THE UNEXPECTED.
It was just as true in 1625 as it will be in 1895 that nothing is
certain to occur except the unexpected; but the idea had not yet been
phrased, and even if it had been, William Bradford’s turn of mind was
absolutely opposed to the epigrammatic, so it was in sober commonplace
that he remarked,--
“I never thought to have spoken with you again in Plymouth, Master
Oldhame, but sith you urge pressing business as your excuse for coming
hither, I am ready to hear it.”
The governor sat in his chair of office, and the Assistants were ranged
each man in his place. At the end of the platform stood John Oldhame,
and behind him Bartholomew Allerton and Gyles Hopkins, each carrying a
pike, and looking very important.
But except for these nine men the great chamber where we assisted at
the Court of the People was empty, and the sad afternoon light fell
across the vacant benches, and glimmered upon the low-browed wall
upheld by sturdy knees of oak, with a sort of mournful curiosity quite
pathetic; this curiosity was, however, reflected in the minds of the
townsfolk of Plymouth in a degree far more ludicrous than pathetic, man
often falling short of the dignity of nature.
All that they knew, these good people, was that about noon a Nantasket
boat had rounded Beach Point, anchored in the channel, and sent a
skiff ashore under command of William Gray, the elder of two brothers,
representing the solid men of Nantasket at that day. Stepping on the
Rock, Master Gray demanded to be led to the governor, a demand complied
with the more readily that as he declined to communicate his business
to any one else. Dinner-time came and went, and as the town returned
to its posts of observation it noted William Gray rowing back to the
vessel, receiving a passenger into his skiff, and bringing ashore the
very John Oldhame whom Plymouth had so ignominiously dismissed some
two years before. The same, and yet a very different John Oldhame from
the drunken ruffler of that day, or the blustering bully who a year
before that had been solemnly exiled from Plymouth; yes, a strangely
meek and quiet John Oldhame this, who, looking neither to the right
nor the left, strode up the hill to the Fort, apparently not noticing,
certainly not resenting, the attendance of the two men-at-arms who
escorted or guarded him, as one might elect to call it.
So much had Plymouth seen, and Helena Billington, arms akimbo, and head
inclined to one side, was beginning to vituperate the tyrants who had
beguiled an unfortunate gentleman into their clutches, and now would
clap him up in jail, when those very tyrants severally appeared coming
out of their houses and leisurely climbing the hill.
“The governor, and the Elder, and the captain, and the doctor, and
Master Winslow, and Master Allerton,” counted she breathlessly, and
not without a certain awe at sight of all the authority of the colony
paraded before her eyes; and as the last doublet disappeared within
the gate, she sagely shook her head, with the conclusion, “Well,
gossip, it passeth my comprehension or thine, and I’ll e’en hie me
under cover when it rains, for only a fool will stay out to get
drenched.”
From which somewhat blind apothegm we may perhaps evolve the theory
that Goodwife Billington was not one of those whom our modern slang
declares “don’t know enough to go in when it rains!”
“Seat yourself an you will, Master Oldhame, and speak your errand,”
repeated the governor a little more indulgently, for in fact Oldhame’s
weather-and-timeworn face and somewhat bowed shoulders suggested
ill health or great suffering, a look supplemented by his voice, as
dropping upon the bench which young Allerton pushed forward he slowly
said,--
“My thanks, Governor Bradford. I have come here to-day upon an errand
so strange that I can scarce credit it myself, and I know not that in
my half century of years I have ever charged myself with the like.
“Man, it is to crave pardon for my ill offices to you, and these your
associates, and to all the town of Plymouth, where I repaid kind
entertainment and many good turns with as much of evil and malevolence.
Can you, as Christian men, forgive me?”
“As Christians,” began Bradford, after a pause of unfeigned
astonishment, “we are bound to forgive injuries greater than those you
have offered us, which indeed did not harm us as you intended. But
as prudent men, we would fain know before receiving you again to our
confidence what are the grounds of your repentance.”
“Right enough, Master Bradford, right enough! It behooves every man to
be prudent, and the burned dog dreads the fire. But the matter is here.
