"SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, JOHN!"
Further information gathered by Squanto and Hobomok from the Indian
guests who were constantly in and out of the village proved that John
Billington had wandered as far as Manomet, and that Canacum, the sachem
of that place, had sent him on with some Nauset braves who were visiting
him, as a present or perhaps hostage to Aspinet, chief of the Nausets
and Pamets. The course of the rescuing party was thus determined, and,
apart from the recovery of little Billington, Bradford was glad of the
opportunity of offering payment to the Nausets for the corn borrowed
from the mysterious granary near the First Encounter, and also much
desired to hear an explanation of the grave containing the bones of the
French sailor and little child.
It was, therefore, with considerable satisfaction that he next morning
led his little party to the water side, and embarked them just as the
sun rising joyously from out the blue, blue sea, sent a handful of merry
shafts to tip each wave with glory and glance in harmless flame from
every point of armor or of weapon in the pinnace, as the crew moved
every man to his appointed place, the captain pushing sturdily with an
oar while John Alden, half in, half out the water, heaved mightily at
the bows hanging at the foot of the Rock.
"Once more! Now again! There she floats!" cried the captain. "One more
shove, John! There, there, enough! Fare thee well, lad, and mind the
business I bade thee take in hand!"
"Ay, master," replied the youth, but as he stepped upon the Rock, and
shook the waters from his mighty limbs, he heaved a sigh so ponderous
that surely it helped to fill the mainsail now curving grandly to the
gathering breeze.
But the summer day ripened to noon, and waned until the sun all but
touched the crest of Captain's Hill, before the young man gave over the
work at which he had labored like a Titan all day long, and going down
to the brook at a point where the captain and he had dug a semicircular
basin and paved it about with white sea-pebbles by way of a lavatory, he
made his toilet, chiefly by throwing the clear cool water in bucketfuls
over his head and neck, and then rubbing himself with a coarse towel
until the crisp hair curled vivaciously, and the fair skin glowed out
from under its coat of sunbrown in strong relief to the white teeth and
blue eyes that made the face so comely in its strength.
A little brushing of the dark doublet and leathern small-clothes, the
low russet boots and knitted hose that completed his costume, and the
unwilling envoy strolled down the hill to Elder Brewster's cottage and
paused unseen and unheard outside the open door. It was the quiet time
in the afternoon when the rougher labors of the day were ended, and the
housewife might rest herself with the more delicate tasks of spinning,
knitting, or needlework, for it was in these, "the good old days" we all
so plaintively lament, that the distich--
"Man may work from sun to sun
But woman's work is never done"--
originated, and was something more than a bitter jest.
In the elder's busy household all the women were using this hour for
their own refreshment. Mistress Brewster was lying upon her bed, Mary
Chilton had taken her knitting and gone to sit awhile with Desire Minter
and Elizabeth Tilley, and Priscilla drawing her quaintly carved
spinning-wheel into the middle of the room so that she could look out of
the window giving upon the brook and distant Manomet, was spinning some
exquisitely fine linen thread, with which she purposed to weave cambric
delicate enough for kerchiefs and caps. As she spun, she sang as the
birds sing, that is from the heart, and not from the score; and now it
was a blithe chanson brought by her mother from her French home, and now
it was a snatch of some Dutch folks-lied or some Flemish drinking-song,
and again the rude melody of an old Huguenot hymn, the half devout, half
defiant invocation of men who prayed with naked swords in their hands.
But suddenly into the sonorous strains of Luther's Hymn broke the joyous
trill of a linnet's song, and the bird alighting upon a neighboring
poplar seemed challenging the unseen songster to a trial of skill. The
stately hymn broke off in a little burst of laughter; and then accepting
the challenge, the girl took up the linnet's strain in an unworded song,
sweeter, richer, more full of joy, and love, and sunshine than his own,
until the little fellow with an angry chirp and flirt of the wings flew
onward to the forest where he knew no such unequal contest awaited him.
"Well done, maid!" exclaimed Alden stepping in at the open door. "Thou
hast so outsung the bird that he hath flown."
"Nay, methinks he flew because he saw an owl abroad, and owls are ever
grewsome neighbors to poor little songsters," replied Priscilla dryly,
and, pressing the treadle swiftly she drew out her cobweb thread with
such earnest care that she could not look up at the tall and comely
guest who awkwardly stood awaiting some more hospitable greeting.
Receiving none, he presently subsided upon a stool hard by the
spinning-wheel, and after watching its steady whirl for some moments
said,--
"What a fine thread thou drawest, Priscilla."
"'T is hardly stout enough to hang a man, and yet stout enough for my
purposes, good John."
"Wilt weave it on Master Allerton's loom when 't is done?"
"Mayhap I'll weave it on a pillow into lace, as the maids in fair
Holland are used to do."
