The Manor

by Mac Griswold

  In March 1675, as the war threatened to spread to Long Island, Governor Winthrop begged the Sylvesters to build a “palisadoed fortificacon” to protect themselves and their children. They refused to do so, even though Shelter Island’s Indians were “very sullen and crosse,” according to Winthrop’s emissary. Perhaps Nathaniel and Grizzell, she again “big with child”—perhaps Benjamin, her last—had faith in whatever tenuous balance they had worked out with their fellow islanders, both African and Indian, and were prepared to trust in God. In doing so, the Sylvesters would have followed the Quaker Peace Testimony, framed by Fox in 1660: “The Spirit of Christ will never move us to fight and war against any man with outward weapons, neither for the Kingdom of Christ, nor for the Kingdoms of the World.” As it happened, King Philip’s War never crossed the Sound, petering out in 1676 with Metacom’s death in a Rhode Island swamp. (His wife and child were among those sold as slaves in Bermuda.) The nonviolent Nathaniel who took Fox’s words to heart was a very different person from the bristling man who in 1654 had threatened to “pistoll” any Southolder who stood in his way. By his lights, he had perhaps fought the darkness within himself and won.

  The wind is really starting to blow now; rigid scallops of white froth etch the surface of Gardiners Creek. But before I hurry off to the ferry, Alice and I turn yet again to the Quakers. Only a few weeks ago, Steve Mrozowski and the field school dug unsuccessfully for Nathaniel’s grave near the Quaker cemetery where, Alice says, family tradition places his burial. She and I agree that Nathaniel and Grizzell deserve a special niche in the history of the Friends. For Alice, however, Nathaniel exists not as a Quaker but as a “Quaker Protector.” For Alice, as for the Horsfords, who had those words carved on the monument, Nathaniel personifies the selfless fighter for justice. Insisting on his role as a protector is a help to Alice—to anyone, really—who wants to reconcile Nathaniel the upright man with Nathaniel the man who owned other human beings. I still can’t reconcile the two.

  14

  “A DUCHMAN IN HIS HARTT”

  “A Duchman in His Hartt”

  A year and a half after Fox’s golden days on Shelter Island, some much less welcome visitors arrived to stay with Nathaniel and Grizzell. Dutch troops landed and spent the night in February 1674 on their second foray to Long Island after retaking New Netherland in the autumn of the preceding year, during the Third Anglo-Dutch War. Then, their fleet had visited the East End towns, but not Shelter Island. But in 1674—how strange it must have felt for Nathaniel to lie at the mercy of invaders who spoke the language of his childhood city, and in a place that he had made such mighty efforts to make secure.

  “The Captaine Landed with about Fiftie Souldiers,” Nathaniel wrote as he recalled the invasion, “and to strike the greater Dread in my familie they beset my house.” The Dutch wanted £500 that Nathaniel owed them, and they probably paid themselves in “provisions of the country.” They ransacked warehouse, storehouses, fields, and pens, as well as the house. “Horses and Mares, Cattle, sheep, hogs,” and whatever movables—sugar, rum, salt, bales of cloth, furs and skins, salt fish, fathoms of wampum, barrels of tobacco, rugs and duffel blankets to pay his Indian workforce, precious European goods (imported pipes, pots, cutlery, copper kettles, spirits and wines) he had intended to sell to other colonists or tribesmen, and apparently also slaves, which counted as chattel—everything they could load into the holds of Dutch men-of-war, they took. Calculated against average annual earnings of the day, that’s about £925, a huge amounts, more than four times Nathaniel’s estimated £200 annual income. Nathaniel and his servants and slaves had to stand by in the face of such an overwhelming force of soldiers in cuirasses and helmets, armed with guns and sword. The children, and Grizzell, who during the Civil War had lived side by side with enemy soldiers quartered in her village of Datchet, must have been terrified. Where the soldiers slept is an open question.

