University of Virginia Library

4. BOOK FOURTH.

1. CHAPTER I.

As history receives a great portion of its dignity
and importance, not from the magnitude of
those events which it records, but from the rank
and consequence of the personages that figure
in the great drama of the world, so in like manner
doth every work of fiction depend upon the
same cause for its interest. Every word and
action of a legitimate monarch, for instance, is
matter of infinite moment, not only to the present
age, but to posterity; and it is consequently
carefully recorded in books of history.
If he take a ride, or go to church, it is considered,
especially the latter event, such a rarity
that nothing will do but it must be set down in
the chronicles.

Hence the vast advantages accruing to an
author from a discreet choice of his characters,

whose actions, provided they are persons of a
proper rank, may be both vulgar and insignificant,
without either tiring or disgusting the
reader. The hero, provided he be right royal,
or even noble, may turn his palace into a brothel,
or commit the most paltry meannesses,
without losing his character; and the
heroine, if she be only of sufficient rank,
may, by virtue of her prerogative, swear like a
fisherwoman, without being thought in the least
vulgar. The most delicate and virtuous female,
properly imbued with a taste for the extempore
historical novel, does not mind being
introduced, by a popular author, into the company
of strumpets, pimps, and their dignified employers,
whose titles and patents of nobility give
them the privilege of doing things that would
disgrace the vulgar, who, poor souls, have no
way of becoming tolerably respectable, but by
conforming to the common decencies of life. So
also, a Duke of Buckingham, a Sir Charles Sedley,
or any other distinguished person, historically
witty, may be made by an author as
coarse, flat, and vulgar in his conversations, as the
said author himself, who puts the words into his
mouth, and, ten to one, the reader will think he is
banqueting on the quintessence of refined wit
and humour. A Sheffield may be made to talk
about his titled mistresses to his valet, as if he
were the lowest bully of a brothel; and yet readers,
who would shrink with disgust from the latter,
will chance to admire the former, simply from the
difference between the rank of the two persons.
Not to multiply particular instances, we may lay
it down as a general rule, that the dignity of
actions, the refinement of morals, and the sharpness
of wit, is exactly in proportion to the rank
and quality of the characters to whom they appertain.

For the reasons above stated, we here take
special occasion to remind the reader, that most
of our principal characters are fully entitled, by
their rank and dignity, to the privilege of being
dull and vulgar, without forfeiting his respect or
admiration. The Heer Piper, though not actually
a king himself, is the representative of a
king. He also held, or at least claimed, sovereign
sway over a space of country as large at least as
Great Britain, and was as little subject to any
laws, except of his own making, as the most
mortal tyrant in Christendom. We see, therefore,
no particular reason why he may not be
allowed to swear, without being thought indecent,

as well as Elizabeth, Harry the Fourth, or
any other swearing potentate on record.

We also claim the benefit of sublimity for
the effusions of Bombie of the Frizzled Head;
who, as before stated, was the wife and daughter
of an African monarch, superior in state and
dignity to any European legitimate; because
he could actually sell his subjects, whereas the
latter are only entitled to pick their pockets. If
it be objected that she is a slave, we would observe,
that this misfortune, this reverse of fate,
only renders her the more sublimely interesting,
as exhibiting in her person an awful example of
the uncertainty of all human grandeur. Kings
and queens have often been bought and sold;
and, as a king of Cyprus was once publicly
exhibited for sale in the market of Rome, so may
it possibly happen, before some of our readers
die, that others, of the race which has so long
domineered over mankind, may be made to
exhibit examples equally striking, of the mutability
of fortune. We caution our readers also
to bear in mind, that that likely fellow Cupid
has also a portion of the blood royal in his veins,
the effects of which, we trust, will be strikingly
exemplified in the course of this history.

If, after all, the reader should object that this

is mere secondhand royalty, and be inclined to
pronounce the awful condemnation of vulgarity
upon us and our book, we here take this opportunity
to pledge ourselves, in the course of a few
succeeding chapters, to introduce some genuine
legitimate monarchs, full-blooded, and with
pedigrees equal to that of a Turkish horse, or
the renowned Eclipse himself, meaning not,
however, to detract either from the merits of
Mr. Van Ranst or his horse, by this latter
assertion.

2. CHAPTER II.

Now the laughing, jolly spring began
sometimes to show her buxom face in the
bright morning; but ever and anon, meeting
the angry frown of winter, loath to resign his
rough sway over the wide realm of nature, she
would retire again into her southern bower,
Yet, though her visits were at first but short,
her very look seemed to exercise a magic
influence. The buds began slowly to expand
their close winter folds; the dark and melancholy
woods to assume an almost imperceptible
purple tint; and here and there a little chirping
blue-bird hopped about the orchards of
Elsingburgh. Strips of fresh green appeared
along the brooks, now released from their icy
fetters; and nests of little variegated flowers,
nameless, yet richly deserving a name, sprung
up in the sheltered recesses of the leafless woods.

By and by, the shad, the harbinger at once of
spring and plenty, came up the river before the
mild southern breeze; the ruddy blossoms of
the peach-tree exhibited their gorgeous pageantry;
the little lambs appeared frisking and
gamboling about the sedate mother; young, innocent
calves began their first bleatings; the cackling
hen announced her daily feat, in the barnyard,
with clamorous astonishment; every day
added to the appearance of that active vegetable
and animal life, which nature presents in the progress
of the genial spring; and finally, the
flowers, the zephyrs, the warblers, and the
maidens' rosy cheeks, announced to the eye, the
ear, the senses, the fancy, and the heart, the
return, and the stay of the vernal year.

But the sprightly song, the harmony of
nature, the rural blessings, and the awakened
charms of spring, failed to bring back peace or
joy to the bosom of our blue-eyed maid. Every
heart seemed glad save hers; and the roses
grew every where but on the cheek of Christina.

Yet, however interested we may be for the
repose and happiness of that gentle girl, we
are compelled to lose sight of her for a while,
in order to attend to matters indispensable to the
progress of our history.

