Edmund Clarence Stedman. Peter Stuyvesant's New Year's Call. Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. 1917. The Book of New York Verse

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Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.

Peter Stuyvesant’s New Year’s Call

By Edmund Clarence Stedman


1 Jan. A. C. 1661. WHERE nowadays the Battery lies,
New York had just begun,
A new-born babe, to rub its eyes,
In Sixteen Sixty-One.
They christen’d it Nieuw Amsterdam,	5
Those burghers grave and stately,
And so, with schnapps and smoke and psalm,
Lived out their lives sedately.

Two windmills topp’d their wooden wall,
On Stadthuys gazing down,	10
On fort, and cabbage-plots, and all
The quaintly-gabled town;
These flapp’d their wings and shifted backs,
As ancient scrolls determine,
To scare the savage Hackensacks,	15
Paumanks, and other vermin.

At night the loyal settlers lay
Betwixt their feather-beds;
In hose and breeches walk’d by day,
And smoked, and wagg’d their heads;	20
No changeful fashions came from France,
The vrouwleins to bewilder;
No broad-brimm’d burgher spent for pants
His every other guilder.

In petticoats of linsey-red,	25
And jackets neatly kept,
The vrouws their knitting-needles sped
And deftly spun and swept;
Few modern-school flirtations there
Set wheels of scandal trundling,	30
But youths and maidens did their share
Of staid, old-fashion’d bundling.

—The New Year opened clear and cold;
The snow, a Flemish ell
In depth, lay over Beeckman’s Wold	35
And Wolfert’s frozen well;
Each burgher shook his kitchen doors,
Drew on his Holland leather,
Then stamp’d thro’ drifts to do the chores,
Beshrewing all such weather.	40

But—after herring, ham, and kraut—
To all the gather’d town
The Dominie preach’d the morning out,
In Calvinistic gown;
While tough old Peter Stuyvesant	45
Sat pew’d in foremost station;
The potent, sage, and valiant
Third Governor of the nation.

Prayer over, at his mansion hall,
With cake and courtly smile,	50
He met the people, one and all,
In gubernatorial style;
Yet miss’d, though now the day was old,
An ancient fellow-feaster:
Heer Govert Loockermans, that bold	55
Brewer and burgomeester;

Who, in his farm-house, close without
The picket’s eastern end,
Sat growling at the twinge of gout
That kept him from his friend.	60
But Peter strapp’d his wooden peg,
When tea and cake were ended,
(Meanwhile the sound remaining leg
Its high jack-boot defended),

A woolsey cloak about him threw,	65
And swore, by wind and limb,
Since Govert kept from Peter’s view,
Peter would visit him;
Then sallied forth, thro’ snow and blast,
While many a humble greeter	70
Stood wondering whereaway so fast
Strode bluff Hardkoppig Pieter.

Past quay and cowpath, through a lane
Of vats and mounded tans,
He puff’d along, with might and main,	75
To Govert Loockermans;
Once there, his right of entry took,
And hail’d his ancient crony:
“Myn Gott! in dese Manhattoes, Loock,
Ve gets more snow as money!”	80

To which, till after whirls profound,
The other answer’d not;
At last there came responsive sound:
“Yah, Peter: yah, Myn Gott!”
Then goedevrouw Marie sat her guest	85
Beneath the chimney-gable,
And courtesied, bustling at her best
To spread the New Year’s table.

She brought the pure and genial schnapps,
That years before had come—	90
In the Nieuw Nederlandts, perhaps—
To cheer the settlers’ home;
The long-stemm’d pipes; the fragrant roll
Of press’d and crispy Spanish;
Then placed the earthen mugs and bowl,	95
Nor long delay’d to vanish.

Thereat, with cheery nod and wink,
And honours of the day,
The trader mix’d the Governor’s drink
As evening sped away.	100
That ancient room! I see it now:
The carven nutwood dresser;
The drawers, that many a burgher’s vrouw
Begrudged their rich possessor;

The brace of high-back’d, leathern chairs,	105
Brass-nail’d at every seam;
Six others, ranged in equal pairs;
The bacon hung a-beam;
The chimney-front, with porcelain shelf;
The hearty wooden fire;	110
The picture, on the steaming delft,
Of David and Goliah.

I see the two old Dutchmen sit
Like Magog and his mate,
And hear them, when their pipes are lit,	115
Discuss affairs of state;
The clique that would their sway demean;
The pestilent importation
Of wooden nutmegs, from the lean
And losel Yankee nation.	120

But when the subtle juniper
Assumed its sure command,
They drank the buxom loves that were—
They drank the Motherland;
They drank the famous Swedish wars,	125
Stout Peter’s special glory,
While Govert proudly show’d the scars
Of Indian contests gory.

Ere long, the berry’s power awoke
Some music in their brains,	130
And, trumpet-like, through rolling smoke,
Rang long-forgotten strains;
Old Flemish snatches, full of blood,
Of Phantom ships and battle;
And Peter, with his leg of wood,	135
Made floor and casement rattle.

Then round and round the dresser pranced,
The chairs began to wheel,
And on the board the punch-bowl danced
A Netherlandish reel;	140
Till midnight o’er the farmhouse spread
Her New-Year’s skirts of sable,
And, inch by inch, each puzzled head
Dropt down upon the table.

But still to Peter, as he dream’d,	145
That table spread and turn’d;
The chimney-log blazed high, and seem’d
To circle as it burn’d;
The town into the vision grew
From ending to beginning;	150
Fort, wall, and windmill met his view,
All widening and spinning.

The cowpaths, leading to the docks,
Grew broader, whirling past,
And checker’d into shining blocks	155
A city fair and vast;
Stores, churches, mansions, overspread
The metamorphosed island,
While not a beaver show’d his head
From Swamp to Kalchhook highland.	160

Eftsoons the picture pass’d away;
Hours after, Peter woke
To see a spectral streak of day
Gleam in thro’ fading smoke;
Still slept old Govert, snoring on	165
In most melodious numbers;
No dreams of Eighteen Sixty-One
Commingled with his slumbers.

But Peter, from the farmhouse-door,
Gazed doubtfully around,	170
Rejoiced to find himself once more
On sure and solid ground.
The sky was somewhat dark ahead:
Wind East, and morning lowery:
But on he push’d, a two-miles’ tread,	175
To breakfast at his Bouwery.

CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

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