  * * *

  The global conflict between England and the Netherlands for imperial dominion of the seas, which the British would eventually win, was waged in many theaters over half a century, beginning in 1652. The first two of the three short maritime Anglo-Dutch Wars did not require Nathaniel to take sides, but in 1673 and 1674 the third conflict took place close to home. In August 1673, six months before the soldiers arrived to ransack Shelter Island, a formidable Dutch fleet had sailed into New York Harbor, where Governor Francis Lovelace presided over defenses in such bad repair he could do nothing but yield after an hour’s battle, to the joy of the city’s mostly Dutch citizenry. (Much as they do today, Long Islanders had chafed at having to support the faraway metropolis, so they had not funded vital improvements for Fort James.) The victorious Dutch sent commissioners to all parts of the colony to demand submission and elect new governments. Faced with possible bloodshed, and lacking any promise of help from other English colonies, the East End towns of Southampton, East Hampton, and Southold reluctantly pledged allegiance to the new regime, turning in their flags and staves, the emblems of office.

  Nathaniel and his family had reason to fear the rampant lions on this coat of arms: Willem III, sovereign prince of Orange and stadtholder of Holland, was in power in 1673–74 when Dutch warships visited Shelter Island.

  Within days of these events, Nathaniel rushed to Manhattan and appeared before the Dutch commanders, volunteering to take their pledge but also requesting confirmation of the privileges he had enjoyed under English rule. (The Dutch willingly maintained the status quo with many English colonists, as the English, on retaking New York, would also maintain with Dutch inhabitants.) As proof of those entitlements, Nathaniel exhibited an extract of the manor grant. “Where is the original?” asked the commanders. He had left it at home, Nathaniel said. The Dutch soon discovered that half of Shelter Island belonged to the heirs of Constant and Thomas Middleton, English subjects. “But after divers arguments pro & con,” regarding Nathaniel’s improvements to the island and the recompense that he claimed his partners owed him, they reached an agreement. The Dutch sold Nathaniel his partners’ forfeited shares in “houses, lands, movables, negroes, and effects” and reaffirmed his manorial privileges. In return, Nathaniel signed a bond for £500, probably dated August 29, 1673, to be paid in “provisions of the country.” He had traded the uncertainty of collecting debts from the heirs of his deceased brother and Thomas Middleton for what he saw as a businesslike arrangement to acquire the entire island. This would cost him a fat sum when the bond came due (probably in six months, as most such bonds were payable on three- or six-month terms), but who knew when that might be? Six months, almost to the day—the following dismal February—would be the answer.

  Furthermore, by swearing obedience to the Netherlands that August, Nathaniel had, in his view, compromised himself no more than any other local landowner. Fellow Quaker Colonel Lewis Morris, the owner of many acres in the Bronx (and Nathaniel’s ally in negotiations with the Dutch), and Nathaniel’s neighbor David Gardiner (Lion’s son) also took the oath as a pragmatic realignment with the Dutch. Because of Nathaniel’s Netherlands background, many of his neighbors didn’t see Nathaniel’s assent in the same way.

  An outraged Richard Smith of Narragansett—the same Richard Smith who in more peaceable times would soon carry Semoney and the two Grizzells to Newport—wrote to Connecticut’s Governor Winthrop in September 1673, “I understand Captt Sylvester hath submited himseluf to Yorke, the Duch. I wonder att him, onley he is a Duchman in his hartt I judge, or elce would not have dared to have done it. Its not his pretending he did it to prevent daingar will exceuse him when time shall serve, besyds he nowe lyes open to be pilliged by the Einglish, as being nowe an enimey to our King & Cuntry.”

  As soon as the Dutch war fleet left the East End in September 1673, Southold, Southampton, and East Hampton felt it was safe to reassert their loyalty to England. Events moved fast over the next few months, and Nathaniel found himself in a tight spot as a bilingual go-between. Almost at once, another Dutch foray to Sou
thold took place, at the request of a hopeful Nathaniel and Lewis Morris. They had assured the new Dutch governor that the townfolk would once again “submit as dutiful subjects &c.” But the Southolders now had the backing of Governor John Winthrop Jr. of Connecticut. An uncharacteristically bellicose Winthrop warned the Dutch that if they persisted in harassing helpless English civilians—“the Poore in their Cottages,” he called them—he would “deale with your head quarters [in Manhattan].”

