THE FIRST ENCOUNTER.
So thoroughly were the bolder spirits among the Pilgrims impressed with
the necessity of haste in finding an abiding place that by afternoon of
the next day the pinnace was victualed and fitted for a voyage of ten
days or more, and the adventurers ready to embark. To the twelve men
previously named, all of whom were signers of the Constitution already
drawn up to quell symptoms of insubordination on the part of Hopkins and
others, were added Clarke and Coppin, acting as pilots, with the rank of
master's mate, three sailors, and the master gunner, who, uninvited,
thrust himself into the company in hopes of making something by traffic,
or, as he phrased it, _trucking_ with the Indians.
But hasten as they might many things delayed them, some of them as
important as the death of Jasper More, an orphan in charge of the
Carvers, and the birth of a son to Mistress White, whom his father and
Doctor Fuller whimsically named Peregrine, latest of the Pilgrims, and
first of native born American white men. When at last the shallop left
the Mayflower's side it was in teeth of such bad weather as left the
former expedition far in the shade, for not only was the northeast wind
more bitter, but the temperature so low that the spray froze upon the
rigging and the men's jerkins, turning them into coats of mail almost
impossible to bend.
It was soon found impossible for Master English to lay his proposed
course, and finally the Pilgrims resolved to land and encamp for the
night, partly for the sake of the greedy gunner, who had turned so
deadly sick that it was feared he would die, and for Edward Tilley, who
lay in the bottom of the boat in a dead swoon, while his brother John
crouched beside him covered with John Howland's coat, which he declared
was but an impediment to him in rowing.
"They should never have come. Had I guessed their unfitness I would have
hindered it, but now alack it is too late, and I fear they have come to
their death," said Carver in Bradford's ear, and indeed it was so. The
brothers, never divided in body or soul since their birth, had as one
man given their substance, their strength, their faith, to the common
cause, and now were giving their lives as simply and as willingly as
heroes ever will go to their death, so giving life to many.
The second night found them only as far as what we now call Eastham, and
again building a "randevous" and gathering firewood, a difficult task at
any time in this vicinity, for the trees were lofty and the underbrush
annually burned away by the Indians to facilitate hunting. But it was
finally done, as all things will be when such men set about them, the
fire was built, the supper eaten, the prayer said, and the psalm sung,
its rude melody rising from that wilderness to the wintry sky with the
assurance of Daniel's song in the den of lions. Then all slept except
Edward Dotey, to whom was committed the first watch, to last while three
inches of the slow-match attached to his piece were consuming.
Striding up and down his appointed beat the young man hummed again the
evening psalm, mildly anathematized the cold, peered into the blackness
of the forest, and glanced enviously at his comrades sound asleep about
the fire.
"'T is all but burned," muttered he stooping to examine the match, and
thrusting a fallen log back into the fire with his boot. But in that
very instant upon the intense stillness of the night burst suddenly a
discordant clamor, a confusion of horrible and unknown sounds, unlike,
in simple Edward Dotey's mind, to anything possible this side of hell.
Undaunted even thus, he answered the assault with a yell of quivering
defiance, fired his matchlock into the air, and shouted at the top of
his voice,--
"Arm! arm! arm! The fiend is upon us!"
All sprang to their feet alert and ready, and two or three pieces were
shot off, but no foe appeared, and no reply was made to their shouts of
defiance.
Dotey, questioned by Standish, was fain to confess he had seen nothing,
and Coppin averred that he had more than once heard similar sounds upon
the coast of Newfoundland, and that they were commonly thought to be the
voices of sirens or mermaids who haunted lonely shores.
"If naught more imminent than mermaids is upon us I'll e'en go back to
sleep," said Winslow in good-natured derision, while Standish, lighting
his slow-match, said pleasantly to Dotey,--
"Lay thee down, man, and sleep. If thy fiend comes again I'll give
account of him."
A few grim jests, a little laughter, and the camp was again quiet, until
Standish, sure that no enemy could be at hand, resigned his watch to
Howland, and he to English, until at five o'clock William Bradford
aroused his comrades, reminding them that on account of the tide they
must embark within the hour, and had still to breakfast.
A wintry fog, piercing in its chill, had closed down upon the camp,
covering everything with a half-frozen rime, dropping sullenly like rain
from such things as came near the fire, and stiffening into ice in the
shade.
