The Water-Witch | Page 2

the country
which now composes the United States, the people of the latter are
more homogeneous in character, language, and opinions, than those of
any other great nation that is familiarly known. This identity of
character is owing to the early predominance of the English, and to the
circumstance that New-England and Virginia, the two great sources of
internal emigration, were entirely of English origin. Still, New-York
retains, to the present hour, a variety of usages that were obtained from
Holland. Her edifices of painted bricks, her streets lined with trees, her
inconvenient and awkward stoops and a large proportion of her names,
are equally derived from the Dutch. Until the commencement of this
century, even the language of Holland prevailed in the streets of the
capital, and though a nation of singular boldness and originality in all
that relates to navigation, the greatest sea-port of the country betrays
many evidences of a taste which must be referred to the same origin.
The reader will find in these facts a sufficient explanation of most of
the peculiar customs, and of some of the peculiar practices, that are
exhibited in the course of the following tale. Slavery, a divided
language, and a distinct people, are no longer to be found, within the
fair regions of New-York; and, without pretending to any peculiar
exemption from the weaknesses of humanity, it may be permitted us to
hope, that these are not the only features of the narrative, which a better
policy, and a more equitable administration of power, have made
purely historical.

Early released from the fetters of the middle ages, fetters that bound the
mind equally with the person, America has preceded rather than
followed Europe, in that march of improvement which is rendering the
present era so remarkable. Under a system, broad, liberal, and just as
hers, though she may have to contend with rivalries that are sustained
by a more concentrated competition, and which are as absurd by their
pretension of liberality as they are offensive by their monopolies, there
is nothing to fear, in the end. Her political motto should be Justice, and
her first and greatest care to see it administered to her own citizens.
The reader is left to make the application.

The Water-witch.
Chapter I.

"What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on
without apology."
Romeo and Juliet.
The fine estuary which penetrates the American coast, between the
fortieth and forty-first degrees of latitude, is formed by the confluence
of the Hudson, the Hackensack, the Passaic, the Raritan, and a
multitude of smaller streams; all of which pour their tribute into the
ocean, within the space named. The islands of Nassau and Staten are
happily placed to exclude the tempests of the open sea, while the deep
and broad arms of the latter offer every desirable facility for foreign
trade and internal intercourse. To this fortunate disposition of land and
water, with a temperate climate, a central position, and an immense
interior, that is now penetrated, in every direction, either by artificial or
by natural streams, the city of New-York is indebted for its
extraordinary prosperity. Though not wanting in beauty, there are many
bays that surpass this in the charms of scenery; but it may be
questioned if the world possesses another site that unites so many

natural advantages for the growth and support of a widely extended
commerce. As if never wearied with her kindness, Nature has placed
the island of Manhattan at the precise point that is most desirable for
the position of a town. Millions might inhabit the spot, and yet a ship
should load near every door; and while the surface of the land just
possesses the inequalities that are required for health and cleanliness,
its bosom is filled with the material most needed in construction.
The consequences of so unusual a concurrence of favorable
circumstances, are well known. A vigorous, healthful, and continued
growth, that has no parallel even in the history of this extraordinary and
fortunate country, has already raised the insignificant provincial town
of the last century to the level of the second-rate cities of the other
hemisphere. The New-Amsterdam of this continent already rivals its
parent of the other; and, so far as human powers may pretend to predict,
a few fleeting years will place her on a level with the proudest capitals
of Europe.
It would seem that, as Nature has given its periods to the stages of
animal life, it has also set limits to all moral and political ascendency.
While the city of the Medici is receding from its crumbling walls, like
the human form shrinking into "the lean and slipper'd pantaloon," the
Queen of the Adriatic sleeping on her muddy isles, and Rome itself is
only to be