ACRES 0(- 
 
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 BY THE SAME AUTHOR: 
 
 LOOK-AHEAD SERIES. 
 
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 Making the 'Best of It ; or, Tumble Up Tom. 
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 Too Late for the Tide-CMill. 
 Our Clerk from TJarktoii. 
 
 FIGHTING: THE SEA SERIES. 
 
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 Fighting the Sea; or, Winter at the Life- 
 Saving Station. 
 
 tA Candle in the Sea ; or. Winter at Seal's 
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 The (Mill at Sandy Creek. 
 
 <J Salt Water Hero. 
 
 WHITE nOUNTAIN SERIES. 
 
 3 Vols. Price, 75 cts. each. 
 
 'Bark Cabin on Kearsarge. 
 
 The Tent in the Crotch. 
 
 Two College 'Boys. 
 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER, PUBLISHER, 
 2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE, NEW YORK.
 
 "HE IS A COMELY YOUNG MAN, THOUGHT KATRYNE." (Page 30.)
 
 BEHIND 
 MANHATTAN GABLES 
 
 A STORY OF NEW AMSTERDAM 
 
 1663-1664 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD AUGUSTUS RAND 
 
 Author of " Fighting the Sea Stories," " Look-Ahead Stories," 
 " White Mountain Stories," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER, 
 
 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE. 
 1896.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896 
 BY THOMAS WHITTAKER
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. Whence and Whither i 
 
 II. On an English Coast . . . .16 
 
 III. The Knocker ...... 23 
 
 IV. In a New World 34 
 
 V. Pieter, the Sot 57 
 
 VI. Pieter, the Scholar 69 
 
 VII. A Mysterious Box 84 
 
 VIII. One Night and Afterward ... 94 
 
 IX. In the Country of the Savages . . .no 
 
 X. The Fort and the Church . . .126 
 
 XI. A Service at the Church . . . .138 
 
 XII. A Master Wanted 151 
 
 XIII. The Wrong Door 163 
 
 XIV. In Savage Land Again . . . 175 
 XV. What Could He Do ? . . . . 187 
 
 XVI. Geertruyd 195 
 
 9
 
 XVII. Big Doors on Little Hinges . . .214 
 
 XVIII. Revelations 224 
 
 XIX. The Savages are Coming . . . 234 
 
 XX. Up the North River . . . .248 
 XXI. The Stockings Hung in the Chimney . 283 
 
 XXII. The Caller Who Never Called . .301 
 
 XXIII. The Coming of the English . . .326 
 
 XXIV. Changes. . . . . . .349 
 
 XXV. In Saint Nikolaas' Church Again . . 353 
 
 XXVI. A Strange Michaelmas Morning . . 357 
 XXVII. What Next?. . . -. . . 363 
 
 XXVIII. Two Maidens Again .... 375
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 To all readers interested in American, English, and 
 Dutch history, let me say this prefatory word. I have 
 had a special purpose in writing this book, though in the 
 form of a story. It is well to go back to beginnings, the 
 seed of things. I am to tell about a seed so very small 
 the seed, the beginning of a grand city. One autumn 
 morning, from the deck of a Sound steamer, after passing 
 beneath Brooklyn Bridge, I looked for Trinity Church 
 spire. There was the church at the head of Wall Street. 
 The little fragment of New York between Wall Street 
 and the Battery was New Amsterdam New York in 
 seed. How short a walk the Dutchman of 1663 took to 
 go around the beloved borders of his island city ! With 
 profound interest I have gone through some of the old 
 streets of colonial days still in existence. I walked 
 along Bridge Street, or De Brug Straat of olden time. 
 I shut my eyes and imagined that I saw the Katryne 
 and Geertruyd of this story, in their picturesque 
 Dutch dress, coming to meet me. In Broad Street, once 
 De Heeren Graft, I thought of the canal that pierced 
 it, a fond memorial of old Holland. I looked down 
 and saw in fancy the clumsy barges bringing cargoes 
 from vessels in the stream. I passed Stone Street, and 
 the next must be the old-time Beaver Street, I said, 
 De Bever Graft. Yes ; and I thought of the old-time
 
 Viii PREFACE. 
 
 ditch there. Some busy four-footed tenants of its 
 muddy banks had probably given it a name to go down 
 the centuries. On Wall Street I closed my eyes and 
 walked toward Trinity Church. Would I meet the 
 Uncle Pieter of this story, in baggy breeches, on his 
 way to fight the Indians, soon slipping into the open 
 country through the land-gate in the " wall," the pali- 
 sades once set up in pretentious order ? Just where did 
 New Amsterdam's famous " wall" run ? I was close to 
 its post-holes ; could I not fancy them gaping in this 
 to-day's thoroughfare of so many of the money kings of 
 the nation ? How speedily 1 had come to the end of the 
 old colonial city ! 
 
 Outside " the wall " I traversed a business street that now 
 has glittering heaps of jewelry stones with eyes of fire. 
 " Maiden Lane" was the announcement of a street sign. 
 I thought of New Amsterdam's more precious diamonds, 
 the bright eyes of its maidens bearing along this very 
 path stores of old Dutch linen to their weekly tub, a 
 stream, and then laughingly racing back through the 
 gate in the wall to their homes. What more picturesque 
 origin for the name of a street Maiden Lane ? I was 
 now outside of New Amsterdam, and yet how short a 
 distance from Bowling Green ! Yes, New Amsterdam 
 was a little seed, but how precious ! In story form, I 
 have dwelt on a short period of its life up to the time it 
 became New York, the Dutch element nominally suc- 
 cumbing to the English element ; the Dutchmen, though 
 clinging to their much-loved town, and then both ele- 
 ments side by side going on steadily, slowly but surely, 
 to develop into the grandeur of America's present 
 metropolis.
 
 PREFACE. ix 
 
 Would a resident of New York fully appreciate all 
 the things in the past helping to make it grand ? Would 
 an outsider, rejoicing as a broad-minded American 
 in New York's greatness, understand everything con- 
 tributing to that success? Would a Hollander know 
 what grand foundations some of his own kin, it may be, 
 laid here in America ? Would a young student of English 
 history know of that early New York to which brave and 
 adventurous Englishmen came, to live and rule there ? 
 Then all these must be students in the homes, the shops, 
 the streets of little New Amsterdam. 
 
 My student life, a portion of which was passed in 
 New York City, prepared me to enter upon the pleasant 
 work in these pages, and a like agreeable path of in- 
 vestigation opens before the feet of those who would 
 study New York in its beginnings. Yoluminous is the 
 literature upon the subject, and to different authors I 
 signify in various notes my indebtedness. In the col- 
 umns of the Christian Intelligencer 1 have found 
 valuable data about colonial Dutch history. I would not 
 forget " A Large Dictionary, English and Dutch," a 
 (t Groot Woordenboek, " venerable and beloved, found 
 in the Boston Public Library. A part of the volume 
 looks as if, having received a blow from the vane of 
 a windmill, it had been knocked into a Holland dyke, 
 then fished out and left to dry on the deck of an old 
 Dutch coaster. Dutch words, like English words, are 
 not always given the same way. This dictionary is re- 
 sponsible for most of the Dntch spelling in my book, 
 and as it was published in 1708, u T' Amsterdam," it 
 seemed ancient enough to fit the present necessity, and I 
 have frequently thumbed its worn pages. E. A. R.
 
 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHER ? 
 
 IT was a day in May. The year was 1663. The sky 
 was of a vivid blue, as if there had been an energetic 
 Dutch cleaning overhead. The wind was at a gentle 
 play, sending light round tufts of snowy cloud across 
 this field of azure, as if it were rolling balls at invisible 
 nine-pins. This harmless game, played with Dutch de- 
 liberateness, was going on above the streets of the tiny 
 colonial city of New Amsterdam, on the island of Man- 
 hattan, in the province of New Netherland. 
 
 Petrus (in the Dutch, Pieter) Stuyvesant, one-legged 
 soldier, brave, inflammable, wilful, loving his own way 
 and yet loyal to Holland's ways, was governor of this 
 Dutch seaport in the New World. 
 
 To Katryne Schuyler, a maid of nineteen, it did not 
 make any difference who might be governor and what 
 might be his characteristics, this morning at least. That 
 freshly polished sky of blue, that spring wind, those
 
 2 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 clouds so gracefully rolling across the heavens, did, 
 though, make a difference in her feelings as she stood 
 before a house built long enough in this New World to 
 be old-fashioned. 
 
 " I must get out of this and see how all the fields out- 
 side look," murmured Katryne. "Now, I suppose 
 father and mother don't want to go." 
 
 No ; they had no disposition to take a spring ramble 
 outside of New Amsterdam. Hans Schuyler and his 
 wife, Lysbet, were generally slow in their moods and 
 movements. In this community on Manhattan Island 
 life would sometimes be fierce and wild as Holland's 
 Zuyder Zee in a storm. Holland, though, had its dykes 
 fencing in sluggish canals that North Sea tempests might 
 reach and yet could not stir them below the surface. 
 Hans and Lysbet preferred this second form of life, the 
 sluggish canals guarded from the sea. Hans, though so 
 sleek and sleepy-looking, had indeed shown that he could 
 wake up and bristle like a Zuyder Zee tempest ; but 
 timid, lazy, selfish, the tempest was not his choice. 
 Lysbet, too, had been known to fight ; but even more 
 than her husband she loved a sleepy day, the sun going 
 down in a still, drowsy sky. 
 
 In such a quiet hour this was their favorite location ; 
 they would sit before the chimney tiles brought over 
 from Holland, and dreamily contemplate the fat, pink 
 cows standing knee-deep in sleepy, pink waters. If the 
 cows, suddenly stalking out of those sunset-stained waters
 
 WHENCE A^D WHITHER ? 3 
 
 and taking Hans and his vrouw as bundles of fodder, 
 had begun to make a supper of them, Hans and Lysbet 
 did not look as though they would have made any oppo- 
 sition. 
 
 This was not Katryne's temperament. She had in her 
 veins some of the impulses of that quick, fierce, per- 
 sistent energy that in spiteful little craft went out of 
 Holland's harbors and dared to fight with big Spanish 
 galleons, or they grappled with England's navies, and 
 kept on fighting till Holland's flag waved in triumph 
 above every masthead or lay under foot, crimsoned with 
 the fighter's last blood. It was this spirit of dash and 
 endurance that would sometimes flash into Katryne's 
 black eyes and kindle them into flaming signals that one 
 dealing with her would heed at once. Not that Katryne 
 was a girl of combative and vixenish temper. She had 
 anything save the disposition of a shrew, but she was 
 spirited. "With her energy and vitality went that fortu- 
 nate companion of a rarely failing cheerfulness. She 
 had a sunny way of looking at things, and there was a 
 wise disposition to accommodate herself to the circum- 
 stances that might environ her. Now, Hans and Lysbet 
 Schuyler never could be anything else than Dutch folk 
 who came from Holland long before Katryne saw the 
 light. They had not changed. They were still Dutch, 
 and they talked Dutch. The English element in New 
 Amsterdam was growing. In Long Island, it was grow- 
 ing faster still. In New England, it made such progress
 
 4 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 that it threatened to grow to those dimensions that would 
 make New Amsterdam's life as a Dutch town a serious 
 uncertainty. Pieter Stuyvesant thought New England 
 aggressive and annoying. He had reason to watch her. 
 
 Hans and Lysbet did not like the English people. 
 When arrivals from England were reported in New Am- 
 sterdam's shops, the only attention Hans and Lysbet 
 paid this emigrant element was to avoid it and cling 
 more closely to their home. Hans would smoke longer 
 before the old Dutch fireplace, and Lysbet, in her chair, 
 would sleep before the pink cows in pink waters longer 
 than usual. The cloud from Hans' pipe would hang 
 lower and lower, grow denser and denser, till he and his 
 spouse looked at last like two Dutch ships anchored in a 
 fog. It is true, the actual arrival of two Dutch tubs 
 from dyke-land, the decks swarming with emigrants 
 smoking long pipes, would not have surprised Hans and 
 Lysbet into a great violence of rejoicing. In a mood of 
 placid satisfaction, they would have contemplated it, 
 giving short, muffled grunts of complacency. They 
 came away from the spectacle, though, more determined 
 to talk Dutch, to associate only with Dutch people dur- 
 ing the week, and worship with them on Sunday ; lying 
 down at night to dream of Holland, waking up in the 
 company of a resolute wish that their descendants might 
 not see anything but windmills, canals, and houses made 
 of bricks imported from Holland. 
 
 On the other hand, Katryne, the young woman whose
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHER ? 5 
 
 thoughts were breezy with the vitality that in some way 
 had reached her from valorous Dutch skippers, lived in 
 full and animated contact with her surroundings. She 
 thoughtfully eaw the English element everywhere com- 
 ing in and penetrating the Dutch life. She heard, when 
 she could not see, how in New England the life there 
 was steadily gaining, pressing its way like a rising tide 
 out of Connecticut and over to Long Island. She 
 adapted herself to her surroundings. She made friends 
 with the English about her. She did not go back on 
 her old Dutch friends, but she did go forward almost 
 zealously to make new English acquaintances. There 
 was in Katryne's nature the element of championship 
 that moved her to go out and befriend any party moved 
 upon. When any jealous Dutch element frowned upon 
 the English new-comers, Katryne stood up in open de- 
 fence of the latter. If somebody else may have despised 
 the English tongue and mocked it, she had seen its 
 probable advantage, and resolved to learn it thoroughly. 
 She did not forsake the beloved old Dutch words be- 
 cause she picked up new English words when liv- 
 ing once in Massachusetts, or that now arrived as a part 
 of the cargo of coasters from New England, or the 
 stouter craft from Old England. Sometimes this ques- 
 tion would come before her with peculiar interest : What 
 if English ways and English people should ultimately tri- 
 umph at New Amsterdam ? She sometimes wanted to ask 
 Heer Director Pieter Stuyvesant this question as she
 
 6 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 saw him stumping along so energetically ; but the 
 thought of the thunder-cloud that might blacken on his 
 face at the mention of English rule repelled her. 
 
 In the above various ways there was an unlikeness be- 
 tween Katryne and Hans and Lysbet Schuyler. The 
 unlikeness was so pronounced that it was no wonder she 
 sometimes asked herself if they really could be her par- 
 ents, if she really could be their child. 
 
 The difference was apparent this morning of the spring, 
 when she wanted to fly outside of the palisades of New 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 "Child, why wilt thou go roving?" asked Lysbet, 
 when she knew of Katryne's wish. 
 
 " Oh, mother, ask the wind why it wants to fly ? May 
 I go?" 
 
 " Better stay here." 
 
 " And sit still 2" 
 
 " Yes, rather than be a wind blowing down North 
 River." 
 
 " I can't sit still, mother. May I be the wind for an 
 hour ?" 
 
 Lysbet's head went slowly up and down like a solemn 
 old pendulum, and the young Dutch wind flew away. 
 
 "I don't understand that girl," murmured Lysbet, 
 looking after the wind. " When will she settle down 
 and be a woman ?" 
 
 When Katryne was leaving the house, she passed the 
 old servant, Johanna, white-haired Johanna. It seemed
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHER ? ? 
 
 to Katryne as if Johanna must have lived in the family 
 always, and would she not continue to live always under 
 the Schuyler roof, Johanna and the family and the house- 
 life all going on forever ? Johanna was spinning. 
 
 " This spring air makes me frisky, Johanna." 
 
 " Like one of the spring lambs," said Johanna, hush- 
 ing her wheel and looking up sympathetically. Katryne 
 and Johanna always seemed to understand one another. 
 
 11 1 am going into the fields outside the palisades a lit- 
 tle while. Wilt thou not go ?" 
 
 " I really think I ought to be spinning, dear. Does 
 thy mother not want to go ?' ' 
 
 "My mother?" 
 
 This was Katryne's tongue ; but was Katryne's head 
 behind it ? Could her own self be speaking ? 
 
 To Katryne's lips now came a question at whose ven- 
 turesomeness she in after days often wondered. It came, 
 though, and the gates opened at once, and out it hopped ; 
 " Johanna, am I really the child of my father and 
 mother?" 
 
 At first Johanna was amused. " That proves itself, 
 does it not ? If the child of thy father and mother, 
 that ends it, does it not ?" 
 
 She thought Katryne would laugh ; but as Johanna 
 looked at her, what a serious face she saw ! 
 
 It was so very earnest, it startled Johanna. The old 
 nurse at once became as grave as Katryne. 
 
 " Why was that question asked, dear ?"
 
 8 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Because Johanna knows all there is to be known 
 about us. Johanna, Johanna, am I the child of the 
 people 1 live with ?" 
 
 Johanna reflected. She had a very kindly face, very 
 sincere and trustworthy. In some old pictures of saints 
 that had become travellers and survived the rough voy- 
 age from Holland, Katryne had picked out the most sym- 
 pathetic and trusty, and renamed it " Johanna." 
 
 " Yes, Katryne, I know all about thee," began Johan- 
 na. " To-morrow I will tell thee, for thou shouldest 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, I thank thee, dear, dear Johanna !" exclaimed 
 Katryne, embracing the old nurse and kissing her again 
 and again. " I know thou wilt be a saint." 
 
 " I never shall be that," said Johanna, mournfully. 
 
 Then this maid of Manhattan tripped away. 
 
 Outside the palisades, the wooden wall of New Am- 
 sterdam, the sight of the open country started up anew 
 the rambling impulses within Katryne. Nobody was in 
 sight, no maid bearing linen to an energetic bath, no 
 traveller in the road that crawled up the island, no work- 
 er in any field. Then she could run as hard as she 
 wished, and she turned her face toward East River glee- 
 fully. 
 
 " I wonder if my mother" her thoughts tripped 
 over this word " if if Yronw Schuyler ever ran so 
 fast?" 
 
 She laughed as she imagined Vrouw Schuyler begin-
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHER ? 9 
 
 ning the course in a skip, but ending it in a roll. Ka- 
 trjne reproved herself for this disrespect, but still sped 
 on. Now she would have it that Katryne was a bird ; 
 then Katryne was a cloud not one of the lazy cotton- 
 balls up in the sky, but one of the fast-driving masses of 
 vapor a storm would urge across Long Island. Then 
 Katryne was the breezy spring wind. She ran to a rock 
 beside the restless blue water, sat down, and pushing back 
 the dark curls falling over her clear sunny eyes and down 
 upon the dimples making such pretty little nests in her 
 fair cheeks, she looked off upon the bright, broad 
 river. 
 
 Ah ! there were the lazily moving cloud -images down 
 in the water, slowly going somewhere. Where did they 
 come from ? Where were they going ? Pilgrims adrift 
 for Long Island ? Whither then ? Perhaps they were 
 as wise about those questions " whence" and " whither" 
 as Katryne, for could she say whence she came and 
 whither she were going ? 
 
 " Ah ! there is a chip !" cried Katryne joyfully, like a 
 child finding a toy. 
 
 The chip was floating on the water ; but did it know 
 whence it started, in what shadowy, murmuring forest 
 of pine it was born, and from what trunk it was hewed, 
 flying into the river near by ? What if it were an Eng- 
 lish axe sending this chip into the Connecticut River 
 near the spot where once had been a Dutch fort, the 
 daring little voyager floating down to this point and aim-
 
 10 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ing at New Amsterdam ? It would vex Pieter Stuy- 
 vesant to know of such an origin of this chip. But did 
 anybody know, could even the chip give any informa- 
 tion about itself ? As well off, though, as Katryne 
 Schuyler. She could not tell a word about herself. 
 
 " Oh, there is a log !" exclaimed Katryne. 
 
 Did this dumb, stupid block of wood know about it- 
 self ? As well off, though, as Katryne Schuyler. 
 
 " Oh, there is a ship !" 
 
 Here Katryne jumped from her throne and threw up 
 her hands. 
 
 A ship under full sail ! 
 
 It was to Katryne, who had been looking down, a 
 sudden picture of beauty, as if a long lily-stem had shot 
 up to the surface and in a moment its budding head had 
 burst into snowy bloom. Whence had that ship come ? 
 Where was the distant port that sent it out ? This ship 
 seemed as much without definite origin as Katryne 
 Schuyler. She could easily guess, though, where it 
 might be going : to New Amsterdam, with its ancient 
 fort and creaking windmills and wooden " wall," and 
 Heer Director Pieter Stuyvesant, around all which ob- 
 jects were closely clinging clusters of colonial homes. 
 Not there just yet, for as the ship neared the neighbor- 
 hood of the watcher its sails began to stir like the folds 
 of a wind-shaken flower, and then one by one these can- 
 vas petals dropped, till the masts projected bare as any 
 naked stalks in the December fields.
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHEK ? 11 
 
 Katryne not only saw these sails fluttering down, but 
 she heard the harsh clanking of a chain as a rusty red 
 anchor tumbled down into the blue water. Next, a boat 
 put off from the ship. She wondered who the people 
 were in that boat. Would they land at the very rock 
 that had been the throne of this fair spring queen ? She 
 was curious to know. Were they honorable traders or 
 were they suspicious mariners stooping to practices that 
 inight be classed as piratical ? Strange things were said 
 sometimes about some of the bronzed faces seen at New 
 Amsterdam's drinking-tables for instance, about one 
 Van Schen here Katryne's thoughts were interrupted 
 by the sight of a form rising up from the stern of the 
 boat, waving gallantly his sword, and saluting her ! 
 
 "Captain Dirk van Schenkel !" cried Katryne ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 If a monster of the deep, an octopus, had thus leaped 
 up and swung a hideous tentacle above the boat, Katryne 
 could not have been more surprised. She did not like 
 Captain Dirk van Schenkel, one of her father's ac- 
 quaintances, and who had several times given her to 
 understand that Captain Dirk van Schenkel would like 
 to make Katryne Schuyler his vrouw. 
 
 " The beast !" said Katryne. 
 
 She quickly rose from the rock and hurried away. 
 From the rear of a clump of bushes she gave a hasty 
 look backward. The boat had now reached the rock, 
 and Van Schenkel was climbing upon it.
 
 12 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " A big black spider ugh !" murmured Katryne. 
 
 The clump of bushes reached by her stood on the 
 edge of a grove through which she sped as if savages 
 were after her. Gaining the other side of the grove, 
 she hastily looked up to the sky above the open fields. 
 The sky was troubled. The former snow-white clouds, 
 losing their lustre, were changing into patches of dusky 
 vapor with livid edges. Would they turn into black 
 spiders ? The spring wind, too, was losing its softness 
 and warmth. It had a rough, chilling touch, like that of 
 Dirk van Schenkel's hand when one day he tried to 
 snatch Katryne's hand and she pulled it away as if a 
 spider had fastened on it and bitten it. This time she 
 went home by way of the " water-gate/' where the wall 
 of palisades met East River, and how very glad she 
 was to see the gables of her home, with their edges cut 
 like a flight of steps ! Into the house she ran as eagerly 
 as she had left it, and was about closing the door when 
 she shuddered and looked back. 
 
 " Oh, that black spider ! If he should follow me !" 
 
 She shut the door hastily, as if to close it on a black, 
 repulsive form wriggling up the steps. 
 
 Once at home, she went into every kind of work as 
 rapidly and intensely as possible, that she might with 
 this activity drive off the unpleasant memories of the 
 morning. She thought often of the promise of Johan- 
 na, who was absent that day most of the time looking 
 after some of Hans' affairs whose settlement required
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHER ? 13 
 
 absence from the house. Johanna was expected to stroll 
 along De Paerl Straat (the water front) and learn if a 
 certain Dutch vessel might be in, to go to several shops 
 and ascertain what furs were bringing, and ask Pieter 
 Stuyvesant himself about the trade. Katryne went up- 
 stairs early when evening came. " The sooner I go to 
 sleep," she argued, " the sooner I shall wake up to hear 
 Johanna tell me where I came from. Hark ! was that 
 the sound of rain on the windows ?" 
 
 Yes ; the rain had come and was now tapping on the 
 little old-fashioned panes that had been sent to New Am- 
 sterdam from Old Amsterdam. She thought how dreary 
 it must now be on the Water, so springlike and gentle in 
 the morning ! Could she see Dirk van Schenkel's vessel ? 
 She shivered. She was safe at home, though, and quickly 
 went to her last duty before closing her eyes in sleep. It 
 was to look at a psalm from an antique Bible with leather 
 covers, a window turned heavenward, and brought from 
 the same old city as the house windows. Katryne was 
 very particular about her morning and evening look out 
 of the window in the leather frame. On her knees she 
 kept looking that same blessed way, and some of the 
 shining ones who love to slip out of the heavenly city 
 and comfort pilgrims halting on their knees must have 
 come down those steps in the gables and visited Ka- 
 tryne's chamber. There was a restful look upon her pure, 
 loving face as she lay down, and she was not troubled 
 about tho beginning or the end of her life. God knew
 
 14 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the start of the stream, and He guided its flow, and God 
 would speak through Johanna in the morning and tell 
 Katryne all that it was best for Katryne to know. 
 
 She slept on peacefully hour after hour. By and by 
 she was half conscious that the inquisitive dawn was try- 
 ing to look into her chamber. Then did she hear a step 
 on the stairway ? Was it that of Johanna coming up to tell 
 her all about her life and where she came from ? Was 
 it good, kind Johanna, already fit to be a saint ? No ; it 
 was not Johanna's step, which was rather light and 
 quick, in sympathy with Katryne's, whose step Hans did 
 not fancy. This was slow and heavy, and something that 
 came wearily to Katryne's bed. 
 
 Was it the ugly, black spider of the previous day ? 
 No, not that, for the face was not malignant, though 
 there was something black about the object. This black 
 peculiarity, as it hung down, divided like wings. Ka- 
 tryne was confusedly wondering whether it were a black 
 angel, when it suddenly spoke, and in what a tone ! So 
 slow, so solemn, so strange, and Katryne could never 
 forget it ! 
 
 " Katryne, didst thou see Johanna yesterday ?" 
 
 " O mother, how how thou didst frighten me 
 in that black shawl ! Oh, yes, I saw her. Hasn't she 
 got home ? I saw her, and she was so good, and 1 told 
 her she would be a saint going to be one, mother and 
 she said she she would " 
 
 She stopped. She dared not say that Johanna was
 
 WHENCE AND WHITHEK ? 15 
 
 going to tell her whether she were Lysbet Schuyler's 
 child. It was such a relief to know, though she might 
 not say it, that Johanna was going to be a bridge, taking 
 her over to an island of mystery, and Katryne was reflect- 
 ing upon this, when the messenger in black, solemnly, 
 slowly said : 
 
 " Johanna is dead !" 
 
 " What ? What ? Oh, where ?" 
 
 " In her room." 
 
 Katryne, more like a wind than ever, seemed to fly 
 out of her room and up into Johanna's, and there, on 
 the slaap-bank, or sleeping bench, was a sweet-faced image 
 that Johanna had left behind an image such as our 
 dead to-day leave behind ; an image from which we 
 cannot seem to break away, and yet, oh, how it bruises 
 and wounds the agonized heart that clings to it ! 
 
 Katryne threw herself passionately upon this sweet 
 semblance of Johanna and sobbed violently, while the 
 now heavy storm of rain broke heart after heart of 
 crystal against the old-fashioned window-panes that had 
 come all the way from Amsterdam.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON AN ENGLISH COAST. 
 
 ALL day the wind had been calling. The tide ran 
 steadfastly toward the wind for a while, and then the 
 fickle thing turned and ran from it. That was the 
 tide's answer to the call of the wind. Did it call to the 
 birds ? They must have heard it, and it may have quick- 
 ened their music ; but they did not care to obey the call, 
 for this wind would have taken them far out to sea, 
 where the waves tossed and foamed all day, where was 
 neither tree nor shrub for their re&ting- place. No ; the 
 wind did not mean the birds, and they flew back from 
 the shore to the snugly sheltering pines. 
 
 To what did it call ? 
 
 To the ship anchored at the mouth of a little river. 
 The voice of the wind was in the rigging, now gently 
 humming like an idle expostulation, then growing to an 
 impatient command. The ship chafed at its moorings 
 and wanted to be away, and gladly obeyed the wind as 
 soon as possible after the giving of an order by a voice 
 that had the resonance of a northwester 
 
 " Cast off that line !" 
 
 A woman with a weary, worn face and gray hair sat
 
 OK AN ENGLISH COAST. 17 
 
 by the window of an old English home and looked off 
 upon the blue waters stretching to the west. She 
 watched the ship receding with a stately grace from the 
 shore. The woman was Mrs. Mary Wharton, the widow 
 of the Rev. John Wharton, for many years the rector 
 of that parish. Her only child, Harold Wharton, was 
 still a boy in her thought, but actually he was nineteen, 
 and from the stern of that receding vessel was watching 
 his rapidly dwindling home and wondering at which 
 window his mother might be sitting, anxiously watching 
 Harold's ship. 
 
 Between the two parties of watchers, between the ship 
 and the house, was a third party. His name was Abram 
 Tillotson. He was a person of a size the reverse of for- 
 midable. His peculiarity was in his eyes, small, bright, 
 and sunken deep under shaggy gray brows. His look 
 about the eyes suggested that of an animal, and one al- 
 most wondered when the creature might spring out of his 
 lair. Other than this, his face had a very kindly, human air, 
 and his voice was peculiarly agreeable, but it went with 
 a tongue that could dart out honey and poison in the 
 same throw. He was a lawyer, and had the care of sev- 
 eral estates, including that of the Whartons. Damag- 
 ing stories had been told about his covetousness, and 
 these had reached Mrs. Wharton's ear, and she wanted to 
 detach him from her service. But he was like a leech 
 whose tenacity is only equalled by its greed. Mrs. 
 Wharton could not seem to get rid of him ; and when
 
 18 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 she remembered his voice, so kindly and rarely musical, 
 she sometimes did not wish to get rid of him. There, 
 though, were those uncanny eyes, so penetrating, so see- 
 ing from afar, and so seeing into things ahead. 
 
 This man with the eyes now directed those eyes 
 toward the house, and muttered, " Ah ! another is there 
 at the window. Hannah Martin, the nurse, it must be. 
 Those simple fools are thinking of meeting their sons in 
 America. Look out ! The Atlantic is a deep ditch. 
 Don't try to cross it, my ladies !" 
 
 His guess was correct. Nurse Hannah Martin was 
 there at the window, sympathetically stroking the thin 
 hands of her mistress, and talking away about Harold 
 and George Martin. The latter was a sailor in whom 
 the rover was very much developed, and he had roved 
 among America's mysteries. He and Harold, years 
 ago, settled it that their mothers must go to America. 
 
 Abram Tillotson's sharp little eyes had now shot sea- 
 ward a cutting glance like a knife, and he muttered : 
 
 "Two fools at a window are expecting things that 
 will never happen. On board that ship is a third sim- 
 pleton. He is watching his old home. He says his 
 father named him ' Harold,' and told him that he, Har- 
 old, must be like one of the knights King Arthur sent 
 out to right mankind. Ha ! ha ! Then there was a lit- 
 tle of the money-making spirit, I should say, in his 
 father, for before his death he planned that Harold 
 should go to the Western World and meet his Uncle
 
 ON AN ENGLISH COAST. 19 
 
 Robert another fool and learn how to cheat savages 
 and buy furs. That Uncle Robert, always hopping 
 about ! Harold will miss him and bring back from the 
 West about as much as Henry Hudson, whom his 
 crew set adrift in that icy bay off somewhere." 
 
 Harold was still looking homeward. He was thinking 
 of his mother. He was thinking of his father also. In 
 his hand was a crumpled strip of paper on which his 
 mother had written down a few bits of advice his father 
 hoped Harold would follow : " Go slow when thou art 
 angry. Do not go at all when thou knowest not the way. 
 Speak not when thou knowest not what to say. If thou 
 go sure, thou art all the more Hkely to go strong. In all 
 thy going and coming, be a faithful knight for God." 
 
 English youth for two generations had been keenly 
 alive to the westward calls echoing in every Atlantic- 
 sweeping breeze. The daring voyages of the Cabots, of 
 Hudson, Smith, Gosnold, Gilbert, Pring, Frobisher, 
 Davis, and others, had brought wind after wind from 
 the sea to fan the interest kindled in a Western world. 
 Many young men had gone toward the sunset. Many 
 were going. The Rev. John Wharton's brother, Robert, 
 Harold's uncle, was not by any means in his youth. He 
 had written Harold from New Amsterdam, but his move- 
 ments were not restricted to that Dutch colony. The 
 headquarters of his activity generally were in New Eng- 
 land, but he had declared his intention some time to 
 buy property in New Amsterdam and remain there, as
 
 20 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 he liked the climate better than that of Boston. He had 
 promised to care for Harold when he might arrive, and 
 the ubiquitous uncle sent directions to land at New Am- 
 sterdam. 
 
 Harold responded quickly to these solicitations. He 
 had a venturous nature, and wanted to find out what 
 under the Western sun might tempt a young fellow's 
 ambition. He liked new things. His bright face had 
 the look of one asking, or ready to ask, a question. He 
 was never a dull listener, but listened as one expecting 
 to reach some unhitherto undiscovered isle even in the 
 most dreary ocean of talk. He wan ted now to see a new 
 world beyond the waters. He wondered how it might 
 look. Was there anything to be learned, to be discov- 
 ered ? He shared in that glorious impulse of discovery 
 which has brought to England's brows the imperishable 
 honors laid there by her rough but strong and manly 
 navigators. As he went to this new world he felt that 
 he stood on the threshold of a new life. With eager 
 eyes he looked into the future, carrying in his bosom 
 just as earnest an ambition for the newest and the most 
 wonderful and the best things as any young man of this 
 earnest age to-day, when he confronts all the wonders of 
 a civilization of steam and electricity. And he had, too, 
 the knightly element in his character. His father had 
 not in vain trained him to go out as a knight of King 
 Arthur, the old hero monarch, who, tradition says, sent 
 out his knights in quest of high adventure. Harold
 
 ON AN ENGLISH COAST. 21 
 
 Wharton had been taught if a thing were right, though 
 weak, by it he must stand, and help it into strength. 
 He had heard about the feeble settlements in the midst 
 of the savages of the West. He thought of possible op- 
 portunities to defend the weak ; and if those savages 
 needed a disciplinary hand, his hand was ready. He 
 would never strike a weak enemy, though, and he would 
 make that enemy a friend if he could. Was not this young 
 knight's name Harold ? Had not his father told him 
 that it came to England across the water from the far- 
 ther shores of the North Sea, and sometimes meant 
 champion ? How many of the old-time Harolds had 
 gone out to valiant deeds, and this one now leaving Eng- 
 land had a bosom swelling with pride to think of the 
 glorious future that might be before him ! 
 
 But there was that face on the shore still looking sea- 
 ward and sneeringly. He had his thoughts upon the 
 subject ; "Sir Harold is going to a great country, he 
 probably thinks. The savages will sober our young 
 knight. And those women watching his ship" he 
 turned toward the house " why, they are stooping ! I 
 verily believe it is as if they were going to pray. Ha ! 
 ha ! what good will that do ?' ' 
 
 Abram Tillotson had again guessed right. A mother 
 was bowing that she might pray. She had told Harold 
 that his mother's prayers would always follow him wher- 
 ever he went, and she hoped they would be a wind to 
 bring him to a heavenly port.
 
 22 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 But Harold's ship was now rapidly receding from the 
 watchers. It was feeling the long swell of the sea, dip- 
 ping into every ocean valley, rising with every billow, 
 while the wind fiercely piped in the rigging. Things 
 on shore were confusedly mixing. The outlines of the 
 trees and the houses were blending, and he could not 
 distinguish his home from the neighboring oaks. Soon 
 there was a fusing of all things ashore into a wave of 
 green above a wave of blue. The vessel, too, was round- 
 ing a point, and all the land about his home was going 
 out of sight. One moment longer he felt that he had a 
 connection with Old England, and then came a homesick 
 feeling as he exclaimed, " Gone !" 
 
 To those in the Wharton home there was a melting 
 away of a patch of misty white canvas into a misty 
 wall of gray. Every sign of a vessel disappeared 
 
 " Gone !" moaned one woman. 
 
 " Gone !" moaned another woman.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE KNOCKER. 
 
 " KATKYNE ! Katryne !" 
 
 Katryne was polishing an ancient brass knocker that 
 hung suggestively outside the door of Hans Schuyler's 
 house, and seemed to say, " Lift me and drop me hard ! 
 Pound !' ' Katryne ceased to rub when her name was 
 called so imperatively. 
 
 " Very soon, mother. It is almost clean," replied 
 Katryne, rubbing the knocker still harder. 
 
 It was not a very elegant piece of brass, but a substan- 
 tial one a thing meant for use and to withstand the 
 usage of generations. The prevalent style of the New 
 Amsterdam knocker was a dog or a lion. These animals 
 have been famous guardians. Who has not read of that 
 grim-eyed Cerberus guarding the gates of the lower re- 
 gions ? Who does not know of gentle Una and her attend- 
 ant lion, and who has not heard of the famous rows of 
 stone lions leading up to the portals of Egyptian temples ? 
 The animal on the Schuyler knocker guarding the family, 
 while arousing it at a caller's arrival, was a dog or a lion 
 even as he might be viewed from a point at the right of 
 the door or the left. Seen from the right, he was an
 
 24 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ugly Cerberus, but from the left-hand view- point he was 
 Una's benign, dignified, noble guardian,, Two persons 
 might give, therefore, varying accounts of the same 
 knocker. Katryne enjoyed this peculiarity thoroughly. 
 She had two names for the knocker. On one si Jo it was 
 Brutus ; on the other, Caesar ; and Caesar was the lion. 
 
 As Katryne rubbed away, at first she was congratulat- 
 ing herself that this was the most peculiar knocker in 
 New Amsterdam, little realizing how close and impor- 
 tant its connection might be with her personal history. 
 Then her thoughts flew to another subject, and not an 
 agreeable one. She had for years occupied as her room 
 a large comfortable chamber. At Johanna's death Ka- 
 tryne was directed to vacate this roomy apartment, and 
 take Johanna's small room as hers. Katryne did not 
 like this. She said nothing, however. She had a happy 
 disposition to find advantages in disadvantages, and she 
 began at once to say that Johanna's room was snug and 
 cosey. It was higher up than hers, " closer to heaven," 
 she said. It was in the rear of the eastern gable, and it 
 had one window from which Katryne could see farther 
 out upon East River. And then it was more removed 
 from family jars ; and then, again, Johanna had left a 
 beautiful atmosphere of peace behind her. Yes, Johanna 
 would seem to meet Katryne when, tired and vexed, she 
 was coming up the stairs, and Johanna would say, 
 " Peace, Katryne !" Then Katryne could, in the rain, 
 hear its tapping very plainly on the roof, and the
 
 THE KSTOCKER. 25 
 
 sound to her ear was not only delightfully musical, but 
 it emphasized the security of her shelter. Apart from 
 this, the present occupant of Johanna's room had some 
 uneasy thoughts. Her father did not attempt to fill Jo- 
 hanna's place with another servant, but Katryne was 
 asked to double her tasks and take on burdens that Jo- 
 hanna once carried. Had Hans Schuyler grown poor ? 
 Could he not afford to hire a servant ? His pockets were 
 fat as ever, and he could afford the expense of servant 
 hire. Why, then, did he not hire a servant ? Why 
 was Katryne asked to do the servant's work ? Katryne 
 loved work. She enjoyed activity. She was not trou- 
 bled by any false idea of work, that it was menial and 
 below her. She was troubled, though, by this reflec- 
 tion : would Hans Schuyler have sent his own child up 
 to occupy Johanna's room, and then called that child 
 down to do Johanna's work ? 
 
 The old question was now pressing with new force 
 upon Katryne's thoughts as she rubbed away on the 
 knocker : was that selfish, stolid soul, Hans Schuyler, 
 her father ? As for Lysbet, she had grown quite tender 
 since Johanna's death, and yet Lysbet was not a twin 
 soul, and could she be " mother" ? Just here a cousin 
 of Hans was going by gray- bearded Pieter van T wil- 
 ier. He was often at the house. He was generous, 
 frank, sympathetic. When Katryne was a child, he 
 would fondle her as tenderly in his arms, people said, as 
 if she were his own daughter. As she sat upon his knee,
 
 26 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 he would tell her about bold Henry Hudson and his ven- 
 turous voyage up North River in 1609 ; about fights with 
 the savages, and about hairbreadth escapes from their 
 clutches ; about bold men of the sea who fought for plun- 
 der. Then he would tell her about New Amsterdam 
 and the early days of its settlement, the privations and 
 dangers of the colonists, and about Pieter Minuit, the first 
 " Heer Director," or Governor, in 1626. Katryne's eyes 
 would grow bigger and blacker and stiller, but the light in 
 their depths would come to the surface and glow brighter 
 than ever. She could seem to talk readily with Pieter 
 van Twiller on any subject, approach him in any time of 
 her trouble, ask any question about subjects perplexing 
 her. When she now saw him coming down the street she 
 wanted to leave the knocker and run to him and ask 
 who her father and mother might be. The feeling 
 of attraction gave way to one of repulsion, arid she glad- 
 ly turned back to her labors upon the knocker. 
 
 Pieter van Twiller, a kind-hearted, self-denying mor- 
 tal sometimes, was a pig the most of the time a pig at 
 his trough a sot. He was now staggering down the street. 
 
 She sighed twice. One little sigh was for herself, 
 and a big one was for him. " Poor Pieter !" she ex- 
 claimed, " I wish 1 could help Pieter. If Pieter would 
 only stop drinking !" She stole a pitying glance at 
 Pieter, and then turned to the old brass knocker. " This 
 old thing needs a hard, hard rubbing !' ' she declared, and 
 then rubbed with vigor.
 
 THE KNOCKEK. 27 
 
 " Katryne !" 
 
 This summons from above came in a cold, drowsy 
 tone. 
 
 " What is it, mother?" 
 
 " Don't forget Heer van Schenkel." 
 
 " Why, no !" 
 
 " As if I could forget that beast !" Katryne told her- 
 self. " That old captain is coming here, and I hate 
 him. There goes mother's window." 
 
 It dropped softly, drowsily, as if going to sleep. 
 
 " Mother wants me to get through soon and see him. 
 He is almost twice as old as I am, and I am not going to 
 marry him. If I loved him I would marry him, though 
 he were fifty-five. Now, I know what he wants to-day, 
 and any other day he comes. He has a grand house, 
 and to make one home for the two parties for these 
 Schuylers and Dirk van Schenkel would be truly a fit- 
 ting thing, he says. Then I should see him oftener, and 
 I cannot bear him. I wish I could rub him out of the 
 way, even as I rub out this spot !" 
 
 One moment she smiled to think of the complete dis- 
 appearance of that hard, tough object, Captain Dirk van 
 Schenkel. Then she exclaimed, " Oh, oh, what is this ? 
 Johanna never told me of this !" 
 
 She had seen a little line running up and down one 
 side of the knocker. As she rubbed away, the line 
 widened. Chancing to give a hard upward stroke with 
 her hand, the upper portion of the knocker suddenly
 
 28 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 yielded before the blow and made a slight upward slide. 
 It was a blow on the nose of the dog and the lion, both 
 Cerberus and Leo, Brutus and Caesar, and they did what 
 the originals never liked to do retreat ! Katryne was 
 now in a state of great excitement. This apparently im- 
 movable old house guardian was separable into two por^ 
 tions, was it ? 
 
 " Oh, it slides up !" she cried in delight, clapping hei 
 hands. She had enough of the curiosity of human na- 
 ture to wonder if a still more energetic pressure would 
 not compel a farther retreat. She boldly seized both 
 Brutus and Caesar by the nose, and pressed upward still 
 harder. " Oh, yes, it it is sliding up ! Oh, farther 
 farther ; why, it all comes off !" 
 
 Yes, both dog and lion had ingloriously retreated, 
 leaving the house entirely unprotected ! 
 
 No, not that ; for what did Katryne see in this hollow 
 knocker, whose upper half, sliding along metallic grooves, 
 had now entirely forsaken the lower half ? In that 
 cavity was another knocker, much smaller than the first, 
 but very pretty an angel with folded wings ! 
 
 " Under something ugly, something beautiful !" ex- 
 claimed Katryne. 
 
 There she stood in a happy kind of bewilderment, 
 amazed at the discovery, her face radiant with an expres- 
 sion of childlike delight. Her next thought was, " What 
 a good place this would be to hide anything in \" or, "If 
 I loved that Captain van Schenkel which I don't we
 
 THE KNOCKER. 29 
 
 would put love notes in this box, and the angel would 
 keep them, and who besides us would be the wiser ?" 
 
 " Katryne !" called out a voice less soporifically than 
 before. 
 
 " Almost through !" replied the young woman at the 
 door. 
 
 This time there was no soft thud of a window drowsily 
 falling, but it came down with energy. 
 
 Katryne was startled out of her delighted mood and 
 into one of alarm. What had she done to the knocker ! 
 What if Lysbet should roll suddenly down to the door 
 and look out ! 
 
 Katryne quickly, nervously slipped Brutus and Csesar, 
 Cerberus and Leo, back into their places, and began to 
 rub the knocker again. Her fingers, though, seemed 
 paralyzed with fear ; for what if Lysbet did appear ? 
 And yet she had a delightful sense of ownership owner- 
 ship of a secret ! To think that she alone of all the 
 world knew about it ! A box to hide things in, say love 
 notes ! She could not help wishing that there were some 
 one masculine in the world she was in love with, and 
 then as soon as possible she would write a letter to 
 him and put it in this box, even though he never 
 got it ! 
 
 " Nobody loves me and 1 love nobody," she moaned ; 
 " but 1 have a bit of paper in my pocket, and I might 
 put it in and play it was a love letter to my darling." 
 
 Seizing Brutus and Caesar, and shoving their profiles
 
 30 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 back, she was inserting the paper, when again sounded a 
 voice. 
 
 This was not from above, but from the street. It was 
 not a sleepy old voice, but one youthful and quick mov- 
 ing ; not feminine, but masculine ; not articulating Dutch, 
 but English ; and it inquired pleasantly. " Could you tell 
 me-" 
 
 Katryne gave a nervous jump. She restored the 
 knocker to its normal condition, and then turned about. 
 Of course it was not Dirk van Schenkel, though she 
 was expecting to see him. Dirk van Schenkel could 
 not speak in that musical, gracious way. Katryne saw a 
 young man that she thought might be of her own age. 
 He was not dressed like a New Amsterdamer or an ar- 
 rival from Holland. As his speech declared that he was 
 English, so his dress showed that he must be from Eng- 
 land. He was bowing as courteously to Katryne as any 
 old-time knight she had ever heard about. Whatever 
 the nationality of one bowing in that fashion, Katryne 
 concluded that he might be classed under that cosmo- 
 politan title, " gentleman." 
 
 " He is a comely young man," thought Katryne, fall- 
 ing promptly in love with his brown locks, rosy cheeks, 
 and bright blue eyes. " What does he want ? He has 
 just come, 1 know, in some vessel from England." 
 
 He now finished his sentence. 
 
 " Can you tell me the way to a tavern, for I am a 
 stranger ?"
 
 THE KNOCKER. 31 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Katryne in ready English, while 
 descending the old-time stoop, her polishing-cloth in hand. 
 " You go this way, that way, this way," she motioned 
 with her hands, " then around a corner, and you will see 
 it before you a tavern. You will find it." 
 
 Until he was out of sight she wanted to watch him as 
 he walked away, this cavalier from England ; but there 
 was the sound of a rising window above, and she knew 
 what order was coming. She did not wait for this, but 
 cried, " Yes, mother, I am coming." 
 
 This was in a very dejected tone, for that young Eng- 
 lish knight was still in plain sight. Hastily scampering 
 up to the door, she entered the house. 
 
 The young man had gone but a few steps when he 
 turned about to speak again to Katryne. 
 
 " She said," he was reflecting, " she said wasn't she 
 pretty ! She said this way, that way, this way, then 
 round the corner ; but which way, which corner ? How 
 her eyes lighted up ! I don't know but I ought to go 
 back and ask her. Oh, she is gone !" 
 
 He quickly returned and planted himself before the 
 knocker, and was about to raise it and summon her when 
 his conscience began to accuse him of returning for a 
 false purpose. His hand was on the knocker, but he did 
 not feel at ease in asking for information which he had 
 in substance. Neither the roar of a lion nor the bark of 
 a dog was heard. No sound aroused the fair maid 
 within and brought her to the door. Having obeyed
 
 32 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 conscience and done something commendable in his 
 silence, would not conscience let him do something ques- 
 tionable ? He had detected Katryne in the manipula- 
 tion of the knocker, though she was entirely ignorant of 
 it. He pushed up the face of the knocker, and there 
 was a slip of paper. He had a young man's curiosity, 
 and opening the paper, proceeded to examine it. 
 
 " Nothing," he said. " Something ought to be here, 
 though." 
 
 He had in his pocket a slip of paper on which were 
 two of his father's rules, and copied on the voyage from 
 those his mother had given him : " Go slow when thou 
 art angry. Do not go at all when thou knowest not 
 the way." 
 
 " There," reflected Harold ; " this may do vast good. " 
 
 At the same time he was blushing as if he had stolen 
 twenty guineas and had been caught in the act of steal- 
 ing. 
 
 Harold replaced Cerberus and Leo, Brutus and Csesar, 
 and then softly stepped away, saying to conscience that 
 he had done perhaps a very kind, philanthropic thing, 
 and it ought to condone any liberty he had taken with an 
 old Dutchman's knocker. The next moment he was 
 saying, " What if the Dutchman and not that girl should 
 examine that knocker?" He hurried away. His heart 
 beat much faster as he thought of this possibility, and a 
 pan of coals seemed to be burning in each cheek ; but he 
 dared not go back. He heard a voice at an open win-
 
 THE KNOCKER. 33 
 
 dow near him saying gruffly, " Why, Katryne, where 
 hast thou been so long ?" 
 
 It was not a woman's voice. 
 
 What Bluebeard was daring to make himself thus ob- 
 noxious ? Harold Wharton was yet to meet Hans Schuy- 
 ler, the man with the gruff voice.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 
 
 HAKOLD WHABTON had found himself one morning in 
 a new world. The long, rough sea voyage was over. 
 When he left his berth and went on deck, the vessel, 
 pushed by a vigorous breeze, was rapidly sailing up a 
 roomy bay. He sprang for the bows. 
 
 "How now, blockhead?" shouted the gray-bearded 
 captain. " Forrard there, if you will !" 
 
 And out upon the bowsprit crawled Harold, anxious 
 to get as near this new world as possible. 
 
 11 Have an eye there ! You will fall overboard," 
 warned the captain, " and pay for a fool's folly." 
 
 Harold did not hear him. The light of an eager ex- 
 pectancy was kindled in his blue eyes, and the wind blew 
 his locks into a tangle about his fair forehead. 
 
 The captain laughed. " What does that chap think 
 he will see ?" he muttered. 
 
 Harold saw two canoes. 
 
 " Savages !" was his exciting comment. He detect- 
 ed smoke arising from what he thought must be a wig- 
 wam. " Ho ! a third canoe !" he shouted.
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 35 
 
 These few signs of life gave a sign, too, that he was in 
 a new country. 
 
 The vessel sped as if at a race, and then came a run 
 through a strait which modern nomenclature knows as 
 "The Narrows." Its waters to-day are roughened by 
 the keels of a world-wide commerce ; then, Harold's ves- 
 sel was its only occupant. Beyond this strait the water 
 widened out into the roomy tract we know as the New 
 York Upper Bay. To-day the funnels of many steam- 
 ships trail behind them the long streamers of their 
 smoke ; that day this sailing vessel from England lifted 
 its proud canvas in a solitary glory. What captain of 
 a mighty ocean steamer pressing up New York Bay can 
 feel the exultation of that young Englishman astride 
 the bowsprit of a small sailing craft in the year 1663? 
 Proudly it crossed the lonely bay and dropped its rusty, 
 rattling anchor chains off some kind of an odd seaport 
 town, one of whose most prominent objects was a wind- 
 mill inside a fort. This settlement was held in the ever 
 loose and yielding yet never relinquished embrace of two 
 large currents, one from the north, the other from the east, 
 their waters mingling in the large blue bay Harold's ves- 
 sel had traversed. After his solitary voyage it was a relief 
 to count three ships lying in asocial cluster at anchor, and 
 also to see all those dwellings ahead -a, life ashore and 
 grouped in a town. Harold saw a canoe pulled up on 
 the beach, and there must be a settlement of savages 
 somewhere, he reflected, life in a mass of wigwams ; but
 
 36 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ahead was the life of a civilized town ; odd, not just 
 English, and yet human, and hence homelike. 
 
 He soon went off in a boat that the captain ordered 
 ashore. He wished to find a tavern that might receive 
 him and his baggage ; he wanted to hunt up his Uncle 
 Robert, and search in the shipping for some trace of 
 George Martin, the young English sailor ; and he wished 
 also to see New Amsterdam. 
 
 The vessels tied to their anchors, the houses with their 
 notched gables, the fort around which huddled many 
 buildings as if seeking protection, the windmill he had 
 just spied, other windmills, also, interested him exceed- 
 ingly. This was the New World, and it awakened as 
 eager a curiosity as the big, bewildering New York of 
 to-day can possibly arouse in a lad from the woods of the 
 Adirondacks. Harold had an abundance of time to in- 
 spect his new world, and he was bound to do it thor- 
 oughly and leisurely. He would find a tavern, hunt up 
 Uncle Robert and his friend George, and see New Am- 
 sterdam all at the same time. 
 
 " I must take a good look at that fort," declared Har- 
 old, " and some day see the inside of it." 
 
 New Amsterdam's fort, though it had earthen walls, 
 was a pretentious structure in the days of its greatest 
 strength. There were several buildings within the fort, 
 and Harold pronounced one of these a church. He 
 gazed a few minutes at a sentinel pompously striding his 
 brief course, at the arms of a windmill that rose above
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 37 
 
 the walls and that was lazily threshing the air, and then 
 watched the Dutch flag floating wearily under the sky as 
 if it would be a relief to have the sunset hang out its 
 fiery signal and say that Holland's flag might come 
 down. 
 
 In the neighborhood of the fort Harold found a build- 
 ing that at once attracted his attention. It was a struc- 
 ture of stone, and in after days he heard the people 
 call it White Hall, and learned that it was the governor's 
 house, or that of the " Heer Director." Amid the bus- 
 tling life of New York streets to-day is preserved the 
 memory of Governor Stuyvesant's house, for Whitehall 
 Street is a reminder of the ostentatious house of stone 
 not far from little New Amsterdam's fort. 
 
 And though he did not know it then, Harold saw the 
 Heer Director or Governor Pieter Stuyvesant, himself. 
 
 " That is somebody, and not one of the common peo- 
 ple," declared Harold, standing in front of that stone 
 house. 
 
 This " somebody" wore a long black velvet coat deco- 
 rated with buttons of silver and trimmed with silver 
 lace. His crimson doublet also was ornamented with 
 silver buttons and silver lace. His hair, worn long, fell 
 upon a wide white collar. In his broad-brimmed, high- 
 crowned hat was a feather. Knee-breeches were fash- 
 ionable in those days, long hose also, and shoes with sil- 
 ver buckles, and Pieter Stuyvesant wore all of those 
 equipments that he could ; but doing his best, he could
 
 38 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 wear only one silken hose, one shoe, and one silver 
 buckle, for Pieter Stuyvesant had but one leg ! His 
 substitute for a second leg has become famous in history. 
 It was said at one time that he had a silver leg. This 
 can be accounted for. His false leg was compassed with 
 silver bands, and probably they were conspicuous ones. 
 Hence the legend of a silver leg. That is the way many 
 stories swell into exaggerated dimensions, and a simple 
 story becomes a wonderful legend. The Indians' title 
 for him was " Wooden Leg." For years they were by 
 day thorns in his hands and thorns in his side, and by 
 night they were thorns in his pillow. On one occasion, 
 when the Indians felt aggrieved, they had an angry 
 meeting, and promptly wished to know if " Wooden 
 Leg, in whom they had confided as their protector, in- 
 tended to tear down the houses which were to shelter 
 them in stormy and wintry weather. "* This instance illus- 
 trates the depth of the impression that Pieter Stuy- 
 vesant's artificial limb made on the savages. Eventually 
 Wooden Leg got the better of his dusky enemies, and 
 proved to them that a stump of wood and a lot of energy 
 behind it might be more powerful than all their legs of 
 flesh and bone combined. They respected this leg of 
 wood. He was a resolute soul, a man of strong will, 
 who did not always round out and polish his words, but 
 shot them forth plain and rough, no' matter who might 
 be in the way. 
 * History of New Netherland, E. B. O'Callaghan, Vol. II., p. 75.
 
 IN" A NEW WORLD. 39 
 
 " I should not want to have him against me in a con- 
 troversy,' ' thought Harold, as he tried to read the strong 
 face out before the House of Stone. " 1 dare say he 
 would tell me where a tavern is ; but 1 think I won't 
 ask him, nor anybody else. I'll find it myself. I don't 
 see anything like a tavern-keeper, but I'll hunt one up. " 
 
 In this matter of obtaining information people are 
 very different. Some set everybody to work hunting 
 up the needed knowledge, and the more trouble they 
 make their friends, the better they seem to like it. 
 Others have a pride of discovery, and like personally to 
 hunt up a place, and on a fool's errand may steal round 
 for a tiresome hour. Harold himself wanted to find a 
 tavern and, in the mean time, see New Amsterdam, the 
 new world directly before his eyes and feet. 
 
 Starting from the fort, which street should he take ? 
 In whatever direction he went, his travels would soon 
 come to an end, for across New Amsterdam stretched 
 that wall to which I have referred. It was only a high 
 stockade, a fence of upright pieces of timber, a row of 
 palisades. Humble though its construction, the stout 
 walls of Troy or the lofty towers of Babylon, and that 
 long, straggling piece of masonry in China, have not 
 been more famous to those inside than was New Amster- 
 dam's wooden fence to New Amsterdam. Hence came 
 the name of a street along this very site, a street famous 
 in the financial world, "Wall Street. Who that gets into 
 its fierce money- whirl thinks of the sturdy palisades inside
 
 40 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 of which ambitiously dreamed a little old-time seaport, 
 while outside, with stealthy step, stole the savage from 
 the forest ? Other streets of New York can boast of a 
 very interesting history back of their names. Canal 
 Street runs where the settlers made a canal to link the 
 marshes on the right and left of Manhattan Island. 
 Maiden Lane has its picturesque origin in the laundry cus- 
 tom of the maidens at one stage of Manhattan history, 
 who nocked to certain clean waters where they washed 
 Manhattan's soiled linen. 
 
 New Amsterdam did not need many streets to meet 
 its convenience. In 1664 it only held some fifteen hun- 
 dred souls ; and 1 have counted up seventeen streets that 
 some time during the day were traversed by patient 
 New Amsterdam pilgrims. 
 
 Two streets at first must have satisfied the ambition of 
 the little Dutch town one from the fort along the water 
 front, and the other from the fort back into the wilder- 
 ness, where savages skulked, where wolves at night 
 howled dismally, and from whose dusky depths bears 
 had been occasionally led captive into the primitive 
 town, terrifying the mothers and rejoicing the boys. 
 Wolves at one time were so numerous and so destructive 
 to the cattle turned out into the woods, that for a wolf's 
 scalp a reward was given. Let us, though, bring back 
 our thoughts to that street leading north from the fort 
 through New Amsterdam in 1663, and so to a gate in the 
 palisades or wall. To this point it was known as De
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 41 
 
 Ileeren Straat, or the Gentlemen's Street,* and was a 
 pioneer of onr Broadway. Outside the wall it was De 
 Heeren Weg. This was a long way, and marking out 
 the path for a future Park Row, Chatham Street, and 
 the Bowery, it stretched on across Manhattan Island. 
 
 It was De Ileeren Straat that Harold Wharton faced, 
 and he asked himself, " Shall I go this street ? Perhaps 
 I had better." 
 
 And yet the water front had a charm for him. The waves 
 that rippled and flashed in the sunlight seemed to beckon 
 to him. Around the vessels that were anchored in the 
 bay was an attractive stir of boats, and each was a mag- 
 net. Harold took the street along the water front, nar- 
 rowly watching everything. He soon came to a canal, 
 on either side of which was a paved roadway. This was 
 De Heeren Graft (a word meaning something "dug" 
 and in this case, a canal). It was the predecessor of our 
 Broad Street. Clumsy lighters slowly were coming up 
 this canal, bringing goods from the anchored vessels ; 
 and Dutchmen, who loved anything that suggested Hol- 
 land's canals, beheld the scene with smiling complacency. 
 De Heeren Graft was a beloved place of residence for 
 prosperous New Amsterdamers. Holland in a nutshell 
 was before them. 
 
 Harold wandered along De Heeren Graft. It soon 
 shrank to a ditch, receiving the waters of a swamp whose 
 
 * Memorial History of the City of New York, James Grant Wil- 
 son, Vol. 1., p. 294.
 
 42 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 oozing depths went in a northerly line to the neighbor- 
 hood of to-day's Exchange Place. Where a Holland- 
 like canal became a New World ditch, there was a street 
 that the beavers may have planned and laid out. It was just 
 the Beavers' Path that became De Bever Graft, and as 
 here was a canal in embryo, its borders were good enough 
 for the homes of humble Dutchmen. To the east and 
 west of the main line of the beavers' muddy quarters 
 were additional ditches to tap that troublesome swamp. 
 It is said that the above systematic tapping of the swamp 
 ultimately changed its rough nature, and it was tamed 
 down to a meadow called the Sheep Pasture. To con- 
 firm the truth of this ancient story of the existence of a 
 swamp, when in recent years a ten-story building was 
 planned on a corner of Beaver and Broad streets, it was 
 necessary to drive piles through a yielding soil that a 
 satisfactory foundation might be secured. The beaver 
 did not mean to be forgotten, also that this invasion of 
 his ancient muddy home should not be made without 
 cost to the invader. 
 
 As Harold Wharton wandered along New Amster- 
 dam's odd little streets he saw a variety of homes. Some 
 were poor and mean, and others worthy of praise. A 
 favorite pattern was that of a partly wooden building, 
 whose gables were filled with small yellow and black 
 bricks, making a kind of checker-work. It seemed as 
 if a Puritanic storm against checker-boards might have 
 swept through the little town, and the abandoned idols
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 43 
 
 set up on end now served as innocent gables. For the 
 roofs, a favorite style of finish was that of tiles ; some- 
 times shingles were used. Mounted somewhere above 
 the house might be a weather-cock, ambitiously but 
 silently making to all New Amsterdam a sign of the 
 drift of the restless winds that had arrived in town and 
 were bustling about. Down at the door would be a 
 knocker of brass, and a well-rubbed knocker also, offer- 
 ing an opportunity to any swain to rap timidly on the 
 door of his beloved, and perhaps furnishing a mirror, 
 that he might see if his face were clean and comely, if 
 his hat had a fashionable steeple-crown, and if his white 
 collar were without wrinkle and of a fascinating pattern. 
 All those buildings with varied features only suggested 
 pleasant domestic pictures to Harold. 
 
 As he looked at one locality, he saw a picture anything 
 but pleasant. There stood the old-time whipping-post, 
 and it was bad enough, but its aid and companion was far 
 more repulsive. It was a gallows ! Unhappy criminals 
 doomed to death were here compelled to meet it in bar- 
 barous fashion. It is an agency whose black shadow falls 
 no longer across the life of New York. Harold stared 
 at it, and shivered as if in an Arctic blast. In one pic- 
 ture of New Amsterdam that ugly instrument of death 
 rises in the foreground. Let us be grateful that it is 
 gone from New York forever. 
 
 Of Harold's wanderings that day a part has found 
 record in a previous chapter that speaks of his adventure
 
 44 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 in Katryne's street. Her beautiful face had surprised 
 him into a forgetfulness of his purpose to find without 
 aid a tavern, and stammeringly, blushingly he had asked 
 for information. When he had received it, when, too, 
 he had made a deposit of good advice in the mysterious 
 depths of the brass knocker, he started again on his 
 travels. 
 
 He passed very soon several shops. As a rule, a New 
 Amsterdam shop was in the home of the New Amster- 
 damer. In the lower part of the building he traded for 
 skins and sold a variety of goods. Above, he spread 
 his table and lived on the profits of the wares sold below. 
 "When trade was over, he could sit out on his stoop, 
 smoke his pipe, watch the lighters in the canal or those 
 off the water-front, and when the clouds had covered 
 and extinguished the last of the sun's fiery candle, climb 
 the stairs to his comfortable couch behind the checker- 
 work gables. Under one roof revolved all the machinery 
 of his daily life. 
 
