Go vert Lockerman, a veteran Dutch skipper of few words but great bottom, was seated on the high poop, rjuietly smoking his pipe, under the shadow of the proud flag of Orange, when, on arriving abreast of Beam Island, he was saluted by a stentorian voice from the shore, " Lower thy flag, and be d d to thee!" Go vert Lockerman, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, turned up his eye from under his broad-brimmed hat to see who hailed him thus discourteously. There, on the ramparts of the fort, stood Nicholas Koorn, armed to the teeth, flourishing a

SH The Hudson River

brass-hilted sword, while a steeple-crowned hat and cock's tailfeather, formerly worn by Killian Van Rensselaer himself, gave an inexpressible loftiness to his demeanour. Go vert Lockerman eyed the warrior from top to toe, but was not to be dismayed. Taking the pipe slowly out of his mouth, "To whom should I lower my flag?" demanded he. "To the high and mighty Killian Van Rensselaer, the lord of Rensselaerstein ! " was the reply. " I lower it to none but the Prince of Orange, and mv 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 l)all 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 Ije d d," cried Govert Lockerman, cramming a new charge of tobacco in 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 smothered, though swelling silence, but his smothered rage might be perceived by the short, vehement puffs of smoke he emitted from his pipe as he slowly floated out of shot and out of sight of Beam Island.