"Dost know their art?"
"Ay. Jeanne De la Noye to whom I writ a letter by thy hand, John, she
taught me, and I overpassed my teacher ere I was done. What thinkst
thou, John, would be said or done should I weave some ells of spanwide
lace and trim my Sunday kirtle therewith? Mistress White, nay, Mistress
Winslow that is now, would rend it away with her own fingers."
"And yet Master Winslow weareth cambric ruffs on occasion, and his dame
hath a paduasoy kirtle and mantle, and so had Mistress Carver, and some
others of our company."
"Marry come up! How wise the lad hath grown! Hast been pondering women's
clothes instead of the books the Captain gives thee to study, John?"
A change passed over the young man's face. The careless allusion had
recalled his errand, and moreover linked itself with a memory Priscilla
had willfully evoked. He was silent for a moment, and then pushing his
seat a little farther from the wheel he quietly said,--
"Well do I like thy merry mood, Priscilla, and care not though thou
flout me ever so sharply, but mine errand to-day is somewhat of
importance, and I pray thee to listen seriously."
"Nay, good lad, waste not such solemnities on me. 'T will be Sunday in
three days, and thou canst take the elder's place, and let him learn of
thee how soberly and seriously to exhort a sinner."
"Priscilla, wilt thou be serious?"
"As death, John. What is it?"
"I writ a letter for thee to thy friend Jeanne De la Noye"--
"'T is a sad truth, John."
"And methought there was in it some word that pointed to--to"--
"Yes; good youth, that pointed to--to--and what then?"
"That pointed to some contract, or mayhap naught more than some
understanding"--
"If 't was a word that pointed to any understanding of thee and thy
stammerings, John Alden, I pray thee speak it without more ado. Say out
what is in thy mind if indeed there is aught there."
"Well then, art thou promised to Jacques De la Noye, and is he coming
here to wed thee?"
The rich color of Priscilla's cheek deepened to crimson and the slender
thread in her hand snapped sharply, but in an instant she recovered
herself, and deftly joining the thread exclaimed.--
"See now what mischief thy folly hath wrought! Of a truth there's no
call to complain of blindness in thy speech now, Master Alden. But
still I have noted that if thou canst drive a bashful youth out of his
bashfulness, there are no bounds to his forwardness."
"Loth were I to offend thee, Priscilla, and that thou knowest right
well, but I fain would have an answer to my query. If 't is a secret,
thou knowest I will keep it."
"Nay, I'll keep it myself, and not trouble thee with what proved too
burdensome for myself."
"But Priscilla, I am sent to thee with a proffer of marriage, and if
thou 'rt already bespoke 't is not fitting that thou shouldst hear it."
"Thou 'rt sent, John Alden!" exclaimed the girl dropping the thread, and
pressing her foot upon the treadle until it creaked. "Who sent thee?"
"Captain Standish."
"Sent thee! Was it too much honor to a poor maid for him to do his own
errand?"
"Nay, be not angered, Priscilla, although he feared thou wouldst be."
"Ah, he did fear it, did he. Then why did he do it?"
"Why, he feared that thou wert angry already, and he would have thee
know he stood in terror, and dared not present himself"--
"John Alden, art thou and thy master joined in league to flout and
insult me, an orphaned maid? If thou hast an errand from Captain
Standish to me, say it out in as few words as may be, or I will never
speak word to thee again."
Perhaps the sight of that suddenly pallid face, those blazing eyes and
brave scornful mouth, steadied the young man's nerves, as cowards in the
camp have been known to become heroes in the field; at any rate his
brow cleared, his voice grew assured, and rising to his feet with a
certain solemnity he said,--
"Thou 'rt right, Priscilla, and I have done sore discredit thus far to
the honorable master on whose errand I come. Captain Standish, as no
doubt thou knowest, spake with thy father before he died of a marriage
in time to come between him and thee"--
"Nay, I knew it not, nor am bound by any such speech," interposed
Priscilla hastily; but Alden continued unmoved,--
"Captain Standish took it that thou didst know, and feared that thou
hadst felt his silence to be some want of eagerness"--
"Ay, I see! He feared that I was angered that he had not wooed me across
his wife's and my father's graves, and so thrust thee forward to bear
the first outburst of my fury! 'T was kindly thought on if not
over-valiant, and 't is an honorable, a noble office for thee, John, who
hast at odd times thrown me a soft word thyself."
"Oh maiden, maiden, wilt thou trample to death the poor heart that thou
knowest is all thine own! I 'throw thee a soft word now and again'! Why,
thou knowest but too well how I hang like a beggar on thy footsteps to
catch even a careless word that thou mayst fling to me! Thou knowest
that I love thee, maid, as blind men love sight, and dying men water,
and"--
"_Then why don't you speak for yourself, John?_" demanded Priscilla
quietly, and a dainty smile softened the proud curve of her lips, and a
gleam of tenderness quenched the fire of her eyes; but John, his eyes
fixed upon the ground, saw it not.