"I fear me our pieces will hang fire after this soaking," remarked
Carver examining his matchlock.
"It were well to try them before there is need," said Winslow firing his
into the thicket behind the camp. His example was followed by several,
until Standish good-humoredly cried,--
"Enough, enough, friends! Save powder and shot for the enemy if there be
one. Such grapes grow not on these vines."
"Well, since the pieces are ready, and the twilight breaks, it were well
for some of us to carry them and the other armor down to the boat, while
the rest set out the breakfast," suggested Hopkins, always anxious to be
stirring.
"Nay, 't is but poor soldiership to part from our arms even for so brief
a space," said Winslow. "There be other matters, cloaks and haversacks,
and such like, that can be carried, but the arms and armor should abide
with them who wear them."
"Master Winslow may do as seemeth good in his own eyes, but my armor
goeth now," retorted Hopkins in a belligerent tone. And loading himself
with his breastplate, steel cap, matchlock, and bullet pouch, he strode
obstinately away to the boat, lying some three or four hundred yards
distant, waiting for the tide to float her.
Standish watched him disapprovingly, and, turning to Carver, he inquired
significantly,--
"What saith our governor?"
"Let each man do as seemeth good to himself," replied Carver placably.
"'T is of no great import."
"My snaphance goes nowhere out of reach of my right hand," announced
Standish somewhat sharply, for the want of discipline grieved him, and
Bradford, Winslow, and Howland silently indorsed both his action and his
feeling. The courteous Carver said nothing, and did nothing, but a
sailor seeing the governor's armor lying together, carried it down to
the boat, thinking to do him a service.
Reaching the shore, Hopkins found the boat surrounded by a few inches of
water, and, not caring to wade out to her, laid his load upon the shore,
to wait until she fairly floated,--an example followed by the rest, some
of whom strolled back to the camp, while others stood talking to those
who had slept on board, until a summons to breakfast quickened their
motions; but just as the laggards entered the randevous the same
horrible noise that had so startled Edward Dotey burst forth again,
while one of the sailors yet lingering by the shore came rushing up,
shouting like a madman,--
"Salvages! Indians! They are men!" and, as if to prove his words, a
shower of arrows came rattling into the randevous, one of them
transfixing the lump of boiled beef laid ready for breakfast.
"Why didn't you bring up your pieces again, ye fools!" cried Standish
angrily. "Run, now, and recover them before the enemy seizes them, while
we men of wit cover your course."
Not waiting to dispute the style of this command, the unarmed men
hastened to obey it, while Standish, taking position at the open
entrance of the barricade, fired his shaphance in the direction where
the sailor pointed; Bradford followed suit; but as Winslow and Howland
stepped forward Standish held up his hand,--
"Hold your fire, men, until we see the foe, and Bradford load again with
all speed! We must hold the randevous at all odds, for here is half our
stuff, and our lives depend upon not losing it. Hasten ye laggards! Run
Tilley! Run men!"
"He is spent!" cried John Howland, throwing down his piece and dashing
out into the open, where he seized John Tilley round the waist and half
carried, half dragged him into the inclosure.
"They will seize the shallop!" cried Carver, and springing on the
barricade, heedless of his own exposure, he shouted to those in the
boat,--
"Ho, Warren! English! Coppin! Are you safe and on your watch?"
"Ay, well! All is well!" cried the rough voices of the seamen, and
Warren's manly tones added, "Be of good courage, brethren!"
"And quit yourselves like men," muttered Standish, his snaphance at his
shoulder, his eager eyes scanning the covert.
Three shots from the pinnace rang bravely through the wood, and then
came a hail,--
"Ho, comrades, bring us a light! We have no fire to set off our pieces!"
"Their matches are not alight!" exclaimed Howland, and snatching a brand
from the camp-fire he again dashed out, down the wooded slope, and
splashing mid-leg deep through the freezing brine, he gave the brand
into Warren's hand, then rushed back as he came, the arrows whistling
around his head and two sticking in his heavy frieze jerkin.
"Well done, John! well done!" cried Carver clapping the young man on the
shoulder as, breathless and glowing, he stooped to pick up his
matchlock. "The sight of such valor will daunten the Indians more than a
whole flight of bullets."
And in fact there was for a moment a lull in the enemy's movements, but
rather of rage than dismay, for the savage outcry burst forth the next
moment with more ferocity than ever, and as it died away a single voice
shouted in a tone of command some words, to which the rest responded by
such a yell as later on curdled the blood of the hapless settlers at
Deerfield and other places.
