A few days were spent in exploring the bay, and on September 6 occurred the only fatality that marked the voyage. A seaman named John Colman, with four sailors, was sent out in a small boat to sound the Narrows, and encountered some Indians, who sent a flight of arrows toward the strangers. One of the arrows pierced Colman's throat, killing him.
THE DEATH OF COLMAN
[September 6, 1609]
['Twas Juet spoke]—the Half Moon's mate
And they who Holland's ship of state
Compass'd with wisdom, listening sate:
Discovery's near-extinguished spark
Flared up into a blaze,
When Man-na-hat-ta's virgin hills,
Enriched by Autumn's days,
First fell on our impatient sight,
And soothed us with a strange delight.
Bidden by fevered trade, our keel
Had ploughed unbeaten deeps;
From many a perfume-laden isle
To the dark land that sleeps
Forever in its winter robe,
Th' unsocial hermit of the globe.
But we, who sought for China's strand
By ocean ways untried,
Forgot our mission when we cast
Our anchor in a tide
That kissed a gem too wondrous fair
For any eastern sea to wear!
Entranced, we saw the golden woods
Slope gently to the sands;
The grassy meads, the oaks that dwarfed
Their kin of other lands;
And from the shore the balmy wind
Blew sweeter than the spice of Ind.
As he whose eyes, though opened wide,
Are fixed upon a dream,
So Colman—one who long had held
Our Hudson's warm esteem—
Gazed on the gorgeous scene, and said,
"Ere even's shades are overspread,
"Proudly our flag on yonder height
Shall tell of Holland's gain;
Proclaiming her to all the earth
The sovereign of the main."
And quickly from the Half Moon's bow
We turned the longboat's yielding prow.