University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The reader may chance to recollect the oath
of Governor Piper, that, notwithstanding the
opposition of the mysterious Bombie, the Long
Finne and the fair Christina should be wedded
on the morrow. Many days had elapsed, yet
Christina was not yet a wife, which shows how
careful people should be of taking rash oaths.
The Heer, in truth, had been too busy all this
while to attend to his own private affairs. Besides
the vexatious trial and execution of Cupid,
and the eternal exhortations, threats, and
prophecies of his grandmother, there was a storm
gathering in the north, that menaced the downfall
of his authority, as well as that of the Swedish
crown in the new world. The king of England,
Charles the Second, being one day informed

that Cornelius De Witt had caused to be
painted a great picture, or rather an “abusive
picture,” as his majesty was pleased to call it,
representing the said De Witt, with the attributes
of a conqueror in a naval fight with England,
fell into a bad humour, and determined to
go to war with the Dutch.

A consequence of this war, as every body
knows, or ought to know, was the capture of
the Dutch possessions in what was called the
New-Netherlands, in North America, and a surrender
of all their claims, by treaty, at the conclusion
of peace. These claims, now reverting
to England, comprehended all the settlements
below Coaquanock, to the mouth of the Delaware
river, although these were originally founded
by the Swedes, who disallowed the Dutch
claim, and professed to hold under an express
grant or recognition from England. In this
complicated state of affairs, it was plain, that
the right of the strongest was worth all the rest
of these rights put together; and that, consequently,
the power of the good Heer rested on
a rather ticklish foundation. Several messages
had passed between him and Governor Lovelace,
of New-York, who, about this time, signified to
the Heer, that unless he agreed to a surrender

upon terms, he should in a few months send a
power adequate to force a surrender without any
terms at all. Governor Piper had received sufficient
information from New-York, to satisfy him
that his power was totally incompetent to resist the
puissance of Governor Lovelace, and that he had
nothing to do but surrender at discretion, whenever
the summons was given. He was, therefore,
just now, suffering the unpleasant anticipation
of being shortly obliged to return to a private
station, which, albeit that it is usually denominated
the “post of honour,” is not much
coveted by most people, more especially those
who have been accustomed to posts of profit.

These public perplexities naturally drew off
the attention of Governor Piper from the affairs
of his daughter, who, on her part, however,
although she had consented to become the wife
of Koningsmarke, still discovered an insurmountable
objection, in her behaviour, actually
to commit matrimony with that youth.
We call him a youth, on account of his being so
much younger than ourselves, although, in
truth, he was not much under thirty years of
age, notwithstanding he looked younger. Indeed,
the struggles of poor Christina, betwixt
gratitude and love, on one hand, and filial affection

and duty towards the memory of her mother,
on the other, now that she was returned
to her home, and out of the reach of the daily
and hourly anxieties which occupied her during
her captivity, returned again as violently as
ever. The anticipation of her union with Koningsmarke
afforded her no pleasure, and she
seized every pretext to elude or put aside his
solicitations to fulfil her own promise, and the
wishes of her father. As they walked one
evening along the little stream we have heretofore
mentioned, they came to the place where
Koningsmarke had rescued Christina from the
pollution of the poor maniac. The sight of this
spot recalled more vividly to her recollection
the terrors of that horrible hour. She shuddered,
and looked in his face with an expression of
love and gratitude, that found its way to the
innermost folds of his heart.

“What do I not owe thee,” whispered she,
softly, at the same time pressing closely to his
side, as if terrified with the very phantom of her
memory.

“Thou owest me nothing—at least nothing
that thou canst not easily repay,” replied Koningsmarke.
“I ask nothing from gratitude,

every thing from love. Be mine, Christina, as
thou hast promised. Thy father wishes it.”

“And my mother?” replied Christina, with
a penetrating look.

“She is beyond the reach of this world,” replied
the youth. “Nothing that passes here below,
nothing that thou canst do, or leave undone,
neither thy virtues nor thy crimes, can
reach her knowledge. The grave is the eternal
barrier between the present and future state
of existence. It breaks the ties of kindred, it
severs the bonds of love and friendship. We
shall be rewarded and punished for the past, in
the future, and that is all. We cannot know
what is passing in this wretched world; we cannot
look down from the skies, and see what is done
and suffered by those we love, and yet enjoy the
delights of beatitude. Christina, my beloved
Christina, do not sacrifice thy own happiness, as
well as mine; do not refuse to fulfil the wishes of
one parent, and that a living one, in a vain and
futile idea that it will rejoice the spirit of one that
is dead. Spirits never rejoice or grieve at aught
that passes here.”

“Did my father know what I know,” rejoined
Christina, “he would spurn thee for asking,
and me for granting what thou askest.”

“But he knows it not, nor ever will know it.
Now that the tattling Bombie is gone, thou art
the only being on earth that knows how much
thou hast to forgive towards me. Once mine,
or even if never mine, I know thy generous nature
will bury the secret from all the world besides.”

“But can I bury it so deep that it will not
haunt me, morning, noon, and night, as it doth
now? I cannot hide it from my own heart; it
is like the spectre to the guilty mind, and ever
seizes the moment of forgetfulness, to come,
when least expected, and dash away the cup of
bliss, just at the very lips.”

“Christina,” said the Long Finne, in a severe
and solemn tone, “I cannot endure this life much
longer. Weighed down, as I am, by the recollections
of the past, I would not be, or even
seem, presumptuous, impatient, or unreasonable;
but why didst thou first give thyself to me? and,
why dost thou now withhold the gift? Be what
thou wilt, but be it wholly.”

“Why!” exclaimed the unhappy girl, bursting
into a paroxysm of passionate wo—“why
is it that man, and woman too, are ever the sport
of conflicting duties and wishes? why is it that
the tenderness, or, if you will, the weakness of

woman's heart, so often betrays her reason,
and places her good name, her peace of mind,
her welfare, here and hereafter, in the power of
man? One moment, yes, even at this moment,
when the fate of my mother is full before my
eyes, who shall dare blame me, if, here on this
spot, where I myself was saved from a fate ten
times more dreadful, I should waver, like a
wretched being, as I am, between conflicting
feelings, wishes and duties? that when I call to
mind our captivity together, our mutual dangers,
and thy unwearied kindness, I should stand,
incapable of a lasting decision, fluctuating and inconsistent—despicable
in mine own eyes, perhaps
in the eyes of thy better judgment—promising,
one day, what I shrink from performing—my
heart torn, my temper variable, my very reason
sometimes tottering under the weight of its perplexities?
Give me a little time, and I promise,
on the faith of woman, to be thine, as I have covenanted.”

“Well, then,” replied he, tenderly, “I will wait
with patience thy decision, and live, or rather
exist, in the anticipation of my happiness.”

“Happiness!” rejoined the maid; “believe it
not, hope it not: the recollections of former
times forbid it. Those who have not laid in

the past a foundation for future happiness, have
erected their hopes on the sand—in barrenness
and sterility.”

The two lovers returned home, little satisfied
with themselves, or each other. Koningsmarke
accused Christina, in his own mind, of wavering
and caprice; and Christina herself suffered the
torments of self-reproach, as at one moment she
charged herself with forgetting the obligations
of filial duty, and the next, of being insensible
to love, founded on the sacred obligations of gratitude.
But these struggles were speedily
brought to an end by a train of events, which we
shall reserve for the next chapter.