University of Virginia Library

8. BOOK EIGHTH.

1. CHAPTER I.

It hath been aptly and truly said, that “there
is reason in the roasting of an egg.” But, assuredly,
if the roasting of an egg to please every
palate requires great discretion, the boiling
of one is a matter of much more difficult attainment.
Some people like their eggs as hard as a
bullet, in defiance of that mortal foe to good
eating, erewhile known by the name of the
spleen, afterwards christened bile, and now of
universal acceptation, as the dyspepsia. Others
will have their eggs raw, or so nearly raw, as to
puzzle human reason to decide whether they
are raw or boiled. A third party, who may be
denominated tertium quids, prefer them half
boiled, and so on, through every gradation,
from one extreme to the other.

It is astonishing, what a number of families

there are, both in the old and new world, whose
peace almost entirely depends on the judicious
boiling of those oddities, which, from the first
cackling of the hen to their being served up at
the breakfast table, or hatched into chickens,
seem destined to give great trouble to the fair
sex. Certain it is, that the boiling of eggs is
a matter of great moment to the peace of society
and the happiness of mankind. We have
seen a lord of the creation put out of humour
for a whole day, because his egg had been kept
ten seconds too long in the skillet. Nay, we
have more than once beheld a lively, good-humoured
Frenchman, who was the life of a stage
coach all night long, eat twenty hard boiled eggs in
the morning at breakfast, and grumble all the
while at the cook, the house, and all within it,
except the pretty bar maid.

And here we will observe, that the best possible
test of a gentleman is his behaviour at a
dinner, breakfast, or supper table, in a hotel or
steam-boat. It is there that his pretensions are
put to the touchstone, and that fine clothes fail to
hide from observation the clown that lurks beneath
them. If we find him snatching at every
dish within his reach; filling his plate with fish,
flesh and fowl; eating as if his last, or rather

his first meal were come; and, at the same time,
looking about with eyes as wide open as his
mouth, to see what next to devour—not velvet
cloth coat, dandy pantaloons, or corset dire,
will suffice to place him in the rank of gentlemen.
Were we to express our idea of a well-bred
man in one word, we would say, he was a
gentleman, even in his eating; nor would we
hesitate to place any man in that class, who, being
fond of soft eggs, should be able to eat them
boiled hard, without grumbling. We remember,
for we delight to remember every thing
connected with that gay, good-humoured,
sprightly old gentleman, Deidrich Knickerbocker,
that he always superintended boiling
his eggs himself, by a stop watch, and more
than once came near to scalding his fingers, in
his haste to rescue his favourites from the boiling
element, ere the fatal crisis was passed.

This diversity of taste extends to almost every
enjoyment and luxury of life, more especially
to books, in the composition of which, notwithstanding
so many appearances to the contrary,
we will venture to say, that almost as much
reason is necessary, as in the roasting or
boiling of eggs. Some readers like what are
called hard studies, as some men like hard eggs;

while others luxuriate in raw sentiment, and
melting, drivelling, ropy softness. Some delight
in impossible adventures, and others in
common-place matter of fact. In short, it is
quite unnecessary to insist on what the experience
of all mankind verifies every hour of the
day.

It is in order to accommodate, as far as possible,
every class of readers, that we have endeavoured,
in the course of this work, to do
what we are fully convinced can easily be done,
namely, please all sorts of people, whether lovers
of hard or soft eggs. We mean all those
who are naturally inclined to be pleased with
every thing; which class includes, beyond
doubt, a majority of mankind; for, as to the
critics, and other ill-disposed people, whose
pleasure consists in being displeased, we have
nothing to say to such unreasonable people, except
that whatever faults are incorporated in
this work, were wilfully placed there, for the
sole purpose of affording them the pleasure of
grumbling a little.

Our introductory chapters are intended for
the deepest philosophers, who will find therein
matters of weighty import; our historical details
are for the inveterate lovers of truth; our

love scenes for all whom it may concern; our
gravity for the aged; our jests for the young;
our wisdom is at any body's service that can
find it out; and the sublime declamation of the
Frizzled Head is particularly intended for the
refreshment of ladies and gentlemen of colour,
who, it is presumed, will become ere long sufficiently
enlightened to scold their masters, and
bully their mistresses, into a proper sense of
equality.

2. CHAPTER II.

The interruption to the eloquence of the
Frizzled Head, recorded in the last chapter of
the seventh book of this veracious history,
was, as the reader may recollect, occasioned
by the intrusion of a crowd of the inhabitants
of Elsingburgh, headed by Lob
Dotterel, having in custody that likely fellow,
the goblin Cupid. Lob's hand had been out so
long, that, although by no means an ill-natured
or malicious person, his fingers itched to lay hold
of a culprit of some kind or other. The moment,
therefore, that he resumed the duties of
high constable of Elsingburgh, he began to
look about sharply, and make most diligent inquisition
into the affairs of the village, in order,
if possible, to catch some one tripping. Failing
in this, he bethought himself of certain
boastings of Cupid, during their captivity
among the Indians, from which it appeared,

that this likely youth had not only given information
to the hostile savages, but actually caused,
by his immediate agency, the blowing up
of the magazine, and consequent destruction of
Elsingburgh.

