CHAPTER XI
WHEN THE GOOD SHIP SAILED
EVEN Mistress Hopkins must at last somewhat overcome her fear of thesavages, else her life would have been miserable beyond endurance. ForMassasoit having plainly made the treaty in good faith, his peoplewere ready at all times to visit their English allies and eat of theirfood. Coppery faces grew so common a sight in the single street ofNew Plymouth that each boy in the colony had his own little tale of afriendly Indian encounter, and Miles Rigdale was no longer alone in hisexperiences.
Still further to rob Miles of his prestige among his fellows, his ownparticular Indian, the Sagamore Samoset, with his hat and his shirt,which he used in wet weather to remove carefully, lest they be damaged,took himself off to his own land to the eastward; and Miles found noone to fill his place.
To be sure, Plymouth had now a resident pensioner in the IndianSquanto, but he lived with Master Bradford, and so was accessible toother boys as well as to Miles. "I see not why he is let dwell amongus," the latter said jealously, in the early days of Squanto's stay.
"Because, if he were any but a heathen, one might say this landwhere we have planted belongs to him," Master Hopkins made a briefexplanation, which to Miles was no explanation at all.
But later, of a morning when Master Hopkins's force of laborers wasbusied in building a fence round the garden patch, Giles, who hadlistened to the talk of his elders, took the trouble to set forththe substance of it to Miles. "You'll understand, this Squantotruly belongs at Plymouth. Back in the time when an Indian village,Patuxet, stood where we have settled, he dwelt here. But there came anEnglishman named Hunt--"
"Who was rather more of a knave than even a trader should be,"parenthesized Ned Lister, who, seated comfortably on the ground nearby, was hammering the palings together.
"He was a scoundrel," said Giles, warmly. "He toled Squanto andnineteen others from Patuxet, and some from among the Nausets, on boardhis ship, pretending he would truck with them; and then he hoisted sailand steered away for Spain, where he sold them all for twenty poundapiece. But somehow this fellow Squanto made shift to reach England,where a good merchant of London cared for him. 'Twas there he came bythe knowledge of our tongue that he has. And at last they sent himback hither to his own country; but meantime the plague had been amongthem at Patuxet, and all were dead."
"The Lord removed the heathen to make way for a better growth," saidDotey, who had just come thither with an armful of fresh palings.
"Truly?" muttered Ned Lister. "Then I'm thinking the Lord in His wisdomlaid His hand pretty heavily on the poor silly savages just for ourprofit."
There was little enough love already between Lister and Dotey, so Gilesheaded off a possibly bitter argument by continuing hastily: "So, as myfather says, Squanto is, in a way, the owner of the land here, and assuch has a right to shelter and food amongst us."
Miles listened to this story with a grave, stolid face, such as theothers kept, and made no word of comment. But afterward he thought muchof what had been told him, and wondered if Squanto had had a wife andcopper-colored babies, and had come home to find them dead. He feltsorry for the poor, lone Indian, and watched him with new sympathy;but to all appearances Squanto was more occupied in consuming Englishbiscuit and butter than in grieving for his lost friends.
Whether or no he had a claim upon the English, the Indian speedilyshowed himself able to repay them for any kindness. He told the menhow they must wait yet some days before they planted their corn, andhow there would then be plenty of fish in the river, which they mustset with the seed; and much more that was useful. But nothing of theIndian's arts impressed Miles so much as his prowess in eel-catching,for he would go often into the forest and return, after a few hours,with fat, sweet eels, as many as he could lift in one hand.
Of an afternoon in April, nearly a fortnight after the coming ofMassasoit, Ned Lister and Giles Hopkins went to the southward withSquanto on such a fishing trip, and, as Miles was very eager to sharein it, they let him come too. Their course took them over steep, woodedhills, where always they had blue water close on the left hand, and,looking back over their shoulders, could see the bay of Plymouth, withits flanking headlands. A tender leafage was upon the trees, and in thesouthern hollows, where the birds sang, the air was warm; but on eachhilltop a chillier blast stung in the faces of the fishermen and urgedthem to trudge more briskly.
