TREASON.
“Master Oldhame, you are set upon the watch to-night, and will report
after the evening gun at the Fort.”
“The devil you say, Giles Hopkins! And who gave you leave to order your
betters about?”
“Captain Standish names the watch, and I as ancient-bearer am under his
orders and carry his messages.”
“You may be under Satan’s orders or under a monkey’s orders for aught
I care, Giles, my boy, but if you dare come nigh me with any more of
Captain Shrimp’s orders I’ll wring your neck for you, master bantam
cockerel, mark you that.”
“I will report to the captain,” calmly replied Hopkins, who, despite
his father’s restless example, was fast becoming one of the colony’s
most valued young citizens.
A profane exclamation was Oldhame’s only reply, but as the ensign
strode away he turned his head and called into the house at whose door
he sat,--
“Lyford! Lyford! Here’s some merry-making afoot! Captain Shrimp has
summoned me to stand on watch to-night, and I have sent him and
his errand-boy to the devil. Aha! here he comes himself with fury
stiffening every hair of his red beard and snapping out of his eyes.
Stand behind the door and hearken”--
“Good-even, Master Oldhame,” struck in the firm and repressed tones
of a voice at sound of which Lyford cringed closer in his corner, and
Oldhame blustered uneasily,--
“Good-even, Myles Standish.”
“It is your turn in regular rotation, Master Oldhame, to stand
sentry-watch to-night as you have done before, and as every man in the
colony is called upon to do. Will you kindly report at the Fort after
gun-fire this evening?”
“No, I won’t, Captain Shrimp.”
“You refuse to obey the law of the colony?”
“I refuse to be said by you, you beggarly little rascal.”
“Then I shall arrest you as a traitor, and if I had my will, I’d have
you out and shoot you at sunrise.”
“Oh, you would, would you, you wretched baseborn--
“Have a care, man, have a care. Stop while you may!” And the captain’s
voice deepened to a growl, and his eyes, wide open, yet contracted
in the pupil to a point of fire, fixed themselves like weapons upon
those of the mutineer, who, maddened by their menace, sprung to his
feet knife in hand, and aimed a blow at the captain’s face that might
have forever quenched the light of those magnetic eyes, had it not
been caught on the hilt of Gideon, the good sword that in these days
hung ever at his master’s side, although he seldom needed to quit his
scabbard.
“Villain, you’ve broken my wrist!” yelled Oldhame, dropping his knife,
upon which Standish planted his foot.
“To me! To me, men! Help! Murder! To me, Oldhames!” again shouted the
traitor, but although a score or so of the townsmen gathered at the
cry, not one made any demonstration or reply, while Standish, setting
his lips and drawing two or three heavy breaths, hardly cast a glance
at the crowd, but laying a hand upon Gideon’s hilt coldly demanded,--
“John Oldhame, do you refuse to stand your watch to-night?”
A volley of abuse from Oldhame was interrupted by a messenger from
Bradford, who, saluting the captain, reported,--
“The governor sends to know the cause of the tumult, and desires
Captain Standish to arrest any disorderly persons refusing to submit to
authority.”
“My respects to the governor, and I am about to do so,” replied
Standish in the hard and cold tone which at once repressed and betrayed
his passion.
“John Oldhame, I arrest you in the name of the law! Alden, Howland,
Browne, I summon you to my aid! Convey this man to the Fort and lock
him in the strong-room. Do him no bodily harm unless he resist, but
secure him without delay.”
Then ensued such a scene as Plymouth had as yet never seen, for with
one or two exceptions the men who shared the struggles and perils of
the colony’s first days had become too closely welded together, and
were too self-respecting, to rebel against the authority they had
themselves elected.
But no sooner were the goodly foundations of the new home laid and
cemented in the blood of those who dared all for Freedom’s sake, than
the anarchist arrived to throw down what was already wrought, and erect
his own den upon the ruins.
Oldhame, maddened both at his defeat and the failure of those who had
listened to his treason to make an open revolt in his favor, lost all
control both of words and actions, and so ramped and raved, so cursed
and vituperated, so kicked and smote and struggled, that it was not
without a most unseemly contest that he was finally secured and dragged
up the Burying Hill to the Fort, where in the corner opposite to the
captain’s den was a strong-room, small, but as yet quite sufficient for
the colony’s need of a prison.