At the period of which we are writing, the
whole of both banks of the Delaware, from
the Hoarkill, now Lewiston, to Elsingburgh,
was in a state of nature. The country had
been granted by different monarchs to different
persons, who had, from time to time, purchased
of the Indians large tracts of country, of which
but a very inconsiderable portion, just about
their forts, was cultivated. Above Elsingburgh,
was the settlement of Coaquanock, on
the same side of the Delaware; and higher up
was Chygoos, and the Falls settlement, where
Trenton now stands. Beyond this, establishments
had been formed, and small villages
built, at Elizabeth-Town, Bergen, Middletown,
Shrewsbury, Amboy, and perhaps a few other
places. With little exceptions, all the settlers
dwelt in villages for their security against the
Indians, having their farms scattered around,
which they cultivated with arms in their hands.

In the intermediate spaces, between these
distant settlements, resided various small tribes
of Indians, who sometimes maintained friendly
relations with their new neighbours, at others
committed depredations and murders. The
early settlers of this country were, perhaps, as
extraordinary a race of people as ever existed.

Totally unwarlike in their habits, they ventured
upon a new world, and came, few in numbers,
fearlessly into the society and within the power
of a numerous race of savages. The virtuous
and illustrious William Penn, and his
followers, whose principles and practice were
those of non-resistance, and who held even
self-defence unlawful, trusted themselves to the
wilds, not with arms in their hands, to fight their
way among the wild Indians, but with the olive
branch, to interchange the peaceful relations of
social life. There was in these adventurers
generally, a degree of moral courage, faith,
perseverance, hardihood, and love of independence,
civil and religious, that enabled them to
do with the most limited means, what, with the
most ample, others have failed in achieving.
We cannot read their early history, and dwell
upon the patient endurance of labours and
dangers on the part of the men, of heroic faith
and constancy on that of the women, without
feeling our eyes moisten, our hearts expand
with affectionate admiration of these our noble
ancestors, who watered the young tree of liberty
with their tears, and secured to themselves
and their posterity the noblest of all privileges,
that of worshipping God according to their
consciences, at the price of their blood.

The character of the Indian nations, which
inhabited these portions of the country, and indeed
that of all the various tribes of savages
in North America, was pretty uniform. Like
all ignorant people, they were very superstitious.
When the great comet appeared in 1680, a Sachem
was asked what he thought of its appearance.
“It signifies,” said he, “that we Indians
shall melt away, and this country be inhabited
by another people.” They had a great veneration
for their ancient burying-grounds; and
when any of their friends or relatives died at a
great distance, would bring his bones to be
interred in the ancient cemetery of the tribe.
Nothing, in after times, excited a deeper vengeance
against the white people, than their
ploughing up the ground where the bones of their
fathers had been deposited. When well treated,
they were kind and liberal to the strangers; but
were naturally reserved, apt to resent, to conceal
their resentment, and retain it a long time.
But their remembrance of benefits was equally
tenacious, and they never forgot the obligations
of hospitality.

An old Indian used to visit the house of a
worthy farmer at Middletown in New-Jersey,
where he was always hospitably received and
kindly entertained. One day the wife of the
farmer observed the Indian to be more pensive
than usual, and to sigh heavily at intervals.
She inquired what was the matter, when he replied,
that he had something to tell her, which,
if it were known, would cost him his life. On
being further pressed, he disclosed a plot of the
Indians, who were that night to surprise the
village, and murder all the inhabitants. “I
never yet deceived thee,” cried the old man;
“tell thy husband, that he may tell his white
brothers; but let no one else know that I have
seen thee to day.” The husband collected
the men of the village to watch that night.
About twelve o'clock they heard the war-whoop;
but the Indians, perceiving them on their guard,
consented to a treaty of peace, which they never
afterwards violated.

Their ideas of justice were nearly confined
to the revenging of injuries; but an offender who
was taken in attempting to escape the punishment
of a crime, submitted to the will of his
tribe, without a murmur. On one occasion, a
chief named Tashyowican lost a sister by the

small-pox, the introduction of which by the
whites was one great occasion of the hostility of
the Indians. “The Maneto of the white man has
killed my sister,” said he, “and I will go kill the
white man.” Accordingly, taking a friend with
him, they set upon and killed a settler of the name
of Huggins. On receiving information of this
outrage, the settlers demanded satisfaction of
the tribe to which Tashyowican belonged, threatening
severe retaliation if it were refused. The
Sachems despatched two Indians to take him,
dead or alive. On coming to his wigwam,
Tashyowican, suspecting their designs, asked if
they intended to kill him. They replied, “no—
but the Sachems have ordered you to die.”
“And what do you say, brothers?” replied he.
“We say you must die,” answered they. Tashyowican
then covered his eyes, and cried out
“kill me,” upon which they shot him through
the heart.

Previous to their intercourse with the whites,
they had few vices, as their state of society
furnished them with few temptations;
and these vices were counterbalanced by
many good, not to say great qualities. But, by
degrees, they afterwards became corrupted by
that universal curse of their race, spirituous liquors,

the seductions of which the best and
greatest of them could not resist. It is this
which has caused their tribes to wither away,
leaving nothing behind but a name, which will
soon be forgotten, or, at best, but a miserable
remnant of degenerate beings, whose minds are
debased, and whose forms exhibit nothing of that
tall and stately majesty which once characterized
the monarchs of the forest.

But the most universal and remarkable trait
in the character of the red-men of North America,
was a gravity of deportment, almost approaching
to melancholy. It seemed as if they
had a presentiment of the fate which awaited them
in the increasing numbers of the white strangers;
and it is certain, that there were many
traditions and prophecies among them, which
seemed to indicate the final ruin and extinction
of their race. Their faces bore the expression
of habitual melancholy; and it was observed
that they never laughed or were gay, except
in their drunken feasts, which, however, generally
ended in outrage and bloodshed. The
little Christina always called them THE SAD
PEOPLE; and the phrase aptly expressed their
peculiar character.

It is little to be wondered at, if two races of

men, so totally distinct in habits, manners, and
interests, and withal objects of mutual jealousy,
suspicion and fear, should be oftener enemies
than friends. Every little singularity observed
in the actions and deportment of each other,
accordingly gave rise to suspicion, often followed
by outrage; and every little robbery committed
on the property of either, was ascribed
to the other party, so that the history of their
early intercourse with each other, is little other
than a narrative of bickerings and bloodshed.
Thus they continued, until it finally happened
in the new, as it hath always happened in the
old world, that the “wise white-man” gained a final
ascendency, and transmitted it to his posterity.