At length they came to a gully, where two hills curved into each other,and descended it, half running, to the bank of a small river thatflowed seaward through a level reach. Here was where the eels dwelt,Squanto gave his companions to understand; and then, without spearor any implement, he waded gently into the quiet water. The threeEnglish-born, from the bank, watched him intently, yet they scarcelyrealized how he did it, when he suddenly made a swift dart forward, androse with a long, slimy thing writhing in his hands.
"Do you just tread 'em out with your feet, Squanto?" Ned queried aftera time, as, keeping pace with the savage, they trailed along the bank.
When the Indian gave an "Um" that implied assent, Ned presentlysuggested: "Say we venture it, lads. It has a simple seeming. Tell us,Squanto, can a white man take eels that way?"
"White man try," advised Squanto, stolidly. He had caught enough for amess, so he probably thought that the splashings of the English fellowswould do no harm now.
Ned and Giles, stripping off shoes and stockings, waded in; and Miles,not to be outdone, followed after. The water felt stingingly coldagainst his bare legs, and set his teeth chattering so he could nottalk. The very ooze of the river bed was clammy; and then he suddenlyfound his tongue and gave a frightened scream, as his toes touchedsomething that rolled beneath them.
"Did you take one, Miles?" cried Giles Hopkins, splashing to the spot.
"I d-d-don't know," chattered Miles, from the shore where he had soughtrefuge.
Giles spattered to and fro a moment. "'Twas naught but an old branch,"he announced contemptuously.
"It was an eel," retorted Miles, "but, to be sure, he will not standthere the day long till you choose to come seek him."
With that he forced himself to put his purpling feet into the wateragain, but, spite of this brave showing, Ned and Giles would chaff himon his flight, and even Squanto looked amused at the conduct of theyoungest of his allies.
Yet, for all they were so ready to laugh at him, Miles noted hisEnglish comrades did not take a single eel, and that gave him a kind ofcomfort. But even then there was little pleasure in wading through theicy water, in the expectation of stepping on a soft, squirming thing;so he was not sorry when Ned gave the order to take up the homewardmarch.
The east wind, that had turned chillier as sunset drew on, smotebleakly on the hilltops, and in the hollows, where the shadows werecreeping through the undergrowth, the warmth had died out of the air.The gathering darkness pressed ever closer upon the fishermen; the seaon their right turned gray and dim; the blue faded from the sky, andthe green of the distant headlands of the bay changed to black. Justoff the beach point they could dimly make out a dark bulk, where asingle speck of light showed--the old ship _Mayflower_.
"They say she'll be hoisting sail for home soon," Giles spoke, as theytrudged through the twilight, with a surety that his comrades knew towhat he referred.
"So soon as the wind swings round into the west," answered Ned. "Thenshe'll up sail, and it's 'Eastward, ho!'"
Then presently, in the dusk, Ned began whistling a sorry little tune,unlike those he was wont to sing, very slow and monotonous, with asudden rising to a high note and as sudden a sinking again, like thesharp indrawing of breath in a sob. "What song is that, Ned?" Milesasked, because he would rather hear Lister talk than whistle thatpitiable strain.
"'Tis the Hanging-tune, Miley; the one to which they set the lastconfessions of men who are condemned to die." He fell to whistling oncemore and half humming the words:--
"'Fortune, my foe, Why dost thou frown on me?'"
and Miles harked to t
he tune till it went crying itself through hishead.
Next morning it still came back to him keenly,--the walk in thetwilight, the look of the distant ship, the woful minor of theHanging-tune. For the wind was hauling round to westward, and of asudden Indians and gardening and house-building ceased to be mattersthat men talked of in the street; instead they spoke of the going ofthe ship that had borne them from England.
Already she had stayed longer on their shores than any had expected,because of the sickness that had been among her crew. But now, on shoreand on ship, the sickness was stayed; just half the settlers lay buriedon the bluff, and the crew of the _Mayflower_ mustered in diminishednumbers, yet enough survived and in recovered health to work the shipback to England. With the first favoring wind she would set forth uponher voyage; and with that bit of sure information went another, thatMaster Jones had offered to take home in her any one of the settlerswho might wish to go.
