The Dutch Came To Zwannendael.

IT was a clear warm day in May in the year 1631, and the sunlight shone pleasantly on a little Indian village of the Leni Lenapes on the banks of the broad Delaware river.

From the openings in the tops of the wigwams—openings that answered in place of chimneys—the smoke of the fires rose toward the cloudless May sky. Kettles were suspended over these fires, and from their contents came a savory smell of cooking—of game, of fish, or of a sort of hasty pudding that the squaws make of corn, which they have ground to meal between stones.

A number of the young men had gone off to the forest in search of game, or had paddled away in their canoes to distant fishing grounds, but some of them were still left in the village. Now and then a brave stalked with grave dignity among the wigwams; and the three chiefs, Quescacous, Entquet, and Siconesius sat a little withdrawn, and in the shadow of some trees, smoking together.

An Indian youth who was setting a trap down by the river paused, when he had finished his task, to look up and down the stream for returning canoes. There was none in sight, but what he did see caught his attention and brought a startled look of wonder to his face. He bent forward in eager attention and gave vent to a low guttural exclamation. Down toward the bay two objects such as he had never seen before moved slowly over the surface of the water. They moved like great birds with wide spread wings; but they were no birds, as the Indian knew well. Whatever they were, they were the work of human hands, and they were coming toward the village.

Once satisfied of this, the Indian turned and sped back to the wigwams to carry the news.

What he had to tell was enough to arouse not only the interest of the younger Indians, but of the braves and the chiefs as well. Soon a group of natives had gathered on the shore, all gazing down toward the bay.

And a marvellous sight it must have been to those Indians that May morning when the two ships of the first colonists who ever settled in Delaware came sailing up the river toward them. In the lead came a vessel of eighteen guns, her sails spread wide to the light breeze, the flag of Holland floating from her masthead. Following her was a smaller yacht named the Walrus. Over the sides of these vessels leaned the sailors and the colonists, blue eyed and fair haired, dressed in cloth suits and glittering buttons.

These immigrants gazed with wonder at the strange natives gathered on the shore—at their painted faces and feathers; and they saw with joy the beauty of this new land. For five months these ships had sailed the trackless ocean, now beaten by storms, now driven on by favoring winds; and now at last, under their leader, DeVries, they had reached their haven.

They were not the first white men who had sailed these waters. Long, long before, Hudson had come this way on his search for a north-east passage to China. In 1612 Hendrickson had ventured up the river in his little ship Restless, but neither of these had set foot on the land, unless it was to seek a spring for water to drink. These men under DeVries in 1631 were the first who ever made an attempt to settle.

Very joyously these first colonists landed in Delaware. Flags were flying and music playing. The cannon of the ship boomed out a salute across the water. It reverberated solemnly over the wild and lonely country where such a sound had never been heard before. The colonists were so delighted with the peace and the beauty of the land that they named the point where the boat first touched, Paradise Point. It is the little projection of land at the mouth of what is now known as Lewes Creek.

The three chiefs, gorgeous in paint and feathers, came down to meet the strangers and conducted them up the shore to the village. Here they motioned to them to seat themselves around the fire and smoke the pipe of peace.

The various small tribes of Indians in Delaware all belonged to the one great tribe of the Leni Lenapes.

DeVries, on his side, was very anxious to establish friendly relations with them. He believed that if the natives were treated fairly and kindly there would be no trouble with them.

We do not know how the bargain was made between the Indians and the white men, whether by signs or whether through an interpreter sent down from the New Netherlands (New York) which had been settled some time before. But we are told in the old documents that this first tract of land, thirty-two miles along the bay and river from Cape Henlopen, was sold by the Indians for “certain parcels of cargoes,” probably kettles, cloth, beads and ornaments.

After the bargain was made, DeVries again took ship; and the three chiefs sailed with him up to New Netherlands, where a solemn deed was made before the three chiefs and signed and sealed by the Dutch Governor and the Directors, Council and Sheriff of the New Netherlands.

Down in the newly purchased land the colonists immediately set about building shelters for themselves. Their possessions had been landed with them—their chests of clothing, their farming tools, and the seeds they had brought from home. They must begin to prepare fields, too; for it was time the seeds were planted.

The spot they selected was near the mouth of the creek, where there was a spring of delicious cool water; and, because of the wild swans that were sometimes seen there, they named their little settlement Zwannendael. The river they called Hoornekill in honor of DeVries, whose native place was Hoorne in Holland.

The natives watched with wonder the strange work of these colonists, and the square houses with doors and windows which they made, and which were so different from the round wigwams woven of boughs and barks.

Beside separate cabins the settlers built themselves a general house to serve as defense in time of need. They called it Fort Uplandt; but DeVries placed such extraordinary confidence in the Indians that the so-called fort was only a house, larger and stronger than the cabins, and surrounded by a high fence.

So diligently did the settlers go about their work that by the middle of the summer they were quite well established.

DeVries was anxious to go back to Holland and bring out more settlers, so he appointed Giles Hosset Director of the colony and then made his preparations to sail.

It was with heavy hearts that the little band of colonists saw the ship that had brought them from home spread its wings and sail away.

They watched it until it was only a speck in the distance, until even the speck had disappeared. Then they turned again to their work with a new feeling of loneliness. They were so few in that great land of savages.

They had provisions enough, brought from home to last them a year and there was some comfort in the fact that the yacht Walrus was left behind. She was anchored just off shore in the river, and from there she could keep guard over the little colony like a mother bird guarding her nest. If danger arose, the settlers could retreat to her. But what danger was there to fear when the Indians seemed so peaceable and friendly?