CHAPTER XXI
BETWEEN MAN AND MAN
ALL that night the rain fell steadily; harking to its slow patteron the roof, Miles thought on those who were tramping the forest,and wondered how they fared. Ned, stretched beside him, save for hisregular breathing, lay like one dead, and yonder in the living room hecould hear Trug, admitted to shelter from the rain, grumbling in hissleep.
A long, long night it was, and the day that followed, all blurry withfaint sunshine, was well nigh as long. Little work was to do in the wetfields, so Miles fetched pails of water and tended the fretting babies,while, like every other soul in the colony, he waited for news of theCaptain and his men.
A second night, sickly with warm mist, had closed in on Plymouth,before tidings came. Miles and Giles had gone forth together into themoist darkness to the spring, where they drank, before drawing a lastbucketful for the house; the alders looked startlingly dense againstthe lighter black of the sky, and Miles kept close to Giles.
Even the elder boy was more alert than his wont, and jumped listeningto his feet, when far up the Namasket trail sounded ordered footsteps."'Tis father and the men returning," he cried next moment, andscrambled swiftly up the bluff, with Miles, eager yet half in dreadlest ill had befallen, panting after.
Down through the dusk of the trail men were coming--the heavily armedEnglishmen and in their midst some scantily clad savages. Giles,forgetful of reserve for once, pressed forward boldly to meet hisfather, but Miles, having no one to meet, stood back in the bushes,that touched his face clammily, and watched the little column, noisynow, as home approached, swing past. At its head marched a stockyfigure that he knew, and, as if the Captain could see him even in theblackness, Miles shrank a little farther into the bushes.
Yet he joined himself to the very end of the column, for he had no willto stay alone in the dark. Goodman Cooke marched there, and, eager tohave some friend in the party, Miles fell into step beside him. "Youare all come back safe, sir?" he asked propitiatingly.
"Surely, yes," the other replied. "All sound, save three Indians wefetched hither to the Doctor. Best of all, we've Squanto here; we foundhim unhurt."
By this they had come down into the village, where all the people, itseemed, had hurried forth, and, hearing the news of their interpreter'sreturn, showed no small joy thereover. Squanto, a figure of varyinglight and shade beneath the lantern glow, took such expressions ofkind feeling stolidly, and profited from the good wishes of his whitefriends by asking for strong water. There was some merriment thereatamong the Englishmen,--all were in good spirits, in truth, for theexpedition had fared well.
In broken fragments Miles caught the story as he was hustled aboutamong the returned soldiers and, with the other lads, stood staring atthem under the lantern light: how the Englishmen, coming at midnightto Namasket, had beset the house of Corbitant, but found that valiantchief had fled at the mere rumor of their approach; how several of theIndians, trying to press forth in spite of their promises that no harmwas meant them, had been hurt; how Squanto and Tokamahamon had beenfound alive; and how, after leaving for Corbitant a stern warning asto what he might expect if he continued to stir up rebellion againstMassasoit and his allies, they had returned, successful and unscathed.
But the story was quickly told by the hungry men, and then theyscattered to their houses. The street was swiftly emptied, and evenGiles, calling to Miles to fetch home the bucket they had left at thespring, trudged away with his father.
Miles turned slowly up the street; he had admitted it to no one, evento Giles and Ned, but the last week he had had a fear of the blackwoods. Spite of his boasts to the boys of his merry life with thesavages, he shuddered every time he thought of Nauset, and he had afoolish feeling that if he ventured into the forest the Indians mightswoop down on him again. In the daytime he could laugh it away, but atnight, and especially after the anxiety of the last twenty-four hours,the fear came on him strongly, and it did not seem as if the couragewas in him to go down to the inky spring alongside the stepping-stonesthat led to the woods.
He stood a time by Cooke's gate, in the hope that he might see some oneelse bound for the spring, but no one came. He went a few steps downthe street, but, if he returned to the house without the bucket, hewould be scolded, so, at a snail's gait, he trudged uphill again.
Then it was that he noted the companionable light that shone in thewindow of Standish's cottage, high up the hillside, and, though hewas afraid of the Captain, yet there seemed a kind of encouragementin that shiny spark that made him cross the street and loiter nearer."Maybe John Alden'll be going to the spring," he told himself. "Ormaybe--maybe I'll go, presently."
Just at the edge of the Captain's unfenced dooryard, he halted andstood gazing at the light. He was not spying, to be sure; he wouldgo in a moment. Through the open window he could see a corner of theliving room, a table, with a rack and three guns above it, and, ashe gazed, Alden, a big, black figure, strode into the bright cornerand set down two bowls on the table. Miles drew a step or two nearer."Maybe the Captain will come into the light next," he told himself."And after I've seen him, then--"
And then some one took him firmly by the shoulder, and right beside himspoke the Captain's voice, "Well, Miles?"
