Knickerbocker's History of New York, Complete eBook
Washington Irving
I wish, with all my heart, my readers could see the
valiant Van Poffenburgh, as he presided at the head
of the banquet: it was a sight worth beholding:
there he sat in his greatest glory, surrounded by his
soldiers, like that famous wine-bibber, Alexander,
whose thirsty virtues he did most ably imitate, telling
astounding stories of his hair-breadth adventures
and heroic exploits; at which, though all his auditors
knew them to be incontinent lies and outrageous gasconades,
yet did they cast up their eyes in admiration, and
utter many interjections of astonishment. Nor
could the general pronounce anything that bore the
remotest resemblance to a joke, but the stout Risingh
would strike his brawny fist upon the table till every
glass rattled again, throw himself back in the chair,
utter gigantic peals of laughter, and swear most horribly
it was the best joke he ever heard in his life.
Thus all was rout and revelry and hideous carousal
within Fort Casimir, and so lustily did Van Poffenburgh
ply the bottle, that in less than four short hours
he made himself and his whole garrison, who all sedulously
emulated the deeds of their chieftain, dead drunk,
with singing songs, quaffing bumpers, and drinking
patriotic toasts, none of which but was as long as
a Welsh pedigree or a plea in Chancery.
No sooner did things come to this pass, than Risingh
and his Swedes, who had cunningly kept themselves
sober, rose on their entertainers, tied them neck
and heels, and took formal possession of the fort and
all its dependencies, in the name of Queen Christina
of Sweden, administering at the same time an oath
of allegiance to all the Dutch soldiers who could be
made sober enough to swallow it. Risingh then
put the fortifications in order, appointed his discreet
and vigilant friend Suen Schute, otherwise called
Skytte, a tall, wind-dried, water-drinking Swede, to
the command, and departed, bearing with him this truly
amiable garrison and its puissant commander, who,
when brought to himself by a sound drubbing, bore
no little resemblance to a “deboshed fish,”
or bloated sea-monster, caught upon dry land.
The transportation of the garrison was done to prevent
the transmission of intelligence to New Amsterdam;
for much as the cunning Risingh exulted in his stratagem,
yet did he dread the vengeance of the sturdy Peter
Stuyvesant, whose name spread as much terror in the
neighborhood as did whilom that of the unconquerable
Scanderbeg among his scurvy enemies the Turks.
FOOTNOTES:
[48]
“As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,
And a quart of aqua vitae.”
