Strange Stories of Colonial Days

by Various

  II

  CORNELIS LABDEN'S LEAP

  A Legend of 1645 Retold

  The scene was only thirty miles from New York, on the shores of LongIsland Sound. At the time of which we write it was a sweep of denseforest.

  Outside of the block-house, built where the Myanos River enters a bay ofthe Sound, one September day in 1645 walked two elderly men, grizzled ofbeard and soldierly in bearing. Broadswords swung from their cross-beltsand huge pistolets were stuck in their girdles. These were famousfighting men in New England history, Daniel Patrick and John Underhill.Bred to camps, they had chafed under Puritan laws, and had finallydeserted the older settlements. Indeed, Captain Patrick had been theleader of the little colony which had made this beautiful place itshome.

  "I tell thee, John, I trust not the savage any longer. Ponus hath beenas surly as a bear with a sore head of late. I fear the Sagamore plotsevil."

  "Belike you are right, good Captain," said Underhill, "and we must matchcraft with craft."

  "Rumor hath it, too," said Captain Patrick, with growing trouble on hisface, "that strange runners have been back and forth during the month atthe Sinoway village. We cannot look to our English friends for help,since we signed the pact with his Excellency Governor Kieft, acceptingthe rule of New Netherland. If an outbreak occurs, it must be from theManhattans that relief will come. But look! there rides Dutch Corneliswith a bale of peltries to his crupper."

  Among a few Dutch who mingled with the English of the settlement wasCornelis Labden, a bold hunter and trapper, who, unlike the rest of thecolonists, got his livelihood by the fur-trade. He sold his pelts at theDutch trading-post about seven miles west, just over the line which nowseparates New York from Connecticut. Thither he was riding when accostedby the two captains. Cornelis was noted for his daring and skill inwoodcraft, and had always lived on specially friendly terms with theIndians, as was, indeed, his interest. His log house was built on thebrow of a great precipice of beetling rock one hundred feet or more inheight, in the heart of a gloomy forest two miles from the outskirts ofthe settlement. The spot is still known as Labden's Rock, and the writerhas shot many a squirrel there in woods still solemn with deepestshadow. Here Cornelis lived with his English wife and two children, Hansand Anneke.

  "Well met, Cornelis," said Patrick. "We were holding counsel concerningour Indian neighbors. What think you of their peaceful purpose?"

  The Dutchman shook his head. He was a man of few words. "Der outlook istpad, Cabdain. Dot yoong Gief Owenoke say to me toder day, 'Cornelis,Indian's friend, bedder go 'way. Indian very angry at bale-faces.'Owenoke's vader, Ponus, means misgief. But no tanger dill der snowvlies. Der Indians, if dey addack, waid dill grops all in."

  "You are bound, I suppose, to Byram Fort with your peltries. Tarryawhile, and carry me a letter for the Governor. I will write itforthwith." Captain Patrick disappeared in the block-house, and wrote tothe Dutch Governor as follows:

  "_To his Excellency, Wilhelm Kieft, Governor-General of New Netherland at New Amsterdam, greeting_:

  "This in haste:--Whereas it cometh to me with some surety that the savages on our border plot an early outbreak, I would urge that a company of musketeers be sent to the trading-post at Byram to protect the outlying country. Thence sure help may reach this settlement. Once the savages break loose they will ravage the region for many miles with torch and tomahawk. I would entreat your Excellency to act right speedily in this affair. Cornelis Labden, who is well skilled in Indian matters, bears this letter.

  "DANIEL PATRICK."

  It will be seen by this that Captain Patrick did not share theconfidence of Cornelis. But all the people were very busy afield at thattime gathering their crops, and they were loath to think that danger waspressing. The women and children, however, were gathered every night inthe block-house. It may be that this measure of care on the part of thesettlers quickened the action of the Indians in the fear that theirpurpose had been discovered. Within three days the outbreak came. Theforest was glowing with all the rich hues of autumn, when through itsarches burst at different points bands of naked warriors, painted withas many colors as the leaves themselves, and yelling their shrillwar-whoops. Every colonist amid the yellowing corn-stalks of the fieldshad his firelock close at hand. They all skirmished back through thiscover and across the rye and buckwheat stubble towards the block-house,firing and loading as they ran. Yet several fell under the cloud ofarrows before the fugitives reached the little fort. The two captains,each with a party of men, charged the savages fiercely on either flankas they leaped into the open, and drove them back with heavy loss. Thesettlers then withdrew behind the palisades, awaiting attack.

  The red besiegers, having exhausted their arts of attack and met withheavy loss, for musket-balls told with terrible effect against flintarrows, determined to starve out the little garrison. It was on themorning of the third day that a rider galloped furiously from the westto the bank of the Myanos, where the log bridge had been destroyed bythe Indians. Dutch Cornelis had ridden daringly through the midst ofthem. A band of howling braves swarmed almost at his horse's tail. Heleaped his beast into the river amid the whizzing arrows, several ofwhich stung both steed and rider sharply. Captain Underhill, with ascore of colonists, sallied out from the palisades, driving the redskinsfrom their front and opening a heavy fire on those lining the oppositebank. Under cover of this Cornelis landed safely. He had been sent onfrom Byram to New Amsterdam with Patrick's letter, and it was only byhard spurring that he had made such speed in return. He brought the goodnews that even then a company of Dutch musketeers was on the march.

  The women and children trooped out of the block-house to hear thetidings. Cornelis cast his eyes over them with agony stamped on hisusually stolid face.