 New Amsterdam was bibulous in its habits, and among 
 its merchandise were goods to be drank as well as eaten 
 or worn. Sailors were arriving from over sea, and quite 
 likely to be thirsty, though men from the water. The 
 savages had acquired an unhappy fondness for spirits, 
 and would, if they could, drink copiously and frequently. 
 The New Amsterdam trade in stimulants was more 
 thrifty than wise. 
 
 Harold was pushing along, eager by his speedy ac-
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 45 
 
 quaintance with it to make the New World an old one. 
 Eyes and ears were at the front. A boyish enthusiasm 
 was urging him on, and he was ready for any adventure 
 that would give him knowledge. Then, what if Uncle 
 Robert, as well as the young Dutch woman's tavern, 
 should turn up any moment ? He had no sooner raised 
 this question than he exclaimed, " Look at that man !" 
 
 Under the slanting roof of a rough porch to a shop sat 
 a man who had bowed his head upon his arms, folded 
 along the back of his chair. A table was near him, and 
 it supported a big, empty mug. A strong odor of some 
 kind of spirits was in the air. 
 
 The man was roughly dressed, like a sailor, but no 
 roughness of dress could hide the noble proportions of 
 his figure. 
 
 " Faith, I know of only one man put together in that 
 way," reflected Harold. " The fellow would do for 
 the king's troops." 
 
 He halted and looked closely at the unconscious figure. 
 " What can the matter be ?" wondered Harold. " He 
 stirs not, and he carries his head so low, it looks as if it 
 would roll upon the ground. Drunk yes, drunk as a 
 fool !" 
 
 Harold was stepping round to the other side of the 
 insensible occupant of the chair, when a man came out 
 of the shop and, staring at Harold, threw out in a coarse 
 tone of voice something too far off in Dutch to be within 
 the reach of Harold's understanding. The stranger was
 
 46 BEHIND MANHATTAN- GABLES. 
 
 heavily built, his face coarse, lumpish, and pimpled. 
 On his head he wore a red skull-cap. His vest of blue 
 was ornamented with various relics of tarnished brass. 
 A long, dirty white apron fell down before breeches and 
 leggings of blue. 
 
 " This fellow in brass is the man that keeps this shop. 
 He is a tapster," concluded Harold. " I think he has 
 just got this man drunk, and it's a sorry trick on so fine 
 a specimen of a man." 
 
 The tapster laughed boisterously as he saw Harold's 
 interest in a tipsy customer, said something else that 
 Harold thought was Dutch because unintelligible, and 
 slipped back into his dirty den. 
 
 Harold was not satisfied. He must learn more about 
 this case in the chair. He bowed and tried to look up 
 into the face stink upon those folded arms. 
 
 " What !" he murmured. " It can't be, but it looks 
 like it, and he is drunk drunk as a fool. Say, rouse 
 up ! Who are you ? Do you know me ?" The sleeper 
 turned in his chair, partially raised his head, drowsily 
 opened his eyes, while Harold exclaimed, " George 
 Martin !" 
 
 George Martin was one of the magnets drawing Harold 
 across the sea ; George Martin, who had made, too, a 
 magnet of his letters home ; George Martin, for whom 
 an old parent was wearily waiting in England ; George 
 Martin, whose mother was hoping to come to America, 
 bringing Harold's mother, all making a home under the
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 47 
 
 same roof ! Everything though came to this, that here 
 was a drunken fool in a chair before a dirty wine-shop ! 
 The New World suddenly seemed to collapse, breaking 
 down into this sad ruin. George was stupidly asleep 
 again. 
 
 "George!" called Harold gently, " I am Harold 
 Wharton, just over from England, and I have been 
 hunting for thee. Come, George, wake up !" He 
 shook the sleeper, though not roughly. The only re- 
 sponse was a groan. " Oh, it is too bad !" murmured 
 Harold. He tried again, " Come, come, man ! Wake 
 up ! An old friend is here." 
 
 " Ha, ha, man ! Cannot do much wid dot ting of 
 beef!" 
 
 The words were English, but the accent was Dutch. 
 
 Harold looked up and saw a showily dressed man 
 hurrying out of the shop. He was perhaps forty years 
 old. His features were finely cut, but their expression 
 was malevolent. As he stepped forward, his gait was 
 one of importance. He wore a gray frock with short 
 skirts, breeches of black velvet, and hose of blue. 
 Around his waist was drawn a sash of scarlet. He wore 
 a broad, white collar, and upon his head was a steeple- 
 crowned hat. He pompously strutted up to the sleeper 
 and shook him rudely. Then he savagely kicked him. 
 The response was a deep groan, as if George Martin's 
 soul were injured as well as his body. 
 
 Harold sprang forward when the man raised his foot
 
 48 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 to deliver another brutal kick, and planted himself 
 between George Martin and his assailant. Harold's eyes 
 Bashing out their indignation were like coals of fire. 
 He straightened up ; he towered ; he was a handsome 
 picture of strength and aroused justice. He was a 
 knight bound to right wrong, and he felt and showed it. 
 
 " Don't you do that again !" he thundered. 
 
 " Eh ?" said the man sneeringly, saucily. " Why 
 not ? Wilt thou stop me, thou English puppy ?" 
 
 He nourished a pugnacious fist before Harold's burn- 
 ing eyes, but Harold said nothing, did nothing, only 
 looked at the man. The latter was still more enraged at 
 Harold's silence, and shook his fist still more threaten- 
 ingly. Seeing that Harold would not budge, he stepped 
 aside, and then making a quick move in the rear, rushed 
 at George, and would have kicked him still more 
 brutally, but Harold caught the fellow, seized his arms 
 and twisted them behind him, and then holding him in 
 his powerful grasp, shoved him along the street. The 
 captive struggled and writhed to get away from Harold, 
 but the grip was like iron and hopeless. Several loafers 
 came out of the shop, and standing in the porch grinned at 
 the sight, and then laughed and shouted, " Ho ! ho ! ho !" 
 
 At the first street-corner Harold took off his hands, 
 and then pointing round the corner, commanded, " Do 
 thou go /" 
 
 " Who who art thouf" fumed the man in Eng- 
 lish, adding something in Dutch.
 
 IN A KEW WORLD. 49 
 
 " That is not your matter. Do thou GO !" 
 
 The stranger hesitated, but when Harold advanced 
 toward him angrily replied, " 1 go, mynheer, but thou 
 and he the sprat is mine he thou wilt hear from me." 
 
 Off he went, throwing out hot curses in Dutch as 
 energetically as if he were a volcano in course of eruption. 
 
 Harold went back to George. 
 
 " George !' ' he called. " Come, boy, try to get up !" 
 
 George was now beginning to realize that he had been 
 kicked, and was rubbing his leg. 
 
 " Come, George, come !" 
 
 " Harold, boy !" exclaimed the sailor in an affection- 
 ate, delighted tone. 
 
 " Yes, George ; now get up and go with me." 
 
 Harold wound a strong arm about George and helped 
 him up. Together they went off. But where in the 
 wide world, and in New Amsterdam in particular, 
 would Harold take this befuddled companion ? " Which 
 way did that young Dutch woman say I must go to find 
 a tavern ?" 
 
 He looked up, and his eyes snapped. " There she is 
 now !" he exclaimed, with delight. Katryne met Har- 
 old like one of the angels that crossed the path of poor, 
 distressed Jacob. She had been sent out by the Schuy- 
 lers in behalf of the family larder, that it might be equal 
 to the demands of the appetite of that expected guest, 
 Captain Dirk van Schenkel. 
 
 Fancying she might possibly see again that gallant
 
 50 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 young Englishman, she could not resist the promptings 
 of a nature that was as human as the average, and had 
 allowed herself to put on a very becoming piece of head 
 furniture, a crimson hood of silk. It was in the latest 
 style, certainly as fresh a pattern as New Amsterdam 
 knew about, and it made a fascinating setting for her 
 bright eyes. Otherwise her attire was plain, just a 
 simple black dress that opened in front to show a petti- 
 coat of black. All this though only made the crimson the 
 more prominent. Katryne had a very pretty foot so 
 Johanna used to think and this was encased in a high- 
 heeled shoe. 
 
 When Harold saw her, he abruptly stopped, and his 
 load stopped with him. Harold's gaze was one of hon- 
 est admiration. Katryne had seen Harold as promptly 
 as Harold had seen Katryne, but she did not wish in any 
 way to confess it. There was a puddle in her pathway, 
 and coquettishly turning from Harold, there was a far- 
 away look in her eyes, as if her thoughts were beyond 
 the seas, and the great occupation of her present life 
 was how to get a pair of high-heeled shoes safely over a 
 puddle in South Africa. She heard a cough. It was 
 not a sharp, rigid, aged cough, but one sonorous, pliable, 
 youthful. She did not turn her head though. She was 
 in South Africa still. 
 
 " A-a-hem, madam !" appealed Harold, fearful that 
 this fascinating vision of an angel might vanish up the 
 spring sky.
 
 1ST A NEW WORLD. 51 
 
 Katryne gave a startled toss of the head, as if this 
 were one of the amazing surprises of her life, and on the 
 other side of the puddle, that to Harold seemed to have 
 an Atlantic width, she tantalizingly halted. Harold 
 was trying to give a very stately bow while still support- 
 ing George. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" mourned Katryne in touching tones, 
 with her eyes avoiding Harold and looking tenderly at 
 George. 
 
 "Is he drunk?" 
 
 She infused into her English such a pretty mixture of 
 Dutch intonation, that Harold's sense of the sin of in- 
 toxication began to weaken. It promptly strengthened 
 though. 
 
 " Yes, lady ; and only think of it, he is a sailor that 
 I was looking for, one I knew at home in England ; but 
 1 did not think to find him where 1 did." 
 
 George was gradually coming to himself, and now 
 muttered, " Never did did think !" 
 
 " Poor fellow !" again said the Dutch angel so pity- 
 ingly. 
 
 Harold now was so stirred up that he felt like deliver- 
 ing a strong sermon on the evil of drink, and on the 
 evil, too, of pitying its devotees. 
 
 " And he is a sailor ?" inquired Katryne. " They 
 have such a hard time !" 
 
 He wanted to tell her what a hard time he had had as 
 a knight, protecting his friend against one who had in
 
 52 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 his face the expression of the Evil One. Yes, he could 
 have told her he felt as if he, the knight, had crossed 
 the devil's track. He was silent though. If he had 
 spoken, he doubted whether this hard-heartecl Dutch 
 angel would have pitied one who had fought the Evil 
 One. Only drunken sailors would receive her commis- 
 eration. 
 
 "1 pity sailors. They have a life of danger," she 
 began again. 
 
 " They may make life wretched for their friends, and 
 will do it if they get drunk. Good-day, madam !" 
 
 His language was courteous, but his manner was dis- 
 tant. Off he went, tugging at his burden. 
 
 " Fare thee well !" said Katryne gently and peni- 
 tently, looking now at Harold with strained vision, and 
 hoping he might turn just once. 
 
 He did not give one glance backward, but strode off 
 haughtily. She, in her anxiety to see all that she could 
 of the supporter of the drunken sailor, stepped carelessly, 
 and as if to punish her for her trifling manner toward a 
 lonely exile from England, one of her high-heeled shoes 
 slipped off and dropped into the puddle. 
 
 11 Oh ! oh !" sighed Katryne, pulling out of the water 
 her luckless shoe. 
 
 She now went off in disgrace, but she gave a final 
 swing to her crimson hood ; Harold was not looking. 
 He was walking off stiffly, dragging the English sailor 
 with him.
 
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 53 
 
 " Does he see that tavern ?" wondered Katryne. 
 
 Yes, he saw a building that he concluded was a tavern. 
 Its open door had a hospitable look, and on benches at 
 each side of the wide stoop men were lounging that 
 might be classed as travellers seeking a refuge, or pro- 
 fessional loafers from the streets of New Amsterdam. 
 Sampson-like, Harold was dragging George along with 
 him, and finally deposited him in an empty chair near 
 the benches. W ith the air of a knight who had won a great 
 trophy, and only wanted now an opportunity temporarily 
 to shelter it, Harold stepped across the threshold of the 
 tavern and upon its carefully sanded floor. A person 
 was here that Harold took to be the tavern-keeper, wear- 
 ing a skull-cap of yellow and a baggy coat of blue and 
 velvet breeches of black. He understood English enough 
 to catch at Harold's meaning, and he led him across the 
 ridges of sand to a stairway, beyond which were several 
 guest-rooms. Harold was absent not more than five 
 minutes, and having made his selection, returned to the 
 stoop, but found an empty chair. The trophy that was 
 the sign of the prowess of this English knight had 
 gone ! 
 
 Could George have gone off without help ? Harold 
 did not ask any of the noisily jabbering group on the 
 stoop for information, but in his self-reliant way pre- 
 ferred to hunt up George, who had probably sauntered 
 off a short distance, and could soon be found, he assured 
 himself. A patient hunt did nut disclose George to the
 
 54 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 hunter. Then Harold applied to the tavern-keeper, 
 who was pacing his sanded floor. 
 
 " Have you seen my friend ?" 
 
 " Yot?" 
 
 " I left a friend at your door, and he has gone away." 
 
 " Yot gone vay ?" 
 
 " He has gone, I say. He was my friend. I left 
 him at your door, sir." 
 
 " Komm dis vay ! My, my ! Yot ish it ? Komm, 
 komm !" 
 
 The tavern-keeper's skull-cap flew to the door as if it 
 were a wing, and there this wing of yellow was sur- 
 rounded by an excited circle, all gabbling at once one 
 man pointing at the empty chair, another at Harold, a 
 third down the street toward the water. All about 
 Harold was this whirlpool of Dutch words, the tavern- 
 keeper energetically interjecting an additional and con- 
 fusing torrent of opinion. Finally, a man came up 
 whom the others accosted volubly, and pointed at Har- 
 old, as if to acquaint the man with Harold's connection 
 with something that had happened. 
 
 " He knows something about this, and 1 will ask for 
 myself," thought Harold. " There is so much excite- 
 ment, I know George did not go peaceably." 
 
 " Did you see a man go from here ?" asked Harold. 
 
 " You shpeaken no Dootch ?" inquired the man. 
 
 Harold shook his head. 
 
 " Denn lemme shpeak English. Dot man vot go
 
 IN A NEW WORLD. 55 
 
 veil, he go, cos cos he must go. Dey made him fur 
 logo." 
 
 " Who made him ?" asked Harold, springing forward. 
 
 " Veil, a shailor miist go mit shailors. Dey made 
 him go." 
 
 " Which way?" 
 
 "Deship?" 
 
 " Yes, the ship I mean, where did the sailors take 
 that man ?" 
 
 " Do ship ober dar and and" here the man 
 pointed to the water-front " and goin' dish day." 
 
 The next moment Harold was rushing down to the 
 water-front to find a ship going that very day, and 
 carrying off the luckless George Martin. Out in the 
 stream was one ship, whose deck showed the turmoil of 
 departure. Men were rushing about handling pieces of 
 cargo, or they were climbing the rigging, or they were 
 hoisting sail. And up in the shrouds, did not Harold 
 see George Martin ? 
 
 u Fool that I am ! He cannot climb a ship's rigging. 
 He is not over his spree. That looks like him by the 
 rail. And the man in the stern ?" wondered Har- 
 old. 
 
 In the high, old-fashioned poop stood an officer. He 
 was grinning satanically and waving his hand defiantly 
 at Harold. 
 
 " That's the Evil One !" exclaimed Harold. " That 
 is the man that kicked George Martin his captain and
 
 56 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 1 understand it all now : he sent a gang that carried 
 poor George off. I have it now !' ' 
 
 The vessel was speedily drifting away. Over our 
 young knight stole a feeling of solitude. He thought 
 of the old friend who was in his arms a little while ago ; 
 but now, snatched away, he was a prisoner, and every 
 moment receding in that receding vessel. "Was the ves- 
 sel going to England ? He thought of the waste of 
 water between him and his old home, of the loneliness 
 of that stretch of ocean. He seemed solitary as the 
 solitary sea. 
 
 He started forward. Was the Evil One in the high 
 stern throwing Harold a last gesture of contempt ? Who 
 could he be ? 
 
 " I'll ask the man next me. He may be English, and 
 can tell me who that captain is," thought Harold. 
 
 The man proved to be English and good as a di- 
 rectory. 
 
 " The captain of that vessel is one Van Schenkel." 
 
 " Yan Schenkel ?" thought Harold. " Then Van 
 Schenkel is the devil." 
 
 He felt his loneliness still more sensibly. He turned 
 away from the water-front, wishing he could see the 
 handsome Dutch maiden. If he had known her aver- 
 sion to Van Schenkel, the angel in the crimson hood 
 would have had a new attraction for him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PIETEK THE SOT. 
 
 HANS SCHUYLER sat out in his garden, and as he 
 smoked, seemingly gave all his thoughts to the cattle 
 a fine pair just imported from Holland that, securely 
 tethered, were feeding with great satisfaction on a plot 
 of green grass at the foot of the Dutch garden. Hans 
 had such an animal look, was so round-bodied, that if, 
 going on all fours, he had been turned out there, he 
 might have seemed to be among his kind ; but he would 
 not have been, for Hans would have rooted in the emer- 
 ald sod. He was not of the cattle-kind. Hans was pig. 
 Hans had a big, puffy face ; full, drooping, shaven 
 cheeks ; a tnrned-up nose, that was remarkable for a 
 pinkish tip. An erysipelous affection of a wilful nature 
 had persisted in going into that tip and perversely pink- 
 ing it. When he was excited, his face was more swine- 
 like than ever, for into it came a heavy look of animal 
 obstinacy, while the tip of the nose was more inflamed 
 than usual. The occasion of the present commotion in 
 Hans' soul was, first of all, a talk that Hans had had 
 with Katryne. The day that Van Schenkel had been 
 expected to call, that day Van Schenkel did not call.
 
 58 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 He had planned to start on a coasting trip to New Eng- 
 land, after he had seen the Schuylers. His crew, though, 
 had made him trouble by their carousals in New Amster- 
 dam's drinking-holes, and after he had alighted upon 
 George Martin and dragged him away, he made up his 
 mind to sail at once. Both wind and tide promised 
 their help. The voyage would not be long, he told him- 
 self. He would be back soon. Then he would see 
 Katryne. He did not feel uneasy as to success in this 
 interview, though his errand was so serious as to discuss 
 his betrothal to Katryne and a subsequent marriage. 
 Hans favored this, and Hans had been the one to rule 
 behind the dog and lion knocker. Not for a moment 
 did he suppose he must now get down from his throne. 
 Could the names of Van Schcnkel and Schuyler be firmly 
 tied together, it would greatly be to Hans' financial ad- 
 vantage, for Yan Schenkel had money. Hans also was 
 reported to sit as a kind of king enthroned on his wealth, 
 but there was much thinness of shell to his finances, and 
 a rough stroke from any catastrophe would shiver Hans' 
 prosperity. On the other hand, what stability would be 
 assured to the shell if it could be thickly lined with 
 those beaver-skins Van Schenkel brought down from 
 the Indian country traversed by the long, lonely North 
 River ! A blow, though, from Katryne's own energetic 
 hand was the catastrophe threatening to shatter that 
 shell. When Hans, to prepare her for Van Schenkel' s 
 call, had plainly spoken about this modest captain's in-
 
 PIETER TflE SOT. 59 
 
 tention, Katryne met the proposition with a prompt, 
 flat, even scornful rejection. 
 
 Hans was not prepared for this. It upset him at the 
 time, and he had not recovered from the upset. Out in 
 the garden he was thinking it over. The memory of 
 that talk very much excited a nature that did not love 
 excitement for its own sake. He breathed more and 
 more heavily. He drew on his pipe harder and harder, 
 lie threw out larger and larger puffs of smoke. In the 
 midst of this enveloping cloud there would he an explo- 
 sion, like a gun going off, a gruff " Booh-h-h-h !" As 
 the smoke from the discharge of this heavy old cannon 
 cleared away, Hans would make some exclamation, some 
 declaration of a purpose, which might be taken as the 
 shot from the cannon going to its mark. His first dec- 
 laration was, " Katryne, Katryne must be brought 
 under !" What was a woman for, anyway, in Hans' 
 opinion, save just to fill the relation of a creature in 
 subjection to man, her superior, her master ? To obey 
 was the one great path for her feet, the orbit in which 
 was rounded out the sweep of her greatest privilege. 
 Katryne must learn obedience, she must be brought 
 under. 
 
 It might have been said that a process of subjection was 
 entered upon when Katryne was sent up into Johanna's 
 old room. That though was not so serious. Hans now 
 detected alarming signs of dissent from the Van Schenkel 
 plan, the first fluttering of a flag of insurrection. The
 
 60 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 threat next developed into plain refusal. The flag was 
 run up, up to the masthead of open rebellion. Was 
 this so ? Then Katryne must be promptly taken in 
 hand, brought under, and given to understand that the 
 standard of rebellion must be submissively lowered. 
 Hans again smoked hard, puffed furiously, till a mal- 
 odorous cloud covered his face. He removed his 
 pipe. Again a growl and a shot from the cannon ; 
 " Booh-h-h-h ! Katryne must be brought under. She 
 shall take the clothes outside the wall to wash !" There 
 was a space of silence, and as the cows fed, Hans smoked. 
 The puffs finally grew more ill-tempered, the smoke 
 thickened, it darkened, and there came another explo- 
 sion. This time the shot went in the direction of an- 
 other and older female. " Booh-h-h-h ! Lysbet that 
 woman, too, must be brought under !" 
 
 How the latter could be accomplished, it was not 
 stated at the cannon's mouth, but it was resolved upon. 
 No one would have charged Lysbet with insurrectionary 
 tendencies. That round face with its fringe of grayish 
 hair, its sleepy blue eyes, whitish brows, placid mouth, 
 did not suggest a warrior in his helmet, and yet there 
 was some war even in Lysbet's make-up. While it was in 
 her, it was generally very much covered up. Lysbet 
 was like the cat, drowsily stretching out before the fire, 
 that looks pacific and protrudes soft, velvet paws, but 
 under the paws are claws, and sometimes there is a sur- 
 prising projection of those claws. Lysbet had been
 
 PIETEH THE SOT. 61 
 
 known to give Hans a scratch, and he deserved it. 
 There was no trace in his face or hands, but in his lacer- 
 ated feelings he carried Lysbet's mark. 
 
 She had in a general way favored the Dirk van 
 Schenkel plan, but when Katryne had refused to do her 
 very important part in the matter, Lysbet thought the 
 betrothal should be delayed until Katryne gradually 
 might have opportunity to come to the desired decision. 
 
 " No, no, myn vrouw !" roared Hans. " She decide 
 now now, I tell thee, woman ! Thou must not talk in 
 that foolish way." 
 
 " Thou art a cruel man to talk thy way !" retorted 
 Lysbet, shooting out with her words a sharp look. In 
 the words and tho look were claws. Then she gave 
 another and far deeper scratch with the claws, usually 
 under such velvety paws : "If Hans would work hard 
 himself, Hans would not need to force this on Katryne." 
 
 Did Hans hear ? Could he believe his own ears ? 
 
 " Thou knowest thou art lazy, Hans !" A scratch there ! 
 
 Hans grew purple at the mouth and pink at the nose. 
 He could not speak. Subsequently he withdrew to his 
 garden to smoke, and also at that safe distance to fire 
 shots at Lysbet. She, too, must be brought under. 
 
 As Hans smoked away there came a final explosion : 
 " Booh, booh, booh-h-h ! Pieter, he, too, must be 
 brought under !" 
 
 Pieter van Twiller apparently was the last person in 
 the world that needed to be reduced to further subjec-
 
 62 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 tion. Pieter was already in chains ; lie was a sot. The 
 schnapps of Holland had conquered him, even subjugated 
 him. He was accustomed to come every day for his 
 schnapps or beer. This was an arrangement of long 
 standing, though only Hans, Lysbet, and Pieter himself 
 knew the reason of it. People wondered that Hans 
 should grant this daily potation, for they knew how 
 selfish he was. For some mysterious reason this daily 
 dram was granted, and Pieter would come, whenever in 
 New Amsterdam, for his allowance. No pig was more 
 regularly at his trough. The morning of this day of 
 Hans' solemn council with himself, though, Pieter had 
 shown a most unaccountable mood. 
 
 11 Pieter, now think, now think !" was Hans' invita- 
 tion. 
 
 Pieter opened his drowsy eyes, prepared to think. 
 
 " Thinkest thou not that Yan Schenkel would make a 
 good husband for Katryne ? Then tell her so. It will 
 be well for thee to do it." 
 
 " Our Katryne ?" asked Pieter in a tone of surprise, 
 his eyes wide open now. 
 
 " Yes, our Katryne. Why, man, there is but one 
 in the neighborhood," said Hans testily, provoked at 
 Pieter's stupidity. 
 
 Nothing more was said that moment, but very soon, 
 without any intimation of it, Pieter brought a heavy 
 hand down on the table, and made his unfilled glass 
 jump.
 
 PIETEK THE SOT. 63 
 
 " Hans, I have sold myself again and again to the 
 devil, and sometimes at a very small price ; but I won't 
 sell myself in this thing." 
 
 "What?" asked the astonished Hans. " What 
 w-w-w " he sputted, and then stared in silence. 
 
 " I have sold myself again and again to the devil, and 
 now is proposed another sale that it will be well for me 
 to tell her that Van Schenkel would make her a good 
 husband, and say it to her as God's truth ; and, Hans 
 Schuyler, it would be an infamous lie ! Mynheer, I will 
 not say it !" 
 
 Pieter had risen from his seat in a flag-bottomed chair. 
 
 If one person is bigger than another, it is not so much 
 when one is superior in size, but when he takes a stand 
 for the right against the wrong. The bigness of the 
 principle seems to come out and add length and breadth, 
 till even a dwarf becomes a being of imposing stature. 
 Pieter the sot towered before Hans' surprised vision 
 into Pieter the giant. 
 
 " G-g-g-go !" ordered Hans in furious passion, hardly 
 able to speak. " N-n-no ! Take thy s-schnapps 
 first if if thou wilt take them take ' 
 
 11 1 don't want thy schnapps," replied Pieter in a 
 manly fashion, and then off he went. 
 
 Hans' surprise was now greater than ever. Pieter's 
 independence had astonished him, but to think that 
 Pieter did not want schnapps. For five minutes Hans 
 could do nothing except to waddle about the room, wiping
 
 64 BEHIND MAKHATTAtf GABLES. 
 
 liis face, and ejaculating every half minute, " Strange ! 
 Not want schnapps Pieter not want schnapps !" 
 
 In the garden at a later hour, the cattle being wit- 
 nesses, Hans reviewed the alarming details of this gen- 
 eral uprising, and resolved that Katryne must be brought 
 under, Lysbet must be brought under, Pieter must be 
 brought under ! 
 
 Another morning came, and Katryne, having received 
 her strange orders, seized the family linen and took the 
 path that led outside the wall to the clean, clear water 
 that gave a popular wash-tub to New Amsterdam 
 maidens. 
 
 It was a new path for Katryne Schuyler. Girls in 
 humbler station did it, but not Katryne Schuyler. What 
 did it mean ? She was not unwilling to work, but she 
 was in some excitement as she wondered at Hans' possi- 
 ble motive in issuing the order. She had not gone far 
 when a voice just behind her exclaimed : 
 
 " My poor child ! Let me take thy clothes, Katryne 
 dear." 
 
 " Why, Uncle Pieter ! I did not see thee." 
 
 " 1 saw thee though, and I hurried to catch thee." 
 
 As he looked at her, his eyes sparkled with admiration. 
 Hans had thought that rough work, her working clothes, 
 the public exposure, all the surroundings of the hour 
 would not only mortify and tame this rebellious will, but 
 she would look degraded in the eyes of others, as well 
 as feel it in her own consciousness. A magnificent rose
 
 PIETEE THE SOT. 65 
 
 though may be placed in very rough surroundings, and 
 it will look more queenly there than in a garden. 
 
 Katryne's dress was one chosen for her working hours, 
 but though of humble stuff, it was picturesquely worn. 
 Her gown, though very cheap, was new, and of a crim- 
 son that set off well her clear, brilliant complexion. 
 
 What the Prince of Morocco said to Portia could 
 never have been said to Katryne Schuyler, " Mislike 
 me not for my complexion." 
 
 A fold of that same crimson cloth she had gracefully 
 wound about the rich tresses of her black hair. Under 
 her prettily moulded chin she had shot through her 
 white collar an arrow of gold. She thought of the 
 young Englishman when she pinned this in its place, and 
 yet inconsistently, for she was not ready to say that she 
 cared to have him meet her bearing off the family wash. 
 Her parted skirts showed a petticoat of cheap material and 
 unornamented, but white, and so were her hose daintily 
 appearing above her high-heeled shoes. So white and 
 yet so radiant, so bright, so pure, so easy and graceful 
 and queenly her gait, that if a young Englishman had 
 met this young laundry girl he might fittingly have 
 thought her one of the attendant maidens of old-time 
 Olympus that had dropped down to Manhattan Island, 
 and for the pleasantry of it was bearing off the Schuyler 
 wash. 
 
 What wonder that Uncle Pieter said, " My dear 
 child, how fair thou art !"
 
 66 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " And, Uncle Pieter, how well thou art looking !" 
 
 " Ah, that can never be !" 
 
 Her surprise to see him so well-looking was not only 
 great as his to see her tugging at her load, but her aston- 
 ishment was greater, for he was sober. Pieter the sot 
 was not wont to be in this mood, but then this morning 
 he had not called for his daily potation. His generally 
 half-shut, dull eyes were wide open now, and a bright 
 light flashed up through their dark depths. His hair 
 was of a Bandy gray, and when he lifted his battered hat 
 and pushed aside his frosted locks, bis skin showed as 
 fair a surface as Katryne's. Had not Lysbet told Katryne 
 that Pieter the sot when young was of marked beauty ? 
 He and Lysbet were children of the same mother, but 
 they had different fathers. Both were born in Holland, 
 but Pieter had been sent to New England by an im- 
 pecunious father, and in Boston had been brought up by 
 relatives. When past twenty-five he came to New Am- 
 sterdam. Pieter, though Holland-born, felt that he was 
 also an Englishman. He spoke the tongue arid had the 
 ways of the English, while cognizant of the Dutch 
 tongue and methods. He was classed among the English, 
 which was one reason why Hans hated Pieter. It was 
 through Pieter's influence that Katryne had passed several 
 years in Boston, becoming familiar with the English 
 language. It was a mystery to Hans how he could have 
 consented to this ; but Lysbet had favored it, and this 
 explained a part of the mystery. The fact that the
 
 PIETEK THE SOT. 67 
 
 Boston relatives were rich, and that Hans thought this 
 channel of acquaintance might run with gold some time, 
 accounted for the balance of the mystery. Hans loaded 
 Pieter's shoulders with much of the responsibility for 
 Katryne's stay in Boston. 
 
 The world looked upon Pieter as a lonely man in its 
 midst, his wife having died, and her dust was at the 
 roots of some of the wild roses blooming sweetly each 
 summer in the New Amsterdam burial-place, on the 
 North River side of the little town. Pieter lived alone 
 somewhere when in New Amsterdam ; but the where- 
 abouts of a sot who cared to know ? Who cares to know 
 where thistles grow, save that they may be avoided ? 
 Alone he might be seen straggling to the water-front to 
 go off as a sailor, or alone he would stray into the wilder- 
 ness, and come back with beaver-skins, still alone though. 
 
 One person seemed to understand Pieter, and that was 
 Katryne. He might be inaccessible to others ; to Katryne 
 an open door was always offered. When he was sober 
 he would tell her of the folk-lore he had picked up 
 among the Indians, or tales of the wide, mysterious sea, 
 gathered among the sailors who sat by the hour along 
 the water-front, raconteurs about whose stories was a 
 smell of the salt air off the dunes of Holland, of the 
 gales that roared down upon England from the sullen 
 North Sea, of the warm winds that swept the shores of 
 West Africa. When Katryne was a child Uncle Pieter 
 would tell her strange stories about Hendrik Hudson, as
 
 68 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the Dutch have called the Englishman, and her black eyes 
 would open wider and wider, as if to catch in their shining 
 depths all that Uncle Pieter said how in the deep, dark 
 ravines of the Catskills still lived the ghostly Hendrik ; 
 and what was thunder but the rolling of the round, 
 heavy bowlders by Hudson and his spirit crew as they 
 pursued their games ? In this eager, frank, enthusiastic 
 Uncle Pieter provided lie were sober Katryne had a 
 sympathetic companion. They now talked together as 
 they went to the washer-maids' rendezvous, he carrying 
 the clothes, she playing with the arrow of gold, whose 
 flight under her chin and across her cape had been pictu- 
 resquely checked. Not in any way did he notice the fact 
 that she was going off with the family wash, but it 
 seemed as if she were always accustomed to it, and as if 
 Pieter the sot were always in the habit of accompany- 
 ing this fair maid of Manhattan. Was he just Pieter 
 the sot ? No, no !
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 THEY chatted on various subjects as they passed through 
 a gate in the wall, and then along the path* leading to the 
 bright, clean waters, attracting New Amsterdam's maids 
 with their bundles of linen. They talked busily ; and how 
 well informed Katryne's companion showed himself to 
 be ! To Katryne, when younger, it had often seemed as 
 if Uncle Pieter were a bundle of knowledge, so full, so 
 valuable, she could only think of those big, precious packs 
 of beaver-skins the savages brought to New Amsterdam. 
 What did he not know ? Somewhere he had attended a 
 school that gave him a knowledge of Latin, and Katryne 
 had heard it said that in the days of one of the dominiesf 
 of New Amsterdam Pieter would even venture at times 
 to cross linguistic swords with the dominie himself, and 
 fight out a Latin duel to the mortifying end, and gen- 
 erally the dominie was the one to be mortified. 
 
 As Pieter now talked he ceased to be Pieter the sot. 
 He generally carried his head low down, as if ashamed. 
 Now he stood erect, and the eyes, so often hidden and 
 averse to a direct look, flashed with the light of that 
 
 * Maiden Lane, T" Maagde Paatje. 
 
 f Spelled "dominie" in some old-time documents. See B B. O'Cal- 
 laghan's History of New Netherland, Vol. I., p. 450, Vol. II., p. 567.
 
 70 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 self-respect which the possession of knowledge always 
 brings, and which confronts the world promptly. He 
 was Fieter the scholar. He told about New England 
 history ; told of the old days at Manhattan ; told of the 
 north country, through which he had travelled to Fort 
 Orange and beyond, answering questions about Holland 
 or dropping a bit of Latin. Oh, it was such a happy 
 change from an animal life, as an indigent gin-drinker, 
 to the standing of a respected savant, displaying his 
 stores of knowledge witli a pride greater than that of 
 any New Amsterdam trader opening in his low-storied 
 shop bales of shining stuffs from the Old World. 
 
 Katryne noticed it all, though she did not appreciate 
 the reason for it. She was the beautiful fairy, the celes- 
 tial being, who had crossed the path of Pieter the sot, 
 and with the skilful stroke of love's magie wand had 
 changed him to Pieter the scholar. She plied him 
 with questions, deferentially appealing to his superior 
 knowledge, that she, the ignorant Katryne, and now 
 astray in her ignorance, might be set in the right path. 
 Suddenly she stopped and exclaimed, " Oh, that sav- 
 age !" 
 
 It was an Indian stealing along the green skirts of a 
 pine grove, bearing in his arms a bundle of skins, and 
 heading for the wall-gate they had recently left. 
 
 " I do not feel at ease when the savages are near, 
 Uncle Pieter, " said Katryne, shrinking close up to the 
 Schuyler wash and its bearer.
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAR. 71 
 
 " Never do thou fear, child, when Uncle Pieter is 
 near. 1 have seen so many of the savages that they are 
 only common things in my eyes." 
 
 " I don't think I shall ever forget the fright they gave 
 me let me think it will be eight years ago this com- 
 ing autumn."* 
 
 " After the stealing of Yan Dyck's peaches ? 1 was 
 away then." 
 
 " Yes, Hendrick van Dyck." 
 
 That irruption of savages was a memorable one. Hen- 
 drick van Dyck had an orchard near North River, not 
 far from Rector Street to-day. Pomona's brush must 
 have laid a tempting crimson on some of the fruit, for 
 an unfortunate squaw, wandering into the orchard, fell 
 before this fascination, like a far-away ancestor in the 
 story of a still fairer garden ; the savage squaw helped 
 herself. In this interesting but risky pursuit of pleasure 
 without permission, she was surprised by the irate owner, 
 and he cruelly shot her down. The savages had in their 
 breasts a nature too much like the nature in Dutch and 
 English breasts, and planned a night attack upon New 
 Amsterdam, filling over sixty canoes with hundreds of 
 their dusky forms. f One count has set the number at 
 nineteen hundred. From five to eighteen hundred of 
 New Amsterdam's nocturnal assailants are said to have 
 
 * September, 1655. 
 
 f History of New Netherland, E. B. O'Callaghan, Vol. II., 
 p. 290.
 
 72 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 been armed. These canoes, loaded with revenge, shot 
 through the late shadows of the night, and across the 
 dark water to the shores of New Amsterdam, landing 
 ere day had broken. 
 
 The conversation about this unhappy episode was re- 
 sumed at this point, and Pieter asked Katryne if she 
 could herself remember much of the affair. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Uncle Pieter ! Why, 1 saw them with 
 these very eyes. When they had paddled their canoes 
 ashore, they got out and went everywhere. It was 
 Johanna that awoke me, saying, ' Hush-sh-sh ! Come ! ' 
 Uncle Pieter, was not that enough to startle one ? ' Hush ! 
 Come ! ' Across the floor I scampered to a window, 
 and looked out. There they were, the savages, and in 
 our very streets. It was all so very strange, that crowd 
 of savages. And that was the way all over New Am- 
 sterdam. They broke into several houses, too. They 
 said they were looking for savages from the north, but 
 they really wanted revenge for the squaw's death. The 
 council, they got together in the fort, and the magis- 
 trates and some of the leading people, too. If Heer 
 Director Stuyvesant had been here, he would have 
 stormed at them ; but he was away." 
 
 Uncle Pieter laughed. " They knew when to come 
 when old Wooden-leg was away. He would have shaken 
 his wooden leg at them, Katryne, I trow, and fright- 
 ened them out of the town." 
 
 " Some of the chiefs went into the fort, and they were
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAR. 73 
 
 asked what they wanted. The talk went on, and 1 have 
 heard my father say they agreed at sunset to leave the 
 town and go to Nut Island, and still they did not go. 
 They were more saucy toward night. 1 can see them 
 now, just as when I looked out of the window. No one 
 could say what might happen, but that the streets would 
 run with blood, for Van Dyck was killed they shot 
 him in the breast with an arrow and Captain Leendert- 
 sen they struck down with an axe. Uncle Pieter, 
 I never heard such a noise in the town, for people were 
 running about and shouting. Then the soldiers came 
 marching from the fort, and they looked very fierce and 
 were determined to make short work of it. They 
 marched upon the savages and drove them to their 
 canoes ; and, oh, how the wretches scampered ! Three 
 of the savages were left dead on the shore, and two of 
 our people were killed. Then the canoes went across 
 North River, and soon a fire broke out there, and the 
 red light was in the sky everywhere. 1 remember, 
 Johanna took me by the hand and led me up a hill, and 
 we looked off, and there was the light in the west, the 
 strange red flame. That was over in Hoboken, people 
 said. The savages set Pavonia on fire, too. They 
 killed every man save Michel Jansen's family, and the 
 cattle, too, they killed, and carried off a lot of the 
 women and children. Next, Uncle Pieter, they went 
 to Staten Island, and kept on murdering there. Oh, 
 what an awful time that was !"
 
 74 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " And all for a few peaches stolen from Van Dyck's 
 orchard did Yan Dyck kill the thief ; and in return 
 for the woman killed," said Uncle Pieter, " did the sav- 
 ages fill up a bloody measure eye for eye, tooth for 
 tooth !" 
 
 Yes, the Indians did fill to the brim the measure of 
 blood for three days, the Dutch losing, it is said, a hun- 
 dred people ; while over three hundred lost their homes 
 and goods, their clothing, their very bread, and a sor- 
 rowful hundred and fifty took the path of captivity that 
 the savages knew so well how to plant with sharpest 
 thorns. If Yan Dyck, out in his orchard the day before 
 the theft, had said that the deep, ripened tints on his 
 fruit looked like blood, and it was a bad omen, he would 
 have been a better reader of the future than he proved 
 to be a follower of that gospel of peace which the bell 
 of St. Nikolaas in the fort proclaimed each Lord's day. 
 Heer Director Stuyvesant soon returned to New Am- 
 sterdam, and his energetic, resolute spirit was felt like a 
 strengthening wind from the sea in weary August. He 
 went to work at once. He gave the town courage. 
 Among other measures pushed, he ordered out of the 
 ships about to sail all of the passengers who could carry 
 arms, and told them not to go " until it should please 
 God to change the aspect of affairs." That is one way 
 to secure and see a divine change in human events, to 
 try to effect a change ourselves. 
 
 " Katryne," broke out Uncle Pieter solemnly, "I
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAR. 75 
 
 think 1 must go to fight the savages. I do not go to 
 avenge the dead, but rather to protect, the living. 1 can 
 see trouble ahead. I know how bloodthirsty the savages 
 are, but we who are wiser have too often set them a 
 poor example. Think, child, of Van Dyck ! Yes, 1 
 can see long trouble. The whites will push out farther 
 and farther, and the savages refuse to fall back before 
 them, and there will be long, long conflict. The whites 
 must suffer for their mistakes, and the savages will prove 
 vindictive. I am not going to avenge anybody though, 
 but protect the innocent and get out of captivity those 
 that are prisoners." 
 
 What, Pieter the sot become Pieter the scholar, and 
 next, Pieter the soldier ? 
 
 " 1 take it, Uncle Pieter, that somebody must go, 
 though I I don't want thee to go. Think well upon 
 it." 
 
 " I will, Katryne, think long and well. Long ago 1 
 found out we must have a sharp eye to the start of 
 things. O Katryne, thou wilt marvel as I say it, but 
 I would that I could go back to the start to my youth 
 and begin again ! Take warning by me, and before 
 starting in any important matter, think, think it over ! 
 If it is any way doubtful, don't do it, don't start. Dear 
 Katryne, whom I have always loved, take warning by 
 thy Uncle Pieter. Oh, I have lived so long and have 
 seen how much misery may grow out of a wrong begin- 
 ning yes, so long have I lived to see it !' '
 
 76 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 In a kind of awe she gazed into his deep, serious, 
 searching eyes. Had he lived so long ? How long ? 
 If very long, then, of course, he must know many things 
 about her family, about her parents, who they were, 
 where they lived. 
 
 In an instant a desire swelled in her heart ; another 
 moment out it came. 
 
 " O Uncle Pieter, living so long, and knowing 
 knowing " 
 
 She hesitated. Could Pieter the scholar, with all his 
 knowledge, enlighten her upon this dusky subject ? 
 
 She would try him. She began again : " O Uncle 
 Pieter, knowest thou whose child I am ? Am I the 
 child of Hans and Lysbet Schuyler ? Tell tell me, 
 good uncle, I pray thee !" 
 
 What a change there was now in Pieter the scholar ! 
 
 He burst into tears. He covered his face with his 
 hands. He broke out in passionate entreaty : 
 
 " Oh, don't, don't, Katryne ! God have mercy on 
 me ! I did mean those in Boston would tell thee that 
 1 did mean right that but oh, I don't know !" 
 
 Pieter the scholar was now so ignorant and bewil- 
 dered, and Pieter the soldier was weak as a reed on 
 the banks of the North River, a reed prostrated by the 
 wind. He broke away from her detaining hands, 
 dropped his laundry load, and hastened toward a clump 
 of trees. As he went he staggered, reeling once more 
 like Pieter the sot. As he disappeared in the little
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAR. 77 
 
 grove, Katryne groaned, " Poor Uncle Pieter, what 
 have 1 done ?" 
 
 Dazed, she picked up her basket, and trudged with 
 the other maidens along the beaten path to her place of 
 work. All her task was done mechanically. She 
 washed like a machine. She finished her work like a 
 machine. She took up her load and, beginning her 
 walk back to the wall, moved like a machine. All the 
 time she was thinking. Again and again she asked, 
 "What have I done to Uncle Pieter?" Then she 
 would say, " What has Uncle Pieter done ? Has he 
 injured my parents ? That must be it, and he is sorry." 
 Here she would go over another path : " But he did 
 not mean anything wrong, and there were those in Bos- 
 ton who could say that." Then she would travel an- 
 other road : " Ought I not to go to Boston, and find 
 out what I can ?" 
 
 " Go to Boston !" When she reached the land gate 
 in New Amsterdam's wall, she turned and looked off 
 upon the region known as Manhattan Island. There was 
 the road to New Haerlem,* the way that pilgrims by 
 land always took when they went to New England. 
 
 Wolfert Webber's tavern was the last place they left 
 
 * It was resolved in 1658 by Heer Director Stuy vesant and Coun- 
 cil to " form a new village at the northeastern extremity of Manhat- 
 tan Island ' for the promotion of agriculture and as a place of amuse- 
 ment for the citizens of New Amsterdam.' " History of New 
 Nctherland, E. B. O'Callaghan, Vol. II., p. 428.
 
 78 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 on the borders of New Amsterdam, and then through 
 the wilderness so beautiful in summer, a big concert 
 gallery for the birds they went to the tavern at New 
 Haerlem. Uncle Pieter had told her about his journey 
 thence to the river bold Adriaen Block had discovered, 
 and named as Fresh River, sometimes called Fresh- water 
 Eiver our Connecticut. On this river, Uncle Pieter 
 had also told her, the Dutch, in 1633, had bought a tract 
 of land, paying the Indians " one piece of duffels, 
 twenty-seven ells long, six axes, six kettles, eighteen 
 knives, one sword-blade, one shears, and some toys."* 
 Then they built a trading-post and called it " The House 
 of G-ood Hope," and to make it as hopeful as possible, 
 they put there two cannon to frown away and growl 
 away if need be. This fort was in the present city of 
 Hartford. Uncle Pieter had told Katryne that the Eng- 
 lish did not like this, and Governor Winthrop, of Massa- 
 chusetts, sent a letter from Boston, declaring that his 
 master, Great Britain's king, owned that land. The 
 Dutch and the English were always throwing pepper 
 into one another's eyes, and the English threw the bigger 
 handfuls. The eyes at the fort of Good Hope were 
 finally put out, and hope for the Dutch cause became 
 
 Uncle Pieter had more than once detailed to Katryne 
 the windings of the way to Boston through the country 
 
 * History of New Netherland, E. B. O'Callaghan, Vol. I., 
 p. 151.
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAE. 79 
 
 watered by the Fresh River, until at Springfield the 
 road bent eastward, going on to Boston, and was known 
 as the Bay Path. Once Katryne had gone over this 
 path, and she had often in thought traversed the way, 
 fragrant with the balsamic odor of the pines, tuneful 
 with the songs of the birds, and worn by many patient, 
 pilgrim feet. Oh, she now thought, could she not find 
 her way to Boston, seek out her relatives, learn about 
 herself, and escape forever from Van Schenkel and his 
 ally, Hans ? The idea so possessed her, that it occupied 
 all her attention, and the messenger from Olympus no 
 longer walked erect and queenly, but witli bowed head. 
 Laundry work had disarranged and rumpled her dress, 
 and her hose and high-heeled shoes were mud-spattered. 
 
 Hans Schuyler's crow-step gables were on De Heeren 
 Graft, near the canal that welcomed the lighters loaded 
 with goods from the ships that had visited Holland and 
 England and Africa or the Indies, East and West. 
 Katryne was not long in reaching the door, doubly 
 guarded by the dog-and-lion knocker. Still in a deeply 
 thoughtful, wondering mood, she was roused from it 
 thoroughly by an immediate order from Hans to rub 
 that knocker. It was another stage in Hans' process of 
 "bringing her under." She said nothing, but sub- 
 missively went to work. All the while she was busily 
 thinking. 
 
 Hans' command to take the clothes behind the wall, 
 and his subsequent order to rub the knocker, only con-
 
 80 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 firmed her in her conviction that he had not a real, 
 fatherly interest in her. If if she continued to think 
 he went so far as to insist on her marriage with Dirk 
 Yan Schenkel, would she not be justified in seeking a 
 refuge among her New England relatives? Perhaps 
 she could get a chance to go in a vessel ; but, she 
 thought with alarm, what what if Van Schenkel, that 
 cruel courier of the sea, should chase after her ! 
 
 " Oh, what is that !" she exclaimed abruptly. She 
 ceased to rub the knocker, for a little tarnish there had 
 assumed the form of a human profile, and it was won- 
 drously like that of Dirk Van Schenkel. " Oh, how 
 very noble !" she said ironically. She rubbed a moment 
 longer, and the profile changed to that of a fiend. 
 " Ah ! ah !" she exclaimed in disgust ; " that is Van 
 SchenkeFs real look. Once I saw him when he had 
 been looking very handsome, and the handsome all went 
 like a bit of fog, and he looked then like one of those 
 ugly monsters they say are in the deep sea. Oh, I don' t 
 love thee at all, Van Schenkel, but I detest thee ! 
 And what did I hear mother drop this morning before 
 I left home ? That Captain Van Schenkel is again press- 
 ing father to go no, he is not my father into the fine 
 house he owns that happens to be empty. Father says 
 it will be good economy for us, as we can let this. No, 
 the fine house will be only a cage to catch and hold 
 Katryne. Then will come the marriage I detest. Oh, 
 thou sea-dragon, Van Schenkel, wanting to get us into
 
 PIETER THE SCHOLAR. 81 
 
 thy power, and then who will defend us ! That shall 
 not be. 1 arn going to New England" here there 
 came an intense rub to express energy of purpose " yes, 
 I am going ; yes yes" harder and harder came the 
 rubs. " Ah ! ah !" she exclaimed. She saw that line 
 running up and down the side of the knocker, remind- 
 ing the polisher that it could be separated into halves. 
 " I will open this," she said eagerly. She pushed hard 
 upon Leo and Cerberus, Caesar and Brutus, harder, 
 harder, and as the knocker disclosed its depths to her, 
 lo ! a slip of paper within ! " What can this be ?" she 
 wondered. She removed the paper, and as she could 
 easily read English scrip, she at once began to enunciate 
 this advice : " Go slow when thou art angry. Do 
 not go at all when thou kno west not the 
 -way." "Why, this is " 
 
 " Katryne," said a solemn voice within. 
 
 Startled, she thrust the paper within her bodice, re- 
 placed the lid of that knocker-chest, and began to rub 
 again fiercely, while silently. The door was ajar, and 
 a voice issued : *' Go upstairs now !" 
 
 Had Hans seen her, the door being ajar ? She did 
 not stop to consider this question, but flew upstairs to 
 her room, behind one of the checkered gables, and 
 closed the door. 
 
 u How he frightened me !" she said, going to a 
 window, and looking out upon the East River. She 
 counted the tired vessels resting at their moorings.
 
 82 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Then she pulled the slip of paper out of her bodice, and 
 read again the advice of some unknown counsellor. 
 Thinking, thinking, she watched the vessels, the few 
 boats busily rowed here and there, and the Long Island 
 shore. Who was giving her advice about a flight to 
 New England ? " Did Tncle Pieter put that advice 
 into the knocker ? It is not his way of writing, and he 
 does not know about the secret place in the knocker. It 
 is some one else," she continued to reflect, " and it is 
 really good advice. Katryne, Katryne, thou must not 
 act in haste ! What vessel is there going to New Eng- 
 land, or who is going by land ? 1 am impatient. Shall 
 I write, ' 1 will not go,' and place that in the knocker ? 
 It is pleasant to think some one is interested in you. 
 Let me think ; I will say, ' I take thy advice, kind 
 friend, and will not go.' Oh, that is the dearest old 
 knocker in the world ! I love it." 
 
 She quickly, softly stole downstairs, and slipped into 
 the knocker this message, " I take thy advice, kind 
 friend, and will not go." Wondering who would take 
 it out if it might be somebody young and fair and 
 courtly as " that young Englishman" she noiselessly 
 tripped upstairs. 
 
 Katryne delighted in a mystery, and this one seemed 
 so opportune yes, a mystery that only she and one 
 unknown person knew anything about. Who was this 
 somebody, so noble-looking and knightly and youthful ? 
 
 She had no more than reached her room when some-
 
 PIETEB THE SCHOLAR. 83 
 
 body threescore, pig- featured, and obese came out to the 
 door, and manipulating the knocker, took out Katryne's 
 message, grinning and muttering : 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! When she came down to polish the knocker 
 she left the door open, just enough for me to look out 
 and see her open this. Now, let me look at it. Bah ! 
 I can't read it. That wicked girl did not write in good, 
 sensible Dutch. In my own house, my own knocker, 
 and yet I cannot read it ! That wicked girl ! I'll move 
 to Van Schenkel's house, and get her away from this 
 knocker yes, 1 will. To think of this, in my own 
 house, and that she did not write in Dutch !' ' 
 
 Sulkily grunting, he waddled back to his arm-chair, 
 taking Katryne's message with him. Xatryiie passed 
 the time until evening upstairs.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS BOX. 
 
 " COME to supper, my child !" said a voice at the foot 
 of the brown stairway leading to the room where Katryne 
 had been ordered by Hans. It was the voice of Lysbet, 
 and in its sympathetic tones Katryne recognized an ally. 
 
 "I will, mother." 
 
 As soon as Katryne had reached the table and seen 
 Hans, she promptly recognized an enemy. That sullen, 
 flushed face told its own story. When angry, Hans 
 would show it at the table plainly. He might not say 
 anything, but he would look off and scowl, his jaws, too, 
 would snap rapidly and spitefully, and he would occa- 
 sionally grunt. 
 
 A kindly, philanthropic mood is likely to set in when 
 an offended being may have had his dinner or supper. 
 Hans, though, at the close of supper was no more molli- 
 fied than at the beginning. 
 
 Katryne saw everything. She noticed, too, that Lysbet 
 was placid and was disposed to talk. When Hans twice 
 cleared his throat, as if about to speak, Lysbet turned a 
 distressed look toward him, and imploringly uttered one 
 word "Don't 1"
 
 A MYSTERIOUS BOX. 85 
 
 " Something has been said about me, 1 know," de- 
 clared Katryne. " 1 am in the midst of a storm. What 
 can it be ? What can I do ?" 
 
 It was indeed an atmosphere of storm. Hans had 
 taken to an English fellow-citizen the paper taken from 
 the knocker. Pie had read it to Hans, and Hans was in 
 a whirlwind. Going where was Katryne going ? 
 Would she leave her home ? Was that intended ? Go- 
 ing somewhere ! Did it mean an unwillingness to go to 
 Van Schenkel's house ? Hans' soul was in a maelstrom. 
 
 Katryne had seen this mood. What could she do ? 
 Had she better say anything ? There came to her aid 
 the advice from the knocker, " Do not go at all when 
 thou knowest not the way." " That means, be quiet. 
 I will not say anything," resolved Katryne. " I will 
 be as patient and good as I can be, and I will help 
 wherever I can." 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see Katryne waiting on Hans 
 and Lysbet. There was the pouting Hans, fiercely eat- 
 ing, snapping his jaws, interjecting occasional grunts, 
 and opposite him was the timorous, pacific Lysbet. 
 Katryne's bright face in its white cap hovered angel- 
 like above the table, and not a word did she say that 
 would be regretted as a mistake, or as an affront arouse 
 resentment. When her work was over and she was 
 slipping quietly away, then Lysbet came out of a recess, 
 as if waiting there purposely for her, and she whispered, 
 " Good night, my dear."
 
 86 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 Katryne saw that Lysbet's eyes were very red, and she 
 kissed the tired old face. That made a pair of red eyes 
 still redder, for Lysbet was touched by the younger 
 woman's affection. Katrvne then went upstairs. 
 
 From her window she glanced out at the shipping in 
 East River, and then thought of the room opposite hers, 
 of the attic space that had never been finished off, but 
 its window gave a better view of De Heeren Graft, and 
 she went to it. She could see the people lounging along 
 the borders of the canal, attracted by the fact that two 
 lighters had arrived, and these in the morning would be 
 unloaded. A canoe appeared paddled by two savages. 
 Somebody else was seen. 
 
 " Look ! There is Uncle Pieter !" thought Katryne. 
 " Oil, I am glad he has come back ! I thought I must 
 have killed him, he felt so bad. Two sailors are with 
 him. Perhaps he will help them unload one of the 
 lighters in the morning. He will come here the first 
 thing. Poor Uncle Pieter ! lie will want his schnapps 
 or beer Oh, there he goes with the two sailors into 
 Van Arsdale's wine-shop ! Too bad !" 
 
 She had seen the proprietor of the wine-shop standing 
 in its doorway. He was opening his mouth and haw- 
 hawing, looking like a big beast from the woods, into 
 whose jaws Uncle Pieter had carelessly walked. Ka- 
 tryne gave a last look at the canal, at the lighters, at 
 some neighbor out on the stoop of his house, smoking 
 his long pipe.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS BOX. 87 
 
 She turned round. " Ah !" she exclaimed, glancing 
 at a small open box in which was a confused heap of old 
 documents and leather-bound books ; " this is what 
 mother said was up here the other day, and she wished 
 I would look at any English papers in the box. Why 
 not make a beginning now ?" 
 
 She was a quick reader, and she glanced in a short 
 time at several old books and dusty documents. 
 
 " What is this?" she asked. " Something in Eng- 
 lish, and it has the date of the year I was born ! This 
 is very interesting. How does it begin ? Somebody 
 why, it reads like a will, and what is this why, ' to my 
 daughter Katryne ' my very name." She was inter- 
 rupted by the sound of a heavy step on the brown stair- 
 way leading to her room. ' ' I can tell that it is Hans !' ' 
 she said, and she threw down the paper hastily, as if she 
 were in the act of thieving, and the Director of New 
 Amsterdam, its Governor, Heer Pieter Stuyvesant him- 
 self, had detected her, and had come to take her away 
 to prison. She started for her room, but at the head of 
 the stairway a gruff voice detained her. 
 
 " Katryne, thy mother wants thee, or I want thee." 
 
 Downstairs she went, promptly following Hans Schuy- 
 ler, but she left her heart behind her, upstairs in a box, 
 where an old paper said, " I give to my daughter Ka- 
 tryne " It might have been a Katryne Van T wilier, 
 Smidt, or Hegeman ; but no matter, it was a member 
 of the Katryne family, whose case so strangely had come
 
 88 BEHIND MANHATTAN- GABLES. 
 
 up out of the dust and the shadows into this present 
 twilight. 
 
 "I want to get back soon," she thought. "The 
 light will not last long." 
 
 Hans' wishes did not necessitate a long absence for 
 Katryne, as he only wanted information about beaver- 
 skins, and of a man on that street who was expecting to 
 sell to Hans. 
 
 ' ' What are you hurrying upstairs for, Katryne ?' ' 
 asked Lysbet, after Katryne' s return from the errand. 
 
 " Oh, I found something beginning like a will, and 
 about one Katryne somebody with my name in that 
 box thou didst tell me about." 
 
 " What Katryne what is that ?" asked Hans, turn- 
 ing his long, heavy pipe toward Katryne. The pipe 
 seemed to swing his head. 
 
 " Oh, only a will I was talking about." 
 
 "A will! Where?" 
 
 ' ' Thou knowest, Hans, there are some old papers and 
 books in a box upstairs," explained Lysbet. 
 
 " Yes, yes !" said Hans. " Don't look at them to- 
 night, vrouw." 
 
 " I am not going to look at them, Hans. To begin 
 with, they are English, or some of them are." 
 
 11 Very well ! Where is Katryne ?' ' 
 
 That maiden, fearful of detention, was industriously 
 using her powers of locomotion, but Hans' voice de- 
 tained her feet pattering up the stairway.
 
 A MYSTEKIOUS BOX. 89 
 
 " Don't look at that box to-night, Katryne." 
 
 "Why not, father?" 
 
 " It is getting late, and it is not good for the eyes." 
 
 " May I in the morning ?" 
 
 There was a short space of paternal hesitancy. 
 
 "Oh, yes yes." 
 
 " 1 shall like that very much." 
 
 " Now, Katryne, my dear, sit thee down here ! 
 Don't go upstairs yet ! Stay here !" urged Lysbet. 
 
 " Come back and sit thee down," said Hans. " My 
 dear child, stay with us." 
 
 Uncle Pieter sometimes indulged in this affectionate 
 style, and she liked the sound of it ; but it did not seem 
 in place when Hans indulged in it, and Katryne sus- 
 pected him at once. Why did he want her to stay down- 
 stairs ? She hesitated in her obedience. 
 
 " Katryne, sit thee down !" was now his imperative 
 direction, and she obeyed directly. 
 
 Hans was quite gracious after this. Twice he pulled 
 his pipe out of his mouth, and each time he told a story. 
 One was about Hendrik Hudson, and the other praised 
 St. Nikolaas, two good friends of New Amsterdam, 
 whose friendship was supposed to be perpetual. This 
 was very unusual in Hans. It pleased Lysbet, and it 
 eased the smart of Katryne's disappointment in not 
 seeing the mysterious document about one Katryne. 
 
 " Good-night, my dear ! St. Nikolaas keep thee, my 
 child ! In the morning get up as early as thou shalt
 
 90 BEHIND MAKHATTAK GABLES. 
 
 please, and take a long look into that box. Ha ! 
 ha !" 
 
 In Hans' voice was there a tone at all like mockery ? 
 Katryne looked toward him sharply, but the shadows 
 hid his face. She could only see the fiery coal on the 
 top of his pipe. A girl in the neighborhood had been 
 telling Katryne about a red light hovering stormy nights 
 about the horrors of Helle-Gat, that ugly place in the 
 East River, where rocks and evil spirits abounded, 
 where the strong tide twisting in and out, and in league 
 with the spirits, delighted in playing all kinds of pranks 
 on well-minded but incautious vessels. The coal on 
 Hans' pipe suggested that flame said to be at Helle-Gat. 
 
 " Have a good time looking at the box in the morn- 
 ing," said Lysbet honestly. " God keep thee, my 
 child !" 
 
 " Good-night, mother ! Good -night, fa-fa-ther !" 
 
 "Father" came out at last, but in Katryne's speech 
 the word hitched by the way, like a wheel caught in a 
 bad rut. 
 
 Katryne took no light with her when she went upstairs, 
 but felt her way from story to story. Before going into 
 her room she stepped into what had ceased to be an old 
 attic, a lumber-room, and had become a treasure-house. 
 She struck with her foot the box containing the record 
 of a gift to one Katryne, and was glad to have this testi 
 mony to its presence. How would it do to drag it into 
 her room and keep it by her bed, that the first play of
 
 A MYSTERIOUS BOX. 91 
 
 the light might reveal it to her and quicken her interest 
 in behalf of one Katryne ? Why did not Hans let her 
 enjoy it ere the darkness behind the checkered gable 
 muffled it ? 
 
 Other thoughts were abruptly prevented by a voice 
 down in the street. She hastened to the window, gently 
 raised it, looked down, and listened : " That sounded 
 like Uncle Pieter, as if he were having trouble with 
 some one." She heard other voices. They carne up 
 from the canal, where glimmered lights aboard the craft 
 there. That canal was a cauldron of angry sound at 
 times, throwing out sharp notes of discord when the 
 lighters came in collision and hot-tempered sailors 
 bandied words with one another on the subject of griev- 
 ances both real and fancied. Would the cauldron boil 
 over now ? Katryne heard the splashing of the water 
 announcing the late arrival of another lighter, but no 
 Uncle Pieter' s voice was in the sounds that rose to the 
 ears of the Manhattan maiden at the treasure-room 
 window. 
 
 Uncle Pieter ! When Katryne had breathed out her 
 prayers before retiring, her thoughts went back to that 
 wayward person. He would probably come in the morn- 
 ing for his drain, and as Katryne would be the first one 
 up, then she would be the one to meet him, and and 
 she pressed her lips together firmly. 
 
