The Greatest Works of Charles Carleton Coffin. Charles Carleton Coffin
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must have the head of the murderer!” the governor replied. Jan Dam, one of the burghers, invited the governor and his secretary — Van Tienhoven — to a dinner-party. It was the 24th of February. Jan Dam treated the company to his best liquors. The more the governor drank, the greater his rage. The secretary drew up a petition, urging him, in the name of the twelve men, to make war; and Maryn Adriansen and two others signed it.
“I pray you, don’t do it!” pleaded Dominie Bogardus.
“Wait till the next ship comes in,” said Doctor La Montagne.
“Only three of the twelve have signed it; the others are opposed to it,” said Captain De Vries.
What cared William Kieft for the twelve burghers? He was governor, and would do as he pleased.
“Go!” was the order to Sergeant Rodolf.
The soldiers stepped into the boats at the Battery and rowed to the Jersey shore. It was midnight, and the Indians — men, women, and children — were asleep in their wigwams. No suspicion of treachery on the part of the Dutch had ever come to them. Silently the soldiers landed, and surrounded the wigwams. The work of death began. Captain De Vries, friend of the Indians, stood on the Battery and saw the flash of guns. A wail of agony floated over the waters — the death-cry of eighty men and women at Pavonia, and thirty at Corlaer’s Hook.
Men and women were shot down without mercy; infants in their mother’s arms were hacked to pieces. The wounded were pinned to the earth with stakes, or tossed into the river to be swept away by the tide. What a sight was that which Captain De Vries beheld in the dim gray of the midwinter’s morning! Indian women kneeling at his feet, with their hands chopped off, a foot gone, great gashes in their sides, begging his protection.
“The Mohawks have done this,” they said, never dreaming that the Dutch had butchered them! Oh, how hard it was for the kind-hearted man to tell them that they whom they had treated so kindly, whom they believed to be their firm friends, had done it!
The soldiers returned to the fort, each man bringing the head of an Indian. What a ghastly spectacle — a pile of bleeding heads! The people came to see them — some sickening at the sight, others rejoicing. The secretary’s mother-in-law. in her glee, kicked the heads as if they were foot-balls. Is it a wonder that the Indians vowed vengeance? that the warwhoop rung through the forest? that the midnight skies were reddened with the glare of burning buildings? that men, women, and children went down before the tomahawk and seal ping-knife? Revenge was sweet! A few days later, and the settlers came flocking to New Amsterdam, while the Indians shot their cattle, horses, sheep, and pigs, and rioted upon the plunder of the houses. The wrath of the settlers rose against the governor.
“Give us back our murdered children!” cried the weeping mothers.
“You did it!” said the settlers.
“You must blame the freemen,” the cowardly governor replied.
“You forbade the freemen to meet!”
“Maryn Adriansen and two others signed the petition, they are responsible.”
“What lies are these you tell about me?” shouted Adriansen, drawing his sword and aiming his pistol at the governor.
“Put the assassin in prison!” cried Kieft; and he was marched off to jail.
There was a commotion in Manhattan — the people demanding Adriansen’s release, and not a soul in the community offering to stand by the governor, who was compelled to permit twelve men, whom the people chose, to have a voice in public affairs.
There was one man in whom the Indians trusted — Captain De Vries — for he was always their friend; and through his good offices a treaty of peace was signed, and the settlers went out to their farms.
But there were some Indians who would not be bound by the treaty; they had their revenge to gratify, and the war broke out anew.
Among those massacred was Ann Hutchinson, who had been compelled to leave Boston on account of her religious opinions, and who had made her way to New Netherlands.
Captain John Underbill, who was in the attack upon the Pequod Indians, arrived, and was placed in command of the troops of Manhattan. With one hundred and eighty men, he sailed through Hell-gate, landed at Greenwich, and surrounded an Indian village, in which there were five hundred men, women, and children. The Dutch had guns, the Indians only bows and arrows. It was a fearful slaughter, and when it was over there was a heap of mangled corpses — the entire five hundred, except five who managed to escape. The Indians never recovered from the blow; it was the going down of the weak before the strong.
The West India Company had had enough of William Kieft. He had spent a great deal of money and was so inefficient that he was ordered to return to Amsterdam, and the people rejoiced when he was gone.
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