There were three of these houses in the works, built of logs, notched and squared at the end. They were solid structures, capable of resisting a very strong force. About twenty in the garrison were fit for duty, of whom ten were in one house, under Van Curter, seven under Van Zandt, while, by a series of unlucky accidents, Paul Swedlepipe, Ten Eyck and Hans Drinker were by themselves. As neither of these worthies would be dictated to by the other, the house was divided against itself. All the rest of the men were either wounded or prisoners.
“You look a little out,” said Hans, “unt see if dem Yankees out dar’, Paul Swedlepipe.” The Dutchmen, as if the occasion called for it, now talked in English.
“Vat you dink, Hans Drinker? You dells me vas I must do? No. You go look mit your own eyes, schoost like pung in a peer barrel.”
“I pe de oldest; I commands dis house,” said Ten Eyck.
“Don’t you vant to puy a horse?” demanded Paul, in a threatening tone, by way of reminding his adversary of the battle they had fought in the horse-corral. Ten Eyck subsided instanter.
“I commands dish house,” asserted Drinker, “by orders mit te commandant.”
“You’s a liar,” said Ten Eyck.
“So he is,” said Paul, “and you’s a pigger liar.”
At this moment a sound was heard like the ripping up of a bark roof. All three cast their eyes upward.