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In the year of the building of the city (which
in Latin is called Anno Urba Conditur) fifty-five,
to wit, the year of our Lord 1678, there appeared
a phenomenon in the street of Nieuw-Amsterdam
called Garden-street. This was a youthful stranger,
dressed in the outlandish garb of the English
beyond the Varsche river, towards the east, where
those interlopers have grievously trespassed on
the territories of their high mightinesses, the states
general. Now, be it known that this was the first
stranger from foreign parts that ever showed himself
in the streets of Nieuw-Amsterdam, which had
never been before invaded in like manner. Whereat
the good people were strangely perplexed and
confounded, seeing they could by no means divine
his business. The good yffrouws did gaze at him
as he passed along by their stoops, and the idle
boys followed him wheresoever he went, shouting
and hallooing, to the great disturbance of the
peaceable and orderly citizens, of whom it was
once said that the barking of a cur disturbed the
whole city.

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But the stranger took not the least heed of the
boys or their hallooings, but passed straight onward,
looking neither to the right nor to the left,
which circumstance seemed exceedingly perplexing
to the good yffrouws, seeing it savoured of
having no curiosity to see or be seen, which to
them appeared altogether out of nature. The
stranger proceeded in a sort of rigmarole way,
seeming little to care whither he went, all along
by the Stadt Huys, the East and West Docks, the
Bendeel or Battery, the Rondeels, and I can't tell
where else. All the while he seemed to take
no notice of anything, which everybody thought
strange, since he appeared as if he had no other
business than to see the city.

In the course of his marvellous peregrinations, he
at length came to the great building, which, being
the only house of public resort, was called, by way
of eminence, the City Tavern. Here he stopped
all of a sudden, so abruptly, that little Brom, son of
Alderman Botherwick, who was close at his heels,
did run right upon his hinder parts, and almost
knocked him down, before he could stop himself.
Whereupon the stranger turned round and gave him
a look, whether of menace or good will, was long
after disputed by divers people that saw him. Be
this as it may, the stranger, on seeing the tavern,
nodded his head, and went straight up the steps
into the bar-room, where he courteously saluted
the landlord, good Mynheer Swighauser, by pulling
off his hat, saying, at the same time, nothing; which

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mynheer thought rather mighty particular. He
asked the interloping stranger what he would
please to have; for he was a polite man enough,
except to losel beggars, and that sort of vermin.
The stranger hereupon said nothing, but addressed
Mynheer Swighauser in a figurative style, which
all landlords comprehend. He pulled out a purse,
and showed him the money, at the sight of which
mynheer made him a reverend bow, and ushered
him into the Half Moon, so called from being ornamented
with a gallant picture of the vessel of that
name, in which good Master Hendrick Hudson did
first adventure to the discovery of the Manhadoes.
It was the best room in the house, and always
reserved by Mynheer Swighauser for guests that
carried full purses.

Having so done, mynheer courteously asked the
stranger what he would please to have for dinner,
it being now past eleven o'clock, and the dinner
hour nigh. Whereat the stranger looked hard at
him, and said not a word. Mynheer thereupon
raised his voice so loud, that he frightened divers
tame pigeons, sitting on their coop in the yard, who
rose into the air out of sight, and, it is affirmed,
never returned again. The stranger answered not
a word, as before.

“Wat donder is dat?” exclaimed mynheer; “a
man with such a full purse might venture to call
for his dinner, I think.”

However, when Mynheer Swighauser and his
family sat down to their dinner at twelve o'clock,

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the stranger, without any ceremony, sat down with
them, taking the chair from time immemorial appropriated
to mynheer's youngest child, who was
thereat so mortally offended, that she set up a great
cry, and refused to eat any dinner. Yffrouw Swighauser
looked hard and angry at the stranger, who
continued to eat as if it were his last, saying nothing
all the while, and paying no more heed to the
little child than he did to the hallooing of the boys
or mynheer's courteous interrogatories.

