THE LAUNCH OF THE PINNACE.
"Mary! Mary Chilton! Maid Mary mine!" called Priscilla Molines in her
clear bird-voice, as she ran down the steps leading to the principal
cabin. "Come on deck and see the launch of the pinnace! The carpenters
call her fit for use if not finished, and the men have gone ashore to
launch her. Where art thou, poppet!"
"Here," replied a gentler and sweeter voice, as Mary Chilton came
forward, a long gray stocking dangling from her hands, and stood in a
slant ray of sunshine which lighted her golden hair to a glory, and
showed the pure tints of her May-bloom face and clear blue eyes; a
lovely English face in its first fresh rapture of morning beauty.
"Right merrily will I come, Priscilla, if there be aught to see,"
continued she, throwing down the stocking which she was knitting for her
father. "Truly my eyes ache with staring at nothingness."
"Well, there's a trifle this side of nothingness on the beach at this
minute," retorted Priscilla, pinching her friend's ear. "Men call it
Gilbert Winslow."
"Hush, hush, Priscilla!" whispered Mary, with a scared look toward her
mother's cabin. "If anybody heard such folly! And Mistress White already
tells my mother that we two are over-light in our carriage and
conversation."
"Mistress White"--began Priscilla sharply, but ended the exclamation
with a saucy laugh and said instead, "Yes, truly as thou sayest, my May,
mine eyes ache with gazing upon nothingness and my tongue aches with
speaking naught but wisdom. It is out of nature for young maids to be as
staid as their elders, and methinks I do not care to be. Let us be young
while we have youth, say I."
She looked perilously pretty as she arched her brows and pouted her ripe
lips, and Mary looked at her in loving admiration, while she answered
sagely,--
"You and yours are French, Priscilla, and I am all English like my
forbears; so thou mayst well be lighter natured than I--I mean no harm,
dear."
"No harm is done, dear mother in Israel," replied Priscilla half
mockingly, and seizing Mary's hand she led her on deck, where many of
the women and children were collected, watching the preparations on
shore for the launch of the pinnace, which, much strained by bad stowage
between decks, had needed about a fortnight's work done upon her before
she was fit for service.
"They only wait for her to set forth on a second exploration," said
Priscilla confidentially; "and a little bird sang in my ear that they
would go to-morrow."
"What little bird?" asked Mary curiously; but before Priscilla could
reply another voice interposed; it was that of Bridget Tilley, who had
come on deck to seek her daughter Elizabeth, and now sharply inquired,--
"Another expedition, say you? And my goodman scarce brought back from
death's door, whither the first jaunt led him! Nay, now, 't is not
right, 't is all one as murder, to hale dying men out of their beds and
into that wilderness. No blessing will follow such work, and I'll cry
upon the governor or the captain or the elder to stop it!"
"What is it, Mistress Tilley? Any wrong that I can help set right?"
asked a sweet voice, and Bridget turned toward the speaker with a
somewhat more subdued manner, lowering her voice as she said,--
"Thank you kindly, Mistress Standish, and God be praised that you can be
on deck; but my matter is this," and again she poured out her anxieties
and her fears, until Rose Standish, a fair white rose now, and trembling
in the shrewd autumn air so soon to scatter her petals and bear the pure
fragrance of her life down through the centuries, until men to-day love
her whom they never knew, leaned wearily against the bulkhead and
said,--
"Rest easy, dear dame. Thou 'rt all in the right, and it behooves us to
protect our lords from their own rash courage, just as it befits their
courage to protect us against salvages and wild beasts. I will whisper
in my husband's ear that Master Tilley is all unfit to carry out his own
brave impulses, and I will conspire with Mistress Carver and Mistress
Bradford, and, above all, with our dear mother, the elder's wife, that
each shall make petition to her lord to see that no sick or overborne
man be allowed to adventure himself on the expedition. Will that satisfy
thee, dame?"
"Right well, and you are all one with the saints we used to honor,
though we do know better now."
"'T is the most comfortable promise I've heard in many a day, dear
Mistress Standish," cried Priscilla vivaciously. "And well do I believe
that the whispers of the wives are more weighty than the shouts of the
husbands. I've never proved it myself, being but a maid; yet I have ere
now marked how the prancing of the noblest steed is full deftly checked
by a silken rein."
"It were well if a rein were put upon thy tongue, girl," severely
interposed a comely matron sitting near. "Thou 'rt over forward for thy
years, Priscilla. Shamefastness and meekness become a maid, and when
thou knowest more thou 'lt say less."
"Thanks, Mistress White, I will try to profit by your discourse,"
replied Priscilla demurely; but her tone did not satisfy the matron, who
sharply rejoined,--
"See that thou do, Mistress Malapert, or I'll ask the elder to deal with
thee. Here he is now."
And, in fact, Elder Brewster, who had caught the tone of Mistress
White's voice, drew near to the group, saying pleasantly, "A goodly
sight yonder, is it not? And how well our strong fellows set their
shoulders to the toil! What shall we call the pinnace when she is
launched, Mistress White?"
"Methinks Discretion would be a good name, Elder," replied the lady with
a glance at the two girls. "Surely, we have room for it in our company."
"Truth, my daughter, and yet to my mind Charity is a sweeter name, and
one more likely to float us over troubled waters." And the elder's
pleasant smile disarmed his words of all sting. "Priscilla," continued
he, turning to the girl, "I hear that thy father keeps his bed to-day,
and thy mother is but poorly."
"Indeed, sir, they are both in evil case," replied Priscilla sadly.