  "Mein vrouw! mein gildren!" the Dutchman groaned. "What for you leavedem to de mercy of de savage?" with a look of fierce reproach at the twoEnglish captains.

  "MEIN VROUW! MEIN GILDREN!" THE DUTCHMAN GROANED]

  "Nay! nay! Cornelis, blame us not," they answered, almost in a breath."We were sharp beset. 'Twas not easy to gather in all the outlyingpeople in season. There be others as well not saved in the block. Thesavage, too, is far more friendly to you than to us English. There'sright good hope that at the worst the lost are but captives."

  This cold comfort seemed to madden the bereaved man. Muttering tohimself in his own tongue, and darting wild looks around, as if hisbrain were turned and he were about to run amuck, he suddenly sprang onhis horse, which panted there, fagged and dripping.

  "Oben der gate!" he shouted, in a tone so commanding that, thoughseveral tried to seize his horse's head by the bit, fearing some act ofdesperate folly, others unbarred the entrance. Cornelis dashed throughas swiftly as an Indian arrow. Two miles of clearing and forest laybetween him and his cabin. The way was thick with savages thirsting forblood. Cornelis spurred on, numb to all sense of danger. The smoke evenyet curled from the embers of smouldering homesteads at every turn. Buthe saw only one house in his mind's eye--that was a cabin perched in themidst of a clearing on top of a great rock, with flames bursting fromits roof; he heard but one sound--the shrieking of wife and children intheir last peril.

  Perhaps it was the wild gestures of the rider, signalling as if tounseen beings, the motions of a maniac, which barred any pursuit at theoutset, for the American Indian as well as the Mohammedan of the Eastfancies the madman under the protection of God; perhaps it was that manyof the savages felt more kindly to Cornelis than to other whites. It wasnot till he neared the base of the precipice, on the crest of which hehad built his home, that he saw six Indians on his track, leaping at apace which outran the strides of his weary horse.

  The Dutchman turned in his saddle, and his unerring aim dropped one ofthe pursuers; then he urged his way amid the gloom of the great trees upthe hill. When he gained the clearing at the top he saw what had oncebeen his happy home, now only a pile of cold ashes and half-cha
rredlogs. He had no time to search if by chance there might yet remain someghastly relic of those he had loved and lost. The red men were upon him,running as fleetly as stag-hounds, for now they were on the level.

  They were sure of their prey. A triumphant whoop rang out. Tomahawkswhizzed through the air, one of them striking Cornelis in the shoulder,as the savages pressed on at top speed. The white man laughed loud andlong with a laughter that filled the forest with shrill echoes, andmotioning to them as if he were their leader, leaped his horse from thetop of the terrible rock, crashing through the branches of trees down,down a hundred feet. The human hounds so hot in the chase were goingwith a rush which could not be stayed, and they too plunged to death inthe pathway of their victim. Cornelis escaped with broken limbs, thoughhis horse was killed, and all the Indians perished but one, who savedhimself by clutching at the limb of a tree. He fled and carried thestory to his tribe.

  With the coming of the Dutch soldiers the settlers were strong enough toscatter their assailants. But most of the colonists, discouraged,drifted away to the New Netherlands or to the more easterly settlements.It was not till two years later that a force of Dutch and Englishstormed the Sinoway village and crushed the power of the tribe, afterwhich the town was successfully settled.

  * * * * *

  Ten years have passed. The skill and toil of the whites have swept awaythe scars of Indian warfare. Pleasant homes rise amid smiling fields ofmaize and rye. One summer day, Cornelis Labden, a helpless cripple andalmost half-witted, sat on the porch of Captain Underhill's house,smoking his long Dutch pipe and looking at the shining waters of theSound. Here or in the good Captain's hearth-corner he would doze andmumble all day long summer and winter. An Indian youth, nearly grown,walked up the lane and stood before this poor wreck of a man. Cornelisshut his eyes, and waved him off as if to drive away some thought thattroubled his weak brain.

  "Lapten, me find Lapten," said the Indian, whose blue eyes and brownhair were queerly amiss with the copper skin, the breech-clout, and themoccasins of the savage.

  The sound of the voice stirred Cornelis strangely, and as if by someinstinct he spoke in Dutch. The lad listened eagerly, for the wordsseemed to be half known to him, and he repeated them. Cornelis watchedhim with an intent look, like the gaze of one just awakened from a longsleep. He trembled, and for the first time in years intelligence burnedin his eyes. Without another word he led the Indian lad within and beganto rub the skin of his face with soap and water, and in a few momentsthe clear white was shown. While he was thus engaged over theunresisting youth, Captain Underhill entered.

  "Cabdain, Cabdain," said Cornelis, with a shaking voice, "mein Hans istgoom back. Done ye know yer old vader, leedle Hans? Vare ist Anneke?"And he threw his arms with a passion of sobs about the lad's neck. Thisopened the gates of memory for father and son, and the identity was soonmade clear. In recovering his son, Dutch Cornelis had also regained hisreason.

  By gradual questioning, the facts were fully obtained as thehalf-forgotten language of childhood came back. Hans and Anneke had beencarried off by strange Indians of the more northern tribes, who hadsent warriors to join in the Sinoway attack. The children had beenseparated, and Anneke was lost forever. As Hans grew up, forgettingmuch, he still remembered his father's name and his white blood. He hadfinally escaped from his adopted tribe, and worked his way by a strangeseries of accidents and guesses back to the place of his birth. Such, inthe main, is the legend of Labden's Rock.