University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Fortune, or fate, or call it what you will,
seemed to have ordained that the struggles of
the fair Christina, between filial piety and
youthful love, should be perpetually revived,
and become more painfully bitter by the conduct
of the Long Finne. He had saved her from
the violence of the maniac, and thus excited her
everlasting gratitude; and soon after, performed
an act of daring humanity, that called forth all
her admiration. Thus every effort she made to
drive him from her heart, was met by some
action of his, that only riveted him more
strongly there.

Gradually, during the long winter, she
withdrew herself as much as possible from
the society of the youth, and avoided all
private interviews, or solitary walks. She

was one of those rare females, the rarest and
the most valuable of all the blessed race of
women, who never suffer the weakness of their
nerves, or the intensity of their feelings, to
interfere with filial, maternal, or domestic
duties. She was aware that this was little else
than the indulgence of an overwrought self-love,
and that employment in the discharge of one's
duties, is twice blessed—blessed in the happiness
it communicates to those within the sphere of
its influence, and blessed in the balm it administers
to our own sorrows. She became even more
unremitting than ever, in attending upon her
father, administering to his little infirmities, and
anticipating all his wants. She never willingly
subjected herself to the dangers of idleness, but
sought, on all occasions, to force her mind from
painful contemplation, by the performance of
her domestic duties. Still there were long hours
of the night, when she could not be busy, and
when, in silence and solitude, her woes clustered
around her like shadowy spirits, destroying the
blessed comfort of a quiet sleep, by awakening
recollections of the past unaccompanied by
pleasure, and anticipations of the future destitute
of hope. The paleness of her cheek, the languor
of her figure, and her eye, gradually became
more and more apparent, until at last the good
Heer began to observe, and to be alarmed at
her looks.

In the mean time, the Long Finne passed
whole days in the woods, with his dog and gun,
either to relieve Christina from his presence, or
to hide his own feelings in the depths of the forest,
where the axe of the woodman, or the voice of
a civilized being, had never been heard. Sometimes
he crossed the river on the ice, and penetrated
into the pines, which reared their green
heads into the heavens, and presented, in their
dark foliage, a contrast to the white snow,
that, if possible, added to the wintry gloom.
At other times, he turned his steps westward,
where, save a little cultivated space about the village,
one vast and uninterrupted world of forest
tended, as it were, to the regions of the setting
sun. Here he roamed about, immersed in
thoughts as gloomy as the black wintry woods
over his head, and unconscious of his purpose,
until the whirring partridge, suddenly rising
and thundering among the branches, or the
sudden barking of his dog at a squirrel, or occasionally
at a bear, roused his attention. He
seldom or never brought home any game, and
numerous were the jests which the Heer cracked

on his want of skill in the noble sports of hunting.
The Long Finne would often have been
lost in the woods, had it not been for his dog,
who, with unerring sagacity, always showed
him the way home.

One day, we believe it might have been towards
the latter end of February, Koningsmarke
set forth on his customary ramble, with his gun
on his shoulder, his tinder-box, flint, and steel,
the indispensable appendages of ramblers in those
pathless woods. He whistled, and called for his
dog, but the animal had been seduced away, in
the pure spirit of mischief, by that likely fellow,
Cupid. Koningsmarke, therefore, proceeded
without him, with a friendly caution from the
Heer, to look which way he went, not to wander
too far, and, with an arch wink, to be sure and
bring home a fat haunch of venison. The Long
Finne soon forgot the advice, and the joke, and
before noon, had wandered so far into the forest,
that he could see none of his usual landmarks,
nor any object which he recognised.
Towards one o'clock it became overcast, raw
and chilly, and every thing presaged a storm.
The Long Finne thought it high time to retrace
his steps; but without some path, or some guide,
to direct his course, a man in a great forest only

walks in a circle. He heard that dreary, dismal
howl, which is caused by the wind rushing among
the leafless branches of the trees, gradually increase,
and swell, and sharpen, till it became a shrill
whistle that made his blood run cold. In a little
time the snow began to fall in almost imperceptible
particles, indicating not only intense
cold, but a long-continued and heavy fall. The
Long Finne had just made a discovery that he
had lost his way, and that if,he did not speedily
find it, the chances were ten to one, that he perished
that night in the snow. Now, though
he had, in the course of his day's ramble, twice
come to a resolution to put an end to his miserable
perplexities by shooting himself through
the head, he felt not a little startled at the dangers
of his present situation. There is a great
difference between a man dying of his own accord,
and dying because he cannot help it.
The one is an act of free will, whereas the other
smacks of coercion; and men no more like
to die, than Jack Falstaff did to give a reason,
upon compulsion.