A year or more agone I and other men loaded a small ship with goods,
bought mainly on credit from the French and English vessels at Monhegan
and Damaris Cove, to truck them at the Virginia colony for tobacco
and other matters which sell well to the sailors and fishermen; but
outside the Cape here, we fell upon Malabar and Tucker’s Terror, and
all those fearsome shoals and reefs that drove back your own Mayflower
from the same voyage, and to cap our misfortunes a shrewd storm out of
the northeast seized us at advantage, and shook and worried us as you
may see a dog torment a wolf caught in a trap, and sans power to defend
himself.
“Now in that extremity some of the mariners bethought them of God, who
verily was not in all their thoughts, and so fell on prayer, making
loud lamentations of their sins and professing desire of amendment and
satisfaction. So as I listened, and marveled if those men were verily
worse than other men, or than me, of a sudden a flash as of lightning
pierced my soul and showed me mine own enormous wickedness, and how it
well might be that I was the Jonah for whom an angry God would slay
all this company. Natheless I did not cry out as Jonah did, for I knew
not if there was a great fish prepared to swallow me when my shipmates
should fling me over, nor did I feel within myself the prophet’s
constancy and courage to abide three days alive in a fish’s belly; so I
held mine own counsel, and getting behind the mast I fell upon my knees
and heartily abased myself before God, confessing my sins, and most
especially my ill-doing toward you men of Plymouth, and as the heat
of my devotion bore me on, I vowed that so God would spare me alive,
and not make shipwreck of all this company for my sin, I would humble
myself before those I had wronged, and would, if I might, do them as
much good as I had done harm. Then, sirs, believe it or not as you
will, but as I finished that prayer and made that vow, the wind fell,
as though some mighty hand had gathered it back, and held it powerless;
the ship that had lain all but upon her beam-ends, and in another
moment must have capsized, righted herself, and stood amazed and
quivering, like a horse curbed in upon the very brink of a precipice;
the sea still ran high, but the tide so bore us up, and carried us so
kindly, that two men at the helm could manage it again, and the master,
recovering his spirit that had been well-nigh dashed with the imminent
peril of his occasions, so ingeniously manœuvred his course in and out
among those sholds as to fetch us through into the open sea, although
so crippled and battered that we could no more than make back to
Gloucester for repairs.
“There I found another vessel bound south, and took passage with my
venture, secure that now my voyage should be prospered as indeed it
was, and I stayed in Virginia something over a year, trading and laying
by money.
“And now, masters, here I am in fulfilling of my vow. I have, and I do
crave pardon and forgetfulness of my former wrong-doing, and to prove
that my repentance is fruitful, I here bring you in solid cash for the
use of the colony five-and-twenty rose-nobles, good money, honestly
gained.”
And with a smile of self-approval not unmixed with surprise at his own
position, Oldhame brought a grimy canvas bag from the depths of one of
the pockets of his pea-coat, and planted it with a pleasant thud and
jingle upon the table in front of the governor, who raised his hand as
if to push it back, but restrained the gesture, and after a moment’s
hesitation rose, and taking the penitent by the hand said in his
grandly simple way,--
“No man can do more than to confess himself sorry for wrong-doing, and
to offer satisfaction for sin. Zaccheus did no more, and the Son of God
became his guest. Master Oldhame, we receive you again as our friend
and comrade, and make you welcome to our town whensoever you may see
fit to visit us. As for this money, if you will retire for a little,
I will take counsel with my advisers here, and tell you our mind.
Will you walk about the town, or will you await our summons outside?
Bartholomew, Master Oldhame is no longer a prisoner but a guest; go
with him where he will, and Gyles, wait you without to summon him, when
we are ready.”
But Oldhame went no farther than a sunny angle of the Fort, where,
seated upon the section of a tree-trunk set there by Captain
Standish, he lighted his pipe, folded his arms, and fixing his eyes
upon Captain’s Hill sat smoking in stolid silence, rather to the
disappointment of Bart Allerton, who was a sociable young man, and
would have liked the news from Virginia.
