Kieft himself was terrified in view of the frightful storm he had raised.  He was compelled to enlist every able-bodied man as a soldier.  There was an end to all traffic, to all agriculture, to all the arts of industry.  Even the plantation of the humane DeVrees did not escape the undiscriminating wrath of the savages.  The outhouses, cattle and crops were utterly destroyed.  Quite a number of the terrified colonists had taken refuge in the manor house which DeVrees had prudently built very strong, and constructed with loopholes for musketry.

The Indians were besieging the place, when one of their tribe came, whom DeVrees had assisted to escape from the massacre at Manhattan.  He told the story of his escape and said that DeVrees was a good chief whom they ought to respect.  The Indians held a short consultation, and then the grateful savages deputed one of their number to advance within speaking distance of the manor house.  This man, whom we call a savage, cried out: 

“We are very sorry that we have destroyed the outhouses, the cattle and the crops.  We now know that chief DeVrees is a good chief and our friend.  If we had not destroyed his property we would not do so.  We will not harm the brewery, though we all greatly need the copper kettle to make barbs for our arrows.”

These noble red men, for we must think they exhibited a noble spirit, then departed.  DeVrees was, at the time, in the manor house.  He hastened down the river to fort Amsterdam and indignantly addressing the governor, said:  “Has it not happened just as I foretold, that you are only helping to shed Christian blood?  Who will now compensate us for our losses?”

The wretched Kieft had not one word to reply.  He however, made a weak and unavailing attempt to appease the wrath of the Long Island Indians.  But the roaring tornado of savage vengeance could not thus be divested of its terrors.  The messengers he sent, approaching a band of Indians, cried out to them, “We come to you as friends.”  They shouted back contemptuously, “Are you our friends?  You are only corn thieves.”  Refusing all intercourse they disappeared in the forest.

During all these scenes the infamous and cowardly Kieft ensconced himself securely within the walls of the fort.  The bewailings of ruined farmers, and of widows and orphan children rose all around him.  To divert public clamor, he fitted out several expeditions against the Indians.  But these expeditions all returned having accomplished nothing.

“The proud heart of the Director,” writes Brodhead,

“began to fail him at last.  In one week desolation and sorrow had taken the place of gladness and prosperity.  The colony entrusted to his charge was nearly ruined.  It was time to humble himself before the Most High, and invoke from heaven the mercy which the Christian had refused the savage.

“A day of general fasting and