About the period to which our history has
now brought us, there existed considerable misunderstanding
between the Heer Piper and the
neighbouring tribes. A mill had been built
near the mouth of the little river, which being
dammed across, the shad and herrings, which
formed the principal portion of their food at this
season, could no longer ascend the stream into
the interior of the country, where the Indians
came in the spring to fish. The Indians had
likewise drank up the liquor, expended the
powder, and worn out the watch-coats they had

received for a large territory they had sold to
the Swedish government; and, as usual on such
occasions, began to be sick of their bargain.
The Sachems also complained that Dominie
Kanttwell had been tampering with some of
their people, and, in attempting to teach them
to be good christians, had only taught them to
drink rum, and made them bad Indians.

On the other hand, the Heer Piper charged
them with trespassing on the rights of his
Swedish Majesty, by hunting on the lands ceded
by them in fair purchase. He also hinted his
suspicions of a design on their part to
surprise the town of Elsingburgh, which
suspicion he founded upon some mysterious
hints of the Snow Ball, who of late had given
vent to certain inexplicable obscurities. Dominie
Kanttwell, too, was horribly out of humour, in
consequence of having been sorely puzzled in
argument, not long since, by a sly old Sachem
whom he attempted to convert to what he assured
him was the only true faith. The old
Sachem listened till he had done, it being their
custom never to interrupt any person in speaking,
and then replied with great gravity:—

“Brother, you say your religion is the only
true religion in the world. Good. I have been

in Canada, and there they told me theirs was
the only true religion. Good. I have been at
Boston, where they assured me the religion of
the people of Canada was the religion of the
bad spirit, and that theirs was the only true
one. Good. I have been at the Manhattans,
where they called the white people of Boston
bad people, and said they had no religion. Good.
I have been at Coaquanock, among the Big
Hats, and they told me the religion of the Manhattans
was not the right sort. Good. I am
here, and you say, brother, ours is the only good
religion, and you must believe like me. Good.
But brother, which am I to believe? You say,
all of you, that the good book out of which you
preach is what you all take for your guide,
and that it is written by the Great Spirit himself,
yet you all differ among yourselves. Now,
brother, hear what I have got to say. As soon
as you shall agree among yourselves which is
the true religion, I shall think of joining you,
Good.”

To explain these apparent contradictions to
the capacity of a man of nature, was out of the
question. Indians cannot comprehend metaphysical
subtilties, and the religion calculated for a
state of society like theirs, must be composed

of the most simple elements. However this may
be, the Dominie resented the obstinacy of the
old Sachem, and actually talked of converting
the savages with fire and sword. The Heer,
however, preferred calling a conference with
some of the Chiefs, who were accordingly summoned
to meet the Representative of the Swedish
Majesty, at a spot about four miles from Elsingburg,
on the bank of the little river to which
we have so often alluded in the course of this
history.

The place selected for this meeting was a little
flat in a curve of the river, which was here
about twenty yards wide, clothed with majestic
elms and sycamores, standing at various distances
from each other, and without any underwood.
The greensward extended to the edge of the
stream on one side, and on the other rose a lofty
barrier of rocks, clothed with gray mosses, and
laurel bushes, now just exhibiting their pale pink
blossoms. The precipice was crowned, at its
summit, with a primeval growth of lofty oaks
that waved their broad arms beyond the rocks,
and partly overshadowed the stream, which, a
little onward, wound between two high hills and
disappeared.

To this sequestered spot came the Heer Piper,

accompanied by the Long Finne, Dominie
Kanttwell, the trusty Counsellors of Elsingburg,
together with divers men, women, and children,
drawn thither by curiosity, and whom the trusty
and indefatigable Lob Dotterel kept in order,
by dint of making more noise than all the rest.
Here, too, came ten or a dozen of the monarchs
of the new world, whose names and titles, translated
into English, equal those of the most lofty
and legitimate kings of the east. There came
the Big Buffalo, the Little Duck Legs, the Sharp
Faced Bear, the Walking Shadow, the Rolling
Thunder, the Iron Cloud, the Jumping Sturgeon,
the Belly Ach, and the Doctor, all legitimate
sovereigns, with copper rings in their noses,
blanket robes of state, and painted faces. These
were accompanied by a train of inferior chiefs
and warriors, who seated themselves in silence,
in a half circle, on one side of the little plain.
On the right of these sat the kings, their bodies
bent forward in a posture to listen, and their
blankets drawn closely around their shoulders,
which, when occasionally opened, disclosed the
deadly tomahawk and scalping knife.

On the opposite side, upon a little natural
platform, was placed a bench, or tribune, for
the Heer Piper and his suite. The Heer on this

occasion was dressed in his uniform as a
Swedish officer, which he wore under the Great
Gustavus, and had on a sword, given him, as he
affirmed, by that Bulwark of the Protestant Faith,
as a reward for certain great services, which
Governor Piper declined to enumerate, except on
new-year's eve, and other remarkable epochs.
The Rolling Thunder produced a long pipe,
ornamented with died horse hair, porcupine's
quills variously coloured, and many enormous
devices. Having lighted it, he took a whiff or
two, handed it to the next, and thus it passed
completely round the circle, till both white-men
and red-men had partaken in the
solemn rite of peace. The Rolling Thunder
then bowed gracefully to the Heer, and waved
his hand in token that they were ready to hear
him. Governor Piper rose, and his speech was
from time to time translated by an interpreter.

“Delawares, Minks, Mingoes, Muskrats,
and Mud Turtles, listen!” said the Heer,
feeling all the dignity of his situation as the
representative of a king, addressing an assemblage
of kings.

“You have behaved badly of late; you have
sold lands, and taken them back again, after

you had shot away your powder, emptied your
tobacco boxes, and drank your rum.

“Delawares, Minks, Mingoes, Muskrats
and Mud Turtles, listen!

“You grow worse every day, notwithstanding
the trouble we take to make you better;
you get drunk and fight each other with knives,
instead of embracing like brothers. This is
wicked, and the Great Spirit will punish you.
Before many moons are passed away, people
will ask what has become of the Delawares, the
Mingoes, and the rest of the red-men? and the
answer shall be, they have been consumed in
liquid fires.

