Treaties
The girls of the plantation were gathered together in Stephen Hopkins's
house. The logs on the hearth were ash-strewn to check their burning yet
to hold them ready to burn when the hour for preparing supper was come
and the ashes raked away.
Dame Eliza Hopkins had betaken herself to William Bradford's house, the
baby, Oceanus, seated astride her hip in her favourite manner of
carrying him; she protested that she could not endure the gabble of the
girls, but in truth she greatly desired to discuss with Mistress
Bradford, of whom she stood somewhat in awe, the events portending. She
was secretly elated with her husband's coming honour, and wanted to
convey to Mistress Bradford that, as between their two spouses, Stephen
Hopkins was the better man.
Constance, sitting beside the smothered hearth fire, might be
considered, since it was at her father's hearthstone the girls were
gathered, as the hostess of the occasion, but the gathering was for
work, not formalities, and, in any case, Constance was too preoccupied
with her task to pay attention to aught else.
Only the older girls were bidden, but little Damaris was there by right
of tenancy. She sat at Constance's feet, worshipping her, as she turned
and twisted their father's coat, skilfully furbishing it with new
buttons and new binding.
"May Mr. Hopkins wear velvet, Constance?" asked Humility Cooper,
suddenly; she too had been watching Constance work. "Did not Elder
Brewster exhort us to utmost plainness of clothing, as becomes the
saints, who set more store upon heavenly raiment than earthly
splendour?"
Constance looked up laughingly, pushing out of her eyes her waving locks
which had strayed from her cap; she used the back of the hand that held
her needle, pulled at great length through a button which she was
fastening upon her father's worn velvet coat.
"Oh, Humility, splendour?" she laughed. "When I am trying hard to make
this old coat passing decent? Isn't it necessary for us all to wear what
we have, willy-nilly, since nothing else is obtainable, garments not yet
growing on New World bushes? I do believe that some of the brethren
discussed Stephen Hopkins's velvet coat, and decided for it, since it
stood for economy. It stood for more; till a ship brings supplies from
home, it's this, or no coat for my father. But since he has been
selected, with Mr. Edward Winslow, to make the treaty with Massasoit, he
should be clad suitably to his office, were there choice between velvet
and homespun."
"What does he make to treat Mass o' suet, Constance? What is Mass o'
suet; pudding, Constance?" asked Damaris, anxiously, knitting her brow.
Constance's laugh rang out, good to hear. She leaned forward impetuously
and snatched off her little sister's decorous cap, rumpled her sleek
fair hair with both hands pressing her head, and kissed her. Priscilla
Mullins laughed with Constance, looking sympathetically at her, but some
of the other girls looked a trifle shocked at this demonstration.
"Massasoit is a great Indian chief, small lass; he is coming in a day or
so, and Father and Mr. Winslow will make a treaty with him; that means
that Massasoit will promise to be our friend and to protect us from
other Indian tribes, he and his Indians, while we shall promise to be
true friends to him. It is a great good to our colony, and we are proud,
you and I--and I think your mother, too"--Constance glanced with
amusement at Priscilla--"that our father is chosen for the colony's
representative."
"Do you suppose that the Indians know whether cloth or velvet is
grander? Those we see like leather and paint and feathers," said
Priscilla. "I hold that our men should overawe the savages, but----"
"And I hold that brides should be bonny, let it be here, or in England,"
Constance interrupted her. "What will you wear on the day of days,
Priscilla, you darling?"
"Well, I have consulted with Mistress Brewster," admitted Priscilla,
regretfully. "I did think, being a woman, she would know better how a
young maid feeleth as to her bridal gown than her godly husband. But she
saith that it is least of all becoming on such a solemn occasion to let
my mind consider my outward seeming. So I have that excellent wool
skirt that Mistress White dyed for me a good brown, and that with my
blue body----"
"Blue fiddlesticks, Priscilla Mullins!" Constance again interrupted her,
impatiently. "You'll wear nothing of the kind. I tell you it shall be
white for you on your wedding day, with your comely face and your honest
eyes shining over it! I have a sweet embroidered muslin, and I can
fashion it for you with a little cleverness and a deep frill combined,
for that you are taller than I, and more plump to take up its length,
there's no denying, Prissy dear! We'll not stand by and see our
plantation's one real romance end in dyed brown cloth and dreariness,
will we, girls?"
"No!" cried Humility Cooper who would have followed Constance's lead
into worse danger than a pretty wedding gown for Priscilla.
But Elizabeth Tilley, her cousin, looked doubtful. "It sounds nice," she
admitted, "but I never can tell what is wrong and what is right,
because, though we read our Bibles to learn our duty, the Bible does not
condemn pleasure, and our teachers do. So it might be safer to wear dull
garments when we are married, Constance, and not be light-minded."
