A rude but hearty repast was soon spread; consisting of venison
smoking from the kettle, with cold bacon, boiled Indian corn, and
mighty loaves of good brown household bread. Never had Dolph made a
more delicious repast; and when he had washed it down with two or
three draughts from the Heer Antony's flask, and felt the jolly liquor
sending its warmth through his veins, and glowing round his very
heart, he would not have changed his situation, no, not with the
governor of the province.
The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joyous; told half-a-dozen fat
stories, at which his white followers laughed immoderately, though the
Indians, as usual, maintained an invincible gravity.
"This is your true life, my boy!" said he, slapping Dolph on the
shoulder; "a man is never a man till he can defy wind and weather,
range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and live on bass-wood
leaves!"
And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch drinking song,
swaying a short squab Dutch bottle in his hand, while his myrmidons
would join in chorus, until the woods echoed again;--as the good old
song has it:
"They all with a shout made the elements ring,
So soon as the office was o'er;
To feasting they went with true merriment.
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