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Page 47
"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 wellnigh ensued. Scarce had the myrmidons
of Michael Paw attained the front of battle, when the Swedes,
instructed by the cunning Risingh, leveled a shower of blows full
at their tobacco-pipes. Astounded at this assault, and dismayed at
the havoc of their pipes, these ponderous warriors gave way, and
like a drove of frightened elephants broke through the ranks of
their own army. The little Hoppers were borne down in the surge;
the sacred banner emblazoned with the gigantic oyster of Communipaw
was trampled in the dirt; on blundered and thundered the
heavy-sterned fugitives, the Swedes pressing on their rear and
applying their feet _a parte poste_ of the Van Arsdales and the Van
Bummels with a vigor that prodigiously accelerated their movements;
nor did the renowned Michael Paw himself fail to receive divers
grievous and dishonorable visitations of shoe-leather.
"But what, oh Muse! was the rage of Peter Stuyvesant, when from
afar he saw his army giving way! In the transports of his wrath he
sent forth a roar, enough to shake the very hills. The men of the
Manhattoes plucked up new courage at the sound, or, rather, they
rallied at the voice of their leader, of whom they stood more in
awe than of all the Swedes in Christendom. Without waiting for
their aid, the daring Peter dashed, sword in hand, into the
thickest of the foe. Then might be seen achievements worthy of the
days of the giants. Wherever he went the enemy shrank before him;
the Swedes fled to right and left, or were driven, like dogs, into
their own ditch; but as he pushed forward, singly with headlong
courage, the foe closed behind and hung upon his rear. One aimed a
blow full at his heart; but the protecting power which watches over
the great and good turned aside the hostile blade and directed it
to a side-pocket, where reposed an enormous iron tobacco-box,
endowed, like the shield of Achilles, with supernatural powers,
doubtless from bearing the portrait of the blessed St. Nicholas.
Peter Stuyvesant turned like an angry bear upon the foe, and
seizing him, as he fled, by an immeasurable queue, 'Ah, whoreson
caterpillar,' roared he, 'here's what shall make worms' meat of
thee!' so saying he whirled his sword and dealt a blow that would
have decapitated the varlet, but that the pitying steel struck
short and shaved the queue forever from his crown. At this moment
an arquebusier leveled his piece from a neighboring mound, with
deadly aim; but the watchful Minerva, who had just stopped to tie
up her garter, seeing the peril of her favorite hero, sent old
Boreas with his bellows, who, as the match descended to the pan,
gave a blast that blew the priming from the touch-hole.
"Thus waged the fight, when the stout Risingh, surveying the field
from the top of a little ravelin, perceived his troops banged,
beaten, and kicked by the invincible Peter. Drawing his falchion,
and uttering a thousand anathemas, he strode down to the scene of
combat with some such thundering strides as Jupiter is said by
Hesiod to have taken when he strode down the spheres to hurl his
thunder-bolts at the Titans.
"When the rival heroes came face to face, each made a prodigious
start in the style of a veteran stage-champion. Then did they
regard each other for a moment with the bitter aspect of two
furious ram-cats on the point of a clapper-clawing. Then did they
throw themselves into one attitude, then into another, striking
their swords on the ground, first on the right side, then on the
left: at last at it they went with incredible ferocity. Words
cannot tell the prodigies of strength and valor displayed in this
direful encounter,--an encounter compared to which the far-famed
battles of Ajax with Hector, of �neas with Turnus, Orlando with
Rodomont, Guy of Warwick with Colbrand the Dane, or of that
renowned Welsh knight, Sir Owen of the Mountains, with the giant
Guylon, were all gentle sports and holiday recreations. At length
the valiant Peter, watching his opportunity, aimed a blow enough to
cleave his adversary to the very chine; but Risingh, nimbly raising
his sword, warded it off so narrowly, that, glancing on one side,
it shaved away a huge canteen in which he carried his
liquor,--thence pursuing its trenchant course, it severed off a
deep coat-pocket, stored with bread and cheese,--which provant,
rolling among the armies, occasioned a fearful scrambling between
the Swedes and Dutchmen, and made the general battle to wax more
furious than ever.
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