Conspiracy of the Cocked Hats

by Washington Irving

　　TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER.

　　Sir,I have read with great satisfaction the valuable paper of yourcorrespondent, Mr. HERMANUS VANDERDONK, (who, I take it, is a descendantof the learned Adrian Vanderdonk, one of the early historians of theNieuw-Nederlands,) giving sundry particulars, legendary and statistical,touching the venerable village of Communipaw and its fate-bound citadel,the House of the Four Chimneys. It goes to prove what I have repeatedlymaintained, that we live in the midst of history and mystery andromance; and that there is no spot in the world more rich in themes forthe writer of historic novels, heroic melodramas, and rough-shod epics,than this same business-looking city of the Manhattoes and its environs.He who would find these elements, however, must not seek them among themodern improvements and modern people of this moneyed metropolis, butmust dig for them, as for Kidd the pirate's treasures, in out-of-the-wayplaces, and among the ruins of the past.Poetry and romance received a fatal blow at the overthrow of the ancientDutch dynasty, and have ever since been gradually withering under thegrowing domination of the Yankees. They abandoned our hearths when theold Dutch tiles were superseded by marble chimney-pieces; when brassandirons made way for polished grates, and the crackling and blazingfire of nut-wood gave place to the smoke and stench of Liverpool coal;and on the downfall of the last gable-end house, their requiem wastolled from the tower of the Dutch church in Nassau-street by the oldbell that came from Holland. But poetry and romance still live unseenamong us, or seen only by the enlightened few, who are able tocontemplate this city and its environs through the medium of tradition,and clothed with the associations of foregone ages.Would you seek these elements in the country, Mr. Editor, avoid allturnpikes, rail-roads, and steamboats, those abominable inventions bywhich the usurping Yankees are strengthening themselves in the land, andsubduing every thing to utility and common-place. Avoid all towns andcities of white clapboard palaces and Grecian temples, studded with"Academics," "Seminaries," and "Institutes," which glisten along ourbays and rivers; these are the strong-holds of Yankee usurpation; but ifhaply you light upon some rough, rambling road, winding between stonefences, gray with moss, and overgrown with elder, poke-berry, mullein,and sweet-briar, with here and there a low, red-roofed, whitewashedfarm-house, cowering among apple and cherry trees; an old stone church,with elms, willows, and button-woods, as old-looking as itself, andtombstones almost buried in their own graves; and, peradventure, a smalllog school-house at a cross-road, where the English is still taught witha thickness of the tongue, instead of a twang of the nose; should you,I say, light upon such a neighborhood, Mr. Editor, you may thank yourstars that you have found one of the lingering haunts of poetry andromance.Your correspondent, Sir, has touched upon that sublime and affectingfeature in the history of Communipaw, the retreat of the patriotic bandof Nederlanders, led by Van Horne, whom he justly terms the Pelayo ofthe New-Netherlands. He has given you a picture of the manner in whichthey ensconced themselves in the House of the Four Chimneys, and awaitedwith heroic patience and perseverance the day that should see the flagof the Hogen Mogens once more floating on the fort of New-Amsterdam.Your correspondent, Sir, has but given you a glimpse over the threshold;I will now let you into the heart of the mystery of this most mysteriousand eventful village.

　　Yes, sir, I will now--"unclasp a secret book;And to your quick conceiving discontents,I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,As full of peril and adventurous spirit,As to o'er walk a current, roaring loud,On the unsteadfast footing of a spear."

