“I would like you, Ffob Oothout, for a father.”

“Widow,” said Ffob, “he has popped the question for me; wilt thou take an old pirate for thy man?”

“They are all pirates here,” replied the blushing widow, “and thou art the best pirate or man I have seen.”

“Well, then, when the English conquer this region I have that will make thee rich.  Till then let us wait on the good event, but not delay the marriage.”

That Christmas Day they were married in form.  As the three sat before the fresh venison and drank wine from the store of the Blue Cock, Nanking said: 

“Father Ffob, you are wise.  Give me yet another word of advice, that I may not continue to be a big idiot.”

“Trust whom thou wilt, Nanking, yet ever hold thy tongue.  If thou hast now a secret, hold it close.  Begin this instant!”

“Even the secrets of Santa Claus?”

“Yes, even them.”

Nanking said no more.  He found compensation for Elsje’s contumely in his gun, and roved the forests through, and peeped from time to time at his mystic treasures.

One day the news came overland that the English had taken New Amsterdam.  Then the great Hinoyossa and uncle Van Swearingen and Alrichs and Beeckman swore dreadfully, and said they would fight to the last man.  Ffob Oothout went around amongst the Swedes and the citizen Dutch, and prepared them to take the matter reasonably.

One day in October of that same wonderful year, 1664, two mighty vessels of war, flying the English flag, came to anchor off New Amstel and the fort.  They parleyed with the citizens for a surrender, and Ffob Oothout conducted the negotiations.  The citizens were to receive protection and property.  The fort replied by a cannon.  Then the English soldiery landed and formed their veteran lines.  They charged the ramparts and broke down the palisades, and killed three Dutchmen and wounded ten more.  Proclamation was made that New Amstel should for all the future be named New-castle, and that Gerrit Van Swearingen, the refractory schout, should yield up his noble property to Captain John Carr, of the invaders, and Peter Alrichs lose every thing for the benefit of the fortunate William Tom.

The English soldiery proceeded to make barracks of the Amsterdam warehouse.  The first night they inhabited it they strove to light a fire under the wooden chimney in the river gable.  The chimney caught fire and burnt out like an old hollow barrel.

“Wife,” exclaimed Ffob Oothout, looking grimly on, “in that chimney was all my property and thine.  Poor boy,” he said to Nanking, “we must all be poor together now.”

“No,” cried Nanking, “I have yet the gifts of Santa Claus which I took from that chimney on the night before Christmas.  Yours, father, may be burnt.  Mine are all safe!”

He sailed his father and mother to the island since called the Pea Patch, and Ffob Oothout recognized his property.