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SALUTES: August
Many sculptures in Manhattan are linked to important dates in U.S. or world history. Here are a few for August.
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August 12, 2005: The City Beautiful Movement (part 3): Manhattan's First Bolivar
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August 1664: Stuyvesant surrenders New Amsterdam to the British
August 2, 2006: 15,000 Years vs. 15 Minutes of Publicity
* Four Periods of Publicity, by Gutzon Borglum and Estelle Rumbold Kohn, 1906. 20 Vesey St., 9th floor (overlooking St. Paul's churchyard).
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When I first read about this set of sculptures, I imagined a series of figures illustrating the fame or notoriety of a single person or event - the equivalent of watching Andy Warhol's "15 minutes of fame" come and go. Instead, the figures show how knowledge was disseminated through the ages - although the sequence unexpectedly runs from right to left. (I've reversed the order for the photos above.) The limestone from which these figures were carved is wearing down, and the sculptures are stained by run-off from copper elements on the building's façade, so it's a challenge to spot the attributes that identify the figures.
· On the far right: a bald man in flowing robes, one hand at his ear. According to a September 1907 article in Architect's and Builder's Magazine (cited in SIRIS Inventory of American Sculpture NY000148), this figure represents transmission of information via the spoken word.
· Second from right: a man wearing a leather cap and a habit holds a large book in his right arm. The book, which is secured by a heavy strap, is presumably a medieval manuscript. ABM identified this figure as "By Written Word."
· Second from left: a modern-looking man with chin-length wavy hair and a coat with sleeves. He holds what appears to be a quill pen in his right hand. ABM tentatively identified the object in his left hand as an inkwell, and said the figure was "indicative of the potentialities of the newspaper, showing an editor in modern garb." I don’t see anything in the figure to justify so precise an identification. On the other hand, why would the artists show us another figure writing?
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On the far left: a man with long hair and a flowing robe,
wearing a cap. He holds what appears to be a single page in his left hand, and
rests his right on a column with a spiral running down it - probably
representing the screw from an
early printing press.
The printing theme continues on the façade of 20 Vesey Street with reproductions of devices of early printers (similar to modern trademarks) set on the horizontal bands between the floors. The most famous of these is Aldus Manutius' entwined dolphin and anchor, near the sculptures.
Gutzon Borglum (John Gutzon de la Mothe Borglum, 1867-1941) is most famous for the gigantic presidential heads at Mount Rushmore, executed from 1927 to the early 1940s. New York City has several of his earlier works: General Daniel Butterfield, a series of apostles at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine (Amsterdam Ave. between 111th and 112th Streets), and Henry Ward Beecher (Orange St. between Hicks and Henry, Brooklyn Heights). The Metropolitan Museum has two of his works. (Type "Borglum" into their site's search engine.) Newark has no less than four of his sculptures, including the substantial Wars of America. Elsewhere Borglum did pieces ranging from Salome and Nero to anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti. He is also famous for an unfinished work: a relief at Stone Mountain, Georgia, that would have been 120 feet high and a quarter of a mile long. In 1925, after critics slighted his portrayal of Robert E. Lee, Borglum halted work on the project and destroyed the models.
Borglum was well known for his outspoken opinions. The Armory Show, held in February and March 1913, introduced New Yorkers to "modern" art from Europe. In a speech at the Cooper Union that March, Borglum condemned it as
that farcical and foolish exhibition made up largely of paranoiacs. All the interest centred in the cubists. People rushed by the thousands to see them, and I say it was a shame and a crime the way the newspapers paid so little attention comparatively to the good work in the exhibition, for there was a lot of good work hung there. The woman coming down stairs! What nonsense! What insolence! A friend of mine said it looked more like stairs coming down a woman. Matisse has been quoted as saying that his eight-year-old son painted as well as he did. My faith, I believe it. (New York Times 3/29/1913)
For Teddy Roosevelt's comments on the 1913 Armory exhibition, see ../NYCsculpture/salute/SalutesOctober.htm#Roosevelt .
From the sources I've consulted so far, it's not clear whether Borglum and Kohn collaborated on these four sculptures or whether each did one or more separate sculptures. The Garrison Building at 20 Vesey Street was constructed for the New York Evening Post (founded by Alexander Hamilton in 1801), which had offices and a press there until 1926 - hence the themes of the press and publicity on the facade. On Borglum, see the American National Biography and Give the Man Room, The Story of Gutzon Borglum, by Robert J. Casey and Mary Borglum (Indianapolis and New York: Bobbs Merrill, 1952). For more on Borglum and his works in New York, especially Butterfield, see Outdoor Monuments of Manhattan: A Historical Guide, coming from New York University Press in February 2007.