 Katryne had been thinking upon the subject, and it 
 was no abrupt resolution she had formed ; " I shall say
 
 92 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 when he comes, ' Uncle Pieter, dear uncle, wilt thou 
 not give this up ? ' He will say, perhaps, ' I pray thee, 
 give up what ? ' and I must say, ' Give up this mug you 
 have each day ! ' How he will stare at me ! I don't 
 know how I shall come out, but I feel that I must cer- 
 tainly go in and make a beginning." 
 
 As she lay in bed, pitying Uncle Pieter, who so badly 
 needed reformation, and pitying Katryne, who must 
 attempt it, and praying to God to make her words wise 
 and effective, her thoughts gradually shifted to that 
 other track she wanted to follow with Uncle Pieter, 
 but which he so suddenly broke away from namely, 
 " Whose child am I ?" 
 
 She reflected upon the mystery hanging about herself, 
 and she was very sober. Hark ! she caught the sound 
 of rain pattering on the steep roof. The wind from the 
 great, gray sea had been saying " Bain" all day, but the 
 sun had made a brave effort at times to shine. At the 
 hour for the retiring of well-behaved suns, it had tried 
 to stick its head out of bed, assuring the world every- 
 thing was all right, but an angry cloud soon smothered 
 it. The threat of the day had suddenly been executed, 
 and here was the sound of rain on the windows and rain 
 on the roof. What if she had started for New England 
 to hunt up Katryne Schuyler's origin, and this rain had 
 pounced upon her ! Her thoughts went out into the 
 night in the effort to follow that path leading New Eng- 
 landward. This solitary traveller her imagination
 
 A MYSTERIOUS BOX. 93 
 
 moved in the direction of the wall of palisades and 
 Wolfert Webber's tavern. Then alone, the rain beat- 
 ing down, she made her way beyond pasture, pond, and 
 forest, to a tavern whose windows shone hospitably in 
 the black night about little New Haerlem. She paused. 
 Should that tireless imagination travel farther in the 
 rainy night, journeying away, away, along the rocky or 
 the sandy shore to Fresh River, then up to Dutchmanland, 
 where had stood the Fort of Good Hope, then hurrying 
 through that vigorous English colony at Hartford and ? 
 She stopped, and the wandering child came home. There 
 she lay upon her bed, her eyes wide open, staring at the 
 roof that the rain seemed to think was a keyboard of 
 some musical instrument, and so tried to find new keys 
 and bring out new notes, all of such musical sweetness 
 and softness. How much better to be under the old 
 roof by the canal in De Heeren Graft than out-doors in 
 the land of the unknown ! She remembered this was 
 the room that sweet Johanna filled with an atmosphere of 
 prayer, and trusting God, Katryne, like Johanna of other 
 days, crept under the Divine wings. Come life, come 
 death, whatever might happen to the body, the soul had 
 its shelter.
 
 CHAPTER Vlll. 
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTERWARD. 
 
 FOR a while Katryne slept very soundly. There was 
 not even the passage of a gentle dream to make a ripple 
 on the stream of her slumbers. Her Lethe was still and 
 deep. In the dead of night, though, and suddenly she 
 awoke. What had aroused her, she could not afterward 
 say. Was it a noise of drunken sailors down in the 
 street ? Was it a shutter somewhere about the house 
 suddenly slamming in a rising wind, and as if noisily 
 shouting, "Wake up !" Was it a disturbance in the 
 treasure-room opposite, a stumbling there by some one 
 over a box the box ? Whatever may have aroused her, 
 Katryne was awake, and there there on the ceiling, 
 above the stairway to the attic and to Katryne's room, 
 was a light ! 
 
 It was like the glow thrown up from a lamp borne by 
 some one on the stairway. This some one Katryne 
 could not see. The light on the ceiling passed away 
 with the passage of a softened step on the stairway. 
 Darkness and solitude then ! It seemed as if the tem- 
 perature of a furnace were in the room, and as if Ka- 
 tryne's heart were pressing toward her mouth. She was
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTERWARD. 95 
 
 not, though, without reason, and she brought down the 
 temperature and stilled her heart witli the reflection, 
 " It is mother, probably, who came up to shut a window 
 and keep out the ram. The window woke me up." 
 
 The rain on the roof was beating heavily now. She 
 lay a moment longer and said, " I will see if everything 
 is all right. "Why, it may be a savage that has got in ! 
 1 saw canoes off in the East Kiver yesterday and then 
 down in the canal." 
 
 Katryne was not afraid, and if it were an impudent 
 savage that had given her a start, she resolved to start 
 him. She was out of bed at once, and folding a shawl 
 about her, hastened toward the stairway and fell over a 
 chair at the first step she took. 
 
 " Oli ! oh ! That will scare the savages anyway. 
 What an elephant I am !" She halted, sat down and 
 rubbed the pain out cf her legs. Downstairs she then 
 groped. Opposite the door of the room occupied by 
 Hans and Lysbet she heard a heavy, prolonged snore, a 
 wave of sound coming up, growing, breaking, then 
 dying away. 
 
 " That is father, or could it have been mother ?" solil- 
 oquized Katryne. 
 
 " Mother !" she softly said. 
 
 " Is that Katryne ?" asked Lysbet. 
 
 " Yes. Art thou awake, mother ?" 
 
 " Yes. 1 thought 1 heard a shutter," said Hans' 
 spouse drowsily.
 
 96 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Oh, was it mother that came ?" asked Katryne. 
 
 " Y-y-yes," was the still more drowsy response. 
 
 " Oh, good-night, then, mother." 
 
 " G-g-good good " The last word was swamped 
 in the big wave of unconsciousness going over Lysbet. 
 
 " There ! 1 am rousing people for nothing, and 1 
 will go upstairs. Mother said that she came up, and 1 
 saw mother's light," thought Katryne. 
 
 Lysbet meant that when she had heard the fall above 
 she went to the foot of Katryne's stairs and listened. 
 Lysbet returned to her beloved couch very promptly. 
 Yawning, staggering along, relieved to think no savage 
 was in the house, Katryne drowsily felt her way back to 
 her bed, and gratefully occupied it. 
 
 In the morning she was up early. She opened her 
 Bible that years ago had made the voyage across the 
 ocean, a copy of the old Dutch version of Luther's Ger- 
 man Bible, a translation made about the middle of the 
 century previous to that of New Amsterdam's settle- 
 ment. Some day Katryne might hope to have that bet- 
 ter Dutch version undertaken in her century. 
 
 She could not now begin the day without that supply 
 of strength for the way to be found in the bread on 
 God's table set in the House of His Truth for hungry 
 pilgrims. This morning she asked to be forgiven, be- 
 cause her thoughts, while reading, would stray from her 
 room to the attic opposite and halt at a box of old, 
 leather-bound volumes and unknown papers in German
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTERWARD. 9? 
 
 and English, but especially because she would think of a 
 will addressed to one Katryne. Calling home the un- 
 easy birds that wanted to forsake their cages, Katryne 
 reverently went through her prayers. Then she hastened 
 to the box. How gladly she welcomed the sight of it ! 
 Quickly, though, she held up her hands above it in a 
 sore surprise. The old books were there, dusty and 
 musty as ever. Papers were there, written in German, 
 looking as uninteresting as ever, but not one paper in 
 English could be seen ! Such a dumbfounded girl went 
 wearily downstairs ! She wanted to stop at the door of 
 Hans and Lysbet's chamber, and tell them the house 
 had been entered by a savage, one who was surprisingly 
 intelligent, who could so nicely distinguish between lit- 
 erary treasures in English and those in German, that he 
 could abstract all of the former ! 
 
 " This is a mystery !" thought Katryne, and she 
 would have shared the news with Hans and his vrouw, 
 but opposite their door Katryne heard a snore respond- 
 ing to another snore, and on tiptoe she descended to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 .There was much to be done that things might be 
 started seasonably for the new day. Not only the fire 
 must be kindled in the big fireplace, but the floor must 
 be sanded. Katryne was a dexterous sand-artist. The 
 white treasures of the sea, flung upon the floor, she 
 knew how to switch with a broom in graceful whirls, 
 that might have been taken as leaves of sand -palms or
 
 98 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 as broad, graceful jets from an invisible san -fountain. 
 This morning, though, she made some ugly patterns, for 
 the artist's mind was not on the artist's work. She was 
 glad to be interrupted, and said with relief, " Oh, here 
 comes Uncle Pieter !" 
 
 He had in mind his morning dram, and was at the 
 door opening into the garden, patiently waiting to be 
 admitted. 
 
 "Good-morning, Uncle Pieter!" She was address- 
 ing Pieter the sot, his head bowed, his look dispirited, 
 feeble until he had had his morning dram. 
 
 " Good-morning ! Is my mug ready ?" 
 
 She filled a mug with beer. He eagerly emptied it, 
 and held it out for refilling. 
 
 " Kaatje !" he said, looking up. It was a pet Dutch 
 name he had for her, and like our " Katy. " " Kaatje,' ' 
 he said again, " my dear, I have something I would say 
 to thee, now that thou hast given me something to say 
 it with. Sometimes this poor uncle has his faults to 
 think of, and they are a burden on his back, and I give 
 way beneath them. The folk upstairs " He paused 
 and looked up, as if he thought some celestial being like 
 Hans might descend and interrupt him. There was no 
 need of alarm if Hans had appeared, for Uncle Pieter 
 and Katryne always spoke in English, and it was about 
 the same as Chinese to Hans. Uncle Pieter continued. 
 " The folk upstairs and thou knowest and 1 know how 
 wicked"
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTEKWARD. 99 
 
 " Uncle Pieter," cried Katryne, generously interrupt- 
 ing, " thou needest not confess to rne. I did think thy 
 conduct yesterday strange, but let it go now. Some- 
 thing else has happened. Oh, how long ago yesterday 
 seems !" 
 
 " What is it ?" he asked eagerly. " It is just as well 
 to have a subject come in at one door and drive out 
 something else at the other door." 
 
 " Ah, I wish 1 did know what door he did come in 
 by !" 
 
 " What meanest thou ?" he asked in surprise, but not 
 forgetful to quaff his second mug of beer. " What can 
 I do for thee, Kaatje, my dear ?" 
 
 " This house," said Katryne very deliberately, eying 
 him solemnly, " this house was entered by some one 
 last night and from the attic took away stole some 
 papers." 
 
 " Why, Kaatje, my dear, my senses are quite taken 
 away ! A thief a poltroon a villain a robber a 
 little more, my fair one !" 
 
 He had enough of his senses left to know that he 
 wanted more beer, and he held out his mug. She forgot 
 what last night she purposed to say this morning to an 
 old tippler, and without thought filled his mug again. 
 
 " How was it done, Kaatje ; tell me, my fair maid ! 
 Thou takest my senses away ! How was it done, 1 pray 
 thee ?" 
 
 " 1 only know that something awakened me out of a
 
 100 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 sound sleep. All of a sudden I saw a light on the ceil- 
 ing, just as when one on the stairs holds a lamp and it 
 shines up overhead. I thought afterward it might have 
 been mother. I went down to see what it meant, and 
 she spoke to me ; but thinking it over, 1 can see that she 
 meant something else and think of it ! This morning 
 1 find all yes, all of a lot of English papers, a will a 
 everything is gone ; yes, stolen, Uncle Pieter !" 
 
 " My breath has gone !" ejaculated Uncle Pieter, 
 looking into his mug to see that something else had 
 gone. " It is a vile piece of business ! Papers, Kaatje, 
 gone?" 
 
 She was ashamed to say anything more about a will in 
 favor of one Katryne, for what knowledge had she that 
 this present maid of Manhattan was concerned in it ? 
 
 " Yes, papers all gone. 1 don't know what else is 
 gone ; whether the big silver tankard and father's big 
 silver mug " 
 
 " We might look about us," he suggested. 
 
 There was no sign of any disturbance in that part of 
 the house. On their usual shelf, the big, clumsy tank- 
 ard and the big awkward mug faced one another with 
 their usual stupidity. 
 
 " Yery strange !" affirmed Uncle Pieter. " A little 
 more !" he pleaded sheepishly, holding out his mug. 
 "1 love thee, Kaatje !" 
 
 She suddenly went back to her purpose of the pre- 
 vious night. What had she been doing this morning ?
 
 02S T E XIGHT AXD AFTEEWARD. 101 
 
 " How many times have I poured for thee, Uncle 
 Pieter ? That thief drove away or took away all my 
 thoughts the pilferer !" 
 
 "He is a wretch ; but do not ask me to keep the 
 score, Kaatje, as thou lovest me." 
 
 " Uncle Pieter, 1 love thee ; but look at me !" 
 
 She looked at him very seriously, this guzzler, and he 
 looked at her. 
 
 "Listen ! It is too much beer that goes into that 
 mug. Thou wilt not be offended with me ? Let me 
 say it. It is hurting Uncle Pieter ; yes, hurting thee." 
 
 His eyes fell before that look searching his heart. He 
 was deeply touched, but not offended by this faithful- 
 ness, and he pushed his mug away. He raised his head. 
 His battered old steeple-crown hat with its ragged rim 
 he crowded back on his forehead, and then took it off as 
 if to address some superior being. He brushed aside 
 his grayish locks thickly clustered on his high white 
 brow. He cleared his throat, and spoke in very serious 
 tones : 
 
 " Katryne, 1 have thought of that myself. 1 know 
 I ought to stop, for if 1 do not it will stop me, and stop 
 where I do not wish to end. I 1 Tears were 
 welling up into the eyes of Pieter the sot. " I ought 
 not to disgrace you all. 1 know and and " 
 
 " Why not stop it all now" she here pushed the beer- 
 pitcher back on the table " and never again drink ?" 
 
 " 1 1 cannot say that, Katryne ; but I will take no
 
 102 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 more this morning, and less to-morrow, and so on, and 
 I I -will taper off. Oh, 1 know I must stop yes, I 
 must, and I will in a few days, for it will stop me if 1 
 don't. God bless thee, dear ! Yes, I do love thee. 
 I must stop. " 
 
 His eyes in their tears were like crystal lakes. He 
 rose and would have gone out of the house, but Katryne 
 had thrown her arms about his neck and held him faster 
 than any moorings that had ever detained a vessel in 
 which Uncle Pieter had sailed. She kissed him as she 
 sobbed, " Do do do try and and do pray !" 
 
 " God bless thee, God bless thee, my sweet Katryne !" 
 " May I tell thee a story ?" she musically murmured, 
 patting him fondly on the head and twirling his gray 
 locks about her pretty fingers. 
 " Oh, yes, dear." 
 
 u it is in my own way 1 tell thee my foolish way." 
 " No one can tell so good a story as Kaatje." 
 " Uncle Pieter natters Kaatje ; but this is the way I 
 learned it. I dare say it needs straightening out and 
 trimming up. Once upon a time there was a poor little 
 girl, and the gods wanted to do something grand for 
 her. So they rilled a box with presents and told her not 
 to open it then (what beautiful hair thou hast, so soft 
 and fine and plentiful ; thou must not let the savages 
 scalp thee !) and, where was 1 ? Oh, she was not to 
 open it then ; but the poor little girl just like the rest 
 of us she peeped into the box, and what happened ?
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTERWARD. 103 
 
 Alas ! on wings out flew the gifts, leaving a scared little 
 girl looking so sorrowful, but at the bottom of the box 
 was Hope. Dear Uncle Pieter, there is always Hope at 
 the bottom of the box how beautiful thy hair is, so 
 soft and thick !" 
 
 " God bless thee ! I will not forget. God bless thee ! 
 Uncle Pieter will yet be master. There is Hope at the 
 bottom of the box." 
 
 He soon quit the house, saying, " Fare thee well !" 
 
 Katryne took up her broom and flourished this con- 
 juror's staff among white heaps of sand, making palm- 
 leaves grow and sand-fountains play. 
 
 When Hans and Lysbet came downstairs they were 
 full of astonishment at the situation. Some one in the 
 dead of night going up the stairs to the attic ! 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! it was not the mother in this home," 
 asserted Lysbet. " Oh, the hardened villain !' 
 
 Hans showed his interest by an unusual activity of 
 tongue. It seemed as if he must tell everybody. He first 
 notified the sailors in a lighter down in the canal. " And 
 have you seen anybody come out of my house any vil- 
 lain, any one ?' ' 
 
 " We saw you." 
 
 Hans thought it was very bright. Then he laughed 
 and ran to tell the neighbors. He twitched the velvet 
 skirts of Heer Director Stuyvesant, for his majesty at 
 an early hour was stumping vigorously on his wooden 
 leg across the bridge over the canal. Hans reported
 
 104 BEHIHD MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 that his majesty was very much excited by the news. 
 Notwithstanding all this detective-like vigilance, nobody 
 could be found that knew anything about the thief or 
 the theft. 
 
 "Uncle Pieter, when he was next seen, had little to 
 report. He had given the drowsy garrison at the fort a 
 faithful stirring up, and it seemed as if they wanted to 
 turn all the rusty old guns toward Hans Schuyler's 
 gables to blaze away the moment a thief was seen leav- 
 ing that spot, no matter what became of the house. 
 Pieter made this report the next morning, when Katryne 
 was flourishing her marvellous broom over the clean 
 little heaps of sand, conjuring out of these more sand 
 palm-leaves and more sand fountain-jets. 
 
 " Uncle Pieter has heard nothing about the thief, 
 then ?" asked Katryne. 
 
 " Nothing, only that all think he was a villain." 
 
 This statement of the opinion of the public was satis- 
 factory, but it caught no one. This was discouraging. 
 Uncle Pieter took two mugs less of beer this morning. 
 That was encouraging. The next morning he took a 
 mug less. " Tapering off !" he told Katryne trium- 
 phantly. He even took a mug less the morning after 
 this. The less beer he took the louder he shouted, 
 " Tapering off !" The nearer he came to abstinence, 
 he acted the more as if intoxicated. " Tapering off !" 
 he cried, and catching Katryne by the waist wanted to 
 dance with her.
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTERWARD. 105 
 
 She smiled. " To-morrow morning we will, Uncle 
 Pieter." 
 
 " When 1 take nothing. Hurrah !" 
 
 "Anybody drunk in here?" inquired a neighbor, 
 thrusting an inquisitive head in at the door. 
 
 " 1 will run any man into the canal who says that !" 
 threatened the happy, exultant Pieter. 
 
 Another morning came. Katryne had been looking 
 forward to Uncle Pieter's entire release from bondage. 
 Could he throw away the last link of the chain, the last 
 mug ? The next morning she had not left her room, 
 up under the sharply slanting roof, when she heard a 
 noise out in the garden, where Hans Schuyler each 
 year cultivated cabbages into a form resembling his 
 own. 
 
 " A big dog must be out there !" said Katryne. " He 
 will ruin everything." 
 
 She went downstairs. Ere she opened the outer door 
 and let in the new day upon the ruined sand-patterns of 
 yesterday, she saw from a window that the area of dog- 
 tracks, as she called them, like a steamer's wake, widen- 
 ing when farther away, narrowed toward the door, and 
 there upon its steps was stretched out " the dog," Uncle 
 Pieter ! In a drink-bewildered state he had come some 
 time in the night. She aroused him ; she led him into 
 the kitchen ; she placed him in a chair ; she bathed his 
 forehead ; she combed his hair. He was thoroughly 
 awake soon, and hung his head in shame.
 
 106 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Pieter, have you been at Van Arsdale's ?" 
 she asked reproachfully. 
 
 This was the shop of that keeper over whose beer-jugs 
 George Martin had stumbled, a vile resort that Van 
 Schenkel slyly patronized. He used Van Arsdale as a 
 tool sometimes, and paid the tool well for dirty work 
 that he did. 
 
 Katryne asked again, " Was it Van Arsdale's den ? 
 Oh, I thought Uncle Pieter had tapered off." 
 
 He was silent a moment. His shame gave a new depth 
 of color to his flushed features. Then he nodded his head. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Pieter, thou art disgracing us all !" cried 
 Katryne. " When Uncle Pieter says, ' I love thee, ' does 
 he mean it ? Oh, shame ! shame ! Why not do something 
 manly ? I would fight the savages, do anything, but " 
 She hesitated. There was a sharpness of tone to her 
 rebuke. The knife cut. He felt it. He looked up. 
 He rose to his feet. 
 
 " Say no more, Katryne. I know I deserve it. It is 
 a shame ! 1 am a disgrace !" How straight he now 
 stood ! He spoke with energy and in sorrow. " Yes, 
 I disgrace everybody, and 1 disgrace myself, and" his 
 voice sank lower and lower, to the level of the dead in 
 their quiet resting-place in the old graveyard by the 
 river "and I disgrace my dead wife." He paused. 
 He began again : " But, Kaatje, dear, I will disgrace 
 thee no more. Fare thee well ! Wilt thou see Uncle 
 Pieter again ? Fare thee well, for I am going."
 
 ONE NIGHT AND AFTERWARD. 107 
 
 He pointed somewhere north, she afterward remem- 
 bered. Then, pulling his old steeple-crown down over 
 hia eyes, he passed across the threshold. 
 
 ts Fare thee well !" she said mechanically, for she had 
 not recovered from the effect of the display of his intense 
 feeling. " He will be back soon," she told herself, 
 " and get his beer or schnapps." 
 
 That did not assure her, though, and she soon went 
 out to the stoop and looked along De Heeren Graft. 
 There was Uncle Pieter, his head drooping, slouching 
 off in the direction of the bridge that led into De Brug 
 Straat. 
 
 " I must follow him," she said. " What was it he 
 told me 'Wilt thou see Uncle Pieter again?' And 
 where is he going ? He pointed north. 1 must have 
 my hood." 
 
 She went oack for her hood, and slipping it on, hur- 
 ried down De Heeren Graft. She thought he might 
 turn into Yan Arsdale's shop. Then there were other 
 pits open to the feet of the heedless. What hope was 
 there for one whose will might be good, but whose flesh 
 was weak ? The temptation to trade in all kinds of 
 stimulants was very great at New Amsterdam. The 
 Indian had learned to love fire-water ; sailors were often 
 in port ; the home-thirst was sharp. It has been said 
 that " almost one full fourth part of the town of New 
 Amsterdam was devoted to houses for the sale of brandy, 
 tobacco, and beer. ' ' I want to stamp that as an exaggera-
 
 108 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 tion. Uncle Pieter, though, did not yield to any tempta- 
 tion barrelled and bottled up in Van Arsdale's pit. Ka- 
 tryne's heart beat with hope when she saw him beyond 
 the pit and crossing the bridge over the canal, but if 
 hope went up, courage went down. Suddenly Van 
 Schenkel stepped out of Van Arsdale's shop ! 
 
 " Satan !" muttered Katryne. She faltered. Should 
 she turn back ? " No !" she said resolutely, and moved on. 
 
 Van Schenkel was coming toward her, but he turned 
 as a voice summoned him back into the shop, and Ka- 
 tryne thankfully saw the glitter of his hateful eyes pass 
 away. She reached the bridge and looked across it. 
 Where was Uncle Pieter ? Had he tumbled into the 
 canal ? Its waters were low then, and dark and sluggish. 
 They did not look deep enough to cover even a turtle. 
 Where had Uncle Pieter gone ? Dirk Van Schenkel 
 was thought by some to have diabolical powers. Had 
 he, this ally of the devil, spirited Pieter away ? 
 
 Katryne went slowly, thoughtfully home. Not for 
 long days, weeks, months, did she see Uncle Pieter to 
 know whether he were Pieter the sot or Pieter the 
 something else, but in memory there never was a day 
 when his form did not rise before her, the head dropped, 
 a shabby, sorry figure crossing the bridge that spanned 
 the canal and led into De Brug Straat. 
 
 When she went home Hans inquired why she had been 
 absent. She frankly told him. She did not omit the 
 Van Schenkel section of this chapter.
 
 OXE XIGHT AXD AFTERWARD. 109 
 
 " Pooh ! Dirk Yan Schenkel would not hurt any of 
 the maidens of New Amsterdam !" growled Hans. He 
 threw up into the air above his fond resting-place on the 
 stoop a large cloud of smoke. " There !" said he. 
 " It is my opinion that Pieter was the thief who sneaked 
 into this house, and it is a wonder he did not carry us 
 all out of it in our beds." B
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN THE COUNTBY OF THE SAVAGES. 
 
 A MAN lay crouching in the grass, listening carefully, 
 intently, as if his great business in life always had been 
 to listen. The ground on which he crouched was near 
 the west bank of the North River, beyond the Palisades 
 of our day. A region that long occupation and patient 
 cultivation have turned into a garden, he had found a 
 wilderness, and having patiently traversed weary miles 
 of it, in vain looking for a white man's home and avoid- 
 ing signs of the red man's, he was now he knew not 
 where. 
 
 He felt sure of this, that the North River was some- 
 where at his right, with much patience and great dignity 
 pursuing its steadfast way to the sea ; he was as patiently 
 travelling from the sea. He was crawling through the 
 grass in a nook where the forest trees had consented to 
 part, and enough sunshine had come down to coax up a 
 fair growth of emerald in this open place. He had his 
 senses, even if he was going on all fours like a beast. 
 His great aim and ambition in life at the present time 
 was to get through the grass and reach a clump of bushes 
 beyond. He preferred the bushes to the grass, because
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. Ill 
 
 they would give some measure of security, and because 
 not far away was somebody or something he wanted 
 shelter from. So, drawing himself stealthily, slowly 
 along, he would stop awhile, listen intently, and then 
 crawl on again, longingly looking toward the bushes 
 ahead. He told himself, " I'm good as an Indian." 
 
 Hark ! What if that noise he had again just caught over 
 at the right meant that another person, and a savage, too, 
 were crawling through the undergrowth, having in mind 
 this very white man as an object to be sprung at, pounced 
 upon, and put out of the way at once with a blow of his 
 tomahawk ! Then the thought would come that it 
 might be a wild beast, for at times the step was not as 
 cautious as that of a savage. A wild beast ! He, the 
 man in the grass, began to breathe heavily and to think 
 over the animals that were inhabitants of the forest in 
 the valley watered by the North River. Some of these 
 forest residents had at times shown a disposition to be 
 friendly and to cultivate a close acquaintance. There 
 was that small place up the river, Beverwyck (now 
 Albany), in the protecting shadow of Fort Orange. A 
 pastor of those homes in the great wilderness was the 
 Rev. Johannes Megapolensis. He thus writes : " The 
 year before I came here, 1641, there were so many tur- 
 keys and deer that they came to the houses and hog- 
 pens to feed, and were taken by the Indians with so 
 little trouble that a deer was sold to the Dutch for a 
 loaf of bread, or a knife, or even a tobacco-pipe.'
 
 112 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 There were other creatures of the woods panthers, 
 bears, and wolves. This traveller in the grass had on 
 the island of Manhattan shot bears and wolves. One 
 season he had gained considerable bounty money by 
 wolf-shooting. lie had trapped bears. He had had 
 one tussle with a panther ; might he never have an- 
 other ! Now if at Beverwyck, turkeys and deer had 
 swarmed out of the forest, what wonder if they had fled 
 from the forest before the bears, panthers, and wolves, 
 grown greedier and more numerous, and this softly step- 
 ping creature in the rear was not, then, an innocent, 
 frail turkey, but a panther, strong of limb, sure of spring 
 at the desired time, very hungry, and specially fond of 
 blood human blood ! 
 
 The man in the grass trembled and crouched lower. 
 He held back his noisy breath. Why not feign death ? 
 He dismissed, however, the thought that this was a beast, 
 for a beast is not likely to be a neutral, a do-nothing. 
 It is one thing or the other, vicious and violent, or tim- 
 orous and feeble ; and a wild beast would have slunk 
 away by this time, or it would have made its merciless, 
 fatal spring. No, it could not be a beast, but a man. 
 If a human being, was it white-faced or red-faced, Euro- 
 pean or savage ? Not a white probably, for the whites 
 were not fond of going on all fours through the wilder- 
 ness. They preferred to watch one another in civilized 
 fashion, standing up. The Indian crawling on hands 
 and feet was a disgrace to all mankind, even though the
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 113 
 
 first man in the grass might be setting the fashion. Yes, 
 it was an Indian who was crawling in the rear. 
 
 The bushes, though, were very near. Two more 
 lengths of the body, and those bushes would be reached. 
 Hark ! What, a crackle ! A twig under him had 
 broken, and it had betrayed him ! It sounded like a 
 gun at Fort Amsterdam. The bushes, though, were 
 near, and he would rush for them and would hide behind 
 them, and fight, too, on his feet, if the Indian wished 
 for fighting. Anything in preference to this awkward, 
 painful crawling on the ground, in constant fear of an 
 attack whenever was heard that sound of another move- 
 ment over at the right, a suspicious rustling, a strange 
 stirring, a moving, steady but stealthy, an invisible 
 beast, man, Indian what ? 
 
 Suddenly up out of his lair sprang a man. He had 
 a gun. He brought that gun to his shoulder and fired. 
 The report sounded like that of a volcano erupting. It 
 seemed as if the smoke from the discharge must fill this 
 forest and every other in the valley of the North 
 River. 
 
 The first thought of the first man was, " 1 am shot !" 
 The second thought, " Before I find out really whether I 
 am shot, I will shoot him." He rose ; he brought his 
 gun to his shoulder ; he fired, but the aim was hasty, 
 and did not drop anybody. It was one smoke-cloud 
 rolling up against another smoke-cloud, and who was 
 killed ?
 
 114 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 As the CiOiid lifted, the first man saw that the other 
 man had a white face. He was busily reloading. 
 
 " Hold there !" shouted the first man in English, then 
 repeating it in Dutch. 
 
 The second man looked up. 
 
 "God forgive ine !" he cried, and in English. 
 11 What a mistake !" He was now advancing, his right 
 hand extended. 
 
 " I thought it was an Indian wriggling along ; and 
 are you hurt ?" was the first man's inquiry, his hand 
 going out cordially. 
 
 " Not hurt, not a scratch even. Your bullet struck a 
 branch beyond me somewhere." 
 
 " And I don't believe I came within ten feet of you. 
 My hand trembled frightfully. I thought surely it was 
 an Indian." 
 
 The two men were now gripping hands and then 
 laughing, stopping to blame themselves for exciting one 
 another's fears, and yet justifying each other's shooting. 
 
 " But who are you?" asked the first man. " I am 
 Pieter Van T wilier, from New Amsterdam." 
 
 The reply of the second man was hesitating. " I I 
 oh, call me William." 
 
 Pieter noticed the hesitation, and when he heard the 
 single name, "William," he told himself, "The man 
 does not wish to be known. I will trust him though." 
 
 There was no other way than that of trust. 
 
 " May I ask may I ask," hesitatingly inquired
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 115 
 
 Pieter, ' ' where my new friend is going ? 1 am going 
 to Esopus to fight the savages." 
 
 William's countenance wore a puzzled look. He 
 smiled, though it was a sad one, and replied, " Where 
 am I going ? I I am sure I do not know. I wish I 
 did. If going to fight the savages, I don't think I 
 should hurt the savages if 1 did fight, judging by my 
 shooting at a mark this afternoon." 
 
 The men laughed again. The laugh did them good. 
 It is strange how much prejudice, fear, uncomfortable 
 feeling may be shaken off in the agitation that accom- 
 panies a laugh. William had not fancied Pieter's inter- 
 rogations, and inwardly disputed his right to make them. 
 Pieter began to be suspicious of a man who did not seem 
 to know where he was going finally, here in the wilder- 
 ness. If a man were on a journey that had an end, or 
 if he were in the wilderness because hunting or trapping 
 for skins otter, beaver, mink it was all satisfactory, 
 but this aimless wandering did give a strange look to 
 one's action. Was the man just sane ? Then William 
 had not mentioned the place from which he hailed ; 
 Pieter had very distinctly quoted New Amsterdam as his 
 headquarters. Pieter could not get rid of his suspicions. 
 Even that last hearty laugh had not shaken off all of 
 these. He now resolved to watch this queer unknown 
 whom he had so strangely met in the wilderness. 
 
 The men jogged on together, but soon stopped. The 
 sun was running low. Up the green ladders of the trees
 
 116 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 its golden rays had climbed slowly, patiently, and now 
 crowned the highest rounds in the treetops. It was a 
 warning light up in the tall trees, but not that alone 
 brought them to a halt. They had come suddenly upon 
 North Kiver. The forest drew back from the water as 
 if in respectful admiration of its charms. All around 
 the hills gave a green setting to this crystal flashing in 
 the last rays of the sun. The wind had been subsiding, 
 and now, as if weary, seemed to have gone to sleep on 
 the bosom of the glassy stream. From shore to shore 
 was one wide sweep of crystal. The two men were 
 thrown into a sudden excitement by this revelation of 
 the noble beauty of a great river. 
 
 " This is what is this ?" asked William nervously. 
 
 " North River. 
 
 " Then praised be God ! The North River ! Hur- 
 rah !" cried William, throwing up his hat. 
 
 Pieter, too, was pleased, but he was comparatively 
 calm. 
 
 " Tes, North River. 1 love it. ' This,' I say to myself, 
 1 this river goes down to New Amsterdam, to the ships 
 that go across the water.' The river joins us to the 
 great world without. If I want to get back to the fash- 
 ion of the world, all that 1 need is a boat. It may 
 be that I could sail a log. Truly, 1 am glad to see 
 it." 
 
 " Yea, verily, my friend, for let me call you that," 
 said William. " I must let out my joy in a different
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 117 
 
 fashion. I rejoice, I shout, I want to sing yes, hur- 
 rah !" Then he began to caper about merrily. 
 
 "Was he sane, this shouting, dancing man ? Pieter 
 swung round as soon as he could do it with politeness, 
 and looked at his companion's face. It was turned in 
 the direction of New Amsterdam, and such a joy was 
 in those eyes ! 
 
 " It is not a bad face," reasoned Pieter. " No malice 
 is there. He acts as if he had lost his head, but he has 
 not lost, I think, his love for New Amsterdam. It is a 
 goodly face, it is kind, it is in a head that has brains. 
 Have I ever seen at New Amsterdam this man with 
 dark eyes and dark beard ? I shall find him out sooner 
 or later." 
 
 Pieter was now speaking aloud : " The river, I trow, 
 not only makes one think how he might get away from 
 the wilderness, but of the people that the river might 
 bring to him." 
 
 " How will he take that ?" wondered Pieter. " He 
 has lost his heart to the river, but it might bring strange 
 beings to him. " He watched the effect of his words on 
 his companion. 
 
 William smiled eagerly. 
 
 11 Traders, dost thou mean ? They are to my mind." 
 
 Pieter asked, " What would my friend say if a ca- 
 noe of savages came suddenly round that point ? This 
 is a good landing-place for savages." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say they have been here often. If they
 
 118 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 came now I should get behind you. Ha ! ha ! And 
 come they may, for oar guns gave warning to all the 
 world that \ve were here !" 
 
 The laugh that echoed by the riverside did a good 
 work in making Pieter feel more at ease with this strange 
 companion. They began to address one another as 
 ""William" and " Pieter," and to use freely that form 
 of the pronoun suggesting a better acquaintance. 
 
 " I think this is undoubtedly the first time," observed 
 William, " that white men have laughed in this place, 
 Pieter, if I may so call thee, friend. Is that to thy 
 mind ?" 
 
 " Call me c Pieter.' That sounds better. Hark !" 
 
 They listened intently. 
 
 " What was it, Pieter ? Anything strange ?" 
 
 " 1 thought I heard a call." 
 
 "A war-whoop?" 
 
 " It may have been." 
 
 " The very name makes me shiver. I think we had 
 better not camp here, if that were thy mind. We will 
 just step back into the woods a few feet, if that be to 
 thy mind." 
 
 "I agree to it." 
 
 " Thy mind is my mind, Pieter. I will follow thee. 
 Lead on !" 
 
 " He trusts me," thought Pieter, affected by the stran- 
 ger's kindly mood. " 1 have been puzzled to see him 
 so beside himself, a man who has not yet told me what
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 119 
 
 place he hails from or what place he is going to. Now 
 I cannot go to New Amsterdam, where the devil is too 
 strong for me, since the beer-mugs help him out. This 
 man, where does he go ? Well, Pieter, thou must go 
 to fight the savages." 
 
 Pieter Yan Twiller was aiming at the North Eiver region 
 known as the Esopus (in the neighborhood of Rondout and 
 Kingston). For various reasons the Dutch had occupied 
 it. There was choice land to be farmed. There were 
 beaver-skins to be bought of the Indians. Esopus had 
 been shattered by the Indian tempest of 1655, but it 
 was gathering strength again. The land was fertile. 
 There were chances for trade. Brandy could be 
 sold, while beaver-skins could be bought. The buy- 
 ing was right ; the selling was unfortunate, foolish, 
 wicked. In the spring of 1658 the savages, fren- 
 zied by drink, showed ugly fight.* They fired the 
 buildings of one settler, a second they killed. Then 
 they bore torches to various buildings. Brandishing 
 these lurid weapons, their countenances distorted with 
 hate, they threatened unless the farmers ploughed up 
 their fields of maize to fire their property. Plough, the 
 farmers did. The savages threw at the settlers such mis- 
 siles as the epithets, "Dutch dogs, "and taunted them with 
 the horribly mercantile remark that " they could easily 
 pay for killing them by a few fathoms of wampum." 
 
 * History of New Netkerland, E. B. O'Callaghan, Vol. II., 
 p. 357.
 
 120 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 We are told that " the white population consisted at this 
 period of between sixty and seventy Christians," and they 
 had much land under cultivation. An appeal was made 
 by them to Heer Director Stuyvesant to send soldiers 
 " to save the Esopus, which, if well settled, might sup- 
 ply the whole of New Amsterdam with provisions." 
 " It will be vain," ran the supplication, " to cover the 
 well when the calf is drowned." Heer Director, accom- 
 panied by fifty soldiers or more, strode off to save this 
 " calf" and seasonably shut up the " well." He in- 
 spected the calf ; he looked into the well ; he gathered 
 the savages and talked straight at them. They talked 
 back. 
 
 " You Swannekins," they told him, " have sold our 
 children the boisson. It is you who have given them 
 brandy," and added that the Dutch had made them 
 drunk, and went on to say they could not control their 
 young men. Wooden Leg was ready for them. He 
 dared them to fight. 
 
 That must have been a dramatic scene. There was 
 the sturdy Stuyvesant, his eyes flashing, his strong fea- 
 tures working, his wooden leg planted stubbornly. Over 
 against him were the Indians, frowning and scowling, 
 and growling that while " we know no malice, neither 
 are we inclined to fight, but we cannot control our 
 young men." 
 
 Up sprang Wooden Leg. He thundered, " If any of 
 your young savages desire to fight, let them now step
 
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 121 
 
 forth. I will place man against man. Nay, I will place 
 twenty against thirty or forty of your hot-heads. Now, 
 then, is your time !" 
 
 Nobody stepped forth. There was no fighting. 
 "Wooden Leg's challenge cowed his opponents. Though 
 they could not give up the Indian who had committed 
 murder, as he belonged, they said, to another nation 
 and had gone off, yet the savages agreed to make amends 
 for damages done, and sell land for another village, 
 which Stuyvesant advised the settlers to establish. 
 
 The latter went to work. Digging, wood-chopping, 
 and palisading were begun. The village was to measure 
 two hundred and ten yards in circumference. While at 
 work on the fortifications a party of savages approached. 
 They requested the Grand Sachem to take as a present 
 the land he was occupying. The gift, they assured him, 
 was " to grease his feet, as he had undertaken so long 
 and painful a journey to visit them." They asserted 
 that they bore no malice toward the Dutch ; it had been 
 thrown away, and nobody would hurt a Dutchman. 
 The Dutch might have felt that they were rather hasty 
 in occupying the land now so magnanimously tendered, 
 and that the proffer was not only a gift, but a reproof. 
 The Dutch were as friendly as the Indians. They made 
 protestations of friendship, and what Dutchman would 
 hurt an Indian ? However, they went forward and built 
 their fortified village, and when Heer Director started for 
 New Amsterdam, he did not leave behind him a little
 
 122 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 town shielded just by savage promises, but twenty-four 
 stalwart white soldiers were doing garrison duty at the 
 Esopus. The " calf" Was protected, and the " well" 
 shut up. Ah, if he could have sealed up the brandy- 
 bottles ! 
 
 The colonists in the Esopus met with varying for- 
 tunes. The savages made an uneasy element in their 
 neighborhood, and one of danger. In the fall of 1658 
 the savages wanted some presents. ' ' Greasing' ' seems to 
 have been a process employed on both sides. The savages 
 had previously "greased the feet" of Pieter Stuyvesant, 
 after " a long and painful journey to visit them." The 
 settlers, though, are reported to have had in the autumn 
 nothing with which u to grease the Indians' breasts. 
 The meeting was a dry one." It was difficult to oil the 
 machinery in this land of the Esopus and keep it 
 smoothly running. In 1659 " brandy" was the occasion 
 of a terrible collision between the savages and the Dutch. 
 The savages were frenzied by the bottle as they were 
 carousing outside the fort. Some of the Dutch had been 
 alarmed by the bacchanalian outcries. They went out 
 and needlessly, cruelly, fired upon the wretches just then 
 " huddled in sleep." War followed a war of the torch 
 and the tomahawk. Stuyvesant came to the help of the 
 settlers, but they had already beaten off the savages 
 storming their works. Not, though, till July, 1660, was 
 peace made and proclaimed. Prior to the spring of 1663 
 there were, therefore, about three years of peace in that
 
 IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 123 
 
 fertile Esopus-land. The settlers increased in number. 
 Pieter Stuyvesant obeying orders from Holland, con- 
 ferred, in 1661, a charter on the settlers, " erecting the 
 locality into a village." The place thus raised up to 
 honor received the name Wiltwyck. The name was an 
 olive-branch, given because the land was " a free gift" 
 from the savages. It was a free-will vilfage (wyck 
 meaning village) in a beautiful land. Would that Stuy- 
 vesant's pleasant conceit had been left peaceably to put 
 forth like a plant blossoms of beauty and fruits of comfort ! 
 Into the year 1663 the plant did thrive and increase. A 
 new settlement was laid out for the surplus population 
 of this free-will village. Then came trouble. The sav- 
 ages were restless. They jealously feared this growth 
 and a " new fort." For the land on which it was ex- 
 pected to stand, they had not been paid. Old injuries 
 when recalled stung them like thorns. And the his- 
 torian O'Callaghan significantly says : " Brandy became 
 more common than ever in the country." This was like 
 throwing a firebrand amid barrels of gunpowder. 
 
 The settlers were alarmed. There was the old fear of 
 the " calf" getting into the " well." The relations be- 
 tween the savage and the Dutchman were strained. This 
 was known at New Amsterdam, and it was to do his little 
 toward helping the Dutch interests past this strain that 
 Pieter Yan T wilier had come into the wilderness. He 
 knew also it would help him overcome his love for liquor 
 because separating him from it. He was resolved that the
 
 124 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 savage in his breast badly wanting brandy should go 
 without it. After a while no savage might be there. 
 
 Pieter and his present companion began their night- 
 camp just inside the forest-line and within a few feet 
 of the river. Pieter was much of a woodsman. Of 
 pine boughs he quickly made a hut for shelter, and he 
 set William to work gathering hemlock tips for a bed. 
 After a simple meal they lay down to rest. Pieter 
 turned his face toward the pine roof, and spent a few 
 minutes in quiet thought ere launching his boat on the 
 River of Slumber : 
 
 " I have much feeling for this brother of mine under 
 these pine boughs. He may be a fugitive from some 
 place, and am I not fleeing from the temptations of 
 drink ? I am a fugitive like my brother, then. Has 
 he not told me he had no family ? The body of my 
 dear wife is sleeping with the dead near Fort Amster- 
 dam. He and I are without a home. We are pilgrims 
 and sojourners. I feel for thee, dear brother at my 
 side, though I do not say it, and I trust thee." 
 
 It was good to be in this tavern of pine boughs, side 
 by side with one that Pieter Van Twiller could trust. 
 It gave a sense of security to this bed of hemlock tips. 
 Pieter Yan Twiller drifted off into a calm and restful 
 sleep. Not an hour had passed ere an Indian canoe was 
 paddled up to the open, grassy nook in the river- 
 bank, and several savages stepped out quietly and 
 lay down on the edge of the forest One of these
 
 IN" THE COUNTRY OF THE SAVAGES. 125 
 
 soon nudged his neighbor, and in his aboriginal tongue 
 whispered, 
 
 " Hark ! I hear a sound like the wind murmuring in 
 the tree-tops." 
 
 Silence for a moment. 
 
 " I hear a sound like the water running over the 
 rocks," replied the neighbor. 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " 1 hear somebody snoring," whispered a third 
 savage. 
 
 All three sprang upon their feet at once.
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 THE FOUT AND THE CHURCH. 
 
 " AND where is Uncle Robert ?" wondered Harold 
 Wharton. 
 
 He found footprints of his uncle, but not the uncle. 
 The landlord at the tavern had heard of such a person, 
 but shook his head when Harold wished to know of the 
 uncle's present whereabouts. In the morning he hoped 
 to find him by evening, and at night he hoped to dis- 
 cover him the next day, but neither morning nor even- 
 ing revealed him. A bridge built of nothing but hopes 
 never carries one across the river. If Harold had not 
 been endowed with an adventurer's birthright, he would 
 have been very discontented ; but he had that birthright, 
 the restless desire to hunt up something new, and this 
 strange seaport town, so unlike the few seaport towns he 
 had ever seen, was a novelty, giving this desire for dis- 
 coveries frequent exercise. He oftenest went to one of 
 two places, De Heeren Graft, with its canal and its pos- 
 sible chances of seeing a certain fair maiden, and then 
 he haunted the water-front, with its public wharf, its 
 De Paerl Straat, its outlook on the vessels swayed by 
 the tide as they lay at anchor. Sometimes he strayed 
 beyond the wall to the spot where a venturous ferryboat
 
 THE FOKT AKD THE CHURCH. 12? 
 
 dared all the perils of East River, and carried passengers 
 to little Breuckelen. We Lave the name of one ferry- 
 man in those early days, Cornelis Dircksen. He was a 
 farmer ordinarily, but kept a horn in a state of suspen- 
 sion from a tree. Let any traveller come up and give a 
 blast on that horn, and the farmer would appear as ferry- 
 man, and promptly ferry the wayfarer to Breuckelen 
 hamlet. Harold would sometimes visit this place, which 
 later years have known as Peck Slip, but he never saw 
 any Uncle Robert ferried to Breuckelen. 
 
 He was often at the wall with its two gates,* but among 
 those making that entrance or exit was no Uncle Robert. 
 The keeper of the tavern had told Harold about the 
 building of this wall. It had a predecessor, erected in 
 1644. The savages were troublesome, ready to steal a 
 cow or sheep whenever they had a chance, and also 
 assault the owners. Heer Director Kieft was then in 
 power, and he ordered " a good solid fence" to be 
 erected across Manhattan Island. For nine years it did 
 duty as the northern limit of a " fifteen-acre sheep pas- 
 ture," and here all kinds of domestic animals were safely 
 pastured, though without Indians might covet and bears 
 roll their greedy eyes. 
 
 Time's wheel, that never yet stopped for peasant or 
 king, continued to roll about. It was in the year 1653, 
 one March day, and a chilly, sputtering day I can im- 
 agine it to have been, when very exciting news came to 
 * Land poort and water poort.
 
 128 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 New Amsterdam. It set people into a nervous flutter 
 everywhere a flutter like that of the leaves in the forest 
 when the rough wind gets among them. Down in the 
 drinking-shops, and along the canal in De Heeren Graft, 
 also in De Paerl Straat, De Brug Straat, De Bever 
 Graft, in all the ways and lanes, and up in the proud 
 fort, and in the kitchens where humble housewives by 
 their open fireplaces thought themselves safe beyond 
 question, there was a trepidation indeed. Even under 
 the doublet of sturdy Heer Director Stuyvesant there 
 was an unusual commotion. The heart that beat there 
 in its sturdy fortress went faster than ever. The New 
 Englanders the New Englanders were coming ! These 
 uneasy, enterprising beings, who thought their rights of 
 territory lapped over the soil of New Amsterdam, had 
 been shaking their heads and muttering threats for some 
 time, and were now actually coming. That was the 
 story. The New Amsterdam Council had a famous 
 meeting on account of the exciting news. It was a very 
 long meeting. It sat in profound deliberation, hour after 
 hour. It did not propose to let New England's territory 
 lap one single inch over New Amsterdam soil. It voted 
 that the citizens, some time, must go on duty as night- 
 watch ; that the old fort must be repaired, and among 
 other things resolved " to enclose the city with breast- 
 works and palisades." The fort could not hold all the 
 people if an invasion forced them out of their homes 
 and they tried to crowd behind those historic walls, but
 
 THE FORT AND THE CHURCH. 129 
 
 behind a wall of palisades going across the island, they 
 would be sufficiently safe. Such an invincible wall ! 
 New England's warriors might come in long columns 
 and rave and rage, mutter and sputter, growl and howl, 
 but just the Director's wooden leg, vigorously shaken at 
 them, would keep them at a distance, provided it was 
 shaken behind good, stout palisades. The new wall was 
 set up near the line of the old fence bounding the sheep 
 pasture. One estimate gives a length of three thousand 
 feet of wall that was finally built, stretching from river 
 to river. 
 
 New Amsterdam's labor* were heroic. Every able- 
 bodied pair of hands went to the spade or the axe. 
 Palisades were erected twelve feet high, and measuring 
 a foot and a half round ; and to impale, if possible, those 
 nimbly climbing New Englanders, each palisade was 
 pointed. To assist the palisades, a breastwork was piled 
 up four feet high, and the New Englander that escaped 
 impaling would not escape a Dutch sentinel on the breast- 
 work. To add to all these terrors, to make as deep and 
 awful an impress as possible upon the New England 
 imagination, was a ditch, three feet deep and two wide. 
 Its cold, dirty waters would surely send a fatal chill 
 through any assailant's breast even before he got to their 
 slimy embrace. New Amsterdam dug and dug and 
 dug, and the sound of the axe was heard in the woods, 
 while the spade went thud ! thud ! thud ! New Am- 
 sterdam's wall, any more than Troy's, was not to be
 
 130 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 built in a day. The work was interrupted. It took a 
 serious scare, in 1654, to complete it. 
 
 To man this long-drawn-oat fortification, it was re- 
 solved to enlist some sixty or seventy men, " in silence 
 and without beat of drum," and they would garrison the 
 stout twelve-foot wall. 
 
 The fear and the nutter in the kitchens and shops and 
 council chamber must have sunk all away, like waves on 
 the shore, when New Amsterdam saw its courageous 
 governor proudly contemplating those palisades, and the 
 sturdy warriors distributed along the stretching breast- 
 work. That might not be the only demonstration. 
 There was an open way one hundred feet broad, on the 
 city side of the wall, set apart for the parade of the little 
 city's troops. This grand display of New Amsterdam's 
 warriors made an imposing addition to the long walls 
 fortifying the metropolis of New Netherland. How- 
 ever, New Amsterdam did not rely alone on twelve-foot 
 palisades, ditch and breastwork, troops and guarded gates. 
 Dominie Megapolensis had a serious talk with Heer 
 Director Stuyvesant. It resulted in the appointing of 
 April 9th, that same exciting spring of 1653, as a day 
 of fasting and prayer. Happy is the town that has a 
 good breastwork of prayer behind all its defences ! And 
 New Amsterdam built this inner wall. It kept other 
 days of fasting and prayer. 
 
 Another fortification, and, like the palisades, interest- 
 ing Harold, was Fort Amsterdam. It was engineer
 
 THE FORT AND THE CHURCH. 131 
 
 Kryn Frederick who planned this fort, begun about the 
 year 1626. The row of houses now fronting Bowling 
 Green, it is thought, would about give the northern 
 wall of that ancient fortress. It could not have been 
 anything very serious, for it is described as " a block- 
 house with red cedar palisades, called by courtesy ' the 
 fort.' "* There were about thirty rude structures, 
 whose inmates pathetically looked to " the blockhouse" 
 for protection, and it was everything to them. It was 
 called, as already said, by the name of a "fort," and 
 the name of a thing, especially when you do not see 
 the thing, adds very much to its reputation. While 
 that structure might do as a beginning, it could not be 
 thought of sufficient dignity or strength to protect the 
 future New Amsterdam. 
 
 In 1635 1 find something pretentious existing as Fort 
 Amsterdam. It was begun by Van Twiller, New Am- 
 sterdam's second director, and after some delay com- 
 pleted by him, and is estimated to have been about three 
 hundred feet in length and about a hundred and fifty 
 feet in breadth. Two years passed before Van Twiller's 
 work was done. Its four sides were only banks of earth, 
 but there were bastions of stone and sleepy sentinels sol- 
 emnly stalking around. It must have seemed very for- 
 midable. The soldiers had barracks within the walls, 
 the Heer Director or Governor, at that time had a house 
 
 * Story of New York, E. G. Brooks, p. 31.
 
 132 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 there, and there were also various public headquarters in 
 the fort. 
 
 Some amusing stories were told about New Amster- 
 dam's fortifications. One April day, in 1633, there came 
 with the spring wind an English ship. There was a lengthy 
 altercation between Van Twiller and this English ship 
 claiming the right to go up the river and trade with the 
 natives for furs. Were not these the dominions of the 
 King of England ? Both New England and Old Eng- 
 land said so. Van Twiller stubbornly said no ; these 
 dominions belonged to the Prince of Orange, Holland's 
 ruler. Finally Van Twiller ordered the crew ashore, also 
 that the colors of the Prince of Orange be hoisted at the 
 fort, and three guns be fired in honor of the Dutch 
 ruler. Boom ! boom ! boom ! went the spunky Dutch 
 guns. English guns were as spunky, and the ship 
 barked three times in honor of the King of England, 
 while the English colors saucily fluttered at the mast- 
 head. Instead of coming ashore, the English crew 
 weighed anchor, and up the river to trade, stately and 
 defiant, went the ship. Van Twiller was enraged. 
 His face must have seemed a cauldron boiling over. All 
 who were on duty in the fort he massed before his door. 
 He was going to challenge their loyalty to Holland. He 
 would not submit to such English defiance of rightful 
 authority, and a singular but highly popular way he 
 took to invite and arouse Dutch sentiment. He gave 
 orders that a barrel of wine should be tapped. Then,
 
 THE FOKT AND THE CHURCH. 133 
 
 emptying a brimming goblet, he shouted, " Those who 
 love the Prince of Orange and me emulate me in this, 
 and assist me in repelling the violence committed by 
 that Englishman !" What enthusiasm there was in 
 showing loyalty to ruling Dutchmen ! Bumper after 
 bumper went readily down. The drinking was con- 
 tinued, and the loyal fit lasted till the cask was empty. 
 Up with the colors of Holland ! But when it was in 
 order to move upon the colors of England, the people to 
 make the attack were wanting. Patriotism that was only 
 a gluttonous drinking was as popular then as sometimes 
 to-day. When the wine-cask lies empty, such patriots 
 scatter. However, there was at last a rally of Dutch 
 sentiment and Dutch soldiers and sailors. The English 
 ship was followed, reached at Fort Orange or Albany, 
 and sent sulking down the river and out to sea. 
 
 When Harold Wharton saw the fort, it was not the 
 structure figuring in the above episode, but the later 
 one of this story, with walls of earth higher than a 
 man's head and bastions of stone, all making a formid- 
 able show on paper, and presenting a warlike front to 
 any arrival by sea. It now contained a building that 
 Harold started out to visit his first Sunday morning in 
 New Amsterdam, the church of St. Nikolaas. The first 
 building used for religious purposes was not protected 
 by any fort wall. Some time, when the reader may be 
 walking along South William Street, on the north side, 
 if he will halt about half-way between Broad and Wil-
 
 134 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 liam streets, he will be very near, if not at the site of 
 great New York's first place of worship. South 
 William Street was once Mill Street, or in Dutch, Molen 
 Straat, and in a mill erected there were conducted the 
 first religious services of New Amsterdam. A fort, 
 storage-houses for the Dutch West India Company that 
 fathered this settlement on Manhattan Island, and a mill, 
 led off in the column of buildings making their appear- 
 ance on the shores fronting the wide, restless waters of 
 the bay that had surprised and delighted the English 
 Henry Hudson. 
 
 That old mill ! It must have been a curiosity. Its 
 power came not from a favorite Dutch source, the wind, 
 but a slowly plodding horse. The stone of the mill was 
 a big one, and in a track paved with bricks it was forced 
 to turn over and over. There was a lengthy axle at- 
 tached to a perpendicular pole. To one axle-end a 
 patiently minded horse was tied, and then kept in mo- 
 tion. Round and round he stupidly turned, and the 
 stone rolled on as patiently, grinding as it went. 
 
 This mill had a second story. It was not easy to find 
 a place where the people could meet. On Sunday, why 
 not hold religious services there in the mill loft ? So 
 they met from New Amsterdam's homes. They had no 
 pastor, but two had been commissioned, each as a con- 
 soler of the sick, kranken bezoeker, Sebastian Jansen 
 Krol and Jan Huyck, and they gave such spiritual com- 
 fort as they could. In the Bible they had a ceaseless
 
 THE FORT AND THE CHURCH. 135 
 
 banquet for the hungry, a fountain for the thirsty, and 
 weapons for life's daily war in the new country. Think 
 of the days when, in fear of savages, the little congrega- 
 tion shrank close to one another and God. The mill 
 loft was a bit of heaven to troubled souls. 
 
 In 1628 the first minister of New Amsterdam, Dominie 
 Jonas Michaelius, came to the dusty loft and organized 
 his work as a minister of the Church of Holland. The 
 little stream from Europe thus coming to the surface of 
 New Netherland life has widened into a great current 
 of blessing to New York and America, now known as 
 the Reformed Church in America. 
 
 Let us stay back, though, in those early days. To the 
 mill loft succeeded a humble church on Do Paerl Straat. 
 Ca-ptain De Vries, famous in N"ew Amsterdam, one day 
 criticised the building on De Paerl Straat as " a mean 
 barn." Words spoken maybe only air, and it costs us 
 nothing to say them, but they may cost us something 
 when others remember them. The above epithet, " a 
 mean barn," was part of a conversation between Captain 
 De Vries and Heer Director Kieft, New Amsterdam's 
 third governor. How much would Captain De Vries 
 give toward a better building, asked Heer Director 
 Kieft. That was a quick turn of the screw on the cap- 
 tain. One hundred guilder, provided Heer Director 
 would give another, promptly replied Captain De Vries, 
 thinking, maybe, ho was giving a turn on the screw that 
 was still harder for his challenger. The challenge was
 
 136 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 accepted. How, though, get the rest of the money for 
 the new church ? Heer Director Kieft went busily to 
 thinking, knowing something could come from the public 
 chest also. An opportunity in private arrived soon. A wed- 
 ding was coming off at the parsonage. Dominie Bogar- 
 dus' stepdaughter was the blushing bride, and Dr. Hans 
 Kierstede the fortunate bridegroom. Many of the first 
 people of the colony were sure to be there, from the 
 homes amid the cabbage-gardens of Pavonia, or those 
 amid the sleepy poppies of Staten Island, and from other 
 choice spots. The marriage was duly celebrated. Con- 
 gratulatory bumpers followed. Four or five drinking 
 rounds were set in operation, and every one doubtless 
 went its full course. Then the company being in a both 
 merry and generous mood, Heer Director Kieft pulled 
 out his subscription paper, liberally headed with his and 
 Captain Tries' subscriptions, and on the spot invited 
 pledges ! They were made, and they were of a good size, 
 corresponding with the bumpers that had been drunk. 
 The next day, the pledgers being now sober, thought of 
 what they had done at the exciting marriage feast. Several 
 were in great alarm. They went to Kieft and strove to 
 change the size of their pledges. Heer Director, though, 
 had great respect for the doings at that marriage, and 
 would not consent to any change. The pledges must 
 stand, and most of the promises were fulfilled. The 
 church was finally built. It was of stone. It had a 
 bell tower, almost detached from the church, and might
 
 THE FORT AND THE CHURCH. 137 
 
 have been called the campanile of New Amsterdam. 
 The church was of good size, seventy-two feet long and 
 fift} T -t\vo feet wide, and sixteen feet " over the ground," 
 or high, in a word. This jewel could find only one 
 place worthy to be its casket the fort itself. It was 
 built near the eastern wall, south of the governor's 
 house, another but lesser jewel. The door of the 
 church was toward the west. The sun rising above 
 Breuckelen saluted the eastern windows, while the sun- 
 sets that flamed above Pavonia flashed their farewell rays 
 through the western. Where Bridge and Whitehall 
 streets now make their northwest angle, it is thought 
 the stone church stood. Year after year it over- 
 looked the ramparts around it. To storm-assailed souls 
 that knew Martin Luther's hymn of a previous century, 
 " Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott," it must have been a 
 pleasant sight, this church within the fort, and the soul 
 could echo the exultation of that hymn, "A mighty 
 fortress is our God."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A SERVICE AT THE CHURCH. 
 
 "HARK !" said Harold Wharton. 
 
 A bell was cheerily ringing. It was the bell of the 
 Church of St. Nikolaas. It was a busy bell. On week 
 days it did all the bell business of New Amsterdam. 
 Was there any official event to be noticed ? Away went 
 the bell. Did a court sit ? In a dignified way the 
 notes of the bell marched out sonorous and stately. 
 "Was there a wedding ? Then the bell must ring, and it 
 would have been justified if it had gone crazy, turning 
 over and over and over. What was a bell-rope for, save 
 to be pulled according to the mood of the occasion ? 
 Was there a funeral ? Slow and sorrowful was the pace 
 of the bell, tolling, tolling, and solemnly it announced 
 the fact more important than birth, that somebody was 
 dead. 
 
 The mood was cheerful now. Ding ! ding ! ding ! 
 quickly rang the bell that morning of the Lord's day. 
 Its sweet echoes stole over the waters, and died in the 
 golden depths of the buttercups in the beautiful green 
 fields of Breuckelen. Some of these tuneful echoes 
 stayed on Manhattan Island, and went off into the emer- 
 ald groves to mingle with the drowsy murmurs of the
 
 A SERVICE AT THE CHURCH. 139 
 
 wind and sleep with it in soft nests of the fir and pine. 
 New Amsterdam obeyed the bell ringing at service-time 
 and moved toward the fort. The sellout, or sheriff, had 
 bustled through the streets before the congregation 
 came. No light-minded negro or frowning savage must 
 indulge in any game during service hours. The schout 
 doubtless saw to it that no drinking-places were open, 
 for the resolute Stuyvesant allowed publicans to sell 
 liquor on Sunday only at specified hours, and no dram 
 could be bought after nine at night. Happy town if the 
 restriction could have been extended from Sunday morn- 
 ing to another Sunday morning ! 
 
 Harold Wharton was among those that went to church. 
 He gained the fort and passed the sentinel wearing a 
 steeple-crowned hat, heavy blouse, and capacious breeches, 
 carrying on his shoulder a threatening match-lock. Har- 
 old modestly sat near the door, and he had an opportu- 
 nity to watch the people coming in. "Who noticed this 
 young fellow, proudly carrying his head, his flashing 
 blue eyes making sharp inspection, his brown locks fall- 
 ing in a careless wealth over a fair, high forehead ? A 
 few saw him, and the second look was a curious stare ; 
 but the greater number went on without a turn of the 
 head, as if their greatest concern, like that of vessels 
 steering straight for moorings off the water gate, was 
 to make harbor in their respective pews soon as possible. 
 
 But what if we all make harbor in the church within 
 the fort ? If we would appreciate fully the great work
 
 140 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 done in America by the children of Holland, we must 
 notice especially their church-going habits. This inter- 
 est in the house of God entered like a strong beam into 
 the whole fabric of their life, supporting the best habits, 
 giving their good work stability. In thought, in sym- 
 pathy, reverently, let us attend a Sunday service in the 
 church of St. Nikolaas. 
 
 We enter the fort. We step within the church of 
 stone. We take a seat anywhere and look about us as 
 the people are coming in. It is the eye that is first im- 
 pressed ; and what a well-dressed congregation this is ! 
 Thrift is a Dutch quality, and it is evident to-day. One 
 might not think that the plain structures of New Amster- 
 dam held so much jewelry, such brilliant dresses of silk. 
 