“Delawares, Minks, Mingoes, Muskrats and
Mud Turtles, listen!

“You have refused to hear those whom I sent
amongst you, to teach you the worship of the
true Great Spirit, who is angry with you, and has
sent the small-pox to punish your obstinacy.
You have hunted on the white-man's ground,
and broke down the dam I caused to be built
across the river, that we might grind our corn,
and saw boards to build our houses. These are
some of the things I wished to talk to you about.
The Great Spirit, I tell you, is angry, and your
great father, across the big lake yonder, will

take vengeance. Let me hear what you have
to say.”

The red kings heard this harangue in dead
silence, and waited a little while to see if the
Heer had done speaking. The Rolling Thunder
then rose, and, throwing back his blanket, so as to
bare his shoulder and red right arm, spoke as
follows, beginning in a low tone, and gradually
becoming more loud and animated:—

“Long Knife! The strong liquor was first
brought among us by the Dutch, who sold it to
us, and then told us we must not drink it; they
knew it was for our hurt, yet they tempted us to
buy it.

“Long Knife! The next people that came
among us was the English, who likewise sold us
strong liquors, which they blamed us afterwards
for drinking. The next that came were the
Swedes, your people, and they too sold us
strong drinks. All of you knew they were
hurtful to us, and that if you let us have them,
we would drink them, and become mad. We
drink, abuse one another, and throw each other
into the fire. Six score and ten of our people
have been killed by their own brothers, in these
mad fits of drinking. Who is to blame for
this?

“Long Knife! You say, that after we have
made away with the price of our lands we come
there and hunt on them as if they were our
own. We sold you the land, and the trees upon
it, but we did not sell the fowls of the air, and
the beasts of the forest. These belong to those
who have courage and skill to catch them.
The Long Knives don't know how to hunt any
more than women. You say, too, that we have
destroyed the dam which you made across the
river to grind your corn. This spring, when
we were looking out for the fish to come up the
river as they used to do, none came, and our
women and children were near starving. We
came down to see what was the matter, and
found the fish could not get up your dam, so we
destroyed it. You tell us that men should do
as they would be done by. Why then did you
deprive us of fish, that you might grind your
corn?

“Long Knife! We have listened to the Dominie's
talks, and tried to understand them, but
we cannot. The Great Spirit has given the
red-men one mind, and the white-men another.
When you bargain with us for three beaver skins,
you will not take one for three; yet you want
us to believe that three Great Spirits make but

one Great Spirit. We can't understand this.
Is that our fault?

“Long Knife! You say we grow worse and
worse every day, and that the Great Spirit will,
in his anger, sweep us from the face of the earth.
We know this, for already our numbers are
growing less and less every day. The white-man
is the fire which is lighted in the woods,
and burns up the leaves, and kills the tall trees
of the forest. We shall perish, or be driven before
it, till we come to where the sun sets in the
great salt lake of the West, and when we can
go no further, there will soon be an end of our
race. If such is the will of the Great Spirit, we
cannot help it; if it is not his will, you cannot
make it so.

“Long Knife! I have answered you: now,
hear me. You came here as strangers, but few
in number, and asked us for a little piece of land
for a garden—we gave it you. By and by,
you asked for more, and it was given. When we
were tired of giving, you purchased of us great
tracts of country for tobacco boxes and rum.
The tobacco boxes and rum are gone, and you
have the land. Is it any wonder that we
are angry at being made fools of, and wish to
have our lands back again? Every day the

white-man comes, and pushes the Indian farther
and farther back into the woods, where there are
neither fish nor oysters to eat. Is it any wonder
that, when we are hungry, we fall into bad
humours and hate the white-men? The Dominie
tells us that you have a right to our country,
because we don't make fences, plough up the
ground, and grow rich and happy, like your people,
in their own country. If they were so happy
at home, I don't see why they came here.

“Long Knife! We would like to be friends
with you, but you are a bad people; you have
two faces, two hearts, and two tongues; you
tell us one thing, and you do another: a red-man
never lies, except when you have made him
drunk; what he says, he will do; he never crosses
his track. You came here as friends, but you
have been our worst enemies; you brought
us strong drink, small-pox and lies: go home
again, and take these all back with you. We
would, if possible, be as we once were, before
you came amongst us. Go! leave us to our
woods, our waters, our ancient customs, and our
ancient gods. If the Great Spirit wishes us to
plough the land, sell rum, and become Christians,
he can do it. But the means you take will
only bring these things about, when there

will be nothing left of the red-men but their
name, and their graves.”

When the Rolling Thunder ceased, Dominie
Kanttwell arose and made a speech, which,
however zealous and well meant, only served to
exasperate the red kings. He treated their ancient
belief with scorn; insulted their feelings
of national pride; scoffed at their modes of
thinking and acting; and drew a mortifying
contrast betwixt the ignorant barbarian roaming
the woods, and the white-man enjoying the
comfort and security of civilized life. The surrounding
Indians began to murmur; then to
gnash their teeth, and finally many of them,
starting up, seized their tomakawks, and uttered
the war-whoop. The Heer and his party were
now in imminent danger of falling victims to the
fury of the moment. But the Rolling Thunder
arose, and, waving his hand for silence, spoke as
follows:—

“Red-men!—hear me! The Long Knives
came here in peace, so let them depart. Let
us not imitate their treachery, by taking advantage
of their confidence to destroy them. Behold!
I here extinguish the pipe of peace; I
break the belt of wampum, that was the symbol
of our being friends, and dig up the buried

tomahawk. We are friends no more. Long
Knife, go hence in peace to day, but to-morrow
count the red-men thy mortal foes. Before
another moon is past, look to see me again.”
He then bared his arm, and, drawing his knife,
stuck it into the fleshy part. The blood spouted
forth, as he exclaimed, “For every drop that
now falls to the ground there shall be counted
one, two, three, ay, four victims, from the nest
of the serpent.”

The red kings then slowly moved off, followed
by their people, who gradually disappeared,
yelling the war-whoop, and chanting
bloody songs, till at length their voices died
away in the recesses of the forest. The alarmed
and irritated Heer muttered to himself “Verflucht
und verdamt sey deine schwarze seele,”
and, together with his train, returned gloomy
and dissatisfied to his village of Elsingburgh.