　　Sir, it is one of the most beautiful and interesting facts connectedwith the history of Communipaw, that the early feeling of resistance toforeign rule, alluded to by your correspondent, is still kept up. Yes,sir, a settled, secret, and determined conspiracy has been going onfor generations among this indomitable people, the descendants of therefugees from New-Amsterdam; the object of which is to redeem theirancient seat of empire, and to drive the losel Yankees out of the land.Communipaw, it is true, has the glory of originating this conspiracy;and it was hatched and reared in the House of the Four Chimneys; but ithas spread far and wide over ancient Pavonia, surmounted the heights ofBergen, Hoboken, and Weehawk, crept up along the banks of the Passaicand the Hackensack, until it pervades the whole chivalry of the countryfrom Tappan Slote in the north to Piscataway in the south, including thepugnacious village of Rahway, more heroically denominated Spank-town.Throughout all these regions a great "in-and-in confederacy" prevails,that is to say, a confederacy among the Dutch families, by dint ofdiligent and exclusive intermarriage, to keep the race pure and tomultiply. If ever, Mr. Editor, in the course of your travels betweenSpank-town and Tappan Slote, you should see a cosey, low-eavedfarm-house, teeming with sturdy, broad-built little urchins, you may setit down as one of the breeding places of this grand secret confederacy,stocked with the embryo deliverers of New-Amsterdam.Another step in the progress of this patriotic conspiracy, is theestablishment, in various places within the ancient boundaries of theNieuw-Nederlands, of secret, or rather mysterious associations, composedof the genuine sons of the Nederlanders, with the ostensible object ofkeeping up the memory of old times and customs, but with the real objectof promoting the views of this dark and mighty plot, and extending itsramifications throughout the land.Sir, I am descended from a long line of genuine Nederlanders, who,though they remained in the city of New-Amsterdam after the conquest,and throughout the usurpation, have never in their hearts been able totolerate the yoke imposed upon them. My worthy father, who was one ofthe last of the cocked hats, had a little knot of cronies, of his ownstamp, who used to meet in our wainscoted parlor, round a nut-wood fire,talk over old times, when the city was ruled by its native burgomasters,and groan over the monopoly of all places of power and profit by theYankees. I well recollect the effect upon this worthy little conclave,when the Yankees first instituted then New-England Society, held their"national festival," toasted their "father land," and sang their foreignsongs of triumph within the very precincts of our ancient metropolis.Sir, from that day, my father held the smell of codfish and potatoes,and the sight of pumpkin pie, in utter abomination; and whenever theannual dinner of the New-England Society came round, it was a soreanniversary for his children. He got up in an ill humor, grumbled andgrowled throughout the day, and not one of us went to bed that night,without having had his jacket well trounced, to the tune of "The PilgrimFathers."You may judge, then, Mr. Editor, of the exaltation of all true patriotsof this stamp, when the Society of Saint Nicholas was set up among us,and intrepidly established, cheek by jole, alongside of the society ofthe invaders. Never shall I forget the effect upon my father and hislittle knot of brother groaners, when tidings were brought them that theancient banner of the Manhattoes was actually floating from the windowof the City Hotel. Sir, they nearly jumped out of their silver-buckledshoes for joy. They took down their cocked hats from the pegs on whichthey had hanged them, as the Israelites of yore hung their harps uponthe willows, in token of bondage, clapped them resolutely once more upontheir heads, and cocked them in the face of every Yankee they met on theway to the banqueting-room.The institution of this society was hailed with transport throughout thewhole extent of the New-Netherlands; being considered a secret footholdgained in New-Amsterdam, and a flattering presage of future triumph.Whenever that society holds its annual feast, a sympathetic hilarityprevails throughout the land; ancient Pavonia sends over itscontributions of cabbages and oysters; the House of the Four Chimneys issplendidly illuminated, and the traditional song of St. Nicholas, themystic bond of union and conspiracy, is chaunted with closed doors, inevery genuine Dutch family.I have thus, I trust, Mr. Editor, opened your eyes to some of the grandmoral, poetical, and political phenomena with which you are surrounded.You will now be able to read the "signs of the times." You willnow understand what is meant by those "Knickerbocker Halls," and"Knickerbocker Hotels," and "Knickerbocker Lunches," that are dailyspringing up in our city and what all these "Knickerbocker Omnibuses"are driving at. You will see in them so many clouds before a storm; somany mysterious but sublime intimations of the gathering vengeance of agreat though oppressed people. Above all, you will now contemplateour bay and its portentous borders, with proper feelings of awe andadmiration. Talk of the Bay of Naples, and its volcanic mountains! Why,Sir, little Communipaw, sleeping among its cabbage gardens, "quiet asgunpowder," yet with this tremendous conspiracy brewing in its bosom isan object ten times as sublime (in a moral point of view, mark me) asVesuvius in repose, though charged with lava and brimstone, and readyfor an eruption.Let me advert to a circumstance connected with this theme, whichcannot but be appreciated by every heart of sensibility. You must haveremarked, Mr. Editor, on summer evenings, and on Sunday afternoons,certain grave, primitive-looking personages, walking the Battery, inclose confabulation, with their canes behind their backs, and ever andanon turning a wistful gaze toward the Jersey shore. These, Sir, are thesons of Saint Nicholas, the genuine Nederlanders; who regard Communipawwith pious reverence, not merely as the progenitor, but the destinedregenerator, of this great metropolis. Yes, Sir; they are looking withlonging eyes to the green marshes of ancient Pavonia, as did the poorconquered Spaniards of yore toward the stern mountains of Asturias,wondering whether the day of deliverance is at hand. Many is the time,when, in my boyhood, I have walked with my father and his confidentialcompeers on the Battery, and listened to their calculations andconjectures, and observed the points of their sharp cocked hats evermoreturned toward Pavonia. Nay, Sir, I am convinced that at this moment, ifI were to take down the cocked hat of my lamented father from the peg onwhich it has hung for years, and were to carry it to the Battery, itscentre point, true as the needle to the pole, would turn to Communipaw.Mr. Editor, the great historic drama of New-Amsterdam, is but halfacted. The reigns of Walter the Doubter, William the Testy, and Peterthe Headstrong, with the rise, progress, and decline of the Dutchdynasty, are but so many parts of the main action, the triumphantcatastrophe of which is yet to come. Yes, Sir! the deliverance ofthe New-Nederlands from Yankee domination will eclipse the far-famedredemption of Spain from the Moors, and the oft-sung conquest of Granadawill fade before the chivalrous triumph of New-Amsterdam. Would thatPeter Stuyvesant could rise from his grave to witness that day!Your humble servant,ROLOFF VAN RIPPER.P. S. Just as I had concluded the foregoing epistle, I received a pieceof intelligence, which makes me tremble for the fate of Communipaw.I fear, Mr. Editor, the grand conspiracy is in danger of beingcountermined and counteracted, by those all-pervading andindefatigable Yankees. Would you think it, Sir! one of them has actuallyeffected an entry in the place by covered way; or in other words, undercover of the petticoats. Finding every other mode ineffectual, hesecretly laid siege to a Dutch heiress, who owns a great cabbage-gardenin her own right. Being a smooth-tongued varlet, he easily prevailed onher to elope with him, and they were privately married at Spank-town!The first notice the good people of Communipaw had of this awful event,was a lithographed map of the cabbage garden laid out in town lots, andadvertised for sale! On the night of the wedding, the main weather-cockof the House of the Four Chimneys was carried away in a whirlwind! Thegreatest consternation reigns throughout the village!

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *