CHAPTER VI.
In which the troubles of New Amsterdam appear
to thicken—Showing the bravery, in time of
peril, of a people who defend themselves by resolution.
Like as an assemblage of politic cats,
engaged in clamorous gibberings and
caterwaulings, eyeing one another with
hideous grimaces, spitting in each other's
faces, and on the point of breaking forth
into a general clapper-clawing, are suddenly
put to scampering rout and confusion
by the appearance of a house dog;
so was the no less vociferous council
of New Amsterdam amazed, astounded,
and totally dispersed by the sudden arrival
of the enemy. Every member made
the best of his way home, waddling along
as fast as his short legs could fag under
their heavy burthen, and wheezing as he
went with corpulency and terror. When
he arrived at his castle, he barricadoed
the street-door, and buried himself in the
cider-cellar, without daring to peep out,
lest he should have his head carried off
by a cannon-ball.
The sovereign people all crowded into
the market-place, herding together with
the instinct of sheep, who seek for safety
in each other