When he had finished, he took up his hat, and
went forth on a peregrination, from which he did
not return until it was nigh dusk. Mynheer was
in tribulation lest he should lose the price of his
dinner, but the yffrouw said she did not care if she
never saw such a dumb noddy again. The stranger
ate a huge supper in silence, smoked his pipe,
and went to bed at eight o'clock, at which hour
mynheer always shut up the front of his house,
leaving the back door open to the roistering younkers,
who came there to carouse every night, and
play at all-fours. Soon after the stranger retired,
there was heard a great noise in his room, which
so excited the curiosity of Yffrouw Swighauser,
that she took a landlady's liberty, and went and
listened at the door. It proved only the stranger
playing a concert with Morpheus, on the nasal
trumpet, whereupon the yffrouw went away, exclaiming,

“The splutterkin! he makes noise enough in his
sleep, if he can't when he is awake.”

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That night the good city of Nieuw-Amsterdam
was impestered with divers strange noises, grievous
mishaps, and unaccountable appearances. The
noises were such as those who heard them could
not describe, and, for that reason, I hope the courteous
reader will excuse me, if I say nothing more
about them; the mishaps were of certain mysterious
broken heads, black eyes, and sore bruises received,
as was affirmed, from unknown assailants;
and the mysterious appearances consisted in lights
moving about, at midnight, in the Ladies' Valley,
since called Maiden Lane, which might have
passed for lightning bugs, only people that saw
them said they were as big as jack-a-lanterns. Besides
these, there were seen divers stars shooting
about in the sky, and an old yffrouw, being called
out after midnight on a special occasion, did certify
that she saw two stars fighting with each other,
and making the sparks fly at every blow. Other
strange things happened on that memorable night,
which alarmed the good citizens, and excited the
vigilance of the magistrates.

The next night, matters were still worse. The
lights in the Ladies' Valley were larger and more
numerous; the noises waxed more alarming and
unaccountable; and the stranger, while he continued
to act and say nothing all day, snored louder
than ever. At length, Yffrouw Swighauser, being
thereunto, as I suspect, instigated by a stomachful
feeling, on account of the stranger's having got possession
of her favourite's seat, and set her a crying,

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did prevail, by divers means, of which, thank Heaven,
I have little experience, being a bachelor, to
have her husband go and make a complaint against
the stranger, as having some diabolical agency in
these matters.

“Wat donner meen je, wife?” quoth mynheer;
“what have I to say against the man? He is a
very civil, good sort of a body, and never makes
any disturbance except in his sleep.”

“Ay, there it is,” replied the yffrouw. “I never
heard such a snore in all my life. Why, it's no
more like yours than the grunt of a pig is to the
roar of a lion. It's unnatural.”

Mynheer did not like this comparison, and answered
and said, “By St. Johannes de Dooper,
whoever says I snore like a pig is no better than a
goose.”

The yffrouw had a point to gain, or Mynheer
Swighauser would have repented this rejoinder.

“My duck-a-deary,” said she, “whoever says
you don't snore like a fiddle has no more ear for
music than a mole—I mean a squeaking fiddle,”
quoth she, aside.

Without further prosecuting this dialogue, let it
suffice to say that the yffrouw at length wrought
upon mynheer to present the stranger unto Alderman
Schlepevalcker as a mysterious person, who
came from—nobody knew where, for—nobody knew
what; and for aught he knew to the contrary, was
at the bottom of all the disturbances that had beset
the good people of Nieuw-Amsterdam for the last

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two nights. Accordingly, the honest man went on his
way to the Stadt Huys, where the excellent magistrate
was taking his turn in presiding over the peace
of the city of Nieuw-Amsterdam, and told all he
knew, together with much more besides.