The Long Finne, accordingly, tacitly agreed
with himself to postpone dying for the present,
and make use of the few remaining hours of
daylight to seek his way home. But in his perplexity,

he wandered about in the labyrinths of
the forest until near dark, without recognising
any object that could assist in deciding where
he was. He hallooed, and fancied he heard
the barking of a dog, but when he approached
it nearer, it turned out to be the howling of a
wolf. At another time he heard, afar off, the
long echoes of a gun, but, in the depths of the
woods, could not distinguish the direction in
which it was fired.

The dusky shadows of night began to gather
around, and reminded the Long Finne, that if
darkness overtook him before he had prepared
some kind of shelter, he would never see the
morning. In looking about, he observed a
large pine tree that had been blown down, to
the roots of which was attached a quantity of
earth, which afforded some shelter in that quarter.
The snow had drifted against the windward
side of the fallen trunk, and, as frequently happens,
left a bare space on the leeward. By
scraping under the snow, he gathered a quantity
of dry leaves, with which he made a bed; and
contrived a sort of covering, by breaking off
the branches of the fallen pine, and laying them
with one end on the ground, the other resting on
the trunk of the tree. He then gathered a

quantity of brush, dry wood, and leaves, with
which to keep fire during the night, for such
was the intensity of the cold, that without the
aid of artificial warmth, he must have inevitably
perished before morning. By the time these
preparations were finished it was quite dark; the
wind whistled louder and louder through the
leafless branches, that cracked in the onset, and
the storm every moment increased in violence.

In painful anxiety, the Long Finne prepared
his implements for striking fire, and collected
some of the driest leaves and sticks, for the
purpose of lighting them with his tinder. In his
eagerness to strike fire, the flint flew from his
benumbed hand, and he could not find it again
in the obscurity that surrounded him. He then
unscrewed the flint from his gun; but, just at the
instant the sparks had communicated to the
tinder, a sudden puff of wind blew it out of the
box, and scattered it in the air. A moment of
irresolution and despair, and he bethought
himself of one more chance for his life. He replaced
the flint in his gun, which he fired off
against the trunk of the fallen tree; the burning
wad fell upon the dry leaves placed there, and
by carefully blowing it with his mouth, a little

flame was produced, which at length caught the
leaves, and relieved his breathless anxiety.

The Long Finne carefully placed the wood
over the leaves, until a blazing fire illuminated the
dismal gloom of the forest; and then proceeded to
collect a sufficient quantity of fuel to last the night.
The fire was kindled just at the mouth of his little
shelter, into which he crept with a determination
to watch through the night, and keep up his
fire, well knowing that if he fell asleep, and
suffered it to go out, he would probably never
wake again. But the fatigue he had gone
through during the day, the intense cold he had
endured, and the weakness occasioned by long
fasting, all combined to produce an irresistible
drowsiness, and long before morning he fell
asleep. How long he slept he knew not, but
when he revived to some degree of consciousness,
he was without the use of his limbs; the
fire was almost extinguished, and he was unable
to raise himself up, or move hand or foot. A
horrible apprehension came over him, and the
sudden impulse it communicated to the pulsation
of the heart, probably saved his life. By degrees
he was able to crawl to the fire, which he
raked together, and replenished with fuel;
and then, by violent exercise, restored the circulation

of his blood. In a little while the day
broke, the clouds cleared away, and the sun rose
bright and clear. By the aid of this sure guide,
he was enabled to shape his course towards the
river, which having once gained, he could easily
find his way back to the village.

It being usual for the Long Finne to stay out
all day on his hunting excursions, his absence
excited no anxiety until it became dark. The
intense cold had gathered the good Heer and
his family close around a blazing hickory fire,
where, at first, they began to wonder what had
become of the youth. By degrees, as the evening
advanced, and the storm grew louder and
louder, their apprehensions became painful, and
each furnished a variety of suggestions, to account
for his non-appearance, none of which,
however, were satisfactory. As bed time drew
near, and he came not, the fair and gentle Christina
could no longer conceal those keen anxieties
which virtuous timidity had hitherto enabled
her to smother in the recesses of her heart. “He
will perish in the snow,” cried she in agony; and
she besought her father to alarm the village.
Accordingly, a party was collected, some carrying
lights, and others guns, to go into the woods
in search of the lost Koningsmarke. They hallooed

and fired their guns to no purpose: no
answer was received, except from others of the
party; and about midnight they had all returned,
with a full conviction that the Long Finne had
already perished in the snow. The good Heer
shed tears at the thought of his melancholy fate;
but the eyes of his fair daughter were dry, while
her heart wept drops of blood.

