CHAPTER XV
The "Fortune," that Sailed, First West, then East
"There's a ship, there's a sail standing toward us!"
It was Francis Billington's shrill boyish voice that aroused the Hopkinshousehold with this tidings, early in the morning on one of thosemid-November days when at that hour the air was chill and at noon thewarmth of summer brooded over land and sea.
Stephen Hopkins called from within: "Wait, wait, Francis, till I cancome to thee."
In a moment or two he came out of his door and looked in the directionin which the boy pointed, although a hillock on the Hopkins land, whichlay between Leyden and Middle streets, cut off the sight of the sail.
"She's coming up from the south'ard," cried Francis, excitedly. "Mostlike from the Cape, but she must have come from England first, say younot so, Mr. Hopkins?"
"Surely," agreed Stephen Hopkins. "The savages build no vessels likeours, as you well know. Thank you, my boy, for warning me of herapproach. Go on and spread your news broadcast; let our entire communitybe out to welcome whatever good the ship brings, or to resistharm--though that I fear not. I will myself be at the wharf when shegets in."
"Oh, as to that, Mr. Hopkins, you have time to eat as big a breakfast asyou can get and still be too early for the arrival," said Francis,grinning. "She's got a long way to cover and a deal to do to reachPlymouth wharf in this still air. She's not close in, by much. I hurriedand yelled to get you up quick because--well, because you've got tohurry folks and yell when a ship comes in, haven't you?"
Mr. Hopkins smiled sympathetically at the boy whose actions rarely gotsympathy.
"Till ships become a more common sight in our harbour, Francis, I wouldadvise letting your excitement on the coming of one have vent a-plenty,"he said, turning to reenter the house as Francis Billington, acting onadvice more promptly than was his wont, ran down Leyden Street, throwingup his cap and shouting: "A ship! A sail! A ship! A sail!" at the top ofhis vigorous lungs, not only unreproved for his disturbance of thepeaceful morning, but hailed with answering excitement by the men,women, and children whom he aroused as he ran.
The ship took as long to reach haven as Francis Billington hadprophesied she would require. She proved to be a small ship with afigure-head of a woman, meant to represent Fortune, for she wasblindfolded, but her battered paint indicated that she had in her ownperson encountered ill-fortune in her course.
A number of people were gathered on her forward deck, looking eagerlyfor indications of the sort of place that they were approaching.
"Mr. Weston, knowing that we depend upon him and his brother merchants,our friends across seas, for supplies, hath at last dispatched us thelong-waited ship," said Mr. Winslow to Mr. Hopkins.
"With someone, let us hope, authorized to carry back report of us here,and thus to get us, later on, what we sore need. Many new colonists, aswell as nearly all things that human beings require for existence," saidStephen Hopkins, with something of the strain upon his endurance that hehad suffered getting into his voice.
The ship was the _Fortune_--her figure-head had announced as much. Whenshe made anchor, and her small boat came to the wharf, the first personto step ashore was Mr. Robert Cushman, the English agent who had playedso large a part in the embarkation of the pilgrims in the _Mayflower_.
"Welcome, in all truth!" said Governor Bradford stepping forward toseize the hand of this man, from whose coming and subsequent reports athome so much might be hoped. "Now, at last, have we what we have so longneeded, a representative who can speak of us as one who hath seen!"
"I am glad to be here in a twofold sense, Mr. Bradford," returned Mr.Cushman.
"Glad to meet with you, whom I knew under the distant sky of home, gladto be at the end of my voyage. I have brought you thirty-five additionalmembers of your community. We came first to Cape Cod, and a morediscouraged band of adventurers would be hard to find than were thesemen when they saw how barren of everything was the Cape. I assured themthat they would find you in better condition here, at Plymouth, and weset sail hither. They have been scanning waves and sky for the firstsymptom of something like comfort at Plymouth, beginning their anxiousoutlook long before it was possible to satisfy it. I assure you thatnever was a wharf hailed so gladly as was this one that you have built,for these men argued that before you would build a wharf you must havemade sure of greater essentials."