During this communication, the worthy alderman
exclaimed, from time to time, “Indeedaad!” “Onbegrypelyk!”
“Goeden Hemel!” “Is het mogelyk!”
“Vuur envlammen!” and finally dismissed
Mynheer Swighauser, desiring him to watch the
stranger, and come next day with the result of his
observations. After which he went home to consult
his pillow, which he considered worth all the
law books in the world.

The honest publican returned to the City Tavern,
where he found supper all ready; and the
stranger, sitting down as usual in the old place, ate
a hearty meal without uttering one word. The
yffrouw was out of all patience with him, seeing she
never before had a guest in the house four-and-twenty
hours, without knowing all about him.
The upshot of the interview with the worthy magistrate
being disclosed to the yffrouw, it was
agreed in secret to set old Quashee, the black
hostler, to watch the stranger; though the yffrouw
told her husband he might as well set a wooden
image to do it, for Quashee was the most notorious
sleepyhead in all Nieuw-Amsterdam, not excepting
himself.

“Well, well,” quoth mynheer, “men weet niet
hoe een koe een haas vangan kan;” which means,

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“There is no saying that a cow won't catch a
hare,” and so the matter was settled.

When the stranger retired to his room after
supper, the old negro was accordingly stationed
outside the door, with strict injunctions to keep
himself awake, on pain of losing his Newyear
present, and being shut up in the stable all Newyear's
day. But it is recorded of Quashee, that
the flesh was too strong for the spirit, though he
had a noggin of genuine Holland to comfort him,
and that he fell into a profound nap, which lasted
till after sunrise next day, when he was found sitting
bolt upright on a three-legged stool, with his
little black stump of a pipe declining from the
dexter corner of his mouth. Mynheer was exceeding
wroth, and did accommodate old Quashee
with such a hearty cuff on the side of his head,
that he fell from the stool, and did incontinently
roll down the stairs and so into the kitchen, where
he was arrested by the great Dutch andirons.
“Een vervlockte jonge,” exclaimed Mynheer Swighauser,
“men weet niet, hoe een dubbeltje rollen
kan”—in English, “There is no saying which way
a sixpence will roll.”

At breakfast, the stranger was for the first time
missing from his meals, and this excited no small
wonder in the family, which was marvellously aggravated,
when, after knocking some time and
receiving no answer, the door was opened, and the
stranger found wanting.

“Is het mogelyk!” exclaimed the yffrouw, and

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“Wat blixen!” cried mynheer. But their exclamations
were speedily arrested by the arrival of the
reverend schout, Master Roelif, as he was commonly
called, who summoned them both forthwith
to the Stadt Huys, at the command of his worship
Alderman Schlepevalker.

“Ben je bedonnered?” cried mynheer; “what
can his worship want of my wife now?”

“Never mind,” replied the good yffrouw, “het is
goed visschen in troebel water,” and so they followed
Master Roelif to the Stadt House, according
to the behest of Alderman Schlepevalker, as aforesaid.
When they arrived there, whom should
they see, in the middle of a great crowd in the hall
of justice, but that “vervlocte hond,” the stranger,
as the yffrouw was wont to call him, when he
would not answer her questions.

The stranger was standing with his hands tied
behind, and apparently unconscious, or indifferent
to what was going forward around him. It appears
he had been detected very early in the morning in
a remote part of the King's Farm, as it was afterwards
called, but which was then a great forest full
of rabbits and other game, standing over the dead
body of a man, whose name and person were
equally unknown, no one recollecting ever to have
seen him before. On being interrogated on the
subject, he had not only declined answering, but
affected to take not the least heed of what they said
to him. Under these suspicious circumstances he
was brought before the magistrate, charged with

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the murder of the unknown person, whose body
was also produced in proof of the fact. No marks
of violence were found on the body, but all agreed
that the man was dead, and that there must have
been some cause for his death. The vulgar are
ever prone to suspicions, and albeit, are so fond of
seeing a man hanged, that they care little to inquire
whether he is guilty or not.

