CHAPTER XVI.
OLD FORT KASIMIR TWO CENTURIES AGO--THE GOBLINS OF THE LANE--AN OUTRAGE UPON PITMAN'S COW--THE JUDGE DISCUSSES THE SUBJECT OF BITTERS--HOW COOLEY CAME HOME--TURNING OFF THE GAS--A FRIGHTFUL ACCIDENT IN THE ARGUS OFFICE--THE TERRIBLE FATE OF ARCHIBALD WATSON--HOW MR. BERGNER TAUGHT SUNDAY-SCHOOL.
When the people of our village are in the mood to reflect uponantiquity, when they feel as if they would like to meditate upon theheroic deeds that have been achieved in this kindly old place by themighty men of valor who swaggered and swore and fought here a hundredyears before the war of the Revolution was dreamed of, they turn fromthe street down the gentle slope of the highway which runs by the river;and when they have wandered on a brief distance beyond the presentconfines of the town, they reach old Fort Lane. It is but a littlestretch of greensward, gashed by the wheels of vehicles and trodden bythe feet of wayfarers. It extends from the road eastward for a hundredyards, and then it dips downward and ends upon the sandy beach of thestream. Here, right upon the edge of the water, once stood brave oldFort Kasimir, with its guns threatening destruction not only tounfriendly vessels which sailed up the bay, but absolutely menacing thevery town itself. The village then was called New Stockholm. That wasthe name given to it by the Swedes, who perceived what a superb site fora city lay here, and who went to work and built a swarm of snug woodenhouses. It has had half a dozen other names since. When the Dutchmenconquered it, they dubbed it Sandhoec, then New Amstel and then FortKasimir. Afterward it was known as Grape Wine Point, then asDelaware-town and finally as New Castle. But twenty years after theSwedes had settled here, the Dutchmen at New York coveted the place andthe command of the river; and as an earnest of what they intended to do,they came right here under the very noses of the villagers and builtFort Kasimir.
I can imagine how the old Swedes in the village stood over there on theBattery and glowered at the Dutchmen as they labored upon the fort; andit is not difficult to conceive the terror and dismay that filled thosehumble little homes in New Stockholm when the intruder placed his queerbrass cannon in the embrasures of the fort after its completion, andwhen he would hurl a ball across the bows of a Swedish ship coming up tothe town, or would send a shot whistling over the roofs of the villageitself merely to gratify a grim humor. I would give a great deal, Mrs.Adeler, to have but one day of that distant past recalled; to see NewStockholm and its people as they were; to watch the Dutch chieftain andhis handful of men parading about in the fort in the panoply of war, andboasting of the prowess that dared thus to defy the enemy upon his ownthreshold. But, alas! look! not one vestige of the ancient battlementsremains. The grass has grown over the spot whereon they stood, and therolling river has long since buried beneath the sand of its shoreswhatever timbers of the structure touched its waters. It would havebeen forgotten, perhaps, but that Irving, with the humorous pen whichtraced the history of the Knickerbockers, has given it immortality inthe lines that tell how the exasperated Swedes seized the fort and heldthe Dutchmen prisoners, and how, when the news came to Manhattan island,the Dutch sent forth a valiant army, which not only retook the fortress,but carried away nearly all the villagers.
THE SITE OF FORT KASIMIR.]
There was wild lamentation in the little community upon that day as theunhappy people were torn from their homes and sent into exile; andthough the historian tells his tale sportively, the story always seemedto me to be full of pathos.
