New York State History

And the old Dutch legends-how they carry me back! There was the familiar one of the origin of the ''baker's dozen." You don't know it?

 Well, know, then, that close by Mar­ket Street (now Broadway) lived and pros­pered a baker, the first man that ever baked New-Year cakes-in fact, the in­ventor of them. The name of our friend was Volckert Jan Pietersen Van Amsterdam, commonly known as Baas.* He was Dutch from his large feet to his round bald head, and had no respect for any one or any thing that was not Dutch. He was a regular attendant at the old Dutch church, but, nevertheless, in con­stant fear of being bewitched. His wife, Maritje, was economical even to saving the parings of her nails, and his ginger­bread babies were always made in imita­tion of his children. It was New-Year Eve, 1655, and Baas was in his shop deal­ing out cakes for small pieces of money, called wampum. He had taken an extra glass of rum in honor of St. Nicholaus, when he heard a sharp rap, and in walk­ed as ugly an old woman as ever he had set his eyes on. 

"I want a dozen New-Year cookies," she screamed. 

"Vell, den, you needn' sbeak so loud," replied Baas. " Duyvel ! I ain't teaf, den." 

"I want a dozen," screamed the old woman, "and here is only twelve." 

"Vell, den, und vhat de duyvel is dwalf but a doz­en?" said the baker. 

"I tell you I want one more!" she shrieked. 

"Vel, den," said he, ^"you may co to de duyvel und get anodder; you von't get it here." 

From this time on our baker's wife and himself were made miserable. Their money and cookies were taken away by invisible hands; their bread either rose out of their sight or sank into the earth; their famous brick oven was torn down, and poor Baas pelted with his own bricks; Maritje became deaf; Baas was black and blue from head to toe; and such a life as he led was purgatory. Thrice the old woman appeared, and thrice was she sent to "d duyvel." And at last, in his agony. Baas bethought himself of St. Nich­olaus, who advised him, on hearing of his troubles, when he counted a dozen to count thirteen.

^"Py St. Johannes de Dooper, put St. Nicholaus is a great plockhead!" thought Baas; and while he was thus thinking, St. Nick had vanished, and in his stead was the old woman. She repeated her demand for "one more," and Baas, remembering St. Nicholaus, acceded to her demand, when she exclaimed, ^"The spell is broken, and henceforward a dozen is thirteen, and thirteen is a dozen." And taking a cooky with an effigy of the good saint on it, she made Baas swear that ever afterward twelve should be thirteen, as a type of the thirteen mighty States that should arise out of the ruins of the government of Vaderlandt. 

It is well known how terribly St. Nicholaus revenged himself upon those who set themselves up against the venerable cus­toms of their ancestors, and refused the homage to him to whose good offices it was owing that this his favorite city has surpassed all others in beautiful damsels, valorous young men, mince-pies, olie-koeks, and New-Year cookies. 

It has become common to speak of the elite of Albany as Knickerbockers - a name derived from K-nik-ker-bak-ker (pronounced as spelled), a baker of knick­ers.** The Knickerbackers were among the first settlers of Albany, and took their surname from their trade, and their de­scendants who have substituted an o for an a do but burlesque their names. 

* Boss.
** Marbles.