# 'Way Down East; or, Portraitures of Yankee Life/A Dutch Wedding

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A Dutch Wedding.
"You can often get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river," said my friend John Van Ben Schoten.
"Why don't you begin your name with a Sam?" said I; "it would give it more fulness and roundness; a more musical sound. I do like a full, harmonious name, I don't care what nation it belongs to. Only see how much better it would sound—Sam John Van Ben Schoten—I would make that little addition, if I was you."
"Why that is my boy's name," said my friend John Van Ben Schoten. "You Yankees are always one generation ahead of us Hollanders. Wait till my boy grows up, and he'll be just what you want. But don't let us be disputing about names"———
Our disputes were always of the good-natured sort, and generally confined to the relative advantages of Yankee enterprise and Dutch perseverance.
​"Don't let us be disputing about names," said he, "when you ought to be planning how to pay that note to-morrow. You say your draft has come back protested, and you have no other means of raising the money."
This was too true; I had been in a perfect fever all the morning; the return of the draft was most unexpected; those, of whom I had been accustomed to receive accomodations, were out of town, and the note in question would do me much injury by lying over. As a last resort I had applied to my friend John Van Ben Schoten for advice in the matter.
"I tell you," said John Van Ben Schoten, "you can often get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river."
"Yes," said I, "but how? You can do most any thing if you only know how."
"Well," said he, "go into my counting-room and sit down a minute, and I'll tell you how."
We went in, and took a seat in the shadiest corner, near the window. John, before sitting down, reached up over his desk and took down his long pipe. He then opened a little drawer and filled his pipe with fine dry tobacco, and pulling a lens out of his pocket he stepped into the sunshine to light it.
​"You don't need that glass," said I, "you just hold your pipe in the sun, and if it don't light in half a minute without the glass, I'll engage to eat it."
"There 'tis again," said John Van Ben Schoten, "you are always showing the Yankee. Our fathers always lit their pipes with sun glasses, and now you want to contrive some other way to do it. If I knew I could light it in half the time without the glass, still I would use the glass out of respect to my ancestors."
"Well, come," said I, "this is n't telling me how to get over the difficulty."
"Wait till I get my little steam-engine a-going," said John, still holding the glass in the sun.
"But have n't you any loco foco matches?" said I, growing somewhat impatient.
"No," said John, "I never allow those new-fangled dangerous things to come into my counting room."
"But how do you get a fire when the sun don't shine?" said I.
"I use a flint and steel," said he, "the safest and surest way in the world."
At last, his pipe began to burn, and John with the utmost complacency sat down in his large arm-chair and began to smoke.
​"Well, now," said I, "I suppose you are ready to open your mind upon this matter, and tell me if you can contrive any plan to help me over this difficulty."
"Why, yes," said John, "you can oftentimes get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river. Did you ever know how Peter Van Horn got married?"
"No," said I.
"Well, I'll tell you," said John, taking the pipe from his mouth and puffing out a cloud of smoke that almost concealed his head from my view.
"Oh, now, don't stop for any of your long yarns," said I; "it is getting toward the close of business hours, and it's very important that this business of mine should be attended to."
"You Yankees are always too impatient," said John; "there's never anything lost by taking time to consider a matter. It is driving the steamboat too fast, and trying to go ahead of somebody else, that makes her burst her boiler."
At that he put his pipe in his mouth and went to smoking again.
"Well, come," said I, "the sooner you begin to tell how Peter Van Horn got married, the sooner you'll get through with it."
​"I know it," said he, "and if you won't interrupt me, I'll go on."
"Yes," says I, "a Dutchman must always have his own way; go ahead."
"Well, then," said John Van Ben Schoten, throwing himself back into the chair, and leisurely blowing the smoke in a long, steady, quiet roll from his mouth; "about a hundred years ago, Peter Van Horn lived at Schenectady, or near where Schenectady now is, for it was a kind of wilderness place then. You've been at Schenectady, haven't you?"
"No" said I, "I never have."
"Well, it is about fifteen or twenty miles from Albany; you've been at Albany, of course."
"No, I haven't," said I.
"Not been at Albany?" said John, staring at me with rather an incredulous look; "then you haven't seen much of the world yet."
"Why, no," said I, "perhaps not a great deal on this side of it; though I have seen something of the other side of it, and a little of both ends."
John laughed, and went on with his story.
