ning up his eyes, beheld a
thousands suns, beside moons and stars, dancing about the firmament; at
length, missing his footing, by reason of his wooden leg, down he came on
his seat of honor with a crash which shook the surrounding hills, and
might have wrecked his frame had he not been received into a cushion
softer than velvet, which Providence or Minerva, or St. Nicholas, or some
kindly cow, had benevolently prepared for his reception.

The furious Risingh, in despite of the maxim, cherished by all true
knights, that "fair play is a jewel," hastened to take advantage of the
hero's fall; but, as he stooped to give a fatal blow, Peter Stuyvesant
dealt him a thwack over the sconce with his wooden leg, which set a chime
of bells ringing triple bob majors in his cerebellum. The bewildered Swede
staggered with the blow, and the wary Peter seizing a pocket-pistol which
lay hard by, discharged it full at the head of the reeling Risingh. Let
not my reader mistake; it was not a murderous weapon loaded with powder
and ball, but a little sturdy stone pottle charged to the muzzle with a
double dram of true Dutch courage, which the knowing Antony Van Corlear
carried about him by way of replenishing his valor, and which had dropped
from his wallet during his furious encounter with the drummer. The hideous
weapon sang through the air, and true to its course, as was the fragment
of a rock discharged at Hector by bully Ajax, encountered the head of the
gigantic Swede with matchless violence.

This heaven-directed blow decided the battle. The ponderous pericranium of
General Jan Risingh sank upon his breast; his knees tottered under him; a
death-like torpor seized upon his frame, and he tumbled to the earth with
such violence that old Pluto started with affright, lest he should have
broken through the roof of his infernal palace.

His fall was the signal of defeat and victory; the Swedes gave way, the
Dutch pressed forward; the former took to their heels, the latter hotly
pursued. Some entered with them pell mell through the sallyport, others
stormed the bastion, and others scrambled over the curtain. Thus in a
little while the fortress of Fort Christina, which, like another Troy, had
stood a siege of full ten hours, was carried by assault, without the loss
of a single man on either side. Victory, in the likeness of a gigantic
ox-fly, sat perched on the cocked hat of the gallant Stuyvesant; and it
was declared by all the writers whom