d round the waist, and several
pair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of
buttons down the sides. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg that seemed
full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with
the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance,
Rip complied with his usual [v]alacrity, and relieving one another, they
clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain
torrent.

As they ascended, Rip every now and then heard long, rolling peals, like
distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather
cleft, between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He
paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of
those transient thundershowers which often take place in mountain
heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a
hollow, like a small [v]amphitheater, surrounded by perpendicular
precipices, over the brinks of which trees shot their branches, so that
you only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud.
During the whole time Rip and his companion had labored on in silence;
for though the former marveled greatly, what could be the object of
carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something
strange and incomprehensible about the unknown that inspired awe and
checked familiarity.

On entering the amphitheater new objects of wonder presented themselves.
On a level spot in the center was a company of odd-looking personages
playing at ninepins. They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion;
some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in their
belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, of similar style with
that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large
head, broad face, and small, piggish eyes; the face of another seemed to
consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat,
set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards, of various
shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be the commander. He was
a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a
laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red
stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole group
reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of
[v]Dominie Van Shaick, the village parson, which had been brought over