3. CHAPTER III.

Like the old war-horse, when he snuffs the
scent of war, and hears the shrill fife, the braying
trumpet, and the thrilling drum, the Heer Piper
now felt the spirit of the ancient follower of the
great Gustavus reviving within him, even as
the snuff of an expiring lamp or candle; the latter
being rather the most savoury comparison.
He inspected his palisades, scoured his pattereroes,
victualled his garrison, and exercised
the villagers in practising the deadly rifle.
Every day he invested himself in his cocked hat,
invincible sword, and tarnished regimentals,
and strutted about with a countenance so full of
undaunted valour, that the very women and
little children slept soundly every night, save
when a troop of howling wolves approached the
village under cover of darkness, and waked them

with the apprehension of an attack of the Indians,
led on by the Rolling Thunder himself,
whose very name was enough to alarm a whole
regiment of militia.

One of the most provoking things which
mortal man encounters in this spiteful world, is
that of taking a vast deal of trouble to provide
against a danger which never arrives. Yet
nothing is more common than to see people
laying up treasures they never live to enjoy;
providing against exigencies that never happen;
and sacrificing present ease, pleasure, and enjoyment,
only to guard against the wants of a
period that they never live to see.

It would almost seem that fate delights to
mortify the pride of human wisdom, by exhibiting
daily examples, how often the most watchful
prudence is either idly employed in guarding
against evils that never come, or in vainly attempting
to evade the consequences of those that do;
while, on the other hand, the most daring disregard
to calculations of the future is often coupled with
the most prosperous success. We would give that
world of fancy, which is the only world to which
we heroes of the quill can lay any positive claim,
to be able to decide the question betwixt the
relative prospects of a person of extraordinary

prudence, and no prudence at all. Possibly,
however, the course of our history may throw
some light upon this matter.

More than a fortnight elapsed, amid the din of
preparation, and the vigilance of watchful alarm,
without any appearance of the Rolling Thunder
and his painted warriors. Every day the Heer
talked and strutted more loftily than the day
before, and boasted more confidently of the
sound drubbing he would give these galgen
schievenkels, if they dared to attack his fortress
of Elsingburgh. But, alas! that man should
always be passing from one extreme to another,
from the fearfulness of apprehension, to the foolhardihood
of unbounded carelessness. Finding
the Indians did not come as soon as he expected
them, the good Heer at length persuaded himself
they would not come at all, though he ought to
have known that the race of the red-men never forget
either a benefit or an injury. He accordingly
remitted his vigilance by degrees, and put his
fortress upon the peace establishment, in spite of
the singular and mysterious warnings of the
Frizzled Head. That declamatory oddity was
now more vehement in her incomprehensible
denunciations, never meeting the Heer without
uttering some dismal raven's note.

“Sleep on, till thou wakest no more,” cried
she; “dream till thy dreamings end in waking
woes; and believe that what is not will never
be.”

“What meanest thou, thou eternal mill-clapper?”
would the Heer reply; “away with thee,
and either speak what thou knowest, or hold thy
tongue. What knowest thou? der teufel hole
dich.”

“I know what I know—I could tell what I
will not tell—I could save those I love, at the
risk of losing those that I love still better.”

“Confound thee for a muddle-pated, crack-brained
Snow Ball,” quoth the Heer; while Bombie
of the Frizzled Head would go in search of
that likely fellow Cupid, her grandson, who every
day became more moody and ungovernable, and
now spent more than half his time wandering about
with his dog in the woods. These two were observed
to have frequent conferences together, in
which Bombie sometimes seemed greatly agitated;
but the subject of their discussions was not
known, as they excited little interest.

Whitsuntide came, and with it a hundred rural
sports, and sprightly merry-makings. The buxom
lasses, with gayest gear, and cheeks redder
than the rose, accompanied by many a rustical

and barbarous Corydon, hied forth to the
woods, in search of Pinckster apples, or to play
at hide-and-seek among the blossoms. The boys,
and lads who were yet too young to think of
sweethearts, were gathered together in a large
level common, just without the village, pursuing
such various sports as inclination led them to
prefer. In one place, a party of lusty lads were
playing at ball, having for audience some half
a dozen black fellows, who applauded with obstreperous
admiration any capital stroke or feat
in running. Elsewhere, a party not quite old
enough to be admitted among the others, were
amusing themselves in pairs, by striking their
respective balls from one to the other. A third
set were shooting marbles; a fourth firing little
lead cannons; a fifth setting off ascotches, as they
are 'yclept in boyish parlance; a sixth was playing
at chuck-farthing, with old buttons without
eyes; a seventh rolling in the dirt; and an eighth,
making dirt pies. In short, there was no end to
the diversity of sports; it was holyday, and all
were happy as noise and freedom could make
them.

The only drawback upon the pleasures of
these merry and noisy wights, was the presence
of that busybody Lob Dotterel, the high constable

of Elsingburgh, who never saw a knot of
people, great or small, making merry together,
that he was not in the thickest of them, making
mischief and raising sport, by what he was
pleased to denominate keeping the peace. We
should have mentioned before, that among the
plans adopted by the Heer and his trusty counsellors
for improving the police of Elsingburgh,
was that of passing laws for the prevention of
various amusements, which children have practised
from time immemorial, and which are as
much their right, as any of the immunities which
men enjoy under the common law. If Lob
Dotterel, who was always on the look-out,
brought information that a horse had thrown
his rider in consequence of being frightened by
a paper kite, a law was forthwith enacted to
forbid that dangerous and unlawful practice;
if an old woman chanced to have her petticoat
singed by the explosion of an ascotch, an ordinance
was straightway fulminated against these
pestilent fireworks; and so on till the urchins of
the village were gradually so hemmed in by laws,
that, if they had paid any attention to these enactments,
the little rogues would hardly have had an
amusement or a play that was not unlawful.
Like many modern legislators of the present
time, a single fact was sufficient ground for
passing half a dozen great wordy laws, which,
after all, nobody obeyed. These, for the most
part, lay dormant, like a great spider in the
recesses of his web, until the zeal of some
Lob Dotterel would sally out upon some little
buzzing fly of a boy, who had chanced to get
entangled in their mazes.