The high constable, stimulated by a longing
desire of labouring once again in his favourite
vocation, perhaps actuated, too, by a consciousness
of the necessity of exposing and punishing
a crime so dangerous to the existence of all the
little communities that were springing up in this
new world, as that of conspiring with the savages,
laid this information before master Wolfgang
Langfanger. Langfanger was at this
time perfectly at leisure to attend to the affair,
having just wrought up the village to a state of
improvement, to which nothing could be added
and nothing taken away, since, in truth, he had
left the good people exceedingly bare of all resources
for either public or private emergencies.
By his direction, Lob Dotterel forthwith summoned
the posse comitatus, and proceeded to
search for the goblin Cupid, whom, it is recorded,
they found most lovingly consorting with his
old friend Grip, who still survived, and discovered
nearly as much sensibility, on this occasion,

as the far-famed dog of Ulysses, from which
honest Grip was very possibly a lineal descendant.

The moment master Lob laid his terrible paw
on the shoulder of the goblin Cupid, in the way
of hostility, did honest Grip take a similar liberty
with the heel of the high constable, which he
continued to hold in his teeth, but without
actually biting through the skin. Lob was no
Achilles, and if he had been, he was, like that
hard-talking hero, at least vulnerable in his heel.
The salutation of Grip was therefore highly obnoxious
to the high constable, who called on the
posse to assist him in the discharge of his functions.
But not one of these worthy citizens had
the least inclination in the world to risk an encounter
with the white tusks of Cupid's guardian
angel, for the public benefit. They therefore
contented themselves with calling off the
dog, who resisted all their coaxing and blandishments,
till one of them bethought himself of
producing a bone. Every dog has his price,
and the fidelity of Grip, sorry we are to record
it, yielded to the irresistible seductions of the
marrow bone. All the excuse we can allege for
this ignominious conduct, is, that poor Grip had
been much neglected in the absence of his
friend Cupid, and that he was now half starved,

But, after all, we fear this circumstance only furnishes
another indication of that downhill course
of every thing in this world, which is so clearly
discerned by every man after he passes the age
of forty, and begins to go down hill himself. It
is then that, like a passenger in a swift-sailing
vessel, while sitting apparently still himself, he
sees every thing else going backwards, though
in reality it is himself that is outstripping
all things, in his progress to the end of his journey.
Be this as it may, the dog seized his bone,
and, retreating to his strong hold under an old
piazza, began to discuss it with such earnestness,
that his old friend Cupid was carried away,
without exciting even a growl of disapprobation.

“Well, master constable,” quoth the Heer, as
Lob entered with Cupid in custody, “what is the
matter now? hast thou been exercising thy
functions already? hast thou caught a sinner,
hey? Take notice, I pardon him outright, for
no one shall date his shame or his punishment
from the day when my child was returned to me
from the wilderness. What bath this boy done?”

Lob Dotterel then proceeded to detail the confession,
or rather boast of the Goblin, that they
might thank him for their captivity, and the
burning of Elsingburgh, as he had not only given

information to the savages of the proper
time for making the attack, but had actually
himself blown up the magazine.

“It is a lie: he never said so, or, if he did, he
bore false witness against himself,” cried the
Frizzled Head, who had discovered great agitation,
from the moment Cupid was brought in by
Lob Dotterel.

“Silence!” exclaimed Lob, with the gravity
of the worthy Rinier Skaats, erewhile crier and
queller of noisy curs and falling shovels and tongs,
in the ancient city hall of Gotham, now levelled,
like the good Rinier himself, with, yea, below the
dust of the earth.

“Silence thou!” retorted Bombie of the
Frizzled Head; “silence! scraper of night cellars,
inquisitor of dungeons, keen-scented hound
of two legs, whose delight is to hunt down,
equally, the guilty who sin wilfully, and the innocent
who cannot defend themselves.”

“Silence! I say,” cried the Heer, in a voice
of unequalled authority; “silence! dost think
there is nobody to talk but yourselves, ye
scum of a kettle of boiled porpoises? If we all
talk at once, I should like to know where the listeners
are to come from, der teufel hole dich.”

“I will not be silent,” quoth the Snow Ball;

“I will speak, Heer, for it is the only right reserved
by our unhappy race. Shall we be trod
under foot, and not turn? Shall we be beaten,
and not curse? Shall we be oppressed,
ground to the earth, abused, insulted, manacled,
enslaved, and not rail? Heer! Heer! the
heart and the tongue cannot be held in fetters;
the one will engender, the other mutter curses
in secret, even as dogs howl to the moon, when
there is nothing else to bay. Beware, beware;
it is but for me to speak out, and the fabric of
thy happiness will crumble to the earth; thou
wilt go down to the grave, not as a happy old
man, beholding his children and his children's
children sporting around his decaying roots,
but like a wretched being, seeking in death, not
immortality, but a refuge from recollections of
the past, that swallow up all fears of the future.
Touch not a hair of that boy's head, or thy own
gray hairs shall assuredly go down to the grave
in anguish and unutterable despair.”