This place was thronged with strange figures, and it witnessed some verysad scenes in that far-off time. And if the traditions of theneighborhood may be believed, those tough old warriors even yet have notbid farewell for ever to the spot. There is no more fighting here,unless when some of the village urchins come out to have a tussle uponthe sward, and the chimneys of the town are unmolested by hostile shot.But they do say that sometimes we may look upon the shadowy outline ofthe ancient Hollanders who made this their battleground. The venturesomewight who comes to old Fort Lane at certain seasons after nightfall maysee headless Dutchmen in strange and ghostly attire marching up and downthe shore, and he may hear the cry of sentinels, uttered in an unknowntongue, borne past him on the wind. There are those who have listened tothe noise of cannon balls rolling in the dusk over floors which nomortal eye can ever see, and often, when there is a tempest, thebooming of guns will be heard above the roar of the storm, and fromspectral ships floating upon the bosom of the river will come thewailing voices of women and children who are still sorrowing for theirlost homes.
I do not say that this is so, Mrs. Adeler; I merely assert the existenceof a popular theory to that effect. I have private doubts if the goblinDutchmen ever have been seen, and I know of no reason why, if a ghost ofthat kind really comes back to earth, he should return without his head.
Judge Pitman has a field that is bounded upon one side by the lane, andin this enclosure we found, upon our visit to the historic spot, ameditative cow with a blind-board upon her forehead. There was nothingespecially remarkable about the board, and yet it has caused a greatdeal of trouble. In a recent interview with me the judge sought toconsole himself for the misery created by that blind-board by relatingthe story of his sorrow.
"Adeler," he said, "you know I j'ined the temp'rance society a couple o'months ago, not because I was much afeared of gittin' drunk often, butjust to please the old woman. You know how women are--kinder insane onthe subject of drinkin'. Well, my cow had a way o' jumpin' the fence,an' I couldn't do nothin' to stop her. She was the ornariest critterthat way that I ever see. So at last I got a blind-board an' hung it onher horns. That stopped her. But you know she used to come jam up agin'the fence an' stand there for hours; an' one day one o' them vagaboneadvertisin' agents come along--one o' them fellers that daubs signs allover the face of natur'--an' as soon as he seen that blind-board he wentfor it."
"A patent medicine man, I suppose?"
"No, he was advertisin' some kind o' stomach bitters; and he painted onthat board the follerin': '_Take Brown's Bitters for your Stomach'sSake. They make the Best Cocktails._'"
"The temperance society didn't like that, of course?"
"No, _sir_! The secretary happened to see it, and he brought out theboard of directors; and the fust thing I knowed, they hauled me up an'wanted to expel me for circulatin' scand'lous information respectin'bitters an' cocktails."
"That was very unjust."
"Well, sir, I had the hardest time to make them fellers understand thatI was innercent, an' to git 'em to let up on me. But they did. Then Iturned the blind-board over; and now the first man I ketch placin' anyrevolutionary sentiments on the frontispiece of that cow, why, down goeshis house; I'll knock the stuffin' out o' him; now mind _me_!"
"I am usually not in favor of resort to violence judge; but I must saythat under the circumstances even such severity would be perfectlyjustifiable."
"This bitters business is kinder fraudulent anyway," continued thejudge, meditatively. "I once had a very cur'ous experience drinkin' thatstuff. Last winter I read in one of the papers an advertisement whichsaid--But hold on; I'll read it to you. I've got 'em all. I kep' 'em asa cur'osity. Let's see; where d' I put them things? Ah! yes; here theyare;" and the judge produced some newspaper cuttings from hispocket-book. "Well, sir, I read in the _Argus_ this parergraph:
"'The excessive moisture and the extreme cold and continuous dampness of winter are peculiarly deleterious to the human system, and colds, consumption and death are very apt to ensue unless the body is braced by some stimulating tonic such as Blank's Bitters, which give tone to the stomach, purify the blood, promote digestion and increase the appetite. The Bitters are purely medicinal, and they contain no intoxicating element.'
"I'd been kinder oneasy the winter afore about my health, and thisskeered me. So I drank them Bitters all through the cold weather; an'when spring come, I was just about to knock off an' begin agin on water,when I was wuss frightened than ever to see in the _Argus_ thefollowin':
"'The sudden changes of temperature which are characteristic of the spring, and the enervating influence of the increased heat, make the season one of peculiar danger to the human system, so that ague, fever and diseases resulting from impurities clogging the circulation of the blood can only be avoided by giving tone to the stomach and increasing the powers of that organ by a liberal use of Blank's Bitters.'