 I find it on record that Dutch colonial dames both 
 " frizzed and powdered their hair," wore, too, '' a close- 
 fitting cap of muslin or calico," and above all came 
 " hoods of silk or taffeta. " I can see the latter in church 
 rising like sunrise clouds above snowy collars without a 
 stain on their broad surfaces. Then there are matrons 
 and maidens who wear at the girdle rich service-books in 
 costly binding, with gold or silver clasps and edgings, 
 and suspended by a gold or silver chain. 
 
 You may have expected to see showy dressing, and 
 many poor women, too, in dresses of humble stuff and 
 sober color. Rich and poor are here ; but you were not 
 prepared for the exhibition of brilliant fabrics by some 
 that day, in the New Amsterdam church.
 
 A SERVICE AT THE CHURCH. 141 
 
 But what is that imposing retinue you now witness, 
 slowly passing through the door of St. Nikolaas' church ? 
 The bell-ringer or sexton and his assistants visited the very 
 respectable Stadt Huis, or City Hall, and there marshalled 
 the black-robed burgomasters and schepens (schout, 
 too, I presume, if not needed elsewhere) in a very dig- 
 nified column. From the Stadt HLuis they moved out in 
 solemn order, St. Nikolaas' bell-ringer and his aids going 
 before them bearing their "cushions of state." In a 
 sober way the small procession moved to the gate of the 
 fort, in pride passed its abashed sentry, and in self-con- 
 scious, stately fashion now pass up to their appointed 
 pew. How the congregation "stare ! On all important 
 occasions, civil or ecclesiastical, the City Fathers receive 
 much attention, for it is a very honorable office that they 
 fill. Men in other walks in life may come and go when they 
 please, may dress as they wish, but not the City Fathers. 
 
 Dress ? How showily some of the men in this con-, 
 gregation dress ! The rainbow colors in church to-day 
 are not all wrapped about the women. Far more pic- 
 turesque and bright than the present century's were the 
 garments in which colonial fathers and sons were decked. 
 
 But hark ! What do you hear now in the church ? 
 
 1 cannot say just where the sound should come in, but 
 I will let this positive note be struck on the floor here 
 the bell-ringer's procession heralding it. It is the thump 
 of a wooden leg that pounds its way vigorously, impetu- 
 ously along the floor ; and lo ! Heer Director Stuy-
 
 142 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 vesant ! He receives a bigger stare than those City Fathers 
 even. He is accustomed to dress richly ; and I doubt 
 not his coat and doublet, lace and buttons, knee-breeches, 
 his one silk stocking and one silver shoe- buckle are all 
 in shining order. He brings to church this morning his 
 smooth, strong face, expressive of great will and a 
 temper that can fire up on a notice not at all lengthy. 
 A man of brains, honest, courageous, faithful to his em- 
 ployers, of excellent intentions, a born leader, he is not 
 always able to appreciate the size of other white people's 
 rights ; and while he has been commended for his vigor- 
 ous management of the savages, he sometimes has man- 
 aged New Amsterdam as if it were peopled by Indians 
 rather than whites. But we are more interested in the 
 things of this Sunday. Who is it that radiantly flutters 
 after the Heer Director ? Yrouw Stuyvesant, yes, I 
 verily believe, a lady of French descent, the gossips 
 say, with fair face, and her dresses are reputed to have 
 a Parisian elegance.* More eyes, admiring and envious, 
 are levelled at her than even at the great Pieter. 
 
 You see them ; and Harold, too, has eyes for all 
 these. From his seat near the door he has a range of 
 view over the church. Under which pretty silk hood, 
 though, are the dark eyes belonging to the young woman 
 whom he saw one day rubbing such brightness into an 
 old brass knocker ? Where is she ? he wonders. 
 
 Suddenly a fat man puffs by Harold's pew, and you 
 
 * History of the City of New York, by Martha J. Lamb, Vol. I., 
 p. 129.
 
 A SERVICE AT THE CHURCH. 143 
 
 notice that the fat man wears a green velvet coat, green 
 breeches, and green hose. Everything seems too small 
 for him, and he has a look as of one imprisoned in some- 
 thing, and who would be very glad to get out of bond- 
 age. Of the fat woman who waddles next you can only 
 say that she flutters and pants along under some kind 
 of a white cloud-like hood, for your attention is at once 
 absorbed in a sweet face whose beauty is heightened by a 
 deep blush accompanying the consciousness that Katryne 
 Schuyler, as well as Hans and Lysbet, have come to 
 church late ! Just under her chin she has tucked a 
 cluster of shining buttercups, and as they nestle on her 
 snowy collar it wonderfully helps her beauty. She 
 wears a light, soft cherry-colored hood, a bodice of yellow 
 satin, a gown of black satin, while the silken petticoat is 
 of pale blue. Her hose are blue and her slippers have 
 gold-colored lacings. This late flock is penned at last, 
 and the eyes of Harold and the rest of the congregation, 
 including ourselves, are turned toward the dominie. 
 
 The occupant of the pulpit to-day will be the Rev. Jo- 
 hannes Megapolensis. The Rev. Samuel Drissius is also 
 serving this church and assisting Dominie Megapolensis. 
 He knows both the French and English tongues while a 
 preacher in the Dutch, and this extra knowledge won 
 him his place, for he can hold service in both those extra 
 tongues. Once a month he preaches to the French 
 Huguenots who have found on Staten Island a home and 
 a path to heaven their own way. 
 
 It is Dominie Johannes Megapolensis that is in the church
 
 144 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 to-day. His name is long enough to be Dutch or any- 
 thing else in Northern Europe ; but this is from the South, 
 from Greece. Once he was a plain Van Mekelenburg, 
 but there has prevailed among mankind a fashion of 
 changing the name perhaps for reasons of religion and 
 in this New Amsterdam parson's name we find traces of 
 an old European custom whereby scholars have given a 
 Greek dress to their name. A promising young classical 
 scholar, Schwartzerd, became Melanchthon. So Mekelen- 
 burg has become in Greek Megapolensis. 
 
 There he stands now at the foot of the pulpit stairs in 
 the church of St. Nikolaas. Look at him twice, apos- 
 tolic Johannes Megapolensis, gray -haired, a man of sixty, 
 who up the North River, at Rensselaerwyck, learned 
 the Indian's " heavy language," as he called it, and then 
 ho made of it in his love a light, quick wing on which 
 he sent out his messages of the cross, winning many. 
 
 He now halts ere he ascends the stairs, bowing, and 
 covering his face with his hat. He is silently offering a 
 prayer that the blessing of God may rest on his prayers 
 this day. Then he ascends to his place in St. Nikolaas' 
 pulpit. I can only think of this as in the old colonial 
 Dutch church style, round and lofty, and a sounding-board 
 is suspended above it, holding both a promise to assist the 
 dominie's voice and a threat to drop and smother any 
 infelicities. As the dominie stands there in his sacred 
 nook we notice that he is arrayed in a black silk gown with 
 large flowing sleeves. This was an imperative custom
 
 A SERVICE AT THE CHURCH. 145 
 
 in colonial days. The story is told of an old-time min- 
 ister who was to be installed in his work, but was not 
 furnished with the customary vestment. The presiding 
 clergyman refused to officiate. Fortunately a kind- 
 hearted minister furnished the desired robe, and the ap- 
 pointed service went forward. 
 
 The sable gown of Dominie Megapolensis is doubtless 
 not only in due order this Sunday, but the clerk* or 
 reader is in his place a little pew-like nook in front of 
 the pulpit. The clerk's duty is to read the Scriptures 
 in the morning service, and in the afternoon he recites 
 the Apostles' Creed. f 
 
 Listen now ! The services are reverently opened. You 
 will hear the dominie's assistant read sonorously and im- 
 pressively the Scriptures. This same officer is an impor- 
 tant medium between the common world below and the 
 sacred oracle above. He receives any notices from the 
 sexton, and placing them on the end of a long rod, he 
 will at the proper time respectfully tender them to the 
 dominie for judicious publication. He is seated now. 
 The praying to-day is to us in an unknown tongue. The 
 tone is reverent and tender. 
 
 * Voorleezer. 
 
 f This aud other customs I find in such works as William L. 
 Stone's History of New York City, pp. 77, 78, and G. P. Disosway's 
 Earliest Churches of New York, pp. 35, 36 ; A. J. Weise's His- 
 tory of the City of Albany, pp. 192, 193 ; and as they are old 
 colonial usages, I have thought of them as features of the services 
 in the church of St. Nikolaas.
 
 146 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 But the singing, what of that ? I venture to apply to 
 it the words of another about an ancient service, the 
 " solemn psalmody," the "long-drawn Gregorian chant. " 
 How it rises higher and higher, expands more and 
 more till the church within the fort is filled with, the 
 melody ! The clerk is expected to lead, and he fails 
 not to keep his voice at the front ! One other 
 voice I specially notice, for it is special. There are 
 substances which we call diaphanous because letting 
 the light through. So there are voices which let the 
 soul through the sound, the emotion within, reverence, 
 'worship, compassion, consecration, coming out through 
 this susceptible medium of the voice and soaring in 
 adoration or sinking in submission, then reaching out in 
 sympathy to every want or turning to God in a quiet 
 trust, and there nestling like a timid bird's wing folded 
 against the mother's breast. 
 
 Harold Wharton notices that voice. "It is the fair 
 Dutch maid," he says, and admires. 
 
 No, it is not Katryne Schuyler. She sings, but not 
 in this unusual fashion. She sings more for herself than 
 for others, even as the swallows twitter. 
 
 While this digression has been occupying our thoughts, 
 the dominie has reached his sermon. It was an old-time 
 custom that as a dominie pronounced the last word of his 
 text and before he began his sermon he should piously 
 ejaculate " Thus far !" Why was that ? To signify the 
 separation between the divine and the human, that
 
 A SEKVICE AT THE CHTJKCH. 147 
 
 " thus far" it was God's Word and then came a man's 
 comment ? I will pass on to the human comment which 
 Dominie Megapolensis gives in unmistakable Dutch. 
 Patiently, and I doubt not edifyingly, he follows his 
 text. 
 
 How long ? Where is the clock ? No church clocks 
 in those days to tick their " now ! now !" when a ser- 
 mon begins, and their " stop ! stop !" at a reasonable 
 point for closing, but oftentimes warning ineffectually. 
 
 There is the hour-glass instead, and set, too, at the 
 preacher's right hand. It is a clerk's duty, when the 
 last grain of sand may have run out, to remind the ab- 
 sorbed dominie of the fact that sermon-closing time has 
 arrived, and admonishingly he must rap three times with 
 his cane. The story is given of one dominie who saw 
 his clerk asleep, and he kept on and on and let the hour- 
 glass run out a second time. Then he remarked to his 
 hearers that as they had been so patiently sitting through 
 two glasses, he would proceed with the third ! 
 
 1 do not think this is a mistaken vision in me when I see 
 an hour-glass at the right hand of Dominie Megapolen- 
 sis, and that he does not need to hear three ominous cane 
 raps to know that the glass is out. Faithful preacher of the 
 Word ! Toiling alone or with others, he is loyal to the 
 Rule of God. This year (1663) the chroniclers set down 
 as the date of his son Samuel's appearance in New Amster- 
 dam as a clerical worker ; but whether that helper may 
 be here now or not, the father will do his duty, setting
 
 148 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the hour-glass on the tall pulpit Sunday by Sunday, and 
 watching the sands dribble patiently away, and so on, 
 other Sundays, till one day in 1670 that hand will be 
 powerless, the sands in his own glass of time having all 
 run away. 
 
 The sermon over, is an offering made, and for the poor, 
 perhaps ? Let us think of an old-time method as kept 
 this Sunday in 1663. The deacons rise to officiate, stand 
 while the dominie commends kindness to the poor, and 
 then each seizing a long pole that in turn seizes a black 
 velvet bag, goes among the congregation. 
 
 And hark ! A soft, clear tinkle, and then another 
 and another you catch among the aisles. The tinkles 
 musically go down the aisles, and then come up the 
 aisles, and clash together at the journey's close. Ah ! 
 there are diminutive bells swinging from the black velvet 
 bags. Whether these sweet warnings aroused the sleep- 
 ers and stirred the consciences of those wide awake, the 
 contents of the bags in wampum and silver will show. 
 
 The dominie, though, is praying, and please give at- 
 tention. His hands are lifted in the benediction, and 
 to the hush accompanying it soon succeeds the exit of 
 the congregation. Then the men march toward the 
 door, and the hoods of their spouses swing obediently and 
 point to the door like the vanes that turn and head the 
 way of the imperative wind. All go, Pieter Stuy vesant, 
 his vrouw, the City Fathers, the deacons, the dominie all. 
 
 And Harold goes out also ? No, he is sitting there by
 
 A SERVICE AT THE CHURCH. 149 
 
 the door, his head suspiciously rising and falling. He is 
 very tired, having rambled much the past week. He 
 followed the sermon as faithfully as possible ; but 
 at last a veil, a thick veil, seemed to drop before 
 Harold's eyes. The preacher's tones, caught in the 
 folds of this veil, were softly muffled. They finally 
 came to Harold's ear like the pleasant hum of the wind 
 rising and falling amid the rigging of the ship that 
 brought him over the sea. He was then back in Eng- 
 land again, in the old parish church at home. His father 
 was officiating. He heard the reading of the Psalter 
 and the singing of the sweet chants. He was in the rec- 
 tor's pew ; and was his mother singing ? When she 
 bowed her head did she bow in prayer for an absent son ? 
 Did she know he was there ? He went up to his father 
 and laid his hand on him. Did his father feel the 
 touch ? Suddenly it came over him that his father was 
 dead. In an instant everything changed. The light in 
 the windows vanished. The singing came from a dis- 
 tance. His mother was holding out entreating hands to 
 him. Everybody seemed to die. Harold went into a 
 silence, a dark, death-like mist. He was aroused by a 
 sound somewhat like the noise of feet passing over a 
 floor. He heard an object go " pound, pound," and it 
 went by him. Was it a hammer falling, or could it be 
 a leg of wood striking other wood like that of a floor ? 
 
 There was a continued noise of passing feet. There 
 was more rustling of dresses. It seemed as if one sweet
 
 150 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 face looked pityingly at him. That must have been the 
 Dutch maiden's, he confusedly thought. Then a hand 
 shook him roughly. Was it Yan Schenkel's ? He awoke. 
 Where was he ? What was this empty building ? Oh, 
 a church ! He rose sleepily, shook himself, staggered 
 out into the air, and saw a sentry in his steeple-crowned 
 hat, heavy blouse, and capacious breeches, a threatening 
 gun on his shoulder, who was lazily pacing a path in a 
 fort with walls of earth and bastions of stone.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A MASTER WANTED. 
 
 u WHAT a spectacle I must have been in that Dutch 
 church !" thought Harold. 
 
 Did that young woman see him ? he wondered. He 
 left the fort by its main gateway and stepped out upon 
 the Parade. Then he sauntered along the plebeian 
 Beavers' Path (De Bever Graft). Hanging his head 
 low one moment, he threw it up the next ; there was 
 that young woman, and walking, too, with the strutting, 
 pirate-looking Captain Van Schenkel ! 
 
 He seemed in Harold's eye to be a demon-eyed griffin 
 leading along triumphantly an unsuspecting lamb with 
 fair face and fleece. If Harold could only have been 
 the guide of this lamb ! 
 
 " How is it that she and that man are together ?" he 
 asked himself, scowling gloomily. " It would please me 
 if 1 could take that imp to the river and duck him. 1 
 will keep an eye on them and see where she goes. He 
 may go as fancy drifts him, for I don't care anything at 
 all about At'w." 
 
 They made a turn around the corner of a building, and 
 Harold intended to make the same turn, but he halted
 
 152 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 when he saw a most lugubrious face at a window. It 
 was sable as well as mournful. 
 
 " A slave !" murmured Harold. " The man looks as 
 if he wanted something of me." 
 
 Harold's guess was correct. It was one of New Am- 
 sterdam's bondmen. 
 
 Slaves were early brought to the Dutch in America 
 and by the Dutch themselves. They were found in 
 New Netherland as early as 1628. The Dutch took 
 them also to the English on the Virginia plantations. 
 That might seem a strange traffic for such liberty-loving 
 people as Hollanders ; but liberty for yourself does not 
 necessarily imply that you will let your neighbor have 
 it. The past has some strange ideas current among its 
 thinkers, even as the thinkers of to-day carry along some 
 singular ideas in their mental packs. Sir Edward Coke, 
 that famous English lawyer and jurist, is charged with 
 this saying, that a Christian fittingly could hold a pagan 
 in bondage, for the Christian was the servant of God and 
 the pagan was the bond-slave of Satan ! One naturally 
 asks what was the special need of slave labor in New 
 Netherland. It is said that one thing making a demand 
 for slave labor was the tempting nature of the fur trade, 
 to whose profits New Amsterdam owed its existence. 
 The farm hands brought from Holland saw such pecu- 
 niary fascinations in the skin on the back of the beaver 
 and other animals that for the sake of the traffic they 
 would quit farm work, and the farmers felt obliged to
 
 A MASTER WAHTED. 153 
 
 resort to slave ownership. There were about eight hun- 
 dred negroes in New York when the seventeenth century 
 closed, and most of these were slaves. There were Ind- 
 ian slaves also. There was a law in 1711 that " all negro 
 and Indian slaves that are let out to hire within the city 
 do take up their standing in order to be hired at the 
 Market House at the Wall Street slip." The negro 
 slave was so much of a fixture in the possessions of New 
 Amsterdam that slow-plodding Dutch vessels brought 
 the unhappy slaves direct from their homes in Africa. 
 In its outward feature it has been classed as not a very 
 harsh slavery, for the Dutch were not rigorous taskmas- 
 ters ; but any form of slavery that stands between the 
 soul and the free enjoyment of sun or soil or water, any- 
 thing affecting personal liberty, is an accursed evil, and, 
 like Abel's blood, cries out to Heaven for vengeance. 
 The latter will come. The negro element in New Am- 
 sterdam was an earthquake uneasy enough and violent 
 enough to make the little Dutch city tremble at times. 
 It was white with fear more than once in the presence of 
 these black faces. In all this, New Netherland antici- 
 pated the curse sure to be reaped by America one day 
 when God might call it to go out and gather in its bloody 
 harvest. New York, ever cosmopolitan, even in its in- 
 fant days, was inside the small limits of New Amster- 
 dam confronting some of those serious problems that 
 have perplexed later America in the presence of the 
 negro and Indian. Ah, rather, how we have perplexed
 
 154 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the Indian and the negro ! Looking up in surprise to 
 see the polyglot nations swarming to our doors, we think 
 of New Amsterdam as the humble prototype of Great 
 America New Amsterdam, that heard in its pigmy 
 streets the jabber of eighteen tongues, and made room 
 for them all. While Great America excludes crime, 
 may we with both hands make room for and welcome 
 every foreigner bringing an honest, ennobling purpose ! 
 
 One of the negro race was now about to challenge 
 Harold Wharton's attention. There was such a helpless- 
 ness of expression to this slave's face that Harold's at- 
 tention was both caught and held. 
 
 " He must be a man about fifty years old, anyway, 
 for that knob of hair on top of his head is gray," 
 thought Harold. " He stares out of that window as if 
 he wanted something of me." 
 
 The interest always wakened by anything new was 
 very strong in Harold now. There was also the appeal 
 of something in weakness to his strength, to the opulence 
 of a young man's resources. Harold felt that he must 
 turn toward the black and respond to his mute appeal ; 
 and yet if he did this he would lose sight of the griffin 
 and the lamb. He did make a temporary halt, and, 
 facing the window that framed the black's melancholy 
 features, gave him a very sympathetic and prolonged 
 look. 
 
 " I'll come again in a few minutes and find out what 
 the matter is with the man. 1 shall lose those people if
 
 A MASTER WANTED. 155 
 
 1 don't look out. I want to see where lie she goes," 
 thought Harold. But when he turned to follow them, 
 and looked round the building at whose corner he saw 
 them last, they had gone ! Where had the griffin taken 
 that poor helpless lamb ? Where had he gone off with 
 his booty or was it a going down ? Had he access to 
 the bowels of the earth, and had he sunk by a secret pas- 
 sage to his den ? 
 
 Harold looked to right and left. Was there a door 
 near him suggesting that somebody could get into a 
 house thereby ? Every house he saw had closed walls in 
 his direction, and looked as if they had been sealed up 
 for a century. Keluctantly Harold turned back. The 
 moment he had done so Van Schenkel peered slyly 
 round a corner and sent a diabolical grin after the chop- 
 fallen young Englishman. Then the griffin laughed 
 softly, and pulled his head back. 
 
 Harold returned to the building at one of whose win- 
 dows he had seen the negro. 
 
 " Nobody there," he said ; " but 1 will look in and 
 see what straits this man may be in. He may need 
 help." 
 
 In the front wall of the building was n open door, 
 and it seemed to say " Come in !" 
 
 Harold entered. 
 
 A frequently found style of building in New Amster- 
 dam was one that on the first floor was arranged as a 
 store. Harold saw counters and shelves in the room he
 
 156 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 entered, but nothing heavier than dust was on the 
 shelves. 
 
 The negro was the occupant of a rush-bottomed chair 
 in the centre of this room. He slowly rose as his caller 
 entered, surprising Harold by the revelations of height 
 he made, his figure steadily elongating, like a bamboo 
 fishing-rod pulled out section by section. 
 
 " What a giant !" thought Harold, wondering where 
 all the material for this imposing monument came from. 
 " He is like one of the sons of Anak." 
 
 The idea of any weakness in such a structure seemed 
 an absurdity ; but there was the pitiful, the appealing 
 face, and it was all the more touching because it capped 
 such a seeming tower of vigor. 
 
 " 1 saw your face at the window, and 1 thought you 
 looked sick. Can 1 do anything for you?" asked 
 Harold. 
 
 " Yah, yah," was the answer in negro-English. " Me 
 sick. I'm better when massa come." 
 
 " Your master lives here ?" 
 
 " Yah his shop." 
 
 " He will look after you, then ?" 
 
 " Yah; when he come." 
 
 "Is he away?" 
 
 " Oh, yah. Done gone 'way. Oh, some time !" 
 
 " Why doesn't he come and look after things ?" 
 
 " Dunno. Dey all say jes dat : ' Whar he go ? ' 
 * Why don' he come back ? ' Me know nuffin'."
 
 A MASTER WANTED. 157 
 
 " Are you sure he is coming ?" 
 
 " Oh, yah ; some time he nms' dis yer shop he 
 mus' come." 
 
 " Who takes care of the shop ?" 
 
 " Me ; an' den a man who lib on De Ileeren Graf, he 
 come. Oh, he want eberyt'ing he want me." 
 
 "What does he want everything for ?" asked Har- 
 old, whose interest in novelties might betray him into 
 inquisitiveness. Here was a new section of humanity, 
 and he must go over it and look into it and find out 
 what he could. He was the traveller who had just 
 struck a new shore, and he must see what there was be- 
 hind the shore line. 
 
 " What dat man want eberyt'ing for? Oh, he he 
 -he-pig !" 
 
 " That is bad. Your massa away and a pig wanting 
 everything ! Haven't you any friends ?" 
 
 " Oh, hab some. Hab injul !" 
 
 "An Injun?" 
 
 " Injul, injul !" 
 
 He could not make his meaning clear, and left in a fog 
 the whole subject of this mysterious friendship. 
 
 Harold changed the subject. 
 
 " How do you get your living ?" 
 
 " Whah?" 
 
 " Oh, things to eat your bread, wood, clothes ?' 7 
 
 " Oh, me fish, go on ship, do anyt'ing. Ah, me hate 
 de man dat bring me here !"
 
 158 BEHIND MANHATTAN- GABLES. 
 
 " Bring you here ? Where from ?' ' 
 
 " Ober de water. He bring lot ob slabe. Ole pie- 
 rat !" 
 
 " The man that brought you over the water a pirate ?" 
 
 " Yah !" 
 
 11 Bad man very bad man !" declared Harold, shak- 
 ing his head. 
 
 The black man now acted as if it were his turn to find 
 out who this inspector might be. 
 
 " Whar you come from ?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I am from England." 
 
 " Yer mummer wid yer ?' ' 
 
 " Mother ? Ha ! ha ! You think 1 need her ?" 
 
 " Good to hab yer mummer. Me hab one ober de 
 water. Dat ole pie-rat tuk me !" 
 
 "Did he? The villain!" 
 
 " Yer g wine lib here?" 
 
 " I may if 1 find my uncle." 
 
 " Los' yer onkl ?" 
 
 " Afraid so." 
 
 A sudden light came into the negro's dark eyes. An 
 idea had visited him. He was anxious to find the mas- 
 ter whose property he was guarding, and this young man 
 wanted to find his uncle. The common need established 
 a bond between them. He reached out a huge paw. 
 
 Harold took it, or, rather, it covered his hand, fold- 
 ing all about it. 
 
 " Two frien's !
 
 A MASTER WANTED. 151) 
 
 " Yes," said Harold, acknowledgiDg the fellowship. 
 
 Looking out of the window just then, Harold gave a 
 start. Captain Van Schenkel was going by. The griffin 
 was alone. 
 
 " 1 don't like that man !" muttered Harold. 
 
 The negro looked out and gave a start also. 
 
 " Dat de ole pie-rat !" 
 
 " He brought you from Africa over the water in 
 his ship ?" 
 
 " De berry one ! Wha' he done you ?" 
 
 " He has in his ship one of my friends, a sailor." 
 
 " He bad ! Nuffin' good in dat man !" 
 
 The black thought a moment. He and the young 
 man both disliked " de ole pie-rat." It was a new bond 
 of fellowship. He reached out his big hand again. 
 
 " We be frien's ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and here's my hand ; but I must go now. I 
 want to find out where Captain Yan Schenkel's ves- 
 sel is." 
 
 " Ship ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He a rat pie-rat. No much find 'bout him ; not 
 one t'ing." 
 
 "I'll try it, though." 
 
 " Me go wid ye no, me sick." 
 
 " Oh, you stay here. I'll come to-morrow, and I may 
 do something for you. Take this money, and buy what 
 you want."
 
 160 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Harold left behind him a cavernous month ejaculating 
 in wonder and joy, " Oh h !" He was determined to 
 track Van Schenkel to his ship ; but when out in the 
 street again he could see nothing of the man. He had 
 again mysteriously disappeared. 
 
 11 1 will go down to the water-gate and along the shore 
 and hunt up the man's ship while he is gone. Then I 
 can see George Martin. Van Schenkel would never let 
 me see him if he knew of it. " 
 
 The water-gate always was a magnet to Harold. 
 Where to-day Pearl and Wall streets meet was the site 
 of the old water-gate. The name is pretentious, and if 
 bordered by a battery of two cannon and a steadfast 
 guard grimly supporting his matchlock, according to one 
 prevalent sketch of the place, the neighborhood must 
 have been imposing. Harold looked down upon the 
 waters of East Kiver, swept by a cool, noisy, rough wind. 
 High tides had sometimes been very troublesome. 
 
 The Stadt Huys (City Hall), fronting East River, and 
 located near the head of the present Coenties Slip, had 
 been very uncivilly approached by high tides, sending 
 their foam with a menace almost to the door. Municipal 
 pride could not stand this, and it was more potent than 
 ever Canute's sceptre when his parasites wanted him to 
 shake it at the advancing tide. Along the river bank 
 was built a "siding" of wood called " the Schoeyinge," 
 and it protected both the Stadt Huys and the bank. As 
 the people living along De Paerl Straat had been much
 
 A MASTER WANTED. 161 
 
 annoyed, the waves showing a very unceremonious dis- 
 position to call upon them, washing up to their very 
 walls, this siding eventually was extended so as to give 
 all needed protection. 
 
 From the water-gate Harold now looked across East 
 River to Long Island. Suspended as by magic in the 
 air was no mighty bridge, across which flocked the inhab- 
 itants and vehicles of some apparently supernal region. 
 There was no stretching water front of a great city on 
 that eastern shore, no lines of noble warehouses, ships 
 and steamers, and farther away the receding roofs of a 
 multitude of homes. It was a shore waiting for fuller 
 occupation for that Breuckelen whose great future as a 
 noble municipality was sure to come. 
 
 A single vessel was lying in the stream. Was it Yan 
 Schenkel's ? A boat, the only boat visible on the Sun- 
 day tide, was making its way, not toward, but past the 
 
 " 1 think I know," reflected Harold, " that the man 
 in the stern of that boat is Van Schenkel. He has 
 shoulders like the pie-rat's, and carries his head the same 
 way. But it can't be his vessel, for his boat is going 
 beyond it, toward Breuckelen. George Martin is not in 
 that ship. I will wait and watch, though. The boat 
 may come back to the vessel." 
 
 The little craft patiently made its way to the Breucke- 
 len shore, and there halted. Harold waited a long time. 
 He saw no prospect of the boat's return, and was discour-
 
 162 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 aged. He was hungry, and he might lose his dinner if 
 he waited longer. He turned toward his tavern, with 
 its sanded floor and steaming table. 
 
 Soon after he left the water-gate, Van Schenkel's boat 
 pushed off from the Breuckelen shore, and was rowed to 
 the vessel. It was Yan Schenkel's ship, and George 
 Martin was aboard. Early the next morning it let out 
 its white sails and slowly floated away.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE WRONG BOOK. 
 
 HAROLD was at the negro's the next day as the sun 
 was going down, and the negro said he was better. 
 
 " Me feel better when de injul come," Harold was in- 
 formed. 
 
 " Injun ?" 
 
 " Injul, injul, in jul." 
 
 " How old is he the " 
 
 " Me dunno. It am she !" 
 
 "Some wrinkled Indian squaw, probably," thought 
 Harold. 
 
 " Hark ! Me t'ink she come fur now. Don' ye 
 hear dat step ?" 
 
 As the negro looked up, Harold did not know but 
 that she would come down through the ceiling. 
 
 11 1 I think I will go, and come again some other 
 time." 
 
 " Oh, you you needn'." 
 
 Harold had closed the door by which he entered. See- 
 ing two doors side by side, he took that which he 
 thought might be the right one. Instead of a way out- 
 side, it was a door into a closet. He had planted one
 
 164 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 foot within, and realizing his mistake, was backing out 
 when he heard a step on the very threshold of the other 
 door. 
 
 " That injul that aged Indian squaw ! I won't step 
 out and surprise her, for that would be awkward, and it 
 would give her a shock," he reasoned. 
 
 Added to this was Harold's steadily developing inter- 
 est in this mysterious being, the " injul." Why might 
 not the closet give him a good chance for observation ? 
 He fell back into the closet, and shut the door. 
 
 " That voice sounds natural," thought Harold, as he 
 heard two voices busily talking away in the room without. 
 
 " One is saying something about ' I brought you this ;' 
 and there he goes, ' Me berry much t'ank you.' ( Now 
 I must go,' says the caller. ' Now ' " 
 
 Harold trembled, for he noticed a pressure on his 
 door. Was u de injul" coming in ? 
 
 " De odder door !" hoarsely exclaimed the negro, ris- 
 ing up and waving his hand to the visitor. 
 
 It was too late. 
 
 The " injul" opened the door before her, and lightly 
 screamed, "Oh! oh! oh!" 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" said the confused, blushing Harold, step- 
 ping out, " I am very sorry to be a I thought this 
 was the way out ; and then ' ' Should he confess his 
 curiosity ? " I I thought 1 would like to see the 
 ' injul ! ' Forgive me, I beg thee !" 
 
 He looked at the blushing face, and there was Ka-
 
 THE WEOSTG DOOR. 165 
 
 tryne Schuyler. She Lad clasped her hands over her 
 heart, throbbing as if it would break its way through the 
 pretty red bodice imprisoning it. 
 
 There was the handsome young Englishman she had 
 been longing to see. 
 
 The negro now shuffled forward, holding up his big 
 hands. 
 
 " Don' say nuffin' !" he pleaded. " Me nail dat 
 door" 
 
 " Oh, don't !" begged Katryne, as a matter of polite- 
 ness. 
 
 In her heart she thought it was the dearest door in the 
 world, and ought to be commended, not scolded. 
 
 " Am I not to be forgiven ?" asked Harold penitently, 
 holding out his hand. 
 
 Katryne just touched it, but how it thrilled her ! 
 
 " Yes," she said faintly, dropping her blushing face. 
 
 She recovered herself. 
 
 " I must go," she murmured. 
 
 " Let me " Harold was opening the door into the 
 street. 
 
 Katryne stepped out. 
 
 Harold followed. 
 
 " Let me walk with thee. It will be dark soon." 
 
 Katryne had a bewildering idea that she ought not to 
 let him, stranger as he was, and yet she did not feel un- 
 acquainted, for had he not often been in her thoughts, 
 keeping up a steadfast companionship since the day when
 
 166 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 she had kindly consented to stand as a kind of guide- 
 board for him ? And he had not by any means forgot- 
 ten the guideboard. She did not wish to repulse him, 
 and yet she felt obliged to shake her head ; for what 
 would those at home say, and what would all New Am- 
 sterdam say, did she accept the guard of a stranger a 
 guard not necessary ? 
 
 She shook her head again, feebly, however, and added, 
 " Then I have an errand down by the water-gate " 
 She paused. " I thank thee," she said in a very grate- 
 ful tone. 
 
 That muffled the sharp point of Harold's feeling of 
 disappointment. 
 
 He was preparing to bow and leave her, when looking 
 up, he saw a most welcome sight. A disorderly crowd 
 of sailors and negroes swarming out of some place made 
 an angry turmoil ahead. It was a block in the way of 
 any advance to the water-gate. 
 
 " Oh, look ! You must let me come now. There has 
 been a quarrel some way and somewhere, and it may 
 make a lady much trouble. Let me be thy protector." 
 
 There was no excuse now for Katryne's further declina- 
 tion. On the other hand, there was justification of her 
 acceptance of this escort. Hans himself, Lysbet, the 
 schout, all the schepens and burgomasters of New Am- 
 sterdam, and the very Heer Director himself, could not 
 get up a reasonable frown in this matter. If they had 
 all come and planted their rotund bodies like barrels in
 
 THE WROHG DOOR. 167 
 
 the way of her progress, such obstacles must now roll 
 away, for there was the turbulent crowd ahead. How 
 could she, without an escort, attend to that errand at the 
 water-gate ? And of course that errand must receive at- 
 tention. Indeed, the longer she looked at that crowd 
 the more loudly did duty beyond summon her to go for- 
 ward. Now that she could have an escort, duty that 
 had the look of necessity also took on a strange fascina- 
 tion. 
 
 "I thank thee," she murmured again, and so grate- 
 fully. 
 
 Harold strode off boldly, while Katryne followed him 
 with all docility. There were dragons, centaurs, griffins, 
 fire-breathing bulls ahead, and one must defend and the 
 other implicitly trust the defender. 
 
 " 1 don't know those people," said Katryne. 
 
 " No ; and I don't want to." 
 
 tf Are many people known to thee in New Amster- 
 dam ? Thy home is in " 
 
 " England it was," said Harold promptly, supplying 
 the needed word. " America it will be. Do 1 know 
 many ? Very few. I don't know many acquaintances, 
 and I don't want to know them too fast." 
 
 " Some cannot be trusted." 
 
 " Some people one seems to know at once. They are 
 very pleasant ; one likes them, and yet one may feel that 
 they may go away and talk about him and make him 
 the butt of their ridicule."
 
 168 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 " That is heartless !" 
 
 " I sometimes think such people may not mean to be 
 unfair. They are very quick to see anything funny, and 
 like to speak of it. They let it out without any thought. " 
 
 " And it does harm, just the same. A bee's sting 
 hurts one, whatever the bee means." 
 
 (l Yes, yes. Then, some people don't let one know 
 them at once ; and what one may see of them may not 
 be liked. They are cold, and they may not be sweet- 
 tempered, and so on ; but we find we can trust them, 
 and they are sincere, which is a great matter." 
 
 Katryne was wondering in which class she might be 
 put by her escort. She had a statement to make. " I 
 think some people hold one off, not because they like it, 
 but they feel that they must be guarded. Now, I have 
 a friend, Geertruyd Smidt. She is very kind to those 
 she knows. As the dominie says, she is one who goes 
 outside of herself. When she meets a stranger, though, 
 she draws into a kind of shell, and she pulls her head 
 in" 
 
 "Is thy friend a clam ?" 
 
 "Geertruyd Smidt?" 
 
 " Forgive me, lady !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! She is very kind. It is only her way. 
 Truly, she is a peach without any stone in it." 
 
 u I would I had a tree of them ! You have some fine 
 orchards here in New Amsterdam ; and I wonder in 
 which one is this favorite."
 
 THE WROKG DOOR. 169 
 
 Katryne was not going to tell this young man from 
 England everything, and she made no other reply than 
 this : " New Amsterdam peaches are very fair and 
 sweet." 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes, that is so, I trow." 
 
 " And then sometimes people that may laugh at other 
 folks' follies and talk behind the backs of others, stran- 
 gers and that sort, may be very sorry for it ; but funny 
 things they can't help seeing, and they speak quick, too. 
 What is in one seems to come out even when the door is 
 shut close, as we think." 
 
 " Oh, oh, of course ! 1 did not mean anybody in 
 New Amsterdam." 
 
 " And I did not mean anybody from England." 
 
 Now they were approaching each other again, and 
 went along laughing merrily. 
 
 Once Katryne thought of that crowd of sailors and 
 negroes. Where was it ? Away behind them. They 
 had gone through the crowd, and neither had given it 
 special attention at the time. Suddenly Katryne stopped, 
 and, guiltily blushing, ejaculated : 
 
 Oh-h h!" 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Where is that crowd ? 1 must not keep thee." 
 
 " The crowd ? Oh, I forgot about it. The walk was 
 so pleasant." 
 
 But the way to the water-gate was unobstructed, and 
 why should he walk with her ?
 
 170 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 He in turn exclaimed " Oh h h !" and confusedly 
 stopped. 
 
 Suddenly three dogs broke round a corner and snarled 
 vehemently away. 
 
 "Imust not let these bite thee," said the protector 
 proudly and promptly, bristling up as Katryne's lawful 
 guardian. 
 
 The conversation was resumed. They talked of every- 
 thing, so it seemed, during the timely barking of those 
 dogs, creatures who are quite wont to put in their bark 
 at the wrong place. 
 
 The Indian, the savage, was an unfailing topic of talk 
 in those days, and they talked of the Indian. Then 
 Harold wanted to know if she had been in England. 
 
 " Oh oh, no ! 1 have lived in New England, in 
 Boston." 
 
 A brief conversation followed on the important sub- 
 ject of the encroachments of the New Englanders, Har- 
 old having picked up odd items in his rambles about 
 town. 
 
 A gap opened in the conversation, and, if prolonged, 
 it might have been embarrassing ; but a solitary pedes- 
 trian went by, and he was so richly dressed that he be- 
 came an object of engrossing attention. He wore a long 
 black velvet coat decorated with silver buttons, yellow 
 silk breeches, white silk hose, and carried a silver-hilted 
 sword. 
 
 " That is some grand man," observed Harold.
 
 THE WRONG DOOR. 171 
 
 " He is a patroon that comes to New Amsterdam some- 
 times, though 1 don't know him." 
 
 " What are patroons ?" 
 
 " My father has told me something, and my Uncle 
 Pieter still more. The patroons, when the country was 
 settled, were allowed certain rights and so much land if 
 they would plant colonies having fifty people they 
 mast be upward of fifteen years old, too. So patroons, 
 with their colonies and much land, became small directors 
 really ; and the big one, Heer Director Stuyvesant, 
 thinks the small ones have too much power. There is 
 one in Rensselayerswyck. That colony and the Heer 
 Director don't get along well together. That colony is 
 up the river. Hast thou ever seen it ?' ' 
 
 " I never saw it," said Harold, with an air as if it 
 were his greatest misfortune not to have seen Rens- 
 selayerswyck. " I thank thee. 1 never knew so much 
 before," he added in a tone of profound humility, ap- 
 preciative of this great privilege of sitting at the feet of 
 Katryne Schuyler. 
 
 He wanted to ask her to tell him all she knew about 
 Captain Van Schenkel. The humble scholar thought 
 perhaps the great teacher might not like to give lessons 
 on this subject, and possibly she might say something 
 good about the captain, and he certainly did not want to 
 hear about that. But the dam restraining the impetuous 
 tide of desire for information could not resist the press- 
 ure upon it, and it gave way and let out, not a question,
 
 172 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 but the assertion, " I don't like that Captain Yan Schen- 
 kel !" 
 
 There came a question : " Is he a patroon ?" 
 
 Katryne's rich voice was let out in a musical laugh. 
 " Van Schenkel a patroon ! He would like to be one, 
 and lord it over everybody ; and when he overtook me 
 Sunday and told what he would do if he were a patroon, 
 I was afraid what my Lord Patroon Van Schenkel might 
 do to me, and 1 slipped from him as soon as I could." 
 
 "What a load that lifted from Harold's shoulders ! Not 
 a dog was barking now, and Harold's escort seemed un- 
 justifiable. Two drunken sailors, though, accommodat- 
 ingly reeled into the open space around the water-gate. 
 
 " Don't be afraid !" Harold said protectingly. " See 
 those clouds of the sunset !" 
 
 They looked along a stretch of land a hundred feet wide. 
 This, when the wall was constructed, had been left as 
 an open way, a parade ground for troops. Along this 
 progenitor of our Wall Street, Katryne looked at the sun- 
 set clouds heaped up where shoots to-day Trinity's grace- 
 ful spire, clouds that were a great vapor-army in glorious 
 uniform out on parade in the western sky. Harold was 
 not looking west or east, on the land or the sky. He 
 was watching a face that to him had more beauty in it 
 than a thousand New Amsterdam sunsets. What a 
 complexion she had ! It had the purity of the lily, the 
 delicacy of the peach bloom, the everything beautiful. 
 Her voice, too, in some of its modulations was so very
 
 THE WKONG DOOR. 173 
 
 soft and sweet. He wished his mother could hear that 
 voice. He wanted her opinion about it. Then those 
 eyelids enclosed pearls ; but suddenly an emotion of sur- 
 prise flushed those eyes. Why should she detain this 
 young Englishman ? No crowd of belligerents could be 
 seen, no drunken sailor, and nowhere in sight was there 
 a single vicious dog. Besides, close at hand was the 
 place where her errand was to be dispatched. 
 
 " Oh, here is the place ! I thank thee," she softly 
 said, and slipped away. 
 
 Harold gave a ^tately, half -surprised bow, and strode 
 tavernward sombrely. 
 
 Katryne's errand was soon executed. It was only an 
 inquiry at a house about a vessel's master that Hans 
 wanted to see, and then she appeared again on the street. 
 
 She stepped a few paces toward the water before she 
 began her solitary walk home. She fastened her eyes on 
 East River. It was sleeping in glassy beauty at the base 
 of the " schceyinge. " Beyond the river was humble 
 little Breuckelen, fast withdrawing into the shadows wait- 
 ing to blanket it and tuck it up for the night. But Ka- 
 tryne did not see Breuckelen. She was dreamily think- 
 ing of the river, of the day when she watched its drift 
 and thought of her life, coming she knew not whence 
 and going she knew not where. Would this young Eng- 
 lishman, so gallant and courteous, have anything to do 
 with the drift of that life ? She had often longed for a 
 brother. In this late walk with Harold she had several
 
 174 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 times imagined that he was a brother out walking with 
 her and protecting her. What noble protection ! Did 
 she really want him, though, for a brother ? Would she 
 not like to have him as some one nearer ? Suddenly 
 something dark rose up behind a bush at the right ! It 
 grew to right, to left. Was it the threatening, scowling 
 beginning of a thunder cloud that had been stealthily 
 rolling over the water ? Without any appreciation of 
 its meaning, Katryne trembled at the sight oi the black- 
 ness. It took the form of a man, broad, squat, formid- 
 able. Something more than thunder came out of this 
 kind of cloud as a low voice rumbled away. Even a 
 bolt seemed to strike Katryne, for the voice of Hans 
 Schuyler inquired gloomily, " Katryne, Katryne, what 
 hast thou done, walking and talking with that young
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 IN SAVAGE LAND AGAIN. 
 
 THOSE savages who had become suddenly aware of the 
 proximity of human beings to their night camp on the 
 shore of North River listened again for the breathing 
 that was the sign of a heavy sleeper. 
 
 Bang ! came the sound of a gun fired within a few 
 feet of them. They sprang up as if they had been shot, 
 and were prepared to tumble accordingly ; but it was 
 not necessary, for they were unhurt, and the next move 
 was toward their canoe. They sprang into it, pushed 
 off, and quickly disappeared in the shadow of a bluff 
 overhanging the river. There was a small moon in the 
 sky, shedding just enough light to show what a dark river 
 was running to the sea, and what dark woods bordered 
 it. It showed, too, what a black shadow that bluff could 
 throw. A step was now audible. 
 
 " Well," ejaculated Uncle Pieter, stepping out into 
 the open space vacated by the savages, " my gun has just 
 sent them flying. William's snoring woke me, and then 
 1 heard them. I did not care to hit them, and there 
 they go round that point. Good !" 
 
 He was here joined by his companion, who came
 
 176 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 scrambling out of the thicket, rubbing his head, looking 
 up at the moon, glancing down at the water, then star- 
 ing at Pieter. 
 
 " What what is this ?" he asked. " Was it thy 
 gun ?" 
 
 "Yes; 1 fired the gun." 
 
 " Eh er any animal ?" 
 
 " Yes, two-legged ones." 
 
 " What is thy meaning ?" 
 
 " I was lying awake and I heard the noise of a canoe 
 scraping on the bank, and then several savages came up 
 and stretched out just on the edge of the woods. They 
 began to jabber about something, and, for all I know, 
 they wanted to scalp the man with me, and 1 frightened 
 them off." 
 
 " For the love of me, say will they come again?" 
 
 " Not till morning at least." 
 
 " Had we better stay ?" 
 
 " We won't if my friend may not wish it. I don't 
 think they will pay us a visit again ; and yet it would be 
 safest to watch." 
 
 Uncle Pieter's companion reflected a few moments, 
 and said : " Thou art right ; and we will hold on here. 
 But sit down and I will tell thee, brother, all that is in 
 my heart. 1 want to tell thee." 
 
 The two men sat down on a log by the bank, and faced 
 the dark river. Pieter van Twiller's matchlock rested 
 against the log. As the two men talked, the voices
 
 IN" SAVAGE LAND AGAIN. 177 
 
 echoed off upon the water, and their tones mingled with 
 the sound of the drowsy ripplings. 
 
 " Now, I will tell thee why I am in the wilderness, 
 though I am really ashamed to confess it. I am lost, 
 end I did not want to own it, but strove to keep it to 
 myself as long as I could," said William. 
 
 " Lost ! That is not the worst thing that could hap- 
 pen to thee. I can get thee back somewhow, so never 
 give thyself uneasiness on that score." 
 
 " That is like thine own kind self. 1 will tell thee 
 how it all happened. I trade in furs at New Amster- 
 dam and in New England also, and wherever I can find 
 one who would like to buy or sell. I am known at New 
 Amsterdam. My name is Robert William Wharton. I 
 gave thee my middle name, and now thou shalt have my 
 full name." 
 
 " It is a good name," Pieter assured him. 
 
 " Now I will tell thee how I was lost. I came up the 
 river in a vessel, and while it was anchored one sunset, I 
 landed only for a stroll into the forest, taking my gun 
 with me, and and I got lost ! The more I tramped, the 
 more confused I was. I went to sleep after awhile, and 
 in the morning began to search again for North River 
 and my vessel ; but neither came to me, and I could not 
 get to them. I verily was lost. 1 had been wandering 
 about for several days when I saw thee, and my gun 
 brought me game each day, so that I could live. When 
 1 saw thee I was in sore trouble ; but thou didst help me
 
 178 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 out of it. Now I am ashamed to confess that, like a 
 boy, I got lost ; but it is a fact, and I was loath to tell 
 thee. I feel like a fool for two things : first, for get- 
 ting lost, and then because I was too proud to tell thee. 
 It is told now, and my brother understands, and I am so 
 glad to see the river." 
 
 " I am glad my brother has told me all, and I under- 
 stand his pride. I have a lump of that same pride in 
 my breast. Now I take it that the sight of a vessel 
 would do thee much good." 
 
 " Yes, and I shall have to take it ; but I hate to lose 
 a good companion. " 
 
 " My loss will be greater ; but I will get thee back to 
 the world. Some craft will be going by, and we can 
 hail it. I have good lungs and so hast thou, and a good 
 cause will help us. Thy way is up river ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Yery well ; up river thou shalt go. Now that 1 re- 
 call it, 1 saw last night a vessel lying at anchor round a 
 point near us, and we can watch for it in the morning. 
 I am glad all this was told me ; and now, would my 
 brother know why 1 am here ?" 
 
 " Tell me if thou wilt." 
 
 " 1 am a fugitive from New Amsterdam, and 1 left it 
 because I could not stay there a man. I left it because 
 1 could not trust myself. Drink was my master. I was 
 its slave. 1 was not strong enough for the drinking- 
 shops."
 
 IK SAVAGE LAND AGAIN. 179 
 
 " They are a curse." 
 
 " I wish New Amsterdam thought so. 1 could not 
 face temptation, so I ran from it. 1 am safe from it 
 here. Now you know my story. " 
 
 11 Yes, and 1 thank thee ; and God give the victory to 
 my friend. 1 shall not forget thy friendship ever. If I 
 had not found thee ! Ha ! ha ! That I must put an- 
 other way. If 1 had not come upon thee and tried to 
 shoot thee for a beast, where would I have been ? I 
 owe thee much. Ugh ! how this thing troubles me ! I 
 don't mean the gun I have, but this flask, for it keeps 
 falling out of my pocket." 
 
 It was a flask of liquor. 
 
 " Don't think I shall say ' Drink ' to my tempted 
 friend." 
 
 " Oh, no. Heaven save me !" 
 
 " I only take it into the wilderness with me or on a 
 voyage, if some time of trouble come up." 
 
 " I dare not stay near it, now I know it is there. I 
 pray thee forgive me if 1 get on the side opposite the 
 pocket with that flask." 
 
 " No harm is done, no harm is done ! Sit on either 
 side, and thou wilt find a friend." 
 
 " I thank thee, for I need a friend as often as I can 
 find one. Now, my brother goes back to New Amster- 
 dam 2" 
 
 " No ; I take this first vessel round the point if they 
 will take me. If it goes down the river, I must go with
 
 180 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 it even to New Amsterdam ; but I hope to meet some 
 vessel going up the river, and then I can finish my jour- 
 ney to Fort Orange. If this vessel near us is going up 
 the river " 
 
 Pieter's hand upon his arm detained his voice. To 
 be left alone was anything but agreeable to Pieter. A 
 sense of solitude came down upon him. Nothingness 
 oppressed him. A vacuum was like the weight of tons. 
 He hated to be left alone again. 
 
 " Brother," he said, " 1 started for the Esopus, but 
 my vessel did not go so far. I landed, thinking I might 
 travel through the woods, for I am an old gunner and 
 trapper, and anyway, I could hail some vessel going up 
 the river. I have found none. Now, if thy vessel goes 
 up to Fort Orange, I will get aboard. I cannot bear the 
 solitude." 
 
 " Let us journey together. It shall be so with all my 
 heart. And didst thou say thou hadst been tempted ? 
 Didst thou think that things looked black ? They are 
 brightening. See that !" 
 
 He pointed across the river. Over the brow of a hill 
 on the other shore shone the morning star, fair and white 
 like a snowdrop borne on a stem whose roots were sunk 
 in the crest of the hill. 
 
 "The morning is coming," said Pieter. "If any 
 soul waits for a new day with eagerness, it is Pieter van 
 T wilier. There is a young woman at New Amsterdam 
 who told me a pretty story about Hope that is always
 
 IN" SAVAGE LAND AGAIN. 181 
 
 at the bottom of the box. I must tell it to thee, 
 brother." 
 
 When he had finished, Robert William Wharton said : 
 " That will help me if I get lost in the forest again. A 
 young woman told it ?" 
 
 " She is bright as she is beautiful. She told me to 
 try ; and she cried when she said it to try to get the 
 better of my temptation she meant to try and to pray. 
 I am doing it," Pieter said soberly. 
 
 The faces of the two men were turned toward 
 that fair snowdrop blooming in the sky. It soon 
 faded, not so much because the light was coming, 
 but clouds were gathering in the east. The folds of 
 mist so thickened that they finally extinguished any 
 ardor of the sun in trying to rise above the hills. 
 Clouds, too, had gathered in the north and occupied 
 the same heavens but a few hours ago as beautiful 
 with white stars as any summer field with daisies. 
 There was a sound of the rising wind in the forest, 
 one moment lifting wearily the leaves, then letting 
 them heavily fall. The river, so still and glassy, 
 now began to shiver. It blackened while the sky con- 
 tinued in shadow. 
 
 " Hark !" said Pieter. 
 
 There was a low, heavy growling up the river, the 
 mutter of distant but nearing thunder. 
 
 " Hark ! Hendrik Hudson is rolling his balls. We 
 are going to have a lively storm while it lasts ; but that
 
 182 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 vessel may start in this wind. We will hurry and catch 
 it. Koll away, Hendrik !" cried Pieter. 
 
 The two men hurried to the shore nearest the vessel, 
 whose anchor the crew were weighing. 
 
 " Ship ahoy !" shouted Pieter. " Take two men 
 aboard?" 
 
 " I will pay you well," added Robert Wharton. 
 
 " Aye, aye !" was the ready answer. 
 
 A boat put off for the two passengers. 
 
 When it landed, Pieter asked, " Are you going to 
 Fort Orange ?" 
 
 " To New Amsterdam," was the reply. 
 
 "Farewell, my brother," said Pieter to Robert 
 Wharton sorrowfully. 
 
 " Oh, come aboard ! I may get a chance to take a 
 vessel for Fort Orange, and leave thee at the Esopus " 
 
 "And 1 may be obliged to go to New Amsterdam, 
 which is not my helper now. Farewell !" 
 
 "Farewell, brother!" cried Robert Wharton. He 
 paused ; he cried again, " Oh, what is the name of the 
 young vrouw who told thee about Hope ?" 
 
 " Katryne Schuyler." 
 
 " Did he say ' Katryne Schuyler ' ?' ' wondered Robert 
 Wharton. " I must tell my nephew when he comes." 
 
 Desolation entered the soul of Pieter van Twiller as 
 he stood alone upon the bank. Before him was a black- 
 ening river ; above was a sky rough with storm-clouds ; 
 behind him, about him was a wilderness opening as if to
 
 IN SAVAGE LAND AGAIN. 183 
 
 swallow him up. So lonely was the soul of Pieter ! 
 Gusts of wind drove at him, as if to force back into the 
 wilderness this refuse of civilization, this castaway, this 
 despised of men. The vessel was going out of sight as 
 it turned a point, and in the stern stood Robert Whar- 
 ton, waving his hand. Another minute Pieter saw only 
 a black atmosphere extending across the roughened river. 
 In that moment the box of Pandora, that " poor little 
 girl," did not seem to hold even Hope at the bottom. 
 
 He shrank into the hollow of a pine to wait for the 
 passage of the storm. Little rain fell, and he soon 
 stepped out from his retreat and went to the spot where 
 he and his " brother" had had their late conference. 
 
 " Ah !" he exclaimed suddenly, " a bottle ! Why, 
 it's that flask, and it fell out of William's pocket. 
 Well, let it lie there. No, I must pick it up it is 
 William's property no, I dare not. Why, I thought 
 it was all settled, and I was to have no more tempta- 
 tion ! Can I not escape ?" 
 
 No ; the flask down in the grass tempted him. If a 
 snake's eye had been set in the mouth of the flask, and if 
 Pieter had been a little bird, the fascination could not 
 have been stronger. 
 
 " What is it ?" Pieter began to inquire. Brandy from 
 France, gin from Holland, beer from New Amsterdam ? 
 The little bird began to move toward the snake's eye. 
 How helpless was poor Pieter ! 
 
 Why, he thought he was beyond temptation here in
 
 184 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the wilderness, and now it was just before him. The 
 temptation of a whole drinking-shop of New Amsterdam 
 seemed to be concentrated in that glittering snake's eye, 
 and it was coming toward him, or was he going toward 
 it ? Certainly there was not a greater distance than fif- 
 teen feet between him and the flask one moment, and 
 the next moment it had lessened to twelve. 
 
 " If thou drinkest what is in that flask, Pieter, thou 
 wilt set on fire a thirst that will compel thee to hunt for 
 long miles that thou mayest find another dram at the 
 wigwam of a savage or in the cabin of a vessel," a voice 
 said to him. 
 
 Still he went on. 
 
 Nine feet now, and that snake's eye ? Why, it had 
 flashed into two eyes, and horns were above them, and a 
 wicked, pitiless smile was below them, and farther down 
 would be found hoofs, and the forked tail of the Evil 
 One somewhere ! 
 
 Run, Pieter, run ! 
 
 Three feet now ! 
 
 Where was his regard for his dear Kaatje ? He 
 stopped and thought. 
 
 " Where is my regard for her ? I promised once to 
 ' taper off,' and what became of my promise ? Oh, it is 
 of no use ! There is no Hope at the bottom of the box." 
 
 He took another step. 
 
 But where were those prayers Pieter had been putting 
 up so earnestly of late ? Had God no answer for them ?
 
 IN SAVAGE LAND AGAIN. 185 
 
 One foot now ! 
 
 Oh, the thirst of a furnace like that in some material- 
 istic doctrine of hell was burning in Pieter, and all his 
 good resolutions were like straw in this flame, and he 
 said he must stop the raging fire, he must quench it, and 
 he was reaching his hand down to seize that flask when 
 shrill and piercing over the water rang out a savage war 
 whoop ! Pieter looked off upon the river. A canoe 
 was swiftly advancing, two savages paddling it. 
 
 " God keep me from the savage without and the sav- 
 age within me !" solemnly pleaded Pieter, looking up. 
 He turned from the flask deliberately. Then he sped 
 for his gun and for the shadow of the forest. 
 
 An arrow that struck a tree just as he slipped behind 
 it showed how narrow his escape had been. 
 
 Pieter was a man about fifty, but quick and nimble as 
 a squirrel. He sprang up a tree with a bushy top, pull- 
 ing his gun after him. He secreted himself amid the 
 leafy branches, and looked down through loopholes in the 
 foliage. 
 
 Soon he heard the savages searching below. They 
 could see no satisfactory trace of him. He looked down 
 and saw them. He was all nerve, cool, keen, ready. 
 His aim was unerring. 
 
 " I might shoot them both," he said. " Shall I ? 
 No ; I will not kill unless it is really necessary. I did 
 not come here to take life, but just to protect it when in 
 danger. Wait, Pieter !"
 
 186 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 He waited, the old hunter, all his powers controlled 
 by that strong brain above, in the watch-tower now, 
 vigilant, masterful. 
 
 The savages found not the human booty they had in 
 mind, but they found a flask of brandy, and in great 
 glee they carried it to their canoe, and Pieter saw them 
 moving off, alternately paddling and brandy-gulping. 
 
 Then the hunter came down from his watch-tower. 
 The excitement of the hour, though, was over. His 
 nerves were unstrung. He dropped carelessly from 
 branch to branch. From the last branch he almost tum- 
 bled in a heap, his gun pitching after him. 
 
 There he lay at the foot of the tree, beads of perspira- 
 tion on his brow, weak and helpless as a child, bewil- 
 dered with a sense of his narrow escape both in body and 
 soul, poor Pieter in the wilderness, going to fight sav- 
 ages and yet carrying a savage in his appetite ! Was 
 Pandora's Hope at the bottom of the box now ? In his 
 weariness he fell asleep, and the goodness of God guard- 
 ed him.
 
 AN ARROW STRUCK THE TREE." (Page 185.)
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 WHAT COULD HE DO? 
 
 NEW AMSTERDAM in general and Harold Wharton in 
 particular were in a nutter. That flutter was felt along 
 the canal and on the bridge crossing it, in the fort and 
 the homes clinging to it and in those that did not cling to 
 it. The time of day was sunset, for the sun, sullen and 
 clouded, was sinking down the disturbed skies above 
 Pavonia. Three ships, with their high, imposing sterns, 
 had halted off New Amsterdam, each in a leisurely way 
 dropping anchor and furling sail. Budgets of letters had 
 been sent ashore, and more than one dealer in furs anx- 
 iously wished to know if the market over seas were 
 favorable. 
 
 Harold Wharton was more excited than any one else 
 so it seemed to him for the largest was an English 
 vessel, and might it not bring long-expected letters 
 from home ? Was his mother well ? His money had 
 almost entirely dwindled away, and how would he get 
 any more ? With trembling hands he opened the bulkier 
 of two letters handed him as his share of the letter-cargo. 
 It detailed his mother's last illness and death ! The sec-
 
 188 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ond told him that any property belonging to Harold's 
 family had melted away in the heat of a great fire. 
 
 The two letters were from Abrain Tillotson, who 
 had been entrusted with the management of the Whar- 
 ton financial interests in England. The letter announc- 
 ing Mrs. Wharton's death was in a cool, business-liko 
 tone, as if stating without any feeling the details of a 
 bad investment. The second was as cold, though on a 
 warm topic, and proceeded to say, " I wish to state that 
 two days after your mother's death a fire in London re- 
 duced to ashes several buildings she owned in that city. 
 Money that had come in from the London property I 
 had laid out in repairs, yet thought soon to send you 
 some rentals, but houses are now ashes, and ashes you do 
 not wish to receive. The home estate I must sell to pay 
 debts against it. As for the future, I would not advise 
 you to return here, but find employment in America. 
 You would come home to nothing, and as a pauper 
 would be cared for. We do not like to care for nobo- 
 dies. Your mother did not want anything in her last 
 illness, as I advanced her money to meet every want. 
 I must look to the estate for my pay that is, when it is 
 sold." 
 
 " Sold ! that beautiful home !" murmured Harold. 
 " Everything to go for debts !" 
 
 When he read the signature to each letter, " Abram 
 Tillotson," written in very twisted form, it looked much 
 like a snake that had started to writhe across the page.
 
 WHAT COULD HE DO? 189 
 
 If Harold had received by the vessel coming across the 
 sea two slabs of ice, they would have conveyed as much 
 sympathy as those two sheets of paper. 
 
 His mother dead and he a pauper, and he had better 
 not return to England to be a beneficiary there ! That 
 was the real situation, then ; and here he had been liv- 
 ing in New Amsterdam all this time, looking forward to 
 a position of ease and competence when his Uncle Rob- 
 ert might turn up, and then some day, if remaining in 
 America, he could invite his mother to a home of com- 
 fort, and Nurse Martin was also coming to care for 
 her! 
 
 No, she was not coming. His mother was dead. 
 Uncle Robert was nobody knew where. George Mar- 
 tin he had seen a little while, and then he had vanished 
 from a tavern door as if swept away by a whirlwind. 
 
 Harold's stay in New Amsterdam, then, had all ended 
 in this a pauper reading those two letters ! What a 
 life of mockery he had been living in this new world 
 his appearance that of a gentleman and his real situation 
 that of a mendicant ! He had been blowing rose-tinged 
 bubbles, and now they were all bursting ! Life was just 
 a sarcasm. His part in it was a farce. Existence was 
 empty of meaning or profit. 
 
 Bewildered, he walked about the odd little seaport 
 town. The dull sky over Pavonia had blackened into a 
 thunder-cloud. A fat soldier strutting by the fort gate 
 looked so stupid, about as effective as an animated bale
 
 190 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 of straw. The fort itself seemed like a clay heap tnat 
 would collapse in the storm coming, and the threatening 
 cannon would in the rain rust away into useless old junk. 
 
 There was De Heeren Graft, with its black ditch 
 "yes, ditch, and a dirty one," he muttered, sauntering 
 along. The barges in it looked like coffins afloat, and 
 the few sailors he saw were undertakers about to conduct 
 these coffins in a dismal funeral procession. Could they 
 give a pauper any employment ? His mother dead ! 
 Hark ! As he walked on he heard a windmill, that with 
 its vanes was beating the air as if a threshing-floor were 
 there ; and what a hard, rusty noise it made a dull, 
 heavy clang clang clang ! a noise that was a pro- 
 longed groan groan groan ! 
 
 The storm-cloud was now coming nearer. Hendrik 
 Hudson was rolling his ponderous balls over Hoboken 
 and Pavonia and across North River at a frightful rate, 
 and the wind-blown coals of his fiery pipe flashed in 
 sharper and sharper lightning. 
 
