excitement throughout the town. Taking no chances, Stuyvesant himself mounted the bench to sit as judge. No one was surprised at the verdict: guilty. Melyn was banished from New Netherland for 7 years and fined 300 guilders. Kuyter was exiled for 3 years and fined 150 guilders. Glaring at Melyn, Peg Leg Peter roared, “If I thought there were any danger of your trying an appeal, I would hang you this minute to the tallest tree on the island!”

  Soon afterward, Kieft sailed for Holland with his fortune, which his enemies estimated to be 400,000 guilders. He took Kuyter and Melyn with him as prisoners. As has been noted, the ship never reached its destination, being wrecked on a rock off the coast of Wales. When it appeared that all aboard would perish, the conscience-stricken Kieft went to his prisoners and stammered, “Friends, I—I—have done you wrong! Can you—forgive me?” Kieft and 80 passengers were drowned. Kuyter, Melyn, and 18 other persons were saved.

  After many adventures Kuyter and Melyn made their way to Holland, to the capital at The Hague, and there they appealed to the Dutch government despite Stuyvesant’s threats. The States General usually showed more concern for the welfare of Dutch colonists than did the Dutch West India Company. The Dutch government suspended sentence on Kuyter and Melyn and granted them the right to return to New Netherland under safe-conduct passes. Kuyter tarried in Holland, probably to manage the case should Stuyvesant press it, while Melyn sailed again for New Amsterdam, where he was welcomed as a hero. All this was a blow to Peter Stuyvesant.

  His reforms and other changes resulted in many firsts in the city’s history, including the following:

  In 1648 the first pier was built on the East River.

  In 1652 the first Latin school was established, and the first law against fast driving was passed.

  In 1653 the first prison was built inside the fort; the first poorhouse was erected at 21-23 Beaver Street; the City Tavern became the first City Hall; a night watch was created; and the first price-fixing occurred.

  In 1654 the canal on Broad Street was rebuilt.

  In 1655 the first lottery was held.

  In 1656 the first city survey showed 120 houses and 1,000 inhabitants; the first broker went into business; and the first market was established at Whitehall and Pearl streets.

  In 1657 Jacques Cortelyou became the first commuter by traveling daily between his Long Island home and Manhattan.

  In 1658 the first coroner’s inquest was held.

  In 1659 the first hospital was erected on Bridge Street.

  In 1660 the first post office was opened, and the first city directory was published.

  In 1661 the first unemployment relief went into effect, and the first law against loan sharks was passed.

  In 1663 the city experienced its first recorded earthquake.

  Laws were hard to enforce and taxes difficult to collect because many colonists had become lawless. It was obvious to the people that the company preferred its profits to their prosperity. Racially, culturally, and religiously, the inhabitants of New Netherland were a mixed breed, taking pleasure where they found it, unlike the homogeneous and Puritanical New Englanders. Although Dutchmen were most numerous and Dutch influences generally prevailed, the influx of Englishmen, Frenchmen, and other nationals brought several cultures into jostling and creative juxtaposition.

  Most people realized that Peter Stuyvesant was doing his energetic best to maintain order and develop the province, but they resented his high-handed methods and denial of democracy. In their minds suspicion grew like a cancer, They had a right to be suspicious, for without the knowledge of Stuyvesant his secretary was pocketing part of the tax revenues. Besides, the people asked themselves, why should they pay a tariff in New Netherland when no tariff was imposed in New England? What was wrong with smuggling goods back and forth among the colonies? So even though Stuyvesant used two Dutch men-of-war as revenue cutters, he still was unable to stamp out all illicit trade. At last the public learned of the graft taken by Stuyvesant’s secretary; he committed suicide rather than stand trial.

  Peg Leg Peter, who liked his glass of schnapps now and then, agonized over the general drunkenness and constant knife fighting in the streets. Beer was the preferred drink, but other favorites included brandy, gin, and rum. In summertime wine was cooled with ice, while in winter it was served mulled—heated, sweetened, and spiced. There were too many taverns for so small a town. These places were packed with roistering men, who drank heavily, enjoyed companionship, played chess, shot dice, stroked billiard cues, dealt cards, and doted on games of chance.

  A favorite outdoor sport was called pulling the goose or riding the goose. A bird’s head was greased, the fowl was hung by its feet from a rope stretched over a road, and then the contestants rode underneath at a gallop and tried to grab it. Stuyvesant forbade servants to ride the goose, but this only increased the game’s popularity. The goose continued to hang high.