"We are truly thankful for new strength added to us; we need it sore,"said William Bradford. "We make out to live, nor have we wantedseriously, thus far."
"The men I have gathered together and brought to you are not provided;they will be a charge upon you for a while in food and raiment, butafter a time their strength should more than recompense you in labour,"said Mr. Cushman. "Where is the governor? I have a letter here from Mr.Weston to Governor Carver; will you take me to him?"
"That we may not do, Mr. Cushman," said Governor Bradford, sadly."Governor Carver is at rest since last April, a half year agone. It wasa day of summer heat and he was labouring in the field, from which hecame out very sick, complaining greatly of his head. He lay down and ina few hours his senses failed, which never returned to him till hisdeath, some days later. Bitterly have we mourned that just man. And buta month and somewhat more, passed when Mistress Carver, who was a weakwoman, and sore beset by the sufferings of her coming here, and soill-fitted to bear grief, followed her spouse to their reward, as nonewho knew them could doubt. I am chosen, unworthily, to succeed JohnCarver as governor of this colony."
"Then is the letter thine, William Bradford, and the Plymouth men havewisely picked out thee to hold chief office over them," said RobertCushman. "Yet your news is heavy hearing, and I hope there is not muchof such tidings to be given me."
"Half of us lie yonder on the hillside," said Governor Bradford. "Butthey died in the first months of our landing, when we lacked shelter andall else. It was a mortality that assailed us, a swift plague, but sinceit hath passed there is little sickness among us. Gather your men andlet us go on to the village which we have built us, a habitation in thewilderness, like Israel of old. Like old Plymouth at home it is in name,but in naught else, yet it is not wholly without its pleasant comfort,and we are learning to hold it dear, as Providence hath wisely made manto cherish his home."
Mr. Cushman marshalled his sorry-looking followers; they were destituteof bedding, household utensils, even scantily provided with clothes, sothat they came off the _Fortune_ in the lightest marching order, andfilled with dismay the Plymouth people who saw that their deficiencieswould fall upon the first settlers to supply.
"Well, Constantia, and so hath it ever been, and ever will be, worldwithout end, that they who till and sow do not reap, but rather someidle blackbird that sits upon a stump whistling for the corn that growsfor him, and not for his betters," scolded Dame Eliza who, like othersof the women who were hard-working and economical, felt especiallyaggrieved by this invoice of destitution. "It is we, and such as we whomay feed them, even to Damaris. Get a pan of dried beans, child, andshell 'em, for it is against our profession to see them starve, but whythe agents sent, or Robert Cushman brought, beggars to us it wouldpuzzle Solomon to say. Where will your warm cloak come from that youhoped for, think you, Constantia, with these people requiring ourstores? Do they take Plymouth for Beggars' Bush?"
"I came hither walking beside my father, who was talking with Mr.Winslow, Stepmother," said Constance, noting with amusement that herstepmother commiserated her probable sacrifice, swayed by herindignation to make common cause with Constance, whose desires sherarely noted. "They said that it would put a burden upon us to providefor these new-comers at first, but that they looked like able andhopeful subjects to requite us abundantly, and that soon. So never mindmy cloak; I will darn and patch my old one, and at least there be nonehere who will not know why I go shabby, and be in similar stress."
The door opened and Humility Cooper entered. She kissed Constance on thecheek, a manner of greeting not common among these Puri
tan maidens,especially when they met often, and slowly took the stool that Constanceplaced for her in the chimney corner, loosening her cape as she did so.
"I have news, dear Constance," Humility said.
"How strangely you look at me, Humility!" cried Constance. "Is your newsgood or ill? Your face would tell me it was both; your eyes shine, yetare ready to tears, and your lips droop, yet are smiling!"