August 15, 1864: Farragut captures Mobile Bay
* David Glasgow Farragut, by Augustus Saint Gaudens, 1880. North end of Madison Square (between Madison and Fifth Aves., near 26th St.).
Farragut was the first American naval officer to be promoted to the rank of admiral. In 1862 he captured New Orleans, putting nearly all the Mississippi River into Union hands. Two years later he was ordered to capture Mobile Bay, Alabama, the last major Confederate port on the Gulf of Mexico. The Bay was protected by a line of gunpowder-filled barrels strung across the opening, with a channel barely wide enough for two ships to sail past the guns of Fort Morgan. As Farragut's ships approached, one of his four ironclads struck a mine (then called a "torpedo") and sunk within minutes, with over a hundred hands. The panicked captain of the first ship in line promptly turned back, forcing the other ships to mill about as perfect targets beneath the Fort's guns. When told the reason for the lead ship's action Farragut roared back, "Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!" He ordered his flagship to the head of the line and steamed into the Bay with no further losses to torpedoes - although his crew reported hearing the fuses striking the hull as they went by. Within three hours, the Union controlled Mobile Bay.
Few works in the history of American sculpture have had the impact of the Farragut. At a time when portrait sculptures usually showed men posed elegantly, Saint Gaudens chose to show Farragut at the task for which he was famous, standing as if on the deck of a ship with the wind blowing his coat and field glasses in his hand. The pedestal, too, was an innovation. It bears a lengthy inscription and low reliefs relating Farragut's exploits, and its curved shape lures the viewer to approach, have a seat, and contemplate Farragut's accomplishments and character.
For more on Saint Gaudens, listen to Dianne Durante's lecture "Turn-of-the-Century Artist-Entrepreneurs: Saint Gaudens, MacMonnies and Parrish," available from the Ayn Rand Bookstore (http://aynrandbookstore.com/ ). For more on this sculpture, see Outdoor Monuments of Manhattan.
August
11, 2005: The City Beautiful Movement (part
3): Manhattan's First Bolivar
Click here to read Part 1 of the essay on the City Beautiful Movement, here to read Part 2.
Farnham's statue of Bolivar at the north end of Avenue of the Americas is the third sculpture of the Liberator designed for New York. The first, by R. de la Cora (or Cuva?), was given to the city by the government of Venezuela in 1884. (See photo.) It was condemned as a "monsterpiece," and indeed it was an unattractive work, with the horse disproportionately small, strangely muscled, and rearing awkwardly.
The city put the first Bolivar at an out-of-the-way site near Central Park West and 82nd St. Even there, it was ridiculed so often that the government of Venezuela offered to pay for a new statue. The de la Cora Bolivar was removed from its pedestal in the late 1880s or 1890s. Venezuela then found that it could not simply present a different sculpture. Members of the National Sculpture Society, founded in 1893 to promote excellence in sculpture (early members included Daniel Chester French and Augustus Saint Gaudens), examined a clay model in 1897 and politely opined that it "failed to suit the artistic taste of New York."
In the 1890s New York City's government decided it was time to start controlling what sculptures were erected on City property: see the essays on the City Beautiful movement, part 1 and part 2. From 1898 on, potential donors had to get the approval of the Art Commission for permanent installation on city property of any work of art. Today, the Art Commission still oversees the placement of sculpture on city property; see Encyclopedia of New York City pp. 16-17 for more details.
After Venezuela's second offering was rejected, the Bolivar pedestal remained empty until Farnham's statue was dedicated in 1921. Except, that is, for one April night in 1916, when a boisterous group of artists and friends helped Hunt Diederich (Wilhelm or William Hunt Diederich, 1884-1953) hoist his pair of bronze greyhounds onto the pedestal. The dogs had been recently displayed at a Paris salon, but had been rejected by a jury at the National Academy of Design. See a sample of Diederich's work at http://www.askart.com/artist/D/wilhelm_hunt_diederich.asp?ID=89923 .
The New York Times account of this romp in the Park is so vivid that its reporter must have been on the scene. The comments of the conspirators provide an glimpse into what was considered avant-garde art among the Bohemian set in 1910s in New York. (Less than a year later, Marcel Duchamp and several friends climbed to the top of the Washington Arch and declared the independence of Greenwich Village. Their Declaration consisted of the word "whereas," repeated over and over.)
