A History of New-York from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Dietrich | Page 8

he could no longer pry about, as
formerly, in all holes and corners of the city, according to the bent of

his humor, unnoticed and uninterrupted; but several times when he has
been sauntering the streets, on his usual rambles of observation,
equipped with his cane and cocked hat, the little boys at play have been
known to cry, "There goes Diedrich!" at which the old gentleman
seemed not a little pleased, looking upon these salutations in the light
of the praise of posterity.
In a word, if we take into consideration all these various honors and
distinctions, together with an exuberant eulogium, passed on his in the
Portfolio (with which, we are told, the old gentleman was so much
overpowered, that he was sick for two or three days) it must be
confessed that few authors have ever lived to receive such illustrious
rewards, or have so completely enjoyed in advance their own
immortality.
After his return from Scaghtikoke, Mr. Knickerbocker took up his
residence at a little rural retreat, which the Stuyvesants had granted him
on the family domain, in gratitude for his honorable mention of their
ancestor. It was pleasantly situated on the borders of one of the salt
marshes beyond Corlear's Hook; subject, indeed, to be occasionally
over-flowed, and much infested, in the summer-time, with mosquitoes;
but otherwise very agreeable, producing abundant crops of salt grass
and bulrushes.
Here, we are sorry to say, the good old gentleman fell dangerously ill of
a fever, occasioned by the neighboring marshes. When he found his end
approaching, he disposed of his worldly affairs, leaving the bulk of his
fortune to the New York Historical Society; his Heidelberg Catechism
and Vander Donck's work to the City Library; and his saddle-bags to
Mr. Handaside. He forgave all his enemies--that is to say, all that bore
any enmity towards him; for as to himself, he declared he died in
good-will to all the world. And, after dictating several kind messages,
to his relations at Scaghtikoke, as well as to certain of our most
substantial Dutch citizens, he expired in the arms of his friend the
librarian.
His remains were interred, according to his own request, in St. Mark's
Churchyard, close by the bones of his favorite hero, Peter Stuyvesant;

and it is rumored that the Historical Society have it in mind to erect a
wooden monument to his memory in the Bowling Green.

TO THE PUBLIC.
"To rescue from oblivion the memory of former incidents, and to
render a just tribute of renown to the many great and wonderful
transactions of our Dutch progenitors, Diedrich Knickerbocker, native
of the city of New York, produces this historical essay."[1] Like the
great Father of History, whose words I have just quoted, I treat of times
long past, over which the twilight of uncertainty had already thrown its
shadows, and the night of forgetfulness was about to descend for ever.
With great solicitude had I long beheld the early history of this
venerable and ancient city gradually slipping from our grasp, trembling
on the lips of narrative old age, and day by day dropping piecemeal into
the tomb. In a little while, thought I, and those revered Dutch burghers,
who serve as the tottering monuments of good old times, will be
gathered to their fathers; their children, engrossed by the empty
pleasures or insignificant transactions of the present age, will neglect to
treasure up the recollections of the past, and posterity will search in
vain for memorials of the days of the Patriarchs. The origin of our city
will be buried in eternal oblivion, and even the names and
achievements of Wouter Van Twiller, William Kieft, and Peter
Stuyvesant be enveloped in doubt and fiction, like those of Romulus
and Remus, of Charlemagne, King Arthur, Rinaldo, and Godfrey of
Boulogne.
Determined, therefore, to avert if possible this threatened misfortune, I
industriously set myself to work to gather together all the fragments of
our ancient history which still existed; and, like my revered prototype,
Herodotus, where no written records could be found, I have endeavored
to continue the chain of history by well-authenticated traditions.
In this arduous undertaking, which has been the whole business of a
long and solitary life, it is incredible the number of learned authors I
have consulted, and all to but little purpose. Strange as it may seem,

though such multitudes of excellent works have been written about this
country, there are none extant which give any full and satisfactory
account of the early history of New York, or of its three first Dutch
Governors. I have, however, gained much valuable and curious matter
from an elaborate manuscript, written in exceeding pure and classic low
Dutch, excepting a few errors in orthography, which was found in the
archives of the Stuyvesant family. Many