"My news is that same mixture, Constance," cried Humility. "I am sentfor from England. The letter is come by the _Fortune_. She is to lie inour harbour barely two sen' nights, and then weigh anchor for home. AndI----"
"You go on her!" cried Constance. "Oh Humility!"
"And so I do," said Humility. "I am glad to go home. It is a sad andheavy-hearted thing to be here alone, with only Elizabeth Tilley, mycousin, left me. To be sure her father and mother, and Edward Tilley andhis wife, who brought me hither, were but my cousins, though one degreenearer than John Tilley's Betsy; yet was it kindred, and they werethose who had me in charge. Since they died I have felt lone, kindthough everyone hath been; you and Priscilla Mullins Alden and Elizabethare like my sisters. But my heart yearns back to England. Yet when Ithink of seeing you for the last time, till we meet beyond all parting,since you will never go to the old land, nor I return to the new one,then it seems that it will break my heart to say farewell, and that Icannot go."
"Why, Humility, dear lass, we cannot let you go!" cried Constance,putting her arms around the younger girl toward whom she felt as aprotector, as well as comrade.
"Tut, tut!" said Dame Eliza, yet not unkindly. "It is best for Humilityto go. I have long been glad to know, what we did know, that her kindredat home would send for her."
Humility stooped and gathered up Lady Fair, the cat, on her knee.
"I am like her," she said. "The warmth I have holds me, and I like notto venture out into the chillsome wet of the dark and storm."
"Lady Fair would scamper home fast enough if she were among strangers,in a new place, Humility," cried Constance, with one of her mercurialchanges setting herself to cheer Humility on her unavoidable road. "Itwill be hard setting out, but you will be glad enough when you see thegreen line of shore that will be England awaiting you!"
"I thought you would be sorry, Constance!" cried Humility, tearsspringing to her eyes and rolling down her smooth, pink cheeks.
"And am I not, dear heart, just because I want to make it easier foryou?" Constance reproached her. "How I shall miss you, dear littletrusting Humility, I cannot tell you. But I am glad to know that we whoremain are worse off than you who go, and that when you see home againthere will be more than enough there to make up to you for Pris,Elizabeth, and me. There will be ships coming after this, so my fatherand Mr. Winslow were saying, and you will write us, and we will writeyou. And some day, when Oceanus, or Peregrine White, or one of the othersmall children here, is grown up to be a great portrait painter, likeMr. Holbein, whose portraits I was taken to see at Windsor when I wassmall, I will dispatch to you a great canvas of an old lady in flowingskirts, with white hair puffed and coifed and it will be painted acrossthe bottom in readable letters: 'Portrait of Constantia Hopkins, aetat.86,' else will you never know it for me, the silly girl you leftbehind."
"'Silly girl,' indeed! You will be the wife of some great gentleman whois now in England, but who will cross to the colony, and you will be themother of those who will help in its growth," cried Humility theprophetess.
"Cease your foolish babble, both of you!" Dame Eliza ordered them,impatiently. "It is poor business talking of serious matters lightly,but Humility is well-off, and needs not pity, to be returning to theland that we cast off, nor am I as Lot's wife saying it, for it is true,nor am I repining."
Humility had made a correct announcement in saying that the _Fortune_would stay on the western shore but two weeks.
For that time she lay in the waters of Plymouth harbour taking on acargo of goods to the value of 500 pounds, or thereabout, which thePlymouth people rightly felt would put their enterprise in a new lightwhen the ship arrived in England, especially that she had come hitherunprepared for trade, expecting no such store here.
Lumber they stowed upon the _Fortune_ to her utmost capacity to carry,and two hogsheads full of beaver and otter skins, taken in exchange forthe little that the Englishmen had to offer for them, the idea oftrading for furs being new to them, till Squanto showed them the valuein a beaver skin.
On the night of the thirteenth day of the _Fortune's_ lying at anchorHumility went aboard to be ready in case that the ship's master shouldsuddenly resolve to take advantage of a favourable wind and sailunexpectedly.