"Ah Priscilla, 't is not kind to try me thus!" cried he. "Sure thou hast
triumphed often enough in despising my humble suit, without wounding me
afresh to-day, and when I fain would rally my poor wits to honorably
fulfill the embassage that brings me here. Sith I may not hope to call
thee mine, maiden, I could better bear to see thee the wife of the noble
soldier whom I serve than of any other man, be he Fleming or Dutchman or
what not, so that thou art not promised."
"Go on, then, and say thy knight's message most worthy squire, and let
us make an end on 't."
"Thou knowest the captain for thyself, Priscilla, but mayhap thou
knowest not that he cometh of noble lineage, a race that hath borne
coat-armor since Norman William led them across the Channel"--
"Didst not bring some heraldic tree or chart to dazzle mine eyes
withal?" inquired Priscilla, mockingly; but the ambassador, determined
not again to be turned from his purpose, went on,--
"Among his ancestors are men of noble deeds and proud achievements who
have carried the name of Standish of Standish in the forefront of
battle, and in King's Councils, and have ranked among the princes of the
idolatrous Church to which they still cling; but among them all,
Priscilla, hath never risen a braver, or a nobler, or a more honorable
man than he who woos thee"--
"Did he bid thee say all that also?"
"Nay, Priscilla, there's a time for all things, and I must feel it
unworthy of thy womanhood to so perversely jeer and flout at a good
man's love, when 't is honestly offered thee."
"Nor would I, John. But I have heard naught of any love offered me by
Myles Standish. Thou hast offered in his name some coat-armor, and a
long lineage, and courage both ancestral and of his own person,
and--what else? I forget, but surely there was no love among these
commodities. Didst drop it by the way, or did the captain forget to send
it, John?"
"Mayhap, he kept it back to give it thee by word of mouth, Priscilla,
and if he did, it is a treasure even thou shouldst not despise, for
never did I see a nature at once so brave, so strong, and so tender.
Thou knowest how sorely ill I was six weeks or so by-gone, and none did
a hand's turn for me but the captain, nor needed to, for never was nurse
so delicate of touch, so unwearied, so cheerful, and so full of device
as he. No woman ever equaled him in those matters where we long for
woman's tendance, and yet never a soldier played the man more valiantly
where man's work was in hand. Ah Priscilla, 't is a heart of gold, a man
among ten thousand, a tower of strength in danger, and a tender
comforter in suffering that is offered thee--be wise beyond thy years,
and answer him comfortably."
"And hast thou done, John? Hast said all thy say?"
"Ay, maid."
"Then clear thy memory of it all, and make room for the answer I will
give thee."
"And let it be a gentle one, Priscilla."
"Oh, thou knowest how to dress an unwelcome message in comely phrase
better than any man of mine acquaintance, unless it be Master Winslow,"
retorted Priscilla bitterly. "So try thy skill on simple NO, for 't is
all I have to say."
"But Priscilla, but maiden, bethink thee--be not so shrewd of tongue"--
"Nay, wilt have my reasons, Master Envoy? Well then, I care not for a
man who cares not to do his own wooing. I care not for a man so well
assured that I will be held by what he avers is my dead father's
bidding, that he can let weeks and months roll by or ever he finds time
to convince himself of the matter. I care naught for coat-armor, nor for
pedigree, I, whose forbears were honest bourgeoisie of Lyons who
scrupled not to give up all for conscience sake, while this man is
neither Papist like his kinsfolk, nor Independent like these he lives
among. And I care not for a red beard, nor for widowers, nor for men old
enough to be my sire"--
"Nay, he is but six-and-thirty, maiden."
"And I am naught-and-twenty, and I am a-weary of thy chat, John Alden,
and I fain would be alone, so I wish thee good e'en--and a keener wit."
"But Priscilla," gasped the poor fellow as the wheel was pushed so
suddenly aside that he had to spring out of its way, while its mistress
whirled past him and up the clumsy stair leading to her nook in the loft
of the cabin.
"But Priscilla!" came back in wrathful mimicry from the head of the
stair, and while Alden still stood bewildered, in at the open door
flocked Mary Chilton, and Desire, and Elizabeth, their girlish laughter
bubbling over at some girlish jest, and with a muttered greeting Alden
stalked through their midst and was gone.
"He came looking for Priscilla, and is grumly at not finding her,"
whispered Elizabeth Tilley; but Mary Chilton with a wise nod replied, as
one who knows,--
"Did he but know it, she's not ill inclined to him when all is said.
Unless I sore mistake she'll say yea next time he asks her."