CLARKE'S ISLAND.
"And now, Master Coppin, let us bear up for Thievish Harbor without more
delays," said Carver as the boat settled to her work, and the men into
their places.
"Ay, ay, master," responded the pilot cheerily. "And a good harbor and a
good seat shall you find it in spite of its ill-favored name."
But as the day went on the stormy sky lowered yet more and more blackly,
the wind, shifting between east and north, swooped in angry gusts across
the black waters, or blew in so fierce a gale that the shallop scarcely
bore her close-reefed sails, and more than once careened so as to ship
alarming seas. The air, filled with sleet and icy snow, cut like a knife
through the thickest clothing, and again Edward Tilley, swooning with
exhaustion and cold, lay lifeless in the bottom of the boat, sadly
watched by his brother in hardly better plight and by Carver, who, like
the father of a family, carried all his children in his heart.
About the middle of the afternoon these skirmishes of the storm
concentrated in one furious and irresistible attack, before which even
the hardy sailors lowered their heads and clung to whatever lay nearest,
while Clarke, who was steering, suddenly reeled violently against the
bulwark, and recovering himself with a fearful oath seized an oar and
thrusting it out astern shouted,--
"We be all dead men! The rudder has broke, and no man can steer in such
a sea as this with an oar!"
"Two men may, so they be men and not cowards!" shouted John Alderton in
retort, and springing to the stern he thrust out his own oar, calling to
a comrade,--"Here, Cornish Jim, come you and help me, and so long as ash
blades and stout arms hold we two will steer the craft."
"Good cheer, men!" hailed Coppin from the bows where he was on the
lookout. "I see the harbor straight ahead! We are all but in! Carry on,
carry on with your sails there, Clarke, and let us make the haven before
the gale rises to its height."
"She'll never carry another inch of canvas," expostulated English as the
mate shook out a reef in the mainsail, but Coppin and Clarke were now in
command, since only they professed to know the coast, and the warning
was unheeded, especially as the wind had for a moment lulled or rather
drawn back for a more formidable spring, swooping down as the last reef
point was loosed with a force that snatched the great sail from the
men's hands, and buried the nose of the shallop deep under water. The
sail cracked and filled until it was tense as iron, but the honest
Holland duck could not give way, and it was the mast that had to go,
breaking into three pieces and falling overboard with a splintering
crash. Nor was this the worst, for with the mast went the great sail
with all its hamper of blocks and cordage, which, half in and half out
the boat, threatened to capsize and swamp her before it could be cut
away.
"Save the sail, men!" cried English through all the hubbub. "As good
lose all as lose our sail! Gather it in and stow it as best we may. Keep
her before the wind, you lubbers! Handle your oars for your lives!"
For now the great boat, losing her sail, must depend upon oars, and with
two men at each, and Alderton and the Cornish giant steering as best
they might against a sea howling and leaping like wild beasts around
them, the shattered craft drove on past the headland of Manomet,
steering straight for the deadly rocks off the Gurnet's Head, which
Coppin espying from the bows, he uttered a cry of dismay, shouting,--
"The Lord be merciful to our sinful souls, for I never saw this place
before!"
"Breakers ahead!" shouted Clarke. "Beach her, Alderton! Run her ashore
on yon headland! We that can swim may save ourselves! Beach her, I say!"
"And I say no such coward thing," retorted Alderton. "About with her,
men! Row, row for your lives! Bend down to it! So! Pull, pull! I see a
channel ahead and smooth water! Hold on here, Jim, till I get out
another oar, this cracks! Now then! Yeo-ho! Here we go past the reef!"
And weathering Brown's Island and the Gurnet Rocks, the brave fellow
steering more by instinct than sight, for darkness had fallen with the
storm, the shallop struck the channel then dividing Saquish from the
Gurnet, flew through it like a hunted creature, and forging past the
north headland of a small densely wooded island found herself in calm
water close under its lee.
"There, men, ye are safe, thanks to stout hearts and arms and good ashen
blades!" exclaimed Alderton drawing his first full breath since seizing
the steering oar.
"Thanks to God Almighty who still giveth His servants the victory,"
amended Carver, who had toiled with the sturdiest.
"And now, where are we and what is to do next?" demanded Standish
clenching his blistered hands.
"We are between two shores, maybe islands both, maybe the lee shore is
the main," replied Coppin peering through the darkness. "And more I know
not."
