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Page 40
Communipaw, therefore, may truly be called the parent of New-York; yet
it is an astonishing fact, that though immediately opposite to the great
city it has produced, from whence its red roofs and tin weather-cocks
can actually be descried peering above the surrounding apple orchards,
it should be almost as rarely visited, and as little known by the
inhabitants of the metropolis, as if it had been locked up among the
Rocky Mountains. Sir, I think there is something unnatural in this,
especially in these times of ramble and research, when our citizens are
antiquity-hunting in every part of the world. Curiosity, like charity,
should begin at home; and I would enjoin it on our worthy burghers,
especially those of the real Knickerbocker breed, before they send their
sons abroad to wonder and grow wise among the remains of Greece and
Rome, to let them make a tour of ancient Pavonia, from Weehawk even
to the Kills, and meditate, with filial reverence, on the moss-grown
mansions of Communipaw. Sir, I regard this much neglected village as one
of the most remarkable places in the country. The intelligent traveller,
as he looks down upon it from the Bergen Heights, modestly nestled among
its cabbage-gardens, while the great flaunting city it has begotten is
stretching far and wide on the opposite side of the bay, the intelligent
traveller, I say, will be filled with astonishment; not, Sir, at the
village of Communipaw, which in truth is a very small village, but at
the almost incredible fact that so small a village should have produced
so great a city. It looks to him, indeed, like some squat little
dame, with a tall grenadier of a son strutting by her side; or some
simple-hearted hen that has unwittingly hatched out a long-legged
turkey.
But this is not all for which Communipaw is remarkable. Sir, it is
interesting on another account. It is to the ancient province of
the New-Netherlands and the classic era of the Dutch dynasty, what
Herculaneum and Pompeii are to ancient Rome and the glorious days of the
empire. Here every thing remains in statu quo, as it was in the days of
Oloffe the Dreamer, Walter the Doubter, and the other worthies of the
golden age; the same broad-brimmed hats and broad-bottomed breeches;
the same knee-buckles and shoe-buckles; the same close-quilled caps
and linsey-woolsey short-gowns and petticoats; the same implements and
utensils and forms and fashions; in a word, Communipaw at the present
day is a picture of what New-Amsterdam was before the conquest. The
"intelligent traveller" aforesaid, as he treads its streets, is struck
with the primitive character of every thing around him. Instead of
Grecian temples for dwelling-houses, with a great column of pine boards
in the way of every window, he beholds high peaked roofs, gable ends
to the street, with weather-cocks at top, and windows of all sorts and
sizes; large ones for the grown-up members of the family, and little
ones for the little folk. Instead of cold marble porches, with
close-locked doors and brass knockers, he sees the doors hospitably
open; the worthy burgher smoking his pipe on the old-fashioned stoop in
front, with his "vrouw" knitting beside him; and the cat and her kittens
at their feet sleeping in the sunshine.
Astonished at the obsolete and "old world" air of every thing around
him, the intelligent traveller demands how all this has come to pass.
Herculaneum and Pompeii remain, it is true, unaffected by the varying
fashions of centuries; but they were buried by a volcano and preserved
in ashes. What charmed spell has kept this wonderful little place
unchanged, though in sight of the most changeful city in the universe?
Has it, too, been buried under its cabbage-gardens, and only dug out
in modern days for the wonder and edification of the world? The reply
involves a point of history, worthy of notice and record, and reflecting
immortal honor on Communipaw.
At the time when New-Amsterdam was invaded and conquered by British
foes, as has been related in the history of the venerable Diedrich, a
great dispersion took place among the Dutch inhabitants. Many, like the
illustrious Peter Stuyvesant, buried themselves in rural retreats in the
Bowerie; others, like Wolfert Acker, took refuge in various remote
parts of the Hudson; but there was one staunch, unconquerable band that
determined to keep together, and preserve themselves, like seed corn,
for the future fructification and perpetuity of the Knickerbocker race.
These were headed by one Garret Van Horne, a gigantic Dutchman, the
Pelayo of the New-Netherlands. Under his guidance, they retreated across
the bay and buried themselves among the marshes of ancient Pavonia, as
did the followers of Pelayo among the mountains of Asturias, when Spain
was overrun by its Arabian invaders.
The gallant Van Horne set up his standard at Communipaw, and invited
all those to rally under it, who were true Nederlanders at heart, and
determined to resist all foreign intermixture or encroachment. A strict
non-intercourse was observed with the captured city; not a boat ever
crossed to it from Communipaw, and the English language was rigorously
tabooed throughout the village and its dependencies. Every man was sworn
to wear his hat, cut his coat, build his house, and harness his horses,
exactly as his father had done before him; and to permit nothing but the
Dutch language to be spoken in his household.
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