“Had it been any thing but this,” rejoined
the Heer, who, stout-hearted as he was, could
not help feeling, he might not exactly tell how,
at these mysterious denunciations—“had it been
any lesser offence, I would have pardoned it,
and offered up my forgiveness at the shrine of

this happy day. But the crime of this boy is
one that endangers the safety and the lives of
communities and states;—it has cost us our
good town and fort of Elsingburgh, both consumed
in the flames; it has cost us the lives of
our dear and worthy counsellor Ludwig Varlett,
and the poor Claas Tomeson, his wife and
child; and it has cost me months of unutterable
misery. My own sufferings I might forget;
those of my child I might forgive; but, as the
guardian and protector of my people, I must see
justice done upon one who has been the instrument
of destruction to their homes, and of exile
bondage, and tortures, to their friends and neighbours.
As I live, thy grandson shall be tried
to-morrow, if it please God; and if he doth not
clear himself of this heavy charge, so surely as
the morrow comes, he shall be made to feel at
least some part of what he hath made others
feel and suffer. Go thy ways, old woman, and
pray that thy lad may be found innocent, for it
is only his innocence that can shield him now.”

“Innocent!” retorted the Frizzled Head—
“Innocent! Dost thou tell me, Heer, that innocence
is a surety against condemnation and
punishment in this world? I, that have seen the
finger of scorn pointing at an innocent child,

not for its own guilt, but the guilt of its parents
—I, that have seen the strong giant, wickedness,
bestriding the world, and crushing the unoffending
helpless beneath him—I, that have seen
innocent hearts broken asunder, by being made
to bear the burthen and the shame of others'
crimes—I, that have every where beheld the
seeds of good reaped by the wicked, and the
seeds of evil gathered by the virtuous man—I!
—talk to me of my child's innocence being a
shield of protection! Had I not forgot to
laugh, long, many long years ago, I would laugh
in thy face, Heer, though my burthen in this
life is to bear the heavy load of inferiority to the
lowest, the meanest, the vilest of thy race.”

“He shall be tried by the laws of the land,
and adjudged by his neighbours,” quoth the
Heer.

“The laws of the land!” rejoined the Snow
Ball. “Had he any voice in making these laws?
Has he any interest or stake in that society to
which he is held in subjection, and to whose
welfare he is to be sacrificed? Neighbours
say you! He hath no neighbours; they will
sit in judgment upon him, not as beings placed
on a level with a slave, sharing his feelings, his
wrongs, and his resentment. No, Heer, that

which alone gives rise to the sympathy between
man and man, is when he puts himself in the
place of his neighbour, and asks his heart what
he would do, or feel, or suffer, if placed in his
neighbour's situation. But alas! my master,
what sympathy can there ever be betwixt the
freeman and the slave.”

“Go thy ways,” mildly, yet firmly replied
the Heer, waving his hand for her to depart.
“There is some truth in what thou sayest; but
still, I declare to thee, he shall clear himself of
this crime to-morrow, or lay down his life to
expiate it. Go thy ways. I pity thee—but
thou talkest to the winds.”

“Then may thy last petitions on thy death
bed, be howled out to the winds, as I do now!
But it is not alone I and mine that shall suffer;
thou and thine, Heer, will live to rue the hour
when the only being that owns kindred or
fellowship with me in this wide world shall be
made a spectacle and a victim. Before I go, as
I shall surely go, when that hour arrives, I will
lay that on thy heart shall make it bleed or
break; I will pour out a vial of wrath on thy
gray head, and on the innocent head of thy
child, shall blast and scorch them, as the lightning
scorches the earth, so that neither grass,

nor herbage, nor any thing green, ever grows
there again.”

“Let it be so—if it must, it must. I shall do
my duty, let come what will,” quoth the Heer, at
the same time directing that a high court should
be held on the morrow, for the trial of Cupid,
who, in the interim, was entrusted to the care
of Lob Dotterel, to be guarded with all possible
vigilance. The sable lad had all this
while maintained a dogged silence, either trusting
to the overwhelming eloquence of his grandmother,
or actuated by that unconquerable obstinacy,
which is so often a characteristic of his
race, and which in the ignorant is called stupidity—in
the enlightened, philosophy.

The party then dispersed their various ways;
and it may not be beneath the dignity of this history
to record, that the good Heer, who was thus
ready to brave the mysterious denunciations of
Bombie, in order to further the sacred ends of justice,
that night went to bed without his supper,
either because he had no appetite, or, rather,
as we believe, that the Frizzled Head refused
to cook his favourite dish of pepperpot.

3. CHAPTER III.

Betimes the next morning, the trial of the
likely fellow Cupid came on in the High Court
of Elsingburgh; where presided the Heer in person,
assisted by Counsellors Langfanger and
Pfegel, and prompted in the mysteries of that
most mysterious of all sciences, the law, by six
folios of jurisprudence, each one nearly a foot
thick, and containing sufficient matter to confound
half the universe.

The prisoner was brought in by Lob Dotterel,
the gravity of whose deportment would
have done credit to a much greater man than
himself, and whose attention seemed equally divided
between Cupid, and a parcel of his old
enemies, the boys, who pressed forward to see
what was going to become of their sable playmate.
Among those who attended the trial was
Bombie of the Frizzled Head, whose agitation
was singularly contrasted with the apparently

stupid insensibility of her grandson. The prisoner,
in fact, seemed almost unconscious of his
situation, and stood with folded arms, staring
around the room with a vacant abstraction, as
if he had no concern in what was going forward.

Those important forms, so essential to the very
existence of lawyers, if not of the law, being
gone through, and the indictment read, charging
the prisoner, among other matters, with conspiring
against the life of the great Gustavus, Cupid
was asked the usual question of “guilty, or
not guilty?” He made no reply, and continued
obstinately silent, affording, in this respect, a singular
contrast to her of the Frizzled Head, who
it was impossible to keep quiet, though Lob
Dotterel cried “silence!” loud enough to be
heard across the broad river.

