As we have seen, the Treaty of Hartford took away from Stuyvesant much of Connecticut, which he originally claimed for the company. Now, except for New Amsterdam, only the part of the Atlantic coastline between the Delaware and Hudson rivers came under his rule. Because the Delaware River emptied into the Atlantic to the south of the Hudson, the Dutch called the Delaware the South River and spoke of the Hudson as the North River. Even today the first leg of the Hudson just north of the Battery is sometimes called the North River.
Stuyvesant was irked by the existence, proximity, and rivalry of New Sweden. This colony on the Delaware River included parts of the present states of Delaware, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. About half the colonists were Finns, since Finland was then part of Sweden. The population of New Sweden never rose to much more than about 300 inhabitants, but Stuyvesant would not leave them alone.
In 1651 he built Fort Casimir on the site of New Castle, Delaware. Three years later the Swedes captured it, thus gaining control of the entire Delaware Valley. In 1655 Stuyvesant led an expedition of hundreds of soldiers, on seven men-of-war, back to the Delaware River and recaptured Fort Casimir. He and his men also took Fort Christina, about thirty-five miles below the present site of Philadelphia. Then New Sweden disappeared from the map.
For ten years—from 1645 to 1655—the Dutch in and around Manhattan had not been troubled by Indians. Of course, a few minor incidents did occur, and the Dutch discriminated against the Indians by charging them double fare for the East River ferry ride, but nothing serious happened. Then, while Stuyvesant and most of the town’s able-bodied men were subduing the Swedes on the Delaware River, open conflict broke out here.
A former sheriff, named Hendrick Van Dyck, had a farm on Broadway just south of the present Exchange Alley, or perhaps a block and a half below the site of Trinity Church. As twilight thickened one September day in 1655, he saw somebody moving stealthily among his heavy-laden peach trees. Tiptoeing closer, Van Dyck realized that an Indian woman was stealing his fruit. He pulled out a pistol and fired. The woman gently slumped to earth, and in that tragic moment Van Dyck triggered the historic Peach War.
When news of the murder reached the dead woman’s relatives and friends and spread to neighboring tribes, the Indians suffered shock. Then they exploded with the cry “Death to the woman killer!” They were well aware that Stuyvesant had left the town almost defenseless by sailing away with most of his soldiers.
At daybreak on September 15 the prows of 64 canoes sliced through the morning mist along the high banks of the Hudson. A little below the stockade at Wall Street the craft glided to the shore. About 500 braves, armed with bows, arrows, and tomahawks and daubed with war paint, leaped out, made fast their canoes, and then raced into the city. Soon they were joined by others until 2,000 marauders fanned through the streets.
The Indians didn’t instantly massacre the inhabitants. They began with psychological warfare by breaking into houses under the pretext that they were searching for their ancient enemies, the Iroquois. This transparent deceit heightened the menace. Alarmed Dutchmen struggled into pantaloons as their wives stared, wide-eyed with terror. Children screamed at the sight of dusky strangers in the kitchens. Council members assembled quickly and held a hurried conference. Realizing that the townspeople were outnumbered, these officials decided to put up a brave front. They strolled out into the open to the midst of the sullen intruders and asked to see their chiefs.
When the sachems advanced and identified themselves, the Dutch invited them to a parley inside the fort. There the white men tried to pacify the red men. At last the chiefs agreed to withdraw their warriors to Governors Island, but after filing out of the fort, the Indians did not leave as promised. Instead, all the rest of the day they loitered about the southern end of Manhattan, muttering menacingly.
At dusk they gathered and broke toward Broadway, screaming and surging directly toward Van Dyck’s home. He stood uncertainly at his garden gate. An arrow flashed through the evening sky and gashed into his side, wounding him gravely, but not mortally. A neighbor who tried to help had his scalp sliced with a war hatchet.
Frantically, the town elders tried once again to locate the chiefs to avert more bloodshed. Then the Indians slew a Dutchman. Now the colonists opened fire on the invaders, driving them back to the shore, back into their canoes. Even as they paddled out into the Hudson, the Indians twanged a volley of arrows into the counterattacking Dutchmen, killing one and wounding several others. Swift-stroking across the river, the Indians landed at Hoboken, set fire to every dwelling there, turned to Jersey City to reduce it to ashes, and then proceeded to Staten Island, where they wreaked havoc.
