“‘I am not a child.’
“‘Was it to frighten people?’
“‘I am no fool.’
“‘What is your name?’
“'My name is of no consequence—a man can be hanged without a name.'
“And this was all they could get out of him. Various cross-questions were put to entrap him. He replied to them all with perfect freedom and promptitude, until they came to his name, and his motives for intruding into the city in violation of a law so severe, that none as yet had ever been known to transgress it. Then, as before, he declined answering.
“In those early days, under the Dutch dynasty, trial by jury was not in fashion. People were too busy to serve as jurymen, if they had been wanted; and the decision of most cases was left either to the burgomasters, or if of great consequence, to the governor and council. Justice was severe and prompt, in proportion to the dangers which surrounded the early colonists, and the spirit of the times in which they flourished. They lived in perpetual apprehension; and fear is the father of cruelty. The law denouncing death to any person who should enter the city between sunset and sunrise, except by the gate, was considered as too essential to the security of the citizens to be relaxed in favour of any one, especially of a person who refused to tell either his name or the motive for his intrusion. By his own admission, he was guilty of the offence, and but one course remained for the council. The young man was sentenced to be hanged that day week, and sent to the fort for safe keeping till the period arrived.
“That day the daughter of the governor did not appear to grace the table of his excellency, nor in the management of those little household affairs, that are not beneath the dignity of the daughters of kings. She was ill with a headache, and kept her bed. The governor had no child but her, and though without any great portion of sensibility, was capable of all the warmth of parental affection. Indeed, all his affections were centred in this little blooming offspring, who was the only being in all the New World that carried a drop of his blood coursing in her blue veins. He was also proud of her—so proud, that his pride often got the better of his affection. She had many admirers—for she was fair, wealthy, and the daughter of the greatest governor in the New World, not excepting him of Virginia. It followed, as a matter of course, that she was admired, but it was at an awful distance. The honest Dutch swains, who had not pursued the female sprite through all the mazes of romance, and learned how ofttimes highborn ladies stooped to lads of low degree, gaped at her at church, as if she had been a sea serpent. They would as soon have thought of aspiring to the governor's dignity, as to the governor's daughter. Besides, he was one of those absurd old blockheads, who consider nobody good enough for their daughters at home, and hawk them about Europe, in search of some needy sprig of nobility, who will exchange his mighty honours for bags of gold, and a fair, blooming, virtuous virgin into the bargain. He had sworn a thousand times, that his Blandina should never marry anything below a Dutch baron.”
“Was her name Blandina—was she my namesake?” interrupted the little granddaughter.
“Yes, girl, she was your great great grandmother, and you were christened after her,” said the old man, and proceeded.