 Harold went to his room in the tavern and sat down 
 by a window looking toward iNorth River. "What was 
 to be done ? He could not go to England. He had no 
 money with which to pay a passage, and no experience 
 with which to earn one. To go up the ship's rigging 
 what did they call each part ? To furl sails what were 
 their names ? He could do nothing on board ship. He 
 must stay in New Amsterdam. What would he do ? 
 Rather, what could he do ?
 
 WHAT COULD HE DO? 191 
 
 This last question struck him with peculiar force. 
 He had never before thought seriously upon the subject. 
 There had been no demand for thought. Things had 
 been done for him rather than by him. It was not nec- 
 essary that he should do anything. Without cost his 
 bread had been baked for him, and with the bread came 
 the butter for it. While his mother's money had cared 
 for him in the past, he had not worried about the future. 
 Uncle Robert's money would fill up any deficiency in 
 the future. And to-day everything had been swept 
 away like a sand-house by the tide rushing up the beach ! 
 And now this question sent through him such a chill : 
 What could he really do whereby to earn a living ? Could 
 he build a house of wood, or lay bricks ? Could he serve in 
 a profession and be a doctor and administer pills ? Could 
 he trade in a store ? Could he teach ? Could he take 
 care of a farm, or make cloth ? He could eat what came 
 from a farm and he could wear the cloth that another 
 had woven. He had dressed well. His appetite for the 
 substantial tavern -dinners had never failed him. With 
 his mother's money he had paid the bills due. He was 
 known at the tavern as " that young English gentle- 
 man." What could " that young English gentleman" 
 do, though, to earn his dinners ? Here he stopped ask- 
 ing questions. He saw as never before that ability to do 
 something is the capital from which to expect lasting 
 investments. He who can do something, who can work 
 out any result, has resources on which he can surely rely.
 
 192 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Brains and knowledge and industry are the only satisfac- 
 tory, sure possessions in the world. 
 
 All the while that Harold Wharton was supposed to 
 have property, he had none ! He had not really been able 
 to do anything ; and he, his mother's heir, was worth 
 nothing. Why hadn't he thought of this before, and 
 anticipated such an hour ? 
 
 " Fool ! fool ! fool !" he called himself. 
 
 It was raining now, raining heavily on New Amster- 
 dam, while Hendrik Hudson was rolling still heavier 
 balls, and his pipe-flashes were more intense. 
 
 Harold turned away from the window. He looked 
 into the depths of his retirement in that room fast grow- 
 ing darker. His mother dead ! His mother, the moth- 
 er who used to pray for him and with him ! Why, he 
 seemed to hear her voice just as he had heard it in the 
 old parish church in England, making its reverent re- 
 sponses in the service-hour. He always thought she had 
 a clear, sweet, musical voice. He remembered, this 
 wild evening, how on stormy days he had at church 
 heard the wind wail about the windows, and then across 
 the bent stones in the old churchyard angry flurries of 
 storm would come at the panes and moan there as if sud- 
 denly penitent. Through it all, like a gentle strain of 
 music, wound the tones of his mother's voice praying. 
 
 She had said that her prayers would follow him, and 
 were they not following him now? Perhaps they 
 reached into his present isolation, bringing God near.
 
 WHAT COULD HE DO? 193 
 
 He had never given thought of a special, serious kind to 
 this subject God's nearness. God and a divine care 
 had been things looked at rather than a truth received 
 within the very soul. He had kept this subject outside 
 the door, rather a matter respected but not fully wel- 
 comed. To-night he felt very lonely. He wondered if 
 anybody in New Amsterdam or in all that neighborhood 
 felt more alone any savage from the wilderness, prowl- 
 ing along outside the wall ; any homeless sailor in a 
 barge in the canal ; any prodigal turned out of the 
 tap-rooms ; anybody in a frightened little boat blown 
 down the bay in this wild, wild storm, and then out on 
 the dark sea ! 
 
 So lonely ! 
 
 How it did thunder ! How it did lighten ! And the 
 rain poured as if North River and East River had been 
 sucked up into the sky and then were dropped again in a 
 
 Into his loneliness still glided the thought of that 
 mother. It was a footstep so gentle. Her footfall was 
 never rough and noisy. The dead mother came now just 
 as softly. She laid her tender hand on the bowed head 
 of her lonely boy, and she seemed to be pointing at some- 
 thing. Suddenly he saw a picture. In the old church 
 at home, wrought in glass, tinged as by a sunset, was 
 the scene of Christ walking on the sea. He was holding 
 out a hand to the sinking Peter. 
 
 When in America had Harold thought of that particu-
 
 194 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 lar window before ? He saw it now as he thought of 
 his mother and her prayers. 
 
 What could he do in life ? What could he do now or 
 at any time ? 
 
 He could do this : like Peter of old, he could take hold 
 of that outstretched hand. It was the first thing to be 
 done. He was starting out in a new land, his real self 
 starting in a real life. It was not Harold Wharton the 
 heir, and leading a life that was a pretense, but Harold 
 Wharton the empty-handed, and going out to a real life. 
 He must start now. 
 
 "Yes, now!" the mother seemed gently to plead, 
 pointing at the outstretched hand of the Saviour. 
 
 Would not her boy cling and trust now ? He fell 
 upon his knees. 
 
 That night he touched God, and he never fell back 
 from that touch. It was destined to make a wonderful 
 change in Harold's life. He lay down to rest. 
 
 The thunder had rolled away. The lightning had 
 ceased to flash. There was only the sound of the rain, 
 that steadily, not violently, dripped, dripped. After a 
 while there was a lighter fall. It had a drowsy, musical 
 sound. The sweet voice of Harold's mother echoed in 
 the gentle fall. This sound of the rain quieted him. 
 It stilled him into slumber. He slept. His mother 
 watched.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 GEERTBUYD. 
 
 GEERTRTTYD SMIDT was spinning in the kitchen. 
 Whirr-r-r-r ! 
 
 That Dutch kitchen was very dear to Geertruyd, who, 
 since her mother's death three years ago, had been her 
 father's housekeeper. Her ally was Betje,* an old slave 
 who thought she was a Quaker mostly because she did 
 not know what a Quaker was. Geertruyd and Betje kept 
 the kitchen very neat. 
 
 The parlor was something very separate and sacred, as 
 if one stepping into its shadowy atmosphere might expect 
 to find there a row of idols in silver shrines. There was 
 nothing in the parlor more sacred than a line of chairs 
 bottomed with Russia leather secured by brass-headed 
 tacks. These chairs were set against the wall as stiffly 
 as if frozen to it. 
 
 1 am omitting, though, a round tea-table, and the 
 beaming portrait of some far-off ancestor above the table. 
 Geertruyd thought that he smiled in approbation of the 
 fine sand-designs on the well-scrubbed floor. 
 
 The kitchen was a very different spot. It was the 
 
 * Our Betty.
 
 196 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 living room. It had some individuality. Geertruyd had 
 left here and there touches of her housewifely interest in 
 this particular room. Across the lower half of each 
 window ran a curtain of bright red chintz, a pet color 
 with Geertruyd. On the walls were pictures of unreal 
 war- vessels on impossible seas, fighting all sorts of imag- 
 inary naval battles. These battles had been going on 
 many years. They bade fair to outlive the walls from 
 which they were suspended. In the centre of the room 
 was the heavy, square table of pine, at which the family 
 sat two hours ago when reminded to do this by " the noon- 
 mark." This " noon-mark" was one of the divisions of 
 the sun's celestial travels, watched and recorded by the 
 sun-dial on the window-ledge. The floor had been 
 freshly sanded, and Gcertruyd's dexterous broom had 
 whisked the sand into various ingenious figures found 
 neither in nature nor books. The most imposing fea- 
 ture in the room was the fireplace, so large that it looked 
 as if New Amsterdam's schout, its burgomasters, and all 
 its schepens could have sat there in a row and been 
 roasted in company. It had its equipment of hooks 
 and trammels, shovels and pots. There was a kettle of 
 soup even now suspended over the fire, gently simmering 
 away, dreaming of the time when its contents, duly put 
 together, were bounding in the shape of a kid over the 
 fields of Manhattan. 
 
 Another interesting item was Geertruyd's spinning- 
 wheel ; but an attraction exceeding anything in the room
 
 GEEETKUYD. 197 
 
 was Geertruyd herself. She was Katrjne Schuyler's 
 bosom friend. They were New Amsterdam's prettiest 
 maidens. Katryne was fair and dark-eyed ; Geertruyd was 
 fair and blue-eyed. They were as unlike in character. 
 Katryne was impetuous, enthusiastic, fond of adventure, 
 ever seeking some expression of her feelings in the 
 activities of life, and very lovable withal. Geertruyd was 
 deliberate, quiet, a stay-at-home body, shrinking from the 
 outside world, and also a very lovable body. Though so 
 very dissimilar, they agreed perfectly in two things : to 
 disagree with sweetness where they could not agree in 
 sentiment, and to love one another intensely. 
 
 Geertruyd was spinning the afternoon of this chapter, 
 and with more than usual eagerness. Like other Dutch 
 maidens, she had been trained to keep marriage in view, 
 and to believe that every Dutch bride should have in 
 readiness suitable arid ample store of white goods. To 
 ensure variety and quantity, there must be timely activ- 
 ity. Marriage ? Whom would Geertruyd marry ? Thus 
 far she had seen nobody that she wanted to marry, she 
 affirmed, except Katryne Schuyler, and Katryne former- 
 ly had often hotly declared that Geertruyd was her only 
 choice. Recently, for some reason, Katryne had been 
 silent on the subject. Why silent, Geertruyd could not 
 say. Had Katryne seen any masculine adorable that she 
 preferred to Geertruyd ? If so, it was time that Geertruyd 
 was stirring in the matter for herself. And this after- 
 noon, as stout Betje had waddled off to a gathering of
 
 198 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 colored friends on De Heeren Straat, and as her father, 
 Adam Smidt, was absent on a lengthy errand about some 
 beaver skins, Geertruyd, in this freedom from all observ- 
 ers, had resolved to put on her finery, make believe that 
 she was a bride, and see if her husband would appear. 
 Of course, it would not be actually a wedding dress, but 
 it would do no harm to imagine it as that, and some 
 Dutch fairy might happen along to give it a hymeneal 
 fitness. Such a fanciful mood was wholly unlike the 
 quiet and conventional Geertruyd, but then the most 
 sedate and regular people may do the most irregular 
 things. Geertruyd intended to keep all the above a 
 secret. No one should know it. She would not con- 
 fess it even to her husband, if he should happen along. 
 Unusually dressed, then, for this unusual and secret pur- 
 pose, she sat down to spin. In what a radiant dress she 
 was arrayed ! A close-fitting cap of white muslin covered 
 her light-brown hair, neatly brushed back from her fore- 
 head. The collar that enclosed her fair neck was as 
 snowy as her cap. She wore a jacket of blue silk, and 
 there shone in her bosom a brooch of twisted gold. Her 
 skirt of red silk parted to show the most ingeniously 
 quilted petticoat of golden yellow satin. Her worsted 
 stockings, knit by Geertruyd the long evenings of the 
 previous winter, were of yellow, to match her petticoat. 
 Her small and symmetrical feet were slipped into dainty 
 high-heeled shoes. Ah ! I could not catch in any de- 
 scription the flash of the bright gold rings on her fingers,
 
 GEERTKUYD. 199 
 
 and of a string of gold beads around her neck. She had 
 taken one inquisitive look in the glass, and then, blush- 
 ing and frightened, she ran to every outer door and 
 closed it and firmly bolted it. For what if her husband 
 might really come ! He never should get in. She was 
 determined on that. But ah ! what if he should look in 
 at a window ? Never ! She pulled each curtain care- 
 fully across the little panes that had come all the way 
 over the tossing sea from old Amsterdam to this minia- 
 ture city. Than, blushing most fascinatingly, she sat 
 down to her task, her heart seeming to trip away so fast 
 that not even her spinning-wheel could overtake it. 
 
 Whirr-r-r-r ! 
 
 As she spun away, this member in our breast which 
 we cannot get along without, and yet cannot always get 
 along comfortably with, by degrees was quiet. The blood 
 left her checks, and just a faint flush was there to suggest 
 the rare shades hid in the depths of flower-cups, or se- 
 creted in shells of the sea, or lingering in the last shades 
 of the sunset. She was only Geertruyd Smidt, house- 
 keeper for Adam Smidt, a single young woman, with- 
 out ambitious matrimonial projects. Not the mar- 
 riages made in heaven, but things on the earth, prosy, 
 daily, domestic, engaged her thoughts. She mused 
 upon the house she lived in, the houses in the neighbor- 
 hood that others lived in, and New Amsterdam in gen- 
 eral. She had seen Breuckelen. With her father she 
 had ridden in the lumbering family-ark as far as New
 
 200 liEHIND HA^HATTAH GABLES. 
 
 Haerlem, but that was a nobody kind of a town. Great 
 was New Amsterdam ! Her father had carefully de- 
 scribed to her several Dutch hamlets in New Nether- 
 land, and several villages settled by the troublesome, 
 inquisitive, aggressive New Englanders. She had his 
 word for it that none could compare with their New 
 Amsterdam. She herself believed that this metropolis 
 of New Netherland had attractions by way of houses that 
 probably could not be equalled anywhere on this side the 
 sea. She had had glimpses only, but in a few quick glances 
 you can see enough to fill a gallery lasting ever. There 
 were in New Amsterdam houses through which from 
 door to door stretched an imposing hall. In these man- 
 sions one saw rich, heavy furniture, antique cabinets and 
 chairs, and tables that at banquets shone with ostentatious 
 pieces of silver plate. From the walls pompous ancestral 
 portraits looked down, also large mirrors in two plates, 
 the upper adorned with gilt and flowers. In the cham- 
 bers could be found portly bedsteads, four-posted, fur- 
 nished each with rich canopy and elaborate valance. 
 Yes, New Amsterdam had its fine houses. This must 
 be, then, the biggest, most glorious place the sun shone 
 upon at least the western sun. 
 
 Her spinning-wheel now turned vigorously whirr-r- 
 r-r ! whirr-r-r-r ! and the yarn lengthened rapidly. She 
 felt that she ought to be a very grateful young woman. 
 How comfortable was her home ! She had heard her 
 grandfather tell about the houses that many of the peo-
 
 GEERTRTJYD. 201 
 
 pie lived in when New Amsterdam was first settled 
 just one story in height, with chimneys of wood, their 
 roofs thatched with straw and reeds. Geertruyd lived in 
 a building of brick made in New Amsterdam, and hav- 
 ing, therefore, for Geertruyd a peculiar virtue. The 
 gable ends were of black and yellow brick, and, like 
 those of other houses already described, suggested 
 checker-boards, across which any time Adam Smidt and 
 his beloved Geertruyd, mounted on long ladders, might set 
 the checkers to moving at a lively rate. The birth-year 
 of the house was ostentatiously set in figures of iron into 
 the walls. Above all was as ambitious a weather-cock 
 as ever pretended to wind his clarion in clearest, bright- 
 est tones at early dawn, and yet never struck a note. 
 What an honored house to support such a noble 
 bird! 
 
 Yes, New Amsterdam had some very nice, comfortable 
 homes. It was the best place to live in that Geertruyd 
 had ever seen, or that she had ever heard of in all the 
 world. 
 
 Whirr-r-r-r ! 
 
 All the world ? 
 
 Yes ; and all the world was coming, little by little, to 
 New Amsterdam. Now Katryne Schuyler wanted to 
 see the world. She had said to Geertruyd that if she had 
 wings she would mount upon the palisades, there spread 
 those wings, and fly to Paris, to Amsterdam, to Lon- 
 don. Now, if Geertruyd really had wings, she would
 
 202 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 fold them up neatly and stay at home. Why go to see 
 the world, when all the world was coming to New Am- 
 sterdam ? How many kinds of people were already 
 here ! In her own family, streams of several sorts of 
 blood ran in the Smidt veins. She was Dutch, one of 
 the kind that liked to stay at home, just as Katryne was 
 of the Dutch kind that liked to be flying round, going 
 to strange countries, conquering new worlds. Geer- 
 truyd's father was Dutch, but had English relatives. 
 Her mother's father was French, a Walloon, one of 
 those French Protestants fleeing for refuge to American 
 shores, some of them coming to this hospitable port. I 
 have already referred to the fact that eighteen languages 
 could be heard in New Amsterdam's streets, some poly- 
 glot enthusiast having counted up that number of tongues 
 in their Babel of sounds. What place of many-tongued 
 talk like New Amsterdam ! It must be a great place, a 
 wonderful place some day, if all the world kept flocking 
 to it. As many as one, two, three millions of inhab- 
 itants it must have, and little Breuckelen would also be- 
 come a great city. 
 
 Whirr-r-r-r ! Spin, spin away, O wheel ! Life too is 
 spinning and full of excitement. 
 
 Katryne, Geertruyd's friend, wanted to see lakes and 
 ponds and stretching fields ; but why have wings .to fly 
 away and see them ? 
 
 There on this island one had all this variety. There 
 was Fresh Water Pond, a beautiful sheet that the sun-
 
 GEERTRUYD. 203 
 
 set stained with most fascinating shades, like some of 
 those in Geertruyd's marriage garb. What fish abound- 
 ed in its depths ! Depths ? The pond was said in one 
 place to have no bottom. This bottomless abyss made 
 Geertruyd shudder. What awful forms must wriggle 
 down there in the dark ! 
 
 Katryne had said " Pooh !" to all this. She believed 
 Fresh Water Pond had a bottom, and had told Geertruyd 
 if she would lengthen her that is, Katryne just three 
 feet she would agree to wade from shore to shore of this 
 awful mystery, and nothing worse than an eel would nib- 
 ble her heel. 
 
 But Geertruyd preferred to cherish the old myth and 
 the story, too, of the weird abysmal forms down in 
 the dark water. She had been afraid that her father, 
 who loved to drop his line into those mysterious depths, 
 might hook up a strange creature with serpent's mouth 
 and form, or with a forked tail, or a tiger's claws, or a bat's 
 wings, and as he was sometimes absent-minded, he would 
 bring it home to sizzle in Geertruyd's frying-pan in the 
 roaring big fireplace ! Ugh ! It might hop out and fly 
 up the chimney, or fly at her ! 
 
 Whirr-r-r-r ! How the wheel did buzz behind those 
 dropped curtains ! 
 
 As for fine fields and beautiful farms, what handsomer 
 specimen of husbandry than that of the Dutch West 
 India Company ! * This stretched along the west side 
 
 * Astor House is said to be on the site of the Company's farmhouse.
 
 204 BEHIND MA^HATTAJT GABLES. 
 
 of our Broadway, not far from City Hall Park, and it 
 ran back to North River. 
 
 It was good to see the farm in summer, when emerald 
 with the luxuriance of Nature's promises, or in autumn, 
 when blushing with a modest sense of the accomplish- 
 ment of all prophecies, for it showed the noble fruitage 
 of Manhattan, such as cabbages fair and spherical as 
 the silver moon, or pumpkins round and with golden 
 pulp. 
 
 Beautiful and bountiful was the earth, and earth, too, 
 just there in New Amsterdam, Geertruyd meant, rather 
 than earth all over the world. Geertruyd was going to 
 stay at home and enjoy it. 
 
 Whirr-r-r-r ! Faster, faster, faster went the wheel. 
 
 Yes, New Amsterdam was a wonderful treasure-box. 
 Ah ! did it have among its valuables a husband for Geer- 
 truyd Smidt ? This was a silly dream, she declared. 
 There were so many things of an eventful nature every 
 day, and this very day doubtless, though not happening 
 as yet, that she must resolutely close the door upon mar- 
 riage yes, slam the door ! This she proceeded to do 
 by stamping on the floor energetically with her high- 
 heeled shoe. 
 
 But hark ! there was a pound with the knocker on the 
 door itself. It was a summons. It was imperative too. 
 Somebody wanted, must have, something. 
 
 She did not go to the door directly, but prudently 
 pulled away a corner of a curtain and looked out. Her
 
 GEERTRUTD. 205 
 
 heart beat quick. It was a young man ! She hurried 
 to the door. 
 
 He was a good-looking youngster, and had a fine fig- 
 ure. His eyes were blue and kindly, his features regu- 
 lar, his complexion ruddy, his face intelligent and ener- 
 getic, but it had a hurried look just now, and his manner 
 betrayed the fact that something besides mere water was 
 on his mind, though he said, " Oh ! oh ! will you give 
 me some water " 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 Such a vision as of an angel in glorious color had 
 broken upon him ! Such a beautiful face bent toward 
 him ! A celestial being, or who was it where did she 
 come from, this rainbow, this tulip bed, this cluster of 
 precious stones? He spoke confusedly, "Oh, do you 
 speak English ?" 
 
 What was the native tongue of this angel, English or 
 Dutch ? 
 
 She began to smile. She colored, too, for it flashed 
 upon her that this young man might be yes, could it 
 be her future husband 2 
 
 She was blushing deeply now. 
 
 " Do you speak English ?" he asked again. 
 
 " Oh, yah! oh, yah!" 
 
 She turned, then halted, for he was speaking again, 
 and hurriedly, looking back at the same time over his 
 shoulder, as if afraid of seeing in the street some unwel- 
 comed object.
 
 206 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Could 1 go into the garden ?" he was saying. 
 
 " De garden ? Oh, yah ! oh, yali !" 
 
 One of her first thoughts was that she was very glad 
 Katryne Schuyler and her own father had given her 
 some idea of English. Then she filled with water an 
 antique drinking-cup of silver and ran out into the gar- 
 den. 
 
 Geertruyd, holding the cup in her hand, her sweet 
 face blushing crimson under her snowy cap, her jacket 
 and skirt and petticoat and hose a mass of brilliant color, 
 the drops of water that trickled from the cup changing 
 in the sunlight to a necklace of pearls that this Dutch 
 enchantress was recklessly dropping what a pretty pic- 
 ture ! 
 
 But where was he ? 
 
 She stopped. Had her husband gone ? She looked 
 among the cabbages, the poppies, the borders of box. 
 
 Somebody in the shade of a large thrifty peach-tree in 
 the rear murmured, " An angel !" and stepping out into 
 open sunlight cried, " Here I am !" 
 
 She almost let the silver cup drop when she heard the 
 voice. 
 
 Bowing, he came forward and took the cup. 
 
 " Lady, 1 thank thee," he said gratefully. 
 
 She dared not look up, but shyly dropped her head, as 
 if her white cap were a heavy burden. 
 
 " I thank thee," he said again. 
 
 As she took the cup she noticed on his hand a gold
 
 GEERTRUYD. 207 
 
 ring. The stone in it was of a warm red, warm as the 
 blushes in her face. Site might have seen her husband 
 if she had looked up, but with true modesty she con- 
 tinued to hang that crimson- flushed and charming face. 
 
 He was speaking. 
 
 " 1 am going to tell my story. 1 have an enemy. 
 Captain Yan Schenkel ' ' 
 
 She did not catch more than half his words, but in 
 her thought she repeated the most important. 
 
 " En enemy ! Captain Yan Schenkel !" 
 
 She gave a frightened start. Captain Yan Schenkel 
 her possible husband's enemy ! 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" she murmured in most pitying, sympa- 
 thetic, delightful music. 
 
 11 1 have been in his ship and 1 am afraid he will 
 send men to take me and could you let me hide in 
 that shed ? I shall be so thankful !" 
 
 She wanted to gaze into his face and look her sympa- 
 thy. She dared not. She said, though, intensely, 
 promptly, " Oh, yah ! oh, yah !" 
 
 Katryne disliked Yan Schenkel, and of course Geer- 
 truyd disliked Yan Schenkel, and when she saw his 
 cruel plans she said she would do anything to befriend 
 his enemies or defeat his allies. Was this an enemy of 
 Yan Schenkel ? He was Geertruyd's friend, and might 
 hide in her shed or her parlor. 
 
 He touched his cap, and withdrew into the depths of 
 the shed.
 
 208 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Geertruyd hurried into the house. Quickly she came 
 running back again, and without a word set down by the 
 door of the shed a drinking-cup filled with water, as if 
 she were placing it at the door of a bird-cage for some 
 precious pet. Then she timidly stole back to the house. 
 Her heart was going so fast now ! Her spinning-wheel 
 seemed inside of her. Who would come next ? Was she 
 in a suitable dress to receive the next marital appearance ? 
 The next ? There should be no other. She would keep her 
 present garb sacred to her husband out in the shed. She 
 tripped up the stairs leading to her chamber, removed 
 all her finery, packed it carefully away, and soon went 
 downstairs again. Now she wore a dress over whose white 
 background flew a multitude of little birds in blue all 
 mounting upward, as if anxious to get into Geertruyd's 
 cap or the wealth of her rich brown hair and find a rest- 
 ing-place there. She was very bewitching now, more so 
 than ever, and the accepted though unconscious candidate 
 for matrimony out in the shed would have said so. 
 
 She sat down to spin. 
 
 Again the wheel went whirr-r-r-r ! whirr-r-r-r ! 
 
 It was but for a moment. She ran to a window that 
 looked out upon the garden. She leaned forward to 
 catch a view of the shed-door. Had the cup of water 
 been taken away ? It was still there. The bird in the 
 cage had not touched it. Ought not Geertruyd to take 
 out a plate of those old-fashioned Dutch waffles her 
 father liked ? Might not her husband be hungry ? A
 
 GEERTRUYDi 209 
 
 little later, or when it was dark and nobody saw her, she 
 would take out the waffles. She would spin now. Spin ? 
 How could she when her husband was in danger ? 
 What if Yan Schenkel came to awe her and seize him ? 
 The thought terrified her. She could not spin now. 
 She went to a window. There she sat with folded hands, 
 looking sadly at the shed. How silent and oppressive 
 was the old Dutch kitchen ! No longer did she take 
 pride in its dresser of curious old Delft ware, or its 
 scrubbed pewter dishes, or its mirror-like tins. Her 
 heart was out in the shed and a tearful face was at the 
 window watching the shed. 
 
 Betje soon came from her visit to a spot that long has 
 been known as Bowling Green.* In this neighborhood, 
 on Sunday, drawn up in order, might be seen the clumsy 
 vehicles of the farmers who from their country homes had 
 in dignity been borne to church. Here on this same 
 green, New Amsterdam reared its May-pole. 
 
 Betje had found near the green a group of negro 
 friends, and sauntered with them along De Heeren 
 Straat to the land gate or land poort. She had now re- 
 turned to her domestic sphere wearing her green baize 
 dress with its brown linsey woolsey petticoat. She serene - 
 
 * " On the north side of Fort Amsterdam, and almost under its 
 walls, was a grass plot which some of the very oldest inhabitants of 
 New York recollect as the gathering-place of the beau monde in 
 their younger days." History of New York, James Grant Wilson, 
 Vol. I., p. 294.
 
 210 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ]y waddled about the kitchen. It was pleasant to hear 
 her clumsy movements as she slowly oscillated between 
 the fireplace and her waffle- pan, anticipating the mark 
 on the sun-dial for supper-time. She would oscillate no 
 faster, though the shadow might be on the supper-mark 
 itself. 
 
 Geertruyd was still at the window, apparently knitting 
 on the family supply of hose for the next winter, but 
 maintaining that steadfast watch on the shed. 
 
 Adam Smidt, her father, returned to his shop in the 
 front part of the house. He had an honest, noble face. 
 A tradesman of conscientious habits, his gray hair was 
 not more carefully tied up in a queue than were his ac- 
 counts duly kept. He now stood behind his counter to 
 wait for a customer and in the mean time speculate on 
 the possible profit of his trade in furs that afternoon. 
 
 Geertruyd almost dropped one of Adam's big hose as 
 she thought with a start what if her father should go 
 out into the shed and look about ! 
 
 He considerately did no such thing, but stuck to his 
 counter and his meditations. He did not leave these 
 until supper and Betje's waffles were ready, and return- 
 ing to his shop, he stayed there until, looking out of a 
 window, he exclaimed : 
 
 " There is Tanneken !"* 
 
 Tanneken was the family cow. It was an old-time 
 custom in New Amsterdam to employ a herdsman who 
 * A form of Ann or Nan.
 
 GEERTRUYD. 211 
 
 came about winding his horn and collecting the cows. 
 These were driven through the land gate in the wall to 
 the Commons, the town pasture. Tanneries and the 
 nobler buildings of an advancing civilization had lessened 
 the old pasture space within the wall. The Commons 
 not only made a place available for cows, but public exe- 
 cutions. 
 
 From this public pasture ground the herdsman of 
 New Amsterdam gathered the straying cows at twilight, 
 and conducting his precious charge within the wall, blew 
 his horn again to warn the owners of the arrival of their 
 bovine pets. Whether Tanneken came home in this 
 imposing fashion or in the simpler way of an earlier date, 
 she was cordially received by Adam to her comfortable 
 quarters in the shed. 
 
 Geertruyd's heart was beating fast. What if her father 
 might see the drinking-cup and hear a noise made by 
 the hide-away ? 
 
 Adam Smidt was kind enough to be blind to the one 
 and deaf to the other. At least he reported nothing 
 seen nor heard, and only said, " Tanneken is glad to get 
 home." 
 
 In the dark, Geertruyd ran out, thrust her head into 
 the shed and said : 
 
 " Pe you in dis house, myn vrind ?" 
 
 She dared not say husband, but it was " myn vrind." 
 
 The only reply was the noise of Tanneken gratefully 
 champing her fragrant evening cud.
 
 212 BEHIXD MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Was the drinking-cup empty ? 
 
 Geertruyd felt for it, and found that nothing was in it. 
 Then he had drunk it dry. She was glad to know it had 
 been acceptable, and she stole back into the house to fill 
 the cup and set it out in the shed again, for he might 
 still be within, but fast asleep, and, waking up, how 
 grateful he would be for a draught of Tanneken's 
 milk ! 
 
 She had hardly gone into the house when a black cat, 
 that had drained the first cup, slyly came and greedily 
 lapped this second one empty. 
 
 At the curfew-hour, nine, Adam and Geertruyd heard 
 the bell of St. Nikolaas' Church drowsily ringing, and 
 they promptly went to bed. 
 
 How could Geertruyd sleep ! 
 
 Perhaps an hour later there was a noisy shouting 
 under the window. 
 
 " Do you see him ?" asked one voice. 
 
 u Nowhere," replied another. 
 
 " You might as well try to hunt up Hendrik Hud- 
 son, " growled a third. 
 
 Adam thrust his head out of the window. He could 
 make out a number of shadowy forms. 
 
 " What is wanted ?" he asked. " You are waking 
 up people." 
 
 " 1 am Captain Van Schenkel. 1 am hunting for one 
 of my crew who has got away from me. Have you seen 
 a sailor hiding round ?"
 
 GEEKTKUYD. 213 
 
 " 1 have seen no sailor hiding, and all who are not, 
 ought to sail into their berths as soon as they can." 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! Who art thou ?" inquired one man. 
 
 " Go to bed thyself !" suggested a second. 
 
 " Haul in that nightcap !" advised a third. 
 
 " The villain !" growled Van Schenkel. 
 
 They all passed on. 
 
 Geertruyd's bed trembled as if it had the palsy. She 
 could hardly wait for morning. Very early she stole 
 out into the shed and called in the sweetest robin notes : 
 
 " Pe you here, myn vrind ?" 
 
 " M m mooh !" lowed a hungry cow. 
 
 Geertruyd fed her, and then she picked up the cup 
 emptied by her husband ? 
 
 " He must be gone !" she sighed. 
 
 Was it a sigh of relief at his escape or one of regret 
 for the loss of his presence ? 
 
 She sighed again. This time it was plainly her re- 
 gret to think she might not again see that manly Eng- 
 lishman whose blue eyes had pierced her jacket of silk 
 and looked farther down into her heart than any pair of 
 eyes that yet had looked upon her. In one little day 
 how great a change had come to a quiet Dutch maiden's 
 life!
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BIG- DOORS ON LITTLE HINGES. 
 
 IT was a bright morning when Harold Wharton start- 
 ed out to find a new world, in which work was his aim 
 and honesty his motto. Last night's storm had rolled 
 away. The sun shone out of a sky as blue in its stretch 
 from east to west as if the clouds lately sweeping it had 
 been brushes of azure on the upper side, giving it a new 
 vividness of tint. 
 
 A bright, it was a busy morning. Whatever windmills 
 New Amsterdam had, these were going, vigorously flapping 
 their wings. Half a dozen vessels were in port, and an 
 energetic process of unloading was going on men giving 
 orders, men hoisting goods, and men lowering them. 
 In the canal there were lively echoes of the stir without. 
 Several lighters had arrived and were making all the 
 noise they could. People were bustling in and out of 
 the shops, ready to trade in skins or in goods that had 
 made an Atlantic trip. The tap-rooms had their doors 
 wide open, and the tapsters were smiling at anybody who 
 would be willing to walk into these open-mouthed traps. 
 Sailors in slouching hats and loose blouses and wide 
 breeches had come ashore, looking for pleasure, which
 
 BIG DOORS ON LITTLE HINGES. 215 
 
 already was looking for them and would trap them be- 
 fore they were aware of it. A number of New Amster- 
 dam's burghers, past any serious work, were strutting 
 about in long-skirted coats, sporting ruffles about their 
 necks and ruffles about their wrists, their hair tied in 
 fiercely twisted queues. Their stout legs were in con- 
 spicuous breeches and showily colored hose, while buckles 
 were shining at their knees and buckles were shining on 
 their shoes. They flourished canes as if sceptres in silent 
 pride, for was not this New Amsterdam ? They joked 
 complacently with one another ; they told stories about life 
 on the sea or in trade with the Indians, and with their 
 advice patronized a younger generation, or, glancing at 
 the vessels in port, told what ventures in trade they 
 themselves would make if owning those ships. 
 
 One of the vessels floated the English flag ; and when 
 a party from it came ashore Harold noticed the man who 
 was leading off and had the air of a captain, and asked : 
 
 " Your ship from England ?" 
 
 " Boston !" was the reply in a very positive English 
 accent and manner. 
 
 " Have you you do you want any work ?" was 
 Harold's hesitating question. 
 
 When had he ever put such a question before ? 
 
 " 1 want just one man more than I have got already 
 to go back with me to Boston ; and if your St. Nicho- 
 las, to give it English fashion, smiles on me, I weigh 
 anchor to-morrow."
 
 216 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 An idea struck Harold. Here would be a fine chance 
 to get to Boston and see those New Englanders that 
 were crowding down on New Amsterdam ; and it might 
 be might be that he would like Boston and might get 
 a better chance to work than in New Amsterdam. It was 
 true, this voyage meant rough work, and it was not agree- 
 able to Harold's pride to subject his will to another and 
 get sailor's fare in return ; but he recalled what his fa- 
 ther once said when talking with Harold about work : 
 " If thou ever may want work, put thy pride under foot, 
 and especially when thou art barefooted, and it may help 
 thee get some shoes." 
 
 The captain looked at Harold sharply, saying with his 
 eyes : 
 
 " I want men who can work." 
 
 " I will see you to-rnorrow," said Harold. 
 
 " Have you ever been to sea ?" inquired the captain. 
 
 " Oh, I I haven't been a sailor ; but I could learn." 
 
 " Well, think it over. As 1 said, if your Dutch saint, 
 Saint Nick, does not frown on me, if he will give me a 
 good smile, the Lion's Head, my ship, will weigh anchor 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " He takes me for a Dutchman. ' Your Dutch saint,' 
 he says," reflected Harold. 
 
 He now told the captain he would think it over and 
 let him know in the morning. He then turned away. 
 What next ? 
 
 He needed a little money that he might get ready for
 
 BIG DOORS ON LITTLE HINGES. 217 
 
 the voyage, and he would hunt up some work. He went 
 to the canal in De Heeren Graft. On either side of this 
 small water-way were posts snugly enclosing it in old 
 country style, and these framed that day an animated 
 picture, for five lighters were now laboriously toiling their 
 way up the canal. Not a great distance back from the 
 canal stood the houses, their gables respectfully turned 
 toward the canal, their roofs sharply slanting skyward. 
 
 Up and down De Heeren Graft, Harold wandered ; 
 but in a land abounding in work he himself found no 
 demand for workmen. A monosyllabic grunt meaning 
 "no" was generally the answer to his inquiries. To 
 think nobody wanted Harold Wharton ! It was both 
 discouraging and humbling. Finally, on another street, 
 he approached a house over the lower half of whose 
 front door a man was leaning, contentedly smoking and 
 aimlessly looking out. 
 
 " There is a shop in there, but the keeper does not 
 seem to have anything to do ; and as I have nothing to 
 do, there ought to be some sympathy between us. I 
 will speak to him, for he will treat me kindly," con- 
 cluded Harold. 
 
 " Heer, have you any work I could do ?" 
 
 Most people, though using a tongue strange to another, 
 can make the other party understand when they wish to 
 grant a favor or refuse a request. Isak Wyckoff shook 
 his head regretfully, for he had caught the word " work," 
 and he said to himself, " This is a young Englishman, I
 
 218 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 should say, and for some reason I think he wants work, 
 but I have not any ; let me think, though, I might give 
 him one thing. How am I going to make him under- 
 stand ?" He nodded, pointing back to his garden and 
 moving his hands as if weeding. 
 
 Harold saw that he meant work, but Harold did not 
 want work of that sort, and shaking his head, he was 
 about to move on, when he recalled his father's advice 
 to put pride under foot, especially when one was bare- 
 footed. He nodded his head, and like a friend ad- 
 dressed him : 
 
 " Heer, I thank thee. I will work in the garden." 
 
 A beck was the answer of the shopkeeper, stepping out- 
 side his door and leading Harold round the house into a 
 neat and thrifty garden. Then he stooped down to his 
 melon-patch, weeded a hill, and pointed at it. 
 
 Harold nodded assent and went to work. At first he 
 took hasty cognizance of the fact that the melon-patch 
 was near the wall of a shed in the next lot. He soon 
 took special notice of this building, for it threw a pro- 
 tecting shadow over him as he toiled in his employer's lot. 
 
 " This is a hot day. I did not think a few days ago 
 that I should so soon be working for a living this way. 
 Well, to-morrow I shall be off for New England, and 
 that will give me a change," he reflected. " I know I 
 can find something there to do, and it will take care of 
 me in an English town and among English people. How 
 fortunate I am ! I went at the right moment to find
 
 BIG DOORS ON LITTLE HINGES. #19 
 
 that man, and I got my chance. Now I don't have to 
 weed a melon-patch much longer. This is my last. 
 Lucky !" Soon he ceased working and sought the 
 shadow of the shed- wall. " This shadow is a good 
 thing," he said aloud as he seated himself near the build- 
 ing belonging to the owner of the next lot. 
 
 "Isit ?" asked a voice. 
 
 Startled, Harold looked about him. Was it the shop- 
 keeper ? Harold could not see any one. 
 
 " I must have been dreaming," he said. " Don't see 
 anybody." 
 
 He returned to his work. He was busily pulling up 
 pig- weed and sorrel, when a voice called out, " Harold !" 
 Harold looked up in astonishment. What was it he saw 
 at a small window in the shed-wall ? A mist began to 
 gather, and then it cleared all away, and he saw a face 
 that he well knew, and it smiled upon him and beckoned 
 him. 
 
 " George Martin ! George Martin, can it be?" ex- 
 claimed Harold. " For the love of me, tell me where 
 thou art from ? I thought George Martin was at sea, 
 and I believe he is now." 
 
 George smiled : "I am here ; and come here, Har- 
 old. Go to that door round on the other side. ' ' 
 
 Harold found it, entered it, and there stood George 
 Martin at the foot of a mound of hay, but only a second, 
 in a glad surprise, did he stand there, and then sprang 
 forward to take Harold's outstretched hand.
 
 220 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " What art tbou doing in here, boy ?" 
 
 " I am hiding." 
 
 "Hiding? What for ?" 
 
 " 1 ran off from that Van Schenkel the brute ! and 
 a Dutch maid gave me a chance to hide here. " 
 
 " Up on the hay ?". 
 
 " Yes. I went out in the dark last night, after Van 
 Schenkel and his men had been here trying to find me, 
 and I have laid in some food I bought of a man I knew. 
 I was so tired, and have slept so sound up on that hay, 
 that I don't know how many people have been here." 
 
 " Come away with me now." 
 
 " Oh, it would be risky. Wait thou till after 
 dark." 
 
 " I will be here an hour after the sun has gone down, 
 and take George Martin away. " 
 
 Harold soon returned to his weeding, and George to 
 his mound of hay. An hour after sunset Harold was 
 calling in a low tone : 
 
 " George ! George !" 
 
 " I am here, Harold, and I will join thee." 
 
 The two stalwart Englishmen went off together. 
 
 " Where wilt thou take me, Harold ? Let us go out- 
 side the wall, Harold." 
 
 " We shall be too hungry there. I know of a build- 
 ing left by a trader in a negro's care. He will let us in. 
 He has an odd name, and says it is Wubbit. Follow 
 me."
 
 BIG DOORS OK LITTLE HINGES. 221 
 
 Behind a gable rather the worse for the weather, but 
 through whose chinks the wind from the Atlantic made 
 pleasant music in a tired sailor's ears, George Martin 
 slept profoundly. Harold Wharton lay awake a long 
 time. A chance for one, a chance to go to New Eng- 
 land ! Who should have the chance ? It might mean 
 for Harold a path opening into a life of abundance and 
 honor. A chance for one ! Who should have the 
 chance ? These two thoughts kept turning over and 
 over like wheels in Harold's brain, one wheel chasing 
 the other. By and by he too fell asleep. The wind 
 had no listener as it whistled about the old Manhattan 
 gable with its crow-steps. 
 
 In the morning Harold and George stole away from 
 the house at dawn, for the fear of Yan Schenkel lay like 
 a dismal shadow across the new day brightening the 
 humble streets of New Amsterdam. Harold led the 
 way to the ship already loosening its wings for a flight 
 to Boston, and transferring his opportunity to George 
 Martin, watched the vessel as it bore his old playmate 
 away from New Amsterdam. 
 
 "I wanted that chance," he murmured, "but I am 
 glad George has got it." 
 
 Harold had made an arrangement with Wubbit, the 
 negro, so that he could occupy a " slaap-bank, " a 
 humble sleeping-bench, under the roof that the negro 
 guarded, and his pretentious tavern quarters were aban- 
 doned for this less expensive refuge, and adapted to ad-
 
 222 BEHOTD MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 verse days. He also engaged his sable landlord to be 
 his cook. 
 
 After his return from the water-front he was soon 
 ready to resume his weeding in Isak Wyckoff's garden. 
 His dress was not a rich one. It was of coarse cloth, but 
 serviceable, and as he knelt among Isak's melon-hills, 
 near the wall of the adjoining shed, he thought that the 
 late hide-away in the shed was dressed very much in the 
 same fashion, in the same sort of cloth, and that it was 
 of the same color. 
 
 " Two young chaps from Old England," thought 
 Harold, as he pulled up the pig- weed, " one up aloft in 
 the rigging, and the other down on his knees here in 
 this melon-patch ; but it is honorable work we are 
 doing." 
 
 Hark ! Was that a step he heard the step of a 
 passer-by ? From his crouching posture near the wall 
 of Adam Smidt's shed he began to rise. 
 
 " What if it be somebody I know !" he thought. 
 " I don't want them to see me weeding in this Dutch- 
 man's garden. No what do I care ? Let them see me, 
 and I will look that way." It was a clumsy rise, and it 
 attracted the attention of the passer-by. " Katryne 
 Schuyler !" murmured Harold, and as handsome a bow 
 as possible in his confused frame of mind he gave to the 
 prettiest maid he had seen in New Amsterdam. She 
 blushed in return, and also nodded her crimson hood. 
 
 Harold's awkward abandonment of his posture as a
 
 BIG DOCKS ON LITTLE HINGES. 223 
 
 workman was a trifle in itself, but it was destined to in- 
 fluence Katryne seriously in solving the question of 
 Harold Wharton's possible interest in Geertruyd Smidt, 
 the daughter of the man owning the shed near the 
 melon -patch.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 REVELATIONS. 
 
 THE bell of St. Nikolaas' Church in the fort was ringing 
 to notify the little world near it that it was the curfew 
 hour, and steady-going folk must go to bed. This 
 ringing would affect Adam Smidt peculiarly, for though 
 wide-awake before, he would promptly begin to yawn 
 and nod, and looking round drowsily, say good-night to 
 Geertruyd. The curfew hushing the active life of New 
 Amsterdam was respectfully acknowledged in Adam 
 Smidt's steady snoring, soon proceeding from his bed. 
 He was very regular in all his habits, not one, Phaethon- 
 like, to vex, but one to keep the frisky sun, if need be, in 
 order, one to regulate all the freaks of the moon, and 
 he was better than Geertruyd' s sun-dial to tell her if the 
 hour for dinner were near. Clouds might prevent a 
 dial-record ; no storm stopped Adam. * When she heard 
 the clink of a spoon in a tumbler she knew it was eleven 
 o'clock, and the pots and kettles in the big fireplace 
 must be in active operation. 
 
 This particular night of the curfew, Katryne was Geer- 
 truyd's guest. If Hans had been at home that Hans 
 who wanted to bring Lysbet and Katryne under he
 
 REVELATIONS. 225 
 
 might have forbidden this feasting. As it was, they 
 accepted an invitation to " take tea out" at the home of 
 Adam Smidt. Lysbet and Katryne wore big pockets, 
 stuffed with apparatus for knitting. They had patiently 
 knitted till the shadow on the dial had crawled to six. 
 Then they were seated at the table, decked with treasured 
 old china, dotted with tea-cups, each flanked by a big 
 lump of sugar on a little plate, while about the table 
 was breathed a delicious odor of hot waffles and honey. 
 Lysbet, after an abundant repast received in solemn 
 silence, for she was not given to conversation, drew 
 on her hood, and then let Katryne wrap her broad shoul- 
 ders in an ample cloak, the air being chilly. Katryne 
 had permission to stay all night, and at curfew she and 
 Geertruyd retired to the bed whose size and expensive 
 wood and fine furnishings made it a neighborhood won- 
 der. It had rich, elaborate curtains to seclude it from a 
 curious world. These came from Amsterdam. The 
 patchwork quilt came from Geertruyd's brain and Geer- 
 truyd's fingers. At the touch of this cunning workman, 
 such flowers blossomed on that quilt, such fruit ripened, 
 such squares and circles took their position, such stars 
 and suns and crescent moons halted in their orbits, that 
 it is a wonder a guest seeing them before retiring could 
 possibly sleep under such bewildering wonders. As a 
 fact, though, the guest drifted toward the Island of Sleep, 
 not lying on a hard, modern mattress, but on one that 
 was crammed with live goose feathers, while over the
 
 226 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 guest was a light bed of down. Between two such 
 helps to drowsiness sleep was inevitable. 
 
 This night, however, the occupants of the guest-bed 
 showed no disposition to sleep. The tongue of iron in 
 the belfry of St. Nikolaas' Church stilling Adam Smidt, 
 only set the tongues of Katryne and Geertruyd to run- 
 ning. There they lay, their eyes wide open, staring at 
 the ceiling that hung low above them. Geertruyd's 
 gentle heart swelled with a secret she could not shut in 
 to herself. 
 
 "Katryne," she began, "I must tell thee, dear, of 
 something strange. I was spinning day before yester- 
 day, and a young man asked me for water, and said he 
 was hiding from Dirk van Schenkel." 
 
 " Dirk van Schenkel ? Was it one of Dirk's sail- 
 ors 2" 
 
 " He did not say that, but he was afraid of Dirk, for 
 I could see that very plainly, and he wanted to hide 
 himself in our shed, and there he tarried and I did not 
 see him again." 
 
 Geertruyd's voice died away in a plaint sorrowful as 
 that of the wind moaning above a grave burying a dear 
 face never to be seen again. 
 
 " Did Dirk van Schenkel come for him ?" 
 
 " We think so, for a great clatter came up in the 
 night, and father looked out of the window and saw a 
 lot of men who wanted to know if we had seen anybody 
 running off."
 
 REVELATIONS. 227 
 
 11 It would be like Dirk to hurt somebody ; and he 
 insulted that young Englishman who has been here " 
 
 " What young man ?" eagerly asked Geertruyd, who 
 for some time had been suspicious of Katryne's wish to 
 marry her, Geertruyd, rather than any young man. 
 " Katryne, darling, did he have clear, clear blue eyes, and 
 soft, wavy brown hair, and was he erect and rather tall 
 and and did he make thee think of a burgomaster 
 or a patroon ?" 
 
 Behind the soft, rich bed-curtains, how Katryne's 
 voice pealed forth in laughter, like a silver bell striking 
 glad, happy notes ! 
 
 " Oh, thou dear, dear little Geertruyd, how I love 
 thee, and I ought to marry thee ! Yes, he was all 
 that." 
 
 " And he was English, that thy that young man ?" 
 
 " Y-y-yes. Mine? Oh, fie, fie! None of mine! 
 Now let me ask questions. "What became of him, this 
 young man bravely hiding away in thy shed ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I went out there, but 1 could 
 not find him," was Geertruyd's sorrowful confession. 
 
 " Nothing but the cow there ? Ha ha ha !" 
 
 Geertruyd was in a mood too serious for jest. Katryne 
 with ready tact appreciated this, and she changed her 
 front. To herself she said : 
 
 " Ah ! poor Geertruyd, my love, I saw thy young man, 
 I think, and this very day but I will ask some more 
 questions over in Isak Wyckoff's garden this very day,
 
 228 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 near thy father's shed. .Now, let me try thee some 
 more." 
 
 Katryne, then, in her most earnest mood nestled closer 
 to Geertruyd, reached out her hand, felt for some unruly 
 locks that would stray away when Geertruyd herself 
 wished to subdue and powder them, and in the most 
 irresistible tone Katryne began : 
 
 " Now, thou sweet little tulip, tell thy Katryne once 
 more just how he looked every part of him just how 
 he acted, just how he carried his head everything, and 
 then maybe I can tell thee everything Geertruyd may 
 wish to know." 
 
 " How he looked ? 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I told thee, dear." 
 
 " But tell me again, little tulip." 
 
 ' ' He had brown hair, curly. ' ' 
 
 " That is Harold Wharton," thought Katryne, for 
 she had found out his name. " 1 knew as much." 
 
 " Go on, Geertruyd !" said Katryne, almost fiercely, 
 listening so eagerly. 
 
 " Then he was he had every one would say he 
 had a beautiful color in his cheeks " 
 
 " Harold Wharton !" silently declared Katryne, 
 breathing nervously and twisting nervously the curl on 
 Geertruyd' s forehead. 
 
 li Go on !" she ordered, in a loud, eager tone that 
 startled Geertruyd.
 
 KEVELATIOKS. 229 
 
 " And he held his head up and he might be a proud 
 young man, one would say, if he 
 
 " Harold Wharton !" thought this hunter for tracks, 
 this seeker of signs, drawing in her breath as she list- 
 ened. She then let it out in a sharp, quick inquiry : 
 
 " How did he dress ?" 
 
 "When Geertruyd told her, Katryne's heart gave a 
 throb of pain, as she silently owned that Harold Whar- 
 ton was dressed that very fashion when she saw him in 
 Isak "Wyckoff's melon-bed. 
 
 " Go on !" she ordered. 
 
 What a hoarse tone ! Geertruyd's suspicion had been 
 steadily sharpening. She turned quickly to her beloved. 
 " Katryne, dear, a poor little horse can go only so fast." 
 
 " Forgive me, thou angel !" 
 
 " Oh, I will, I will ; but," she whispered, " did thy 
 young man look like my young man, Katryne ?" 
 
 "Oh, how jealous my dear little tulip is ! Thou 
 hast not finished, thou hast not told me everything." 
 
 " Answer me now, Katryne. Not one word more 
 till thou shalt say does he look like thy Englishman ?" 
 
 " I should say he did ; but look look like one 
 means not look as one. Of course not." 
 
 " No," murmured Geertruyd hopefully. 
 
 " Tell me everything," insisted Katryne. 
 
 " Yes, everything to thee. I will tell thee. I I 
 was all alone, and I dressed up, and I said, ' Perhaps if I 
 make a pretence and say if I dress as a bride, it may
 
 230 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 be my husband will come,' and I pray thee, who came, 
 thinkest thou ? Canst thou guess ?" 
 
 " That young Englishman !" affirmed Katryne sternly. 
 She had listened so intently, she had held her breath in 
 as if dead, and now her hand, playing with the lock of 
 hair given to rebellion, twitched it so fiercely that 
 Geertruyd cried out : 
 
 " Ow ow, thou hurtest me, dear Katryne !" 
 
 " I am a brute ! I deserve hanging !" said the hunter 
 for tracks, and rising up, she threw her arms about Geer- 
 truyd, she kissed her repeatedly, and pleaded for for- 
 giveness. 
 
 There was a recess of silence, and the two young 
 women stared at the bed-curtains. Geertruyd suddenly 
 turned to Katryne, and in softest whisper asked : 
 
 " My dear Katryne, art thou here ?" 
 
 " Where should 1 be, on the floor ?" 
 
 " No, no ; near me. Lovest thou thou that young 
 Englishman ?" 
 
 Here Katryne jumped up in bed and then jumped out 
 of it, and then capered about and laughed, and said 
 Geertruyd had lost every sense she had and had gone 
 mad, and if Geertruyd did not stop talking, Katryne 
 would not stop with a madman. She stopped though 
 just the same, and told Geertruyd that marriage was 
 very pleasant, but no one had asked for Katryne's hand, 
 and she must come back to her dear Geertruyd. 
 
 Then the two friends said good-night, and pretended
 
 REVELATIONS. 231 
 
 to go to sleep. They folded their fair hands upon their 
 breasts, and their eyes wide open, they lay as if stricken 
 motionless by a paralytic stroke, and yet breathing 
 heavily, each to make the other think she was fast 
 asleep. 
 
 "Poor Katryne !" thought Geertruyd. "She has 
 not really said she would only marry me, and she did 
 not deny that she loved that young Englishman, and she 
 does then It cost Geertruyd a painful heart-pang, 
 but her strong woman nature was equal to the sacrifice. 
 " If Katryne loves this young man, and if I am a friend 
 of Katryne, a true, true friend, then I will give up to 
 Katryne the one she loves. 1 must not think of him 
 any more. If I see him, I must not speak to him. I 
 must not look at Katryne' s husband. Yes, I will put 
 him out of my thoughts. I must be like a vrouw who 
 sees her husband die, and never sees his face any more 
 after the day the bell of St. Nikolaas' tolls." 
 
 So Geertruyd proceeded to bury her husband. And 
 all this time of intense, painful activity she was breath- 
 ing heavily, as if the Sleeping Beauty herself, in her one 
 hundred years of slumber. 
 
 And Katryne, as she gazed roofward, reflected thus : 
 
 " Poor Geertruyd ! She thought she had found her 
 husband. She is more interested in Harold Wharton 
 than she will allow. How she must have looked in her 
 beautiful colors, waiting for a husband, and then bidding 
 Harold Wharton welcome ! I should have fallen in
 
 232 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 love with her, and I cannot blame anybody else. Oh, 
 dear, if I am her friend I will give up give ' ' 
 
 She stopped thinking, while her heart went like the 
 windmill in the fort. Her look toward the roof was so 
 sharp and hard and persistent, it seemed as if it would 
 make a hole there, and let in a white star curious to gain 
 admittance. Was Katryne ready to give up Harold 
 Wharton ? Why should she hold on to him if Geer- 
 truyd loved him ? What was she to Harold ? To Geer- 
 truyd was she not a friend ? Then why not surrender 
 this beautiful dream, the fair face, the brown locks, the 
 bright, brave look, the she stopped. Her heart was 
 now like a windmill in a gale. She was as much of a 
 woman, though, as Geertruyd Smidt, and she said, " I 
 must not think of him ; I must not speak to him. Oh, 
 I must not look at him !" So Katryne proceeded to 
 bury her husband in a deep, deep grave. All this time 
 of wild commotion in her thoughts, she was breathing 
 heavily, as one of the Seven Sleepers in the cave at 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Would Geertruyd and Katryne hold fast to their vows ? 
 One test soon came. 
 
 The vessel that proudly sailed away from New Am- 
 sterdam, bearing George Martin, was roughly handled 
 at Helle-Gat, and humbly crawled back to her old 
 moorings to spend three days in repairs. George 
 thought, the twilight before he again sailed, he would 
 steal up to the house under whose easterly gable he had
 
 REVELATIONS. 233 
 
 stood and received permission from a fair maid to take 
 shelter in her shed. He wished, too, for one more drink 
 of water. For her sake he had vowed to touch no more 
 the cup in whose depths he had found fetters for his 
 shameful binding. From her hands he would now take a 
 goblet of water, and as she might nervously jar it in the 
 handling, he would see at the touch of this fairy the 
 falling drops change to crystal. 
 
 She saw him coming. " My husband !" she said, and 
 sighed, looking out of an open window. Then she 
 thought of Katryne, and throwing up her hands as if in 
 horror, without one word of recognition she ran away. 
 George saw it all. He did not knock, but turned sadly 
 back to his ship. Katryne's attitude toward Harold is a 
 part of the story of another chapter.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE SAVAGES ABE COMING-. 
 
 " ONLY this, and then Harold "Wharton must " he 
 did not like to say what would come next. As he spoke 
 he was looking at his last bead of wampum. Isak 
 Wyckoff had no more work for him when that melon- 
 patch had been weeded. Harold had then found several 
 chances for work among the lighters in De Heeren Graft 
 and among the shipping in the harbor. He had worked, 
 too, in the tanneries. Occupation then ceased. He 
 was reduced now to his last bead of wampum. 
 
 The money that circulated in New Amsterdam, 
 while it included coin like guilders and stuyvers, was, as 
 a rule, wampum, said to have had its origin in an Indian 
 word meaning white. This was one color of wampum 
 money, but there was also a black kind, and at New 
 Amsterdam it was called zeewan* It is a delicate ques- 
 tion to decide what shall be money, as we in this gener- 
 ation have found out, and to handle this delicate ques- 
 tion roughly is disastrous, as we of this generation also 
 know. It was the periwinkle whose shell supplied the 
 
 * History of New York, by W. L. Stone, pp. 38, 64.
 
 THE SAVAGES AKE COMING. 235 
 
 above white money ; it was " the purple part of the hard 
 clam" that furnished the dark money. As we go to 
 the mines for precious ore, the Indian went to the great 
 sea that he loved and feared, there to find his treasures 
 in clam-beds and periwinkles. Bits of shell were 
 worked into bead form, rubbed smooth and polished, 
 and holes were then drilled. On the sinew of an 
 animal these beads were then strung, and hence came 
 the name of a " belt of wampum." The belts were of 
 various lengths. A belt or string that might be a fathom 
 long was worth at one time four guilders.* A fathom 
 is six feet, supposed to be the distance a man's arms 
 cover when extended. Short arms, though, would make 
 a short fathom, and a long pair of arms would give a 
 long fathom. The Indians did not forget this, and in 
 trading with our Dutch ancestors they knew enough to 
 pick out their tallest men when a long fathom would 
 help their interests. It is said that the famous fur-trader, 
 John Jacob Astor, used by the bushel wampum bought 
 at Communipaw. 
 
 New Amsterdam used large quantities of wampum 
 money. The black was the more valuable, and perhaps 
 the clams knew it, and furnished just enough of the 
 soft, beautiful purple from the walls of their houses to 
 
 * A guilder is worth about forty cents, and a stuy ver two cents. 
 Beaver-skins found use as currency, a skin at first bringing three 
 dollars. At one time an Indian could have got a stuy ver for four 
 wampum-beads. Their value, like that of a beaver, might change.
 
 236 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 keep the value of the white beads down to one half that 
 of the black ones. 
 
 And was there any counterfeit wampum ? one may 
 ask. I am sorry to acknowledge that everywhere bad 
 money follows the good as inevitably as shadow chases 
 the sunlight. Poor wampum was also made, and on the 
 sly it was circulated in New Amsterdam. Even great 
 Europe was interested enough in these little wampum- 
 beads to notice them covetously, and mean enough to 
 make porcelain beads and ship them to New Amsterdam 
 to bother the simple-minded. It threw the Council into 
 great excitement, and they treated the evil as best they 
 knew how. 
 
 It was a black bead to which Harold Wharton's money 
 was reduced, and he mournfully looked at it while he 
 was standing in the market near the fort. 
 
 " I cannot buy much with that," he said, gazing at 
 the smooth little globe in his hand. 
 
 He said this to an Englishman whom he knew, and 
 who was a trader in furs. 
 
 "Not much," replied the man ; " but if thou wait 
 until we have gone to war with the savages, and put to 
 death a few hundred thousand makers of wampum, thy 
 bead may be worth very much." 
 
 " War with savages ?" 
 
 " I take it that thou hast not heard the tidings brought 
 to town this very day." 
 
 " I have heard nothing."
 
 THE SAVAGES ARE COMING. 23? 
 
 " Oh, there is tribulation upon tribulation in what we 
 know as Wiltwyck, up in the Esopus ! The story gives 
 one ugly dreams at night. The settlers were not on 
 their guard, for when the savages knew that Pieter 
 Stuyvesant ' wooden leg,' as they call him was com- 
 ing up to talk with them for they had been very uneasy 
 the savages, in view of * wooden leg's ' coming, showed 
 a friendly disposition to meet him. This deceived the 
 settlers. They left their village to go to their fields. 
 They left behind them happy and prosperous homes, 
 devoted wives, and loving children. When they came 
 back those who succeeded in reaching their homes 
 what a spectacle of bloodshed and fire met their eyes 1* 
 It seems that a large number of savages came into the place 
 between eleven and twelve o'clock, and going about among 
 the families, they played the part of traders. Here they 
 wished to sell a few beans, and at the next house a little 
 maize. What came of it ? I don't believe more than a 
 quarter of the grains had run out of the hour-glass, when 
 the cry was brought by horsemen that the savages had 
 burnt the new village ! Then came the work of fiends. 
 The tomahawk was swung everywhere. The warwhoop 
 echoed loud and shrill. Houses were fired. For the set- 
 tlers rushing in from the fields, a bloodthirsty foe was 
 waiting, and nobody was spared that could be reached. 
 The alarm-bell had been sounded, and the people still alive 
 gathered at tho dominie's house, and others in various 
 
 * O'Callaghan, History of New Netherland, Vol. II., p. 474.
 
 238 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 places. For weapons, they only had cutlasses and a few 
 guns. The dominie's words, though, gave them a face 
 that feared no man. The sheriff, too, counselled them. 
 United they rushed out, and attacking this horde of worse 
 than Midianites, put them to flight. But what ruin the 
 night covered ! Wiltwyck, it is said, lost twelve dwell- 
 ings goodly ones, I venture to say and in the new vil- 
 lage every house was burnt save the mill. There were 
 seventy souls they missed, and of these, forty-five and 
 almost all women and children were carried off captive 
 by these bloody Ishmaelites of the desert. Think of 
 that ! But, verily, there will be plenty of thinking. 
 Heer Director and his Council have met, and a messenger 
 goes up to Fort Orange to raise volunteers, and volun- 
 teers will be raised here. Think of it, young man ! 
 Who goes will have soldier's pay. If maimed, he will 
 have a gratuity ranging from four hundred to one thou- 
 sand guilders good sound money, and not wampum 
 and for six years you pay no tithes and no chimney tax. 
 I verily believe I ought to go myself." 
 
 The two separated, and Harold, walking off, looked 
 at his last bead and said, " He was a cunning man who 
 just spoke to me. He did not say ' Go,' but he might 
 as well have spoken it." He lingered in the market- 
 place thinking. 
 
 That morning Katryne had rushed into the living- 
 room, screaming to Lysbet, " Oh, mother, the savages are 
 coming !"
 
 THE SAVAGES ABE COMING. 239 
 
 " St. Nikolaas defend us !" shrieked Lysbet. 
 
 "What sayest them, vrouw ?" grunted Hans, taking 
 his long pipe out of his mouth. 
 
 " Katryne says the savages are coming." 
 
 " Oh, that is only an evil story." 
 
 " But Isak Wyckoff told me, father, and Isak knows." 
 
 " Bad tidings have come, I dare say, but not just 
 that. 1 I will go to the fort and see how it is." 
 