The worthy alderman, after ordering Master
Roelif to call the people to order, proceeded to
interrogate the prisoner as followeth:—

“What is thy name?”

The stranger took not the least notice of him.

“What is thy name, ben je bedonnered?” repeated
the worthy magistrate, in a loud voice, and
somewhat of a violent gesture of impatience.

The stranger looked him in the face and nodded
his head.

“Wat donner is dat?” cried the magistrate.

The stranger nodded as before.

“Wat donner meen je?”

Another nod. The worthy magistrate began, as
it were, to wax wroth, and demanded of the prisoner
whence he came; but he had relapsed into his
usual indifference, and paid not the least attention,
as before. Whereupon the angry alderman committed
him for trial, on the day but one following,
as the witnesses were all on the spot, and the prisoner
contumacious. In the interim, the body of
the dead man had been examined by the only two
doctors of Nieuw-Amsterdam, Mynheer Van

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Dosum and Mynheer Vander Cureum, who being rival
practitioners, of course differed entirely on the
matter. Mynheer Van Dosum decided that the
unknown died by the hand of man, and Mynheer
Vander Cureum, by the hand of his Maker.

When the cause came to be tried, the stranger,
as before, replied to all questions, either by taking
not the least notice, or nodding his head. The
worthy magistrate hereupon was sorely puzzled,
whether this ought to be construed into pleading
guilty or not pleading at all. In the former case
his course was quite clear; in the latter, he did not
exactly know which way to steer his doubts. But
fortunately having no lawyers to confound him, he
finally decided, after consulting the ceiling of the
courtroom, that as it was so easy for a man to say
not guilty, the omission or refusal to say it was
tantamount to a confession of guilt. Accordingly
he condemned the prisoner to be hanged, in spite
of the declaration of Doctor Vander Cureum, that
the murdered man died of apoplexy.

The prisoner received the sentence, and was
conducted to prison without saying a word in his
defence, and without discovering the least emotion
on the occasion. He merely looked wistfully, first
on the worthy magistrate, then on his bonds, and
then at Master Roelif, who, according to the custom
of such losel varlets in office, rudely pushed
him out of the court and dragged him to prison.

On the fourteenth day after his condemnation, it
being considered that sufficient time had been

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allowed him to repent of his sins, the poor stranger
was brought forth to execution. He was accompanied
by the good dominie, who had prepared his
last dying speech and confession, and certified that
he died a repentant sinner. His face was pale
and sad, and his whole appearance bespoke weakness
and suffering. He still persisted in his obstinate
silence, and seemed unconscious of what was
going forward; whether from indifference or despair,
it was impossible to decide. When placed
on a coffin in the cart, and driven under the gallows,
he seemed for a moment to be aware of his situation,
and the bitter tears coursed one by one down
his pallid cheeks. But he remained silent as before;
and when the rope was tied round his neck,
only looked wistfully with a sort of innocent wonder
in the face of the executioner.

All being now ready, and the gaping crowd on
the tiptoe of expectation, the dominie sang a devout
hymn, and shaking hands for the last time with the
poor stranger, descended from the cart. The bell
tolled the signal for launching him into the illimitable
ocean of eternity, when, all at once, its dismal
moanings were, as it were, hushed into silence by
the piercing shrieks of a female which seemed
approaching from a distance. Anon a voice was
heard crying out, “Stop, stop, for the love of
Heaven stop; he is innocent!”

The crowd opened, and a woman of good appearance,
seemingly about forty-five years old,
rushed forward, and throwing herself at the feet

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of the worthy alderman, whose duty it was to preside
at the execution and maintain due order among
the crowd, cried out aloud,

“Spare him, he is my son—he is innocent!”

“Ben je bedonnered?” cried the magistrate,
“he is een verdoemde schurk, and has confessed
his crime by not denying it.”

“He cannot confess or deny it—he was born
deaf and dumb!”