She retired to her chamber, and gave vent to
her feelings in exclamations of despairing anguish.
“He has perished alone; he is buried
under the cold snows, and the wolves will devour
his dead corse!” “Better,” answered the
voice of the Frizzled Head—“better that he
should perish alone, than that others should die
for him! better that the wolves should devour
him, than that he should devour the innocent
lamb! Heaven is just.”

“But to perish thus!” exclaimed Christina,
wringing her hands.

“It may serve to expiate his crime,” answered
the Snow Ball. “Better to perish unseen in
the depths of the forest, than dangle in the air,
a spectacle for the multitude to scorn, and the
vultures to peck at!”

“It may be so—it may be so,” replied the
maiden, “but oh! righteous Providence, would

that I had been spared this dreadful, dreadful
struggle!”

“Remember,” answered the Snow Ball, “remember
what he who saved thy life caused to
her who gave thee thy life: her spirit watches
thee.” So saying, she glided out of the room,
and poor Christina threw herself on the bed,
where she lay till morning, a prey to the most
bitter and conflicting emotions.

As the Long Finne was bending his weary course
towards the rising sun, he heard the barking of
a dog at a distance, which he answered by hallooing
aloud. Presently the barking came
nearer, and in a few minutes he saw his faithful
fox-hound speeding towards him. The poor
animal crawled at his feet, wagged his tail, and
whined his joy at seeing his master. He
then licked his hand, looked up wistfully in his
face, and proceeded onwards, every moment
turning back, as if to see whether his master
followed. Koningsmarke understood all this,
and proceeded on after him, until the sagacious
animal led him directly in a straight line to the
village.

A hundred shouts from the good people of
Elsingburgh hailed his return. The Heer Piper
fell on his neck and blessed him; while his

pale daughter, after rushing half way into the
room, as if to welcome him, suddenly recoiled,
and fainted away. For the first time, did the
Heer begin to suspect the state of his daughter's
heart; for, although the mysterious hints of the
Snow Ball, together with some occasional sly
innuendoes of his long-headed counsellor, Wolfgang
Langfanger, had sometimes set him thinking
on the subject, he was always called off to
the more weighty affairs of state, before he could
come to any conclusion on the subject. But
the truth flashed upon his mind at once, and
his conviction was followed by the exclamation
of “der teufel.”

Now the Heer was a warm-hearted little man,
that came to his conclusions somewhat suddenly.
He liked the Long Finne, was accustomed to
his society, and, in looking around the village,
could see no one worthy the hand of his daughter,
or of being son-in-law to the Representative
of Majesty. After reflecting a moment on
these matters, he slapped his hand smartly on
his thigh, and pronounced, with an air of decision,
“It shall be so.”

“Long Finne,” quoth the Heer—“Long
Finne, dost thou love my daughter?”

“She knows I do,” replied the youth, “more
than my life.”

“Christina, my daughter, my darling, come
hither,” said the Heer. Christina approached
her father, pale as a lily, and trembling like the
aspin leaf.

“Christina, art thou willing to be the wife
of this youth? Remember, he saved thee from
death, and worse perhaps than death.”

“And caused the death of—” muttered Bombie
to herself, indistinctly, and without being
noticed.

The poor girl struggled almost to dissolution;
the paleness of death came over her; she trembled,
and sunk on a chair, her head resting on
her heaving bosom. The Heer approached,
took her cold hand, and said, “Answer me, my
daughter; wilt thou be the wife of this youth?”

“I will,” replied she, gasping for breath.

“Then join your hands,” said the good
Heer, the tears starting from his eyes, “and receive
the blessing of a father.”

“And the curses of a mother!” exclaimed
Bombie of the Frizzled Head, as she hobbled
out of the room.

Christina snatched her hand from the eager
grasp of Koningsmarke, and rushed out of the

Heer's presence, exclaiming in agony, “Oh,
God! direct me.”

“Der teufel hole that infernal black Snow
Ball,” cried the irritated Heer; “what means the
the old hag, Long Finne?”

“She means—she means—that I am—what I
pray God thou mayest never be,” answered the
youth, and staggered out of the room.

“Der teufel is in ye all, I think,” muttered the
Heer Piper, and proceeded to eat his breakfast,
out of humour with every body, and particularly
with himself. It will generally be found, that
a person in this state of mind, at length concentrates
his ill humour upon some particular object;
and accordingly
it happened that the Heer,
by tracing up effects to their causes, discovered
that all the mischiefs of the morning originated
in Cupid's having, as we before stated, enticed
away the Long Finne's dog. Whereupon, he ordered
him a sound flogging, at the hands of Lob
Dotterel. As the stripes of Boadicea whilome
produced a rising of the ancient Britons, so did
those of Cupid bring forth results which were
long afterwards felt by the good people of Elsingburg.