 His queue was freshly tied by Lysbet, a clean collar 
 was buttoned about his thick, short neck, the wrinkles 
 in his long purple coat of velvet were carefully smoothed 
 out. Hans Schuyler, grasping his cane, started out 
 with an air as important as that of Pieter Stuyvesant. 
 
 " Mother," said Katryne, " let me go to the market 
 to buy some meat, and I may buy some news. " 
 
 " Go, child. Here is a long wampum belt." 
 
 In the market the first person she saw was Geertruyd 
 Smidt's expected husband ! Katryne started back. She 
 was not looking for the young Englishman in the market- 
 place. How Katryne wanted to address him just as 
 Katryne Schuyler felt toward him ! She must look at 
 him, though, as the possession of another, and looking, 
 she bowed stiffly. 
 
 " The savages up the river are full of fight," he re- 
 marked, after bowing and wishing her a good-morning. 
 
 " Full of fight !" she said coldly. " We shall be full 
 of fright if our defenders cannot take care of us." How 
 cold and acetic her tone 1
 
 240 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 "Oh, they can defend." 
 
 " Will they ?" she asked, adding to herself, " I must 
 go away from him or get him away for Geertruyd's 
 sake.'' " If I were a man," she said aloud, " I know 
 what I would do." 
 
 " Oh, what wouldest thou ?" he said half playfully, 
 half seriously, not knowing just how to take this maid 
 of New Amsterdam. " Dost thou know ?" 
 
 " Yes ; if a man, I would not stand idle in the shadow 
 of a fort at New Amsterdam." 
 
 Her reply was so sharp, it surprised him. Pride, 
 that is stronger than love at times, came to his rescue. 
 
 " Indeed !" he said, bowing. " How much the prov- 
 ince loses because thou art not great enough to be a man 
 and a soldier !" 
 
 " If a man, I would do something besides talk of 
 those in danger, and as a woman I shall use well my 
 chances, and not let others be ashamed of my record." 
 
 "The province may think itself happy, lady," said 
 Harold, in a sarcastic tone, but bowing very low, " in 
 having defenders among its women so many, many miles 
 from any sign of the savages." 
 
 Then he turned and moved away. Katryne, too, 
 moved away, and each said, " What a fool I have been !" 
 Love was coming back to mourn over the wounds that 
 had been made. 
 
 Katryne never made such unsatisfactory bargains as 
 that day in the market. There was not much to buy
 
 THE SAVAGES ARE COMING. 241 
 
 besides meat and fish, though the time of ripened vege- 
 tables and fruit would bring heaps of green and gold 
 and crimson from the farms of New Netherland. In 
 buying a little just a roast of lamb that had been 
 brought from a New Haerlem farm what mistakes she 
 made in counting her wampum, and how testily she spoke 
 to the New Haerlem farmer ! She had been so cruel to 
 Harold Wharton ! Her only consolation, she told herself, 
 was that it was something done for Geertruyd's sake. 
 
 On her unhappy way home she abruptly halted and 
 asked herself, "What if Harold Wharton, moved by 
 something she had said, should go to the war ? Was 
 that a kind thing to Geertniyd, to set up her husband as 
 a target for the guns and arrows of savages ?" 
 
 The thorn in Katryne's breast now sank deeper. All 
 that day she was very lonely. That long point curving 
 like a sickle by the gateway of the sea, Sandy Hook, 
 was not more lonely in winter, when the waves broke 
 upon it, than the heart of Katryne Schuyler. When at 
 twilight she toiled up to Johanna's old chamber behind 
 the eastern gable, she gave one look into the attic opposite, 
 and saw the box from which had mysteriously been stolen 
 those papers about one Katryne. When that possible 
 chance for information had been abstracted, how solitary 
 she felt, this girl without certain descent ! To-day she 
 had deliberately cast off a rope binding her to somebody 
 she knew and loved, and with whom she might have had a 
 friendly, proper acquaintance, though another's husband.
 
 242 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Now she had urged him to go to the Indians ! How 
 lonely she felt ! 
 
 She did not know how much she had influenced him. 
 She had dropped a spark on a young man's sense of 
 duty, just ready to flame up into a consecration and send 
 him off. He went away from the market saying : 
 
 " I have strength ; I have time ; I have courage, 
 1 think, and I have no kindred. Somebody must go ; 
 why shouldn't I go ? I shan't have to worry about my 
 food and clothes. But if I went hungry and naked, 
 ought I not to go ? I was told I must be a knight. Is 
 not the knight's call to duty sounding ?" 
 
 One day Katryne heard the rattle of drums. It was 
 not a holiday-rattle, a pompous, lively, but not a hard, 
 sincere beating. Now, every drum-tap was sharp, fierce 
 even, and meant WAR ! The rattle did not have to go 
 far to echo all over New Amsterdam, up and down the 
 water-front, about the Stadt Huys, along De Heeren 
 Graft and De Bever Graft, and De Brug Straat and De 
 Heeren Straat ; and, indeed, everywhere ! That rattle 
 made such a noise in the ears of Katryne Schuyler, who 
 was out on the stoop polishing the brass knocker, that 
 she could polish no more. 
 
 " The volunteers are out ! Heer Director Stuyvesant 
 has been getting them together. They are going off to 
 the war !" she told herself. 
 
 Katryne's eyes flashed with excitement, and forsaking 
 the stoop, she went off to take one more look at the
 
 THE SAVAGES ABE COMING. 243 
 
 volunteers. She was a New Amsterdam woman. She 
 had plucky Dutch blood stirring in her veins. It seemed 
 to boil and bubble now. 
 
 " There they are !" she cried, and began to clap her 
 hands. 
 
 Yes ; and stepping off behind the proudly flaunted 
 Dutch flag, the orange, the white, the blue, were the 
 volunteers. She could not keep back the words : 
 
 " Hurrah for" 
 
 She stopped. Something was the matter with her 
 heart. It suddenly, sharply ached. She pressed her 
 hands over it, and then stared at Harold Wharton walk- 
 ing off so proudly with Heer Director Stuyvesant's 
 volunteers ! Her breath seemed to leave her. The 
 blood left her hands, her feet, and surged through her 
 heart. She stared at the man to whom she had 
 spoken foolish, cruel words in the New Amsterdam 
 market one day, Geertruyd's husband, whom she had 
 sent off to the war with the savages ! Would he not 
 forgive her ? Would he not pity her if he knew how 
 much she had suffered, if he understood what her real 
 reason was in saying those seemingly unkind words ? 
 Would he not turn his head, just look only once ? She 
 pleaded only for a single look. No ; he marched on 
 proudly, stiffly, as any of New Netherland's volunteers 
 there, that day. How serious he looked ! 
 
 He had been doing some serious thinking. Was it 
 about the red wounds the savages might give him, that
 
 244 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 if mutilated he would have a " gratuity ranging from 
 four hundred to one thousand guilders," and an exemp- 
 tion from " chimney tax and tithes" for six years ? 
 Chimney tax ? He had not a chimney to his name ; he 
 had no home ; he had few friends ; his parents were 
 dead ; his Uncle Robert was a blank. Where was that 
 proud Dutch beauty who had sent such fiery words at 
 him, as if shooting arrows of flame at his heart ? Why 
 did he shoot any back ? There may have been a reason 
 for her volley. Somebody may have been talking to 
 her, scolding her, provoking her, and Harold Wharton 
 caught her overflow of feeling. A few kind words from 
 him might have melted her to penitence. Where was 
 she ? He would like to see her once more before going 
 into the wilderness, there to be shot, his body there to 
 be given to bears and wolves. He had twisted his neck 
 round, twenty times, hoping to see her somewhere in 
 the crowd. No, she did not care enough for him to 
 leave her Dutch gables and Dutch kitchen, just to come 
 and look at him once even ! 
 
 He had given up all hope of seeing her, and was 
 marching on mechanically. When he gripped his 
 match-lock it seemed like wood taking hold of wood. 
 Was it a proud gait ? It was due to the drum-beat 
 the pride was in that. As if a wheel in rolling machin- 
 ery, he marched to the water's edge. Like one of the 
 wheels he moved up into one of the vessels waiting to 
 carry off this probable " volunteer" food for savages.
 
 THE SAVAGES ARE COMING. 245 
 
 Like a wheel halting, he stopped and stood on the deck. 
 Suddenly he jerked up his head and stared at a vessel 
 coming down the river. A man leaned over the vessel's 
 rail. 
 
 " Harold ! Harold !" he shouted. He waved his 
 hands frantically. 
 
 " Uncle Robert !" cried Harold. He, too, went to 
 the rail, leaned over it, tried to shout something, but all 
 to no purpose. There was a widening space of water 
 between two men, and signals as well as sounds were futile. 
 
 Harold Wharton was lonelier than ever. 
 
 And Katryne ? She was in that humble God's Acre, 
 near the fort and stretching in the seclusion of its scat- 
 tered graves from De Heeren Straat back to North 
 River. She was near a grave that Uncle Pieter had 
 often said held the dust of his beloved wife, whom Ka- 
 tryne had been taught to call li Aunt Marytje." Ka- 
 tryne loved to visit this grave. When any big cloud of 
 trouble came up into her little sky, filling it with black- 
 ness, she loved to come here. " Aunt Marytje" would 
 understand her and sympathize with her. 
 
 When Katryne picked the first of the violets by Fresh 
 Pond, or the last of the Michaelmas daisies nodding to 
 Owl's Kill that meandered down through Wolfert's 
 Valley to East River, she would bring violets and daisies 
 to " Aunt Marytje." And now she came to this spot 
 to watch from it the last of those receding sails, whose 
 destination was the Esopus.
 
 246 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Aunt Marytje will pity me," she murmured, " while 
 she blames a foolish, wicked girl." 
 
 Her hands were on her heart, trying to press the pain 
 down. 
 
 The North River that hour was very much disturbed 
 by the wind. The ripples flashed in the sun like the 
 scales of a serpent. Out of the north, the mysterious 
 north, where abounded savages and bears and wolves, it 
 seemed as if a great dragon had come, twisting and crawl- 
 ing, suddenly to spring upon and devour the person 
 dearer to her than all others in this world. 
 
 Long did Katryne wait and watch from that grave- 
 mound. Every sail dwindled, every sail faded. 
 
 " Gone !" she murmured. 
 
 Yes ; the last fragment of a sail had vanished, and that 
 word sounded like a note from the bell of St. Nikolaas' 
 Church, throbbing at a funeral. 
 
 She turned away her swollen eyes and looked down at 
 Aunt Marytje's grave. This spot always seemed to have 
 an altitude greater than, that of any other in New Am- 
 sterdam. It was higher than the room at home, where Jo- 
 hanna had prayed morning and evening and slept at night, 
 the room behind the gable, whose steps seemed built for 
 the accommodation of souls like Johanna, with heaven- 
 seeking tendencies. When she died Katryne thought 
 Johanna's soul must have softly stolen out of the dormer 
 window, and then mounted that gable-stairway, and so 
 gained the white stars that it seemed to touch on still,
 
 THE SAVAGES ABE COMING. 247 
 
 clear nights. But Aunt Mary t je's grave was nearer still 
 to heaven. Somehow the angels thronged down to it in 
 flocks, even as they must have come down to the dream- 
 ing Jacob on his Bethel-pillow of stone. Perhaps they 
 now knew when Harold Wharton went away, that some- 
 body in this spot needed to be comforted. 
 
 Though Heaven might comfort, yet the lonely earth 
 claimed Katryne. She turned away from the old grave- 
 yard, and taking any angels of consolation along with 
 her, went to comfort that " poor little tulip," Geertruyd, 
 whose "husband," Katryne said to herself, she had 
 cruelly sent to fight savages, alas !
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TIP THE NORTH RIVER. 
 
 SUMMER had passed, and autumn, as if a decorator, 
 was brightening the land with its rich drapery. 
 
 " Now come, girls," said Adam Smidt, in his slow, 
 measured way to two pretty young women whose heads 
 under their white caps, in emphatic but good-natured dis- 
 sent, were bobbing away like blossoms of the bushy " snow- 
 ball" in the wind. "Now come, girls!" he cried 
 again, wishing to bring those dissenting heads into line 
 with one another, uniting them on something. " How 
 would you like to go up North River and see Fort 
 Orange ? The Bear's Paw is going a vessel that is 
 mostly mine and you can go, too." 
 
 " Oh, let us go, Geertruyd ! What could harm any- 
 body in a bear's paw ?" said Katryne. 
 
 " The bear's paw itself might harm us," demurely 
 objected Geertruyd. 
 
 " Now, we will not have two minds about that, Geer- 
 truyd, but let us go. Let us see what the world is 
 like !" 
 
 Geertruyd made no outward reply to Katryne. To
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 249 
 
 herself she said, " That is Katryne. She always wants 
 to see what is outside." 
 
 Yes, Katryne not only wanted to look over New Am- 
 sterdam's wall, but to journey somewhere. 
 
 Geertruyd's father reflected, " Geertruyd will never 
 go." 
 
 He was right. She was perfectly contented to stay 
 behind New Amsterdam's palisades. There was the 
 floor to be sanded or wool to be spun or the garden to be 
 looked after, and oh, there was the care of the now 
 thrice-beloved cow in the shed, since the day that Geer- 
 truyd's husband or Katryne's one of the two had with 
 the cow occupied the shed. Obstacles piled up like the 
 Alps, and not even a Hannibal or Napoleon could have 
 overcome them. 
 
 Katryne soon had permission from Hans and Lysbet 
 to go to Fort Orange, Adam, as an old friend of Hans, 
 having earnestly pleaded with him. The skipper's wife, 
 Yrouw Brinckerhoff, a friend of the Schuylers, was also 
 going. 
 
 The Bear's Paw was moored at the foot of De Heeren 
 Graft. Does the vessel's name sound odd ? Here is a 
 short list of oddities, names of old Holland sea-travellers 
 the Gilded Otter, the Brownh'sh, the Spotted Cow, the 
 Sea Mew, the Half Moon (Hudson's ship, in which he 
 passed Sandy Hook, 1609), the Orange Tree. 
 
 Skipper Brinckerhoff was almost ready to go. He 
 was in the lofty poop, by the side of Katryne and Vrouw
 
 250 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Brinckerhoff. For the latter had been brought off sev- 
 eral chests and still more bundles, making a goodly pile, 
 and she had piled herself on top, first as guard, and sec- 
 ondly to secure a good outlook for herself. 
 
 On the only wharf the little port was then credited 
 with stood a group of men and women and young folks, 
 waiting for the withdrawal of the Bear's Paw, and then 
 their interest would break out in an explosion of salutes 
 from hands and handkerchiefs, while the most demon- 
 strative were prepared to shout. 
 
 The Bear's Paw let go its hold upon the shore, and 
 the shouts rose and the handkerchiefs fluttered. Slowly 
 drifted away the skipper, his crew, and his passengers. 
 The day was a clouded one. Katryne had heard the rain 
 on the roof in the night, but it held up in the morning. 
 There were masses of dull cloud piled up in the west, 
 but a roof of silver fleece had been given to this sombre 
 structure. Peeping out of rifts in the cloud here and 
 there were eyes of blue sky. The land was green below, 
 but there were no Jersey City and Stevens' Castle and 
 Elysian Fields. It was a rather lonely region, not many 
 signs of life declaring themselves. 
 
 Katryne was alive to the excitement of the departure. 
 She could not keep her seat by the side of the placid, 
 immovable Brinckerhoff. With strange, tender interest 
 she looked back upon the fort and its windmill, the 
 church, the Dutch Company's farm, the green fields 
 about New Amsterdam, waving her hand long as anybody
 
 UP THE XOJITII RIVER. 251 
 
 would respond. In comparison with Henry Hudson's 
 Half Moon of eighty tons, what a majestic vessel was the 
 Bear's Paw, estimated to be of one hundred and fifty 
 tons burden ! If a paw were of such size, what must a 
 whole bear be, represented in one of those enormous 
 galleons that came from Spain to ruin England and Hol- 
 land if possible, but which some of Katryne's nimble 
 and saucy ancestors had boldly tackled and crippled. 
 
 Yes ; perhaps their descendants, and Katryne's distant 
 kindred possibly, might be on the deck of this very 
 Bear's Paw, sailors in red shirts, sailors in blue shirts, 
 sailors in gray shirts. Below each shirt were bulging 
 breeches and long, coarse hose. They were springing 
 about the deck, now halting to hoist a sail, then making 
 fast a rope, or winding it in neat, compact coils. In 
 pauses of work some of those men of the sea, glad to be 
 off, were dancing. No matter if savages and demons, 
 redskins from the fields and goblins from mountain caves 
 might be before them, action was welcomed. Katryne 
 greeted it. She heard with a child's delight the noise 
 of the wind whistling in the rigging. She looked up to 
 the old Dutch flag floating proudly in the breeze, and 
 saluted it with kindling eyes. Then she looked back 
 upon receding, diminishing New Amsterdam. But that 
 attitude, looking back, was no permanent one for Ka- 
 tryne. Looking forward was her occupation. She could 
 not, like Yrouw Brinckerhoff, that respectable post, stay 
 in the stern of the vessel. She must get into the vessel's
 
 252 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 bows soon as possible. She scrambled down from the 
 lofty poop, and climbing over tarry coils of new rope, 
 was flying past the cook's house, when she saw a black 
 face in the door. It was shining with a happy recog 
 nition. 
 
 " Why art thou here ?" inquired the surprised Ka- 
 tryne. 
 
 " Yah ! Wubbit am here to do the cookin', missus." 
 
 It was the old negro in whose sickness Katryne had 
 been the compassionate friend, the old negro who had 
 given Harold Wharton a refuge. 
 
 " Me sees ye bime-by," said the cook, grinning as he 
 pulled his white, woolly head within his warm quarters. 
 
 " And there's the old negro ! I was not more taken 
 back even when I saw Harold Wharton in that closet," 
 reflected Katryne. When would she see Harold 
 Wharton again ? 
 
 From the Indian country to which Katryne had helped 
 send Geertruyd's husband, there had been no return yet. 
 Katryne did not care to tell it to any one, still less to 
 Geertruyd, but she cherished a secret hope that on 
 her voyage she might see or hear about Harold. 
 She would not confess it, for it was a tampering 
 with something forbidden, a trespassing on other people's 
 property, and yet it was there, this hidden hope, and it 
 was a half-defined yet impelling motive in taking this 
 voyage. What if, looking over the rail of the Bear's 
 Paw one day, she might see Harold in the weary yolun-
 
 UP THE NOHTH KIVER. 253 
 
 teer leaning over the rail of another vessel on its way 
 to New Amsterdam ? 
 
 So Katryne, who had at one time been expelling from 
 her bosom all interest in Geertruyd's husband, as she 
 thought, now took it back to her bosom. Ah ! Love 
 had never left its warm nest there. Then there was 
 generous, faulty sinning and repenting, dear Uncle 
 Pieter. He, too, had been absorbed by that dreary, 
 insatiate sponge, the wilderness. He had been heard 
 from once. He was then with the volunteers, fighting 
 the savages, but he had not returned yet. Perhaps she 
 might see Uncle Pieter that Hans Schuyler still alleged 
 to be the thief taking those papers from the attic. 
 Slander ! 
 
 The Bear's Paw was now passing imposing cliffs of 
 stone on the west side of the river. Katryne's attention 
 was arrested at once. She was reminded of an intention 
 to set down in a diary anything that might interest her. 
 Adam Smidt had anticipated this, and presented her 
 with paper and a fine lead-pencil from Holland. 
 
 " I will begin my diary now, and here in the bows," 
 she resolved. 
 
 Adam Smidt's paper was soon in her lap, and the 
 new pencil in her hands. The Bear's Paw was splash- 
 ing along as she wrote : 
 
 " I am on a Bear's Paw for the first time in ray life, 
 and 1 like it. I am going to write down anything of in- 
 terest I may see while sailing up and down North River,
 
 254 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 which some people call after Hudson. We are now 
 passing some strange cliffs on the west banks. They 
 make me think of the palisades at home, our ' wall. ' I 
 should not be surprised to see Jan Jansen Slecht, his 
 gun on his shoulder, going along the foot of that fence 
 of stone. Jan Jansen in that way walks along the wall 
 at home." 
 
 There was a great gray mist ahead, and a kind of gate- 
 way opened into it. Suddenly a canoe darted round a 
 point of land. There was a form in the canoe, undoubt- 
 edly that of a savage, Katryne concluded. It was the 
 only sign of life seen for a long distance. Patter, pat- 
 ter ? Why, it was raining. The silver fleece in the sky 
 was discolored now, as if it had been dragged through 
 the mud. The eyes of blue far up in the heavens, those 
 pretty signs of fair weather, had been bandaged by the 
 rain-clouds. Katryne noticed some kind of a stream 
 bending to the right, and Skipper Brinckerhoff told her 
 it was a creek that led to Haerlem River. 
 
 Where that creek found the name, Spuyten Duyvel, a 
 famous New York historian can tell us. This preface 
 should be made, that Antony van Corlear is said to have 
 been Heer Director Stuyvesant's trusty herald and trum- 
 peter. When the English threatened the very life of 
 Manhattan, Antony was sent out to arouse the country 
 and bring its fighting men to New Amsterdam. He and his 
 trumpet made as good progress as could possibly be made 
 by such an enterprising firm as Antony and his trumpet.
 
 UP THE NOETH RIVEE. 255 
 
 The night was dark and rough with storm when Antony 
 reached the above creek, and also no one was willing to 
 ferry him over. The historian solemnly declares, " For 
 a short time he vapored like an impatient ghost upon the 
 brink, and then, bethinking himself of the urgency of 
 his errand, took a hearty embrace of his stone bottle, 
 swore most valorously that he would swim across, ' en 
 spijt den Duyvel' (in spite of the devil), and daringly 
 plunged into the stream. Luckless Antony ! scarce had 
 he buffeted half-way over, when he was observed to 
 struggle violently, as if battling with the spirit of the 
 waters. Instinctively he put his trumpet to his mouth, 
 and giving a vehement blast, sunk forever to the bot- 
 tom !"* 
 
 Diary. " The skipper says we are twenty miles from 
 New Amsterdam, and Henry Hudson I will say Henry, 
 for poor Uncle Pieter, who calls him such as an English- 
 man here anchored when he was on the river over fifty 
 years ago. And there are those strange rocks standing 
 up like palisades on the west shore, and shutting us in 
 like a fence. They have been following us all the time. 
 I wish they would follow me back to New Amsterdam, 
 and take the place of our wall, for they say the English 
 are coming. Ours has holes big enough to let in a sav- 
 age or a New Englander. Would I keep out a New 
 Englander Harold Wharton, say ?" 
 
 * Washington Irving, History of New York, Book 7, Chap- 
 ter VII.
 
 256 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Diary. " The river is spreading out into a bay. It 
 stretches out like a floor, and down upon it fall the gray 
 curtains of the mist. This is Tappan Meer or Tappan 
 Zee, the skipper says. I am like a bee, I sting him with 
 questions all the time." 
 
 Diary. ' ' Getting late in the afternoon. The skipper 
 says we shall stop and anchor very soon. There are 
 some high mountains, that the skipper says are at the 
 entrance of miles of hills. Oh, how they shoot up ! 
 That one at the left has a big black cloud on its top, and 
 I wish we might get some music out of it." 
 
 The music was to come, for she was looking at old 
 Dunderberg, that Irving says is peopled with imps in- 
 numerable, and are very angry with captains who fail to 
 do them reverence. 
 
 The Bear's Paw came to an anchor in the very pres- 
 ence of Dunderberg, though not a hint of respectful salu- 
 tation to the goblins had Skipper Brinckerhoff given. 
 The crew were scattered about the Bear's Paw, some 
 meditatively leaning over the vessel's rail, others in the 
 bows chatting about the incidents of the voyage. From 
 the cook's house rose the tempting odors of supper. 
 
 Katryne and Vrouw Brinckerhoff were in the lofty 
 stern. The vrouw looked up sleepily from her knitting. 
 She had calculated on several hours of knitting yet, and 
 though that blackness on the goblin mountain made her 
 uneasy, she showed no disturbance, but looking up, 
 looking down, calmly plied her needles. Katryne wished
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 257 
 
 to be as industrious, but her surroundings forbade it. 
 She must look off, aiid her knitting lay untouched in her 
 lap. All the river was hushed, as if waiting for some 
 mighty presence to come down upon it from the hills. 
 Every moment the water seemed to grow blacker and 
 yet more glossy, and the stillness from shore to shore 
 was almost painful. Even the men at the rails and in 
 the bows felt this oppressive stillness and ceased talking, 
 and looked off toward the mountain, the Hill of Thun- 
 der. Its clouded top frowned and glowered and black- 
 ened more and more, the frown descending and deepen- 
 ing, the hush below becoming a long, awful pause of 
 sound, out of which silence looked up the serious, won- 
 dering faces on the deck of the Bear's Paw. All the 
 while Yrouw Brinckerhoff was knitting, though mechani- 
 cally. 
 
 Suddenly out of the growing darkness on Dunder- 
 berg snapped a flash of sharpest light, while a peal of 
 thunder went rolling and crashing amid the mountains, 
 as if a thousand batteries had gone off all at once. 
 
 " Mercy !" shrieked the vrouw, and off from her seat 
 she rolled in the direction of the cabin, leaving her knit- 
 ting work behind her. 
 
 Katryne sprang to her feet and clapped her hands, it 
 was so grand. Again the black cloud on Dunderberg 
 was on tire with wrath, and again the batteries of the 
 storm sent out their awful explosion to roar and roll and 
 rattle, and against the opposing height shatter into count-
 
 258 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 less echoes of battle. The rain was now ruffling the 
 water, and then in fierce, slanting lines, more and more 
 violent, it charged upon the Bear's Paw, as if animated 
 by Irving' s goblins, who, in sugar-loaf hats and short 
 doublets, had come " tumbling head over heels in the 
 rock and mist." 
 
 The decks were quickly cleared, Katryne following 
 Vrouw Brinckerhoff, the crew tumbling into their quar- 
 ters, the cook jamming tight the door of his sanctum. 
 Only the skipper, now in his storm-jacket, stuck to his 
 post, and throwing one arm convulsively about a mast, 
 tried from under his slouching steeple-hat to look out 
 calmly upon the attack of the goblins. Katryne made 
 one attempt to peer out into the storm, but saw nothing 
 save the sheeted rain torn by frequent bolts of lightning 
 that darted down in dazzling fire, while in successive 
 thunder-claps the batteries on Dunderberg seemed to be 
 raking the vessel of the disrespectful skipper from stem 
 to stern. By degrees the thunder ceased to growl. 
 The lightning was only occasional, dulling gradually, 
 then expiring. The goblin forces of the rain retreated 
 to their dark caves in the slopes of the Dunderberg. In 
 the east the clouds rolled away from the sky, and the 
 first of the stars hung out their lanterns in response to 
 one flashing from the deck of the Bear's Paw. Old 
 Dunderberg's head was not entirely clear of cloud. It 
 was hard to tell whether it were only a night-cap pulled 
 over its brow as a protection against the autumn chilli-
 
 UP THE NORTH EIVER. 259 
 
 ness, or a menace to all irreverent skippers that this fair 
 weather was not an abandonment of war, but a short- 
 lived truce. 
 
 Katryne slept soundly that night at the portals of the 
 hills, save that she dreamed of searching after Uncle 
 Pieter and Harold Wharton. She had the right of a kin 
 to do the former, and as Geertruyd's friend she could 
 hunt up Geertruyd's husband. 
 
 She was out upon deck early in the morning. The 
 Bear's Paw was still at anchor, and the river was sleep- 
 ing in its bed between the hills. The frowning moun- 
 tains were silently guarding this crystal pass to the 
 Highlands. 
 
 Diary. " We are sailing slowly among the moun- 
 tains. That one at the right that has a bold front, a look 
 as if it were coming at one, Skipper Brinckerhoff says 
 the Indians call Kittatenny.* I shall never forget this 
 day, this sailing through a dark shadow, then out into the 
 bright sunshine big, big hills everywhere. Skipper 
 Brinckerhoff says the savages believe that the Great 
 Spirit shut up here the rebellious spirits. These moun- 
 tains made their prison-house. Here they groaned away, 
 and there was no help for them. The river could help 
 them though, and one day down it came on its way to 
 the sea. It pressed against this mountain prison-house, 
 
 * It is the mountain, Anthony's Nose ; and how far back this name 
 goes, I know not. Irving's humor makes it sure that the name will 
 go far into the future.
 
 260 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 pressed harder and harder, and swept through it ; yes, 
 away through it, and let the spirits out ! That is worthy 
 of remembrance." 
 
 Diary. " We are still slowly sailing through the 
 mountains. And there is some vessel coming toward 
 us. I can make out its Dutch flag. Its sails are 
 patched, and I can see the sailors leaning over the rail 
 and staring at us. They look very rough. Yronw 
 Brinckerhofi is making the skipper laugh, and I laugh, 
 too, for she says it all has a knock-down look, as if the 
 thing and its crew had been fighting with the savages. 
 Oh, I wonder if Harold Wharton be there ! Now I feel 
 like crying. Ah me ! nobody on that deck looks young. 
 Their faces are old and their beards are gray. They 
 are talking with the skipper, and their voices are old. 
 Did the war kill off the young men, and leave only gray- 
 bearded men ? I must stop thinking. The skipper says 
 he will try to anchor again to-night where Henry Hudson 
 did that September he went up this very river." 
 
 The Highlands were rough and grand and lonely. 
 West Point was to be evolved from the cliffs and woods 
 bristling on the west bank of the river, and from a big 
 heap of Government money. 
 
 The Bear's Paw slipped quietly through the northern 
 gate of the Highlands, and Katryne looked back on the 
 fascinating array of hills. 
 
 " They are going, Vrouw Brinckerhoff !" she ex- 
 claimed. " No, they are coming !"
 
 UP THE XORTH RIVER. 261 
 
 It seemed as if the hands of cunning spirits had strung 
 a curtain of misty blue across the river, and this they 
 were lowering and raising, the mountains coming into 
 outline and then shrinking away. After a while the 
 hawser of the vessel was heard clanking down into the 
 water, the Bear's Paw sinking an iron claw upon the 
 bed of the river and gripping it till morning. 
 
 Katryne sat long on deck, and watched the mountains 
 fade away. That day she had seen the mist with its 
 long, slender brushes of gold, then purple, then black, 
 wipe all away our Storm King, Break Neck, the Beacon 
 Range, and their allies, that had seemed a little while 
 before so imperishable. Katryne at bedtime went to 
 sleep thinking of Geertruyd's husband, possibly in the 
 shabby vessel with torn sails, and she dreamed that he 
 turned into Katryne's lover. 
 
 Diary. " Another day has been with us for some 
 time, and a goodly breeze is pushing us along. Skipper 
 Brinckerhoff says that big rock, where the cedars are 
 growing, is the Duyvel Dans Kamer.* Brave Henry 
 Hudson, when he came up this river, saw the savages 
 dancing there." 
 
 Diary. " We are off the Esopus now, and 1 am shiver- 
 ing. We are getting nearer and nearer to the place 
 where the settlers had the awful fight with the savages, 
 and where the brave volunteers went. I wish I could 
 
 * The dance-chamber or hall.
 
 262 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 see something or hear something. Oh, where is my 
 dear Uncle Pieter, and where is Geertruyd's darling and 
 my friend ? The skipper thinks we will not stop here, 
 but go on. Shall I never know anything about the 
 dreadful war ? We are armed, if the savages come." 
 
 Diary. " We have seen a very strange thing ; it was 
 a savage on a rock ! He waved his hand. It was dread- 
 ful to see him so near the Esopus. Skipper Brincker- 
 hoff seized a gun and aimed at him. Vrouw pulled on 
 one side and I pulled on the other and would have held 
 him in, but he fired. It is a wonder he did not hit us. 
 He did not hit the savage, for he ran like a deer. 
 He did though hit a water-cask near the rail, for the 
 water ran out. That poor savage saluting us, and then 
 somebody firing at him ! Who wonders that they act 
 so when we have been doing that thing so often ?" 
 
 The wind refused to blow, and the Bear's Paw came 
 to an unwilling halt until the next day, and then the 
 wind was accommodating again. 
 
 Diary. " Oh, what is it over there in those clouds 
 piled up in the west ? They look as if something behind 
 were going to break through them and come in sight." 
 
 Her next act was to clap her hands in her impulsive 
 way, a great delight shining in her eyes. The some- 
 thing about to break through the clouds was a range of 
 beautiful mountains of blue, just their royal heads show- 
 ing. The clouds were masks, one moment resting upon 
 those monarchs, then lifting, lowering, lifting, till finally
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 263 
 
 a great wind must have blown upon the masks and 
 swept them away, for there stood out in imposing but 
 gentle beauty, the Catskills ! 
 
 Diary, " Oh, there is something that on the moun- 
 tains looks like a big giant lying down, and the skipper 
 says he has made out the giant's forehead, where one 
 peak rises up, and another peak is his knee, and so on. 
 He says the savages tell a story about the Great Spirit 
 who punished a wicked giant by making him lie there, 
 and changing him into that form of stone." 
 
 If Katryne could have heard Henry Abbey's lines, 
 she would have appreciated them fully. One section 
 runs off thus : 
 
 " And whenever you sail along 
 By the Kaatskills high and grand, 
 You may see the form of him, 
 The monster that, moons ago, 
 The Manito changed into this. 
 He lies with his face to the sky, 
 You can mark his knees and breast, 
 And forehead lofty and large : 
 But his eyes, they say, are lakes, 
 Whose tears flow down in streams 
 That seam and wrinkle his cheeks, 
 For the fate that he bears, and regret 
 For the evil he did, as he stalked 
 In the sleep, or night, of the moon, 
 Moons on moons ago." 
 
 Diary. " The skipper says the Indian name for the 
 mountains means 'mountains of the sky.' I cannot
 
 264 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 take my eyes off from my hills up in heaven, as I call 
 them. Yes, 1 can and I must, for how fair are those 
 colors that beginning at the river follow one another, and 
 how they draw me ! The water is a shining gray. 
 Then comes the grass of the shores, the autumn grass, 
 and then along a low stretch of land the bright colors of 
 autumn are burning, and beyond the lowland are my 
 hills in heaven. I had been in wonder why the shores 
 that had been so high were now running so low, and 
 now I see that God is letting the land run low that we 
 may see beautiful things beyond. As 1 go through life, 
 and I get to the low places, may my Heavenly Father 
 give me the eyes of faith, that I may look higher and see 
 my hills up in the sky." 
 
 So the little band of river-travellers went on and on. 
 The country had changed, and the banks were tame, but 
 here and there appeared bits of bewitching scenery, soft- 
 ened by some veil of river mist, the veil growing finer, 
 more and more delicate, till some point of land would be 
 turned, and then hard and unyielding it would go like a 
 plough through the delicate veils and crush all their 
 meshes forever. 
 
 It seemed to Katryne as if she were going to the end 
 of the world, but there came an hour when a sailor ex- 
 claimed, " There is Rensselaerswyck !" How good it 
 was to see this settlement, over which Patroon van Rens- 
 selaer watched zealously and jealously ! She was still 
 more interested when Vrouw Brinckerhoff said to her :
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 2G5 
 
 " Katryne, there is Fort Orange, if thou mayst wish 
 to see it." 
 
 She said it in her placid, stolid way, as if to see Fort 
 Orange were a daily event, and might not concern 
 Katryne. 
 
 " If thou mayst wish to see it 1" Again and again 
 she had been crooking her neck to see it. Child of New 
 Netherland as she was, it made her blood leap to see a 
 Dutch flag flying above the walls of a fort.* 
 
 Diary. " This is a curious place. All round the vil- 
 lage goes a stout fence of planks and palisades, and that is 
 to keep off the savages. I hear about them all the time 
 up here. It is ' Mohawk ! Mohawk ! Mohawk ! ' or 
 ' Down at the Esopus, Esopus ! ' There are gates in 
 the palisades, so that I can get out when once 1 have 
 been in. Skipper Brinckerhoff says he would have 
 Vrouw Brinckerhoff and me to stay aboard the Bear's 
 Paw, for he is afraid of the small-pox ; but, alack ! 
 alack ! the small-pox is not afraid of him, and may come 
 where he is.f 
 
 * Standing, one recent autumn evening, in an Albany square, with 
 what interest did I read a tablet inside an iron fence saying that 
 there was the northeast bastion of Fort Orange ! 
 
 f Fort Orange had many blows from this old-time scourge. This 
 is the testimony in a letter that Vice-director La Montagne wrote from 
 Fort Orange, November 4th, 1663 : " You have heard, no doubt, of 
 the doleful situation of this place as respects the small-pox, which 
 is still daily increasing. I learned yesterday that on the hill fifteen 
 persons were so affected by the disease that they could not afford
 
 266 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " I have been in the church. It is built like a block- 
 house, and has three cannon on top, and it has loopholes 
 for guns. That means that savages might come from 
 some quarter, and the settlers are ready for them. They 
 tell about our good Dominie Megapolensis when he was 
 here. He went among the savages, and preached to 
 them. They have what are called castles, a fence of 
 palisades, and their houses are inside. The dominie did 
 not fear the savages.* Then I have heard about his 
 kindness of heart to the Jesuit missionary, Isaac Jogues, 
 when he escaped from the Mohawks to Fort Orange. 
 I am constrained to say that the Lord's people ought to 
 be kind to one another. If we only knew one another 
 better and loved one another harder, then those in the 
 old Catholic Church and we who are of the Reformation 
 
 any relief to one another. At Willem Teller's seven are afflicted 
 with it, and six in my family, my negro being the last. Twelve 
 persons have died within eight days, chiefly children. The Lord 
 God help us, and stop its farther progress, and save you all from 
 such a foul, putrid disease." (Albany Records, vol. vi., fol. 409.) 
 
 * In his " Short Sketch of the Mohawk Indians," etc. (1644), Rev. 
 Johannes Megapolensis speaks of his familiar intercourse with the 
 children of the forest, for whom he faithfully toiled. " We go with 
 them into the woods, we meet with each other, sometimes at an 
 hour or two's walk from any houses, and think no more about it 
 than if we met with a Christian. They sleep by us, too, in our 
 chambers, before our beds. I have had eight at once, who lay and 
 slept upon the floor near my bed, for it is their custom to sleep only 
 on the bare ground, and to have only a stone or a piece of wood 
 under their heads."
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 267 
 
 would not have trouble, though we differ. There is 
 Geertruyd ! Verily, we differ much, but we love one 
 another much, and we care less for our differences. Yes, 
 up here it is the * savages ' about whom I hear so very 
 much talk. They talk about them in the shops and out on 
 the short streets that go to the palisades, and when they 
 go to the church in the block-house. I might fear 
 to go home in the Bear's Paw, but the Bear's Paw is 
 armed, and Skipper Brinckerhoff grows red in the face 
 like a turkey-cock, and struts round and is very dreadful, 
 when anybody says anything about attacking him on the 
 river. We leave for the Manhattans* to-morrow, if the 
 wind is not in our way, and if there are no savages from 
 the Esopus to come up the river and trouble Fort 
 Orange. It is doleful to hear about them." 
 
 The Bear's Paw was finally swung round and pointed 
 
 * This was a common way of speaking of the settlement at New 
 Amsterdam, or it might be titled the island of the Manhattans. 
 Over the origin of this term, Manhattans, a dispute has arisen, of 
 course, for what subject has not its two sides ? Fortunate is the 
 subject that has only two. E. G. Brooks, in " The Story of New 
 York," p. 15, says : " For it was called Manhattan, Manhates, Mona- 
 toes, Monados. And ' monadoes ' is a Spanish word, signifying the 
 ' peace of drunken men. ' " As Monados he calls attention to the 
 fact that this island appears on the earliest maps of American dis- 
 covery. E. B. O'Callaghan, in his " History of New Netherland," 
 vol. i., p. 47, speaks of the "fierce Manhattoe or Manhattans, 'a 
 cruel nation,' who held their council fires on an extensive island im- 
 mediately south, which, retaining their name, was afterward called 
 Manhattans. ' '
 
 268 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 toward New Amsterdam. As the voyage went on, and 
 especially as the Esopus was once more approached, the 
 wonder grew in Katryne' s breast that not a footprint of 
 Uncle Pieter's presence, not one of Geertruyd's husband, 
 had been found. This, though, was not strange in a coun- 
 try where intercommunication was so difficult. When 
 the war was laid aside in the autumn, the advantage was 
 with the Dutch. Was it strange that it should be so ? 
 War between the weaker and the stronger will not show 
 advantages to the weaker. Peace was finally made in 
 the spring. 
 
 Uncle Pieter and Harold did their part in the war 
 bravely, and helped one another to bear the burdens of 
 the campaign. They promptly had been attracted to 
 each other. The English tongue was the first magnet 
 of attraction, and then Uncle Pieter liked " the boy" 
 behind the English tongue, and "the boy" liked the man. 
 A second magnet was Katryne Schuyler. We like to 
 hear our beloved talked about, and Harold's chance use 
 of her name as a patriotic maiden of New Amsterdam 
 (did she not urge him to go to the war ?) brought out 
 Uncle Pieter's opinion, even as a magnet will draw 
 filings of steel out of a dust-heap. 
 
 Then thou dost esteem her highly, sir ?' ' asked Harold. 
 
 " Esteem her highly ? I love that girl. I tell thee, 
 lad, I know of no person that I love so dearly. She 
 has been the making of me."
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 269 
 
 On the other hand, Uncle Pieter saw that Harold 
 thought highly of Katryne. 
 
 " I think, lad, that Katryne Schuyler has a good 
 friend in thee," declared Uncle Pieter. 
 
 " Oh, she she she is patriotic. Yes, I like the 
 maid." 
 
 Common worship at a beloved shrine brought these 
 worshippers together, and their difference in years for- 
 bade a separation into rivalry. From the moment of 
 Harold's confession to Uncle Pieter he took Harold under 
 his soldier's doublet. Did Uncle Pieter secure any dainty 
 bit of food ? Harold must share it, though it might be 
 only a roasted ear of corn. Did Uncle Pieter know 
 anything exciting ? He must halve his knowledge with 
 Harold. Was there anything special that Uncle Pieter 
 was anticipating? Harold must anticipate it. If Uncle 
 Pieter had any advantage by way of equipments, he 
 must divide that advantage with Harold. Then Uncle 
 Pieter assumed a fatherly right to tell Harold about a 
 soldier's life, how to endure its hardships, how to avoid 
 its mistakes, how to become familiar with its daily routine 
 of duties ; and all the time Katryne was the special 
 bond to tie the two together. 
 
 So the two went into a fight side by side. The sav- 
 ages fought bravely. One that Harold sought out for 
 his bravery had sharp, big eyes of black, and he was in 
 more places than one. Harold finally in his thoughts 
 called the savage "eyes." He lost sight of him, and
 
 270 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 waged war with an indiscriminate mass. Suddenly that 
 glaring enemy seemed to jump up out of the ground, and 
 planting himself before Harold, swung fiercely his cruel 
 tomahawk. Harold, though, could not seem to see the 
 tomahawk or the arms brandishing it, or the great bulk 
 of flesh behind it, but everything became an eye. It ab- 
 sorbed into itself the very forest, the tumultuous fight, 
 the sky above, the earth below, and down before the 
 impetuous charge of this eye went Harold. Down into 
 a pit of darkness he tumbled. When he awoke he was 
 a captive. Around him were savages. A squaw came 
 up to him and tenderly bandaged wounds that he had 
 received in his head and in his breast. Then came days 
 of pain and servitude and weary marching. Where he 
 was exactly he knew not, but he had reason to think he 
 was not far from the North Kiver. He knew a few 
 Indian words, and what he heard led him to that con- 
 clusion. If he could only reach the river, some vessel 
 might pick him up. He was, though, growing weaker 
 rather than stronger, and he was led to think that his cap- 
 tors were asking themselves what they had better do 
 with him. They would look earnestly at him and then 
 solemnly jabber away. He thought one man wanted to 
 kill him, but the squaw who bandaged his wounds always 
 looked kindly, and he believed that she wanted to save 
 him. 
 
 When one morning he found food and water near 
 him, but no sign of a savage was anywhere to be seen,
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 271 
 
 he knew that lie had been abandoned, and some one's 
 kindness had left him sufficient food for the present at 
 least. If the squaw, she had put a space of several days 
 between him and the approach of starvation. What 
 was to be done ? He could not walk, but could he not 
 crawl ? And, hark ! What did he hear ? A nigh-at-hand 
 brook was tinkling out its music, and where did the 
 brook go ? It marched to the sound of its own cheerful 
 music, perhaps to meet some stream that fell into the 
 river Hudson had made known to the world, and per- 
 haps this same cheerful forest-stream went to Hudson's 
 river by a course of its own. He followed the stream 
 for two days, crawling, wearily dragging one foot after 
 the other. Toward the close of the second day he fell 
 over a rocky ridge, and when an old wound was struck 
 he thought it was a death-blow, for the wound opened, 
 and the flowing of the blood so weakened him that he 
 sank into a long swoon. When he awoke, day was gild- 
 ing the tree-tops, and the bright, warm touch of the light 
 was upon the brook too and the worn young soldier near 
 its bank. His wound had ceased bleeding. He ate spar- 
 ingly of the small allowance of food he had been carry- 
 ing along, drank of the brook, and cautiously crawled 
 on. He was very weak. His stages of resting were 
 longer and far more frequent than his stages of crawling. 
 Toward sunset, through the thinning forest burst upon 
 him the sight of a widening river. He was on a rise of 
 ground, and looking down he could see where the brook
 
 272 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 that had guided him fell into the river and found rest 
 after its persistent journey. He, too, must get to the 
 river, though from this outlook down to the shore must 
 be a weary little journey ; and there was a vessel com- 
 ing ! No, it was halting, the sails were tumbling, and 
 he heard the clank of anchor-chains falling. Anchor- 
 chains never had specially interested him before, but 
 they now made music sweeter than all the instruments 
 he had ever heard. If he could only reach that vessel 
 somehow ! He must, he would get to it. 
 
 The excitement of hope so thrilled him that he forgot 
 his weakness, and he went on impulsively, carelessly, 
 only to fall again and see his wounds bleeding once 
 more. He stanched them as well as lie could, then 
 struggled forward, only to be conscious of a growing 
 weakness that made him halt when half-way down to 
 the brink of the river. Advance was hopeless. Pain 
 as well as weakness stopped him. Oh, it was hard to 
 be in sight of rescue and yet fail and die ! Did nobody 
 see him ? Could not help from any quarter get to 
 him ? Did not his mother above look down and pity ? 
 What was it she said about praying for him ? In that 
 other world, did she pray ? If so, would not prayer be 
 of some avail ? Would he have help through her if 
 he did the only thing now left him, if he raised his 
 voice and tried to call for aid ? 
 
 " May my mother's prayer be heard !" he murmured, 
 and then he shouted, " Help-p-p !"
 
 UP THE NORTH EIVEB. 273 
 
 There was no response, unless the wind moaning ere it 
 died with the sun, could be said to have responded. He 
 called once more, " Help p-p !" Then he lay in still- 
 ness, his face turned toward that waiting vessel, and he 
 saw what did his eyes rest upon ? It was a woman's 
 form leaning over the rail, and looking across the glassy 
 waters toward his resting-place ! Did his mother lean 
 in that attitude ? Did Katryne Schuyler sometimes 
 bend over in that fashion ? Did this woman suddenly 
 throw up her hands and wave them as if in response, 
 then rush away ? He saw nothing more. 
 
 The Bear's Paw, having carried a miscellaneous cargo 
 to Fort Orange, had swung about, heading for New 
 Amsterdam, purposing to enrich it with its contribu- 
 tion of skins of animals and produce of the fields like 
 grain. Katryne enjoyed the trip, but she was burdened 
 with disappointment, because she had heard nothing of 
 the two soldiers who went to the Indian war and took 
 so much of Katryue Schuyler with them. 
 
 One more day had passed away like other days, bring- 
 ing the sight of a stately river, of beautiful but unculti- 
 vated lands, and over in the western sky, the Catskills 
 piled up their azure suggestions of the King's palaces. 
 The sun was now going down ; and how still it was 
 along the river ! To-day the whistle of a rushing steam- 
 boat or the roar of railroad trains will make the river 
 valley noisy ; then there was the stillness of a tomb
 
 274 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 not its gloom though. The clear light in the west looked 
 cold, but it turned to warm gold the surface of the river. 
 With this splendor resting on the surface of the river 
 came a stillness like that in the Apocalypse, when for a 
 half hour the glories of the heavenly place seemed to 
 bring a hush of wonder. How still it was down amid 
 this glory on the river's face ! 
 
 Katryne, leaning over the side of the vessel that had 
 anchored for the night, watched the splendor, fascinated 
 by its beauty, while appalled by the almost preternatural 
 hush. The crew were below. Skipper Brinckerhoff 
 had a lonely post up in the stern. Katryne leaned over 
 the rail and watched. So still it was, it seemed to her 
 as if she could have heard the breathing of any living 
 thing upon the Bear's Paw. A fish leaped out of the 
 water and with a splash fell back into the river, and it 
 sounded more like the crash of a boulder falling from a 
 near mountain-slope. Suddenly Katryne sprang to her 
 feet and threw back her head, while her eyes flashed 
 and her hands were held out in horror. 
 
 * ' "W hat is that ?" she asked. ' ' Somebody in trouble ? 
 Somebody calling ? It sounds like Harold Wharton !" 
 
 There are moments, it may be in the night, when to 
 our strangely awakened senses it may seem as if we 
 could see miles into the darkness, or could hear beyond 
 Time and into eternity. Katryne was listening. She 
 was sure she heard a second call from the shore. 
 
 Skipper Brinckerhoff was stolidly smoking. She went
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 275 
 
 to him and spoke so abruptly that it startled him. He 
 dropped his pipe, and whenever before had he parted so 
 readily from his beloved while dirty idol ? 
 
 " Skipper Brinckerhoff, there is somebody in trouble 
 on the shore. Wilt thou not launch a boat ?" 
 
 " I did not hear anything. Oh, a fish leaped out of 
 the river." 
 
 " I heard somebody calling for help." 
 
 The skipper shook his head. " Put off in a boat ? 
 Not to chase fireflies." 
 
 " Skipper Brinckerhoff, this vessel is mostly owned by 
 the father of my dearest friend, Geertruyd Smidt, and he 
 invited me, and if thou hast not a boat launched thou wilt 
 want a vessel to launch one from." She straightened 
 up, and looked and commanded like a queen. 
 
 " Oh, yah yah !" growled the skipper. He gave 
 orders for the launching of the boat. But who of the 
 crew would go ? Somebody looked ashore and mut- 
 tered " Savages !" and then nobody stirred. 
 
 "I will go alone," said Katryne proudly. "I can 
 row/' 
 
 She climbed over the vessel's rail. 
 
 " Ho, missus, me go, too !" It was the big cook, 
 and he dropped promptly into the boat. " Me row, 
 you paddle," he said, taking the oars from Katryne. 
 
 Those on board the Bear's Paw silently watched the 
 boat. Its little crew had one sympathizer, Yrouw 
 Brinckerhoff.
 
 276 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Heer, mynheer," she cried, " see him row !" 
 
 Such long, powerful strokes as the cook took ! 
 
 " See her paddle !" cried the vrouw. 
 
 Katryne paddled like an Indian squaw. 
 
 Skipper Brinckerhorf only growled : " A chase after 
 Skipper Hudson's goblins !" 
 
 The boat was beached. 
 
 " Me go and hunt," said Wubbit, as they stepped 
 from the boat. 
 
 " No, no, I thank thee ; thou shalt wait !" 
 
 She held him back and then went forward alone, 
 more like a hound eagerly searching for a trail, every 
 sense projected far into the forest, eyes searching, ears 
 strained to catch every sound. It was not, though, the 
 instinct of an animal that was aroused ; it was the love 
 of a warm, eager heart, moving out into the wilderness 
 to seek the beloved only. The land, though, was as 
 empty as it was still. Oh, was he not to be found any- 
 where ? She stopped. She lifted her face toward the tree- 
 tops, and then, gathering up all the powers of her voice, 
 sent out a clear, strong, impassioned call, " Har-r-r-old !" 
 
 Hark ! She bent forward to listen. Her eyes seemed 
 to be pressing from their lids. Her ears quivered in 
 the effort of hearing. Suddenly a late songster dropped 
 into the depths of that sea of stillness a final, sweet note 
 of the twilight, and an envious crow responded, " Caw, 
 caw," and Katryne became conscious that a brook some- 
 where was purling over the rocks.
 
 UP THE NORTH KIVEE. 277 
 
 " Oh, bush !" her pleading face seemed to say to the 
 bird of the twilight, to the envious crow, to the purling 
 stream, " bush ! hush !" And then once more she 
 called, pitifully, pleadingly, " Har-r-r-old !" 
 
 How she listened ! She bent forward, her hands wav- 
 ing as if to still every interrupting bird and brook, and 
 there came a faint, human cry. She flew as if winged. 
 She ran as if for life her life but really for his life, and 
 there he was, almost prostrate, but half crouching, as if 
 he would crawl again. She bent down to him. She 
 raised him as if a child in her arms. He did not have 
 the weight he once had, and then there was a strength 
 that came to her with the need of the hour. 
 
 " It will be given to me," she said, looking up through 
 the red and golden woods to the blue sky. 
 
 She had not carried her charge far when the cook met 
 her. 
 
 " Lemme hab him, missus." 
 
 She shook her head and motioned to him to move on. 
 Through the autumn woods she slowly went, the red 
 and yellow leaves as they fell dropping a shining crown 
 on this unconscious heroism. At the edge of the forest, 
 as the river opened before her feet, she yielded her 
 burden to the arms of the cook, and he laid the young 
 soldier gently in the stern of the boat. The oars were 
 taken up, but not the paddle. She rested Harold's 
 head in her lap, caressing the brow once bronzed by the 
 sun, but pale now from wasting sickness. She lifted
 
 278 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the heavily drooping locks from his eyes, and again 
 gently stroked his forehead. 
 
 " Thou art with friends who love thee," she began to 
 say, but he opened his eyes in grateful recognition when 
 she was about to say " friends." Startled, she now said 
 this in the tones of the professional nurse, and stopped. 
 He closed his eyes, and was he not asleep ? 
 
 " Poor fellow, poor fellow !" she murmured, and 
 there was nothing professional in this. It was a tone 
 tender and sympathetic, and it took on a shade of ad- 
 miration as she whispered, " Brave, brave fellow, we 
 all praise thee." 
 
 She could say this to one asleep, but he, on the other 
 hand, was so secretly conscious of every word and tone, 
 that not for the world would he have opened his eyes 
 and startled out of her eyes the love-look there, timid as 
 a fawn's glance. He was hers, hers, hers, wholly and 
 forever. She felt so while he was asleep. 
 
 The transfer from the boat to the Bear's Paw was 
 quickly made. In the morning it lifted its worn sails to 
 the breeze, saluting it, and moved down the river. 
 
 All the voyage to Katryne was most memorable. 
 Through the dearest memories of her life henceforth 
 wound the current of a beautiful river, now running 
 between solitary, imposing highlands, then broadening 
 out and flowing between low-lying shores. But though 
 the river had ever a lonely look, there went with it a 
 sense of delightful companionship with one to whom she
 
 'SHE BENT OVER HIM." (Page 277.)
 
 UP THE NORTH. RIVER. 279 
 
 had really given her soul, though there was no recogni- 
 tion of any such surrender. She did not allow it to her- 
 self, as the friend of Geertruyd Smidt, and yet actually to 
 look at him, to touch him, to bathe his brow, to care for 
 his wounds, to bring a fresh pillow and lay it beneath his 
 weary head, was like the taking in of delicious drafts 
 that met and satisfied a thirst within her soul. And he 
 was content thus to be nursed. 
 
 Ko, one tiling more he craved, some spoken assurance 
 that she loved him. She suspected it, noticing less what 
 he said than the language which is conveyed by the 
 eyes. As Geertruyd's friend, could she permit it ? He 
 might love with his eyes, but not with his tongue. 
 
 " Dost thou know how much I think of " he had 
 begun to say, but she laid a hand upon his lips. How 
 delightful it was to feel the pressure of that hand ! It 
 was Love's lifting of its goblet to his lips, only to be 
 withdrawn, for she added : 
 
 " Thou must not talk, for thou art yet in the hospital." 
 
 This was the remonstrance of prudence, and he sub- 
 mitted. Within a few hours he began to talk in the 
 same way, when she suddenly interposed the declaration 
 that she must leave him and find something. She would 
 return when she had found it. A third time he began, 
 and made a plea : 
 
 " May I say something ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " I want to tell thee how much I love "
 
 280 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 She held up her hand as if staying him. "Would Ka- 
 trjne take advantage of circumstances and steal away 
 the love of Geertruyd's husband ? 
 
 She abruptly rose, and without a word of explanation 
 left the cabin, for she could find no excuse within, and 
 without there was no object that she could have said that 
 she needed and must hunt up. When she did come 
 back, there were tears of disappointment in his eyes. 
 He attributed both oddity and cruelty to her. He did 
 not know that for several minutes she had been trying to 
 wipe dry her sympathetic eyes and give them a cold and 
 unyielding look, as became the eyes of Geertruyd's 
 friend. And so they moved toward New Amster- 
 dam. 
 
 Katryne's first sight of it was early in the day. She 
 had gone out to "hunt up the morning," as she told 
 Vrouw Brinckerhoff, so long it seemed in coming. She 
 faced the east. A bank of mist prevented the good 
 look at the sun that she had anticipated. All along the 
 eastern horizon there was a broad fold of dull lavender. 
 Suddenly through that mass of vapor some distance 
 above the horizon, glowed a coal. It was as if some one 
 raking in last night's grate should reach a bit of the 
 hidden fire, and it shines through its ashy envelope. 
 
 In the cloud-heap, changing more and more in color 
 till it became like an ash-heap, that one coal was very 
 insignificant, just a tiny red coal. It sharpened and 
 then grew ; it lengthened ; it heightened ; it swelled
 
 UP THE NORTH RIVER. 281 
 
 into a semi-sphere of fire ; it was soon a disk of clear 
 flame in a warm, reddish sky. 
 
 Katryne was so much interested in this scene that she 
 had not looked at the shore under the cloud-bank, and 
 there she saw suddenly a windmill. She clapped her 
 hands ; she gave a faint scream ; she saw, too, a flag 
 flying from a staff, folds of orange, white and blue ! 
 
 " Oh, the fort, the fort ! Dear old Fort Amster- 
 dam !" she exclaimed, and then the roofs of New Am- 
 sterdam quickly came in sight, the gables with steps 
 climbing skyward. Could she see her beloved ga- 
 ble ? 
 
 Compared with the settlements up the river, this city 
 by the harbor front was so grand ! Farther along she 
 saw the shipping, and how imposing was its array of 
 eight ships by the side of the two sloops found at Fort 
 Orange ! Then when, in the first boat load, Katryne, 
 Harold, and Yrouw Brinckcrhoff went ashore, Katryne 
 gave a glance up the canal in De Heeren Graft, and 
 there she saw six barges loaded with goods from the out- 
 side world pressing up toward the warehouses and shops 
 of New Amsterdam. All the commerce of the world 
 would soon be begging for a chance to trade with New 
 Amsterdam. Above all things else, this was home. 
 Katryne loved New Amsterdam. She went to her room 
 behind the gable of black and yellow bricks. But 
 where did Geertruyd's husband go ? He told Katryne 
 that Uncle Pieter had informed him where his Uncle
 
 282 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Robert had lived, and that he owned the house in which 
 Harold had taken refuge in New Amsterdam. 
 
 " I go to my uncle's house, my Uncle Robert's ; and 
 is it not strange ? The old slave there, our cook, is my 
 uncle's, and that name of the cook, which is so queer, 
 Wubbit, is only the name of my Uncle Robert, bor- 
 rowed by his servant and rounded down. Wubbit will 
 take care of me until my uncle gets back from Boston, 
 where he has gone. Yes, Wubbit will care for a sick 
 soldier. ' ' 
 
 " May I not care for thee, too, mynheer ?" broke 
 from Katryne's lips. Then her face colored at the 
 thought of her impulsive interest in Geertruyd's hus- 
 band, and she wanted to recall the words. What a 
 traitor to her trusting friend ! 
 
 " Oh, do care for me !" was Harold's plea, de- 
 lighted to have this one draft of hope to lessen his 
 thirst. 
 
 And Geertruyd ? She had gone in the lumbering 
 family-ark across the island of the Manhattans to New 
 Haerlem, there to be absent a long, long while, nurs- 
 ing sick relatives in that sleepy little nook. So Ka- 
 tryne, in loyalty to Geertruyd, was obliged to take a 
 friendly interest in the sick soldier in the care of Wubbit 
 the negro.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IN THE CHIMNEY. 
 
 DECEMBER had come, bringing two festivals very dear to 
 New Amsterdam, one of which was the much-loved Christ- 
 mas. The Reformation, when it came to the old Church in 
 Holland, did not bring with it any desire to separate itself 
 from such a festival as Christmas. Into the cold winter 
 days it carried the sunny associations of Christmas-tide, 
 making that warm summer-atmosphere of love in which 
 grow all things beautiful. This warm breath swept 
 over the waters and came to New jSTetherland, and every 
 year in December was sure to come again and ensphere 
 the little Dutch city in a sweet and brotherly mood. 
 
 Another dear December festival was that of St. Niko- 
 laas, who is said to have given a figure-head to the first ship 
 bringing emigrants to the island of the Manhattans, who 
 gave, too, a name to the church in the fort. Mary L. 
 Booth says : "He has ever since been regarded as hav- 
 ing especial charge of the destinies of his favorite city." 
 Clara Erskine Clement, in her " Handbook of Legendary 
 and Mythological Art," has hung this wreath about the 
 name of this historic saint : " He is patron of children, 
 and schoolboys in particular, of poor maidens, of sailors,
 
 284 BEHIND MANHATTAN" CABLES. 
 
 travellers, and merchants." What wonder that he is 
 popular ! This December saint, in New Amsterdam, 
 was the children's property peculiarly, just as to-day they 
 claim and love him as Santa Glaus. The fancy in Santa 
 Glaus is Dutch. It is a Dutch team riding through tl 
 cold December night-air, bringing in an elastic sleig; 
 that can stretch to a boundless capacity, various bundles 
 of gifts for his big, admiring family. 
 
 The afternoon preceding the night when he was con- 
 fidently expected at New Amsterdam, there arrived a 
 great cloud of white wings, as if of heralds to announce 
 his joyful coming. Everywhere these wings were fold- 
 ing down upon the earth. Yes, snow was dropping on 
 all the wide fields, in the far, great forests, along the 
 silent wastes bordering the stately river coming down 
 from the north, upon the slopes of the mountains in 
 whose recesses, according to Dutch fable, Hendrik Hud- 
 son and his spectral crew must have been Blumberously 
 waiting for summer ere they would roll again their rever- 
 berating balls of thunder across the sky. Snow, too, in 
 the little Dutch city on the tip of Manhattan Island, on 
 the houses with their antique gables and tiled roofs on 
 the Stadt Huys, on the stout warehouses of the Dutch 
 West India Company, on the muddy canal and its bat- 
 tered barges, on the ships in port, coating their worn old 
 rigging and decks with purest alabaster. Snow on all 
 the streets, like De Brouwer Straat, where the brewers 
 made beer, and De Bever Graft, where beavers once
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IN THE CHIMNEY. 285 
 
 had kept house stained and soiled at times, but now 
 floored with silver. Snow on the people's garments, on 
 the steeple-crowned hats of the men and the bright 
 hoods of the women, on the velvet garments of the rich 
 and the linsey-woolsey sacks and skirts of the poor, the 
 white flakes powdering impartially the Heer Director 
 and some humble sailor Jan who had come across the 
 sea, till it seemed as if a great cargo of soft white furs in 
 a multitude of savage-canoes had come to town furs 
 offered to everybody, and to everybody given. 
 
 Geertruyd and Katryne were affected differently by 
 snow-storms. Geertruyd shrank from rough winds and 
 the cold coming with them. She shrank close to the big 
 fireplace, with its sooty hooks and trammels, its mazes of 
 pots and kettles, and drawing up her wheel before the 
 blazing, roaring fire, spun away as if the life of all New 
 Amsterdam depended on the whirring revolutions of 
 that wheel. She looked very pretty always in her white 
 cap and spotless collar, but specially becoming was a 
 winter dress worn as if it were spring, and encouraging a 
 harmless delusion, a dress where vines of green with 
 flowers of blue were climbing over a light straw ground- 
 work up toward her approving smile. Geertruyd wantea 
 snow to come to-day, but it must melt to-morrow. She 
 shrank away from arctic approaches. 
 