"You mean light-bodied; light-coloured bodies, Betsy!" Constance laughed
at her, with a glint of mischievous appreciation of Elizabeth's
unconscious humour that was like her father. "No, indeed, my sister
pilgrim. A snowy gown for Pris, though I fashion it, who am not too
skilful. Oh, Francis Billington, how you scared me!" she cried, jumping
to her feet and upsetting Damaris who leaned upon her, as Francis
Billington burst into the room, out of breath, but full of importance.
"Nothing to fear with me about, girls," he assured the roomful. "But
great news! Massasoit has come, marched in upon us before we expected
him, and the treaty is to be made to-morrow. Squanto is as proud and
delighted as----"
Squanto himself appeared in the doorway at that moment, a smile mantling
his high cheek bones and a gleam in his eyes that betrayed the
importance that his pride tried to conceal.
"Chief come, English girls," he announced. "No more you be fear Indian;
Massasoit tell you be no more fear, he and Squanto fight for you, and he
say true. No more fear, little English girl!" he laid his hand
protectingly upon Damaris's head and the child smiled up at him,
confidingly.
Giles came fast upon Squanto's heels. His face was flushed, his eyes
kindled; Constance saw with a leap of her heart that he looked like the
lad she had loved in England and had lost in the New World.
"Got Father's coat ready, Con?" he asked. "There's to be a counsel held,
and my father is to preside over it on our side, arranging with
Massasoit. My father is to settle with him for the colony--of course
Mr. Winslow will have his say, also."
"I meant to furbish the coat somewhat more, Giles, but the necessary
repairs are made," said Constance yielding her brother the garment. "How
proud of Father he is!" she thought, happily. "How truly he adores him,
however awry matters go between them!"
Giles hung the coat on his arm, carefully, to keep it from wrinkles, a
most unusual thoughtfulness in him, and hastened away.
"No more work to-day, girls, or at least of this sort," cried Constance
gaily, her heart lightened by Giles's unmistakable pride in their
father. "We shall be called upon to cook and serve. Many Indians come
with Massasoit, Squanto?"
"No, his chiefs," Squanto raised one hand and touched its fingers
separately, then did the same with the other hand. "Ten," he announced
after this illustration.
"That means no less than thirty potatoes, and something less than twenty
quarts of porridge," laughed Constance, but was called to account by her
stepmother, who had come in from the rear.
"Will you never speak the truth soberly, Constantia Hopkins?" she said.
"We do not count on two quarts of porridge for every Indian we feed.
Take this child; he is heavy for so long, and he hath kicked with both
heels in my flesh every step of the way. Another Hopkins, I'll warrant,
I've borne for my folly in marrying your father; a restless, headstrong
brood are they, and Oceanus is already not content to sit quietly on his
mother's hip, but will drive her, like a camel of the desert." She
detached Oceanus's feet from her skirt and handed him over to Constance
with a jerk. Constance received him, biting her lips to hold back
laughter, and burying her face in the back of the baby neck that had
been pitifully thin during the cruel winter, but which was beginning to
wrinkle with plumpness now.
Too late she concealed her face; Mistress Eliza caught a glimpse of it
and was upon her.
"It's not a matter for laughter that I should be pummelled by your
brother, however young he may be," she cried; Dame Eliza had a way of
underscoring her children's kinship to Constance whenever they were
troublesome. "Though, indeed, I carry on my back the weight of your
father's children, and my heart is worse bruised by the ingratitude of
you and your brother Giles, than is my flesh with this child's heels.
And Mistress Bradford is proud-hearted, and that I will maintain,
Puritan or no Puritan, or whether she be one of the elect of this
chosen company, or a sinner. For plain could I see this afternoon that
she held her husband to be a better man, and higher in the colony, than
my husband, nor would she give way one jot when I put it before
her--though not so that she would see what I would be after--that
Stephen Hopkins it was who was chosen with Mr. Winslow to make the
treaty, and not William Bradford. Well, far be it from me to take pride
in worldly things; I thank the good training that my mother gave me that
I am humble-minded. Often and often would she say to me: Eliza, never
plume yourself that you, and your people before you, are, as they are,
better, more righteous people than are most other folks. For it is our
part to bear ourselves humbly, not setting ourselves up for our virtue,
but content to know that we have it and to see how others are lacking in
it, making no traffic with sinners, but yet not boasting. And as to you,
young women, it would be better if you betook yourselves to your proper
homes, not lingering here to encourage Constantia Hopkins to idleness
when I've my hands full, and more than full, to make ready for the
Indian chiefs' supper, and I need her help."
On this strong hint the Plymouth girls bade Constance good-bye and
departed, leaving her to a bustle of hard work, accompanied by her
stepmother's scolding; Dame Eliza had come back dissatisfied from her
visit, and Constance paid the penalty.
