“I lower it to none but the Prince Orange and
my masters, the Lords States General.”
So saying, he resumed his pipe and smoked with an air
of dogged determination.
Bang! went a gun from the fortress; the ball cut both
sail and rigging. Govert Lockerman said nothing,
but smoked the more doggedly.
Bang! went another gun; the shot whistling close astern.
“Fire, and be d——d,”
cried Govert Lockerman, cramming a new charge of tobacco
into his pipe, and smoking with still increasing vehemence.
Bang! went a third gun. The shot passed over
his head, tearing a hole in the “princely flag
of Orange.”
This was the hardest trial of all for the pride and
patience of Govert Lockerman; he maintained a stubborn
though swelling silence, but his smothered rage might
be perceived by the short vehement puffs of smoke
emitted from his pipe, by which he might be tracked
for miles, as he slowly floated out of shot and out
of sight of Bearn Island. In fact, he never gave
vent to his passion until he got fairly among the Highlands
of the Hudson, when he let fly whole volleys of Dutch
oaths, which are said to linger to this very day among
the echoes of the Dunderberg, and to give particular
effect to the thunder-storms in that neighborhood.
It was the sudden apparition of Govert Lockerman at
Dog’s Misery, bearing in his hand the tattered
flag of Orange, that arrested the attention of William
the Testy, just as he was devising a new expedition
against the marauders of Merryland. I will not
pretend to describe the passion of the little man
when he heard of the outrage of Rensellaersteen.
Suffice it to say, in the first transports of his
fury, he turned Dog’s Misery topsy-turvy, kicked
every cur out of doors, and threw the cats out of the
window; after which, his spleen being in some measure
relieved, he went into a council of war with Govert
Lockerman, the skipper, assisted by Anthony Van Corlear,
the trumpeter.
The eyes of all New Amsterdam were now turned to see
what would be the end of this direful feud between
William the Testy and the patron of Rensellaerwick;
and some, observing the consultations of the governor
with the skipper and the trumpeter, predicted warlike
measures by sea and land. The wrath of William
Kieft, however, though quick to rise, was quick to
evaporate. He was a perfect brush-heap in a blaze,
snapping and crackling for a time, and then ending
in smoke. Like many other valiant potentates,
his first thoughts were all for war, his sober second
thoughts for diplomacy.