 Katryne was aroused by the winter. She now ran to 
 the door, stepped out upon the stoop and held up her hands 
 coaxingly to the soft, white, furry wings coming from
 
 286 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 the sky, and rejoiced over every short-lived prisoner she 
 could take. She wanted to accept the twilight chal- 
 lenge of winter's hoarse trumpets, and go out and brave 
 wind and cold and drifting snow. In like spirit she hailed 
 an arctic Sunday. She would pack her little foot-stove 
 with coals, and then bear it to the church in the fort. So 
 cold, it might be that in the unwarmed church some big 
 burgher's breath might suggest smoke from the chimney 
 of a vrouw getting ready for the New Year's goodies.* 
 Katryne though, her foot-stove under her, furs about 
 her, hood upon her head, was cold-proof, and conqueror 
 of the winter. She now started out for a walk through 
 the flakes to Adam Srnidt's. She and Geertruyd, when 
 St. Nikolaas was about to visit his much-loved chimneys, 
 had always remembered one another's " stockings," even 
 from childhood. Katryne to-day not only wished to 
 bear something to Geertruyd's father, but take back 
 some word of comfort about the young nurse up in the 
 New Haerlem hamlet. 
 
 Adam Smidt from the door of his shop saw Katryne, 
 before whose fair face the snow let fall its flakes as if 
 the tracery of a bridal veil. 
 
 * In his History of the City of Albany, p. 193, Arthur James 
 Weise has said that " personal comfort often compelled two old- 
 time ministers to preach with their woollen caps on their heads and 
 their gloves on their hands. The men in the congregation wore 
 their hats and caps, and many brought muffs in which they kept 
 their hands."
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IN THE CHIMNEY. 287 
 
 " She would be puffed up if she knew how goodly 
 were her looks, " thought Adam. " Welcome, welcome, 
 Katryne !" he cried, holding out both hands. " 1 did 
 not think to see thee in this storm. The snow is thick- 
 ening, and the saint's runners will make no noise, verily, 
 in this snow. Come in, come in !" 
 
 They entered the store. 
 
 " And what tidings from New Haerlem ? How 
 fares my Geertruyd ?" 
 
 " Word came down this forenoon that the sick are no 
 better, and if our saint should step down into the 
 chimney of that farm, he will find Geertruyd busy with 
 something beside stockings. She is well ; and at thy 
 house, how are they ?" 
 
 " My mother, she is tired all the time. We have a 
 negro servant to help about the work. My father is well. " 
 
 " Hans ? I warrant thee. He parts with no flesh." 
 
 " I have brought a parcel for Geertruyd's stocking, 
 to make sure that it is not forgotten." 
 
 1 ' And here, Katry ne, is thine, in case the saint should 
 get stuck in a snowdrift." 
 
 He hummed a tune and turned toward his shelves. 
 They were not very well filled, for in anticipation 
 of the needs of St. Nikolaas' chimney-team, there 
 had been a brisk demand upon the goods of Adam. 
 " Ah ! here is a pretty white scarf of silk. Stupid 
 Adam, thou art telling what the present will be !" he 
 cried. " Never mind thou, Katryne. Stuff this in thy
 
 288 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 stocking. It is from Geertruyd. She told ine what to 
 get and and this thou mayest keep for Katryne, or 
 Katryne may give it away." 
 
 The second gift was a scarf of blue. 
 
 "Thy name is St. Nikolaas," exclaimed she, de- 
 lighted. " I thank thee. " She now hurried away, 
 for she knew that though Lysbet would never worry 
 even if the chimney-saint were forced to drive his 
 team through drifts ten feet high, she would be uneasy 
 if Katryne were not in the house ere the suowflakes 
 went out of sight in the thickening shadows of the night. 
 
 There was a St. Nikolaas hymn sung by the children 
 at night, and it might be before the family chimney, 
 and if the household had a goodly share of young 
 folks as in Jan Steen's beautiful seventeenth-century 
 picture of the Feast of St. Nikolaas, sweet would be 
 the chorus. Katryne and Geertruyd had been wont 
 to keep up childhood's custom, hanging their stockings, 
 and they also helped one another in this singing. It would 
 be a chorus of two singing first before one chimney, it 
 might be that of the Smidts, and then before the Schuyler 
 tiles. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! Can you not hear two sweet voices 
 echoing before a big-mouthed chimney, addressing the 
 saint as if he had arrived, and his ruddy ear were laid 
 just above the chimney's top-layer of brick ? But who 
 would sing with Katryne to-night ? She could not think 
 of any one, not even of a volunteer adult. Lysbet was
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IN THE CHIMNEY. 280 
 
 ailing and in bed, and Hans, when he sang, had the croak 
 of a bullfrog. Was there not some young canary bird in 
 the neighborhood ? Who was it that met Katryne near the 
 Schuyler stoop ? It was Annetje Claessen on her way 
 to a tea-drinking. She had a sweet, full voice, though 
 her face was sharp and thin. She was of Katryne's age, 
 and a very witchy-looking maid, with big, inquiring 
 eyes of light blue and with hair a-flying. She wore 
 to-night a white, short-skirted dress, scarlet hose, a scar- 
 let cape, and a comical scarlet hood. She looked as if 
 just out of a witch-haunt and on her way to a witch-race 
 through the air and round the shores of Fresh Pond. 
 A broom would have made her outfit complete. 
 
 "Annetje! Annetje!" cried Katryne, "wilt thou 
 not come in with me one moment and sing the Saint 
 Nikolaas hymn before our chimney ?" 
 
 There had been times when Annetje's parents had not 
 allowed her to sing this hymn or have a stocking hung 
 to catch the saint's gifts, for in those days St. Mkolaas 
 was never known to remember an unruly child, and the 
 fear of omission was made a feature of the discipline of 
 youth. There had been occasions in the lives of Katryne 
 and Annetje when the two had helped one another out 
 of some mischievous tangle, and certainly Annetje would 
 aid her friend in this good hour. 
 
 " With all my heart, Katryne !" cried Annetje. 
 
 It was a fascinating picture, and worthy of a brush as 
 artistic as that of Jan Steen's. There was the blooming
 
 290 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 Katiyne. There was the sharp-faced, big-eyed, scarlet- 
 hooded witch, Annetje. There was the hearth from 
 which the flames were leaping up as if to vault over in- 
 visible bars in the chimney. Hanging from the mantel 
 was a row of stockings to be filled when the chimney 
 was dark and only comfortably warm, and the saint 
 could squeeze his way harmlessly down to those waiting 
 stockings. The hymn musically rose :* 
 
 " Saint Nikolaas, good, holy man, 
 Put your best tabard on you can, 
 And in it go to Amsterdam ; 
 From Amsterdam to Hispanje, 
 Where apples bright of orange, 
 And likewise those, pomegranates named, 
 Roll through the streets all unreclaimed. 
 Saint Nikolaas, my dear, good friend, 
 To serve you ever was my end : 
 If you me now some thing will give, 
 Serve you I will long as I live." 
 
 The last note flew with the sparks up the broad chim- 
 ney, and Annetje turned to go. 
 
 " 1 thank thee," said Katryne, following her neighbor 
 to the door, and then lingering on the stoop and looking 
 up to the ever-falling yet never fallen canopy of snow- 
 flakes. " I did not want to leave out that hymn. What 
 a snowy night ! I wish thee much joy at the tea- drink- 
 ing, and many presents in thy stocking. Here is some- 
 thing to go in it. " 
 
 * Translated by D. T. Valentine.
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IN THE CHIMNEY. 291 
 
 It was a bit of Delft ware, a little image of a youthful 
 shepherdess. 
 
 "I thank thee, Katryne." 
 
 " Oh, dear," sighed Katryne. 
 
 " What is on thy mind ?" asked Annetje. 
 
 " 1 was thinking how many rnay be without a thing 
 in their stockings, and some without a stocking even. 
 Oh, there !" 
 
 " And what is on thy mind now, Katryne ?" 
 
 " Why, I am thinking of a pair of stockings that I 
 might give away. I always knit a pair for my father, 
 but this winter I knit an extra pair, and I know where 
 I can give it, and I will make a bundle of it and go 
 along with thee. Tarry for me, Annetje." 
 
 This second pair of hose had been built after the same 
 pattern as the first, but Katryne knew that New Am- 
 sterdam had other feet than those of Hans and as stout. 
 She now thought of the giant negro, and said, " These 
 stockings will fit him. Yes, a good present for Wub- 
 bit." 
 
 She thought, too, of the young Englishman she had 
 nursed, but she dared not send him anything, much as 
 she wished it, and then she knew he had been in New 
 England, and had he returned ? 
 
 " I cannot say about Harold Wharton," she reasoned, 
 " but the negro is there, and the poor man may be all 
 by himself, as Uncle Pieter's English Bible says, like 
 the sparrow alone upon the housetop. These stockings
 
 292 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 will tell him that he has a friend, and they will comfort 
 him. And now let me go with Annetje." 
 
 Annetje, though, was speaking : " Katryne, it is not 
 an easy night for one walking the streets. Let me go 
 for thee. I am out already, and where is it ?" 
 
 " The house is not far where the big negro lives, and 
 the stockings are for him." 
 
 " Oh, 1 know that house, verily. Is not that sick 
 Englishman there, or was he not there the Englishman 
 that came from fighting the savages, and was in the 
 Bear's Paw with thee, yes, was with thee ?" 
 
 How grateful was Katryne for this juncture of words, 
 " was with thee" ! Starved Katryne ! Little did her 
 love have to feed upon. Those words, though, " was 
 with thee," came like a heaped-up dish of dainties to her 
 sharp hunger. 
 
 "'Was with thee,'" said Annetje again. "Hast 
 thou forgotten ?" 
 
 Katryne could not speak. The tears were in her eyes, 
 and she was glad Annetje could not see them. She 
 only pressed Annetje's hand when she handed her the 
 stockings. 
 
 " There, there, I must not keep thee on the stoop, Ka- 
 tryne. The stockings will get to the right house, and now 
 good-night. May the ' good, holy man' visit thy chimney 
 and give thy stocking good measure, running over." 
 
 " Thank thee, Annetje," murmured Katryne, turning 
 into the house.
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IX THE CHIMNEY. 293 
 
 Annetje was hardly off the stoop when her big eyes 
 opened wide as she said : " 1 know what I will do. 
 That poor, brave young soldier ! 1 trow now that he 
 has not a pair of stockings to his name, and, Katryne 
 Schuyler, for the love of me, tell me why he should not 
 have these ? A poor, brave soldier who went to fight 
 the Indians, and they say when he went that he had 
 not one bead of wampum in his blouse. He is back 
 from New England now, for I saw him, and he may 
 be poorer than ever. I know what I will do. " 
 
 She ran back to the stoop, and thrust her elfish head 
 inside the door. 
 
 "Katryne, Katryne dear ! If I find somebody who 
 wants stockings more than that big negro, may I not 
 give them ? It might be the watch, say, the poor, poor 
 watch in the cold, or ' ' 
 
 Katryne had stayed her weeping, and now was laugh- 
 ing. " Why, why," she said, " yes if if " 
 
 The witch when she heard the " ifs" promptly put 
 the door between her and anything that might follow 
 them, any " but," " unless," or " perhaps," any condi- 
 tion, limitation, or supposition. Laughing, skipping, 
 hopping up as if she were about to leap over a broom- 
 handle, away went Annetje, murmuring merrily : 
 
 " The poor English soldier shall have some stockings. 
 Ha ! ha ! Why, he and Katryne ought to be married. 
 Everybody says so, and yet she acts in a way so very 
 strange toward him. She must love him, for how she
 
 294 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 pinched my hand when 1 spoke about Harold Wharton 
 that is his name and I said ' was with thee. ' Ah ! 
 I did that knowing what I was doing. And yet those 
 lovers are drifting apart like North River and East River 
 when the tide comes in, and now they must come to- 
 gether, and these stockings shall bring them. Ha ! ha ! 
 How big they feel ! I should think I was going to mill 
 with two meal-bags. No matter ! Harold Wharton 
 I know who he is can wear one on his head as a hood 
 to keep his ears from freezing, and ha ! ha ! Katryne 
 can wear the other, and together they can go to Jo- 
 hannes Megapolensis to be married, a hood on each 
 head! Ha! ha!" 
 
 Here the witch threw lip the package of stockings as 
 if she were a dog playing with a bone, tossing it up, 
 catching, screaming, but suddenly she stopped. 
 
 " Oh, here comes the watch !" she muttered. 
 
 Yes, lantern in hand, equipped as a watchman, he 
 was starting off on his rounds, striding with as much 
 dignity as possible through the snow, but apparently 
 deaf, like some other famous watchmen. The wind, 
 though, was not blowing his way, or he might have re- 
 buked any unseemly noises. Hearing nothing, he hardly 
 noticed a wriggling figure ahead, and when he reached 
 her, the witch went by him silent as St. Nikolaas himself 
 when he visits a chimney. When beyond the watch, 
 Annetje went jumping along, and leaped as many as 
 twenty brooms ere she came to the Wharton house.
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUXG IN THE CHIMNEY. 295 
 
 The negro, candle in hand, hurried to the door when 
 Aunetje had soundly rapped it with its knocker. 
 
 " A little bundle from Katryne Schuyler for the 
 stockings of young massa," said the witch boldly. 
 
 " A- who a- who ?" asked Wubbit. " Oh, fur my 
 young massa ! Oh, t'ank ye, t'ank ye !" 
 
 Warm-hearted Wubbit ! He was more pleased than 
 if he himself had been remembered. 
 
 " From Katryne, mind ye." 
 
 " Oh, yah, de injul !" 
 
 " And here is something for you. It is mine to give, 
 and it is for your stocking, if you will hang one up. 
 Slip it down and it will just go in." The witch held up 
 the image of the youthful shepherdess. " You cannot 
 see, but if you like, you may call it a guardian angel, 
 and it is pleasant to dream about them." 
 
 " A garden injul !" exclaimed Wubbit, thinking of 
 Katryne as he had seen her at work amid the melon- 
 patch behind Hans Schuyler' s house. " Oh, t'ank ye, 
 t'ank ye !" 
 
 When Wubbit withdrew behind that door, the hap- 
 piest man in New Amsterdam disappeared from the 
 sight of the witch. She also disappeared. 
 
 That evening Katryne was busy with her varied work, 
 and was glad when she could be alone and know that all 
 in the house were between their respective feather beds, 
 and she could have to herself the chimney that the good 
 saint was expected to visit.
 
 296 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " I must see that every stocking is in order,'' she 
 murmured ; ' ' and where are the scarfs that Adam Smidt 
 gave me ?" She held them up in the soft candle-light. 
 How she admired those delicate folds of white and blue ! 
 
 " He said I could give one away,' ' murmured Katryne, 
 11 and then I can give mine away also. No, I will keep 
 it. No, poor, tired mother, she shall have both scarfs. 
 I will find a wrapping of paper somewhere. Oh, I saw 
 a pile on the shelf over the stairway going to my room. 
 Let me get something there," added Katryne, hurrying 
 out of the room. " I can find it in the dark." 
 
 She brought back two sheets of paper, and in one she 
 folded carefully the scarf of white. In the other she 
 hid away the scarf of blue. Then she slid both into 
 Lysbet's roomy stocking. Katryne wanted to bring up 
 both Hans and Lysbet to expect something in a stocking 
 when St. Nikolaas came ; but while Lysbet accepted the 
 plan with a gentle demurrer, Hans grunted, " No, no ! 
 Foolish ! foolish !" And yet he liked a present dearly, 
 and in some way he would be remembered. The pres- 
 ent would be deposited in his armchair, and welcome 
 him at the breakfast hour. Lysbet previous to her sick- 
 ness had worked ruffles for his wrists, and also a pair of 
 new hose. What would Katryne have for Hans ? 
 
 The relations of Hans and Katryne had been improv- 
 ing recently. Hans had seen that it was useless to try 
 to " bring his wife and Katryne under," and this course 
 of discipline he had abandoned, and both Lysbet and
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUNG IN THE CHIMNEY. 297 
 
 Katryne had received better treatment. Then there is 
 something about St. Nikolaas that is very communica- 
 tive his generous, loving spirit. As Hans anticipated 
 his visit, Hans softened. Katryne had knit for Hans 
 that pair of stout hose, and then she had worked two 
 very orange woollen mittens, an article and a Dutch 
 color he rejoiced in, while Hans' present for Katryne 
 was a pair of new shoes. 
 
 Katryne gave one more glance at the suspended stock- 
 ings, and then covered the glowing embers in the fire- 
 place. Candle in hand she stole out of the room, and 
 left the chimney in the care of the saint. 
 
 The streets of New Amsterdam were to be buried in 
 snow before morning, and the watch of the little city 
 would have a toilsome time struggling through the 
 drifts ; but nobody thought there would be any delay in 
 the arrival of St. Nikolaas at New Amsterdam. The 
 cold waters of North River and East River could not 
 detain him. The " wall" would be no obstacle to his 
 runners. What at New Amsterdam was expected of 
 this merry old saint with a round, rosy face, with hair 
 and beard in which the snowflakes had caught, with 
 expression of eager, happy interest in the children 
 especially, but also in all other human kind, was ex- 
 pected elsewhere. He was due at Fort Orange and 
 Rensselaerswyck and Wiltwyck, and over in Breuckelen, 
 Midwout, Amersfoort, New Utrecht, Boswyck, and 
 down at Staten Island and back at New Haerlem, and
 
 298 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 across the North Kiver in Bergen indeed, in all New 
 Netherland. Not a chimney in the province but that 
 expected to feel the pressure of the round, chubby body 
 of this saint squeezing his way to a row of stockings 
 below. And so the night wore away, and the flakes 
 still flew in the morning. St. Nikolaas, though, had ar- 
 rived. 
 
 Because his presents may give joy, it does not follow 
 that the wrappings about them may be as acceptable. 
 Lysbet noticed the wrappings of the scarfs. She saw 
 on one side of the wrappings something that had escaped 
 Katryne' s eyes that had chanced to see the other and 
 blank side. Lysbet did not pretend to know English, 
 but one word she could read, " Katryne." 
 
 " Hans," she said, " here are two of those English 
 papers. 1 thought they were stolen."' 
 
 " English ? Papers ? Stolen ? What meanest thou ?" 
 
 " "What Katryne saw one day upstairs." 
 
 1 ' Oh stolen ?" said Hans, grinning. "It looked 
 very much like it at the time, but things sometimes are 
 lost and turn up again, vrouw." 
 
 Lysbet said nothing to this aloud, only to herself, 
 " Hans, thou art the thief that stole them and brought 
 them back, and Katryne has found them." 
 
 " I will hide these away, vrouw." 
 
 " Hans, I do not feel right about this. I ought to 
 speak to Katryne." 
 
 " Thou thou ' ought ! ' What do the Holy Scriptures
 
 THE STOCKINGS HUXG IIS" THE CHIMNEY. 299 
 
 say about, wives and their husbands ? Thou art not the 
 one to take the lead in this matter. If thou would be a 
 good vrouw, leave that to me. " 
 
 "But she may have seen this," said Lysbet, "and 
 read it." 
 
 " Then she will speak of it, vrouw. Wait !" 
 
 Hans spoke again : " Wait, vrouw, until I go to Hol- 
 land. Then, if Katryne knows, all that heap of guilders 
 coming, as I hope, will reconcile her. How good she 
 will feel then ! Why, the wives and daughters of 
 patroons will ask for her company. Look out, vrouw, 
 do not upset things like a boat putting out into East 
 Eiver to go by Helle-Gat without a pilot. Let thy hus- 
 band look after all these things, vrouw. Katryne shall 
 know, Katryne shall know. I have plans for her ; and 
 now be a good vrouw, and leave everything to thy hus- 
 band, as saith Holy Scripture." 
 
 Lysbet reasoned : "He has plans for Katryne, and 
 she will be rich when he goes to Holland, as I myself 
 verily think. He has not said one word about marriage 
 with Van Schenkel, only that she is to be a companion 
 of patroons' wives and daughters. Why should I be 
 like a boat off Helle-Gat on East Kiver, and upset things ? 
 Yes, as the Good Book says, he takes the leadsome- 
 times, half of the time and why not let him this time ? 
 Lysbet will wait." 
 
 So Lysbet waited. So Hans waited. And Katryne, 
 who had not seen any papers in English, waited in her
 
 300 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ignorance. The papers found in the night went into a 
 dark closet in the chamber of Hans and Lysbet, there to 
 stay until daylight reached them. How many things 
 interesting us wait in the night ! The daylight will 
 reach them.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 
 
 How the chimneys of New Amsterdam did smoke ! 
 To him who watches a chimney-top it may become a 
 register of kitchen history. When it begins to smoke 
 in the morning, it declares the hour that the family life 
 begins to stir. A furious puffing tells that breakfast is 
 coming on. Another excitement says dinner is under 
 way. The amount of smoke from the chimney may 
 show, too, the state of the family purse, whether it can 
 permit a generous burning or must starve the fire down. 
 So the color of the smoke may tell the kind of fuel that 
 is burnt, and record family preferences upon this sub- 
 ject. There may be, too, declarations of character, as 
 when a steadily escaping current of smoke shows that 
 work goes on with regularity, and hence the family 
 temper is sweet. An intermittent smoking says that 
 the fire bothers the cook, and who expects serenity and 
 who will not forgive impatience then ? 
 
 New Amsterdam's chimneys were throwing out an un- 
 usual amount of smoke, for soon New Year, or Nieuw 
 Jaar, the happy, bright Nieuw Jaar would arrive. New 
 Amsterdam loved times and seasons just as its great
 
 302 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 child, New York, loves them to-day. The feast of St. 
 Nikolaas and Kerstyd, or Christmas, had gone. Paasch or 
 Passover, our Easter, and Pingster or Whitsunday, would 
 not arrive for months, but Nieuw Jaar was close at hand. 
 New Amsterdam was in a nutter. Calls must be made 
 and the greetings of the New Year given, and to make 
 the call complete, to give an emphasis to the greeting, 
 there must be more or less feasting. Every fireplace 
 was therefore flaming, and every chimney was puffing 
 away in anticipation of the feast-day. The bake-ovens 
 were thoroughly heated, and after the removal of the 
 coals and swabbing of the floor, what a dexterous use of 
 the shovel or schup, sliding forward such tempting sam- 
 ples of the cook's art ! In the " Dutch ovens," what a 
 baking of savory meats ! The cook for a while was 
 queen. 
 
 Betje was now living at Hans Schuyler's, for Betje's 
 master, Adam Smidt, was tired of living without his 
 Geertruyd, and as the New Haerlem kindred still 
 needed her help, Adam concluded to join his Geertruyd, 
 and went to live in New Haerlem, loaning Betje to Hans 
 Schuyler. Katryne had become Hans' housekeeper, so 
 that the resolution of Hans to bring her down had ended 
 in bringing her up. Betje was glad to assist Katryne, 
 for she had lived many years in New England, and in 
 Katryne, who had been there, Betje recognized a beloved 
 countrywoman. 
 
 "Now, Betje," said Katryne one night, " we will
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 303 
 
 start early in the morning, and begin the cooking for 
 the Nieuw Jaar." 
 
 The one that started, the "we," was Katryne, and 
 when she came down into the kitchen the fire was out. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot to cover up my coals ! What a care- 
 less maid ! Now I must make a new fire," she told 
 herself. 
 
 She took down from its shelf the big tinder-box, well 
 supplied with flint, scorched linen, steel, and splinters 
 of pine whose points had been dipped in sulphur. It 
 was a pleasure to see with what energy Katryne went to 
 work with flint and steel, making the sparks fly rapidly, 
 while her soft, dark eyes kindled and snapped out sparks 
 as vivid as those that lighted on the sensitive linen, and 
 between the two it quickly ignited, while the sulphur- 
 pointed pine flamed up obediently. 
 
 " There," said Katryne, " that pine fires up quick as 
 Ileer Director Stuyvesant when one says ' Englishman ' 
 to him." 
 
 In poked the slow-moving Betje, just out of her nest 
 of feathers built in her slaap-banck. 
 
 " Betje, I will have an eye to the fire. Do thou go 
 to the stoop and look up and see by the weather-cock 
 which way the wind is blowing, and whether 'twill be 
 fair or foul this blessed day. 'Twill give me a big bit 
 of cheer to know it is a clear, cold wind blowing down 
 the Manhattans, and so helping my fire and my baking." 
 
 Betje made her way to the door, and from the street
 
 304 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 was about to take a look at the weather-cock, when she 
 heard a voice : 
 
 " Mornin', Betje ! De Lor' bless thee !" 
 
 It was Joost, a slave from a house on De Winkel 
 Straat. 
 
 " Mornin', rnornin', Joost ! Whar ye gwine ?" 
 
 " Gwine down de ken-nel fur massa. He a-lookin' 
 fur abargedar." 
 
 "Wha'de news?" 
 
 " Dey say dat Ole Peet a-gwine to gib it to Krakers. 
 Mornin', Betje !" 
 
 Betje made no reply. Her eyes looked like a pair of 
 candles suddenly snuffed. She sat down on a bench on 
 the stoop and pressed her hand upon her heart. Director 
 Stuy vesant had felt constrained in past days to persecute 
 the Quakers. Indeed, he did not appear to fancy the 
 toleration of any faith but his own. Honest in his in- 
 tentions, he was blind in his judgment. He had inten- 
 sity of religious conviction, and let us be careful how 
 we try to stamp out the sense of a Power above, of 
 something beyond our low, selfish grade of living. Was 
 it not this same Petrus or Pieter Stuy vesant who cried, 
 when announcing a day of thanksgiving in 1654 on ac- 
 count of peace that had been declared between England 
 and Holland : " Praise the Lord, O England's Jerusa- 
 lem, and Netherland's Sion, praise ye the Lord !" 
 
 Such fervor is praiseworthy. Religious convictions, 
 positive, intense even, may well find a home in the
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 305 
 
 human heart, and may be its saving. Let us make room, 
 though, for the next man's religious conviction, and not 
 put out every guiding flame save that on our own 
 beacon. Such toleration, though, had not been char- 
 acteristic of the generation of which Pieter Stuyvesant 
 was a part, and he was no worse than a vast crowd in his 
 day. Though it was not in the line of Dutch tradition, 
 he proceeded to deal in New Amsterdam even as New 
 England had set him the fashion. Did he not arrest 
 John Bowne, and finally pack him off for Holland, com- 
 plaining to his superiors in the Dutch West India Com- 
 pany that John Bowne was a disturber of the peace 
 (< ' who obstinately persisted in his refusal to pay the 
 fine which had been imposed on him, and was now ban- 
 ished in the hope that others might be discouraged/ " ? 
 
 Persecuting Quakers that they might be discouraged ! 
 Folly ! The directors of the Dutch West India Com- 
 pany of Old Amsterdam were wiser than their servant 
 in New Amsterdam. They magnanimously refused to 
 sustain him,* and Quakers were left in the enjoyment 
 
 * The directors told the governor : " The consciences of men ought 
 to be free aud unshackled so long as they continue moderate, peace- 
 able, inoffensive, and not hostile to the government. Such have 
 been the maxims of prudence and toleration by which the magis- 
 trates of this city have been governed, and the consequences have 
 been that the oppressed and persecuted from every country have 
 found among us an asylum from distress. Follow in the same 
 steps, and you will be blessed. "History of New Netherland, 
 O'Callaghan, vol. ii., p. 457.
 
 306 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 of their reasonable soul-liberty, and the Dutch rule of 
 treating dissenters vindicated. 
 
 A Nieuw Jaar ! Was it a new one coming, or would 
 an old one of intolerance still linger among men ? 
 Joost's gossip was an idle rumor, but to Betje it was the 
 serious truth. She forgot to look up to see which way 
 the wind was blowing, and turned into the house quickly. 
 She was sure that martyrdom was approaching, and she 
 was also certain that as a " Kraker" she might expect her 
 share of the burning stake. Her only evidence, though, 
 that she was a Quaker consisted in her belief that the 
 still, small " voice" was in her breast. It is precious 
 sometimes to think that we possess a peculiarity. It 
 may be our claim to a saint's inheritance. 
 
 Katryne recognized the cloud on Betje's face. 
 
 " What makes thee so solemn ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh, chile, twubble, twubble ! I'se a Kraker, and 
 Old Pieter's a-gwine to shet us up." 
 
 " Oh, no ; that is all stopped now." 
 
 " Joost, he say so." 
 
 " Oh, Joost does not know." 
 
 " 1 hear de voice in my soul," solemnly declared 
 Betje. " Dat lubly voice say so ; dar's twubble a-com- 
 in'." 
 
 " Betje, give me thine eyes, thine ears, too. I have 
 a voice, too, inside me. Thy voice is good, and because 
 it is good, it will be sensible. Now I know, I know my 
 voice tells me that the Quakers will not be touched."
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 307 
 
 " You know, missus ? You hab de lubly voice ?' ' 
 
 "Why, yes." 
 
 " Shuah ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! The voice within me says thou wilt 
 not be troubled." 
 
 "Den Ibliebye." 
 
 " Now we will begin to get breakfast. Oh, what 
 about the wind I" 
 
 " De win' ?" 
 
 Betje's face was dark one moment, then she rushed 
 to the door, saying, " I will tell ye.'" She came back 
 screaming, " North !" 
 
 " Now my fire will burn well, Betje. And, let me 
 see, what shall I cook to-day for the Nieuw Jaar ? I 
 will, I will Oh, yes ; I see." 
 
 The New Amsterdam chimneys busily smoking in 
 anticipation of the Nieuw Jaar were certain not to 
 smoke in vain. Many calls would be made, and much 
 strength for the journey would the Nieuw Jaar feast 
 give. And what a kindly feeling would the day leave 
 behind ! A warm atmosphere of New Year salutations 
 would settle down upon New Amsterdam, and it was 
 sure, though not taking the chill out of the frosty skies, 
 to thaw far into the hearts of New Arnsterdamers, melt- 
 ing away unkiridliness in the circle of family and neigh- 
 borhood. Among those planning to call on Katryne 
 Schuyler was Harold Wharton. lie had seen but little 
 of her for a long time. During his serious sickness
 
 308 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 after his return from that campaign against the savages 
 and it was serious enough for a while there had been 
 several very precious reminders of the existence of such 
 a friend to sick young strangers as Katryne Schuyler. 
 As his convalescence made progress there was a coolness 
 on her part that steadily neared zero point. By a sharp 
 look one day she brought tears into his eyes, and then 
 by a second chilling glance almost froze those tears into 
 icicles. It was all in the interest of Geertruyd Smidt, 
 though. Katryne was a volcano under the ice, and 
 went home to spend a night of wretchedness. 
 
 Two things of recent occurrence had decided Harold 
 to make a Nieuw Jaar call. He had received a present 
 from her, the big orange hose. At first he was indig- 
 nant. 
 
 " Does she think that I have feet as big as those of 
 her father?" he said. 
 
 Then he was amused. 
 
 " Why should I take it so seriously ? Did not rny 
 father's counsel say, ' Go slow ' ? She may have been 
 minded to send me in sport those stockings, for it is a 
 sport-making season." 
 
 Then he felt that he would be sensible, for one day 
 when the walking was rather icy, a man came to see 
 Wubbit wearing big, thick stockings outside his ordinary 
 hose. 
 
 " Ah ! what a fool I have been ! Katryne meant 
 that 1 should wear these outside my every-day stockings,
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 309 
 
 covering my shoes and protecting my legs. How full 
 of kindness is her heart ! She is a marvellous knitter !" 
 
 He resolved now to call upon her, wearing the mam- 
 moth hose as dress appropriate to the season. The 
 second reason for a call he found in a letter received 
 from liis Uncle Robert, with whom he had passed a fort- 
 night after his restoration to health. Harold came back 
 to New Amsterdam to look after his uncle's interest in 
 shipping furs. Lately he received this letter, which 
 took up and considered various business items, and then 
 said : 
 
 " It will not take thee long to dispatch these matters, 
 and then I want thee to come and be with me here in 
 Boston. I will speak to Satisfaction Belcher to give 
 thee a chance to eat and sleep in his dwelling. I am 
 tarrying with Desire-the-Truth Akers, and I took the 
 last bed he could spare, so I must send thee to be with 
 Satisfaction. I would like to have thee come to Boston 
 in the ship Mercy. But before thou shalt take thy 
 departure, which will be after the New Year, do thou 
 make a call for me. Like the chief butler of Pharaoh, 
 ' I do remember my faults this day,' my great remissness 
 in not remembering my helpmeet, Pieter van Twiller, in 
 the land of the savages. Thou dost know, for I have 
 told thee, how he helped me there. He made mention 
 of a maid, one Katrjme Sehuyler, that showed much 
 kindness of heart to him. I ought to show like kind- 
 ness of heart and inquire for his welfare. And it hath
 
 310 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES* 
 
 come to me that if thou wilt find her out, and in some 
 way gain permission to call on her New Year's Day, she 
 will tell thee how fare the soul and the body of my so- 
 journ er in the wilderness. Wishing thee a safe voyage 
 in the Mercy, and praying that the goodness of God, 
 like a favorable wind, may follow thee ever, 
 " Thy loving uncle, 
 
 " ROBERT WILLIAM WHAKTON." 
 
 1 ' That settles it !' ' declared Harold. ' ' I will call upon 
 Katryne, and in behalf of my uncle find out how fares 
 it with her uncle, Pieter van Twiller. That ought to 
 make us friends, the haughty Yashti ! Yes, she is like 
 wilful Yashti in the Book of Esther, who refused to do 
 as the king wished, and and I do not blame Yashti. 
 Do I justify Katryne ? Ah ! Katryne, so loving and 
 then so cold, thy unhappy Harold must love thee still." 
 
 How many of his thoughts he gave to this Nieuw Jaar 
 call, thinking about it by day and then in his dreams 
 presenting himself to the proud, wilful, yet lovely 
 Dutch queen, Katryne Schuyler ! What should be his 
 dress, from his hat to those enormous hose no, beloved 
 leggings, proof of Katryne' s affection for him ? Long 
 into the night, day after day, must she have sat by the 
 fireside knitting for her Harold. Having thought all 
 the items of his dress over, lie mused as to the call 
 itself. He finally came to this decision : it should be 
 a general call ostensibly, a dropping in casually, like a
 
 THE CALLEK WHO NEVER CALLED. 311 
 
 burgomaster or a schepen to see Hans. Then in behalf 
 of his uncle he would inquire about her uncle, Pieter 
 van T wilier. His uncle, her uncle how that bound 
 Harold and Katryne ! Happy turn of Fortune's wheel ! 
 Finally he meant this should be a personal call upon 
 Katryne, a very personal call. He would thank her for 
 that thoughtful present, the storm-weather leggings. 
 If he had opportunity he would speak of his love, which 
 would burn like the blacksmith's fire in spite of the cold 
 water Katryne threw upon it. But he told himself that 
 he also intended to take so much pride with him on this 
 occasion that, if need be, he would properly stiffen up 
 and be as cold and icy as she. He would show her what 
 could be done when an Englishman's self-respect was 
 rallied to meet a Dutch woman's coldness of heart. 
 
 In anticipation of his trip to New England, his Uncle 
 Robert had considerately sent him money that he might 
 put his wardrobe in good condition. 
 
 He had previously brought a suit from England that 
 now needed but little repair. The coat was one of vel- 
 vet, and the shade was a warm purple. The skirts were 
 long and full, and there were trimmings of lace for the 
 wrist and about the collar and along the breast of the 
 coat. He did not really like to put his free rippling 
 locks in the stiff embrace of a queue, but it was done 
 for this Nieuw Jaar call, and the gathered tresses were 
 tied with an eel-skin cord, which he had learned was 
 Hans Schuyler's style, and which it seemed to Harold it
 
 312 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 might be policy to imitate. Those interfering folds of 
 hair were thus gathered up out of the way, and it gave 
 his face a boy-like look which was quite charming. 
 Then he properly adjusted some lately purchased purple 
 hose, which matched his purple breeches, and he proudly 
 fastened at the knee some bright new silver buckles. 
 The outside hose he drew on affectionately, and with 
 extra care. "When he started forth on this errand of the 
 Nieuw Jaar, he was a very striking-looking Cupid, and 
 yet he timorously delayed his call till the last of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 He thought as a prudent knight he would not storm 
 the fair one's castle at once, but he would approach it 
 by degrees. He walked along several streets, and then 
 strode into De Brug Straat. With the air of one who 
 was out for his health or to see the sights, he leisurely 
 sauntered along the bridge crossing the canal. Here he 
 looked down on the few barges there, each covered with 
 a layer of whitest snow, and looking like a stout Nieuw 
 Jaar cake from a neighboring fireplace. Here Harold 
 thought of two men of the sea prominent in his New 
 Amsterdam life George Martin, who was on a voyage 
 from New England to Old England, and that sailor 
 fiend, Dirk van Schenkel. 
 
 " I am. very well content to think Van Schenkel is 
 also off on some voyage, and pirate-like as ever he is, I 
 venture to believe," thought Harold. 
 
 This Cupid in purple above and orange below now
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 313 
 
 shyly stole along the canal, his heart fluttering as he 
 glanced at the houses whose gables overlooked the canal. 
 He remembered that Katryne Schuyler's door had a 
 peculiar knocker, and was it lion-headed no, it was dog- 
 headed ; no, it was lion-headed ! Yes, this one just 
 before him was the one, and behind it he saw in fancy a 
 big fireplace roaring away a golden welcome, a table 
 loaded with appetizing comforts, and gently, timorously 
 handling that guardian with the lion-head, he knocked 
 and waited. Ah, there was his darling coming now ! 
 He could single out her step from the tramp of a multi- 
 tude. 
 
 The door opened, and there stood the Evil One, Cap- 
 tain Dirk van Schenkel, of all beings the least expected, 
 and supposed to be on the high sea ! Harold could only 
 stare at this apparition. 
 
 " Veil, vot you vant ?" he snarled in his broken 
 English. 
 
 " Oh is not this the place ?" replied Harold, con- 
 fusedly. 
 
 " Vot place vos it you vant ? You tink me to to 
 find vot you know notin' of ?" cried Van Schenkel 
 wrathful ly. 
 
 To Harold it seemed as if the lion in the knocker had 
 left his iron perch and descended to glare and roar at a 
 poor, bewildered young Englishman. 
 
 " Does Pieter van Twiller live here ?" asked 
 Harold, with stammering tongue.
 
 314 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " No !" roared the lion. 
 
 " No, no ; Kat Kat I mean Katryne Schuyler 1" 
 gasped this Cupid in purple and orange. 
 
 " Kat Kat she no live here ! She gone vay vay 
 off ! Now you go vay, and never you knock wid dat 
 knocker some more !" 
 
 Harold retreated. Katryne gone away ! He heard a 
 laugh behind him. He turned. He looked back. 
 There was Yan Schenkel, laughing now as if hopelessly 
 convulsed, and pointing down at Harold's legs. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Dose tings. Shake 'em out and make a 
 Dutch flag of 'em 1" 
 
 Harold did not wonder at this reference to his orange 
 hose, for they had suddenly and strangely collapsed, and 
 hung down in embarrassing folds. The tit was a loose 
 one, and the strings tying the hose had been too feeble 
 to hold them up, and there was this " Dutch flag" awk- 
 wardly flapping about Cupid's legs ! 
 
 " I will not be balked in this thing," indignantly de- 
 clared Harold, moving on after he had tied his leggings 
 again. " I will try the next door. I do not have faith 
 in that fiend. Let me think. What kind of a knocker 
 is it ?" 
 
 Here his attention was divided between two objects, 
 a group of soldiers on the opposite side of the street, and 
 that door in the next house suddenly opening. 
 
 " That is the door I want," he was saying, and was 
 moving toward it, when it was abruptly slammed in his
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 315 
 
 face ; at the same time he heard the voice of the Evil 
 One behind him : 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Katryne vood like to see dot Dutch flag 
 round dose legs ! Ha ! ha !" 
 
 Harold did not stop to make any more inquiries. He 
 felt assured that this was the Schuyler house, Katryne's 
 home, and somebody had slammed the door in his face ! 
 What a disappointment ! A whole snow-storm from the 
 northeast seemed let in upon his soul, a little while ago 
 so warm with expectation. 
 
 And Katryne ? She had expected Harold Wharton 
 among the callers that day. Armetje, queer and mis- 
 chief-loving, yet really warm of heart, had found out 
 through a mutual friend that Harold had planned a call, 
 and had told Katryne all she knew. 
 
 " Those two people shall meet if my name is Annetje," 
 declared the witch. 
 
 So Katryne was expectant. Her feast was ready. 
 Lysbet had been ailing for some time, and the cooking 
 had fallen into Katryne's hands, and they had proved to 
 be wonderful hands in the making of a favorite New 
 Amsterdam dish. It was not a warm-weather comfort, 
 but let the pigs be taken out of their pens, and soon 
 after that the family stock of lard be taken in, and the 
 odor of a positive but fragrant fry might be sniffed in 
 every kitchen that had any culinary standing in New 
 Amsterdam. The sound of a violent sizzling might be 
 expected also, and out of the hot, bubbling fat in some
 
 316 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 one of the dozen or less frying-pans in the fireplace, 
 would be skimmed the round, brown doughnut so dear 
 to the Dutch palate. Behind a plate of those doughnuts 
 even the homeliest cook would in the eyes of a hungry 
 man be credited with irresistible charms. With several 
 plates of such charms Katryne had stocked her Nieuw 
 Jaar table ; with waffles, too ; with the so-called Nieuw 
 Jaar cake popular in New Amsterdam ; with goodies also 
 from Holland, while Hans had flanked them with bottles 
 of schnapps and beer. 
 
 " I am very well pleased that Uncle Pieter is not 
 here," reflected Katryne, eyeing the schnapps and the 
 beer. 
 
 Where Uncle Pieter might be, no one could say. It 
 was rumored that he had returned alive from the fight 
 with the Indians, had been seen on New Amsterdam's 
 wharf once, and then had disappeared. Whether he 
 had gone to sea, whether he had been there on the wharf 
 at all, no one at Hans Sclmyler's could positively say. 
 It was just as well for the infirm Uncle Pieter that this 
 Nieuw Jaar he was somewhere else. 
 
 However, Katryne hoped Harold would come, and if 
 he did, and if he made any interesting declaration of a 
 sentimental nature, she purposed to have a frank talk 
 with him, and tell him that she knew Geertruyd Smidt 
 had reasons for a special claim upon him, and she, 
 Katryne Sclmyler, could not stand in the way of that 
 claim. And what if he did not allow that claim ? But
 
 THE CALLEIl WHO NEVE11 CALLED. 317 
 
 he must. He certainly would as soon as he knew that 
 such a beautiful creature as Geertruyd Smidt loved him. 
 In his probable ignorance of Geertruyd's feelings he had 
 attempted to say something foolish to Katryne in the 
 Bear's Paw. She would enlighten him. That having 
 been settled, this point came up, what fitting, special 
 welcome could she give him, one that a presumably 
 homesick young Englishman would appreciate ? Would 
 it do any harm, would it not be well, in that prominent 
 Nieuw Jaar cake, shaped something like one of those 
 frosted barges in the canal, to plant a little English flag? 
 She had made one ; and as flags are very expressive ob- 
 jects, and speak for much, Katryne would let this flag 
 speak for her. 
 
 Of course it would not do to let Hans see the flag. 
 Out of respect for Father Hans, she would not obtrude 
 it upon his notice. He frowned and sputtered and 
 growled every day because there were signs that the 
 English were drawing closer and closer lines about New 
 Amsterdam. What was Long Island, where the English, 
 in the towns they occupied, were developing a rapidly 
 growing power ? Long Island was in the eyes of Hans 
 a mother of abominations. All this must be trampled 
 out. Holland must own the land, and Dutchmen occupy 
 it. It would not answer, then, to let Hans see the little 
 flag, and Katryne waited her chance to erect it. There 
 were many callers, and Katryne's heart began to sink, 
 and the day threatened to end in hopeless disappoint-
 
 318 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 ment. She kept an occasional watch at the window. 
 At last she saw Harold by the canal. Her heart flut- 
 tered. He was about to call. She would manage it all 
 this way. Betje should go to the door and let Harold 
 in. Katryne purposed to remain by the feast, and if 
 Hans were not there, she would plant the English flag in 
 the cake, and then step forward to welcome the young 
 Englishman. She thrust the little flag into the tooth- 
 some depths of this pastry-citadel soon to be stormed and 
 eaten, and she waited to hear Cerberus and Leo, Brutus 
 and Csesar, all speak at once. Yes, he was coming ! How 
 her heart swelled and throbbed ! She hoped he would 
 like the welcome he would receive. There was a ruddy 
 fire in the big-mouthed fireplace this chilly afternoon, 
 and the crackling flames said " Welcome !" Then the 
 English flag would say " Welcome !" And she, Ka- 
 tryne, would say " Welcome !" and mean it, too say 
 it with all her heart, and hold out her hand as she said 
 it. To make sure that she would do it right, there 
 alone, with the crackling flames and the bright little flag, 
 she rehearsed the needed gesture. She would hold out 
 her hands this way ! He must be very near now. An- 
 other moment, the knocker would be lifted, and Cer- 
 berus and Leo, Brutus and Csesar would say in con- 
 cert to her, " Come, come, and welcome Harold 
 Wharton !" 
 
 But they did not say it. Betje, in her eagerness to 
 be prompt, opened the door unbidden. Seeing the sol-
 
 THE CALLER AVHO NEVER CALLED. 319 
 
 diers opposite, she muttered, " Fse a Kraker ! Dey 
 come for me !" and bang went the door. 
 
 Katryne heard it ; she heard something else. A harsh, 
 guttural, angry voice said, "What what is that?" 
 She turned, and Hans, who had entered by a door in 
 the rear, was indignantly pointing at the English flag. 
 He looked stouter than ever, as if swelling with patriotic 
 indignation, for there is nothing like patriotic fervor to 
 make a man look big when he is really too small to stand 
 up and fight for his flag. Hans snatched up the offen- 
 sive colors and threw them into the flames. 
 
 " Go go upstairs, Katryne !" shouted Hans in 
 wrath. 
 
 Slowly, wearily, sadly Katryne went toward her room. 
 How heavy her heart seemed, and how hard a load it 
 was yet to carry ! She did not go into her room, but 
 into the attic opposite, from which the box of papers had 
 been mysteriously stolen. She went to the window in 
 the western gable, and looked past the steeply slanting 
 roofs toward the western sky. She thought of the grave- 
 yard where Aunt Mary tje had been laid away ; she wished 
 she were there. She wondered if anybody in New Am- 
 sterdam were as lonely as she. It would be dark soon, 
 and the darkness would hide her shame and her sorrow. 
 Ah ! it was snowing again. 
 
 The white flakes were drifting down, coming faster, 
 coming closer, and coming against the little window- 
 panes, as if to indicate that they recognized Katryne's
 
 320 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 sadness, and wished to express sympathy. So she inter- 
 preted it, and she was glad it was snowing. It did not 
 seem so lonely now out of doors, for all these flakes 
 were messengers taking sympathy to a sorrowing heart. 
 She thought how many people must feel lonely in New 
 Amsterdam people in sorrow and sickness. Why, 
 how solitary Lysbet must be down in her room 1 Ka- 
 tryne would go down softly and say a word of comfort 
 to her. 
 
 Lysbet was lying alone in her bed. There was just 
 enough light to see her face, and how changed it was ! 
 It had an eager look, one of expectancy, as if some 
 one, intently looked for, were coming. She made no 
 complaint of pain. She only said she was tired. Be- 
 tween Lysbet and Katryne had grown a strong bond of 
 sympathy, specially developing when Hans took it into 
 his head to discipline them. When Katryne now stooped 
 down and kissed Lysbet, saying, " 1 am very sorry that 
 thou farest no better, mother," Lysbet replied : 
 
 " And, Katryne, let me say what I am constrained to 
 say. Do not thou worry, child. I heard Hans. I do 
 not know what it is about, but all will come out well. 
 Do not thou fear, child." 
 
 Katryne fell upon her knees, bowed her head down to 
 her mother's face, and cried. Lysbet was now the pity- 
 ing, comforting, helping one. Softly her hand went 
 across Katryne's heated brow. 
 
 " Do not thou fear, dear child ; all will be well !"
 
 THE CALLER AVHO NEVER CALLED. 321 
 
 She said this again and again, as if singing some rest- 
 ful tune, and it did rest Katryne. 
 
 "That will do," she said. "There, mother, I am 
 selfish. Let me smooth thy pillow. I will comfort 
 thee." 
 
 Katryne had many of the qualities essential to good 
 nursing, and Lysbet soon declared she was much bet- 
 ter. 
 
 " And, mother, how much alone thou hast been to- 
 day ! We have had so many callers I could see thee 
 but little, and I am sorry." 
 
 "1 have been thinking," said Lysbet, "some one 
 would call to see me, and some one may come yet ; but, 
 Katryne, I have not so many that I know and can be at 
 ease with. Lysbet has her friends among the old-time 
 people." 
 
 " Did mother look for some old-time friend ?" 
 
 " 1 thought some one might call ;" and as she spoke 
 the look of eager expectancy came into her face again. 
 It was so dark Katryne could only see Lysbet's wistful 
 eyes. Lysbet was arousing herself. " My child, I want 
 to say something, but somehow I cannot. It would be 
 too hard ; but I wrote it and I put it in that box that 
 was upstairs. 1 wanted thee to read it ; thou knowest " 
 
 " The box that was stolen ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I think everything will be brought back, 
 and thou wilt find a paper I wrote and when it comes 
 back thou wilt find it, and "
 
 322 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " There, mother, it tires thee. Rest now. Try to 
 sleep. I will come down again in a few moments." 
 
 When Katryne was softly stepping away, she turned 
 and looked back. Lysbet's eyes were not closed, but 
 they were looking out toward the light fading in the 
 window, and there was the same look of eagerness to 
 see an old-time caller, this Nieuw Jaar. 
 
 Katryne saw that face several times that night, and 
 ministered to the sick woman's comfort. She came in 
 the morning very early to inquire about Lysbet, and the 
 face was still turned toward the window, but Lysbet had 
 gone ! 
 
 For in the night some one had called, one whom men 
 may expect, but oftener he is the unexpected one. He 
 calls, though, just the same, and at every house he makes 
 his calls. He passes by no door, but calls in the midst 
 of our joy, perhaps our sorrow, in our leisure, and it 
 may be in the wildest excitement. Others may fail to 
 remember us, or business may hinder them ; he is sure, 
 though, to call, and he will prove to be the old-time 
 friend if we will have it so. It was he that had come 
 to the home of Lysbet, as he will come to us all Death ; 
 and in his company Lysbet had gone hence to a long, 
 long Nieuw Jaar. 
 
 An old Dutch colony custom was to watch with the 
 dead, for what if within that still frame might stir any 
 lingering force of life ? This duty was discharged for 
 three or four nights by a select band strengthened by
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVER CALLED. 323 
 
 various refreshments, solid and liquid. The watch over, 
 then came the funeral, to which the aanspreeker, the 
 inviter, dressed in black, wearing a black hat with a 
 long black weed, had invited the kindred and acquaint- 
 ances. The coffin, hidden under a black cloth, the 
 dood-kleed or dead-cover, black-fringed and tasselled at 
 the corners, was borne away from the house on a bier by 
 the appointed bearers. 
 
 At Lysbet's funeral every customary tribute of re- 
 spect and affection was paid. Many gathered. The 
 minister's mood, while solemn, was tender and sym- 
 pathetic, and his services a house of refuge amid the 
 storm. It seemed as if the bell-ringer that day, stand- 
 ing alone by the old bell-rope in the church of St. Niko- 
 laas, looked up as he tolled, and with a prayer sent out 
 the bell-notes tolling, tolling. When the bearers car- 
 ried their burden out of the house, they did it gently, 
 pityingly. In the same gentle, compassionate spirit 
 many followed. 
 
 It was a white winter day. The Nieuw Jaar snow 
 sparkled in the bright sun. All this vividness of light, 
 all the lustre of the snow, though, only made more dis- 
 tinct the dark dress of the bearers and mourners Hans 
 in black, Katryne in black, Betje in black, many others 
 in black. At one time there was a sharpening of the 
 light, as if the sun would shine away the fact of Death, 
 but it only made that fact more distinct. It was a line 
 of deep, dead black against the white snow. That line
 
 324 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 was slowly drawn along De Heeren Graft, then wound 
 round into De Bever Graft, then into De Heeren Straat, 
 and finally, with slower, more compassionate step, the 
 draped column filed into the bleak, lonely graveyard look- 
 ing off upon the chilly, blue North River. The sun shone 
 when this graveyard was entered and when forsaken. 
 The procession came back to the house. To all who 
 wished refreshments were served. Katryne was glad 
 when this lugubrious funeral feast was over the dood- 
 feest some of the olden days have called it. A glance at 
 certain funeral bills will not only reveal a heavy expense, 
 but suggest sources of trial to sincere yet tempted 
 mourners.* 
 
 The house by the wintry canal was at last still, and a 
 black figure from a window in the eastern gable looked 
 off upon East River, and saw a vessel, one vessel, drift- 
 ing away on the cold winter tide. 
 
 " What vessel can it be ? How lonely it seems ! As 
 much alone as my life !" she murmured. 
 
 From the deck of this solitary vessel, the Mercy, 
 Harold Wharton looked toward the little city with its 
 
 * " In the church accounts for the year 1682, one hundred and 
 fifty guilders and eleven stivers are entered as the burial expenses 
 of a church pauper, of which amount twelve guilders were ex- 
 pended for five cans of rum, two pieces of eight and twenty -four 
 guilders for the services of the bearers, twenty-four guilders and 
 four stivers for fifteen gallons of beer. "History of the City of 
 Albany, by A. G. Weise, p. 195.
 
 THE CALLER WHO NEVEll CALLED. 325 
 
 notched gables, and wondered where might be Katryne's 
 home, and wondered, too, for whom the bell of St. 
 Nikolaas had been tolling that day. 
 
 11 How lonely it sounded T' he murmured.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 
 
 " OH, father, the English are coming !" cried Ka- 
 tryne, bursting into the house, her market-basket on her 
 arm. 
 
 " Humph !" growled Hans, smoking by the kitchen 
 fireplace. 
 
 " But they are coming, father !" 
 
 He only smoked more furiously. 
 
 Katryne never looked prettier. A breezy walk to 
 the market in the neighborhood of the fort, her chatty 
 contact with the people buying and selling vegetables, 
 fruit, fish, and meat, the exciting gossip about the ex- 
 pected arrival of an English fleet to take New Amster- 
 dam, the hurried walk home to tell Hans, the added bits 
 of warlike news given her by old acquaintances along 
 the borders of the canal, had given her face a fine flush 
 of brightest color. It was like an additional touch of 
 the artist's brush to an already pretty picture, though in 
 this case the honest coloring of nature. 
 
 " Humph !' ? Hans had said to Katryne. Was that 
 his only notice of a, very serious subject ? Katryne 
 waited. He puffed more and more laboriously, the
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 327 
 
 smoke rising more and more voluminously, till he looked 
 like Vesuvius when the lid has been taken off its crater. 
 Finally he snarled out : 
 
 " So the English are coming ! I should say that they 
 had already come, old ones and young ones !" 
 
 " What what is the meaning of that P' 
 
 " Young ones ? I mean that Wharton, though I have 
 not seen him for some time." 
 
 Katryne bit her lips and imprisoned her tongue. 
 Then quietly, with a blushing face but with dignity, 
 she withdrew. 
 
 "Well," thought Hans, looking after her, "I have 
 routed that ally of the English. Some time ago, when 
 I saw him down by the water-gate with her, 1 thought 
 he too needed routing." 
 
 Hans now smoked away as if the coming of the Eng- 
 lish were a matter of no concern to him, puffing leisurely 
 and lazily. It did in reality trouble him very much. 
 
 Since the close of the last chapter much had hap- 
 pened. Hans had made a voyage to Holland, taking 
 Katryne with him. The purpose of the tedious voyage 
 was to secure some property, and the end was failure. 
 This property long had been anticipated. It was stated 
 in the will of a Holland kinsman that after a certain 
 number of years certain property should go to Hans' 
 household. This was the property of which Hans re- 
 minded Lysbet the day before the Nieuw Jaar, urging 
 her to wait before she made to Katryne a communica-
 
 328 BEHIND MAKHATTAK GABLES. 
 
 tion Lysbet had in mind. A part of the fortune would 
 come to Hans and Lysbet, and the balance to any child 
 that might be living, and this child's portion until mar- 
 riage Hans would have the management of. Alas, for 
 any estate of which he might be the manager ! He 
 would prove its devourer. He was speculative and rash 
 in his ventures, and more than once had shown that he 
 was better at emptying a basket than filling it. He had 
 foolishly allowed himself to become entangled in some 
 unhappy financial schemes, and Debt, like a hard, piti- 
 less shackle, was cramping him. He hoped that the 
 Holland fortune might bring the hammer that would 
 break his chain and let him loose from his bondage. It 
 was only necessary that he showed that he had a child, 
 and then the property would come to his cosey little 
 stoop by the canal. Katryne would be rich, and he the 
 manager of her wealth. Enough would come to him to 
 pay his debts, and then, as Lysbet was dead, he thought 
 he would have her share of this long-anticipated for- 
 tune. All the voya,ge to Holland he was in a happy, 
 golden dream. Katryne noticed it. 
 
 " Father," she said, " I never saw thee so happy. 
 May it not have a short stay !' ' 
 
 " Ah ! my child, " he said, " we were never so near to 
 a long happiness. I can pay some troublesome debts, 
 and thou wilt go back to New Amsterdam to ride with 
 burgomasters, with Pieter and Vrouw Stuyvesant, and 
 and go out to tea-drinking at the houses of patroous."
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 329 
 
 " Father, I would rather earn the money that comes 
 to me, if I could choose, and go to drink tea with my 
 dear Geertruyd Smidt." 
 
 " We will see, Katryne ; we will see. A new sun is 
 shining." 
 
 Alas ! when Holland was reached, the beautiful, golden 
 sun ran its head into a cold fog-bank. The property 
 had not only been overestimated, but some one had 
 managed it who was no wiser than Hans Schuyler, and 
 it had melted away like a brook running into desert sands. 
 
 Hans went back to New Amsterdam in such great 
 chagrin that everybody on board his vessel pitied the 
 man with this woebegone face. And now the English 
 were coming ! This was a new earthquake under his 
 feet. 
 
 Katryne was ready for the possible change so nigh at 
 hand. One thing reconciling her to it was the proba- 
 bility that it would bring an end to Dirk van Schenkel's 
 matrimonial solicitations. Hans had been borrowing 
 money of Dirk, and as his indebtedness increased, so 
 the captain's marriage claims were piling up, in his own 
 mind at least, though not in Katryne's. She knew, 
 though, the situation. 
 
 " Any day Dirk van Schenkel may say to Hans Schuy- 
 ler," she reasoned, " ' Give me thy daughter, and thy 
 debt is all cancelled.' ' Thy daughter ' does not mean 
 to be given !" was the rebellious thought that Katryne 
 added.
 
 330 BEHIXD MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Still, she did not wish violently to war against Hans' 
 intention to make her Yrouw van Schenkel, for that 
 might oblige her to run away from her home, which 
 she did not wish to do. Ah ! if the English would only 
 come ! Everybody said that Dirk van Schenkel had 
 committed some depredations in English ports. If New 
 Amsterdam fell into the hands of the English, it would 
 only be a question of time, and Van Schenkel would 
 sail away from victors that would one day look into his 
 spotted record. When she was with Hans by the fire- 
 place, the day she brought such exciting news from the 
 market-place, Katryne's tongue was heated up to say 
 something about Van Schenkel's ugly record, and it 
 would have been like a stroke from a hot rod of iron. 
 She did not say it, but went out into a thrifty August 
 garden to cool off in a wind blowing from East River. 
 The English coming ! Why, they might be in sight 
 from Fort Amsterdam. Let them come ! There was 
 one young Englishman to whom she was prepared to 
 give a hearty welcome, but where he was she could not 
 say. Harold Wharton had not been in New Amster- 
 dam for many days, and long ones for Katryne. She 
 now heard from her green retreat a step out on the 
 stoop, and then she saw Hans rolling off. 
 
 " He is going to see the skippers of the vessels that 
 are in, to find out if they have seen the English," sur- 
 mised Katryne. 
 
 No ; Hans was going to see his old friends, Adam
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 331 
 
 Smidt and Isak Wyckoff, and talk over the coming of 
 the English, calmly if he could. He nervously sum- 
 moned Isak from his beds of swelling melons and pump- 
 kins, and the two bustled off in company to call on Adam 
 Smidt in his store. Adam was sombrely sorting skins 
 of beaver, mink, and foxes. 
 
 " Glad to see us ?" called out Isak. 
 
 " I am so lonely," replied Adam, holding out a ready 
 hand to each friend, " I could welcome even an Eng- 
 lishman." 
 
 Then he looked at Hans and laughed. Isak also 
 laughed. Hans growled : 
 
 " Famine take the English !" 
 
 Adam had been lonely, indeed. His beloved Geer- 
 truyd was still at New Haerlem. Fighting death away 
 from the threshold of the home of relatives, she herself 
 had been prostrated with fever. Geertruyd's father had 
 returned to New Amsterdam when the winter was fairly 
 over, but all through her protracted sickness and con- 
 valescence, each night Adam would mount the heavy 
 Smidt wagon, drive across the bridge on De Brug Straat, 
 then on to De Heeren Straat, rattle out through the 
 land-gate, and then slowly jog along De Heeren Weg 
 across green Manhattan to New Haerlem. In the morn- 
 ing the wagon would rattle down the island, past the 
 ponds, the swamps, the hills, Stuyvesant's bouwerie, 
 the thrifty fields, and reaching the wall, roll through 
 the land-gate, arid so on to the beaver, mink, and fox
 
 332 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 emporium owned by Adam Smidt. Gloomy was the 
 store unlighted by Geertruyd's occasional smile. Lonely 
 was the house that did not echo to Geertruyd's quick 
 step. When Adam saw Isak and Hans entering his 
 shop, he cordially welcomed them, and then led them to 
 his kitchen. 
 
 It did not look like Geertruyd's kitchen, though Betje 
 had an assistant, and these two sand artists executed a 
 variety of comical whirls on the floor. However, there 
 was the fireplace, and as it was a chilly August day, Adam 
 laid an extra stick on the smouldering kitchen-fire. It be- 
 gan to rain dismally, and he added a second stick. Hans 
 had arrived out of breath and apparently exhausted, but 
 he now showed strength enough to pull out his long 
 pipe, and he began to smoke it. Isak and Adam were 
 as prompt as he, and a cloud of smoke was quickly aris- 
 ing from each pipe. Each man faced the fire and puffed 
 away, and under the cloud ascending from the three 
 busy pipes a wise conference was opened on the subject 
 of resistance to the English. It was a safe resistance, 
 too, a prudent battle at a distance, and the English could 
 be met and completely vanquished, if need be, and not 
 a drop of Dutch blood be spilled. 
 
 The faces of the three men were worthy of study. 
 The strongest face was Isak's. Kindly and sagacious, 
 it had a look of force. Adam had a just, noble face, 
 inviting confidence, but it was meditative rather than 
 active. Hans' aspect was that of selfishness, one that
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 333 
 
 loved the pipe and the fireplace, and somebody else might 
 bring in the wood for the fire. It might be a wonder 
 that Isak and Adam should fancy the companionship of 
 Hans, but it was Hans that fancied. He would cling to 
 Isak and Adam, highly respecting them and their opin- 
 ions, and it is hard for us to shake off one who will fol- 
 low us, looking up to arid liking us, mean little dog as 
 he may be. 
 
 Hans began : " I want to know what you two burghers 
 think of the English, who are coming, so they say. It 
 stirs all my Dutch blood." 
 
 " I am ready to give my opinion on this subject. If 
 I am to fight, I want to fight about something," said 
 Isak. 
 