"And I for one am minded to get ashore and see if there be stuff for a
fire and shelter, whatever name the place may hold," cried Hopkins
dashing the drops of salt water from his face and beard.
"And I," added Standish heartily. "What say you, Master Carver? Shall we
land and make some sort of randevous upon the shore?"
"The place may be full of salvages, who, drawn by the light of a fire,
can come upon us unaware," replied Carver hesitatingly.
"As well risk another encounter as to perish here of cold and
exhaustion," suggested Winslow.
"Safety most often lies on the side of courage," declared Standish
sententiously.
"And Master Tilley will die if naught be done for him," pleaded Howland,
and to this consideration Carver at once yielded his careful scruples.
"Ay, John, thou 'rt right to mind me of that," said he. "Some of us will
go ashore and make a fire, whereat to comfort those who are overborne by
cold and weariness, and some shall keep the boat until the first are
refreshed, and so hold watch and watch."
"And I will be of the first watch ashore," cried Clarke, the master's
mate; "for I'd twice liefer meet all the salvages of the Indies than to
freeze like a clod, so here goes." And stepping upon the gunwale he made
a spring in the dark, alighting upon a slippery rock and measuring his
length upon the sand. Nothing daunted, however, he grasped a handful of
sand in each fist, as if his prostration had been voluntary, and
springing to his feet cried in a braggadocio voice,--
"I seize this land for King James of England and for myself."
"Thyself!" growled Coppin, jealously. "We'll call it Clarke's Land,
then; for truly 't is all thou 'rt ever likely to be master of."
"Nay, then, thou 'rt welcome to the six feet they'll give thee after
thou 'rt hung," retorted Clarke, and the sailors chuckled at the jest,
while the Pilgrims gravely arranged which watch should first land, and
which keep the boat.
Peering around in the obscurity, the pioneers soon found a sheltered
nook close under the bluff, and built their fire and made their camp
very near the spot where a little wharf now lies, and where generation
after generation of their children has stood to meditate, to dream, to
drink in the glory of summer seas and skies, or beneath the August moon
to whisper in each others ears the old, old story, never so fresh and
never so real as it has come to some of them on the shores of Clarke's
Island.
No rosy dreams, no moonlit passages were theirs however, who in that
stormy December night first trod that pleasant shore, but rather the
sternest realities of life and death, as with numb and icy fingers they
struck a light and sheltered the feeble blaze loth to catch upon the wet
twigs and leaves hastily collected.
"Either there are no Indians or this is an island too small for
hunting," said Hopkins as he groped in the thicket at the top of the
bluff for small wood.
"And how know you that?" inquired Howland who helped him.
"By this undergrowth that we are gathering, lad. The Indians burn it off
year by year in the haunts of the deer, so that they may course there
freely, but here thou seest are plenty of old and dry twigs."
"The better for our fire," returned Howland philosophically, not so much
interested at that moment in the habits of Indians as in providing for
Elizabeth Tilley's father.
The more cautious brethren in the pinnace meantime had anchored and made
things as snug as possible on board, but as the fire blazed up, and one
after another on shore showed signs of its genial influence, the dangers
of abandoning the boat grew less and less formidable, until Standish,
rubbing his hands and turning to toast the other side of his person,
cried exultingly,--
"Aha, I am warm! I have seen the fire!"
"So have I seen it, and here goes to feel it!" cried Coppin jumping as
far toward land as he could, and splashing the rest of the way, for he
had sulkily remained on board when Clarke leaped ashore and claimed the
island.
"Methinks the example is good if the manner be uncourteous," said
Winslow wistfully.
"Ay," replied Carver a little annoyed by Coppin's action, although he
claimed no authority over the rough fellow. "I was just about to say
that it were as well that we landed, taking our arms with us and
standing on our guard, for truly we are perishing here."
The permission calmly waited for was thankfully received, and in a few
moments the whole party was gathered about the now jubilant fire which,
fed with cedar logs, sent up clouds of perfumed smoke to float like
incense among the crests of the shivering parent trees.
The next morning broke calm and 'sunshining,' and the Pilgrims, renewing
their fire, offered a solemn prayer of thanksgiving and confidence, and
sat down to breakfast.