The next morning the men of Plymouth gathered at the house of Elder
Brewster, attired in all the decorum of their Sunday garb, their faces
gravely expressive of the importance of the event about to take place.
Captain Myles Standish, indeed, felt some misgivings of the pervading
gravity of clothing of the civilized participants in this treaty, that
it might not sufficiently impress their savage allies. He had fastened a
bright plume that had been poor Rose's, on the side of his hat, and a
band of English red ribbon across his breast, while he carried arms
burnished to their brightest, his sword unsheathed, that the sun might
catch its gleam.
Elder Brewster shook his head slightly at the sight of this display, but
let it pass, partly because Captain Standish ill-liked interference in
his affairs, partly because he understood its reason, and half believed
that the doughty Myles was right.
Not less solemn than the white men, but as gay with colours as the
Puritans were sombre, the Indians, headed by Massasoit, marched to the
rendezvous from the house which had been allotted to them for lodging.
With perfect dignity Massasoit took his place at the head of the council
room, and saluted Captain Standish and Elder Brewster, who advanced
toward him, then retreated and gave place to Stephen Hopkins and Edward
Winslow, who were to execute the treaty.
Its terms had already been discussed, but the Indians listened
attentively to Squanto's interpretation of Mr. Hopkins's reading of
them. They promised, on the part of Massasoit, perfect safety to the
settlers from danger of the Indians' harming them, and, on the part of
the pilgrims, aid to Massasoit against his enemies; on the part of both
savage and white men, that justice should be done upon any one who
wronged his neighbour, savage or civilized.
The gifts that bound both parties to this treaty were exchanged, and the
treaty, that was so important to the struggling colony, was consummated.
The women and children, even the youths, were excluded from the council;
the women had enough to do to prepare the feast that was to celebrate
the compact before Massasoit took up his march of forty miles to return
to his village.
But Giles leaned against the casement of the open door, unforbidden,
glowing with pride in his father, for the first time in heart and soul a
colonist, completely in sympathy with the event he was witnessing.
Stephen Hopkins saw him there and made no sign of dismissal. Their eyes
met with their old look of love; father and son were in that hour
united, though separated. Suddenly there arose a tremendous racket, a
volley of shots, a beating of pans, shouts, pandemonium.
Captain Myles Standish turned angrily and saw John and Francis
Billington, decorated with streamers of party-coloured rags, which made
them look as if they had escaped from a madhouse, leaping and shouting,
beating and shooting; John firing his clumsy "Bouncing Bully" in the air
as fast as he could load it; Francis filling in the rest of the
outrageous performance.
But worst of all was that Stephen Hopkins, who saw what Captain Myles
saw, saw also his own boy, whom but a moment before he had looked at
lovingly, bent and swayed by laughter.
Captain Standish strode out in a towering fury to deal with the
Billingtons, with whom he was ceaselessly dealing in anger, as they were
ceaselessly afflicting the little community with the pranks that shocked
and outraged its decorum.
Stephen Hopkins dashed out after him. Quick to anger, sure of his own
judgments, he instantly leaped to the conclusion that Giles had been
waiting at the door to enjoy this prank when it was enacted, and it was
a prank that passed ordinary mischief. If the Indians recognized it for
a prank, they would undoubtedly take it as an insult to them. Only the
chance that they might consider it a serious celebration of the treaty,
afforded hope that it might not annul the treaty at its birth, and put
Plymouth in a worse plight than before it was made.
Mr. Hopkins seized Giles by the shoulders and shook him.
"You laugh? You laugh at this, you young wastrel?" he said, fiercely.
"By heavens, I could deal with you for conniving at this, which may earn
salt tears from us all, if the savages take it amiss and retaliate on
us. Will you never learn sense? How, in heaven's name, can you help on
with this, knowing what you know of the danger to your own sisters
should the savages take offence at it? Angels above us, and but a moment
agone I thought you were my son, and rejoicing in this important day!"
Giles, white, with burning eyes, looked straight into his father's eyes,
rage, wounded pride, the sudden revolt of a love that had just been
enkindled anew in him, distorting his face.
"You never consider justice, sir," he said, chokingly. "You never ask,
nor want to hear facts, lest they might be in my favour. You welcome a
chance to believe ill of me. It is Giles, therefore the worst must be
true; that's your argument."
He turned away, head up, no relenting in his air, but the boy's heart in
him was longing to burst in bitter weeping.
Stephen Hopkins stood still, a swift doubt of his accusation, of
himself, keen sorrow if he had wronged his boy, seizing him.
"Giles, stop. Giles, come back," he said.
But Giles walked away the faster, and his father was forced to return to
Massasoit, to discover whether he had taken amiss what had happened,
and, if he had, to placate him, could it be done.