This refusal to plead had like to put a stop
to the whole business. Counsellor Langfanger
quoted, from a volume ten inches thick, a case
which went to establish the doctrine, that it was
impossible to try a criminal who would neither
confess his guilt, nor assert his innocence. The
Heer, on the contrary, produced a book, at least
two inches thicker than the other, and printed
in black-letter besides, which rebutted the authority
of Counsellor Langfanger's case, and held

it sound law to proceed upon the silence of a
criminal, in a case of this kind, as on a confession
of guilt. We shall not trouble the reader
with the arguments adduced in support of one
or other of these doctrines, but content ourselves
with stating the decision of the court, which was,
that they would wave insisting upon an answer,
and proceed with the trial.

The business was soon over, as at that time
there was not a single lawyer in the whole community
of Elsingburgh; a proof how much
this new world has improved since, there being
hardly a village of that size at present in the
country, that hath not at least two lawyers in it,
to puzzle the justices and confound the laws of
the land. Besides the frequent boasts of Cupid,
during the abode in the wilderness, one or
two persons deposed, that they had seen that
likely youth hovering about the magazine, and
at length stealing away in great haste, a few
moments before the explosion took place. He
was asked if he had any witnesses to produce in
his behalf, or any thing to say for himself, but he
remained silent as before. The proofs were so
clear, that there was little, if any, room for
doubt, and the court, after a few minutes consultation,
agreed in pronouncing him guilty,

and sentencing him to be hanged, for having
conspired with the savages, thereby occasioning
the destruction of the village, and the loss of several
lives.

This sentence was received by the prisoner
with the same immovable indifference he had
hitherto preserved; he made no gesture, he
moved not his lips, but continued, as before, to
gaze around, without appearing to notice any
thing. There was an awful silence throughout
the whole court, for there is something in the
annunciation of a disgraceful and violent death,
from the mouth of a judge, animated by no passion,
prejudice, or resentment, but standing
there as the oracle of the laws, the mouth-piece
of the community, to denounce against the offender
the just punishment of his crime, that
makes the most volatile serious, the most unthinking
shudder. Even the fluent Bombie
seemed for once quelled into silence, by the
shock of this awful dispensation, and she followed
her condemned grandson out of the court in
dead silence, her head bent down upon her bosom.

Between the condemnation of Cupid and the
time appointed for his execution, the Frizzled
Head employed herself in making interest with

Christina, the Long Finne, and, indeed, every
one whose intercession she thought might induce
the Heer to mitigate the punishment of her
grandson. But the Heer remained immovable
to the solicitations of his daughter and the Long
Finne. The crime was of too deep a die; the
example of pardon might be of the most pernicious
consequences; and the prerogative of
mercy ought never to be exercised to the endangeringthe
safety of the state, or the security
of life and property.

The day before the execution Bombie essayed,
for the last time, to move the Heer in behalf
of her grandson.

“Art thou resolved that he shall die on the
morrow?” said she.

“As surely as to-morrow shall come, so sure
as the sun shall rise, even so surely shall he never
live to see it go down,” replied the Heer.

“Thou hast forgotten, then, the services I have
done to thee and thine; thou no longer rememberest
that I have been to thy wife who is gone
a faithful handmaid; that I ministered to her in
sickness and in health, and that, when she died,
she bequeathed me to thy care and protection:
thou hast forgot that it was I that bore thy infant
daughter in my arms, when her own limbs would

not support her; that it was I who, when her
mother died, did all I could to supply the place
of a mother to her; and that I have watched,
and do still watch, over the welfare of thy child,
even while thou art dooming mine to a shameful
death. Thou hast forgotten all this, Heer!”

“Say not so,” rejoined the Heer, “for so it
is not. I remember thou hast been to me and
mine a faithful slave, and I am grateful for
thy kindness, but—”

“But what?” interrupted the Frizzled Head.
“Thou wouldst strive to persuade me of thy
good will, while thou refusest me the last request
I shall ever make thee. Of what use is
thy gratitude to me, if thou wilt not permit it to
sway thy actions? what avails it, if, when thou
inffictest a wound of death, thou shalt whine in
my ear, that thou art sorry for it? Say that thou
wilt spare his life, and I will believe in thy gratitude.”

“If the risk of sparing him were mine alone,”
said the Heer, “I would not hesitate; but I am
not acting for myself. The safety of my people
depends upon the punishment of those who conspire
to destroy them, as did thy grandson.
Were I to let him loose, he might again occasion
the destruction of our village, and how then

should I answer it to my God, my kind, or
my people?”

“Yes!” retorted the Frizzled Head, with bitterness,
“yes! such is the code and the heart of
the white-man. His duties are ever conflicting
with each other, and even the precepts of forgiveness,
inculcated by the book which he pretends
came directly from heaven, must yield to
laws of his own making. As a christian, it is
his duty to pardon; as a legislator, to punish
offences. He cannot love his country without
being unjust to his friends, nor fulfil his duties
to the public, but at the sacrifice of kindred affection,
and domestic ties. But, once more—
once more, and for the last time, art thou resolved,
Heer?”

“I am.”

“Fixed as fate?”

“As I live, I swear that, so far as rests with
me, he shall pay the forfeit of his dark and malignant
crime, before mid-day to-morrow. Trouble
me no more—I am deaf to thy petition.”