  The Dutch introduced bowling into America. They rolled balls at nine pins set up on the lawn of Bowling Green. Autumn brought turkey shooting, and in Stuyvesant’s time partridges were brought down from the air over the fort itself. In winter everyone skated and went sleighing. When the weather was warm, pantalooned Dutch youths rowed apple-cheeked maidens to picnic on Oyster Island, known today as Ellis Island.

  Then too, the Dutch colonists were more addicted to holidays and festivals than the thin-lipped Puritans of New England were. On New Year’s Day courtesy calls were made from home to home, Dutch girls in manifold petticoats and other finery awaiting the arrival of eligible young men. Twelfth Night, which fell a few days after New Year’s, was always gay. Housewives baked Twelfth Night cakes with a gilded bean hidden inside, and the lucky person who found the bean became King of Misrule for the evening. Children jumped over lighted candles. Singing, bedecked in costumes, all would be led about the room by three men disguised as the Three Wise Men, while a fourth carried a light suggesting the star of Bethlehem.

  On St. Valentine’s Day, which the Dutch called Vrouwen-dagh, maidens frolicked about the streets, striking young men with knotted cords. At Easter time the children painted Easter eggs. The seventh Sunday after Easter was called Whitsuntide, or White Sunday. Houses were decorated festively, games were played, and servants were allowed to act up a bit. On May Day houses bloomed with garlands of flowers, and people danced on the green around a Maypole. Ardent swains pulled blushing girls onto “kissing bridges,” while thoughtless young men placed scarecrows on the roofs of houses inhabited by unmarried girls.

  Like the Pilgrims, the Dutch set aside a certain day for Thanksgiving, but it did not fall on the same date each year and was not celebrated annually. For example, on August 12, 1654, Stuyvesant ordered a Thanksgiving because peace had been reached between Holland and England. Men and women danced around a huge bonfire and guzzled free beer provided by the city fathers. The beer bill that day came to fifty-eight guilders, or enough for everyone to get tipsy.

  November 10 marked St. Martin’s Eve, and that night and the following day the Dutch staged parties all over town. Dinner always featured roast goose. After the flesh had been devoured, the fowl’s breastbone was examined. If it was hard, this foretold a severe winter; if soft, a mild one.

  St. Nicholas’ Eve was celebrated on December 5. This minor saint from the fourth century A.D. was the secular deity of the Dutch. Supposedly he came down the chimney on the eve of his birthday, which fell on December 6. Excited children piled up hay for his horses. The walls were hung with three oranges symbolizing the three gold dowries St. Nicholas had allegedly given to t
hree poor but deserving sisters. It was said, too, that the saint had once saved a sailor from drowning, so salt-soaked rough-weather gear dangled in the room. Another display consisted of birch rods meant for boys and girls who had been naughty. Christmas itself was observed quietly.

  When times were good, the Dutch feasted on venison, turkey, partridge, quail, tripe, fish, oysters, mussels, crabs, corn mush and milk, headcheese, sausage, bologna, peas, cole slaw, waffles, and oily cakes something like our modern doughnut. They drank from small teacups, nibbling a lump of sugar after each sip.

  This high living ended temporarily in 1650-51, when a harsh winter sent food prices soaring. The cruel cold inflicted much suffering on the colonists. Householders kept logs blazing in fireplaces lined with picture tiles, but in other rooms ink froze in pens. Most afflicted were the slaves called humble men, who carried buckets of filth from backyard privies and dumped them into the rivers. Despite the scarcity of food and rising prices, Stuyvesant provisioned company ships bound for Curaçao. This aroused the indignation of the Nine Men, who accused the governor of “wanton imprudence.”

  Streets were few, crooked, muddy, and overrun with livestock and fowl. During all the time the Dutch occupied New Amsterdam, the city never extended farther north than Wall Street, 550 yards from the tip of lower Manhattan. Men drove wagons so fast that Stuyvesant ordered them to walk beside their vehicles and hold the horses’ reins. The first street to be paved was Brouwer, or Brewer, Street, named for its many breweries. Today it is known as Stone Street. It runs in a northeasterly direction from Whitehall Street to Hanover Square. In 1657 the first half, from Whitehall Street to Broad Street, was laid with cobblestones. These formed more sidewalk than pavement, for an open gutter was left in the center of the street. Benjamin Franklin, a resident of more sophisticated Philadelphia, later said that he could identify a New Yorker by his awkward gait when he walked on Philadelphia’s smooth paving—“like a parrot upon a mahogany table.”