eep them safe and sound--now warding off with my single pen the shower of
dastard blows that fell upon thy rear--now narrowly shielding thee from a
deadly thrust by a mere tobacco-box--now casing thy dauntless skull with
adamant, when even thy stubborn ram beaver failed to resist the sword of
the stout Risingh--and now, not merely bringing thee off alive, but
triumphant, from the clutches of the gigantic Swede, by the desperate
means of a paltry stone pottle? Is not all this enough, but must thou
still be plunging into new difficulties, and hazarding in headlong
enterprises thyself, thy trumpeter, and thy historian?

And now the ruddy-faced Aurora, like a buxom chambermaid, draws aside the
sable curtains of the night, and out bounces from his bed the jolly
red-haired Phoebus, startled at being caught so late in the embraces of
Dame Thetis. With many a stable-boy oath he harnesses his brazen-footed
steeds, and whips, and lashes, and splashes up the firmament, like a
loitering coachman, half-an-hour behind his time. And now behold that imp
of fame and prowess, the headstrong Peter, bestriding a raw-boned,
switch-tailed charger, gallantly arrayed in full regimentals, and bracing
on his thigh that trusty, brass-hilted sword, which had wrought such
fearful deeds on the banks of the Delaware.

Behold hard after him his doughty trumpeter, Van Corlear, mounted on a
broken-winded, walleyed, calico mare; his stone pottle, which had laid low
the mighty Risingh, slung under his arm; and his trumpet displayed
vauntingly in his right hand, decorated with a gorgeous banner, on which
is emblazoned the great beaver of the Manhattoes. See them proudly issuing
out of the city gate, like an iron clad hero of yore, with his faithful
squire at his heels; the populace following with their eyes, and shouting
many a parting wish and hearty cheering, Farewell, Hardkoppig Piet!
Farewell, honest Antony! pleasant be your wayfaring, prosperous your
return!--the stoutest hero that ever drew a sword, and the worthiest
trumpeter that ever trod shoe-leather!

Legends are lamentably silent about the events that befell our adventurers
in this their adventurous travel, excepting the Stuyvesant manuscript,
which gives the substance of a pleasant little heroic poem, written on the
occasion by Dominie AEgidius Luyck,[58] who appears to have been the poet
laureate of New Amsterdam. This inestimable manuscript assures us that it
was a rare spectacle to behold