"Oh!" the boy gasped, and then, in a panic-stricken tone, "I'm goinghome; prithee, let me go home, sir."
"Nay, you are coming in with me," Standish answered, and, helplessly,Miles yielded to the other's grasp and stumbled over the threshold.
Within, the living room was bare and martial, with a rapier above thechimneypiece that caught a gleam from the candle set below it, and theform by the door and the rough stools standing stiffly as on parade. Ona shelf beside the fireplace there were some pots and platters; Milesnoted all very accurately, and wondered that he should note them atsuch a time.
He started when Captain Standish spoke, for all his tone was amused:"Here, Jack, set a bowl for this gentleman I have fetched to sup withus. And you, Miles, will you give me your parole not to attempt anescape, if I take my hand from your collar?"
Miles eyed the shaft of candlelight that lay at his feet and venturedno answer. He knew the Captain had loosed his grasp on him, and then heheard him ask, in a different, serious tone: "Are you afraid of me?"
At that Miles tossed back his head, stiffly as if a bar of iron wererun down his neck. "No, sir," he said, boldly and untruthfully.
He could not slip away now, whatever might be in store for him, butstood rigid and unpretending, while Captain Standish flung off hisbuff-coat, and Alden, with a ponderous movement, lifted the soup kettleto the table. Then he sat down on a stool, as he was bidden, and ate.It was clam broth, and he was aware of the good flavor of it, just ashe was aware, beneath all his alarm, of the honorable fact that he wastaking supper with Captain Standish. He began to hazard long looks atthe Captain and to listen to the talk of the two men, with some thoughtfor their words, as well as for his own concerns.
"This is none of your cooking, Jack," said Standish, as he rose torefill his bowl.
"Mistress Mullins fetched us the broth," Alden replied, with a studiouslack of interest. "She thought we'd have naught to eat in the houseto-night."
"'Twas very wisely thought. When you have eaten, Jack, best carry backher kettle. They'll not yet be abed at the Elder's house."
Somehow, after that, Alden made short work of his portion, and,summarily emptying the kettle into the Captain's bowl, gave it aperfunctory scrub and started briskly for Master Brewster's cottage.
The Captain, with his face sober all but his eyes, swallowed hisbroth in leisurely silence for a moment before he addressed his smallcompanion: "I had speech with Priscilla Mullins several days since.What is this, Miles, that she tells me you had to say to me?"
Miles crumbled the fag end of his piece of bread with one nervous hand."Why, 'twas--'twas--Captain Standish, is it true you think me theworst lad in the settlement?" He looked up into the other's face, andsomething he saw there made him blurt o
ut, "I doubt if you do."
"So that's why you ran away from me day before yesterday, is it?"
Miles kicked his heels softly against the legs of his stool. "BecauseI want to tell you I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shall never run away tothe Indians again. I--I was but talking when I said those words untoFrancis and the others."
"A 'miles gloriosus,' eh?" said the Captain, and smiled.
Miles saw nothing amusing in the words, but he took it as a sign theCaptain was his friend again, so he smiled back. "I won't do it again,sir," he promised vaguely, and then, as Standish rose from the table,he slipped off his stool. "May I wash the dishes, sir?" he volunteeredfor "a girl's work" eagerly.
"If you wish it," the Captain answered, and then, about the time Mileshad dropped the bowls and spoons into the nearest pail of water, brokeout irrelevantly, "In the name of goodness, Miles, are those the onlybreeches you have to wear?"
Miles clapped his right hand over one knee, and his left over anostentatious rift in the side. "She hasn't time to make me new ones;I'm wearing these for punishment," he explained.
"Indeed!" said Standish; he took his pipe from the chimneypiece and,filling it, kept silent so long that Miles finished his dishes andstole over to the hearth beside him. On the chimneypiece some booksstood up from the miscellaneous litter, and, because they were theCaptain's books, Miles raised himself on tiptoe to read their names.A "Bariffe's Artillery Guide" pleased him most; he was wondering if hecould learn from that how to be a soldier like the Captain, when behindhim spoke a familiar voice: "Well, Miley, do you have it in mind tosleep at home to-night?"
