by his single
arm.

But seeing that I had not a single life at my disposal, all that was left
me was to make the most I could of my battle, by means of kicks, and
cuffs, and bruises, and such-like ignoble wounds. And here I cannot but
compare my dilemma, in some sort, to that of the divine Milton, who,
having arrayed with sublime preparation his immortal hosts against each
other, is sadly put to it how to manage them, and how he shall make the
end of his battle answer to the beginning; inasmuch as, being mere
spirits, he cannot deal a mortal blow, nor even give a flesh wound to any
of his combatants. For my part, the greatest difficulty I found was, when
I had once put my warriors in a passion, and let them loose into the midst
of the enemy, to keep them from doing mischief. Many a time had I to
restrain the sturdy Peter from cleaving a gigantic Swede to the very
waistband, or spitting half a dozen little fellows on his sword, like so
many sparrows. And when I had set some hundred of missives flying in the
air, I did not dare to suffer one of them to reach the ground, lest it
should have put an end to some unlucky Dutchman.

The reader cannot conceive how mortifying it is to a writer thus in a
manner to have his hands tied, and how many tempting opportunities I had
to wink at, where I might have made as fine a death-blow as any recorded
in history or song.

From my own experience I begin to doubt most potently of the authenticity
of many of Homer's stories. I verily believe that when he had once
launched one of his favorite heroes among a crowd of the enemy, he cut
down many an honest fellow, without any authority for so doing, excepting
that he presented a fair mark; and that often a poor fellow was sent to
grim Pluto's domains, merely because he had a name that would give a
sounding turn to a period. But I disclaim all such unprincipled liberties:
let me but have truth and the law on my side, and no man would fight
harder than myself, but since the various records I consulted did not
warrant it, I had too much conscience to kill a single soldier. By St.
Nicholas, but it would have been a pretty piece of business! My enemies,
the critics, who I foresee will be ready enough to lay any crime they can
discover at my door, might have charged me with murder outright; and I
should have esteemed myself lucky to escape with no harsher verdict than
manslaughter!

And now, gentle reader, that we are tranquilly sitting down