"Peter Van Horn lived near Schenectady, on one of the little streams that empty into the Mohawk. His father was one of the first settlers in that region; ​and the old gentleman brought up a nice family, a fine set of hardy, industrious fellows; every one of them as steady as a mill horse: no wild oats—they were men before they were boys. The consequence was, they picked up the money and always had a comfortable share of this world's goods.
"Well, Peter, he grew up to be a smart young man, and at last he got it into his head, that he wanted to be married. You know how 'tis; young men now-a-days are apt to get such notions into their heads, and it was just so in old times. I don't know as Peter was to blame for that; for there was living a little ways up the hill, above his father's, Betsey Van Heyden, a round, rosy-cheeked, blue eyed girl, as neat as a new pin, and as smart as a steel-trap. Every time Peter saw her, his feelings became more interested in her. Somehow, he could not seem to keep his mind off of her. Sometimes, when he was hoeing corn in the field, the first thing he would know, his father would call out to him, 'Peter, what do you stand there leaning over your hoe-handle for?' And then he would start, and color up to the eyes, and go to work. He knew he had been thinking of Betsey Van Heyden, but how long he had been standing still he couldn't tell.
​"At last things grew worse and worse, and he found he couldn't live without Betsey Van Heyden no how; so he went and popped the question to her; and Betsy said she was willing if mother was—gals in them days were remarkably well brought up, in comparison of what they are now-a-days—so after a while Peter mustered up courage enough to go and ask the old folks, and the old folks, after taking two days to consider of it, said yes; for, why shouldn't they? Peter was one of the most industrious young men in the whole valley of the Mohawk.
"And now that the road was all open and plain before him, Peter was for hurrying ahead; he didn't see any use at all in waiting.
"Betsey was for putting it off two months, till she could get another web out of the loom; but Peter said no, he did n't care a snap about another web; they'd be married first and make the cloth afterward. Betsey at last yielded the point; she said she did want to make up a few articles before they were married, but she supposed they might get along without them. So they finally fixed on Thursday of the following week for the wedding. The work of preparation was soon commenced, and carried out in a liberal style. Everything requisite for a grand feast was collected, ​cooked, and arranged in apple-pie order. The guests were all invited, and Parson Van Brunt was engaged to be there precisely at three o'clock, in order that they might get through the business, and have supper out of the way in season for all to get home before dark.
"Thus far, up to the evening before the wedding day, everything looked fair and promising. Peter retired to bed early, in the hope of getting a good night's rest; but somehow or other he never was so restless in his life. He shut his eyes with all his might, and tried to think of sheep jumping over a wall; but do all he could, sleep would n't come. Before midnight the doors and windows began to rattle with a heavy wind. Peter got up and looked out; it was dark and cloudy. Presently flashes of lightning were seen, and heavy thunder came rolling from the clouds and echoing among the hills. In half an hour more a heavy torrent of rain was beating upon the house. 'It will be soon over,' thought Peter, 'and the air will be beautiful to-morrow, as sweet as a rose; what a fine day we shall have.'
"Hour after hour passed away, and the rain still came down in a flood. Peter could not sleep a wink all night. He got up and walked the floor till day{peh}} ​light, and when he looked out upon the roads and the fields the water was standing in every hollow and running down the hillsides in rivulets. Nine, ten, and eleven o'clock passed, and still it rained. Peter had been up to Mr. Van Heyden's twice through the rain to see how affairs went on there; the family looked rather sad, but Betsey said she had faith to believe that it would hold up before three o'clock; and sure enough about twelve o'clock, while the families were at dinner, it did hold up, and the clouds began to clear away.
"About two o'clock the wedding guests began to assemble at Mr. Van Heyden's, and the faces of all began to grow shorter and brighter. All this time it had not entered Peter's head, or the heads of any of the rest of the company, that there might be any difficulty in the way of Parson Van Brunt's coming to their aid in completing the marriage ceremony. They had all this time forgotten that they were on one side of the Tomhenick stream and Parson Van Brunt on the other; that there was no bridge over the stream, and that it was now so swollen by the flood, and the current was so rapid, that it was almost as much as a man's life was worth to attempt to cross it at the usual fording-place, or swim it on horseback.
​"At last, about half-past two o'clock, Parson Van Brunt, true to his promise, was seen riding down the hill on the opposite side of the river and approaching the ford.
"There he is," said old Mrs. Van Heyden, who had been upon the lookout for the last half hour, "there's the dear good man; now let us all take our seats and be quiet before he comes in."