“Then thus may it be with thy petitions, now,
henceforth, and for ever more, whether addressed
to thy fellow creatures, or to Him who made
us all. If thou callest for sympathy, mayst
thou meet with scorn; if thou askest for kindness,

mayst thou be answered with the bitterness
of contumely; if thou criest out for bread,
mayst thou receive a stone; and if, in the
last hour of thy existence, struggling between
life and death, time and eternity, fearing, hoping,
trembling, expiring, thou shalt address thy last
prayer for pardon to the throne of thy Maker,
may he turn a deaf ear, as thou hast done to
mine.”

So saying, she departed from the presence of
the Heer, and took her way through the village,
stopping at every house, and madly calling on
the inhabitants to interfere, and rescue her
grandson from what she called the tyranny of
the Governor. But her exhortations produced
little or no effect. The people had suffered too
much from the treasonable practices of Cupid,
to feel any sympathy for him; and they were
so accustomed to consider the declamations of
Bombie of the Frizzled Head as little better
than mysterious parables, coming from the
mouth of one who possessed little in common with
ordinary mortals, that few paid much attention to
her from any other motive than fear.

Early the next morning there was a great
bustle observed in the village, for this was the
morning big with the fate of Bombie's grandson.

This was the first example of a capital
punishment that ever occurred in Elsingburgh,
and the effect was proportionably profound.
Every body seemed agitated and in motion, yet
nothing was doing. All avocations were suspended,
and, although there was a great deal of
talking, it was all in whispers. A certain deep
impression of horror reigned all around, and the
imagination was filled with nothing but images
of death. Yet such is the apparent inconsistency
of human nature, that there was not a soul in
the whole village, except the Heer's family,
that was capable of motion, who did not
attend the execution of Cupid. Men, women,
and children, impelled by that mysterious
fascination which draws the bird to
the fang of the rattle-snake, and sometimes impels
the human being to precipitate himself from
the brow of the precipice, poured forth, on this
occasion, to witness what struck them with horror
in the exhibition, and made the night terrible
for a long while afterwards. The people of
the country, and those who live in retired villages,
see so little of novelty, that they are extremely
fond of sights, and are almost equally attracted
by any thing that breaks in upon the monotony
of their existence. It is not that people love
to witness spectacles of horror, or the effusion of
human blood, but that they want excitement, and
often seek it after a strange manner.

The goblin Cupid had not spoke, since the
moment of his apprehension by Lob Dotterel.
To the exhortations of Dominie Kanttwell, as
well as the lamentations of his grandmother, he
turned a deaf ear; and it was impossible to discover,
by any outward indications, whether terror
or obstinacy was at the bottom of this apparent
insensibility. When conducted to the foot
of the gallows, he looked about as if he were rather
a spectator than an actor in the scene; nor
did the agonies of the poor old sybil, his grandmother,
who, when she came to take leave of
him, discovered a degree of intense feeling, that
drew a tear from many an eye, make the least
impression upon him, or draw forth one single
returning endearment.

“Farewell, my son,” said she, giving him a last
embrace; “despised, deformed being of a despised
race, farewell. I have loved thee the more, for
that thou wert hated by all the world—contemned
by the most despicable of the white-man's race—
hooted at by the very beggar that slept in the
sun by the road-side—and every where, and at
all times, the sport of capricious power. Why

should I lament thee? Thou art going where,
even according to the creed of thy oppressors,
all will be equal, and where, I say, thou wilt have
thy turn to play the master. Yes! I see it—I
feel it—I know it! Each dog shall have his
day, and why not so with man? Millions of
people live and die in the belief, that the ox
which is driven, the horse that is rode, the
sheep that is eaten by man, shall, in some future
revolution of time, drive, ride, and eat the tyrant
who did even so unto them. And shall
not our race have their turn? It must be so,
here or hereafter.”

The Frizzled Head was waxing sublime and
incomprehensible apace, when Lob Dotterel apprized
her, that if she had any thing more to
say to the poor deformed creature, she must say
it soon, as his last moment was come.

The Snow Ball turned herself about, looked
all around the circle with a scrutinizing eye,
and said, as it were to herself, “he is not here.”
Then, as if at that moment, for the first time,
struck with that feeling of absolute and inevitatable
certainty, under which the agony of the
heart is quelled for a time, and hope sinks into
listless despondency, she quietly retired a little
way from the gallows, and stood immovable,

leaning on her stick. She saw the fatal knot
tied; the cap, which shut out time, and enveloped
eternity, drawn over his eyes; heard the last
exhortation, the hymn that was to waft his soul
no one knew where, without moving a muscle, or
uttering a word. The noise of the cart, as it
drew from under the fatal tree, seemed for a moment
to shake her old crazy frame. She gazed for
a minute, while her grandson was hanging in
the mid air, and was silent, till the total cessation
of motion in his limbs announced that all
was over. Then, letting fall her stick, clasping
her old withered hands, and raising her eyes to
heaven, she shrieked out—

“'Tis done—and may all the cruel, accursed
race of the white-man thus perish, as thou, my
poor boy, hast perished. Yes! yes! ye proud,
upstart race, the time shall come, it shall surely
come, when the pile of oppression ye have reared
to the clouds shall fall, and crush your own
heads. Black-men and red-men, all colours,
shall combine against your pale, white race;
and the children of the master shall become the
bondsmen of the posterity of the slave! I say
it—I, that am at this moment standing scarce
nearer to time than to eternity—I, that am at
this moment shaking hands with death, and my

body and spirit taking their last leave of each
other—I say it—and I say my last.”

