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All articles re-printed here with the permission of InFocusMedia,
www.infocus-zine.com and By Debbie Kwiatoski

Anthony's Trumpet

By Debbie Kwiatoski www.infocus-zine.com

Anthony Van Corlaer was the man New Amsterdam's (New York City today) Governor Peter Stuyvesant relied upon to get important information out to the citizenry of the old Dutch Colony on Manhattan Island. A trumpeter of some repute, Van Corlaer was often called upon to ride through the community, blowing his trumpet as a signal for all to gather in the square by Government House.

His services were never needed more urgently than when the colony was about to come under attack, from Indians, or from the English who had long had designs on conquering the settlement and bringing it under British dominion. Like that later messenger, Paul Revere, when he services were needed, Van Corlaer would spring to action; trumpet to his lips, spreading the word far and wide that trouble was brewing.

One evening, when Stuyvesant received word that English regulars were poised to attack the community, Van Corlaer was summoned to blow his horn and rouse the locals to arms. On that particular night, however, with a bad storm brewing, the usual ferry taking people across the treacherous tidal creek connecting the Harlem and Hudson Rivers at the northern tip of Manhattan cold not be summoned, no matter how hard Van Corlaer blew his trumpet.

He called out once. But there was no answer. Twice, he blew his horn, a loud, high squeal at the top of his range. Still, there no answering response above the storm.

If New Amsterdam was to be defended, it was essential that Van Corlaer get to the other side and gather men to fight, come Hell, High Water, or whatever. So he decided to swim the creek in the dark, despite its uncertain currents, with thundering rain pouring down on him and lightning crackling overhead.

Now the ferrymen might not have heard Van Corlaer calling for them. But the devil had. When Van Corlaer got to the middle of the creek, it reached out and grabbed him by the leg to drag him under. Mustering all his remaining strength, Van Corlaer raised his trumpet up above the waves and blew a mighty blast, louder then the wind, louder than anything that had ever been heard on this earth before, or since.

The Devil let out a shriek, the sound so hurt his ears, and let go of the leg, leaving Van Corlaer to the more natural forces of wind, water, and rip tides. The long fight, however, had proved too much for the trumpeter. While he may have beat the devil, he could not beat the tides. Slowly, he sank below the waves, never to be seen again.

That doesn't mean he was never "heard from," however. On stormy nights, above the howling wind and rain, Anthony's trumpet can still be heard in spuyt den duyvil (old Dutch for "In spite of the devil.") above the din. And to this day, the creek is known as Spuyten Duyvil.

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