The penitent’s mood had changed, however, and he was suffering from
the reaction consequent upon most unwonted acts of self-sacrifice. He
really was sincere in his contrition, and had honestly offered that
bag of gold as satisfaction for the injury done and intended toward
Plymouth. But five-and-twenty rose-nobles, representing more than
forty dollars of our money, meant in that day and place four or five
times as much, and was a sum neither lightly won, nor lightly to be
spent; so that Oldhame half unconsciously fell to meditating how far
it would have gone toward purchasing English goods for another voyage
to Virginia, or for his own maintenance while resting from his labors.
He had told his story, and made his peace-offering in a moment of
exaltation, and now the exaltation was all gone, and a certain flat and
disgusted mood had seized upon its vacant place. Human nature is not
essentially different in the nineteenth nor will be in the twentieth
century from what it was in the seventeenth.
“The governor prays your company, Master Oldhame,” announced Gyles
Hopkins; and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, Oldhame pocketed it
and followed into that dusky chamber, where still the Court of the
People seemed to fill the benches with ghostly presence waiting to hear
and confirm their governor’s decision.
“We pray you be seated, Master Oldhame,” began Bradford, motioning to a
chair beside the table. “Bartholomew and Gyles you are dismissed, and
see that we are not interrupted.”
He paused while the men-at-arms withdrew, closing the door with a heavy
bang, which echoed gloomily through the empty room.
Then Bradford, referring now and again to his associates, told the
grisly penitent that the opportunity he craved of doing a good turn to
Plymouth was at hand, and the money he proffered would aid in carrying
out the enterprise. This was no other than the transportation of
Thomas Morton to England, and there delivering him to the authorities
who waited to punish him for offenses committed before seeking the
shelter of the New World. After his capture by Standish, Morton had
been brought to Plymouth, but as he was too troublesome a prisoner
to be held there, some brilliant mind had hit upon the idea of
marooning him upon one of the Isles of Shoals, where, having no boat,
he was perfectly sure to be found when wanted, and at the same time
quite out of danger. The season for the return home of the English
fishing-vessels had now arrived, and Plymouth was already in treaty
with the master of the Dolphin to carry their rebellious prisoner as
passenger; but it was most desirable that some competent person should
accompany him, and perhaps none could be found more suitable than
Oldhame, to whom the position was now offered. If he chose to accept
it, the five-and-twenty rose-nobles, “said to be contained in this
bag which we have not opened,” and at the words Bradford laid a hand
upon the bag and threw a penetrating glance at Oldhame, whose face
flushed guiltily, for one of those nobles had indeed been so grievously
clipped as to lose a good third of its value, and he knew it, although
the governor only guessed it, “this money, be it less or more, shall
be used by you, Master Oldhame, to pay Plymouth’s proportion of
the expense of this transportation, and the remainder shall be our
recognition of your services and loss of time. Do you accept the offer,
friend?”
“Gladly and gayly, Governor, and gentlemen all,” cried Oldhame, laying
an impulsive clutch upon the bag. “And truth to tell, I was purposing a
voyage into England when occasion should serve, so that your proposal
jumps with my desires most marvelously, and you shall find that once
there I will do you good and manful service in whatsoever you desire. I
am not unknown to Sir Ferdinando Gorges, the Governor of Old Plymouth,
whither the Dolphin is bound, and I will so present this Morton’s
offenses that we shall have him hanged over the battlements, a prey for
gleeds, before he has well tasted English air.”
“Better to shoot him before he goes,” growled Standish. “’Tis bad
venerie when you have trapped a wolf to let him go free on the chance
some other man will finish your work.”
“Morton hath committed no offense worthy of death on this side the
water,” suggested Allerton in his crafty voice. “If he hath in England,
let English law decide.”
Standish cast a look of impatient dislike at the speaker, but Doctor
Fuller interposed,--
“Fair and softly is a good rule whereby to walk, and I know not if the
right of life and death except in combat is fairly ours. I fear me one
hundred men though led by Standish would hardly cope with Old England’s
forces if she sent them hither.”
“My brethren,” said Bradford, lightly tapping the table with his
finger-tips, “why waste time thus? There is no question of life or
death in the present matter; we are to send this dangerous rebel home
to England for trial, and John Oldhame is to be surety for his safe
arrival, and to receive this money to defray Plymouth’s proportion of
the expense. Am I right, sirs?”
“You are right, Governor Bradford,” said the Elder solemnly, and the
conclave broke up.