The New York Times' account is well told, and I haven't seen it reprinted, so herewith, some extensive excerpts.
From the Times, 4/5/1916:
The leading machine was a taxicab. On the front seat with the chauffeur was an enormous bronze of two hounds playing. It was about seven feet long and three wide. A tall man with a small blonde mustache shouted directions in an accent slightly German to the chauffeur and to five or six occupants of the car. On the top was a ladder, and through the window of the cab projected a long bar and several planks.
This car was followed closely by a low gray limousine with six other occupants, who were talking and laughing loudly, and wondering in loud tones "if the police will catch us." …
A ladder and two planks were swung to the top of the ten-foot pedestal, ropes were put around the bronze group, and, on the orders of the blonde man, given in a suppressed whisper, three men on the top of the pedestal and seven others below heaved and tugged.
"More men on top! More men on top!" shouted the blonde man, and in a moment two others were up. "Now heave!" came the command, and the scraping of the metal base on the stone whined in the night.
The woman with the party clapped her hands and jumped up and down. "Oh, the hounds are up! And the cops didn't catch us, and no matter what the critics say, the dogs of Paris will bark in the park."
The man whom the others called Nicholas and the poet swept his hat from his head with his hand, clasped his hand to his breast, and cried: "Ah, Hunt, it is up. It is up. The hounds. The hounds. What do we care for the critics or the academicians or the Art Commission or the cops now? The dogs are up. Let them take them down if they can, if they will. But they will not when the riders see the beautiful dogs playing." …
[Louis W. Fehr, Secretary of the Park Board] said that all statues or ornaments in public parks must be approved by the Landscape Architect and the Municipal Art Commission before they were put up. …
The police did not discover the statue till long after the beautifiers of the landscape had gone away. And when they had found it they said, It was not up to them to do anything, so the pedestal was still occupied by the greyhounds up to 4 o'clock this morning.
From the Times on the following day, 4/6/1916:
General Simon Bolivar of Venezuela held title to his unoccupied pedestal in Central Park yesterday against the attack of Modern or Impressionist Art, represented by William Hunt Diederich's "Levriers," or "Greyhounds," only with the timely aid of park police reinforcements. Three hours after they had been placed on the equestrian statue base by friends of the artist the playing dogs of Paris were thrown ten feet to the ground and "damaged almost beyond repair." …
Although the affair did at first smack of a Bohemian prank, the artists who put up the canine effigy say they did have a serious desire to give it to the city, and that since General Bolivar deserted his post more than fifteen years ago the blank pedestal on the eminence had no artistic value whatever. As Diederich told Paul Manship, the artist, who thought it would be in keeping with the spirit of modern art and impressionism to invade Central Park with a gift, and not with the usual spirit of thievery, "there is that pedestal screaming for a bronze, and there are my hounds whining for a pedestal." …
The Parks Department was in a quandary, too. Many have stolen from the parks, but few have given. It was so unusual that it was startling.
Then they ran across the section of the ordinances reading:
"No horse or other animal shall be allowed to go at large in any park or in any park street, except dogs that are restrained by a chain or leash not exceeding six feet in length."
"Are they leashed and muzzled?" asked the [New York Police Department] Lieutenant. "If they're not, catch them and bring them in."
That marked the downfall of the dogs of Paris.
Special thanks to George Haskins, who provided the photo of the first Bolivar from Saltus and Tisne, Statues of New York, 1923. Farnham's Bolivar statue will be discussed in more detail in my forthcoming book on Manhattan outdoor sculpture.
The story of Duchamp and friends declaring the independence of Greenwich Village on January 23, 1917, is told in detail in the opening pages of Ross Wetzsteon, Republic of Dreams. Greenwich Village: The American Bohemia, 1910-1960.
August
15, 1771: Birth of Sir Walter Scott
* Sir Walter Scott, by Sir John Steell, 1871. Central Park, Literary Walk, north of the 65th St. Transverse. If the city streets' grid continued in the Park, it would be at about Sixth Ave. and 66th St.
Scott (1771-1832), the most famous author Scotland has produced, pretty much invented the historical novel, as well as the romanticized view of Scotland that made the country a tourist destination. Ivanhoe and Rob Roy were immensely popular. They're still readable today - despite Ogden Nash's "Complaint to Four Angels" ("Then a page of Scott or Cooper / May induce a healthful stupor . …"). Ivanhoe is a walloping good adventure story, often imitated, although as Ayn Rand pointed out in The Art of Fiction, the opening pages are exasperating: "To include thirteen pages of such descriptions [of characters], without any action having yet started and without the reader having been given any reason to be interested in the characters, is very unbalanced." Sample Ivanhoe for free as an ebook from the Gutenberg Project.