To his inexpressible relief he found that their savage guests had not
suspected that the boys' mischief had been other than a tribute to
themselves, quite in the key of their own celebrations of joyous
occasions.
After the dinner in which all the women of the settlement showed their
skill, the Indians departed as they had come, leaving Squanto to be the
invaluable friend of their white allies.
Giles kept out of his father's way; Stephen Hopkins was not able to find
him to clear up what he began to hope had been an unfounded suspicion on
his part. "Zounds!" said the kind, though irascible man. "Giles is
almost grown. If I did wrong him, I am sorry and will say so. An apology
will not harm me, and is his due--that is in case it _is_ due! I'll set
the lad an example and ask his pardon if I misjudged him. He did not
deny it, to be sure, but then Giles is too proud to deny an unjust
accusation. And he looked innocent. Well, a good lad is Giles, in spite
of his faults. I'll find him and get to the bottom of it."
"Giles is all right, Stephen," said Myles Standish, to whom he was
speaking. "Affairs that go wrong between you are usually partly your own
fault. He needs guiding, but you lose your own head, and then how can
you guide him? But those Billington boys, they are another matter! By
Gog and Magog, there's got to be authority put into my hands to deal
with them summarily! And their father's a madman, no less. I told them
to-day they'd cool their heels in Plymouth jail; we'd build Plymouth
jail expressly for that purpose. And I mean it. I'm the last man to be
hard on mischief; heaven knows I was a harum-scarum in my time. But
mischief that is overflowing spirits, and mischief that is harmful are
two different matters. I've had all I'll stand of Jack Billington, his
Bouncing Bully and himself!"
"Here comes Connie. I wonder if she knows anything of her brother? If
she does, she'll speak of it; if she doesn't, don't disturb her peace of
mind, Myles. My pretty girl! She hurts me by her prettiness, here in the
wilderness, far from her right to a sweet girl's dower of pleasure,
admiration, dancing, and----"
"Stephen, Stephen, for the love of all our discarded saints, forbear!"
protested Captain Myles, interrupting his friend, laughing. "If our
friends about here heard you lamenting such a list of lost joys for
Constance, by my sword, they'd deal with you no gentler than I purpose
dealing with the Billingtons! Ah, sweet Con, and no need to ask how the
day of the treaty hath left you! You look abloom with youth and
gladness, dear lass."
"I am happy," said Constance, slipping her hand into her father's and
smiling up into the faces of both the men, who loved her. "Wasn't it a
great day, Father? Isn't it blessed to feel secure from invasion, and,
more than that, secure of an ally, in case of unknown enemies coming?
Oh, Father, Giles was so proud of you! It was funny, but beautiful, to
see how his eyes shone, and how straight he carried himself, because his
father was the man who made the treaty for us all! I love you, dearest,
quite enough, and I am proud of you to bursting point, but Giles is
almost a man, and he is proud of you as men are proud; meseems it is a
deeper feeling than in us women, who are content to love, and care less
for ambition."
Stephen Hopkins winced; he saw that Constance did not know that anything
was again amiss between the two who were dearest to her on earth, but he
said:
"'Us women,' indeed, Constantia! Do you reckon yourself a woman, who art
still but my child-daughter?"
"Not a child, Father," said the girl, truly enough, shaking her head
hard. "No pilgrim maid can be a child at my age, having seen and shared
what hath fallen to my lot. And to-morrow there is to be another treaty
made of peace and alliance, which is much on my mind, because I am a
woman and because I love Priscilla. To-morrow is Pris married, Father."
"Of a truth, and so she is!" cried Stephen Hopkins, slapping his leg
vigorously.
"Well, my girl, and what is it? Do you want to deck her out, as will not
be allowed? Or what is on your mind?"
"Oh, I have made her a white gown, Father," said Constance. "Whatever
they say, sweet Pris shall not go in dark clothing to her marriage! But,
Father, Mr. Winslow is to marry her, as a magistrate, which he is. Is
there no way to make it a little like a holy wedding, with church, and
prayers, and religion?"
"My dear, they have decided here that marriage is but a matter belonging
to the state. You must check your scruples, child, and go along with
arrangements as they are. There is much of your earliest training, of
your sainted mother's training, in you yet, my Constance, and, please
God, you will remain her daughter always. But you cannot alter the ways
of Plymouth colony. So be content, sweet Con, to pray for our Pris all
you will, and rest assured they receive blessings who seek them, however
they be situate," said Stephen Hopkins, gently touching his girl's
white-capped head.
"Ah, well," sighed Constance, turning away in acquiescence.
Captain Myles Standish and her father watched Constance away. Then they
turned in the other direction with a sigh.
"Hard to face westward all the time, my friend; even Con feels the tug
of old ways, and the old home, on her heartstrings," said Captain Myles.