Miles swung round with a start; Master Hopkins and that bucket of waterand the scolding to come,--he remembered all clearly, for there in thedoorway stood Ned Lister, with his out of temper look. "The master sentme to find the boy," he explained more civilly to the Captain. "I'vesought him all through the village. Come, Miles, Master Hopkins--"
Involuntarily Miles pressed close to the Captain. "Is he going to whipme, Ned?" he asked anxiously.
"Tell Master Hopkins I'll send the lad home straightway," Standishdismissed Lister curtly, then puffed a moment at his pipe till theyoung man's leisurely footsteps died out in the yard. "So MasterHopkins whips you often?" he questioned abruptly.
"He says I need the rod," Miles answered in a woful voice, wondering ifthe Captain would take his part. "He says I'm a son of perdition. I seenot why 'tis right. When Ned Lister called Dotey a fool, he said he wasin danger of hell fire, and, sure, son of perdition is a worser namethan fool."
"Hm!" muttered the Captain. "And you're still good friends with thatvaliant duellist, Edward Lister?"
"I like Ned mightily, yes. But Master Hopkins does not suffer me worknear him."
"That's for punishment, too, I take it?"
Miles nodded.
"At this rate you should prove the best lad in the colony, not theworst," the Captain said dryly; and then, "Say we walk down to MasterHopkins's house now, and see how that wounded Indian is faring."
A queer, vague hope that had risen in Miles vanished and left anamazing emptiness; the blackness of the lonely spring, and the whippingfor that evening's tarrying came to his mind before he had crossed theroom, and in the doorway he halted short.
"What's amiss?" asked Standish, with no great surprise, however.
"I--I take it, I'm afraid," gasped Miles, hot and cold with the shameof the terror he could not check. "I must go down to the spring, and'tis dark, and I think I'll be whipped, and--and--" His lips weretwitching childishly. "But I wasn't afraid at Nauset, not a whit, and Ididn't cry there," he added piteously.
"I understand," the Captain said, with amazing kindness. "I'll go tothe spring with you, Miles."
For the second time in his life, Miles stepped out into the nightwith the Captain, but there was small elation in his heart withthe knowledge of his cowardice upon him. He felt a censure in hiscompanion's silence, yet he dared not speak himself, only hurriedforward as fast as possible to end the walk. They left the last cottagebehind them, passed a menacing clump of bushes, and then, at the headof the path, Miles spoke out, almost in spite of himself: "Pray you, goback, sir. I'm not afraid. I won't be afraid. I'll go alone."
He called back the last, halfway down the path. The pebbles rattledwith shocking loudness; there in the thicket, across the sullenbrook, something stirred, he knew. With his eyes on the black ground,he stumbled toward the gurgle of the spring, groped for his bucket,fearing lest his hand touch something else, and, seizing it, filled itsparsely at the first dip, then, setting his teeth tight, made himselffill it again, slowly and carefully.
Behind him, as he rose, the bushes all were moving and alive, andsomething, he knew, pressed close at his heels. He could not hurry withthe bucket in his hand, only clamber, step by step, with the breathchoked within him, till he came at last to the black pathway above thebluff. Before he could cast a frightened look up the trail, the bucketwas quietly taken from him. "You waited here for me?" Miles gasped,and then, "But I wasn't afraid."
"You will not be next time, Soldier Rigdale," Standish answered him,and, putting a hand on his shoulder, kept it there.
Before they were into the thick of the settlement, he spoke again,abruptly: "So you're not happy at Master Hopkins's?"
"I hate it there," Miles said under his breath, and then the hopethat the Captain's former words had raised swept back once more, andhe caught the other's hand. "Will you take me away from him, sir?" heasked hurriedly. "If I could live with Jack Cooke, anywhere else, Iknow I could be good."
"I know you could, too," Standish answered. "And I think your fatherand mother would wish it. But Master Hopkins is your guardian and yourkinsman; I can do naught, only try my hand at coaxing, and I'm uncommonill at that. My faith, I know not why I speak it out to such a babeas you, Miles, but you must say naught of this, remember. Only--if'twill comfort you for your tattered breeches and the rest of yourpenances,--so soon as pretext is given me, I am minded to take you fromMaster Hopkins to live with me."
"With you?" Miles asked in the blankness of joy, and then he must hush,for the candlelight from Master Hopkins's window struck across hisface, and an instant later they came into the living room.
Master Hopkins looked angry, of course, but his face relaxed at sightof the Captain, and he only bade Miles pack off to bed. "But he'llsurely thrash you in the morning, Miles," Giles said, with a soberpucker of the brows. "What made you stay so long?"
"I was with the Captain," Miles replied light-heartedly, and to himselfhe added, "And by and by 'twill be like this evening every day, forI'll live with him all the time."