  So when Dutch troops sailed back into Southold at the end of October 1673 (after Nathaniel had signed his bond), they were probably not surprised to find the ship of Captain Fitz John Winthrop, the governor’s son, lying off Shelter Island. Coached by his father, the young officer had already asked Nathaniel for help in delaying direct action, to give Governor Winthrop more time to muster a defense. Nathaniel loaned a small boat to the Dutch commander and another to Captain Winthrop so that each could row to Southold and peacefully settle the dispute.

  Governor Winthrop knew his man: Nathaniel, reared in Amsterdam and on familiar terms with New York’s current administrators, could surely deal with these Dutchmen if anyone could. Furthermore, as a practicing Quaker, Nathaniel would feel conscience-bound to avoid violence. And he and his large young family were virtual hostages, their plantation temptingly stocked and vulnerable to Dutch pillage. But Nathaniel’s peace parley did not take place. Southold’s citizens mounted a sufficient show of arms to induce the Dutch to sail back to New Amsterdam, postponing their campaign to “reduce or destroy the townes on the East end of Long Island.”

  In late February 1674, Dutch warships again loomed on the horizon—four huge, silent apparitions, by far the largest and tallest objects most East Enders would see in their lifetimes. The Dutch display terrified even the seasoned Captain Winthrop. He huddled on Shelter Island with the leaders of Southold’s small militia. Nathaniel’s brother-in-law Francis Brinley and Richard Smith (both hurried across the Sound as conflict threatened) had arrived from Rhode Island to offer advice and moral support. Their side clearly lacked the troops and firepower to defend both Southold and Shelter Island.

  With wind and tide in their favor, the Dutch troops landed on Shelter Island. A few days after the raid, Captain Winthrop wrote in an official report that Nathaniel had found “himself in no condition to resist them.” With their troops so few (and perhaps feeling that “Dutch” Nathaniel should be left to fend for himself regarding his person, family, and goods), the other colonists, including his own brother-in-law, Brinley, had decided not to protect him or his property. For Nathaniel, barely six months after he had agreed to pay his new overlords £500 in “this country’s provisions,” the moment of reckoning had come. By his lights he was a victim, not a debtor, a useful stance to demonstrate to his neighbors that he had suffered more from the Dutch conquest than anyone else.

  As the Dutch loaded their ships with Nathaniel’s stores, the tide ebbed. By sundown, the bulging vessels lay low in the water with no room to maneuver. The Zeehond, a warship, and the rest of the convoy remained at the island overnight. In the morning, Nathaniel boarded the Zeehond for the short sail to Southold. His last hope was to “prevent the shedding of blood” by some desperate last-minute negotiation. If ever there was a Quaker moment, this was it: Nathaniel’s own soil had been invaded, his family terrified, goods commandeered (as Nathaniel probably saw it), and yet he was willing to make his best effort to avoid war. He probably also gauged the strength of the Dutch opposition—and the weakness of his own allies.

  Even as the Dutch commander “placed his squadron in an handsome order, and whilst he was preparing to land his men, and bringing all his great guns to bear upon us,” Captain Winthrop reported, Nathaniel appealed to the Dutchman, “endeavoring to divert his hostility.” Unswayed, the commander ordered that Nathaniel be rowed ashore to deliver an ultimatum to Captain Winthrop, who had taken up his post to defend Southold: meet the Dutch demands for capitulation or face destruction “with fire and sword.” Winthrop sent Nathaniel back to the warship with his answer: he would defend to the death every Southolder’s right to English sovereignty.

  “Capt. Sylvester being returned to his island” after he had delivered the uncompromising message, Captain Winthrop continued, the Dutch “filled their sloops with men, and made all preparations to land; which we easily perceived, and were ready to entertain them with 50 men, [in] which I placed a forlorn hope … [The Dutch commander] fired one of his great guns upon us; but the shot grazing by the disadvantage of the ground did no hurt to our men … I gave order to return [fire] but the shot falling at his fore foot did him no hurt—whereupon he fired 2 more great guns, and his small shot, which fell thick about us did us no hurt … We then presently answered with [a volley of small shot] and another shot from our ordnance; Many of our small shot hitting the ship as we could perceive, but know not of any hurt done him—Whereupon he presently weighed [anchor] and set sail, and being little wind, we had opportunity to observe his motions so far as ‘Plumme gutt’—Since when our scouts have not discovered any of them in the sound—but I suppose he will convey the provisions [to] their quarters [in New York], and then return to do us what mischief he can, as he told Capt. Sylvester.”