This is one of many statues in New York erected in the late 19th century by immigrants, in honor of heroes in their native land. Commissioned for the centennial of Scott's birth, it's a copy by the original sculptor of a marble statue in Edinburgh. I do hope, for the sake of the Scots, that the original is more attractive than this one. … All right, the dog's rather nice.
August
1664: Peter Stuyvesant surrenders New Amsterdam to the British
* Peter Stuyvesant, by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, 1936. Stuyvesant Square, between 16th and 17th Sts., west of Second Ave.
Late in August 1664 four British frigates sailed through the Narrows and trained their guns on Fort Amsterdam, the run-down defense of a thriving Dutch commercial town. In the name of the Duke of York, brother King Charles II, Colonel Nicolls offered every man his "Estate, life, and liberty" if the town capitulated peacefully. Director-General Peter Stuyvesant at first flatly refused to surrender, but under pressure from the residents, finally signed the Articles of Capitulation. In September, New Amsterdam and New Netherland officially became New York.
For a serious, scholarly account of Stuyvesant's tenure as director general and the surrender of New Amsterdam, read Burrows & Wallace, Gotham: A History of New York pp. 41-73. The descriptions below - much more amusing, but much less accurate - are from Knickerbocker's History of New York, 1809. Purporting to be written by a cantankerous elderly gentleman named Diedrich Knickerbocker, the History was in fact the work of rising literary star Washington Irving. Later editions warned that it was a "whimsical and satirical work, in which the peculiarities and follies of the present day are humorously depicted in the persons, and arrayed … in the grotesque costume of the ancient Dutch colonist." On Knickerbocker's History, see Burrows & Wallace pp. 415-9.
This statue of Stuyvesant stands on land that was once part of his farm. The sculptor, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney (1875-1941), also produced the Inwood (Washington Heights) War Memorial at Broadway and 168th St. In 1930 she founded the Whitney Museum of American Art, devoted solely to twentieth-century American art, with a core collection of 500 pieces that the Metropolitan Museum had refused to accept as a gift. The Whitney Biennial, held in even-numbered years, is one of the most prestigious contemporary art exhibitions in the country. If you want to see the sort of art that's currently critically acclaimed, it's the place to go. Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach will put you in the right state of mind.
Washington Irving,
Knickerbocker's History of New York, 1809
( from the Gutenberg Project,
http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/0/4/13042/13042-8.txt)
From Book 5
To say merely that he was a hero would be doing him great injustice; he was, in truth, a combination of heroes; for he was of a sturdy, raw-boned make, like Ajax Telamon, with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would have given his hide for (meaning his lion's hide) when he undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, moreover, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for the force of his arm, but likewise for his voice, which sounded as though it came out of a barrel; and, like the self-same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake with terror and dismay. All this martial excellency of appearance was inexpressibly heightened by an accidental advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes.
This was nothing less than a wooden leg, which was the only prize he had gained in bravely fighting the battles of his country, but of which he was so proud, that he was often heard to declare he valued it more than all his other limbs put together; indeed, so highly did he esteem it, that he had it gallantly enchased and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be related in divers histories and legends that he wore a silver leg. …
From Book 7
There is something exceedingly sublime and melancholy in the spectacle which the present crisis of our history presents. An illustrious and venerable little city--the metropolis of a vast extent of uninhabited country--garrisoned by a doughty host of orators, chairmen, committee-men, burgomasters, schepens, and old women--governed by a determined and strong-headed warrior, and fortified by mud batteries, palisadoes, and resolutions--blockaded by sea, beleaguered by land, and threatened with direful desolation from without; while its very vitals are torn with internal faction and commotion! Never did historic pen record a page of more complicated distress, unless it be the strife that distracted the Israelites during the siege of Jerusalem, where discordant parties were cutting each other's throats at the moment when the victorious legions of Titus had toppled down their bulwarks, and were carrying fire and sword into the very sanctum sanctorum of the temple!
Governor Stuyvesant having triumphantly put his grand council to the rout, and delivered himself from a multitude of impertinent advisers, despatched a categorical reply to the commanders of the invading squadron, wherein he asserted the right and title of their High Mightinesses the Lords States General to the province of New Netherlands, and trusting in the righteousness of his cause, set the whole British nation at defiance!
