OF THE STONE BY THE BROOK.
I sat up late in the tavern that night, and to calm my thoughts I drew
up some notices that I intended to post throughout the town, inviting
recruits to join my little army. I judged that this would be a good
time, since it could not be said when we would make the first venture
against Canada, without waiting for the fleet. The weather was growing
more and more mild every day now, and flowers and shrubs were beginning
to show blossoms. The trees were in full leaf, when, one pleasant day,
having after much labor written on several papers what I wanted to say I
left the inn to put them up in conspicuous places.
They called upon all good men and true, who so might desire, to enlist
under Captain Edward Amherst, to fight the French and the Indians. It
was also noted that some skirmishes might take place before the arrival
of Sir Francis with his men. The notices, which were posted on the door
of the church among other places, also set forth that applicants would
be examined at Salem inn.
Never had a day seemed so pleasant. Birds were singing away trilling the
first few notes of mating songs. The trees waved their branches in the
wind as it sighed through them. I felt in my veins the blood beginning
to tingle, as the sap in the trees swells out the buds.
I finished my task, the while breathing in deep of the balmy air. I
wanted something, I knew not what. To be acting, fighting, leading my
men on. I wanted to walk, to run, to leap, to--in short, I suppose, to
give way to that energy which health brings to every man.
I went on with little thought of where I was going until turning near
where the old elm stands, down near the dead oak, I found myself in
front of the house where Lucille dwelt. It was the first time I had been
so near it since the night I brought her home from the glen. I was about
to pass on, though I wanted to stop, but scarce dared to. As I dawdled
past the gate, in two minds whether or no I should make bold and knock,
I saw her in the garden.
It was too late to draw back now, had I wished to, for she had heard my
step, and, looking up, she smiled.
“Good day, Captain,” she said.
“Good day to you, Mistress Lucille,” I made reply, and then there was
silence between us, while I stood there as awkwardly as a school boy,
though she was as cool as only a maid can be who knows that it is for
the man to make the next advance. Not that she was altogether at her
ease, for, by looking closely, I saw a faint tinge of red mounting
upward in her cheeks.
“You see,” I began, “I come--I hardly expected your words the other
day--I----” and, then, in desperation, lest I might turn and run in the
very face of the enemy, I straightened up, drew my good sword and
saluted her as I would my gracious Queen.
“You have commanded me and I am here,” I said.
Lucille raised her eyes.
“And it needed a command then, Captain?” she questioned.
“Not so, not so,” I hastened to exclaim, seeing that I had made an
error. “A word, a wish, a look, from you, madame, were enough,” I
replied in some confusion, almost wishing that I was back in Salem inn.
Once more silence crept between us, while, hardly knowing what I did, I
opened the gate and walked in to stand beside her. I judge we must have
been thus for near a minute ere she burst out laughing, and I, perforce,
joined her mirth. That was an end to solemn silence then.
“Here,” she cried gaily, “if you will not talk you must work,” and she
thrust a spade into my hand.
Then, at her bidding, I fell to with a will and dug where she pointed
out. My sword clinked against the garden tool, and I hoped that none of
my future soldiers would pass by to see in what manner of warfare I was
engaged. When she thought I had dug enough she permitted me to stop, and
right glad I was to do so.
“Now sit on the bench beneath the apple tree, while I plant these
tulips,” was her second command.
I did as she bade me.
“Now talk,” she ordered.
“What shall I say?” I asked.
“Oh, anything, everything. The buds, the flowers, the sun, the Indians,
the battles you have fought, the war we are to engage in. Why,” merrily,
“there is no end.”
Then indeed I talked. Of what, I know not, save that ever I saw her
sweet face before me, and her eyes looking to mine, until I would fain
have stayed there in that garden forever.
’Twas strange how all my bashfulness had vanished, not that usually I am
such a fool with the women. So we conversed of many things until of a
sudden I noted that the sun was going down behind the hills. I jumped up
from the bench where we had been sitting.
“I quite forgot it,” I exclaimed.
“What?” asked Lucille.
“My dinner,” I answered, aware of a gone and lonesome feeling below my
belt. “I was to go back to the tavern for it, but, I--I--came this way,
and----”
“You missed your dinner talking to me,” finished Lucille solemnly.
“Welladay, Captain, I am indeed flattered. But there, you shall not say
that I am a hard commander. Come in and sup with me. ’Tis true, I cannot
make amends for the companionship to be found at the inn, nor can I
boast of such cookery as can Mistress Willis. Yet if you will but deign
to grace my humble board ’twill be of my best store that I will set
before you,” and she dropped a bow to me that had much of sauciness in
it, and stood waiting for my answer.