The Peach War lasted only three days, three terrifying days, but by the time it ended, the entire countryside had been put to the torch. About 100 white persons were killed, about 150 others were dragged into captivity, and 7 men and 1 woman were tortured to death. In addition, 28 plantations were destroyed, 500 head of cattle were slain or driven away, and huge quantities of grain were burned. All for a few peaches!
During the brief outbreak Mrs. Stuyvesant, her sons, and the rest of the family were guarded at the Stuyvesant farm by ten French mercenaries hired for the emergency. News of the attack was sped to the governor in Delaware, but he was unable to return until October 12.
Panic still prevailed when he arrived. Stuyvesant, who had always adopted a reasonable Indian policy, was careful to give the natives no cause to maraud again. His sturdy leadership, zeal, resourcefulness, and military know-how finally gave the people a sense of security. Soldiers were posted at outlying farms. Ship passengers ready to flee the colony were ordered ashore to join the troops “until it should please God to change the aspect of affairs.” Funds were raised to strengthen the vulnerable city wall.
But now the Indians were ready to negotiate. Their fury was spent. They grumbled about the portions of food consumed by their prisoners. One Dutchman wanted to continue the war to get revenge, but the governor flatly disagreed. “The recent war,” he rasped, “is to be attributed to the rashness of a few hotheaded individuals. It becomes us to reform ourselves, to abstain from all wrong, and to guard against a recurrence of the late unhappy affair by building blockhouses wherever they are needed, and not permitting any armed Indians to come into our settlements.”
Stuyvesant’s cool judgment prevailed. Still, he was able to negotiate the release of only forty-two white persons. Twenty-eight of them were ransomed by paying the Indians seventy-eight pounds of gunpowder and forty bars of lead. At last peace was concluded with the red men—or at least some of them. White prisoners held at Esopus were not released. This community, now known as Kingston, New York, perched on the west bank of the Hudson River eighty-seven miles north of New Amsterdam.
The Dutch West India Company suffered so many reverses in various parts of the world that it wound up a commercial failure. By 1661 New Amsterdam was bankrupt. That year, in a frantic effort to protect its investment, the company tried to lure discontented Englishmen to New Netherland from their native country. The Dutch government helped by seeding Great Britain with glowing descriptions of the Dutch colony “only six weeks’ sail from Holland . . . land fertile . . . climate the best in the world.”
This practice irritated English authorities. As we have seen, they objected to the very existence of New Netherland. It blocked their westward expansion, denied them the continuous belt of English colonies along the coast necessary for protection from the French, and interfered with enforcement of the Navigation Acts.
Because of bitter rivalry with Holland for control of the seas and business profits, the English Parliament, as has been noted, passed several acts of trade and navigation. But Dutch smugglers in the New World loosened England’s grip on trading among the English colonies. Although the Treaty of Hartford had reduced the Dutch holdings, the British weren’t satisfied. They encouraged the rebellion of restless English towns on Long Island. Peter Stuyvesant thrice convened delegates
from towns adjacent to New Amsterdam but never could satisfy all their demands.
Charles II became the king of England for the second time in 1660. Two years later he granted a charter to the English colonists of Connecticut. Because this area included settlements which the Treaty of Hartford said belonged to New Netherland, tension mounted between Dutch and English colonists.
On March 22, 1664, Charles gave a present to his brother, James Stuart, the Duke of York, later to become King James II. Upon the duke Charles conferred all Long Island, its neighboring islands, and all the territory lying between the west side of the Connecticut River and the east side of Delaware Bay. This, of course, embraced the Dutch colony of New Netherland. By now the English had launched an undeclared war on the Hollanders, the Second Anglo-Dutch War.