After this came an exploration, which showed the small size and compact
nature of the island, as well as its total lack of inhabitants. This
tour was followed by an informal council about the fire, wherein it was
resolved to remain during the day, which was Saturday, upon the island,
drying and cleaning their weapons, rigging a temporary mast for the
shallop, baling and drying her, and restoring by rest and comfort some
measure of strength to the feebler members of the party. Also, and this
not the least consideration, the next day being Sunday, they would thus
be prepared to observe it with that decency and recollection which were
part of their religion.
The plan arranged, all set heartily to work to carry it out, the sailors
going aboard to bale the boat, and Clarke and Alderton undertaking to
fit the new mast. A proud young cedar, growing straight and tall among
his slender admirers, was soon found, and as the white man's axe for the
first time since cedars grew upon Clarke's Island bit into the heart of
one of their number, we well might fancy that, mingling with the east
wind and the sound of the surf on Salthouse Beach rose the echo of the
dirge, startling the sailors of Egean shores, long before,--
"Pan is dead! Great Pan is dead!"
Late in the afternoon when all the work was done, and the men sat or lay
around the fire enjoying the Sabbatical repose long distinguishing the
New England Saturday evening, Carver, Standish, Bradford, and Winslow
climbed the hill rising sharply above their camping-ground, and paused
by what is now called Sunset Rock to look about them.
"Clarke's Island is but a small addition to King James's territory,"
said Winslow with his subtle smile, as he glanced over the ninety acres
of woodland lying around him.
"Our own England is not very large," replied Carver quietly, "but she
hath long arms."
"And I," cried Standish gayly, "am but a little fellow, and yet am not
in the way of calling upon bigger men to protect me! Despise not the day
of small things, Master Winslow, albeit you carry your head some inches
higher than mine."
"There is a great rock showing above the scrub oaks to the north," said
Bradford pointing in that direction. "Let us climb it and see what lieth
beyond."
"Have with you, brother!" responded Standish, and forcing their way
through the stunted growth covering this higher and bleaker portion of
the island the four men soon stood at the base of an enormous bowlder
about thirty feet in height, brought hither in some glacial overflow of
the forgotten years.
On the southern side a deep crevice, worn by many rains, offered a
foothold, even as it does to-day, and in a moment the four Pilgrim
chiefs stood upon the summit and looked about them.
The sun was setting in lavish gorgeousness, while in the deep blue vault
arching overhead tiny points of light showed where the stars waited
impatiently to take their places and glorify the night.
The sea, almost black in its depth of color, dashed mournfully upon the
rocks fallen from the high northern and western bluffs, and across the
wintry flood lay the shores of what was to be Duxbury, running out at
the south into a peninsula, terminating in a bold summit. This was
Captain's Hill, and the Captain standing there looked at it all
unconsciously and said:--
"Yonder is a spot that might be made into a goodly hold against any foe.
With a piece or two properly mounted on that fair height, and a palisado
cutting off the headland from the main, it would fall into as pretty a
little fortalice as could be asked."
"Too small a seat for our whole company, howbeit," said Carver
scrutinizing the spot.
"And we must seek a river with commodious harbor for our fishing fleet,"
added Winslow, not knowing the capacities then of Jones's River and
Green Bay, hard by Captain's Hill, where he was to spend the honorable
evening of his days.
"Fishing!" echoed Standish contemptuously. "It is like those good
dry-salters and drapers of London town, who have helped out our
enterprise, to expect us, landing on this barren shore in the depth of
winter, to fall on fishing before we break our fast, or build a shelter
for our wives and children. Our first work is to subdue the salvages, to
cut down the forest, to build houses, and plant crops. If we reach the
fishing by this day twelvemonth we shall have done well."
"I fear me the Adventurers of whom you speak so slightingly will hardly
be of your mind," replied Winslow coldly.
"Then let them come over here and collect their profits for themselves,"
retorted Standish. "And well would I like to see Thomas Weston and
Robert Cushman, with some of those smug London traders who think to buy
good men's lives and swords for the price of a red herring, set down
here to battle with the frost and snow, and sea and swamps, not to
mention the salvages. We should hear their tune change from 'Fish, fish,
fish!' I warrant me."
