Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes.  They gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars; after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, lest it should attract the lightning.  At length the storm abated:  the thunder sunk into a growl; and the setting sun, breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten, gold.

The word was given from the fort, that a ship was standing up the bay.  It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, and soon put the little capital in a bustle.  The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhabitants.  It brought them news from the old world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so completely severed:  to the yearly ship, too, they looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost of necessaries.  The good vrouw could not have her new cap, nor new gown, until the arrival of the ship; the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the school-boy for his top and marbles, and the lordly landholder for the bricks with which he was to build his new mansion.  Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival of the ship.  It was the great yearly event of the town of New-Amsterdam; and from one end of the year to the other, the ship—­the ship—­the ship—­was the continual topic of conversation.

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down to the battery, to behold the wished-for sight.  It was not exactly the time when she had been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was a matter of some speculation.  Many were the groups collected about the battery.  Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys.  At another place was a knot of old weatherbeaten fellows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, and were great authorities on such occasions; these gave different opinions, and caused great disputes among their several adherents:  but the man most looked up to, and followed and watched by the crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea-captain retired from service, the nautical oracle of the place.  He reconnoitred the ship through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing.  A hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt had always more weight with the public than a speech from another man.

In the meantime, the ship became more distinct to the naked eye:  she was a stout, round Dutch-built vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing Dutch colours.  The evening sun gilded her bellying canvas, as she came riding over the long waving billows.  The sentinel who had given notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay; and that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud.  The bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to this report:  Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer together, and said nothing; upon which some shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.