"Right generous of him, is't not?" Ned Lister spoke bitterly to Miles."Who does he think is going with him? The Elder and the Governorand Master Bradford, all the chiefs, if they showed their faces inEngland, they'd be clapped up in prison. And the lesser men, or evenour great Master Hopkins here, they've ventured all their substance inthis plantation. If they go back, they must starve or beg in Londonstreets, and 'tis as easy and pleasant to starve here. There's none inthe settlement I know of has the wish to go home, save myself, and Icannot go, because I've sold my time to Hopkins, the more fool I!"
"Why did you ever come hither, if you hate it so?" Miles questioned.
"Because a penny fell wrong side up," Ned answered. "I woke up inLondon one fine morning, with no shirt to my back and but one pennyin my pocket. 'It's either 'list for the wars, or get me into a newcountry and start afresh,' I said, so I tossed up the penny,--headsBohemia, tails America. It fell tails; so I sold Stephen Hopkins mythree years' time in return for my passage over. And a precious foolI was! Faith, I'd liefer dig ditches in England than play even atgovernor here. And so soon as my time's out!"
Miles listened soberly, but with no sympathy; he did not understand whya tall, grown fellow like Ned should think on home with such longing.He did not care himself; he had come to New Plymouth to live, and helooked forward to the departure of the _Mayflower_ as a novel happeningin the round of everyday occurrences.
Yet when it befell, it seemed quite a matter-of-fact event. A clearbreezy morning it was, and, as the household sat at their earlybreakfast, Francis Cooke came leisurely to tell Master Hopkins thatthe wind was setting steady from the west, and Master Jones had rowedashore to bid his former passengers good-by; so soon as the tide wasat flood, the ship would put forth.
There was wood and water to fetch as every day; and Miles did the taskshastily. As he came down the path by Cooke's house, he could feelthe wind stirring his hair, and yonder in the harbor the waves wereruffling, and the dim old sails of the _Mayflower_, unfurled, belliedin the gusts.
When he had set the dripping bucket within the living room, he randown toward the bluff, to see what more was to see, but, finding hisplaymates lingering by the door of the Common House, he joined them.Within the house, they told him, Master Jones was drinking a friendlydraught with the colonists, and taking his leave. Presently, indeed,the Master, a low, broad-shouldered figure, in his wide breeches andloose jacket, came forth, attended by most of the men of the colony,and rolled off to the landing place.
Some of the boys straggled respectfully behind their elders, but Milesraced with those who ran to be first at the landing. There, alongsidethe rock, rode the ship's longboat, and Will Trevor and several ofthe lesser men stood talking with the sailors who sat in her. Theyoungsters, too, would gladly have borne a part, but the Master, comingright on their heels across the sand, broke up the little group; he wasspeaking boisterously with the Governor, so his loud voice could beheard even above the confusion of the embarkation.
Indeed, it was all so noisy and hurried that nothing of those lastmoments remained clear in Miles's mind; he remembered only thatmen spoke of letters and packets, and the Master wished them manya "God be wi' you," and there was a bustling to and fro and a dealof hand-shaking. Then the Master, sitting in the stern seat, wascursing at his sailors; the width of blue water between the longboatand the landing rock was increasing; and for a moment Miles watchedmechanically the sway and swing of the seamen's bodies, as, bending totheir oars, they rowed the boat away.
When at length he turned slowly about, he was aware that, halfwayup the rugged slope of the bluff, a little group of women, all thatsurvived in the colony, were standing, and the children with them. Hescrambled up to be with Dolly, why, he could not say, only somehow hewanted to be sure she was safe and near him then; and he noted MistressCarver, who sat upon a stone with her hands clasped tensely in her lap,and Priscilla Mullins, whose hair blew unheeded about her face, whileshe gazed out to sea.
He almost stumbled over Wrestling Brewster and the little Samson boy,who had sat down on the turf and unconcernedly were playing with somebright pebbles; but he did not pause to speak to Wrestling, justclambered a few feet higher up the bluff, where Dolly, holding toMistress Brewster's gown, stood with her wistful face turned seaward."Look you closely, Dolly," he greeted her. "See, they're hoisting sailon board the _Mayflower_."
