Wolferts Roost and Miscellanies | Page 2

most ancient and historical mansions in the
country. It was a lowly edifice, built in the time of the Dutch dynasty,
and stood on a green bank, overshadowed by trees, from which it
peeped forth upon the Great Tappan Zee, so famous among early Dutch
navigators. A bright pure spring welled up at the foot of the green bank;
a wild brook came babbling down a neighboring ravine, and threw
itself into a little woody cove, in front of the mansion. It was indeed as
quiet and sheltered a nook as the heart of man could require, in which
to take refuge from the cares and troubles of the world; and as such, it
had been chosen in old times, by Wolfert Acker, one of the privy
councillors of the renowned Peter Stuyvesant.
This worthy but ill-starred man had led a weary and worried life,
throughout the stormy reign of the chivalric Peter, being one of those
unlucky wights with whom the world is ever at variance, and who are
kept in a continual fume and fret, by the wickedness of mankind. At the
time of the subjugation of the province by the English, he retired hither
in high dudgeon; with the bitter determination to bury himself from the
world, and live here in peace and quietness for the remainder of his
days. In token of this fixed resolution, he inscribed over his door the
favorite Dutch motto, "Lust in Rust," (pleasure in repose.) The mansion
was thence called "Wolfert's Rust"--Wolfert's Rest; but in process of
time, the name was vitiated into Wolfert's Roost, probably from its
quaint cock-loft look, or from its having a weather-cock perched on
every gable. This name it continued to bear, long after the unlucky
Wolfert was driven forth once more upon a wrangling world, by the
tongue of a termagant wife; for it passed into a proverb through the
neighborhood, and has been handed down by tradition, that the cock of
the Roost was the most hen-pecked bird in the country.
This primitive and historical mansion has since passed through many
changes and trials, which it may be my lot hereafter to notice. At the

time of the sojourn of Diedrich Knickerbocker it was in possession of
the gallant family of the Van Tassels, who have figured so
conspicuously in his writings. What appears to have given it peculiar
value, in his eyes, was the rich treasury of historical facts here secretly
hoarded up, like buried gold; for it is said that Wolfert Acker, when he
retreated from New Amsterdam, carried off with him many of the
records and journals of the province, pertaining to the Dutch dynasty;
swearing that they should never fall into the hands of the English.
These, like the lost books of Livy, had baffled the research of former
historians; but these did I find the indefatigable Diedrich diligently
deciphering. He was already a sage in year's and experience, I but an
idle stripling; yet he did not despise my youth and ignorance, but took
me kindly by the hand, and led me gently into those paths of local and
traditional lore which he was so fond of exploring. I sat with him in his
little chamber at the Roost, and watched the antiquarian patience and
perseverance with which he deciphered those venerable Dutch
documents, worse than Herculanean manuscripts. I sat with him by the
spring, at the foot of the green bank, and listened to his heroic tales
about the worthies of the olden time, the paladins of New Amsterdam. I
accompanied him in his legendary researches about Tarrytown and
Sing-Sing, and explored with him the spell-bound recesses of Sleepy
Hollow. I was present at many of his conferences with the good old
Dutch burghers and their wives, from whom he derived many of those
marvelous facts not laid down in books or records, and which give such
superior value and authenticity to his history, over all others that have
been written concerning the New Netherlands.
But let me check my proneness to dilate upon this favorite theme; I
may recur to it hereafter. Suffice it to say, the intimacy thus formed,
continued for a considerable time; and in company with the worthy
Diedrich, I visited many of the places celebrated by his pen. The
currents of our lives at length diverged. He remained at home to
complete his mighty work, while a vagrant fancy led me to wander
about the world. Many, many years elapsed, before I returned to the
parent soil. In the interim, the venerable historian of the New
Netherlands had been gathered to his fathers, but his name had risen to
renown. His native city, that city in which he so much delighted, had

decreed all manner of costly honors to his memory. I found his effigy