It was amazing to see the bustling activity of
Lob, on this occasion of the sports of Whitsuntide.
If two little fellows happened to fall out
in playing at marbles, or chuck-farthing, and
proceeded to settle the dispute, by an appeal to
the law of nature; or if a hubbub was raised in
any part of the field, that indefatigable officer
dashed in among them; and wherever he came,
there was an awful silence, till he was called
to some other quarter, to quell another riot,
when his departure was announced by a renewal
of the fight and noise. Never was poor man
in such a worry; and never did poor man get
so little for his pains, as Lob Dotterel,
who might be said to be in the predicament
of certain great conquerors, or rather, of certain
legitimate monarchs, of the present day, who,
the moment they have quelled an insurrection
in one part of their territories, are straightway

called to another for the like purpose. Various
were the tricks put upon the High Constable.
At one time, they pinned a dishclout to
the bottom of his coat, with which he marched
about for a time, unknowing of this appendage
to his dignity; at another, they exploded an
ascotch under his tail; and at a third, they
pelted him behind his back with a shower of
dirt and missiles of various kinds. It was in
vain that he turned round to punish the delinquent,
for at the instant, the fry dispersed
like a flock of birds, and others attacked his
rear with some new annoyance. Never man
in authority was so baited and worried in the
exercise of his office as Lob Dotterel, who
finally quitted the field, disgusted with official
dignity, leaving the small fry of Elsingburgh
to play at ball, shoot marbles, fly kites,
chuck farthings, roll in the dirt, and fight
rough and tumble, uninterrupted, all day long.

Towards sunset, the Heer, who had a certain
mellowness about him that caused his heart to
curvet and caper at the sight of human
happiness, came out with honest Ludwig Varlett,
who sympathised in such sports as these, to
renovate his age with a sight of the lusty gambols.
While thus employed, he was assailed by

the Frizzled Head, who hovered near him, and
poured forth a more than usual quantity of incomprehensibilities.
Sometimes she addressed
the Heer, and at others, turning towards the
sportive groups, she would apostrophize them in
seeming abstraction.

“Yes,” muttered she, “yes, sport away, ye
grasshoppers, that die dancing and singing! The
cricket chirps in the hearth when the house is on
fire; the insect sports in the noonday sun, and
dreams not of the coming midnight frost that
lays him stiff and cold.”

Then, turning to the Governor, she would exclaim,
with earnest energy—

“Heer! Heer!—Thou seest the sun going
down yonder in the west; take heed lest you never
see it rise again. Remember that danger
comes like a thief in the night, and that the perils
of sleep are greater than those of waking.
To-morrow—who knows which of us shall see
to-morrow?—to-morrow we may be, like yesterday,
a portion of eternity. Remember, and despise
not thy last warning!”

The sun went down; the chilly dews damped
the grass and the hilarity of the sportful groups,
that gradually broke away and returned to the
village.

All that evening Bombie seemed to hover
about her master, as if impelled by some inscrutable
impulse, and seeming to wish to say what
she dared not utter.

“Der teufel hole dich,” said the Heer at last;
“What wouldst thou? I believe thou hast swallowed
too much liquor, and art drunk.”

“The spirit moves me,” she slowly replied,
“but it is not that spirit which is the curse of
our race and thine.”

“Then let it move thee to talk so as to be understood;
say out, or say nothing, thou croaking
raven.”

“Yes—I am the raven whose notes forebode
and forewarn: when the raven croaks, let the
mortal at whose windows he flutters beware;
when Bombie croaks, do thou too beware, Heer.”

“Of what?”

“Of—I cannot tell. To save the blood of those
who have been kind to me, at least sometimes, I
should shed blood that runs in the veins of
the only being that claims kindred with me in
this wide world. Heer, I have warned thee,
farewell. When thou hearest the murderous yell,
the dying shriek, the shout of triumph, and the
crackling flames, blame not me.—Farewell!

So saying, she slowly retired, and he saw her

no more. The Heer pondered for a moment on
her strange warnings; but he had been so accustomed
to her wild and wayward talk, that the
impression soon passed away. He retired to
rest, and was soon in his usual profound sleep,
the result of good health and a good conscience.

4. CHAPTER IV.

Night, that gives to the honest man rest, and
rouses the rogue, the wolf, and the owl, to their
predatory labours, now held her quiet sway
over the peaceful inhabitants of the village.
The vigilant sentinels, whose turn it was to
watch at the gates of the palisades which surrounded
the place, were fast asleep at their
posts, like their legitimate successors, the trusty
watchmen of New-York and Philadelphia; and
nothing disturbed the repose of midnight but the
barkings of some sleepless curs, baying each
other from afar. Not a soul was awake in the
village save the mysterious Frizzled Head, who
wandered about from the kitchen to the hall, and
back again, muttering, and mumbling her incomprehensible,
disjointed talk. Suddenly she

stopped before the great clock, and, contemplating
it for a moment, exclaimed, “The hour
is almost come. Now is the time, or never.
I may yet save my master and his child without
betraying my own blood.”

So saying, she hobbled up to the chamber of
the Long Finne, and, shaking him till he awoke,
exclaimed, “Arise, Koningsmarke; the wolves
are approaching. Awake, or thy sleep will last
for ever.”

“What of the wolves?” answered he, rubbing
his eyes; “are they abroad to night near the
village?”

“Yes, the wolves that carry the tomahawk
and scalping knife, that devour not the innocent
lambs, but drink the blood of thy race. Ere
half an hour is passed away you will hear the
Rolling Thunder rattling, not in the clouds, but
at thy door. Quick, arm thyself, and awaken
the people that sleep on the brink of the grave.
Be quick, I say; the Indians are out to-night.”

Koningsmarke dressed himself hastily, seized
a sword and a rifle, and sallied forth to alarm
the village; while Bombie went and roused the
Heer, who bestowed upon her his benediction,
for thus disturbing his slumbers. When, however,
he was assured by the Frizzled Head, who

for once condescended to be explicit, that the
savages were abroad, he hastily dressed himself
in his cocked-hat and rusty regimentals, girded
on his sword, and hastened to perform the
duties of his station. But ere half the men of
the village were dressed, the great clock in the
palace hall struck twelve, and at that moment
a horrible yell that rose from every quarter,
announced that the place was surrounded by the
savage warriors. That yell, which the adventurous
founders of the new world were, alas!
too well accustomed to hear, roused all but the
dead, and in a little time, women and children
were running about, wailing and shrieking in
all directions. All now was confusion, noise and
horror; yet still the hardy spirits of the villagers
did not yield to despair. Every man waited at
his post, and even the women and children
stood ready to load the guns, and hand them to
their brave defenders.

