University of Virginia Library

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.