"While they were still lingering at the doors and windows, and watching the parson as he came slowly down the hill, he reached the bank of the river and stopped. He sat upon his horse some minutes, looking first up the stream and then down the stream, and then he rode his horse a few rods up and down the bank, and returned again to the ford.
"'What can he be waiting there for?' said Peter; 'sure he has seen the river often enough before, that he need n't stand there so long to look at it.'
"'I can tell you what the difficulty is,' said old Mr. Van Heyden, 'the river is so high he can't get across.'
"The truth now fell like a flash upon the minds of the whole company.
"'Do you think so?' said Mr. Van Horn.
"'I know so,' said Mr. Van Heyden; 'you can see from here the water is up the bank two rods ​farther than it commonly is, and must be as much as ten feet deep over the ford just now.'
"'What shall we do?' said old Mrs. Van Heyden; 'the things will all be spoilt if we don't have the wedding to-day.'
"Betsey began to turn a little pale. Peter took his hat and started off upon a quick walk toward the river; and presently all the men folks followed him. The women folks waited a little while, and seeing Parson Van Brunt still sitting on his horse upon the other side of the river without any attempt to cross, they all put on their bonnets and followed the men. When they got to the bank, the reason of the parson's delay was as clear as preaching. The little river was swollen to a mighty torrent, and was rushing along its banks with the force and rapidity of a cataract. The water had never been so high before since the neighborhood had been settled, and it was still rising. To ford the river was impossible, and to attempt to swim it on horseback was highly dangerous.
"'What shall we do?' said Peter, calling to the parson across the river.
"'Well, I think you will have to put it off two or three days, till the river goes down,' said Parson Van Brunt.
​"'Tell him we can't put it off,' said old Mrs. Van Heyden, touching Peter by the elbow: 'for the pies and cakes and things will all be spoilt.'
"'Ask him if he don't think his horse can swim over,' said Betsey in a half whisper, standing the other side of Peter.
"Peter again called to the parson; told him what a disappointment it would be if he did n't get over, and that it was the general opinion his horse could swim over with him if he would only try. Parson Van Brunt was devoted to the duties of his profession, and ready to do anything, even at the risk of his life, for the good of his flock. So he reined up his horse tightly, gave him the whip, and plunged into the stream. The current was too rapid and powerful for the animal; the horse and rider were carried down stream with fearful speed for a about a dozen rods, when they made out to land again on the same side from which they started. All were now satisfied that the parson could not get over the river. The experiment already made was attended with such fearful hazard as to preclude all thought of its repetition.
"'Oh dear, what shall we do?' said Mrs. Van Heyden; 'was there ever anything so unlucky?
​"Betsey sighed, and Peter bit his lips with vexation. Peter's mother all this while had not uttered a syllable. She was a woman that never talked, but she did up a great deal of deep thinking. At last, very much to the surprise of the whole company, she spoke out loud, and said:
"'It seems to me, if Parson Van Brunt can't get over the river, he might get over the difficulty somehow or other.'
"'Well, how in the world can he do it?' said Peter.
"'Why, you jest take hold of Betsey's hand,' said his mother, 'and stand up here, and let the parson marry you across the river.'
"This idea struck them all very favorably; they did n't see why it could n't be done. Peter again called to Parson Van Brunt, and stated to him the proposition, and asked him if he thought there was anything in the law or in the Bible that could go against the match if it was done in that way. Parson Van Brunt sat in a deep study about five minutes, and then said he could n't see anything in the way, and told them they might stand up and take hold of hands. When they had taken their proper positions, and old Mrs. Van Heyden had put her handkerchief to her face to hide the tears that began to start from her eyes ​the parson read over, in a loud and solemn tone, the marriage ceremony, and pronounced them man and wife.
"Peter then threw a couple of silver dollars across the river, which Parson Van Brunt gathered up and put in his pocket, and then mounted his horse and started for home, while the company upon the other side of the river returned to the house of Mr. Van Heyden to enjoy the wedding feast."
By this time John Van Ben Schoten's pipe had gone out, and he started to the window again with his lens to re-light it.
"Well," said I, "I understand, now, how Peter Van Horn got over his difficulty, but I'll be hanged if I can see any clearer how I am to get over mine."
"None so blind as them that won't see," said John, turning to his desk and pulling out his old rusty yellow pocket book. He opened it, and counted out the sum of money which I lacked.
"There," said he, "go and pay your note, and remember you can sometimes get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river."