  Winthrop’s account of shot falling harmlessly here and there reads like Gilbert and Sullivan. Even in an age when firearms were still notoriously difficult to aim accurately, something about this almost farcical and harmless episode rings false. Had Southold’s doughty few somehow persuaded the Dutch that they would need to maintain a garrison in the town if they hoped to suppress further rebellion? Did the Netherlanders’ command interpret Connecticut’s defense of Long Island as a signal that other New England colonies would soon join the fray? Or were the warships laden with Nathaniel’s provisions enough to satisfy New Amsterdam’s honor as well as the outstanding £500 debt? My bet lies with the latter, and with Nathaniel’s powers of persuasion. The mighty Dutch could not back down entirely and lose face, but they could be persuaded to make a show of force, then back off.

  More intriguing than Nathaniel’s feints and countermoves during these events is the ambiguous relationship he maintained throughout his life with Governor Winthrop. Nathaniel had had good reason to thank Winthrop for “Favoirs that have so liberally from time to time been bestowed” and for all “ye love and Care which you have had for the preservation of me and my Familie in these Perrilous times.”

  The delicate steps of their dignified promenade together—astute readings of a changing political landscape—took place over a quarter century. No matter how cordial and respectful the Sylvesters’ relations with the governor, Nathaniel was touchy about island autonomy, especially before he achieved his manorial patent. And Winthrop took note of this sensitivity. In London in 1663, while struggling to obtain a patent for Connecticut that would co-opt New Haven Colony, he sent a secret letter to his deputy in Hartford warning him to steer clear of proposing sovereignty over any nearby areas where “uncomfortable opositions and litigious controversies” might flare up, including “Mr Sylvesters.”

  The threats from Connecticut, masterminded by Winthrop and eventually supported by Massachusetts, routed the Dutch from Long Island and sent them scuttling back to home base in New Amsterdam. Nathaniel was thereby spared the further acknowledgment of Dutch sovereignty that he had been prepared to make. But Winthrop knew of other possible dangers when he had his son counsel Nathaniel to “declare before some fitt testimony his manifesting his allegiance to the King, in such way as may be a good safety to him.” Boston privateers, as Winthrop had heard (and as Richard Smith had threatened), ever ready to jump at any likely pretext, were ready to pounce on a man who looked as if he had colluded with the enemy. By the same token, Winthrop also had reason to thank Nathaniel: by putting himself in danger as an ambassador for peace, he had helped prevent the Dutch from leveling Southold. Not a drop of blood had been spilled.

  By May 1674, the Long Islanders were hearing whispers of peace, and at the
end of October the Dutch relinquished their claim. The Treaty of Westminster, formally approved by both sides by early March 1674, in which the Netherlands yielded New York Colony to Great Britain, marked the end of the Dutch empire in continental North America. It also ended the seventeenth-century global conflict between the two nations in Europe and in every colonial arena they shared. The Dutch gained control of the West African slave forts, as well as Tobago, Saba, St. Eustatius, and Tortola, which, along with the important slave depot of Curaçao, left them a satisfactory position in the West Indies as well as an increasing hold on trade and territory in the East Indies.

  For Nathaniel, probably of more immediate import was the issue of free trade versus mercantilism. Although the series of British Navigation Acts (1651, 1660, 1663, 1673, 1696) were intended to restrict American trade only to English vessels manned by English crews, and the shipment of all American products only to English ports, for decades the Dutch (and the American colonists) easily circumvented the laws, which were laxly enforced by an inadequate number of customs inspectors. Shippers and merchants connived to change the names of vessels, fired Dutch and hired English crew, and satisfied the requirement that all goods be bonded for delivery in England by various shady means. None of this would have been new to an experienced interloper like Nathaniel, and he probably took it in stride.