"I thought there wa'n't no use takin' any risks, so I begun agin; but Imade up my mind to stop drinkin' when summer come an' danger was over."
"Your confidence in those advertisements, judge, was somethingwonderful."
"Jes so. Well, about the fust of June, while I was a-finishin' the lastbottle I had, I seen in the _Argus_ this one. Jes lissen to this:
"'The violent heat of summer debilitates and weakens the human system so completely that, more easily than at any other time, it becomes a prey to the insidious diseases which prevail during what may fairly be called the sickly season. The sacrifice of human life during this dangerous period would be absolutely frightful had not Nature and Art offered a sure preventive in Blank's Bitters, which give tone to the stomach,' etc., etc.
"This seemed like such a solemn warnin' that I hated to let it go; an'so I bought a dozen more bottles an' took another turn. I begun to thinkthat some mistake 'd been made in gittin' up a climate for this yercountry, and it did seem astonishin' that Blank should be the only manwho knew how to correct the error. Howsomdever, I determined to quit inthe fall, when the sickly season was over, an' I was jes gittin' readyto quit when the _Argus_ published another one of them notices. Here itis:
"'The miasmatic vapors with which the atmosphere is filled during the fall of the year break down the human system and destroy life with a frightful celerity which is characteristic of no other season, unless the stomach is strengthened by constant use of Blank's Bitters, which are a sure preventive of disease,' etc., etc.
"But they didn't fool me that time. No, sir. I took the chances withthose asthmatic vapors, and let old Blank rip. I j'ined the temperancesociety, an' here I am, hearty as a buck."
"You look extremely well."
"But, Adeler, I never bore no grudge agin the bitters men for lyin'until they spread their owdacious falsehoods on the blind-board of mycow. Then it did 'pear 's if they was crowdin' me too hard."
"Judge, did you ever try to convert Cooley to temperance principles? Itseems to me that he would be a good subject to work upon."
"Well, no; I never said nothin' to him on the subject. I'm not a verygood hand at convertin' people; but I s'pose I ought ter tackle Cooleytoo. He's bin a-carryin' on scand'lus lately, so I hear."
"Indeed! I hadn't heard of it."
"Yes, sir; comin' home o' nights with a load on, an' a-snortin' at thatpoor little wife of his'n. By gracious, it's rough, isn't it? An' Mrs.Cooley was tellin' my old woman that some of them fellers rubbedCooley's nose the other night with phos_phor_ous while he was asleepdown at the tavern; an' when he went home, it 'peared 's if he had alocomotive headlight in front of him."
"A very extraordinary proceeding, judge."
"Well, sir, when he got in the hall it was dark, an' he ketched a sighto' that nose in the lookin'-glass on the hat-rack, an' he thought Mrs.Cooley had left the gas burnin'. Then he tried to turn it off, an' afterfumblin' around among the umbrellers an' hat-pegs for a while for thestop-cock, he concluded the light must come from a candle, an' he nearlybu'sted his lungs tryin' to blow it out. Then he grabbed his hat an'tried to jam her down over that candle; an' when he found he couldn't,he got mad, picked up an umbreller an' hit a whack at it, which brokethe lookin'-glass all to flinders; an' there was Mrs. Cooley a-watchin'that old lunatick all the time, an' afraid to tell him it was his ownnose. I tell you, Adeler, this yer rum drinkin' 's a fearful thing anyway you take it, now, ain't it?"