Dolly, pressing up to him, whispered for her only reply: "Do you mind,Miles, how we came in on the ship, and mammy and daddy with us? I wishwe'd all stayed in England."
"Now hush, Dolly," Miles admonished in a gruff tone, and scowledvexedly as the little sister, hiding her face against his doublet,began to cry. Then, half pitying, he bent to speak to her, when asudden gasp, as if the women about him all drew in their breath, madehim look to the harbor. There he saw the _Mayflower_, with the westernwind swelling her dingy sails, had heaved up anchor, and was headingout upon the ocean.
The sun was bright and made the dirty sails gleam like silver; thewater was blue, and the wind was brisk; and the ship stood seawardswiftly, very swiftly. Miles thought on how she had set forth fromSouthampton; and he knew that on board men would be clattering acrossher deck, and hauling at ropes, and the Master would be bellowingorders.
But on shore a great silence had fallen. The most careless of themen had no word to say, while of the graver sort some had bowed theirheads, and some, coming higher up the bluff, had drawn close to theirwives and children. For a moment there was no sound save the lap ofwaves about the great gray landing rock, and the swish of shingle asthe swell receded; then suddenly one of the women--it was MistressWhite, six weeks a widow, who stood with her baby in her arms and herother little child holding to her skirts--burst out sobbing.
Miles gazed about him in wonder. Why, men never cried; CaptainStandish's face now was hard as a stone; and he himself had not theleast inclination to shed a tear. But among the women round him was astifled weeping, so anguishing for being half suppressed, that somepity mingled with his contempt, and, with a feeling that he was ashamedto listen, he slipped away from the bluff. He thought he were best runup on the great hill to watch the _Mayflower_ depart; and he found thathis friend Jack and several other boys had had the same thought.
All together they raced up the street to see who should gain thehilltop first, and by the time they came thither, with laughing andstruggling, had clean forgot their elders, who, from the bluff below,watched the receding ship through a dazzle of tears. From the top ofthe hill the lads could see the white sail of the _Mayflower_ in theoffing, out beyond Sagaquab, speeding ever farther into the horizon;but Miles never saw it vanish, for Francis Billington had discovered anest of snakes at the other side of the hill; so, in the midst of theirwatching, the boys must run thither and look upon the wriggling littlecreatures, then scrupulously stone them all to death.
When Miles clambered again to the hilltop, there was never a distantglimmer of a sail upon the sea; but he could not think of the ship'sdeparture sadly, with the day so fair and his time at his disposal. Hefelt hungry, though, so he ran d
own to the house a moment to eat hisdinner; and, for all it was long past the noon hour, he found no dinnerready.
Ned was out by the woodpile, nailing together a hand-barrow, witha sudden fierce spurt of energy, but he was in a sulky temper; andwithin the house Constance went about with her eyes red. She gaveMiles a piece of bread in his hand, and bade him run away and eat it;stepmother had shut herself in her chamber, and father was with her,trying to comfort her. "I see not why you all make such a to-do becausethe old ship has sailed," Miles spoke, with his mouth full.
"Because we're left alone. Because no ship will come ere the autumn.Maybe it will never come," Constance burst out, with suddenpassionateness. "And we are here, and home is there, and the ship hasgone. You'd understand, if you were older."
No, Miles did not understand yet. What with the excitement and thechange, in spite of the sad bearing of those about him, the meaningof it all did not come home to him till next morning. He had risenearly with the others and run forth to fetch wood for the morningfire. The sun was just reddening the horizon line, but the rest of theworld looked faint and gray. A white mist, rolling off the fields, wasshrinking away inland from the sea whence it had come. But out to seahe could distinguish clearly the dusky beach point, and the islandsand-- There he rubbed his eyes. No, it was no trick of the mist. Therewas the old anchoring ground, but it was empty; the clumsy, old, darkhulk was gone.
Miles walked on to the woodpile, trying hard to whistle, but the onlystrain that came was a sorry snatch in a minor key,--the Hanging-tune.The chill of the dawning struck into his bones. Once more he looked tothe anchoring ground that was vacant; then he sat down suddenly amongthe damp logs. He did not cry,--he was too big and old for that,--buthe leaned his folded arms against a log, and hid his face between them.