Blues, haints and bayous: snippets from the Deep South: On the waterfront

Our first stop this morning was the waterfront, south on Lower Manhattan. We climbed aboard a boat there that took us out almost to where Henry Hudson first sighted this land after angling his three masted schooner, the Halve Maen (Half Moon), into these protected waters, thinking he might have found the entrance to a shortcut clear across to the west, to Asia, that he was searching for.

There was no shortcut, but Hudson did find friendly Lanape Indians, an island cloaked in oak and hickory, and birds aplenty, clearly inviting settlement. And, of course, beaver pelt—a fortune in beaver pelt, that would make the Dutch West India Company plan for a settlement here, as they shivered in anticipation at the profits. Even in those early days, it was all about the bottom line.

The Dutch paid the Lanape some 60 guilders for the island. A trading post was established. Nieuw Amsterdam. Their fort was built on the very southern tip of the island and enslaved folk helped build it. Ships brought immigrants from the Netherlands, and here, at Castle Clinton, early settlers were processed. Later immigrants were offloaded to be processed for admission under the onion domes of Ellis Island. Not far from the sheltering arms of the statue of Lady Liberty that was also erected later. Some of the new settlers resided peaceably.

Typical among them were Joris Rapelje and Catalina Trico. This couple were married in a Walloon church in Amsterdam just before leaving home. He was 19 and illiterate. She was 18 and had no family members present at her wedding. Four days later they left for a new life in North America. They were poor, but soon acquired land along what came to be called Pearl Street, where we went walking after our harbour ride.

Pearl Street was so called because it was built on the midden wastes of oyster, clam and mussel shells, left after centuries of Lanape Indians had harvested selfish from these seasonal waters. The road in front of Joris and Catalina’s home would have shimmered like the fragile inside of a pearl shell when the sun hit it at the right angle. Joris and Catalina worked hard. They did well. And, their descendants throughout America today, number over a million. Epitomising that hard work ethic America still believes: that if you put you mind to it you can succeed.

Another who resided peaceably was a Dutch farmer from Utrecht, whose grandson quit school when he was but 11, but very soon learned from his dad how to ferry passengers across these waters. By the time he was 16, he was confident he knew what he was doing, and borrowed money from his folks to access his own boat that he would then use as a ferry. The profits of which would be his, and his alone. His fortune started in the waters we sailed today, between Staten Island and lower Manhattan. His name was Cornelius Vanderbilt.

Others started out less peaceably. Licentious, even. Grietje Reyneirs and Anthony van Salee are a pair in point. She was a prostitute, working in taverns near the docks, along Canal Street. He was a Moroccan-Dutch pirate, living on his wits. These were fairly lawless times, and this pair were among the most lawless. Court records show them fronting up to court more often than most. Greitje and Anthony were banished across the river to Brooklyn. But, the quiet must have been the making of them, for they worked the acreage they bought, had children, and, they, too, became successful citizens.

Another, living on the edge, was William Kidd, who on the surface appeared the perfect citizen. He owned a mansion on Pearl Street, married one of the richest ladies in the settlement, and lent the parish the tackle from his ship to help hoist the stones to build the first Trinity Church. When it was discovered that he was the notorious pirate, Captain Kidd, he fled. But, eventually, he was captured, sent to trial in London, and hung in a steel cage over the River Thames as a lesson to others that piracy was not to be tolerated.

It is not surprising that so many of the new settlers were trouble, though, as the waters of lower Manahata—the name the Lanape used for the island, which later became Manhattan—were poor. They were brackish and made folk sick. Liquid to be drunk was safest if brewed. So, anything that could be fermented was fermented—and thus, became alcoholic. Most of the residents, much of the time, were quite plastered as a result. So, the times were fairly lawless.

Peter Stuyvesant, an administrator with a peg leg and a military attitude was brought in to create law and order. He built himself a tall white house, five stories, with a gorgeous view overlooking the harbour. Folk began calling it White Hall. The name stuck, and the street later became Whitehall. As the beaver furs became scarce from overkill, the fort needed to make a profit, so Stuyvesant began dealing in slaves. He also tried to rid the settlement of undesirables. He was a firm Lutheran and wanted the settlement to reflect those values only, so he proceeded to make life difficult for Quakers, Jews, and others of a different religious persuasion. Shades of some of the would-be leaders of today wanting to build walls, and restrict entry. Some things never change.

Today, though, a statue in Battery Park honours the differences: The Immigrants. Honouring new settlers of all races and religions. A very evocative piece of work.

A protective high wall of clay bricks was built between the Lanape and the little settlement in the south of the Island. This later became Wall Street. The Stock Exchange ticker tape now runs here day and night. But this wall was as far as early settlement stretched. Just closing in this tiny little wedge of the island, that held some five hundred people.

It was just the beginning. Today tall buildings plaster the sky over much of the island. The old trail where the Indians brought down the pelts from the interior--Broadway--is a long canyon of buildings reaching the sky.

George Washington was later inaugurated as the country's first president on a small second floor balcony on the site of the Federal Hall on Wall Street. That earlier building was the nation's first Capitol building.

There are remnants of other earlier times, too, in this part of Lower Manhattan. A sphere sculpture is temporarily placed here. It was between the two World Towers the day they were brought down. It still wears the scars left that day. Once Ground Zero is finalised it is thought the sphere might be returned to its original site. In memory.

At the end of our first full day we were all so weary we had to drag our old bones home, early in the evening. We found someone even wearier enroute. He did not have the strength to carry even his boots. This is New York.