* * * * *
I am glad to say that the _Argus_ has been fully repaid for its attemptsto beguile the judge into the use of bitters. The _Argus_ is in completedisgrace with all the people who attend our church. Some of the admirersof Rev. Dr. Hopkins, the clergyman, gave him a gold-headed cane a fewdays ago, and a reporter of the _Argus_ was invited to be present.Nobody knows whether the reporter was temporarily insane, or whether theforeman, in giving out the "copy," mixed it accidentally with an accountof a patent hog-killing machine which was tried in Wilmington on thatsame day, but the appalling result was that the _Argus_ next morningcontained this somewhat obscure but very dreadful narrative:
* * * * *
"Several of Rev. Dr. Hopkins's friends called upon him yesterday, andafter a brief conversation the unsuspicious hog was seized by the hindlegs and slid along a beam until he reached the hot-water tank. Hisfriends explained the object of their visit, and presented him with avery handsome gold-headed butcher, who grabbed him by the tail, swunghim around, slit his throat from ear to ear, and in less than a minutethe carcass was in the water. Thereupon he came forward and said thatthere were times when the feelings overpowered one, and for that reasonhe would not attempt to do more than thank those around him, for themanner in which such a huge animal was cut into fragments was simplyastonishing. The doctor concluded his remarks, when the machine seizedhim, and in less time than it takes to write it the hog was cut intofragments and worked up into delicious sausage. The occasion will longbe remembered by the doctor's friends as one of the most delightful oftheir lives. The best pieces can be procured for fifteen cents a pound;and we are sure that those who have sat so long under his ministry willrejoice that he has been treated so handsomely."
The _Argus_ lost at least sixty subscribers in consequence of thismisfortune, and on the following Sunday we had a very able and veryenergetic sermon from Dr. Hopkins upon "The Evil Influence of aDebauched Public Press." It would have made Colonel Bangs shiver to haveheard that discourse. Lieutenant Smiley came home with us after church,and I am sorry to say he exulted over the sturdy blows given to thecolonel.
"I haven't any particular grudge against the man," he said, "but I don'tthink he has treated me exactly fair. I sent him an article lastTuesday, and he actually had the insolence to return me the manuscriptwithout offering a word of explanation."
"To what did the article refer?"
"Why, it gave an account of a very singular thing that happened to afriend of mine, the son of old Commodore Watson. Once, when thecommodore was about to go upon a voyage, he had a presentiment thatsomething would occur to him, and he made a will leaving his sonArchibald all his property on condition that, in case of his death,Archibald would visit his tomb and pray at it once every year. Archibaldmade a solemn vow that he would, and the commodore started upon hisjourney. Well, sir, the fleet went to the Fiji Islands, and while therethe old man came ashore one day, and was captured by the natives. Theystripped him, laid him upon a gridiron, cooked him and ate him."
"That placed Archibald in a somewhat peculiar position?"
"Imagine his feelings when he heard the news! How could he perform hisvow? How could he pray at the commodore's tomb? Would not the tomb, asit were, be very apt to prey upon him, to snatch him up and assimilatehim? There seemed to be an imminent probability that it would. But hewent. That noble-hearted young man went out to the islands in search ofthe savage that ate the commodore, and I have no doubt that he sufferedupon the same gridiron."[1]
[1] I have reasons for believing that Smiley did not construct thisstory. I remember having seen it in a French newspaper long before I metthe lieutenant, and I am sure he borrowed it from that or some otherpublication.
"You don't mean to say that Bangs declined to publish that narrative?"
"He did, and he offered no explanation of his refusal."
"He is certainly a very incompetent person to conduct a newspaper. A manwho would refuse to give such a story to a world which aches foramusement is worse than a blockhead."
"By the way," said the lieuten
ant, changing the subject suddenly, "Ihear Parker has taken a class in the Sunday-school. He is sly--monstroussly, sir. Miss Magruder teaches there, too. Parker seems to bedetermined to have her, and I hope he may be successful, but I don'tthink he will be, I'm sorry to say."
It was evident that Smiley had not heard the news, and I did notenlighten him.