Stephen Hopkins offered to take the young girls, who had been Humility'scompanions on the _Mayflower_, out to the _Fortune_ early the nextmorning for the final parting. It was decided that the _Fortune_ was toset sail at the turn of the tide on the fourteenth day, and drop down tosea on the first of its ebb.
Priscilla, Elizabeth Tilley, Desire Minter, who was also to return toEngland when summoned, and Constance, were rowed out to the ship whenthe reddening east threw a glory upon the _Fortune_ and covered herbattered, blindfolded figure-head with the robes of an aurora.
Humility was dressed, awaiting them. She threw herself into the arms ofeach of the girls in succession, and for once five young girls weresilent, their chatter hushed by the solemn thought that never wouldtheir eyes rest again upon Humility's pleasant little face; that neveragain would Humility see the faces which had smiled her through her daysof bereavement, see Constance who had nursed her back to life when sheherself seemed likely to follow her protectors to the hillside, to theircorn-hidden graves.
"We cannot forget, so we will not ask each other to remember, Humilitydear," whispered Constance, her lips against Humility's soft, brownhair.
Humility shook her head, unable otherwise to reply.
"I love you more than any one on earth, Con," she managed to say atlast.
"I am sorry to shorten your stay, daughters, sorry to compel you toleave Mistress Humility," said Mr. Cushman, coming down the deck to theplaintive group, "but we are sailing now, and there will be no time whenthe last good-bye is easy. You must go ashore."
Not a word was spoken as Priscilla, Desire--though for her the partingwas not final--Elizabeth and Constance kissed, clung to Humility, andfor ever let her go. Stephen Hopkins, not a little moved himself--for hewas fond of Humility, over whom he had kept ward since Edward Tilley haddied--guided the tear-blinded girls down the ship's ladder, into hisboat, and rowed them ashore.
The _Fortune's_ sails creaked and her gear rattled as her men hauled upher canvas for her homeward voyage.
She weighed anchor and slowly moved on her first tack, bright in thegolden sunshine of a perfect Indian summer morning.
"Be brave, and wave a gay farewell to the little lass," said StephenHopkins. "And may God fend her from harm on her way, and lead her overstill waters all her days."
"Oh, amen, amen, Father!" sobbed Constance. "She can't see we are cryingwhile we wave to her so blithely. But it is the harder part to staybehind."
"With me, my lass?" asked Stephen Hopkins, smiling tenderly down on hisusually courageous little pioneer.
"Oh, no; no indeed! Forgive me, Father! The one hard thing would be tostay anywhere without thee," cried Constance, smiling as brightly as shehad just wept bitterly. The _Fortune_ leaned over slightly, and sailedat a good speed down the harbour, Humility's white signal of farewellhanging out over the boat's stern, discernable long after the girl'splump little figure and pink round face, all washed white with tears,had been blotted out by intervening space.
Before the _Fortune_ had gone wholly out of sight Francis Billingtoncame over the marsh grass that edged the sand, sometimes running for afew steps, sometimes lagging; his whole figure and air eloquent ofcatastrophe.
"What can ail Francis Billington?" exclaimed Stephen Hopkins.
"He looks ghastly," cried Constance. "Father, it can't be--Giles?" shewhispere
d.
"Bad news of him!" cried her father quickly, turning pale. "Nonsense,no; of course not."
Nevertheless he strode toward the boy hastily and caught him by the arm.
"What aileth thee; speak!" he ordered him.
"Jack. Jack is--Jack----" Francis stammered.
"Oh, is it Jack?" cried Stephen Hopkins, relieved, though he could havestruck himself a moment later for the seeming heartlessness of hisexcusable mistake.
"What has Jack done now? He is always getting into mischief, but I amsure you need have no fear for him. But now that I look at you----. Why,my poor lad, what is it? No harm hath befallen your brother?"
"Jack is dead," said Francis.