Even British historians admit that the English acted like pirates. The king and duke knew that the war would be popular with the trading classes at home, for they intended to break Dutch control of slave-trading ports on the African coast and to seize land in the New World. The duke ordered Colonel Richard Nicolls to lead an expedition against the Dutch in America. This was kept a secret lest the Dutch government dispatch a fleet to protect Dutch interests. The English didn’t issue a formal declaration of war until 1665. Meanwhile, the king lent his brother 4 men-of-war and 450 soldiers.
News of this small armada was brought to Peter Stuyvesant by an Englishman in New Netherland. He, in turn, had heard about it from a British merchant whose ships sailed from England to this city. Stuyvesant reacted quickly. He confined to port some Dutch ships ready to sail to Curaçao, sent agents to New Haven to buy provisions, stationed lookouts along the coast to watch for the British fleet, borrowed money, and ordered gunpowder rushed from Delaware to New Amsterdam.
Then word arrived from the Dutch West India Company that the English ships were not headed for New Amsterdam. Instead, according to this rumor, they were en route to Boston, where the king’s men were to insist that Church of England rites be observed.
Everyone relaxed. Stuyvesant let the Dutch vessels sail for the Caribbean, and he departed for upstate New York to pacify Indians. So for the second time the governor was absent from New Amsterdam during an emergency. Fortunately, a messenger caught up with him to report that the English squadron was indeed bearing down on the city. Stuyvesant got back to town just three days before enemy masts loomed against the horizon.
The English ships anchored off Coney Island below the Narrows. Two days later Colonel Nicolls demanded the surrender of New Amsterdam. Stuyvesant’s courage cannot be questioned, although his judgment, as in the 1644 attack on St. Martin Island, is open to debate. He resolved to fight.
This was a foolhardy decision. Stuyvesant admitted as much indirectly, for shortly before the enemy arrived, he told the Dutch West India Company that the English in America outnumbered the Dutch “and are able to deprive us of the country when they please.” In 1664 there were 50,000 English colonists in Maryland and Virginia, plus an equal number in New England. New Netherland’s 3 cities and 30 villages had a total population of only about 10,000 persons. New Amsterdam itself boasted only 1,500 inhabitants, and Stuyvesant could muster no more than 200 militia and 160 regular soldiers.
Dutch colonists had been lax about throwing up their defenses, arguing that the company or the Dutch government should pay for all fortifications. Now, partly because of their own folly, they were helpless. The Wall Street palisade was falling apart. The city was open along the banks of both rivers. Food was scarce. Despite the gunpowder sent from Delaware, there still wasn’t enough on hand. The fort, which didn’t even contain a spring or well, couldn’t withstand a siege. If an invader landed on either shore, he could stand on the hills of Broadway at pistol-shot range and look down into the fort’s interior.
English negotiators rowed to a wharf under a white flag of truce. Stuyvesant received them with starchy courtesy, pointing out that England and Holland were not formally at war. The British then produced a letter from Nicolls stating his terms. These were liberal, considering that all the power was on his side. He promised to grant Dutch citizens freedom of conscience and religion. He declared that he would not interfere with their private property, inheritance rights, or customs. They would be permitted to trade directly with Holland. Public buildings and records would be respected. City officials could remain in office awhile; later, elections would be held. When the English diplomats had been rowed back to their men-of-war, the burgomasters urged Stuyvesant to accept these conditions “in the speediest, best and most reputable manner.” He refused. They argued. In a fit of temper he tore Nicolls’ letter to shreds. A crowd gathered. Some people cursed stiff-necked Peter, while others cursed the company. By this time they knew about Nicolls’ letter, although they were unaware of its contents. “The letter!” they cried. “The letter!”
After Stuyvesant stamped out to take up a position on the fort, his secretary gathered the scraps of paper, pasted them together, and handed the mended document to the burgomasters. They quickly announced the terms, and almost everyone wanted to give up.
As the enemy fleet sailed into the Upper Bay and closed in on the Battery, the governor stood on a rampart near a gunner who was holding a burning match near a cannon. Stuyvesant growled, “I must act in obedience to orders!” Near him stood a minister, who cried, “It’s madness!” Laying a hand on Stuyvesant’s shoulder, the pastor pleaded, “Do you not see that there is no help for us either to the north or to the south, to the east or to the west? What will our twenty guns do in the face of the sixty-two which are pointed toward us on yonder frigates? Pray, do not be the first to shed blood!”