"Some men have a fitness for that kind of work, and some haven't. Therewas poor Bergner, a friend of mine. He took a class in a Sunday-schoolat Carlisle while we were stationed there. The first Sunday he told thescholars a story about a boy named Simms. Simms, he said, had climbed atree for the purpose of stealing apples, and he fell and killed himself.'This,' said Bergner, 'conveys an impressive warning to the young. Itteaches an instructive lesson which I hope will be heeded by all youboys. Bear in mind that if Simms had not gone into that tree he wouldprobably now be alive and well, and he might have grown up to be auseful member of society. Remember this, boys,' said Bergner, 'andresolve firmly now that when you wish to steal apples you will do so inthe only safe way, which is to stand on the ground and knock them downwith a pole.' A healthy moral lesson, wasn't it? Somebody told thesuperintendent about it, and they asked Bergner to resign. Yes, a manhas to have a peculiar turn for that kind of thing to succeed inteaching Sunday-school. I don't know how Parker will make out."
Then the lieutenant shook hands and left in order to catch the last boatfor the fort.
"Mrs. Adeler," I said, as I lighted a fresh cigar, "we may regard it asa particularly fortunate thing that Smiley is not entrusted with thereligious education of any number of American youth. Place theSunday-schools of this land in the hands of Smiley and others like him,and in the next generation the country would be overrun with a race ofliars."
* * * * *
I am not aware that Bob Parker has ever made any very serious attempt towrite poetry for the public. Of course since he has been in love withthe bewildering Magruder he has sometimes expressed his feelings inverse. But fortunately these breathings of passion were not presented toa cold and heartless world; they were reserved for the sympatheticMagruder, who doubtless read them with delight and admiration, andlocked them up in her writing-desk with Bob's letters and other precioussouvenirs. This, of course, is all right. Every lover writes what heconsiders poetry, and society permits such manifestations withoutinsisting upon the confinement of the offenders in lunatic asylums. Bob,however, has constructed some verses which are not of a sentimentalkind. Judge Pitman's story of the illumination of Cooley's nosesuggested the idea which Bob has worked into rhyme and published in the_Argus_. As the poet has not been permitted to shine to any great extentin these pages as a literary person, it will perhaps be fair toreproduce his poem in the chapter which contains the account of Cooley'smisfortune. Here it is:
TIM KEYSER'S NOSE.
Tim Keyser lived in Wilmington; He had a monstrous nose, Which was a great deal redder than The very reddest rose, And was completely capable Of most terrific blows.
He wandered down one Christmas day To skate upon the creek, And there, upon the smoothest ice, He slid around so quick That people were amazed to see Him do it up so slick.
The exercise excited thirst; And so, to get a drink, He cut an opening in the ice And lay down on the brink. He said, "I'll dip my lips right in And suck it up, I think."
And while his nose was thus immersed Six inches in the stream, A very hungry pickerel was Attracted by its gleam; And darting up, he gave a snap, And Keyser gave a scream.
Tim Keyser then was well assured He had a splendid bite. To pull his victim up he jerked And tugged with all his might; But that disgusting pickerel had The better of the fight.
And just as Mr. Keyser thought His nose was cut in two, The pickerel gave its tail a twist And pulled Tim Keyser through, And he was scudding through the waves The first thing that he knew.
Then onward swam that savage fish With swiftness toward its nest, Still chewing Mr. Keyser's nose; While Mr. Keyser guessed What sort of policy would suit His circumstances best.
Just then his nose was tickled with A spear of grass close by; Then came an awful sneeze, which knocked The pickerel into pi, And blew its bones, the ice and waves Two hundred feet on high!
Tim Keyser swam up to the top A breath of air to take; And finding broken ice, he hooked His nose upon a cake, And gloried in a nose which could Such a concussion make.
And thus he drifted slowly on Until he reached the shore; And creeping out all dripping wet, He very roundly swore To use that crimson nose as bait For pickerel no more.
His Christmas turkey on that day He tackled with a vim, And thanked his stars as, shuddering, He thought upon his swim, That that wild pickerel had not Spent Christmas eating him!