ood his escape with honor and dignity, certain of the ships
sent out for the conquest of the Manhattoes touched at the eastern ports
to obtain supplies, and to call on the grand council of the league for its
promised co-operation. Upon hearing of this, the vigilant Peter,
perceiving that a moment's delay were fatal, made a secret and precipitate
decampment, though much did it grieve his lofty soul to be obliged to turn
his back even upon a nation of foes. Many hair-breadth escapes and divers
perilous mishaps did they sustain, as they scourged, without sound of
trumpet, through the fair regions of the east. Already was the country in
an uproar with hostile preparation, and they were obliged to take a large
circuit in their flight, lurking along through the woody mountains of the
Devil's Backbone; whence the valiant Peter sallied forth, one day like a
lion, and put to rout a whole legion of squatters, consisting of three
generations of a prolific family, who were already on their way to take
possession of some corner of the New Netherlands. Nay, the faithful Antony
had great difficulty, at sundry times, to prevent him, in the excess of
his wrath, from descending down from the mountains, and falling, sword in
hand, upon certain of the border-towns, who were marshaling forth their
draggle-tailed militia.

The first movement of the governor, on reaching his dwelling, was to mount
the roof, whence he contemplated with rueful aspect the hostile squadron.
This had already come to anchor in the bay, and consisted of two stout
frigates, having on board, as John Josselyn, gent., informs us, "three
hundred valiant red coats." Having taken this survey, he sat himself down,
and wrote an epistle to the commander, demanding the reason of his
anchoring in the harbor without obtaining previous permission so to do.
This letter was couched in the most dignified and courteous terms, though
I have it from undoubted authority that his teeth were clinched, and he
had a bitter sardonic grin upon his visage all the while he wrote. Having
despatched his letter, the grim Peter stumped to and fro about the town,
with a most war-betokening countenance, his hands thrust into his breeches
pockets, and whistling a low Dutch psalm-tune, which bore no small
resemblance to the music of a northeast wind, when a storm is brewing. The
very dogs, as they eyed him, skulked away in dismay; while all the old and
ugly women of New Amsterdam ran howling at his heels