My anxiety to extricate my readers and myself from these disastrous scenes prevents me from giving the whole of this gallant letter, which concluded in these manly and affectionate terms:----
"As touching the threats in your conclusion, we have nothing to answer, only that we fear nothing but what God (who is as just as merciful) shall lay upon us; all things being in His gracious disposal, and we may as well be preserved by Him with small forces as by a great army, which makes us to wish you all happiness and prosperity, and recommend you to His protection.--My lords, your thrice humble and affectionate servant and friend,
"P. STUYVESANT."
Thus having thrown his gauntlet, the brave Peter stuck a pair of horse-pistols in his belt, girded an immense powder-horn on his side, thrust his sound leg into a Hessian boot, and clapping his fierce little war-hat on the top of his head, paraded up and down in front of his house, determined to defend his beloved city to the last.
While all these struggles and dissentions were prevailing in the unhappy city of New Amsterdam, and while its worthy but ill-starred governor was framing the above quoted letter, the English commanders did not remain idle. They had agents secretly employed to foment the fears and clamors of the populace; and moreover circulated far and wide through the adjacent country a proclamation, repeating the terms they had already held out in their summons to surrender, at the same time beguiling the simple Nederlanders with the most crafty and conciliating professions. They promised that every man who voluntarily submitted to the authority of his British Majesty should retain peaceful possession of his house, his vrouw, and his cabbage-garden. That he should be suffered to smoke his pipe, speak Dutch, wear as many beeches as he pleased, and import bricks, tiles, and stone jugs from Holland, instead of manufacturing them on the spot. That he should on no account be compelled to learn the English language, nor eat codfish on Saturdays, nor keep accounts in any other way than by casting them up on his fingers, and chalking them down upon the crown of his hat; as is observed among the Dutch yeomanry at the present day. That every man should be allowed quietly to inherit his father's hat, coat, shoe-buckles, pipe, and every other personal appendage; and that no man should be obliged to conform to any improvements, inventions, or any other modern innovations; but, on the contrary, should be permitted to build his house, follow his trade, manage his farm, rear his hogs, and educate his children, precisely as his ancestors had done before him from time immemorial. Finally, that he should have all the benefits of free trade, and should not be required to acknowledge any other saint in the calendar than St. Nicholas, who should thenceforward, as before, be considered the tutelar saint of the city.
These terms, as may be supposed, appeared very satisfactory to the people, who had a great disposition to enjoy their property unmolested, and a most singular aversion to engage in a contest, where they could gain little more than honor and broken heads: the first of which they held in philosophic indifference, the latter in utter detestation. By these insidious means, therefore, did the English succeed in alienating the confidence and affections of the populace from their gallant old governor, whom they considered as obstinately bent upon running them into hideous misadventures; and did not hesitate to speak their minds freely, and abuse him most heartily, behind his back.
Like as a mighty grampus, when assailed and buffeted by roaring waves and brawling surges, still keeps on an undeviating course, rising above the boisterous billows, spouting and blowing as he emerges, so did the inflexible Peter pursue, unwavering, his determined career, and rise, contemptuous, above the clamors of the rabble.
But when the British warriors found that he set their power at defiance, they despatched recruiting officers to Jamaica, and Jericho, and Nineveh, and Quag, and Patchog, and all those towns on Long Island which had been subdued of yore by Stoffel Brinkerhoff, stirring up the progeny of Preserved Fish and Determined Cock, and those other New England squatters, to assail the city of New Amsterdam by land, while the hostile ships prepared for an assault by water.
The streets of New Amsterdam now presented a scene of wild dismay and consternation. In vain did Peter Stuyvesant order the citizens to arm and assemble on the Battery. Blank terror reigned over the community. The whole party of Short Pipes in the course of a single night had changed into arrant old women--a metamorphosis only to be paralleled by the prodigies recorded by Livy as having happened at Rome at the approach of Hannibal, when statues sweated in pure affright, goats were converted into sheep, and cocks, turning into hens, ran cackling about the street.
Thus baffled in all attempts to put the city in a state of defence, blockaded from without, tormented from within, and menaced with a Yankee invasion, even the stiff-necked will of Peter Stuyvesant for once gave way, and in spite of his mighty heart, which swelled in his throat until it nearly choked him, he consented to a treaty of surrender.