A few hours of silence and solitude wrought a change, however, and
John Alden, who held the position of prison-warden, came down the hill
toward sunset with a request from the prisoner that he might see Master
Lyford.
“The wolf would fain take counsel with the fox,” remarked Priscilla
when her husband told her his errand. “And our over-amiable sheep-dogs
will never say nay to such a modest request.”
“Pity but they made thee governor, Pris,” suggested John with a bovine
smile intended to be sarcastical.
“Ay,” coolly replied his wife. “’Twould save some trouble. ’Tis a
roundabout way we women have to manage now.”
“Eh? what do all those fine words mean when they’re put straight, wife?”
“They mean that you’d better do your errand to the governor before
sunset, and then come home to eat my bannocks while they’re fresh.”
“You’re right, Pris, and I’m gone.”
But the bannocks were not to be eaten for another hour or so, during
which time Master Lyford was closeted with his associate in the
strong-room, and Alden kept ward without.
That evening the ex-minister sought the governor’s presence, and with
many protestations of regret at the late unfortunate misunderstanding,
as he phrased it, offered Oldhame’s submission and willingness to
comply with the military requirements of the government, adding
craftily,--
“If our worthy governor were also our captain there could never be any
of these troubles.”
“That would be to burn down the house because the chimney smokes now
and again,” replied Bradford good-humoredly. “It is largely due to
Captain Standish’s courage and skill, not to mention his loyalty, his
steadfastness, and his wisdom, that this colony is other than a handful
of ashes and a field of graves. When you new-comers have learned to
know him, you will value our captain as we do.”
The next morning Master Oldhame was released, and the next night
stood his watch, nor, jealously as he watched and listened for them,
was there a look or a tone from the captain or any of his adherents
to remind the conquered rebel of his discomfiture, or the triumph of
authority.
The next Sunday, or as it was universally called, the Lord’s Day, the
plot laid in the strong-room of the Fort developed most unexpectedly.
When at ten o’clock Bartholomew Allerton, now promoted to the post
of band-master to the colony’s army, beat the “assembly” in the Town
Square as a summons to the church-goers to meet and form in their
usual procession up the hill, he was confronted by Peter Oldhame, a
lad somewhat younger than himself, who swung a cow bell almost in the
drummer’s face, shouting,--
“To church! To church! Englishmen hearken to the English Church! To
church! To church!”
Bradford, who was just coming out of his house with Alice and Christian
Penn, her buxom handmaiden, following meekly behind, stopped and looked
sternly at the intruder until he, turning his back, walked down Leyden
Street toward the old Common House, disused now except for storage.
“Shall I arrest the varlet, and clap him up in the strong-room?” asked
Bart Allerton eagerly, as he swung the drum-gear off his shoulder.
“Nay, my son; it is the Lord’s Day and we will not farther disturb its
peace. This rebel has ceased his summons and you may do so also, lest
worse come of it.”
“Does your honor see Master Lyford in gown and bands coming out of
Master Oldhame’s house?”
“Nay, Bart, I see him not, for I look not at him. Now no more, good
youth, but fall into rank with your fellows.”
And fifty men or more, each armed and ready for battle either with men
or the Ghostly Enemy who inspirits men, moved in solemn procession of
threes up Burying Hill to the Fort, the rear closed by the governor in
his robe of office, with the Elder in his gown at his right hand, and
the captain in full uniform at his left.
Not a word was exchanged between the leaders upon the events of the
morning, but it was no news to any of them, when the long service
was over and in the seclusion of home the women’s tongues were let
loose, to hear that Lyford, in spite of his abject repudiation of
his Episcopal ordination, and membership with the Separatist Church,
had gathered a congregation, read the English Service, preached a
vituperative sermon against the leaders of the colony, and administered
the Communion.
Such open bravado and schism as this could not be allowed to
continue, for although the Pilgrims never persecuted any man for
honest difference of religious belief, and were on very cordial terms
with many members of the English Church, whom their pastor Robinson
received to Communion and fellowship, it was hardly to be expected that
they would permit a double apostate like Lyford to gather a body of
malcontents in their midst, and hold services avowedly antagonistic to
the church of the Pilgrims.
Nobody, therefore, was surprised when, on the Monday following this
Sunday, the governor’s message went forth summoning all the men of the
colony, whether church-members, citizens, or only temporary residents,
to assemble at the Fort at nine of the clock on Tuesday morning in a
Court of the People, the colony not yet having outgrown this, the ideal
mode of popular government.