I protested that I could not trouble her, that I had no appetite, that I
must be at Salem inn to meet any recruits that might come this first
day.
“Very well then, Captain,” she said, with a stately bend of her head.
“Since you prefer the inn to my poor roof so be it.”
’Twas then that I hastened to make a different meaning to my words, and
I pleaded that I might even have a crust in her dooryard. That she would
but suffer me to sit on the threshold, and see her eat. (My, but how the
hunger gripped me then). Verily I was afraid she would take me at my
last words. But at length with a merry laugh, she bade me enter the
house, and, while I sat and watched the lengthening shadows, Lucille and
the woman servant set the meal.
I forget what it was that I ate. Certain I am that I talked and looked
at Lucile, more than I used my knife and fork, for I remember that when
I reached the inn later I had to rout up Willis, and dine again on cold
meat. But, though the memory of the meal passes, I can see Lucille yet,
as she sat opposite me then. And of the topics we conversed on, though
they be in the dim, shadowy past, yet the sound of her voice is in my
ears still.
That night when I went on my way to the tavern, I found myself humming a
love song I had heard in England years ago.
The next day several men and youths appeared at the inn to enlist. I put
their names down, and arranged for them to get arms, which would be sent
from Boston. While the recruits were not much to boast of in looks they
lacked not in spirit, which, after all, is the need of a soldier. Like
some comrades with whom I have fought they seemed to go at fighting as
they did at their religion, so that psalm tunes, rather than drinking
songs and jests were heard among my men.
It was not long before enough had enrolled themselves at the inn, and
then I began to drill them. I appointed as my lieutenants Giles Cory, a
very muscular, though small man, and Richard Nicols, who had some
notions of warfare. We marched the men back and forth on the common in
front of the tavern, putting them through the exercise of arms. Soon
they began to have quite a martial air and bearing, handling their
muskets, matches and flints with skill.
Messages came from Sir William now and then, bidding me hasten my
preparations. I had a goodly store of powder and ball. Flints, matches
and guns we had enough of, and, also, two small cannon, with the
necessary ordnance stores, which had been sent from Boston.
After dint of much practice I had my men in what I considered fair
shape, and I took considerable pride in them. Sturdy fellows they were,
most of them, stern of face, yet energetic, with a few daring spirits
among them.
’Twas on a May day, when the air was exceedingly pleasant, that I
strolled over the meadows, toward the little brook that flowed through
the fields. Then, coming to the top of a little hill I saw, on the green
slope, a squad of my soldiers. They were playing at games of strength,
and, seeing me, stopped.
“Better this than idling at the tavern,” I said. “Keep at it, men, and
let us see who has the strongest arms.”
“’Twas Lieutenant Cory, Captain,” spoke up Nicols. “He has put us all to
shame so far. Look you,” and Nicols pointed to a heavy musket. “Giles
did but grasp the end of the six-foot barrel in his hand, and yet he
raised the gun out straight, and held it there at arm’s length without a
tremor.”
I reached for the gun, and did the feat with little effort. It was an
old trick, and one I had often done before while loitering about camp.
But the crowd gaped, and, as for Cory, he seemed little pleased that a
stranger in the town should have equalled his test of strength.
“What else?” I asked, smiling.
Nicols pointed to a barrel of cider that was on the grass.
“A trader brought it in his canoe a while ago,” he said, “and called on
two of us to help him lift it from the boat. But Cory, with no other
aid, raised it by the edges, and, holding it close against his breast,
walked up the hill with it. Never have I seen a man do such a thing
before.”
Now I was glad to see that my company was to be of men of this stamp,
not slow to use their strength. For, when by the closeness of the fight,
sword and musket are of little use, a strong arm is very needful, and
stands one in good stead, as I well knew.
As a lad I had been fond of feats of muscle. But I had had no time to
devote to it since coming to Salem. For with the gathering of my
company, the writing of letters to Sir William, and the reading of his
in reply, most of my hours had been taken up. Now, it seemed, here was a
time when I might, without seeming to boast, show my men that their
Captain was no weakling. So I glanced about that I might propose some
new test; for to lift the barrel of cider, or the gun, I did not count
as sufficient.
It chanced that on top of the hill that gently led down to the brook
there rested a boulder. It was of good size, and, in weight perhaps 400
pounds, and it was bedded in the earth. To raise it, and cast it from
one might be no little task, even for one who boasted of strong arms.
Therefore, seeing no other test that would answer, I pointed out the
rock to Cory.