But at this speech Winslow, even more of a diplomatist than a soldier,
looked grave, and Bradford, in whose harmonious character valor was ever
in accord with reason, laid a hand upon the little Captain's shoulder,
and said affectionately:--
"Thy courage is still so keen, Myles, that when thine enemies are put to
flight thou 'rt tempted to turn upon thy friends! Doubtless the
Adventurers, mostly men of peace, traders, if thou wilt have it so, yet
none the worse for that, do somewhat fail to fathom the perils of this
our undertaking; still no man is to be condemned for an honest
misconception, and these same traders have freely risked their money to
furnish us forth. We, too, had never stood on this rock to-night had not
those men thrust their hands deep into their pockets, and is it out of
reason for them to ask to see some return for their money as soon as may
be?"
"Not out of reason for traders, mayhap," replied Myles obstinately. "I
would that we had come at our own charges altogether."
"Those of us who had a little money were not enough to furnish forth
those who had none," interposed Carver gravely; "and we have none too
many hands as it is to do the work laid out for us."
"Thou 'rt right, as thou mainly art, Governor," replied Standish
good-humoredly; "and haply 't is well that my hot head is linked with
thy cool one."
"We were all ill sped, lacking thy skill and valor in war, Captain,"
replied Carver kindly, and after a moment's meditative silence he slowly
added,--
"It ill befits finite man to intrude upon the Councils of infinite
wisdom, and yet it seemeth borne strangely in upon my mind that God hath
carefully chosen His weapons for the mighty conquest He hath set Himself
to make in this wilderness, and, if I may say it without grieving your
modesty, brethren, I seem to see in you, standing with me here, three
chosen leaders.
"A man of war, trained from childhood in martial tactics, and in the use
of weapons, and of a singular courage and determination, you, Standish,
are the strong right arm of the body corporate.
"And you, Winslow, bred among courtiers and statesmen, subtle of
intellect, ready of speech, cool of temper, and sound in judgment, in
you I see our ambassador, our spokesman, our counselor and adviser, our
Chrysostom of the golden mouth."
"And Bradford," jealously demanded Standish laying a hand upon the arm
of the future governor, for whom he ever entertained a mighty affection.
Carver turned and looked full into Bradford's steadfast eyes upraised to
his, and his own gaze became rapt and well-nigh prophetic. When he spoke
again it was in a lower and less spontaneous voice.
"The arm strikes, the tongue parleys, but both must be in accord with
the brain, or all is lost. The father of his people must think for all,
plan for all, encourage, restrain, cherish, discipline all. Standish for
the camp, Winslow for the council, but for you, Bradford, the sleepless
vigil, the constant watch, the self-forgetting energy, whose fruits are
safety, honor, and prosperity, for those who lean on you."
"But, dear friend, it is you who still must be our governor, our
reliance, our father!" exclaimed Bradford eagerly, but Carver turned
away and began the steep descent.
Those whom he left looked earnestly in each other's faces, yet said
nothing. A future grander, and more terrible than they had imagined,
seemed suddenly defined before them, and each dimly felt the burden and
the honor of his own part therein laid upon him.
As thus they stood, three noble figures clearly defined against the
amber of the evening sky, Richard Warren and Stephen Hopkins appeared
upon the crest of the hill and paused to look about them.
"See yonder figures, looking as cut out of stone, and set up for idols
in the high places of Baal," sneered Hopkins. "These be our masters,
Warren, if so be we yield to them."
Warren, a genial, honest gentleman of London, who had thrown his entire
patrimony, as well as his earnest soul, into this enterprise, shook his
head and laughingly replied,--
"Thou 'rt ever too jealous, Stephen, for thine own comfort. Our
brethren, all unconscious that they make so fine a show up there, are
giving their best and their all to the common weal, and so are we. If
their best, chance to be gold, and ours but iron, think 'st thou God
will value the one offering above the other? I trow not man, and I am
for my part well content as matters stand."
"Nay," persisted Hopkins, "but mark you how constantly they slight us
and Dotey, because we are out of England, and not of Holland, and so not
of Robinson's congregation?"
"Nay," replied Warren pacifically; "I had liefer mark the many times we
are called to Council and to share in whatever good may be toward. And
mark you, Hopkins, you and I are the fathers of many children, and those
men have none as yet, and this land whose foundations must be laid in
our blood, if need be, shall become the inheritance of those we leave
behind. Please God, my five girls, coming hither so soon as I have a
roof to shelter them, shall become the mothers of soldiers and
statesmen, maybe of kings, for who knoweth what is to come when the seed
sown in tears shall be reaped in joy!"
Hopkins answered only by a contemptuous sniff, and the triumvirate
descending from their pedestal, all six men returned amicably to the
camp.