“Goeden Hemel!” exclaimed Alderman Schlepevalcker;
“that accounts for his not pleading guilty
or not guilty. But art thou sure of it, good
woman?”

“Sure of it! Did not I give him birth, and did
I not watch like one hanging over the deathbed of
an only child, year after year, to catch some token
that he could hear what I said? Did I not try and
try, day after day, month after month, year after
year, to teach him only to name the name of mother?
and when at last I lost all hope that I should
ever hear the sound of his voice, did I not still bless
Heaven that I was not childless, though my son
could not call me mother?”

“Het is jammer!” exclaimed the worthy magistrate,
wiping his eyes. “But still a dumb man
may kill another, for all this. What have you to
say against that?”

At this moment the poor speechless youth recognised
his mother, and uttering a strange inarticulate
scream, burst away from the executioner,
leaped from the cart, and throwing himself on her

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bosom, sobbed as if his heart was breaking. The
mother pressed him to her heart in silent agony,
and the absence of words only added to the deep
pathos of the meeting.

Alderman Schlepevalcker was sorely puzzled as
well as affected on this occasion, and after wiping
his eyes, addressed the weeping mother.

“How came thy son hither?”

“He is accustomed to ramble about the country,
sometimes all day, alone; and one day having
strayed farther than usual, lost his way, and being
unable to ask any information, wandered we knew
not whither, until a neighbour told us a rumour of
a poor youth, who was about to be executed at
Nieuw-Amsterdam for refusing to answer questions.
I thought it might be my son, and came in time, I
hope, to save him.”

“Why did not thy husband come with thee?”

“He is dead.”

“And thy father?”

“He died when I was a child.”

“And thy other relatives?”

“I have none but him,” pointing to the dumb
youth.

“Het is jammer! but how will he get rid of the
charge of this foul murder?”

“I will question him,” said the mother, who now
made various signs, which were replied to by the
youth in the same way.

“What does he say?” asked the worthy magistrate.

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“He says that he went forth early in the morning
of the day; he was found standing over the
dead body, as soon as the gate was opened to admit
the country people, where he saw the dead man
lying under a tree, and was seized while thus occupied.
He knows nothing more.”

“Onbegrypelik! how can you understand all
this?”

“Oh, sir, I have been used to study every look
and action of his life since he was a child, and can
comprehend his inmost thoughts.”

“Goeden Hemel! is all this true? but he must
go back to prison, while I wait on the governor to
solicit his pardon. Wilt thou accompany him?”

“Oh yes!—but no. I will go with thee to the
governor. He will not deny the petition of a mother
for the life of her only child.”

Accordingly, the worthy magistrate calling on
Doctor Vander Cureum on his way, proceeded to
the governor's house, accompanied by the mother
of the youth, who repeated what he had told her
by signs. The doctor also again certified, in the
most positive manner, that the supposed murdered
man had died of apoplexy, brought on, as he supposed,
by excessive drinking; and the good governor,
moved by the benevolence of his heart, did
thereupon grant the poor youth an unconditional
pardon. He was rewarded by the tears, the
thanks, and the blessings of the now happy
mother.

“Where dost thou abide?” asked the governor

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“If it is at a distance, I will send some one to
protect thee.”

“My home is beyond the fresh water river.”

“Wat blikslager! thou belongest to the Splutterkins,
who—but no matter, thou shalt have protection
in thy journey home.” The governor, being
somewhat of a conscientious man, instead of
swearing by the lightning, did piously asseverate
by the tinman.

The young man was forthwith released, to the
unutterable joy of the mother, and the infinite content
of the Yffrouw Swighauser, who, now that she
knew the cause of his silence, forgave him with
all her heart. The next day the mother and son
departed towards home, accompanied by an escort
provided by the good governor, the commander of
which carried a stout defiance to the Yankees;
and the last words of that upright and excellent
magistrate, Alderman Schlepevalcker, as he looked
kindly at the youth, were,

“Het is jammer—it is a pity.”