The honest folk of New Amsterdam began to quake now for the fate of their matchless champion, Antony the Trumpeter, who had acquired prodigious favor in the eyes of the women, by means of his whiskers and his trumpet. Him did Peter the Headstrong cause to be brought into his presence, and eying him a moment from head to foot, with a countenance that would have appalled anything else than a sounder of brass,—“Pr’ythee, who and what art thou?” said he. “Sire,” replied the other, in no wise dismayed, “for my name, it is Antony Van Corlear; for my parentage, I am the son of my mother; for my profession, I am champion and garrison of this great city of New Amsterdam.” “I doubt me much,” said Peter Stuyvesant, “that thou art some scurvy costard-monger knave. How didst thou acquire this paramount honor and dignity?” “Marry, sir,” replied the other, “like many a great man before me, simply _by sounding my own trumpet_.” “Ay, is it so?” quoth the governor; “why, then let us have a relish of thy art.” Whereupon the good Antony put his instrument to his lips, and sounded a charge with such a tremendous outset, such a delectable quaver, and such a triumphant cadence, that it was enough to make one’s heart leap out of one’s mouth only to be within a mile of it. Like as a war-worn charger, grazing in peaceful plains, starts at a strain of martial music, pricks up his ears, and snorts, and paws, and kindles at the noise, so did the heroic Peter joy to hear the clangor of the trumpet; for of him might truly be said, what was recorded of the renowned St. George of England, “there was nothing in all the world that more rejoiced his heart than to hear the pleasant sound of war, and see the soldiers brandish forth their steeled weapons.” Casting his eye more kindly, therefore, upon the sturdy Van Corlear, and finding him to be a jovial varlet, shrewd in his discourse, yet of great discretion and immeasurable wind, he straightway conceived a vast kindness for him, and discharged him from the troublesome duty of garrisoning, defending, and alarming the city, ever after retained him about his person, as his chief favorite, confidential envoy, and trusty squire. Instead of disturbing the city with disastrous notes, he was instructed to play so as to delight the governor while at his repasts, as did the minstrels of yore in the days of glorious chivalry,—and on all public occasions to rejoice the ears of the people with warlike melody,—thereby keeping alive a noble and martial spirit. [Illustration: “SO AS TO DELIGHT THE GOVERNOR WHILE AT HIS REPASTS.” ]