“Can you lift and heave it?” I asked. “You are of goodly girth, and the
stone is not of such great weight.”
Saying nothing Cory walked slowly up the hill, and I saw that he had
cast aside his jacket and shirt, and stood naked to the waist. I
marvelled as I looked at his arms and chest. The muscles were in
bunches, and stood out like hanks of wool on a distaff. Then, as he
clenched his hands and opened them, to feel if his sinews were limber,
the muscles played beneath his skin, as ripples do over the face of a
pool, when the wind ruffles its surface. Still the stone was heavy, and
if he lifted it and cast it he well might be counted a strong man.
Cory reached the rock, and stood over it a minute. He looked on all
sides, seeking a fair hold, and, when he had perceived two small
projections near the ground, where a man’s fingers might catch, he
spread his legs, and stood astride the rock.
“I make no boast,” he said, looking at me, “and if mortal man may lift
the weight, then I will move this stone from its bed. Though, doubtless,
it has not been disturbed for a hundred years.”
He shuffled his feet, seeking a firm and level stand, and then, with an
intaking of the breath, he grasped the rock, and put forth all his
strength into a mighty lift. His sinews and muscles stood out under the
skin, and were like to burst through, but the stone budged not. Once
again did Cory lift and strain, but no avail. He straightened up.
“’Tis like that no man can move the rock, Captain,” he cried. “Perchance
it is buried a foot or more in the earth. Yet, if it is to be lifted
from its bed I will do it,” he added. Once more he took hold.
This time his back fairly arched with the terrible strain, and the
muscles in it made it as rough as a ploughed field. But, though he
tugged, and pulled, until the water dropped from his brow, he moved not
the rock.
“Enough,” I said. “It will surely prove too much for either of us. I
must choose something more easy. Yet I will have one trial,” I remarked.
Now, then, I placed myself astride of the great stone, as Cory had done,
and I grasped the two projections. I pulled upward once not with all my
strength, for I wanted to try the weight. Then, of a truth, I feared I
had set myself too great a task, for the rock seemed as immovable as the
earth itself. But once again I lifted upward, and this time I strained
every muscle I could bring into play. Still the boulder remained in its
bed.
I thought toward the end of my last effort, that I felt the least
movement, and this gave me hope that, if I kept on pulling, I might tear
the rock out. Slowly I pulled upward again, straightening my bent body,
as the stone gave, ever so little, in its ancient bed. It was now or
never. I pulled and pulled, until, verily, I feared that my arms would
come from the sockets.
There was a buzzing in my ears, and, above it, I heard the crowd of men,
murmuring in astonishment. Up and up I lifted, until, with a great
heave, I had fairly torn the boulder from the earth. Summoning all my
efforts until I thought my head would burst from the strain I poised the
stone above me. It shadowed me from the sun, and was like to crush me
with its weight. I could scarce see beyond it, because of the bulk. Then
with a last remaining bit of power, I hurled the stone from me, down the
hill side, toward the brook. I had lifted the great rock.
As the stone left my hands the murmur of admiration changed to one of
horror. Brushing the mist from my eyes I saw, at the bottom of the
slope, Lucille right in the path of the bounding stone. She was walking
along the brook, and had not seen me throw the rock. A shout from the
men, for I was too dazed to cry out, caused her to look up. She came to
a sudden halt.
On the great rock went, by leaps and bounds, from hillock to hillock,
and she was in its course, unable, from very fear, to move out of the
way. The stone was now scarce a fathom’s distance from her. In the next
instant it must strike and crush her, and none of us could do aught to
prevent it.
When we had all turned our heads away, that we might not see her killed,
and my heart seemed like to burst through my breast, we heard a great
noise. It was a roar and a rattle.
The flying rock had struck another, deep bedded in the side of the hill,
and the impact of the blow had burst both into thousands of fragments.
With a sound like a cannon shot, these had scattered all about Lucille,
but not one had struck her. She stood trembling with fright, in the
midst of the broken stone, while, scarce knowing what I did, I hastened
down the hill to her. She was walking slowly away when I reached her.
“You were near to death,” I said, much unnerved, for, somehow, her life
had grown very dear to me.
“The Lord is good,” she replied. “Now, Captain, take me home, for I am
afraid yet.”
As we left the wondering crowd behind, I heard one say to another:
“’Twas a mighty lift, and none like it was ever before seen in the
Colony.”
Also I heard Cory remark, though not without respect:
“Our sturdy Captain, who lifts great rocks easily, can be held by light
chains, it seems. Even a maid’s word.”
And I felt that he spoke the truth, for I knew that I loved Lucille, as
I had never loved before.