The tough old heart strings that had so often
been tested, in the hard gales of life, now
cracked, and gave way; the strong frame that
had endured so many hardships, all at once refused
to endure any more, and in less than a
minute after Bombie uttered these words she
sunk to the ground, overwhelmed by the agony
of her feelings.

Numbers flocked around, as is usual in
these cases, and one of the crowd exclaimed to
the others, “raise her up.” “Raise her!” repeated
the Frizzled Head, the last energies of
life trembling on her tongue—“Raise her!”
none but Him who broke down the eternal barriers
between the quick and the dead; who called
at the mouth of the sepulchre, and awoke
the sleeping dust; who triumphed over death
and the grave, can raise this withered old trunk.
The hour is come—it is past. Wait, boy—I
come.” Her eyes closed, and she departed to a
better world.

The crowd dispersed, overwhelmed with terror;
and that night there was little sleep in the village
of Elsingburgh. The good housewife lay wakeful
and afraid by the side of her tired husband,

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

4. CHAPTER IV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5. CHAPTER V.

We have before taken occasion to allude to
certain disputes which were, ever and anon,
revived between the potent settlements of New-York
and Elsingburgh, which, from time to time,
menaced the very existence of the latter. The
storm thickened every day, inasmuch, as that
King Charles, who, unquestionably, was of happy
memory in his time, had granted all the
claims of the Dutch in North America to his
brother James, Duke of York, afterwards King
James the Second, also of blessed memory, in
his time. But, as the memory of kings, like
every sublunary thing, hath its day, it is but
fair to apprize the reader, who may be a little
rusty in history, in consequence of not having
paid due attention to the Waverley novels, that
neither of these illustrious princes are thought

much of in these days of impiety and republicanism.

However this may be, his Grace of York
forthwith took possession of the colony of New
Amsterdam, to which he obtained an undoubted
right; first, by conquest, and next, by christening
it over again, whereby it acquired, and still,
happily, retains the name of New-York to this
day. This fair and renowned colony, with its
beautiful city, its Dutch burgomasters, dumpling
dowagers, and cherry-cheeked girls, was
now governed in the name of the proprietary, by
Colonel Richard Lovelace, an old cavalier and
soldier, who had been an actor in the Parliamentary
wars, and cherished a mortal antipathy to
puritans, republicans, and all sorts of people
who refused to drink, and who sung psalms
through their noses. Indeed, his politics formed
the ruling principles of action with the Coloel,
who, among other matters, got tipsy every
afternoon, and turned his back upon all sorts of
meeting-houses; not so much out of an affection
for wine, or a hatred to religion, as because his
enemies, the puritans, or crop-ears, as he was
wont to call them, hated drinking, and loved
long prayers. With all this, he valued himself
upon his gallantry to the fair sex, and cherished

to the last a portion of that dignified courtesy
of damsels, particularly those that were young
and pretty, which constituted one of those beautiful
characteristics, that threw something like
an air of refinement even over the barbarous
ages of chivalry.

Governor Lovelace professed, moreover, a
most bitter and sovereign contempt for the king-people
of this free and high-spirited quarter of
our mundane sphere, derived from his early habits
of thinking and acting. Passive obedience,
and non-resistance, were his creed, and in his private
opinion worth all other commandments put
together; and if the Governor ever hated one
thing beyond all others, it was a person in private
life who meddled with public affairs.
Writing, on one occasion, to his valiant captain,
Sir Robert Carre, on occasion of some troubles
in the, then, newly acquired possessions on the
lower Delaware, the Governor gravely observes:
“as for the poor deluded sort, I think the advice
of one of their own countrymen is not to
be despised, who, knowing their temper well,
prescribed a method for keeping them in order,
which is, severity, and laying such taxes on them
as may not give them liberty to entertain any
other thoughts, but how to discharge them.”

This method we hereby humbly recommend to
Messieurs of the Holy Alliance, as summing up,
in the smallest possible compass, the quintessence
of a pure system of legitimate government.
That they may be sure of receiving the benefit
of this precious morceau, we have specially directed
our bookseller to transmit to each of the
“Three Gentlemen of Verona,” a copy of this
our work, with a reference to this particular
page.

There was one feature, and that a leading one,
in the character of Governor Lovelace, which,
however, in a great degree tempered and neutralized
his tyrannical maxims of government.
He was the most indolent of all the representatives
of majesty, that ever presided in this new
world, and his love of ease so equally balanced
his love of sway, that, although abstractedly the
greatest little tyrant in the world, he was not
guilty, so far as we have investigated the history
of those times, of a single act of oppression,
during the whole period he presided over the
colony. It is, indeed, a singular circumstance,
and only to be explained by this peculiarity in
his character, that this same Governor was the
identical person who voluntarily delegated a
great portion of his civil authority, in the city,

to a board of five aldermen, whereby he laid the
foundation of that puissant Council, which hath
since presided over our destinies, to the great glory
and advantage of the community. One of
his regulations, most peculiarly praiseworthy,
and the revival of which we strenuously recommend,
was, that no play should be performed,
and no book published, until it had been first
read, and approved of, by the board of Aldermen.
As these worthy censors had very little
time, and no inclination to read books, the number
of manuscripts multiplied exceedingly. His
Excellency boasted, that in consequence of this
simple expedient, the mischievous art of printing
became almost extinct in his dominion, and the
repose of his reign was not interrupted by the
intrusion of a single new book. Such was Colonel
Richard Lovelace; a brave soldier, an indolent
statesman, with a head none of the clearest,
and a heart never shut, except to Presbyterians,
Roundheads, and meddling politicians.