Words cannot express the transports of the populace on receiving this intelligence; had they obtained a conquest over their enemies, they could not have indulged greater delight. The streets resounded with their congratulations--they extolled their governor as the father and deliverer of his country--they crowded to his house to testify their gratitude, and were ten times more noisy in their plaudits than when he returned, with victory perched upon his beaver, from the glorious capture of Fort Christina. But the indignant Peter shut his doors and windows, and took refuge in the innermost recesses of his mansion, that he might not hear the ignoble rejoicings of the rabble.
Commissioners were now appointed on both sides, and a capitulation was speedily arranged; all that was wanting to ratify it was that it should be signed by the governor. When the commissioners waited upon him for this purpose they were received with grim and bitter courtesy. His warlike accoutrements were laid aside; an old Indian night-gown was wrapped about his rugged limbs; a red nightcap overshadowed his frowning brow; an iron-grey beard of three days' growth gave additional grimness to his visage. Thrice did he seize a worn-out stump of a pen, and essay to sign the loathsome paper; thrice did he clinch his teeth, and make a horrible countenance, as though a dose of rhubarb-senna, and ipecacuanha, had been offered to his lips. At length, dashing it from him, he seized his brass-hilted sword, and jerking it from the scabbard, swore by St. Nicholas to sooner die than yield to any power under heaven.
For two whole days did he persist in this magnanimous resolution, during which his house was besieged by the rabble, and menaces and clamorous revilings exhausted to no purpose. And now another course was adopted to soothe, if possible, his mighty ire. A procession was formed by the burgomasters and schepens, followed by the populace, to bear the capitulation in state to the governor's dwelling. They found the castle strongly barricaded, and the old hero in full regimentals, with his cocked hat on his head, posted with a blunderbuss at the garret window.
There was something in this formidable position that struck even the ignoble vulgar with awe and admiration. The brawling multitude could not but reflect with self-abasement upon their own pusillanimous conduct, when they beheld their hardy but deserted old governor, thus faithful to his post, like a forlorn hope, and fully prepared to defend his ungrateful city to the last. These compunctions, however, were soon overwhelmed by the recurring tide of public apprehension. The populace arranged themselves before the house, taking off their hats with most respectful humility; Burgomaster Roerback, who was of that popular class of orators described by Sallust as being "talkative rather than eloquent," stepped forth and addressed the governor in a speech of three hours' length, detailing, in the most pathetic terms, the calamitous situation of the province, and urging him, in a constant repetition of the same arguments and words, to sign the capitulation.
The mighty Peter eyed him from his garret window in grim silence. Now and then his eye would glance over the surrounding rabble, and an indignant grin, like that of an angry mastiff, would mark his iron visage. But though a man of most undaunted mettle--though he had a heart as big as an ox, and a head that would have set adamant to scorn--yet after all he was a mere mortal. Wearied out by these repeated oppositions, and this eternal haranguing, and perceiving that unless he complied the inhabitants would follow their own inclination, or rather their fears, without waiting for his consent; or, what was still worse, the Yankees would have time to pour in their forces and claim a share in the conquest, he testily ordered them to hand up the paper. It was accordingly hoisted to him on the end of a pole, and having scrawled his hand at the bottom of it, he anathematised them all for a set of cowardly, mutinous, degenerate poltroons--threw the capitulation at their heads, slammed down the window, and was heard stumping downstairs with vehement indignation. The rabble incontinently took to their heels; even the burgomasters were not slow in evacuating the premises, fearing lest the sturdy Peter might issue from his den, and greet them with some unwelcome testimonial of his displeasure.
Within three hours after the surrender, a legion of British beef-fed warriors poured into New Amsterdam, taking possession of the fort and batteries. And now might be heard from all quarters the sound of hammers made by the old Dutch burghers, in nailing up their doors and windows, to protect their vrouws from these fierce barbarians, whom they contemplated in silent sullenness from the garret windows as they paraded through the streets.
Thus did Colonel Richard Nichols, the commander of the British forces, enter into quiet possession of the conquered realm, as locum tenens for the Duke of York. The victory was attended with no other outrage than that of changing the name of the province and its metropolis, which thenceforth were denominated New York, and so have continued to be called unto the present day. The inhabitants, according to treaty, were allowed to maintain quiet possession of their property, but so inveterately did they retain their abhorrence of the British nation that in a private meeting of the leading citizens it was unanimously determined never to ask any of their conquerors to dinner.
For more on this sculpture, see Outdoor Monuments of Manhattan.
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