"Aha! There is a leader, there!" growled Standish, his eyes glittering
and his strong teeth clenched. "Let him show himself!"
As if in answer to the wish a stalwart figure leaped from behind a large
tree to the shelter of a smaller one, about half a gunshot from the
camp.
"That's your man, Captain!" exclaimed Howland, who stood next him.
"Ay, leave him to me!" growled Standish. "Ha!" for an arrow well and
strongly aimed hit squarely above his heart, and rebounded from the coat
of mail Rose had insisted upon his putting on.
"For thee, wife!" murmured the captain, and fired.
Bark and splinters flew from the tree where the crown of the warrior's
head had showed for an instant, but a shriek of derisive laughter told
that no further harm was done. Standish, with a grim smile, reloaded
his snaphance, while two more arrows vigorously flew, one piercing the
right sleeve of his doublet, the other aimed at his face, which he
avoided by moving his head. Then for one instant a dusky arm was seen
reaching over the shoulder for another arrow, and in that instant the
snaphance rang cheerily out, the arm fell with a convulsive movement,
and a piercing cry rang through the wood, followed by the pattering of
many moccasoned feet, as dusky shadows slipped from tree to tree, and
were lost in the dim recesses of the forest.
"They are routed! They fly!" cried Howland firing his piece into a
rustling thicket.
"Yes, that last cry was the retreat," said Standish half regretfully
plucking the arrow from his sleeve. "The chief finds his courage cooled
by a broken elbow. I doubt me if ever he speed arrow again."
"Body o' me!" continued he examining the shaft in his hand. "See you,
John, 't is pointed with naught but a bird's talon, curiously bound on
with its own sinews. To be scratched to death by a fowl were but a poor
ending for a man that has fought Alva!"
"Pursue them, Captain, pursue and terrify, but kill not, if you can help
it," ordered Carver eagerly. "Let the heathen know that they are but
men, and that the Lord of Hosts is on our side."
"Forward then, men! At the double-quick! Run!" and, waving his sword,
Standish rushed after the flying savages, followed by all but Carver,
English, and the sailors who stayed to guard the randevous and the
pinnace. But even as he ran Myles muttered, perhaps to the sword
Gideon,--
"Beshrew me if I see how I am to hurl yon text in the heathen's teeth,
sith we have no common tongue, and they will not stop for parley! A good
man, and a gentle, but no soldier, is our governor!"
As might have been expected, the Pilgrims, in their heavy clothing and
armor, proved no match for the Indians in a foot-race, and after
pursuing them for about a quarter of a mile Standish called a halt, and
ordered his men to raise a shout of mingled triumph and defiance,
followed by a volley of three, each three reloading as the next fired.
The victory thus asserted, and the foe offering no response, the little
army retired in good order upon the randevous, where they only tarried
long enough to pick up the rest of their possessions and make a sheaf of
arrows, pointed not only with eagle's claws, but with the tips of deer's
horns and bits of brass and iron gathered from the various European
vessels touching for provisions or traffic at these shores.
It was indeed to the treachery of one of these commanders that the
present attack of the savages was due. Thomas Hunt, visiting these
shores in 1614 to procure a cargo of dried fish for Spain, recompensed
the kindness and hospitality of the savages by cajoling four-and-twenty
of them on board his ship and carrying them as slaves to Malaga, where
he sold several, the rest being claimed for purposes of conversion by
the Franciscan Friars of those parts.
One of these captives, named Tisquantum, or Squanto, escaped from Hunt,
and remained for a while in England, where he was kindly treated and
learned the language with something of the mode of life. He was brought
back to Cape Cod as an interpreter by an adventurer named Dermer, and
finally returned to his own people, who were so enraged by his story of
Hunt's treachery and cruelty, that they resolved by way of revenge to
sacrifice the first white men who fell into their hands, and had they
proved themselves better men than the Pilgrims would have inflicted not
only death, but the most cruel torments upon them.
The goods and weapons on hoard, Carver, by a word, gathered the men
around him upon the sands, and in a few fervent and hearty words
returned thanks to the God of battles for His aid and protection,
invoking at the same time protection and counsel for the farther dangers
of the exploration. Then embarking with all speed the shallop was pushed
off and flew merrily on before the strong east wind.