"Neither of them has stomach for such food as is at hand, and so they
weaken daily. John Alden shot some little birds yesterday, and I made
broth of them, but, saving that, my mother has taken no meat for days."
"I will go and visit them," said the elder, and forgetting the launch he
had come up to see, he went at once.
"See! See! There she goes!" cried Elizabeth Tilley, as the great boat
slid gracefully down her ways to the water, dipped her bows deeply, and
finding her level rode upon an even keel.
"There she goes!" echoed Constance Hopkins and Remember Allerton, who
with Elizabeth Tilley constituted what may be called the rosebud
division of the Pilgrim girls, all glowing in the freshness of early
youth, all comely, strong, and vivacious. Priscilla Molines and Mary
Chilton with Desire Minter, a distant relative and charge of Governor
Carver's, made another little group of older girls, and then came the
young matrons of whom there were many, while Mistress Brewster in the
dignity of middle life was the recognized head and guide of all.
"Yes, there she goes," cried Priscilla, clapping her hands and dancing
upon her slender feet. "And Mary," continued she, dropping her voice to
a whisper, "it was Captain Standish who gave that last mighty shove"--
"Nay, it was John Alden," interrupted Mary innocently.
"I tell thee, girl, it was the captain. John Alden is ever at his elbow
and striving to imitate him, but our captain is still the leader, and I
do honour a man who can think as well as do, and act as well as talk. Of
talkers we have enow, the dear knows; Master Winslow and Master Allerton
can so argue that they would force you to swear black was white and the
moon a good Dutch cheese an they chose, and they can lay out work
marvelously well for others to carry out, but I mark that their own
hands abide in their pockets for the most part. Then there are plenty of
strong arms with no head-pieces, like John Alden and your good friend
Gilbert Winslow and John Howland and"--
"Nay, nay, Priscilla, thou shalt not wrong good men so," interrupted
Mary, her fair face coloring a little. "The leaders aye must lead, and
the younger and simpler aye must follow in every community, and I mark
not that those you flout for speaking so well fail of their share in the
labor, nor do I think John Alden or the rest would do well to thrust
their advice upon their betters. At all rates, yon boat had not slid
down so merrily if John Alden had not put his shoulder to the work."
"Yea, put his shoulder where the captain laid his hand," retorted
Priscilla with her mocking laugh, and then putting her arm around Mary's
shoulders, she added affectionately,--
"What a wise little woman thou art, ever looking at both sides of the
matter while I see but one! And in truth, perhaps, it is better that
there be these varied excellences, so that all comers may be suited,
just as thou art fond of porridge while I would liefer have soup."
"And art a rare hand at compounding it," replied Mary admiringly. "How
Desire Minter smacked her lips over the dish thou gavest her the other
day."
"That poor Desirée, as my gossip Jeanne De la Noye used to call her! I
like well to give her some tasty bit, for it makes her so happy at so
little trouble to myself, since I am ever cooking."
"Dost thou really like cooking, Priscilla; or dost thou do it because
thou ought, as I do?" asked Mary, who hated the culinary art, and yet
was called upon to practice it, as were all young women of the day.
"Oh, I love it," replied Priscilla, with enthusiasm. "My mother and my
grandmother and all my aunts were notable cooks, and in the good old
days in France before I was born, they say my grandmother's patés and
conserves and ragouts were famous all through Lyons, where my
grandfather and his father before him were great silk manufacturers with
plenty of men and maids and money at their command."
"Ah, Priscilla, thou 'rt hankering after the flesh-pots again! Remember
Lot's wife!" and Mary laughed, but gently stole a hand into that of
Priscilla, who pressed it tenderly as she replied,--
"Lot's wife spoiled all her cookery with salt, and I'll at least distill
none from mine own eyes. How shall I make Robert Cartier know that I
want him to come aboard and help me with my father's supper?"
"Beckon to John Alden to send him," retorted Mary promptly. Priscilla
turned and fixed her long dark eyes in mock bewilderment upon the
other's face.
"And why is it easier to beckon to John Alden than to Robert Cartier,
thou foolish girl?" asked she.
"Because Robert is only thy father's servant, and John is thine own and
ever waiting thy command," replied Mary demurely, and Priscilla's rich
color mounted to her brow as she laughingly retorted,--
"Now, maid Mary, that quip was more like me than thee, and I'll have
none of it. 'T is for thee to carry the honey-bag to mollify the stings
my naughty tongue must aye inflict. I would I were not so waspish, Mary
mine!"
"Thou 'rt naught but what is dear and lovely, and I care for thee beyond
any man that ever walked, saving my father," cried Mary, pressing close
to her friend's side.
"Then will I be jealous of Master Chilton," murmured Priscilla, the
teasing mood again rising to the surface. "For I'll have no rival in thy
heart, save only Gilbert Winslow, whom I hope not to oust."
"See, there is John Alden steadfastly regarding us," cried Mary, a
little annoyed. "Point thy finger at Robert as he stands staring at the
boat, and then beckon. My word for it, John will read the signal
aright."
"Why, then, so be it, and if Dame White sees me I'll swear 'twas thee,
Mary," and Priscilla half proudly, half shyly made the signal, which was
at once understood and acted upon by Alden, who, truth to tell, seldom
lost sight of Priscilla when in her company. Cartier receiving the
message waded after a boat just leaving the beach, and came aboard
dripping wet, an imprudence so common among the younger men of the
Pilgrims on that flat coast as to become a serious factor in the
terrible mortality which was to sweep off half their number within a few
months.