din, the desperate struggle, the maddening
ferocity, the frantic desperation, the confusion, and self-abandonment of
war. Dutchman and Swede commingled, tugged, panted, and blowed. The
heavens were darkened with a tempest of missives. Bang! went the guns;
whack! went the broad-swords! thump! went the cudgels; crash! went the
musket-strocks; blows, kicks, cuffs, scratches, black eyes, and bloody
noses swelling the horrors of the scene! Thick thwack, cut and hack,
helter skelter, higgledy-piggledy, hurly-burly, head over heels, rough and
tumble! Dunder and blixum! swore the Dutchmen; splitter and splutter!
cried the Swedes. Storm the works, shouted Hardkoppig Peter. Fire the
mine, roared stout Risingh. Tanta-ra-ra-ra! twanged the trumpet of Antony
Van Corlear, until all voice and sound became unintelligible; grunts of
pain, yells of fury, and shouts of triumph mingling in one hideous clamor.
The earth shook as if struck with a paralytic stroke; trees shrunk aghast,
and withered at the sight; rocks burrowed in the ground like rabbits; and
even Christina Creek turned from its course, and ran up a hill in
breathless terror!

Long hung the contest doubtful; for though a heavy shower of rain, sent by
the "cloud-compelling Jove," in some measure cooled their ardor, as doth
a bucket of water thrown on a group of fighting mastiffs, yet did they but
pause for a moment, to return with tenfold fury to the charge. Just at
this juncture a vast and dense column of smoke was seen slowly rolling
toward the scene of battle. The combatants paused for a moment, gazing in
mute astonishment until the wind, dispelling the murky cloud, revealed the
flaunting banner of Michael Paw, the patroon of Communipaw. That valiant
chieftain came fearlessly on at the head of a phalanx of oyster-fed
Pavonians and a corps de reserve of the Van Arsdales and Van Bummels, who
had remained behind to digest the enormous dinner they had eaten. These
now trudged manfully forward, smoking their pipes with outrageous vigor,
so as to raise the awful cloud that has been mentioned; but marching
exceedingly slow, being short of leg, and of great rotundity in the belt.

And now the deities who watched over the fortunes of the Nederlanders,
having unthinkingly left the field and stepped into a neighboring tavern
to refresh themselves with a pot of beer, a direful catastrophe had
well-night ensued. Scarce had the myrmidons of Michael Paw attained the
front of battle, when