University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

News fly swift every where, but most of all
in a country village. It was soon communicated
to the Heer Piper and his fair daughter,
that the Long Finne had been carried a prisoner
to New-York, and condemned to be whipt, and
sold to slavery. The pedler was called up, and
stated, that the youth had been seized the night
before the sailing of the fleet, as he was taking
a solitary walk along the river side; conveyed
on board the ships; transported to New-York;
tried for treasonable practices; condemned, and
sentenced to these ignominious punishments.
Such indeed was the sad story of Koningsmarke,
who had been seized and taken to New-York

in manner aforesaid, and there brought
to trial before the Governor and his council. It
was in vain that he asserted his innocence, and
that at the time he was accused of these crimes
he was a subject of Sweden, and owed no allegiance
to any other power, much less a power
which exercised no authority in New-Swedeland.
He was answered, that the Swedes from
the first had no right to the territory they occupied,
which, in fact, appertained to Great Britain
by discovery. Koningsmarke was therefore
living under an usurped government, and
could claim no immunity on the score of not
owing allegiance to a power which, though not
actually in possession, always had the right.
The council, consisting of the Governor, Thomas
Delaval, and Ralph Whitfield, on these
grounds, decreed as follows:

“That Koningsmarke, commonly called the
Long Finne, deserved to die; yet, in regard
that many concerned with him in these practices
might also be involved in the præmunire,
if the rigour of the law should be extended, and
amongst them divers ignorant and simple people,
it was thought fit to order, that the Long
Finne should be severely whipt, and stigmatized
with the letter R, with an inscription in great letters

on his breast, that he received that punishment
for rebellion; and afterwards to be secured
till sent to Barbadoes, or some other remote
plantation, to be sold.”

When Christina heard of this terrible sentence,
her heart failed her, and she sunk insensible
into the arms of her father. Every species
of bitter, indelible disgrace was combined in
this punishment; and who is there, that cherishes
a friend, or adores a lover, but would
rather have heard that he was dead, than thus
scourged, branded, and sold to slavery? When
Christina came to herself, she desired to be
conducted to her chamber and left alone. After
remaining there an hour or two, she sent for
her father, who found her pale, feeble, and nearly
exhausted with the misery of her feelings.
Yet there was a speaking energy in her light
blue eye, that indicated she was labouring with
some resolve that possessed her whole soul.

“How art thou now, my dear daughter?”
said the Heer.

“Well—very well,” replied Christina; “but,
my father, I have one request to make thee,
which, as thou valuest my happiness, nay, my
very life, I beseech thee to grant me. Wilt
thou?”

“What is it, my dear one?” answered the
Heer, with affectionate sympathy; “it must be
impossible, if I refuse it to thee. What is it?”

Christina looked wistfully in his face, and replied—“
He saved my life; he bore me in his
arms, as a mother her only offspring; he watched
over me in the wilderness; he risked death
and torture in the attempt to restore me to
thee; and shall not I do something to requite
all these obligations?”

“All that can be done to rescue him from
this disgrace and misery shall be done. I will
send, and demand him as a subject of my master.”

“Alas!” replied Christina, “when I wanted
his aid, he did not send; he came himself; he
risked all for me, and shall not we risk something
for him? Let us not send, but go to him,
father. Kindness should never come at second
hand. Even those who cannot ward off the
calamities of others, may alleviate them by
sympathy.”

“But think, my love, what will the world
say of thy pilgrimage? Will they not taunt
thee with the reproach of following a degraded,
condemned criminal—a lover, whose affection
is thy disgrace, and whom to love is infamy?”

“Father,” replied Christina, “I know that
it is for the honour and happiness of my sex,
that they should, in all the ordinary circumstances
of life, conform to the strict rules of female
decorum, and pay due deference to the
opinions of the world. But I also know, father,
that there are times and occasions, when love,
gratitude, filial duty, parental affection, attachment
to our country, nay, even the desire of
fame, not only justify, but demand a departure
from common rules, and the sacrifice of those
delicate restraints, which otherwise should never
be disregarded. To save a husband, I should be
applauded for this act, even though he were unworthy
my affection. Shall I not do likewise
for one to whom gratitude at least has bound
me for ever?”

“But think of the toils and dangers of the
journey, my daughter.”

“Thou forgettest, father,” replied Christina,
with a languid smile—“thou forgettest I am
used to traverse the wilderness. The errand I
go upon will make me heedless of the way, except
as it may delay our efforts till they shall be
too late.”

“Ah!” replied the old man, with a melancholy,
doubting shake of the head, “come when

they will, I fear all our endeavours will be too late,
or, at least, in vain. What hast thou to offer,
to tempt the statesman to forgo an act of policy
like this?”

“My tears, my thanks, my prayers, my everlasting
gratitude. Surely, father, the hearts of
men are not turned into stone by the exercise
of power, nor can they be insensible to the delight
of making the heart leap in the bosom of
a lonely stranger.”

“Well, well—I will no longer oppose thee,
my girl. We will go, in God's name; and, if
it be necessary, I, even I, will humble myself
before Richard Lovelace, rather than see thee
mourn thyself into a shadow, and die of a broken
heart. I have lost thee once, and know the
agonies of such a bereavement. We will go,
and speedily.”

Christina threw herself into the arms of her
parent, and exclaimed amid her tears—“Oh!
that I may live to repay my father for all his
kindness.”

When it was known that the Heer and his
daughter were going to undertake this long
journey, part of which was through a forest, as
yet trodden only by wild beasts and red-men,
with now and then a wandering being like Low-right,

half a dozen of the villagers came in a
body, and offered their services to escort their
ancient chief and his daughter. “We will
paddle a canoe for you to the Falls, and we
will carry you in a litter of boughs, when the
way is wet and deep, or you become tired.”
The Heer was affected by their good will, and,
shaking the hand of each, accepted their offers,
with hearty thanks. Even in the depression
of his feelings, and amid the downfall of
his power, the heart of the Heer swelled with
honest pride, to find that, though the means of
bestowing benefits on his neighbours had passed
away, they still remembered his kindness in the
days of his prosperity. So easy, indeed, is it
for rulers to make themselves beloved by the
people, that whenever we hear the cries of the
multitude ascending against kings and their
ministers, and see their arms raised in opposition
to their will, we are certain that pride, arrogance,
misgovernment, and oppression, are at
the bottom of this discontent.