saluted by a
stentorian voice from the shore, "Lower thy flag, and be d----d to thee!"

Govert Lockerman, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, turned up his
eye from under his broad-brimmed hat to see who hailed him thus
discourteously. There, on the ramparts of the forts, stood Nicholas Koorn,
armed to the teeth, flourishing a brass-hilted sword, while a
steeple-crowned hat and cock's tail-feather, formerly worn by Killian Van
Rensellaer himself, gave an inexpressible loftiness to his demeanor.

Govert Lockerman eyed the warrior from top to toe, but was not to be
dismayed. Taking the pipe slowly out of his mouth, "To whom should I lower
my flag?" demanded he. "To the high and mighty Killian Van Rensellaer, the
lord of Rensellaersteen!" was the reply.

"I lower it to none but the Prince Orange and my masters, the Lords States
General." So saying, he resumed his pipe and smoked with an air of dogged
determination.

Bang! went a gun from the fortress; the ball cut both sail and rigging.
Govert Lockerman said nothing, but smoked the more doggedly.

Bang! went another gun; the shot whistling close astern.

"Fire, and be d----d," cried Govert Lockerman, cramming a new charge of
tobacco into his pipe, and smoking with still increasing vehemence.

Bang! went a third gun. The shot passed over his head, tearing a hole in
the "princely flag of Orange."

This was the hardest trial of all for the pride and patience of Govert
Lockerman; he maintained a stubborn though swelling silence, but his
smothered rage might be perceived by the short vehement puffs of smoke
emitted from his pipe, by which he might be tracked for miles, as he
slowly floated out of shot and out of sight of Bearn Island. In fact, he
never gave vent to his passion until he got fairly among the Highlands of
the Hudson, when he let fly whole volleys of Dutch oaths, which are said
to linger to this very day among the echoes of the Dunderberg, and to give
particular effect to the thunder-storms in that neighborhood.

It was the sudden apparition of Govert Lockerman at Dog's Misery, bearing
in his hand the tattered flag of Orange, that arrested the attention of
William the Testy, just as he was devising a new expedition against the
marauders of Merryland. I will not pretend to describe the passion of the
little man when he heard of the outrage of Rensellaersteen. Suffice it to
say, in the first transports of his fury, he turned Dog's Misery
topsy-turvy, k