At that moment a messenger brought Stuyvesant a document signed by ninety-three of the principal citizens—including one of his own sons. They begged him not to do anything that would result in the slaughter of the innocent and reduce the city to ruins. The gunner still held the match at the ready as the governor read the paper. His eyes were sad; his lips, white. At last he signaled to the gunner to put out his flame. Then, more to himself than anyone else, Peter Stuyvesant muttered, “I had rather be carried to my grave.” Five minutes later a white flag waved above the fort.
Chapter 4
THE ENGLISH NAME IT NEW YORK
IT HAD been so easy. Without declaring war, without firing a shot, without spilling a drop of blood, the English took the forty-year-old Dutch city of New Amsterdam on August 29, 1664.
They renamed it New York in honor of the Duke of York, its new lord proprietor. York is a compound of two ancient words, which mean place at the water, a fit title for so great a seaport.
The day after the surrender the burgomasters and schepens transacted municipal business as though nothing had happened. The next Sunday the chaplain of the English troops conducted the first Church of England rites ever observed here. The transition from Dutch to British rule did not greatly disturb most citizens, for they felt nothing could be so oppressive as a soulless corporation and a high-handed governor. But Peter Stuyvesant took it hard. To Holland he sent an explanation of his own conduct, describing how helpless he had been at the critical moment. Then he retired to the shaded quietude of his country estate.
The surrender of the city was an event of deep significance for all America. As historian John Fiske said, “Few political changes have been greater in their consequences. By transferring from Dutch into English hands the strategic center of antagonism to New France, it brought about an approach toward unity of political development in the English colonies and made it possible for them to come together in a great federal union.”
Except for one brief interruption, New York was to be ruled for many years by the last of England’s royal Stuarts, James Stuart—first as the Duke of York and then as King James II. His authority over the new English colony was as absolute as that formerly enjoyed by the Dutch West India Company. His henchmen wielded all legislative, executive, and judicial power, subject only to approval by the king and Privy Co
uncil of England. James, who never visited his American empire, chose well when he selected Colonel Richard Nicolls as his first governor.
Nicolls was about forty years old when he succeeded Peter Stuyvesant. Tall and erect, gray-eyed, genial and polite, and somewhat curly-haired, Nicolls was a bachelor. The son of a lawyer, university-trained Nicolls read Greek and Latin classics in the original and spoke Dutch and French as fluently as his native English. He utterly charmed the Dutch citizens, who signed a letter proclaiming Nicolls “a wise and intelligent governor, under whose wing we hope to bloom and grow like the cedar on Lebanon.” He repaired Fort Amsterdam and renamed it Fort James. He offered to let any Dutchman go back to Holland, hoping none would do so, and none did. Of course, he was careful to ship the Dutch soldiers back home.
This first English governor found himself at the head of a strange assortment of people. The Dutch made up three-quarters of the population, but the other quarter consisted of English, French, Swedes, Finns, Portuguese, and Negroes—most of the Negroes having been brought here from Brazil. From the time of the first English settlers there had been frequent marriages between the Dutch and the English. Educated citizens spoke both languages, but many businessmen were unable to translate from one language to the other. Because of the growing influx of Huguenots, some records were kept in French. All in all, the city was a veritable Babel.
Society was rigidly stratified. The immigrants brought along their Old World prejudices, which they handed down to their children. A line was clearly drawn between master and slave, master and indentured servant, aristocrat and tradesman, rich and poor. The common people felt they had small chance of rising in the social scale. Because of patroonships, the first wealthy class consisted of landowners. Only later did trade and shipping elevate to prominence men of humble origin.
The colonists owned several kinds of livestock—goats, hogs, oxen, sheep, cattle, and horses. Goats cost little, bred prolifically, and yielded milk and meat. Hogs overran the streets. Some farmers preferred English swine because they were hardy and could endure cold weather without shelter, but Holland hogs grew heavier and yielded more pork than the English kind. Oxen hauled wagons and pulled plows.
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