The little village of Elsingburgh was built
close to the river, so that one part of the entrenchment,
which consisted of thick palisades,
about fourteen feet high, with loop-holes at
equal distances for firing upon assailants, and
strongly fastened to two rows of beams in the
inner side, with locust treenails, was immersed

in the water four or five feet at high tides.
Here the fishing boats belonging to the villagers
were drawn in every night, to secure them
against theft, or injury from any quarter. This
side of the village being in some degree protected
by the river, the Indians bent all their
efforts to set fire to the palisades, and force the
gate, which looked towards the country.

Led on by the Rolling Thunder, the Indians
assailed the gate, where fought the valiant Heer,
seconded by Koningsmarke, and others of the
stoutest of his people, with all the arts with
which their limited modes of warfare furnished
them. They essayed to set the gate on fire, by
piling dry brush and wood against the outside;
but the women and children brought water,
which was handed to those who ventured upon
the upper beams we have described, who
threw it upon the flames, and extinguished
them from time to time. Several times did
the fire catch to the dry palisades, and as
often was it put out, by the unremitting exertions
of those inside. The valiant Elsingburghers
kept up an incessant fire through the loop-holes;
but the obscurity of the night prevented their
taking deadly aim, although now and then a
yell announced that a shot had taken effect.

Baffled in their attempts to fire the palisades,
the savages now brought large stones, and,
piling them up against the outside, attempted
from thence to climb to the top, and thus jump
into the area within. But the marksmen were
on the watch, and the moment of the appearance
of a head above the palisades, was the signal
of death to the assailant. The Indians have
little perseverance in war, and soon become discouraged
by resistance. Their efforts now
began to flag; when, all at once, an explosion
from the little magazine where the powder was
deposited, announced to the horror struck
villagers, that their great means of defence was
annihilated in one instant. A groan from
within, and a shout from without the defences,
announced the despair of the white-men, and
the triumph of the savages.

The gallant Heer, perceiving now that all
was lost, and that the daylight, that was now just
peering in the east, would witness the massacre
of himself, his daughter, and his people, motioned
to Koningsmarke to go and open the gate
towards the river, prepare the boats, and embark
the women and children, with all possible speed,
while he himself attempted still to make good
the defence of the western gate. With silent

celerity these orders were obeyed, and Koningsmarke
returned in a few minutes, to say that all
was ready. “Go now,” said the Long Finne,
“while Ludwig Varlett, Lob Dotterel and I,
make a stand here, until you are safe.” “Der
teufel,” quoth the Heer, “go thou—I must be
the last man that deserts his post;—away.”
“Nay,” said the other, “you are old, and
cannot run like us; remember thy daughter,
thy only daughter. If thou shouldst perish,
who will protect her?” “Thou,” said the
Heer; “remember, if any thing happens to me,
I leave her as my dying legacy. Farewell;
we must lose no more time in disputing who
shall go. When you hear a gun, come speedily.”

The Heer and the rest now hastily pursued
their way towards the boats, leaving Koningsmarke
with his two companions, to make a last
stand, for the safety of their poor villagers.
The gate was now in a blaze, and, being battered
with large stones, as well as weakened by
the fire, began to break and totter fearfully,
when the signal was fired. At that moment the
gate fell inward. The Indians gave a shout, and
waited half a minute to let the burning cinders
disperse. That half minute enabled Koningsmarke
and his companions to gain a decisive

advantage. They fled, pursued by some of
the foremost savages, one of whom seized the
queue of Lob Dotterel, who luckily wore a wig,
which he left in the hands of the astonished warrior
as a trophy. The three fugitives jumped
into the boat, where was the fair Christina and
some two or three women and children, and
pushed it off after the others, which had drawn
off to some distance. A tall Indian rushed into
the water after the last boat, and seized hold
of the gunwale with his left hand, grasping his
tomahawk in his right. Koningsmarke hastened
to the bow with his sword, and with a
well-aimed blow cut off the hand that detained
the boat. The savage then seized her by the
other, which was cut off at the same instant by
Koningsmarke. The Indian yelled with rage
and fury, and, as the last effort of despair, seized
by the side of the boat with his teeth, where he
maintained his hold, till his head was severed
from his body, and he fell dead into the blooddyed
waters.

But his efforts were fatal to the party in the
boat, by enabling several other Indians to rush
into the river and seize her at various points.
“Make no further resistance, and your lives
will be spared; fight, and you die,” exclaimed

the voice of the Frizzled Head from the shore.
Christina, in this moment of terror, threw her
white arms around Koningsmarke, and conjured
him to listen to the warning. Reluctantly he
yielded; the boat was drawn ashore, and the
party made prisoners by the Indians, among
whom appeared that likely fellow Cupid, who
was now seen for the first time, during the
whole of this eventful night. Bombie kissed
the hand of her young mistress, while the tears
rolled down her withered cheeks, and, turning
to the Long Finne, exclaimed with solemn
earnestness, “The lamb is committed to thee as
its shepherd; prove not a wolf to devour it,
but watch by day and by night; let not thine
eye wink, or thine ear close for a moment, but
watch, watch, watch, like the stars that never
sleep. Be faithful, and the spirit of the sainted
mother may yet forgive the preserver of the
daughter.” Koningsmarke placed his hand on
his heart, lifted his eyes to heaven, and then
bowing to the earth, replied in a low voice, “So
help me God.”

Scarce had the boats which held the fugitives
of Elsingburgh rowed out of the reach of the
savages, when a cloud of smoke rose on the bosom
of the night, succeeded by an hundred

rising wreaths of fire, that announced the swift
destruction of the homes of the poor villagers.
They sat in their boats, weeping and wringing
their hands, as one by one the roofs fell in, and
the blazing cinders flew aloft in showers of glittering
atoms.