Governor Lovelace, soon after being quietly
settled in his government, despatched a summons
to the Heer Piper, to surrender his town
and fort of Elsingburgh forthwith “to the obedience
of his Majesty King Charles the Second,”
&c. The Heer declined the invitation, inasmuch

as King Charles and his master were at
peace, and he had no inclination whatever to
disturb the harmony that reigned between them.
Anticipating, however, that this summons would
be followed by a visit, Governor Piper despatched
the Long Finne and a party with presents
to the neighbouring Indians, willing them
to take arms in his favour. This they declined,
with secret wishes, however, that the two belligerants
would mutually exterminate each other.
In addition to this, the Heer fell into a violent
bustle, and incontinently busied himself for several
days in doing nothing, as is customary
with people who talk a great deal and swear
roundly.

Thus waned away the time, until one morning,
a fine south wind blowing right up the river,
the little colony was alarmed with the sight
of three vessels of war, bearing upwards, their
sails all set, and colours flying, in gallant trim.
They came like birds upon the wing, each, as
the sailor say, when the white foam gathers in
waves at the bows, “carrying a bone in her
teeth,” and advancing so rapidly, that, ere the
wise heads of Elsingburgh could guess, or
reckon, what they wanted, or whither they were
going, conjecture was at an end, by the ships

coming to anchor directly opposite the town, as
if in scorn of the formidable battery of swivels
erected for its defence. Lob Dotterel wanted
to call out the posse comitatus, and take these
intruders into custody, but his ardour was restrained
by the Heer, who anticipated, with exceeding
low spirits, the speedy termination of
the Sweedish dynasty in this new hemisphere.
He felt his greatness tottering, and undoubtedly
soliloquized on the slippery nature of human
power, after the manner of Cardinal Wolsey,
and other great men.

In less than an hour, a boat put off from the
largest ship, bearing a white flag, in token of
peace, as is customary, when a message is sent,
which, if not complied with, is to be followed
by blows. This boat conveyed the famous Sir
Robert Carre, one of those brave and hardy
adventurers, who preceded, or followed, the discovery
of this new world. They were a species
of knights errant, who, instead of being enlisted
in the cause of love and beauty, set forth to
seek their fortunes on the high seas, or in the
new world, where rumours of boundless wealth
allured them to risk all, and float on the tide
which then began to set towards the west. The
greater portion of these were most devout enemies

to the pope and the Spaniards; against whom they
waged perpetual war, pretty much regardless
whether the respective countries were at peace or
not, religious zeal and antipathies being held as
sufficient causes for making war, independently of
those grounds of complaint which are usually
put forth to justify an appeal to arms. These
adventurers were, unquestionably, men of talents
and bravery, but, if the truth must be fold, they
were no great respecters of property, and thought
little of plundering a town on the Spanish Main,
or boarding a galleon, without the ceremony of
inquiring whether the laws of nations justified
the act. They belonged, generally, to the
race of younger brothers; which, in countries
like England, where the estate is principally monopolized
by the first born, has produced a
large portion of those whose crimes have dishonoured,
or whose bravery and talents have
exalted and ennobled the national character.
Although it would be gross injustice to class
these wild, adventurous spirits, with the bloody
and desperate race of buccaniers which succeeded
them, still we think, it cannot be doubted that
they in some measure prepared the way for those
remorseless enemies of the human race. The
custom of making war upon the Spanish settlements
in the new world, in the loose and unauthorized
manner practised by the first adventurers,
gradually loosened the restraints imposed
by the laws of nations, and in the end led to that
entire abandonment of principle, and that total
disregard of the claims of justice and humanity,
which characterized those wretched miscreants
called the buccaniers, whose very courage constituted
the greatest of their crimes, since it
conquered the only restraint which villains acknowledge
in the commission of enormities.

Sir Robert Carre was a man of few words,
which peculiarity rendered him particularly disagreeable
to the Heer, who liked very much to
talk a great deal before he came to a decision.
The knight laconically, and categorically, demanded
the surrender of Elsingburgh and its
dependencies to the Governor of New-York, as
representative of the King of England, to whom
the right to all these territories appertained, by
discovery, purchase, conquest, and various other
grounds, each of which was amply sufficient to
establish the right of the strongest. Governor
Piper comprehended, pretty clearly, that he
must positively comply with this request, or demand,
because the hostile force was amply sufficient
to level his town and fort to the dust in

two hours at farthest. But the good man wisely
determined to put a bold face on the business,
and not ignominiously surrender, without a long
discussion, which he looked upon as the next
best thing to a stout defence vi et armis. In
short, he was resolved upon a negotiation, let
what would happen, and privately stipulated
with himself to have at least threescore and
ten articles for the security of the persons and
property of his people, and the honour of his
government, in the capitulation. Preparatory
to this he pompously demanded four and twenty
hours to consider of this summons. But Carre
was a person equally averse to wasting time as
words; he, therefore, very unceremoniously,
replied, that as it was impossible to make any
defence, there was very little use in considering
about it; he therefore allowed him twenty-four
minutes, instead of twenty-four hours, to decide.