Constance uttered a cry, and her father fell back a step or two, shockedand sorry.
"Forgive me, Francis; I had no notion of this. I never thought JohnBillington, the younger, could come to actual harm--so daring, soreckless, but so strong and able to take care of himself! Dead! Francis,it can't be. You are mistaken. Where is Doctor Fuller?"
"With my father," said Francis, and they saw that he shook from head tofoot.
"He was with Jack; he did what he could. He couldn't do more," saidFrancis.
"Poor lad," said Stephen Hopkins, laying his hand gently on the boy'sshoulder.
"Do you want to tell us? Was it an accident?"
Francis nodded. "Bouncing Bully," he muttered.
Stephen Hopkins glanced questioningly at Constance; he thought perhapsFrancis was wandering in his mind.
"That was poor Jack's great pistol that he took such pride in," criedConstance.
"Oh, Francis, did that kill him?"
"Burst," cried Francis, and said no more.
"Come home with us, Francis," said Mr. Hopkins. "Indeed, my boy, I amheartily sorry for thee, and wish I could comfort thee. Be brave, andbear it in the way that thou hast been taught."
"I liked Jack," said poor Francis, turning away. "I thank you, Mr.Hopkins, but I'd not care to go home with you. If Giles was back----.Not that I don't love you, Con, but Jack and Giles----. I'mgoing--somewhere. I guess I'll find Nimrod, my dog. Thank you, Mr.Hopkins, but I couldn't come. I forgot why I came here. Doctor Fullertold me to say he wanted you. It's about Jack--Jack's----. They'll buryhim."
The boy turned away, staggering, but in a moment Constance and herfather, watching him, saw him break into a run and disappear.
"Don't look so worried, my dear," said Stephen Hopkins. "It is a boy'sinstinct to hide his grief, and the dog will be a good comrade forFrancis for awhile. Later we will get hold of him. Best leave him tohimself awhile. That wild, unruly Jack! And he is dead! I'd rather ahundred pounds were lost than that I had spoken as I did to Francis atfirst, but how should I have dreamed it was more than another of theBillington scrapes? I tell thee, Connie, it will be a rare mercy if thefather does not end badly one day. He is insubordinate, lawless,dangerous. Perhaps young John is saved a worse fate."
"Nevertheless I am sad enough over the fate that has befallen him," saidConstance. "He was a kindly boy, and loyal enough to me to make it rightthat I should mourn him. And I did like him. Poor Jack. Poor, young,heedless Jack! And how proud he was of that clumsy weapon that hathturned on him!"
"And so did I like him, Connie, though he and Francis have been, fromour first embarkation on the _Mayflower_, the torment and black sheep ofour company. But I liked the boy. I like his father less, and fear hewill one day force us to deal with him extremely." In which prophecyStephen Hopkins was only too right.
"To think that in one day we should bid a last farewell to two of ouryoung fellow-exiles, Humility and Jack, both gone home, and for everfrom us! Giles liked Jack; Jack stood by him when he needed help. Oh,Father, Father, if it were Giles!" cried Constance.
"I know, I know, child," said her father, huskily. "I've been thinkingthat. I've been thinking that, and more. My son has been headstrong, butnever wicked. He is stiffnecked, but hath no evil in his will, exceptthat he resists me. But I have been thinking hard, my Constance. Youwere right; I would have done well to listen to your pleadings, to yourwiser understanding of my boy. I have been hard on him, unjust to him; Ishould have admitted him to my confidence, given mine to him. I am wrongand humbly I confess it to you, Giles's advocate. When he comes back myboy shall find a better father awaiting him. I wounded him through hisvery love for me, and well I know how once he loved me."
"Oh, Father; dear, good, great Father!" cried Constance, forgetful ofall grief. "Only a great man can thus acknowledge a mistake. My dear,dear, beloved Father!" And in her heart she thought perhaps poor Jackhad not died in vain if his death helped to show their father how dearGiles was to him, still, and after all.