Knickerbocker's history of New York, vol. 2 (of 2)Irving, Washington
History
Knickerbocker's history of New York, vol. 2 (of 2)
Irving, Washington
New York (State) -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775
No sooner had Peter Stuyvesant arrived at Fort Christina than he
proceeded without delay to intrench himself, and immediately on running
his first parallel, despatched Antony Van Corlear to summon the fortress
to surrender. Van Corlear was received with all due formality,
hoodwinked at the portal, and conducted through a pestiferous smell of
salt fish and onions to the citadel, a substantial hut built on pine
logs. His eyes were here uncovered, and he found himself in the august
presence of Governor Risingh. This chieftain, as I have before noted,
was a very giantly man, and was clad in a coarse blue coat, strapped
round the waist with a leathern belt, which caused the enormous skirts
and pockets to set off with a warlike sweep. His ponderous legs were
cased in a pair of foxy-colored jackboots, and he was straddling in the
attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes before a bit of broken looking-glass,
shaving himself with a villanously dull razor. This afflicting operation
caused him to make a series of horrible grimaces, which heightened
exceedingly the grisly terrors of his visage. On Antony Van Corlear’s
being announced, the grim commander paused for a moment in the midst of
one of his most hard-favored contortions, and after eying him askance
over the shoulder, with a kind of snarling grin on his countenance,
resumed his labors at the glass.
[Illustration:
“BEFORE A BIT OF BROKEN LOOKING-GLASS SHAVING HIMSELF.”
]
This iron harvest being reaped, he turned once more to the trumpeter,
and demanded the purport of his errand. Antony Van Corlear delivered in
a few words, being a kind of shorthand speaker, a long message from his
Excellency, recounting the whole history of the province, with a
recapitulation of grievances and enumeration of claims, and concluding
with a peremptory demand of instant surrender; which done, he turned
aside, took his nose between his thumb and fingers, and blew a
tremendous blast, not unlike the flourish of a trumpet of
defiance,—which it had doubtless learned from a long and intimate
neighborhood with that melodious instrument.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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