The good Heer, who was unconscious that a
still heavier calamity had fallen on his aged head,
viewed with silent sorrow the destruction of his
little nestling place, which, in his hours of proud
anticipation, he had pictured as the future
capital of a vast empire, of which he would be
hailed as the founder. When nothing remained
of the village but the ruins, a wild,
shrill whoop announced the triumph and departure
of the savages, who, just before the rising
of the sun, set forth, with exulting hearts, for
their forest homes.

As the day advanced, the fugitives ventured
to approach the place where their dwellings
once stood. Slowly and cautiously they
neared the shore, and, perceiving no traces of
the Indians, ventured to land among the smoking
ruins. Nothing remained of their homes but
their ashes, and, like the Israelites, they only returned
to weep. Each had suffered in common
with the others, and while some uttered loud

exclamations of grief, others stood stupified with
overwhelming despair.

But the unfortunate Heer, on discovering, for
the first time, when they came to the shore, that
his daughter was missing, was like one distracted.
He ran about in an agony of sorrow,
blaming every body, accusing every one of
negligence, and himself most of all. Striking
his wrinkled forehead, he cried out—“My
daughter! Oh, my daughter! my only, my
beloved child, where art thou now? Alas!
thy bones are now whitening in these smoking
ashes; or thou art a wretched captive among
cruel savages, who will not spare a hair of thine
innocent head. And Koningsmarke too! they
have perished together, and would to God I had
died with them.”

“they are not dead,” cried a voice, which
announced the presence of the Frizzled Head;
“they are not dead; they are carried into
captivity, and one day thou mayest perhaps see
thy daughter again.”

“I shall die,” replied the Heer, “before she
comes back to me;” and he tore his gray hairs, and
would not be comforted, although aunt Edith
assured him it was the Lord's doing, and therefore
it was sinful to repine.

“Alas!” said the sorrowing parent, “the
same being gave me an only daughter, and a
father's heart to love her. It cannot be a sin to
weep the loss of what he gave me.” Aunt
Edith called this blasphemy, and began to
lecture him upon the wickedness of permitting
poor Christina to dance and sing. But he heard
her not—he stood half bent in the stupor of overwhelming
grief, the image of withered, woful
despair.

But that salutary necessity for exertion which
was given to man, not as a punishment, but a
solace and an eventual cure for calamity, did
not permit the poor houseless villagers to indulge
in the idleness of grief. Without food
and shelter, and almost out of the reach of those
kindly offices of good neighbourhood, which, in
more thickly settled countries, soon help to repair
the sudden calamities of life, they must depend
on their own resources to supply their
wants. Accordingly, like the indefatigable hornets,
who, when their nest is demolished by
schoolboys, straightway set about rebuilding it
again, our villagers began preparing some temporary
shelter. They erected bowers of the
branches of trees, and made their beds of leaves.
Some employed themselves in fishing, others in

hunting, and all were busy even unto the Dominie,
who went about comforting the people with
the assurance that the burning of the village and
the loss of their friends was a judgment upon
them for the unseemly sports they had permitted
their children to indulge in at Whitsuntide.
But it was observed, that those who most strenuously
supported this doctrine when the judgments
fell upon their neighbours, found it rather
unpalatable, now that they themselves shared
in the calamity.

Perceiving this to be the case, Dominie Kanttwell
talked about turning misfortunes into blessings;
the privations of the body to the fattening
of the spirit, and the calamities of this
world into rejoicings. The saints of old, he
told them, fasted whole days, nay, sometimes
weeks, in voluntary penance; and were accustomed
to sleep in the woods or open fields, only
to mortify the sinful lusts of the flesh. But for
all this, the Dominie's house was the first that
was rebuilt; the Dominie had always the fattest
fish, and the choicest piece of venison; and
before the village was half rebuilt, aunt Edith
went round with a subscription to purchase him
a new gown, and a silver watch, that he might
know when it was time to go to meetings.

The day but one after the burning of the village,
the Heer and his people were surprised by
a visit from his old enemy, Shadrach Moneypenny,
accompanied by a good number of Big
Hats, in boats, bringing with them a supply of
food, boards, timber, and other necessaries, together
with mechanics to assist them in rebuilding
their houses. All these were sent by the
good William Penn, who, hearing of their calamity,
had opened—no, his heart was always
open—had sent them this timely relief. Shadrach
was not quite so dry and stiff as at his former
visit, and when he appeared in the Heer's presence,
paid that respect to his misfortunes
which he had refused to his prosperity, by coming
as near to making a bow as his canons of
courtesy would permit.

“Friend Piper,” quoth Shadrach, and the
term friend, which had formerly sounded so uncouth,
was now grateful to the ear of the broken
down parent—“Friend Piper, I come from thy
neighbour William Penn, who hath heard of thy
misfortune, and sent thee the little he can spare
for the relief of thy people.”

“But I cannot pay for these things, and thy
people are said to expect payment for every
thing.”

“Friend Piper,” replied Shadrach, “it may
be that when our people make bargains in the
way of business, they are earnest for payment;
but when they administer to the sufferings, or
contribute to relieve the calamities of their fellow
creatures, they expect not to be repaid in
this world. William Penn freely bestows upon
thee what I have brought; and moreover, bids
me tell thee he will send to the Indians, by the
first opportunity, to seek, and, if possible, recover
thy lost child.”

The ancient prejudices of the Heer against
his peaceable neighbours of Coaquanock now
rushed to his heart, and were there buried for
ever in a flood of gratitude. The mention of
his daughter, combined with the generous gifts
and never broken promises of William Penn,
overpowered the old father, and he wept aloud.
When his emotions had somewhat subsided, he
took Shadrach's hand and said, “Friend, I
cannot thank thee.” “There is no need, friend
Piper. All that William Penn asks of thee, is
that thou wilt believe that men were not made,
like the beasts of the forest, only to shed each
other's blood.” The Heer stood corrected, for
he remembered the sneers he had thrown out

against his peaceable neighbours, the Big Hats
of Coaquanock.

Aided by the good people of Coaquanock,
whom the spirit moved to second zealously the
exertions of those of Elsingburgh, that village
was renewed, and swarmed again like a bee-hive.
The Heer and his people long retained a grateful
recollection of the kindness of the good
William Penn, with the exception, however, of
the Dominie and aunt Edith, who were accustomed
to flout all good works, and to despise
the kind offices of all, save those whom they were
pleased to demominate the elect.