 ' ' Fight about ? Haven't we a flag to defend ?' ' asked 
 Hans. 
 
 " No," replied Isak. 
 
 " Whose is it, then, that flag on the fort ?" 
 
 " The Dutch West India Company's." 
 
 Hans gave a vigorous puff, too much surprised to 
 
 I am very much of Isak's opinion," said Adam, 
 puffing calmly, deliberately. 
 
 " Oh, you arc both running away before anybody 
 runs at you !" declared Hans. 
 
 " Look, brothers," said Isak. " I will tell you how 
 it all strikes me. There was a Dutch trading company, 
 as all men know, in early times, and it obtained of the
 
 334 BEHIXD MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Dutch Government control of these shores, and it in- 
 duced people to come here. The thought of the com- 
 pany was what ? To plant free institutions here and 
 get glory to the Dutch flag ? While it was that in part, 
 yet it was still more to get something for their own 
 profit a selfish enterprise at the bottom. Look at our 
 seal ! What is there ennobling about it ? What senti- 
 ment that inspires ISew Netherland to grand deeds? 
 The most there is to New Netherland's seal is the pic- 
 ture of a poor lump of a beaver, and around him is a 
 row of something like beads of wampum, as if to tie and 
 strangle him, and above is a big crown, as if to come 
 down and smother him. What sentiment is there gen- 
 erous and ennobling ? And, brother burghers, what is 
 there that is inspiring in all the Dutch West India Com- 
 pany's course ? The company wished to see how many 
 skins of beaver, otter, and other creatures the colonists 
 might get, and they sell to the company, and the com- 
 pany make all it could out of the trade. They have 
 given us protection to protect their interests, that they 
 might save their money bags." 
 
 " Hold thou, Isak, hold thou just there one moment !" 
 interposed Adam, pulling out his pipe and slowly wav- 
 ing his hand. " If any one ought to know, it is Isak 
 Wyckoff ; but I do think when the Dutch West 
 India Company was established, in 1621, there was a 
 sincere love for Holland's glory actuating it. The 
 States- General of Holland gave it much power, and I
 
 THE COMING OF THE EXGLISH. 335 
 
 think it was sincerely desirous to use that power in start- 
 ing colonies, in encouraging Dutch trade, in crushing 
 out pirates, and if we could do it, we would humble 
 Spain. Was not that so ? I allow human nature came 
 in to get its share of profit, if possible." 
 
 Hans grinned when Adam unexpectedly made this 
 declaration, for, as a rule, Isak was an oracle from whose 
 statements no appeal could be made. He had a way 
 also that helped him. His voice was full and orotund, 
 his articulation very distinct, and he had an impressive 
 way of laying the fat forefinger of his right hand on the 
 broad palm of his left hand. Hans had ventured to 
 grin, but he was a sincere admirer of Wyckoff, the 
 orator. And Wyckoff was a candid orator. He would, 
 when it was necessary, promptly make any acknowledg- 
 ment needed, and he made it now. 
 
 ' ' Brother, I allow tliee all that. All that ought to have 
 been stated. But 1 must say that the institutions planted 
 here have not been of the kind thou couldest call free. 
 How is it about choosing our own officers ? Now 1 appeal 
 to you, Hans and Adam. Over in Holland the company 
 selects a Director-General for us, and he comes to New 
 Amsterdam. He appears with his Council, and pro- 
 ceeds to rule us. You know we had to work hard to 
 get the board of ' the nine men ' to represent us in gov- 
 erning the town, then burgomasters and schepens were 
 allowed, and while we have some say of our own, still 
 it is not a generous privilege given us, the people.
 
 336 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 What was done this spring ? It was at the request of 
 the burgomasters and schepens that a General Assembly 
 was called, made up of delegates from the several towns, 
 to take into consideration the state of the province, the 
 Indians pressing us on one side and the English on the 
 other. The Dutch West India Company did not sug- 
 gest that. There were these towns represented, our New 
 Amsterdam, Rensselaerswyck, Fort Orange, Breuckelen, 
 New Haerlem, Staten Island er er " 
 
 Here Isak looked helplessly toward Adam, whose 
 ready memory added the links in the chain that Isak 
 had omitted. 
 
 " Midwout, Amersfoort " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Oh, yes !" 
 
 " New Utrecht, Boswyck " 
 
 " I see. Oh, yes !" 
 
 " Bergen and Wiltwyck " 
 
 " There, there ! All in a beaver-skin. Well, we 
 met and asked of the government protection against the 
 Indians and ' the malignant English.' That is what 
 they were called, * the malignant English.' Heer 
 Director and the Council declared that they always did 
 protect as far as their means would admit, and if their 
 means would not admit, don't you see, men of New 
 Amsterdam, that shows the company in Holland could 
 not furnish resources ? You recognize that ?" 
 
 Here Adam and Hans nodded their heads energetically 
 and smoked away.
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 337 
 
 " It shows the company at home does not protect us, 
 and they cannot do it. Heer Pieter said the inhab- 
 itants of New Netherland never had contributed to the 
 support of the defence of the province, but I say we 
 have. He maintained that the West India Company 
 had contributed a big sum, but if they did, was it 
 enough ? Why did they bring their baby here to to 
 the wilderness and leave it if they could not send means 
 to take care of it ? Oh, brother burghers, I can show 
 you two how weak that company is over in Holland. 
 Well, Heer Pieter has closed the war with the savages, 
 and let us be thankful. 1 can hear even now the big 
 guns that were ordered to be fired off at the time of the 
 signing of that treaty in the Council Chamber that 
 treaty which the savage chief, Se Se Se what is his 
 name, Adam ?" 
 
 " Sewockenamo." 
 
 " I am glad thou canst pronounce it. It is like a 
 turkey-bone in my throat Nieuw Jaar's Day. Se Se 
 wock I give it up ; but he said that the treaty should 
 be like the stick he held in his hand, firmly united, the 
 one end to the other. Those savages quieted, what 
 about the English ? What say ye ?" 
 
 Here Isak rose and fiercely eyed the other burghers. 
 This sudden appeal to his companions was unexpected. 
 Hans was sinking into a slumber, and Adam felt like it. 
 Hans was not sufficiently awake to do anything more 
 than give a head shake, and Adam said the question
 
 338 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 had as many difficulties as there were rocks at Helle- 
 Gat. 
 
 Isak went on : " Now the English are wrong. What 
 claim have they to this province ? They say they say ' 
 Isak paused, having laid that fat finger on his left palm. 
 
 " Who say what say ?" inquired Hans, who wanted 
 to do something in the conversation, but was too sleepy 
 to do it intelligently. 
 
 "They say the English say " Isak began again, 
 then paused. " 1 am trying to think of the names 
 he paused again. 
 
 Sometimes Isak would show that he was not so good 
 a student as orator. Adam, who had read more, would 
 then corne to the front. Isak was now giving a beseech- 
 ing look in the direction of Adam. The silence dis- 
 turbed Hans more than Isak's smooth, soothing mono- 
 tone. Hans opened his eyes, saw Isak's look of inquiry, 
 and knew what it meant. 
 
 " Adam, say what is it thou dost say ?" asked Hans, 
 drowsily making a feeble attempt to take in the case. 
 
 " As I understand it," said Adam modestly, "the 
 English claim the whole coast of America, from the 
 French territory in the north to the Spanish in the south, 
 and they say that this claim has a good foundation on 
 account of the discoveries by the Cabots" 
 
 "That is it!" exclaimed Isak triumphantly. "The 
 Cab-ots ! That name slipped off my memory. Yes, 
 the Cab-ots !"
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 339 
 
 " Yesh yesh !" murmured Hans, who was also slip- 
 ping away, and yet was reminded of a garden favorite. 
 " The Cab-bages ! That is the kind !" 
 
 Adam and Isak were too much interested in their 
 theme to notice Hans' mutterings, and Adam continued : 
 
 " They, the English, make a claim of discovery, and 
 I found one the other day who could talk Dutch, and 
 lie told me he thought the English ought to have the 
 whole coast of North America. What dost thou think 
 of that? How greedy!" 
 
 " I think," said Isak solemnly, laying that right fore- 
 finger upon the palm of the left hand, " that they 
 want everything. They have again and again been giv- 
 ing away land on the coast as theirs, but to their own 
 people, mind ye ! The English have repeatedly put 
 forth their claim, and when they heard that Dutch ves- 
 sels were coming over to this neighborhood and else- 
 where, they made a remonstrance. And now it is said 
 that King Charles has given the Duke of York, who is 
 Duke of Albany, some kind of a grant of Long Island 
 and all the adjoining country the Dutch possess, and 
 the Duke of York has got up the expedition that is 
 down in the Bay somewhere and may be expected any 
 moment, four men-of-war if all there only think 
 of it ! Four robbers, I call them. Think of it !" 
 
 " I have thought of it, Isak, and now what can be 
 done ?" asked Adam. 
 
 Ipak was very earnest and spoke with all the impressive-
 
 340 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 ness of one addressing a great throng in the Stadt Huys. 
 He asked, eying Adam, for Hans was fast asleep : 
 
 " What can we do, fellow-burghers ? 1 will not say 
 anything more about the fact that the "West India Dutch 
 Company has not, in my opinion, taken proper care of 
 us and our children, but what can we do in this serious 
 emergency to keep out the English ? It is not a ques- 
 tion of duty alone, but capacity. Look at our old fort 
 and our wooden wall ! How long can we hold out ? 
 We shall by resistance endanger the welfare of New 
 Amsterdam. The English guns can batter down our 
 homes and bury us and our children in their ruins. We 
 are not prepared for resistance, are we ?' ' 
 
 Hans' head had sunk upon his breast, and he made no 
 reply. 
 
 Here Adam rose and addressed Isak with great solem- 
 nity, as if saying something for which he might be hanged 
 from the New Amsterdam gallows. 
 
 " Isak, I may be a traitor to say it, but would it not 
 be well if the Dutch and the English were united under 
 one government yes, I may be a traitor, but I have 
 thought of it ; and as the English are increasing fast, and 
 we are not as fast growing, why not let the English come 
 in and we all be under one government ? We have 
 together resisted the Spaniard ; we have fought side by 
 side in Europe, and why not live side by side in America, 
 and let it be the English flag over us, if the Lord will ?" 
 
 " Amen !" shouted Isak, bowing in his most stately
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 341 
 
 fashion. " Let the will of the Lord be done ! And," 
 he added, "I am thinking that it will be for the good 
 of the Lord's people. In Connecticut beyond us, and 
 in Maryland below us, the people have more rights. A 
 change may be better for New Amsterdam. Yes, yes, we 
 have much in common the Dutch, the English ; have 
 some of the same blood in our veins ; have fought to- 
 gether against Spanish oppression and for liberty of 
 faith, and why not take the English in ? Only, until 
 that day comes, we are Dutch, and must do our duty !" 
 
 " Amen !" replied Adam, with dignified earnestness. 
 
 The two patriots clasped hands, looking at each other 
 like men solemnly binding themselves, one to the other. 
 A sudden snore startled them. There was Hans deep 
 sunk in his chair, his head hanging still lower down on 
 his breast, his pipe resting in his lap. " He snores like 
 a patriot," declared Isak. " Nothing half way about 
 that. Brother, I have a thought ! A series of snores 
 having as much patriotic emphasis as that, and given at 
 the fort by a dozen of the city's best sleepers posted on 
 the walls, would frighten off the English !" The two com- 
 patriots laughed, said pityingly that Hans had " fared 
 hard in Holland, trying to get his fortune," and left 
 him to finish out his nap. He was roused finally by the 
 sound of Betje making music with her waffle irons. He 
 went home to tell Katryne that he had been at Adam 
 Smidt's : 
 
 " Yes, Katryne, and 1 tell thee that Isak never spoke
 
 342 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 better. He left nothing to the English, and Adam was 
 a true Dutchman. The English are coming, but we 
 will give them a welcome so hot they will run from it at 
 the first broadside from the fort." 
 
 New Amsterdam was all astir. The English had 
 often been an uneasy presence on the borders of New 
 Netherland, but this was a more serious menace so 
 close at hand, so big, so full of peril. Between New 
 Amsterdam and the English menace was just a wooden 
 leg, and that leg was in the up-river country. It was 
 summoned home, arid Pieter Stuyvesant came with it. 
 If the Director-General, stumping round on that leg, 
 could not save New Amsterdam, it was lost. There 
 was a stir by way of preparation to meet the enemy. 
 At the city gates was posted a guard. That looked war- 
 like. The brewers were directed not to malt any more 
 grain. That probably was to save food, and because less 
 beer was drank, not the least harm was done to the pub- 
 lic health. The fortifications must be strengthened. 
 The Director and Council were asked for eight more 
 guns, and that meant, when mounted, twenty-two guns 
 on the works. Every third man was ordered to go to 
 the city defences, taking spade, shovel, or wheelbarrow, 
 and he might send a substitute. Hans hired a proxy, 
 but it was like Isak to seize a wheelbarrow and Adam 
 hunted up another, and together they went as ordered, 
 each wheeling his barrow. 
 
 Hans stood on the stoop of his house and laughed
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISH. 343 
 
 when they had passed. Then he went in and scolded 
 Katryne for her sympathy with the English. 
 
 What could New Amsterdam effectively do in this 
 hour of her need ? At the very door of New Amster- 
 dam lay an English fleet. We have the names of the 
 vessels on record, and also their batteries. Almost all 
 the vessels had the names of men, and grirn with arms 
 they were. The William and Nicholas carried ten 
 guns, the Martin could speak his mind through sixteen 
 guns, the Elias had thirty guns to roar through, the 
 Guinea carried thirty-six guns to flame and shatter. In 
 all, ninety-two guns were ready to blaze away at feeble 
 Fort Amsterdam and the " wooden wall." What could 
 be done in this hour of such unjust invasion ? 
 
 Heer Director Stuyvesant had the energy of the best 
 Dutch fighters. Had he not lost a leg in stubborn 
 fight ? He kept his other leg and his wooden leg stir- 
 ring, but how little was the support he could rally ! 
 Rensselaerswyck sent word that it was in danger any 
 hour from the savages, and could not spare a man. 
 Could Rensselaerswyck be blamed ? The Dutch farmers 
 on Long Island were summoned. They said they had 
 their wives and property to protect. In the midst of a 
 hostile English element and it abounded on Long Island 
 could they be blamed ? Stuyvesant had ninety or one 
 hundred soldiers he could rely on, besides the loyalty of 
 New Amsterdam. He hurried messengers up to the 
 Esopus and other outposts calling for soldiers, and then
 
 344 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 he sent to the English in those threatening frigates to 
 know what their business was. What did they mean ? 
 They had an answer ready : they summoned him to sur- 
 render ! Great was the consternation of the bustling 
 little seaport. The schout, the burgomasters, the schep- 
 ens, and others met in the Stadt Huys and shook their 
 heads in great alarm. 
 
 They asked Stuyvesant for a copy of the summons. 
 He grumbled, but consented. Non-resistance was popu- 
 lar. Commissioners came from the English fleet pre- 
 ceded by a flag of truce. They offered favorable terms 
 and placed in the governor's hands a sealed letter. In 
 the fort, in the presence of his council and the burgo- 
 masters, he opened it. The burgomasters wished this 
 paper to go to the other city magistrates. Stuyvesant 
 refused. The burgomasters insisted that " all which re- 
 garded the public welfare ought to be made public." 
 This was a doctrine Stuyvesant did not sympathize with. 
 He petulantly tore the letter in pieces. Shred by shred 
 it fell upon the floor. The burgomasters were indig- 
 nant. They protested. They spoke of " the conse- 
 quences of dilacerating that paper," and went off, their 
 noses high in air. 
 
 - The alarm in New Amsterdam increased. Those 
 ninety-two English guns had a great influence in shap- 
 ing public opinion. Citizens began to gather at the 
 Stadt Huys. The work of setting palisades on the land 
 side of New Amsterdam came to an abrupt close.
 
 THE COMIXG OF THE ENGLISH. 345 
 
 " No more of this," said Isak Wyckoff, pulling back 
 his wheelbarrow from a ditch. " It is folly ! Ninety- 
 two English guns against my wheelbarrow ! Bah !' ' 
 
 u It is what 1 say," replied Adam Smidt, pulling his 
 wheelbarrow away from a mound of earth. " 1 love 
 Holland, but I am not a fool." 
 
 There was a general revolt. The citizens at the Stadt 
 Huys wanted a copy of that letter, though it was reported 
 to have been destroyed. 
 
 Stuyvesant held out as long as possible. The frag- 
 ments of the letter were picked up and put together and 
 delivered to the burgomasters. 
 
 Stuyvesant saw his power going, but he manfully stuck 
 to his guns as long as possible, and sent to Nicolls, the 
 English commander, an unfavorable reply. 
 
 Those saucy trespassers, the English ships, now were 
 threateningly brought forward. Two were ordered to 
 disembark troops below Breuckelen. Two were ordered 
 to lie off the city, broadside to the homes and the hopes 
 of New Amsterdam. 
 
 The people crowded out of their homes and watched 
 every movement. 
 
 " It will be of no use no use to resist," cried Adam 
 Smidt ; " but I will do my duty." 
 
 " Folly, and a flying in the Lord's face ; but I will 
 be loyal," said Isak Wyckoff. 
 
 Hans went down cellar and piled up some boxes and 
 casks, behind which he went to smoking.
 
 346 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 From the eastern gable Katryne watched awhile the 
 ships below Breuckelen. What could she do ? She 
 was surprised to find two currents of feeling sweeping- 
 through her. She thought of her old life under the 
 Dutch flag, and a wave of strong conviction swelled 
 within her that if she were the lieer Director, she 
 never, never would surrender. Then she recalled her 
 partially English training ; thought of dear Uncle Pieter 
 and of Geertruyd's husband ; shrank in fear from the 
 thought of Van Schenkel, and the wave of feeling 
 swelling within was now English. 
 
 " What am I," she cried, " English or Dutch ? I 
 cannot tarry here !" 
 
 Out of her room she flew. Her heart was fluttering 
 wildly. She ran downstairs, threw over her head a thin 
 shawl that Lysbet had given her, and went to the water 
 front to stand there with other women, all looking anx- 
 iously toward the black mouths of the English cannon 
 pointed at Fort Amsterdam. 
 
 Stuyvesant was in the fort. 
 
 The guns were loaded. The gunner had a lighted 
 match in his hand. One word from the Heer Director, 
 and the shot would be fired that would involve the town 
 in chaos. Should Stuyvesant begin the bloody work ? 
 He hesitated. The gunner forbore. The sound of ap- 
 proaching steps was heard. Stuyvesant looked up, and 
 there were the Rev. Johannes Megapolensis and the Rev. 
 Samuel Megapolensis. They had a respectful communi-
 
 THE f'OMING OF THE ENGLISH. 347 
 
 cation to make. They asked, they begged, they en- 
 treated the Heer Director not to be the first to shed the 
 blood of human kind. If blood must run, let the Eng- 
 lish start the terrible flow. 
 
 Stuyvesant assented to this proposed delay of a Dutch 
 cannonade. Leaving a force of fifty men under Coun- 
 cillor De Sille in the fort, he marched in dignity with a 
 hundred soldiers to oppose any landing by the English. 
 This certainly was a justifiable self-defence. Hoping 
 still to keep back that storm threatening to belch from 
 the English batteries, he sent commissioners to Nicolls, 
 doughtily saying he must stand the storm, but hoped 
 they might come to a peaceful understanding. 
 
 There was parleying of the commissioners with Com- 
 mander Nicolls. 
 
 " Hoist the white flag of peace at the fort," was his 
 final answer, " and then something may be considered." 
 
 Hoist the white flag ! Something then might be con- 
 sidered ! 
 
 What an earthquake of excitement now shook the lit- 
 tle city ! 
 
 Everybody was ready to submit ; everything was ready 
 to give way. 
 
 Not everybody not everything. 
 
 On that wooden leg firmly planted stood a resolute pil- 
 larthe Stuyvesant will. Like waves beating on a rock 
 swayed the supplications of New Amsterdam about stout 
 old Stuyvesant. Many burghers and burghers' wives
 
 348 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 and burghers' children, in tears, besought the wooden 
 leg to give way. 
 
 "I had rather be carried out dead," asserted Heer 
 Director. 
 
 What could be done now ? His leg was down ; what 
 would take it up ? He had got that wooden leg by re- 
 fusing to budge and back out when, on the island of St. 
 Thomas, years ago, the drums were beating for the 
 battle charge. Ever since he had never been one to take 
 a back step when it was the time for battle. An old 
 man, in the habit of sticking to a position taken, why 
 should he withdraw that leg now ? 
 
 There was an important meeting at the Stadt Huys. 
 Civic authorities, military and ecclesiastical also, met to 
 hear the commissioners' report, and then wise Johannes 
 Megapolensis moved that a remonstrance be presented to 
 the Director. General and the Council. It pleaded for 
 fifteen hundred souls, only two hundred and fifty of 
 whom could bear arms. There was a fort ; it could not 
 hold out three days. Over against this pitiful array were 
 four frigates and six hundred soldiers ! Then in strong 
 terms they made their protest against senseless resistance, 
 calling down on " your Honors the vengeance of Heaven 
 for all the innocent blood which shall be shed in conse- 
 quence of your Honors' obstinacy." 
 
 Plain talk ! 
 
 That wooden leg was taken up.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 RUB-A-DUB ! rub-a-club ! 
 
 A rattle of drums could be heard one September morn- 
 ing, the eighth of the month, 1664. It was the Dutch 
 garrison marching out of the old fort.* At the head of 
 the column marched the once Heer Director. With all 
 the honors of war they marched, but it was a fiction. 
 What satisfying " honor" was there ? No, a fiction. And 
 was it the real Stuyvesant ? It is said that he had a de- 
 jected air. It was not the former Stuyvesant, his head 
 erect, his eyes flashing. I think of him now as walking 
 despondently, his head bowed, his eyes cast down on the 
 ground, his air that of one suddenly grown decrepid. 
 The wooden leg that had rapped the ground so smartly 
 in other days of bright victory, I now hear it falling 
 heavily, dismally upon the earth, and it was like the 
 
 * The fort was a sham. It was the gunner's opinion that if the 
 fort opened fire in the morning, the ammunition would be gone by 
 evening. Then there were other English forces than those above 
 mentioned. There were volunteers from New England and Long 
 Island. These zealous warriors, " however, were prudently kept at 
 the Breuckelen ferry, ' as the citizens dreaded most being plundered 
 by them.' "History of the State of New York, John Romeyn 
 Brodhead, Vol. I., p. 743.
 
 350 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 sound of a grave-digger's spade. It was a funeral column, 
 in spite of the "drums beating, and colors flying, and 
 lighted matches," and as people sombrely watched it all, 
 what wonder if the column had grown thin and shadowy, 
 a spectral turnout with skeleton soldiers and skeleton 
 drummers and a skeleton Stuyvesant at the head, all en- 
 closing a shadowy coffin in which were the dusty remains 
 of the old Dutch power. 
 
 The column moved slowly, sullenly along the familiar 
 parade-ground to that old beaver haunt, De Bever Graft, 
 and then to De Heeren Graft, with its sleepy canal. 
 Here boats were waiting to receive this cargo of Dutch 
 defeat and convey the garrison to that historic vessel, 
 the Gideon, lying off in the stream and bound for Hol- 
 land the next fair wind.* 
 
 * Stuyvesant soon went to Holland to " vindicate his conduct." 
 His home, though, on this side the waters, had a hold on his heart 
 and drew him back to his farm, or "bouwerie," a word which 
 named that odd city-way, the Bowery. Who thinks of green fields 
 as he walks it that it once led to Stuy vesant's farm ? There in a 
 courtly sort of a way lived the rugged old ex-governor. He was 
 a good scholar, his Latin name, Petrus, seeming to suggest it. Be- 
 hind the sharp, flashing eyes were infirmities, but there were strong 
 virtues also, for which I have much respect. It was, therefore, 
 with a pilgrim's interest that one gray, misty morning I stood before 
 a tablet in the wall of St. Mark's Church, that rises where once was 
 the green and pleasant "bouwerie" of the last of the Dutch 
 governors, and I copied off an inscription beginning, " In this vault 
 lies buried Petrus Stuyvesant." He died at the age of eighty. 
 What stillness within that vault ! How unlike the restless activity 
 of that old, last Dutch governor 1
 
 CHANGES. 351 
 
 Rub-a-dub ! rub-a-dub ! 
 
 What was coining in as that funeral pageantry went 
 out ? Advancing down De Heeren Straat, the Broad- 
 way that has so often echoed to the tramp of soldierly 
 columns, marched the troops of England with firm, as- 
 sured step. The fort was already in their hands, a cor- 
 poral's guard having slipped in when Holland had 
 marched out. The banner of St. George floated above 
 the old stronghold or weakhold henceforth to be known 
 as Fort James. The new governor was Nicolls. New 
 Amsterdam, that had remembered a city in Holland, 
 took on as New York the name of an Englishman, the 
 Duke of York. Later, Fort Orange became what is still 
 a Dutchman's pride, though under an English name, 
 Albany. 
 
 All this was to be a permanent arrangement, save that 
 for a short time (1673-74) there was a spunky attempt to 
 make the region and its features Dutch again. 
 
 Holland gave to America ennobling qualities coming 
 out in some of the characters of this story of life behind 
 Manhattan gables. 
 
 While Katryne had energy, that steadfast service at 
 New Haerlem and her patience in sickness proved that 
 Geertruyd had endurance ; and Adam Smidt and Isak 
 Wyckoff abounded in shopkeeping knack and thrift. 
 Holland, that was so astir with energy, could yet endure 
 to martyrdom, and so abounded in the commercial 
 instinct that if she had been a big island anchored fifty
 
 352 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABI/ES. 
 
 miles off the shores of Europe it is doubtful if England 
 ever would have won the title of mistress of the seas. 
 As it was, Holland so richly dowered her child New 
 Amsterdam that in New York, helped by English 
 aggressiveness, Holland may win prizes far beyond her 
 most ambitious dreams.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IN ST. NIKOLA AS* CHUJRCH AGAIN. 
 
 ANOTHER change ! A new wonder ! The Dutch sea- 
 port growing bigger ! A service of the Church of Eng- 
 land was to be held in that house of worship in the 
 old fort after the English occupation, and it was an- 
 nounced that it would be held at a time subsequent to 
 that of the Dutch service. 1C occasioned great stir. 
 
 The late Heer Director, so distinctly seeing his own 
 way and not recognizing another man's right to his way, 
 had given a narrowness to the public administration of 
 church matters. Now there was to be a new breadth of 
 opportunity. 
 
 But who would go to the English service ? 
 
 " Here is one who will not go," muttered Hans, 
 smoking his Sunday pipe. 
 
 The mutter was hardly out of him when a voice ex- 
 claimed, "1 thought 1 would tell thee, father; I have 
 it in mind to go to the English service." 
 
 Hans could hardly speak. He choked. He grew 
 purple. Then he grinned. " Nobody from De Heeren 
 Graft will go with her," he told himself. " That may 
 end it. 1 will not oppose her, for I want her to be ready
 
 354 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 to go again to Holland with me. She will not want to 
 go alone to an English service." 
 
 Katryne was one who conld champion an unpopular 
 side ; and then somehow the English element in her life 
 would not let her stay at home. She took in her hand 
 Aunt Marytje's English prayer-book, given Katryne by 
 Uncle Pieter, and left the house. So solitary did she feel, 
 and it seemed as if the neighbors from their stoops all 
 looked at her in surprise, each one aiming a spy-glass at 
 her! 
 
 So solitary ? 
 
 No. A voice said, " May I go with thee ?" 
 
 It was Annetje. 
 
 " Thou art an angel, Annetje. Come !" 
 
 Annetje was a chameleon. To-day she did not look the 
 witch, as she had been at work before the glass for an hour 
 changing herself into a staid Dutch matron. She wore 
 a lavender hood, a lavender dress, and lavender hose. 
 
 The two friends neared the fort. It looked the same. 
 And there was the old windmill not one of the light, airy 
 kind of to-day, but stout and substantial, with huge long 
 vanes like arms, with which it threshed the wind that 
 had aroused it. Same windmill, same fort ; but an 
 English sentinel in the gateway ! The same old church 
 of St. Nikolaas, the same aisles, the same pews, but 
 within was a congregation mostly English, the four 
 English vessels giving it size. The same pulpit, round 
 and tall, but in it was a clergyman of the Church of -
 
 IN" ST. NIKOLA AS* CHURCH AGAIN. 355 
 
 England, the chaplain of the English forces, and guiding 
 the worship of the people was the prayer-book of that 
 Church !* 
 
 Yes, a change. It meant a bigger growth for the sea- 
 port town. 
 
 And yet Katryne felt much alone. She looked around 
 but once. 
 
 Annetje, the staid Dutch matron, had big eyes for 
 everything. 
 
 "Where was the young Englishman, Harold Wharton ? 
 
 He was not here. 
 
 But there was his uncle, Kobert Wharton. Annetje 
 knew him. 
 
 Did Katryne see him ? 
 
 Annetje looked at the eyes demurely fastened on the 
 prayer-book. 
 
 * For about thirty years the walls of the church of St. Nikolaas 
 lovingly made room for the services of the Church of England and 
 those of the Dutch Reformed. The Dutch services would be held 
 Sunday morning ; in the afternoon would come the English. This 
 close juxtaposition of the two bodies will account for the kindly 
 feeling between them perpetuated to this day in New York. May 
 the old church-fort arrangement prove a prophecy of the time when 
 all who are of Christ shall have no wall between them, but worship 
 and work as those under one roof. Into Garden Street Church, in 
 1693, went the Dutch fort-service. Trinity Church, a successor of the 
 afternoon fort-service, was built in 1696. "Good Queen Anne" 
 gave the corporation of Trinity the "Queen's Farm," and under 
 that title the green fields of the old Dutch West India Company 
 Farm came into the possession of Trinity.
 
 356 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " She shall look at him, and Harold too some time. 
 1 will bring them together. Now I will be good," re- 
 solved the matron. 
 
 u I feel at home here," Katryne soon was saying. 
 
 It was September, and her fingers had chanced to 
 wander to the pages remembering " St, Michael and All 
 Angels ; " and to Katryne's sensitive imagination the old 
 church seemed filled with beautiful presences. A great 
 company of the holy angels looked down. With them 
 came others that had sweet faces like Johanna's, and 
 was another that of the never-seen Aunt Marytje ? 
 
 " This is a blessed place," thought Katryne. 
 
 She felt very much at home and in the presence of a 
 great company of her own.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A STRANGE MICHAELMAS MOBNING. 
 
 AND now the feast-day in Katryne's prayer-book had 
 come, that of " St. Michael and All Angels ;" but such 
 a strange Michaelmas ! 
 
 Katryne in a daze stood on the stoop of her home, not 
 knowing whether it were home or not, not knowing 
 what she had better do. Michaelmas ! Was there an 
 angel that pitied her ? 
 
 That thought was followed by another : had not one 
 angel pitied her that day ? 
 
 It was such a strange story, the life of that short 
 Michaelmas. Only a day ago Hans and Katryne went to 
 Breuckelen to a husking, a merry Dutch husking. They 
 did not go by the ferry-boat. It never probably was a 
 very expeditious craft that ploughed the waves of East 
 River. At one time the voyage covered an hour. The 
 craft must have been more like a big scow, and the 
 transportation of vehicles made this size necessary. The 
 day that Hans went he considerately hired Wubbit and 
 a special boat for the voyage. Then Hans and Katryne 
 toiled along the road that pleasantly twisted through
 
 358 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 golden harvest fields and green groves to Breuckelen 
 hamlet.* 
 
 On the way Hans remarked, " Thou knowest, Ka- 
 tryne, that 1 think we had better go to Holland again ; 
 for thou knowest we have heard that there is money in 
 Holland for us ; that we were not told all the truth 
 when we were there ; and, to please me, like a good 
 child, thou didst pack thy chest." 
 
 * ' Yes ; but art thou minded to go with Van Schenkel i" 
 
 " That is my mind." 
 
 " Then my mind cannot be thy mind. Father, let us 
 not talk about it any more, for I cannot go with Van 
 Schenkel, and yet 1 do not wish to disobey thee." 
 
 " Wait till thou knowest more of what 1 may learn in 
 Breuckelen about this fortune, and thou mayest be of 
 another mind." 
 
 Breuckelen ? He would hear nothing there. 
 
 Katryne bit her lips and held in her tongue with one 
 of St. James' bridles. 
 
 " Ah, Katryne," mused Hans, " one thing thou dost 
 not know that Van Schenkel's ship is in East River 
 now ; that my chest is aboard, and on our way back to 
 
 * " The irregular road which wound its way from the ferry on the 
 Long Island side straggled to the east of the rising ground called 
 by the Indians ' Iphetauga,' and now known as the Heights, and 
 reached the little settlement of Breuckelen lying at a point closely 
 corresponding to the present City Hall. In fact, the old road fol- 
 lowed the general direction of busy Fulton Street of later days." - 
 History of the City of Brooklyn, by Stephen M. Ostrauder, p. 54.
 
 A STRANGE MICHAELMAS MORNING. 359 
 
 New York not New York, no, never ! it's New Am- 
 sterdam still and on our way back there we may meet 
 Van Schenkel's boats, and I hope thou wilt be more 
 docile then and let me send for thy chest which thou 
 didst pack." 
 
 The husking came and went. It was in a capacious 
 barn, its floor golden with big harvest heaps, and to it 
 rallied the young Dutch farmers and their sweethearts, 
 " vader" and " moeder," too, keeping up a quiet watch. 
 
 The next day came the return to the ferry. Down 
 the road to the river went Hans and Katryne. 
 
 Several times he hemmed and stuttered, " Kur Kur 
 Kur tryne !" 
 
 "What is it, father?" 
 
 Once he said, " It is a fair day," and again, " There 
 is the river." Finally, in sight of the ferry and the boat 
 of the waiting Wubbit, Hans broke out, " Kur Kur 
 Kurtryne !" 
 
 " Father, what is on thy mind ?" 
 
 " Thou wilt surely go to Holland now. My chest is 
 on board Yan Schenkel's ship" 
 
 Katryne stepped back and held up her hands. 
 
 " And I want thee to send Wubbit for thine." 
 
 A veil fell from before Katryne's eyes. She saw a 
 conspiracy here. A flame came into her eyes. 
 
 " Father, Yan Schenkel is at the bottom of this. It is 
 all his plan. He has thee in his power, and thou canst 
 not even squirm. He owns our house, 1 verily do fear,
 
 360 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 and 1 cannot say how much more thou art in his debt ; 
 but oh, this is not right ! Still I pity thee more than I 
 blame thee and 
 
 " Hush !" said Hans. 
 
 There was Yan Schenkel on the shore ! Near him 
 was a boat and six of his men were in it. 
 
 Across her mind flashed this thought : " If this be St. 
 Michael's Day, when he fought the dragon, then this 
 must be the dragon," so sinister was the face of Dirk 
 van Schenkel ! 
 
 " Come, Hans," growled Van Schenkel, " we are be- 
 hind time, I must be off in half an hour. Do thou 
 take this seat and Katryne that." 
 
 "What? At once going? I am not going!" said 
 Katryne. 
 
 " Now come, child !" whimpered Hans. " Here is 
 our boat now ; and I'll send Wubbit for thy chest, and 
 he will bring it to the ship " 
 
 " Father, I am not going !" 
 
 " Proud as a queen, and handsomer," said Van Schen- 
 kel in an undertone. He turned and gave some order to 
 his men, who rose from their seats. 
 
 " Will he take me forcibly ?" thought Katryne. 
 
 She never knew what he did really mean ; but she 
 lifted up her radiant eyes and pleaded, " Oh, have I no 
 helper ?" 
 
 The tramp of men was heard, and down to the ferry 
 came a group of English sailors, headed by some petty
 
 A STRANGE MICHAELMAS MORNING. 361 
 
 officer ; but if inferior in rank how superior in look and 
 figure as noble and trusty as Dirk was vile and traitor- 
 ous. 
 
 " St. Michael !" broke involuntarily from Katryne's 
 lips. She addressed him in English, her hands clasped. 
 " Oil, sir, if thou canst" 
 
 " What is it that troubles thee, fair lady ?" he asked, 
 bowing. 
 
 "Who dat twubble?" fumed Van Schenkel, in his 
 deficient English. " Who who art thou ? Myn wun- 
 away, George Martin !" He turned to his men and 
 shouted in Dutch, " Seize him ! seize him ! he is a de- 
 serter from my ship." 
 
 Then Van Schenkel came at George with a sidelike 
 motion, as if a dragon about to twist his coils round him. 
 
 St. Michael was ready. He seized the brute in his 
 strong arms, tossed him up and threw him down. He 
 planted his foot upon him and stood with folded arms, 
 looking down in a noble contempt on the dragon, who 
 writhed in hate, but was helpless. 
 
 Then this unconscious impersonator of the archangel 
 stooped, lifted the dragon and deposited him in his boat. 
 His men followed and took up their oars to row him and 
 the terrified Hans off to a ship waiting in the stream. 
 
 " Fare thee well, Katryne ! Thou wilt find that box 
 and thy papers in the closet in my room, " were the last 
 words of Hans. 
 
 Katryne saw Hans and the dragon drifting away in
 
 362 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 that boat, and in thought ever saw them drifting toward 
 a vessel that already was loosening its sails a vessel 
 soon sailing toward Helle-G-at. Katryne shivered. She 
 never saw the vessel, or Van Schenkel, or Hans again. 
 She went home, rowed by Wubbit, to stand at last on 
 the old familiar stoop in a daze, and yet acknowledging 
 that one strong angel had pitied and helped her that day.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WHAT NEXT ? 
 
 " WHAT next ?" thought Katryne, turning to the 
 door, with its old familiar knocker. 
 
 Realizing her seemingly helpless solitude, she had said 
 to herself while crossing East River, rowed by the big 
 negro, " What next shall 1 do ? I could not trust my- 
 self to Van Schenkel's care. Shall I follow father to 
 Holland, going in another vessel ? Where is the money 
 for this ? Shall I go to New England and search out 
 my relatives, who I know will help me ? What shall I 
 do ? There is a vessel waiting to go to Boston, the 
 neighbors say. Oh, what next ?" 
 
 She looked at the dog-and-lion knocker, and Cerberus 
 and Leo each seemed to have a voice that of the words 
 on the paper they once concealed : " Do not go at all 
 when thou knowest not the way." 
 
 " Ah, my friend," moaned Katryne, as she thought 
 of Geertruyd's husband, " how lonely 1 am ! I will 
 heed thy counsel. All alone am 1 !" 
 
 And how desolate was the house she entered ! She 
 was so bewildered, she sat down and covered her face 
 with her hands. The future she knew not ; the present
 
 364 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 was an awful abyss into which she seemed sinking. 
 More than this, she hardly had had time to think when, 
 without any attention to Cerberus and Leo, the door 
 was abruptly thrown back, and in came Van Arsdale, the 
 tapster ! 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" he said, giving a toss to his scarlet skull- 
 cap with its black fez ; " I thought Katryue Schuyler and 
 Hans had departed for Holland. My employer, Dirk 
 van Schenkel, told me to come and take possession here. ' ' 
 
 " Another evil angel ? No more good ones to-day ?" 
 thought Katryne. " Thought I had gone ! This fellow 
 was told to take possession ! Then it was planned 
 and expected that Katryne would go ! What a con- 
 spiracy to which my father lent himself !" She made 
 no audible reply to the man. 
 
 " I have come," said Yan Arsdale, the black shadow 
 of the dragon, " to take possession. What hast thou 
 to say ?" 
 
 " Possession ? By what right ?" demanded Katryne. 
 
 " Oh, a creditor's right ! Thy father is heavily in 
 debt to Yan Schenkel, and this furniture is all his" 
 
 " No, Yan Arsdale. This is Lysbet's." 
 
 " Thou wilt find out. I don't know whose the house 
 is, but the furniture will be Yan SchenkePs. Hans must 
 pay his debts." 
 
 " Dragged off to Holland by that Yan Schenkel, and 
 now thou, his servant, his tool, coming to take the fur- 
 niture ! Can I never get away from that man ?' '
 
 WHAT NEXT ? 365 
 
 " Not till thy father pays his debts." 
 
 Rap ! rap ! rap ! 
 
 It was some one knocking at a door into the garden. 
 
 Katryne was glad to have an excuse for going from 
 the presence of Van SchenkePs tool. 
 
 She opened the door into the garden, and there stood 
 Uncle Pieter ! Pie had in his arms a big, soiled bun- 
 dle. Gone all these months, but come at last on such a 
 day, hanging his head as of old, shabby as ever, and 
 wanting his morning schnapps probably ! Of all things, 
 a call from Uncle Pieter ! 
 
 u Oh!" cried Katryne. 
 
 It seemed as if the very sky were falling and earth 
 were yawning to receive it and Katryne. This in addi- 
 tion to everything else Uncle Pieter on this day of 
 trouble and in this fashion ! He did not look up, but 
 held out his hand as if for beer. 
 
 " Katryne, art not thou pleased to see thine Uncle 
 Pieter?" 
 
 Conscience accused her. . 
 
 " Yes ; forgive me, thy Katryne !" 
 
 She burst into tears, covered her face with her hands, 
 and leaned against a door-post. 
 
 " Why, Kaatje, my dear, my darling, what is it j" he 
 asked tenderly, springing to her side and throwing his 
 arm about her. " Did I surprise thee ? Forgive me, 
 Kaatje !" 
 
 "Oh, I am all all alone !"
 
 366 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 " Come in this way. Let me comfort thee." 
 
 He led her within, and then he saw Van Arsdale. 
 
 " Ho ! ho !" roared Van Arsdale, recognizing Pieter. 
 " Where hast tliou been, man ? Come for thy schnapps ?" 
 
 " Be still ! Speak when thou art spoken to !" 
 
 " Putting on airs, art thou, Yan Twiller ? Come to 
 my tables and thou wilt get rid of them. But let that 
 go. Katryne, I am here to look after this furniture. It 
 must be" 
 
 Rap ! rap ! rap ! now barked and roared the knocker, 
 and louder, as if to make up for its silence when Van 
 Arsdale brushed by it. 
 
 Katryne opened the door, and there were Annetje and 
 a stranger. 
 
 " Katryne, I have brought Heer Wharton to thee, 
 Harold's uncle, who wanted to know something ; and 1 
 brought him to thee." 
 
 " There," said the witch to herself as she went away, 
 " I wanted to do something toward bringing the young 
 people together ; and when. the uncle in the street want- 
 ed to know if I could tell him of one Pieter van Twiller, 
 I brought Heer Wharton to Katryne, the friend of 
 Wharton' s nephew. One and one make two, and only 
 two can make a wedding." 
 
 Off she skipped. 
 
 " I have heard of thee, and I would inquire about 
 thine Uncle Pieter," said Robert Whartou, as he gave a 
 stately bow.
 
 WHAT NEXT ? 367 
 
 " Ho is here to speak for himself," cried Uncle Pieter. 
 " My brother in the wilderness, I am verily rejoiced to 
 see thee. " 
 
 " Come, come !" said Van Arsdale roughly. " It is 
 well for thy guests to shake hands, as they are doing ; 
 but, Katryne, my time is precious. What time shall I 
 take the furniture away ? Thy father has gone to Hol- 
 land" 
 
 " Hold !" said Pieter in a commanding tone to the 
 tool of Van Schenkel. "No more, Van Arsdale! I 
 have something to say, and I would say it, too, before 
 my brother in the wilderness. I speak in Dutch, which 
 you, Van Arsdale, understand ; and he, Robert Whar- 
 ton, knows it well enough also to understand me. Ka- 
 tryne's father gone to Holland '( Katryne, 1 am thy 
 father !" 
 
 He stepped to her side. She looked up in tearful as- 
 tonishment. Van Arsdale sneered. Robert Wharton 
 gave a smile of congratulation. 
 
 " Hear my story all of ye though it brings to me no 
 credit. I am this girl's father. After the death of my 
 dear wife, Marytje, I was most miserable, and I foolishly 
 drowned my misery in drink. Not fully comprehending 
 what I was doing, I took a step that will seem strange 
 to you, but which I tried to justify to myself, though I 
 was in no condition, really, to justify what I was doing. 
 When I was under the influence of rny old enemy, 
 schnapps, I signed a paper by which Hans Schuyler took
 
 368 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 my baby, Katryne, as his. He and Lysbet wanted a 
 child, and then if there were one, Hans would partly 
 inherit, but this child would mostly inherit some property 
 in Holland. Until the child was twenty I agreed to say 
 nothing, for it was thought a word to Katryne would 
 make her uneasy, and, besides that, how could I say 
 anything ? She was brought up comfortably and re- 
 spectably, and I had only a drunkard's name to give her. 
 She would have money from Holland, and 1 could only 
 give her my debts to pay. It seemed as if kindness to 
 her demanded the surrender of my babe. So Hans took 
 her. Hans had said I should never be without my 
 morning dram if I wanted it, and I became such a slave 
 to it that 1 could not seem to go without it, and low 1 
 sank ; and yet all the time I meant when 1 could be a 
 credit to my Katryne to come to her, to tell her all and 
 say I was her father. It was my Katryne who told me 
 to stop the evil habit of drink, and she helped me stop ; 
 and since the war at the Esopus closed I have been here 
 twice to see her, but the taverns and the tap-rooms 
 tempted me, and I dared not remain. I have been in 
 England for long months, and now our Heavenly Father 
 has given me strength, and I am here to say if my poor 
 child will forgive me and receive me : 
 
 He dropped into a chair near him ; he bowed his head 
 in his misery ; he moaned, " If she will forgive " 
 
 She did not allow him to say more. She rushed swiftly 
 to his side. She took his bowed gray hairs to her bosom.
 
 WHAT NEXT ? 369 
 
 " Father, dear father, it is all past all past, and thy 
 Kaatje is proud of thee in the war. Thou wast a hero. 
 Thy Kaatje loves thee and always did. Heer Whar- 
 ton, speak to my father. Say to him" 
 
 " Brother, "said Robert Wharton tenderly, " the God 
 that met thee and me in the wilderness, and who kept 
 us, bless and keep thee now ! Thou hast done a manly 
 thing and made a manly confession." 
 
 " 1 don't know," sneeringly said Yan Arsdale. " I 
 have heard that man say under my roof when drunk 
 that he was Katryne Schuyler's father. Once only, I 
 allow, did he babble that ; and he says it now ; but who 
 knows if it is true ? I thought nothing of it then, and 
 now " 
 
 " Van Arsdale, be silent !" commanded Katryne. 
 
 " Thou caitiff !" roared Robert. 
 
 " No, no, I am no caitiff. I can take care of thee, 
 Englishman !" 
 
 Big Van Arsdale could easily have handled Robert 
 Wharton. 
 
 " I wish to have no quarrel with thee or with him 
 either ; but it is sense to ask where is the proof ? He 
 said to me when drunk that he was her father, and I 
 did not think it true ; and where is the proof now ? I 
 give thee good counsel ; look into this. He must make 
 others see it even as he claims it. It is no light thing, 
 for it means what shall be done with property." 
 
 An awful pause came here to Katryne and Robert
 
 370 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Wharton. They saw the importance of Van Arsdale's 
 words. The bowed Pieter seemed to have too heavy a 
 burden of shame on his gray hairs to be able to lift them 
 to make any assertion for himself. Where was the proof 
 of his words ? 
 
 Across this silence suddenly came to Katryne the voice 
 of Hans Schuyler, " Thou wilt find that box and thy 
 papers in the closet in my room!" "Thy papers." 
 Papers about a will in favor of one Katryne ? And did 
 not Lysbet say she had put a statement or something in 
 a box ? Light flooded Katryne's mind. 
 
 Katryne sprang away, saying, " I believe this is my 
 father, and I can show it to others, I think. Wait, wait 
 a few minutes !" 
 
 She left Robert Wharton whispering to Pieter, 
 " Cheer up, brother ! We will get the proof some- 
 where that will convince him. Thy word answers for 
 me." 
 
 Van Arsdale went to a window muttering, " He 
 wants to get a claim on this property, and so he says he 
 is the girl's father. It is a trick. I must look after Van 
 Schenkel's interests and my own." 
 
 Katryne soon came back smiling, and waving triumph- 
 antly several papers. 
 
 "Now hear me read hear, father, what was stolen 
 out of that box I told thee of. " 
 
 Pieter raised his head. The big tears were in his eyes. 
 
 She began to read a brief preface, and then said in
 
 WHAT XEXT ? 371 
 
 measured tones, " ' I, Marytje, the wife of Pieter van 
 Twiller, bequeath to my daughter Katryne ' " Pieter 
 was on his feet now " * my silver mug, my Bible ' 
 that is enough, father !" 
 
 He was at her side. He took her in his arms. He 
 kissed her triumphantly. " My darling child !" he 
 cried proudly. 
 
 "But listen," began Katryne again, "hear what 
 Lysbet wrote and put in the box where 1 found my dear 
 mother's will." 
 
 In Lysbet's statement she lamented her want of cour- 
 age to tell Katryne at an earlier date about her parentage, 
 that she was the child of " hear !" cried Katryne 
 " the child of Pieter van Twiller and his wife Marytje. 
 Hear, my dear father !" 
 
 Then she read on, how Lysbet wished to give to Ka- 
 tryne the furniture in the house, " which is mine," said 
 Lysbet ; " and I give it to the child of Pieter and 
 Marytje." 
 
 " That is the furniture in the house ; but the house ?" 
 gasped Van Arsdale. 
 
 O L 
 
 Robert Wharton now spoke. 
 
 " Let me ease thy mind by saying to thee that yester- 
 day I agreed to buy this of Hans Schuyler, only I am to 
 pay some of his creditors, and thy master is not among 
 those he named. Some property belonging to the 
 Wharton family has been heard from, and it was mis- 
 managed, and the mismanage!* is in prison, and yet it
 
 372 BEHIND MANHATTAN" GABLES. 
 
 turns out that enough has been saved to give a bountiful 
 help to ray nephew and me. My part I put into this 
 house, but it is for my nephew, hoping he will soon 
 marry." 
 
 Here he looked smilingly, approvingly at Katryne ; 
 but she had dropped her eyes at the words " my 
 nephew, hoping he will soon marry," and was saying to 
 herself, " It will give dear Geertruyd a home of her 
 own." 
 
 "Now, friend," continued Kobert Wharton, but 
 turning to Van Arsdale, u thou didst give us good coun- 
 sel. Take thou this piece of counsel I give thee, to go 
 home." 
 
 "I will do it," meekly said the big Van Arsdale; 
 and off he went. 
 
 Katryne and Kobert Wharton were busily talking, and 
 did not at once discover that they were alone. 
 
 At last Katryne asked, " "Where is my dear father ?" 
 She went through the house calling, " Father ! Dear 
 father !" She could not find him. She ran to the gar- 
 den door. She saw a package. " Oh, is that the soiled 
 paper bundlein whichhe probably brought some clothes ?" 
 
 No, she could not find it, only a package of old pipes 
 Hans had forgotten to take away. 
 
 " I am glad," thought Katryne, " that Heer Wharton 
 did not see that soiled bundle brought by my poor father. " 
 
 Suddenly, like a sunflower breaking from its bud, ap- 
 peared at the door of a neighboring shed but who was it ?
 
 WHAT NEXT ? 373 
 
 A most richly dressed burgomaster, she concluded, or 
 else a patroon, and her heart smote her. She had heard 
 Hans say one might call to go round the house and gar- 
 den, perhaps to make a bargain for the place. 
 
 " I will not meet this man," she affirmed, " unless he 
 comes to the house. It belongs, or will belong to Heer 
 Wharton." 
 
 Round the house went this sunflower, this golden 
 cloud, this shining patroon. 
 
 " I wish he would hold up his head. He must be 
 some patroon," declared Katryne. 
 
 He would not hold up his head. Soon Cerberus and 
 Leo jointly barked and roared. 
 
 " Dear Heer Wharton, wouldest thou answer the 
 knock for me ? It is some big patroon that is coming 
 to buy the house. Say, I pray thee, it is sold. " 
 
 " Trust me to pack him off !" said Robert Wharton ; 
 but instead he let him in, and there was Pieter van 
 T wilier, bowing to Katryne and bowing so grandly ! 
 Oh, how he shone ! He wore a rich coat of yellow silk 
 silk all the way from China ; breeches of white silk, 
 hose of blue, and his doublet was of blue satin. If he 
 had been the Emperor of China's right-hand mandarin 
 he could not have looked handsomer, nobler. There 
 were greetings given, and this mandarin from China 
 kissed the laughing, blushing Katryne, and he said, " I 
 pray thee, forgive me, Kaatje. I could but leave my 
 old clothes somewhere, and they are in the shed. For-
 
 374 BEHIND MAKHATTAiiT GABLES. 
 
 give me if 1 boast a little of my good luck, for I have 
 been in England, using in the fur-trade what I received 
 in the war, and have been prospered, and I had op- 
 portunity to find out about the Wharton estate, and I 
 did tell a barrister to send my brother word." 
 
 " Was it thou who didst it ? How much I owe thee, 
 getting me out of the wilderness and then getting me a 
 fortune !" said Robert Wharton. 
 
 " I am proud of my father," said the happy Katryne. 
 
 " And now, Kaatje dear, thy father will go to the 
 market," said the mandarin from China, " and we will 
 have a Michaelmas feast." 
 
 Such a feast ! On the table was no temptation by 
 way of schnapps. Indeed, Katryne told herself, " 1 
 shall go down into the cellar on the morrow with my 
 sand-broom, and it will not be sand I brush from all the 
 shelves in the wine-closet." 
 
 Yes, such a happy Michaelmas feast, and good angels 
 seemed to be everywhere. 
 
 And when Katryne went to her room and lay down on 
 her couch St. Michael seemed to be at her right hand. 
 The last purpose she had was this : " 1 will go to clear 
 Geertruyd's in the morning, for she is at home, and tell 
 her that Heer Wharton will buy this house for her hus- 
 band." She had one sharp pain in her heart, but St. 
 Michael seemed to lay his hand on it and say, " Be 
 strong, dear child, thou shalt have grace. With grace 
 from God will come thy peace."
 
 CHAPTER XXTOI. 
 
 TWO MAIDENS AGAIN. 
 
 GEEBTBUYD SMIDT'S spinning-wheel was turning 
 whirr-r-r-r ! If her stock of linen were to be equal to 
 the emergency of marriage, she must attempt something 
 in leisure hours. 
 
 " Geertruyd," her father had laughingly said, " thou 
 shalt have two good feather beds, all the pots and pans 
 thy husband can carry in four good loads ; and if he can 
 milk a cow, then Tanneken is thine." 
 
 But ah ! when Geertruyd would be married, she 
 could not say. That hide-away husband of last year she 
 had accustomed herself, or made the effort, to regard 
 as wedded to Katryne. And Katryne deserved him. 
 A fine husband like that young Englishman would set off 
 Katryne even as jewels from Amsterdam's shops the 
 comeliness of a Dutch maid. In Geertruyd's opinion 
 Katryne was so gifted that if she had the opportunity 
 she would be as learned as Dr. Alexander Carolus Curtius 
 or the Rev. ^Egidius Luyck, teachers of New Amster- 
 dam's Latin and High School, so far famed that young 
 students from the banks of the Delaware and from
 
 376 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 Virginia came here to receive an education. Yes, 
 Katryne was very bright. Whirr-r-r-r ! 
 
 Not so very fast art thou running, O spinning-wheel ! 
 
 Geertruyd was still weak. Small-pox and fever were 
 the physical scourges of New Netherland, and Geer- 
 truyd, after nursing her fever patients, was sick herself. 
 There she lay upon her bed, her light brown hair brushed 
 back from her fair temples, her face very white and thin, 
 very still, Geertruyd never complaining, ever trying to be 
 cheerful. As nurse and patient she had shown the 
 Dutch quality of endurance that could rise to martyrdom. 
 Upon her face, so full of peace, the angel Health left 
 at last the smile of his presence ; and what a happy day 
 that was when Adam Smidt guided his old Dutch 
 wagon bearing Geertruyd, as cautiously as if it had been 
 a baby-carriage, all the way down the island, past the 
 Stuyvesant bouwerie and other fair fields to the land 
 poort, and so home. She was not strong, though, and 
 Geertruyd's spinning-wheel did not go with the old 
 swiftness. But ah ! here was Katryne coming in like a 
 wind from the beautiful west. 
 
 " Thou dear little white tulip," she cried to Geer- 
 truyd, " thou art still weak ! 1 have come over to tell 
 thee some strange news. Oh, it would fill a Spanish gal- 
 leon ; but first run out into the garden and get a breath 
 of this wholesome air, and some of the bloom of thy 
 father's famous peaches, may it get into thy cheeks. I 
 will spin for thee."
 
 TWO MAIDENS AGAIN. 377 
 
 So Katryne sat down to spin. No ; first she must 
 repair a sand heap on the floor Geertruyd had built up to 
 represent the Stadt Huys, and which Katryne had stepped 
 on, making it look like a Long Island shore-hummock 
 after a storm. Then there was one of the tiles supposed 
 to tell the story of Jacob and the angels at Bethel. The 
 angel next to the fire was very much soiled. 
 
 " He looks like a chimney-sweep just going into the 
 fireplace. At Michaelmas all angels should look very 
 comely," said Katryne, wiping the sooty cherub. 
 
 Then how she made that wheel fly ! Whirr-r-r ! 
 Whirr-r-r ! Whirr-r-r ! Yes, this was Dutch energy. 
 
 Geertruyd out in the garden leaned against a peach- 
 tree for support. It was good to breathe the warm 
 autumn air and hear the wind rustle the leaves clinging 
 to the tree boughs. This was the garden, she thought, 
 into which Katryne's friend had come. There, at the 
 right, was the shed where he had hidden away. She 
 thought of it as a cage where she had concealed her 
 precious bird, and she thought, too, of the food and milk 
 she had set outside the door. She would like to see him 
 again, though she supposed she ought not, even if she 
 could, but must leave him fully and forever to Katryne. 
 
 " Alas !" she sighed. Then she prayed to be forgiven 
 for the escape of that regret, an ebullition of selfishness 
 from a wicked heart. 
 
 See him 1 Oh, dear, she ought not even to think of 
 him ! And yet in. her very sickness at New llaerlem it
 
 378 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 would seem as if he came every day from New Amster- 
 dam up the long road that wound by the door and so 
 on to Boston. He would stop and come into her room 
 and look tenderly at her, and she would let him stay 
 there longer than she ought, and she was very sorry for 
 it now. She was weak then, arid could not seem to 
 help it ; but now she was strong enough certainly to 
 banish him from her thoughts for dear Katryne's sake ; 
 and he must go into immediate exile. Still she regret- 
 ted that she could not see him once more and and 
 did her eyes bewitch and deceive her ? There he 
 was ! 
 
 Unless a spirit, he was actually looking into the gar- 
 den ! A spirit ? Had he been shot, killed ? How her 
 heart fluttered in pain ! It was an exquisite pain, though, 
 as long as he made it. A spirit ? He was finely dressed 
 now in some kind of uniform. Were the inhabitants of 
 another world thus arrayed ? A spirit ? He was speak- 
 ing. Could he come in and thank her ? Did he say 
 that ? 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" she was gasping, and ought to have 
 said, " No ;" but she could only seem to hold out her 
 handi to warn Katryne's beloved away ; and then in her 
 weakness she fainted and fell. The next thing that she felt 
 was the pressure of very strong, tender arms about her, 
 and somebody was carrying her toward the house. She 
 had been trying to keep him away, and there she was right 
 in his arms 1 And if she gave way to the delight of
 
 "TWO MAIDENS AGAIH. 379 
 
 this consciousness, just for the moment, could she be 
 blamed ? It was so delightful to feel the uplift of those 
 arms. 
 
 Katryne heard the noise of feet heavier than Geer- 
 truyd's, and ran to see Geertruyd in the arms of a man, 
 even her brave Michaelmas deliverer ! 
 
 Geertruyd gasped, " This is my thy my thy friend 
 that 1 told thee about in our garden in the shed. 
 Oh ! oh ! drop me ! drop me !" 
 
 This last sentence was a plea with her bearer. 
 
 " My friend, now, yes !" exclaimed the astonished 
 Katryne. " Thou wast a stranger until yesterday, 
 and then my valiant helper. How much I owe thee ! 
 Thou art very welcome. 1 can never repay thee." 
 
 " Say no more about thy debt. Yes, I was an entire 
 stranger, but gladly was I thy helper," said the angel 
 in uniform. 
 
 " An entire stranger !" 
 
 Katryne and Geertruyd looked at one another. 
 
 What veils fell from their eyes, and what burdens 
 rolled from their hearts ! 
 
 " I did not know that thou wast Geertruyd' s friend. 
 I thought it was another," murmured Katryne. 
 
 " May I say ' Geertruyd ' ?" he asked. 
 
 Nobody forbade him. 
 
 " Am I not her friend ? She is my friend, for she 
 greatly befriended me." 
 
 The soul of Geertruyd was thrilled with rapture, and
 
 380 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 her happy face shone with new beauty. Sagaciously 
 Katryne did not give any directions as to the treatment 
 of a convalescent who had been surprised into a fainting 
 fit in what chair she might be deposited, or whether her 
 f ather might be summoned but left those two alone and 
 stole out of the house. Geertruyd's garden attracted 
 Katryne, and there she could by herself think over the 
 last strange thing that had happened. 
 
 A voice, though, delayed her as she was stepping into 
 the garden. 
 
 Somebody was bowing in a very courteous fashion, 
 and yet his air was distant. " May 1 ask, lady, if you 
 may have seen a young English officer hereabouts ?" 
 
 How reserved his manner, as if talking with " an 
 entire stranger !' ' 
 
 " A maid thought I would find him here," he 
 added. 
 
 The maid was Annetje. She had seen Katryne enter 
 Geertruyd's house, and what she said was this : " You 
 will find him there, or somebody else." 
 
 How the witch skipped when she saw Katryne and 
 Harold Wharton meeting ! " That is what I wanted," 
 said the witch. 
 
 Katryne's heart was now going faster than Geertruyd's 
 ever went in this very same garden. " Yes, he is in the 
 house," she said mechanically, her eyes dropping. 
 
 " Could I see him, did you say ?" 
 
 11 1 think he is oc occupied now."
 
 TWO MAIDENS AGAIN. 381 
 
 " Oh !" he exclaimed in his coldest tone yet, and 
 bowed and was moving on. 
 
 " Wilt thou not wait ? I am afraid I have not been 
 kind to thee, though I meant no unkindness." 
 
 She held out her hand and looked at him now. It 
 was a straight, true look. Their eyes met, and all his 
 coldness melted away in the sincere warmth of that recog- 
 nition. He seized eagerly the most coveted thing in the 
 world even her hand. 
 
 " Not kind ?" he asked, as if her manner had been 
 always kind and never in its effect cruel. 
 
 "I did not mean to be unkind ; but I thought 
 thou must be somebody else." 
 
 She was crying. 
 
 Why she cried she could hardly say, but she gave way 
 to her mood. 
 
 Who can stand tears that make the appeal of one's 
 eyes more irresistible than ever ? 
 
 Harold Wharton was all submission. 
 
 " Darling, come this way !" and he led her blushing 
 and weeping to a cluster of peach-trees, whose foliage 
 made a friendly bower. " There has been some mis- 
 take, and thou lovest me ?" he asked. 
 
 Her head went up and down emphatically, while her 
 confession was : " All this long time ever since 1 
 saw thee first." 
 
 " I love thee too with all my heart ; don't cry but tell 
 me, darling, all about it, and let me bring thee comfort."
 
 382 BEHIND MANHATTAN GABLES. 
 
 And there, in the retired little peach nook, in Adam 
 Smidt's garden, Katryne explained to Harold, and 
 Harold comforted Katryne. It took them as long a time 
 amid the peach-trees as it took George Martin and 
 Geertruyd Smidt in the house. 
 
 Of course, in due season these young people " maide 
 procklemation of thare banns," as a New Amsterdam 
 document puts it. " Three several days," from the pul- 
 pit of St. Nikolaas' Church, were they published as can- 
 didates for matrimony, and Annetje's big eyes filled 
 with a sunny delight as she heard it all. 
 
 When married, these parties that had been identified 
 with life in New Amsterdam, did a sensible and pleasant 
 thing when they all settled down to live in New York. 
 
 THE END.