“Der teufel!” quoth the Heer, “that is not
time enough to decide which side of the mouth I
shall smoke my pipe this morning, much less to
settle about the surrender of a whole province.”

“Well, but if there is no choice, where is the
use of taking time to consider? If a man must,
he must, Governor.”

“Must!—du galgen!—I see no must in

the case. I would have thee to know, sir
Knight, if it were not for the shedding of christian
blood, to which I have much disinclination,
being partly convinced by my friend William
Penn, that there is no use for it in this world, I
would, peradventure, blow thee and thy ships
sky high, henckers knechts and all.”

“No use in shedding christian blood!” exclaimed
the Knight. “Why, d—n my blood,
Governor, if I don't think you've turned papist.
Why, 'sblood! what would become of us soldiers,
if there was to be no cutting of throats,
hey? Would you make rascal leather aprons of
us, and set us cheating in a small way for a living,
instead of growing rich by plundering
towns, and noble feats of arms? But come, the
time is just out; is it capitulation, or must I
wipe thy town out of the map of the universe in
the twinkling of an eye?”

“Patience—patience, Sir Knight; where is
the use of being so hasty? You see I am in no
hurry.”

“Faith, Governor,” replied the other, “that is
generally the case. There is all the difference
in the world between one who gives and one
who takes; but come, security of person and

property is the word, and where these are safe,
what signifies a change of masters, hey?”

“And the honour of the Swedish crown?”
replied the Heer.

“Oh! as to that it shall be as full of honour as
an egg's full of meat. I shall take special care
of that myself!”

“And our religion?”

“Nobody shall touch a hair of its head. You
may have just what you like, and as much as
you will, always excepting popery, which I
have sworn against, and Presbyterianism, which
his Excellency Governor Lovelace doth not
abide, drunk or sober.”

“Well, well,” quoth the Heer, with a long
and deep-drawn sigh, “if I could keep it from
thee, I would bury thee, thy comrades, thy Governor,
and thy King, in the sand of this good
river, ere I would give up my sword. As
it is—here, take it; and now I am resigned to
the lot of a private man, a situation which all
great persons fall in love with, when they can
do no better. I will retire unto my little farm
yonder, and plant cabbages, like another Dioclesian.”

So saying, the Heer delivered up his trusty
blade; and thus the dominion of New Swedeland

passed from the superintendence of the
Heer Piper forever. No prodigy, that we know
of, accompanied this transfer of empire, which,
by the way, Dominie Kanttwell pronounced a
judgment upon the people of Elsingburgh, who
about this time began somewhat to relapse into
the wicked practice of ballad singing.

After taking formal possession of Elsingburgh
and its dependencies, in the name of his sovereign,
firing a salute in honour of his conquest,
and appointing a provisional junta, Sir Robert
Carre weighed anchor, and returned with his
fleet to New-York, where, on reporting his
success, his Excellency Governor Lovelace
gave a great turtle feast, at which his five
newly created aldermen are reported to have
done great credit to the Governor's selection,
by their excellent judgment in eating. The
only remarkable circumstance which followed
the capture of Elsingburgh was the mysterious
disappearance of the Long Finne, who was
missing from the time of Sir Robert's departure;
but whether he went with him, was kidnapped,
or forcibly carried off, or what was become of
him, none knew, or, at least, if any one did
know, the secret was kept with singular discretion.

Various were the conjectures of the people of
the village, as to the strange disappearance of
the youth; but, as not one of these came near
the truth, we shall not trouble the reader with
reciting them. The good Heer was sorely perplexed,
and could not help reverting to those
suspicions which had arisen in his mind on the
first appearance of the Long Finne, as related
in the early part of this history. These suspicions
were strengthened by the insinuations of
Othman Pfegel and the Dominie, who both related
certain mysterious facts concerning Koningsmarke,
which, whether true or false, afforded
grounds for a suspicion that there was a
good understanding betwixt him and the English
commander. As to our poor blue-eyed
village maid, the fair and gentle Christina,
though her feelings were kept to herself, or, at
least, vented only in solitude and darkness, yet
we can venture to affirm, that she had her own
thoughts of this mysterious affair. Young women,
and especially young women in love, judging
by themselves, are prone to ascribe every
action of their lovers to the influence of that
single passion, which, while it subsists in all its
youthful warmth and purity, is their own guide
and polar star. Christina thus attributed the

disappearance of Koningsmarke, not to any
treasonable practices against the colony, or any
fear of discovery and punishment, but to pique
or disappointment, on account of her having so
often resisted his persuasions for a speedy union.
“But if so, he will think better of it, and return
speedily,” would she say to her innocent heart,
which, even at that moment, trembled with a
latent fear, lest the promised hope should never
be realized. Every hour that passed away
without bringing him back, diminished her confidence
in the hope of his return; and when a
fortnight had elapsed, without either seeing or
hearing of him, her pale cheek and dim eye, her
careless dress, and her indifference to those little
domestic cares and incidents which so pleasantly
and beneficially employ the hours of woman, all
combined, served to indicate to an observing eye,
that harassing state of feeling, which, when
long continued, either triumphs over the body
or the mind.