THE GOING LANDWARD
GOODMAN RIGDALE had died that day at noon; he had seemed sure of
recovery, but there came a sudden change, and, with the ebbing of the
tide, his life went out. So much they made Miles understand, gently as
they could. Dolly cried with choked sobbings, and Constance Hopkins,
who had come out and taken the little girl in her arms, cried too. But
Miles, who sat apart from the others, astride one of the benches, did
not cry,--just scowled before him in stupid fashion, and half snarled,
"Don't touch me," at Goodwife Tinker and the other women who had
hastened up to sympathize.
He was aware of the people about him and the lantern light; that was
all. Something inside him seemed benumbed, and he did not care to
talk, or cry, or do aught but sit still. He listened to Dolly; she was
wailing now, "I want my mother. Oh, take me to my mother!" He wished
she would hush; it worried him.
Then he heard some one else speak: "Look you, Captain; Will Trevor and
I are fresh enough to do 't, and there's the small boat belongs to the
shallop. And Rigdale's goodwife will be wanting her bairns to-night. If
you give the word, Will and I, we'll row them ashore."
Miles looked up and saw Ned Lister, his cap on straight and his face
earnest, speaking with the Captain. He rose, and, a little unsteadily,
pushed the women aside, so he could clutch Ned's arm. "I want to go
ashore," he whispered chokedly. "Take me now."
"You shall go," said Captain Standish. "I'll bid them make ready the
boat."
"You and the little wench get on your cloaks briskly," Ned admonished,
as he turned to follow the Captain. "We'll be ready ere you be."
Constance came down with the two children to the cabin beneath the main
deck. It seemed darker and colder than ever before, and Dolly's cloak
strings were tied in a hard knot, and Miles could not find his mittens.
At the very last, as, in stupid fashion, he searched for them a third
time in a bag that held some odds and ends of his mother's, he heard
Dolly cry, "Oh, Solomon, poor Solomon! Don't leave him behind, Miles. I
know they'll not tend him. And daddy was fond of him."
The cat was dozing among the blankets, but when Miles, slow and
uncomprehending, tried to seize him, he took fright and ran beneath the
bunk.
"We've the boat ready. Quickly, Miles!" called Ned Lister in the
passageway.
Miles saw Solomon's eyes shining yellow in the dark beneath the bunk,
and, making a grab, he clutched the cat. The creature spit and clawed,
but Miles, with his hands bleeding, still clung to him, and, headlong,
thrust him into the bag that had held their biscuit. One white paw came
struggling out, but the boy shoved it in roughly, and drew the strings
tight.
"Wait, wait! Your cloak, Miles." Constance detained him, and fastened
his cloak about his neck. Miles suffered her, like a very little boy,
and then, slinging Solomon's bag over one shoulder, he followed Dolly
up on deck.
The rain, pelting on his cheeks and forehead, half blinded him, and
the faces of the men, seen fitfully beneath the flaring light of the
lantern at the gangway, looked strange to him. Their voices had no
meaning, and they must repeat the question when one asked: "What have
you there, Miles? Give me the bag; I'll hand it you."
Miles shook his head and pressed the bag tighter beneath his arm; he
could feel the cat's soft body writhing and struggling within. They
brought him over to the gangway ladder, and, holding by one hand, he
scrambled down it. How black the line of bulwarks looked against the
lantern light, as the ship heaved upward! There he half slipped, when
he felt some one catch him round the body, and he was dropped down on
the stern seat of the little boat. Dolly pressed close to him, and,
putting his arm round her, he held tight to her and to Solomon. They
had turned the lantern now so the light flashed into the boat, and he
realized it was Lister who sat upon the forward thwart, and the other
man, who was standing up to push them off from the ship's side, was the
sailor, Will Trevor.
At last they were clear, out on the wide, rough water, and, with a
motion of spitting on his hands, Trevor dropped into his seat and
gripped his oar. As the boat swung round, Miles had sight of the
black bulk of the _Mayflower_, with a lantern gleaming on her high
quarter-deck and another just receding from her gangway. Then, as the
boat headed for the shore, he could see the ship only by turning his
head, and that was too great an effort to make.
The thole-pins creaked, and the water slapped against the prow. The
waves were running high, and, as the little boat leaped them, she
seemed to throb through her frame. The oars and the sea that wrestled
together made the only sound, for the rain that dropped steadily was a
quiet rain, and the men who rowed for the most part kept silent. Once,
to be sure, Trevor growled: "How're we heading, Ned?"
Miles noted dully how Lister rested on his oar and turned his face
landward. "I can just make out a light," he answered. "Pest on this
rain! More to larboard we must run."
For another space they tugged at the oars in silence, while Miles
stared unheedingly into the dark, till suddenly Trevor called, "Hey,
lad, what's wrong wi' thy bag?"
Solomon's struggles had loosed the fastenings, Miles found; he thrust
the animal back and tied the strings again, slowly and stiffly, for his
hands were cold and sore too, where they had been scratched.
"What sort o' luggage be ye travelling with?" Trevor asked, between
strokes, in a tone that was so amused that Miles felt an angry shock:
what right had the sailor to find any merriment in life, while Dolly
was sobbing so? Next moment the anger passed, and instead, Miles
wondered that Dolly should cry, for it was not true, whatever they had
said; his father would surely come forth from the Common House to meet
them, and he would look just as Miles had seen him on that last day.
Yonder beneath the black bluff shone a light. Miles could see it now,
and he stared unthinkingly, till it grew larger and brighter, and then
a sudden jar almost threw him from his seat. "I'll hold her steady,"
spoke Trevor. "Do thou get out the younkers, Ned."
"Come, come, Miley, are you asleep?" said Lister. Miles saw him
kneeling on the rock close beside him, holding the boat's gunwale with
one hand, and with the other outstretched. "Give me the bag. Now then,
steady. Ah! You did yourself hurt?"
Miles picked himself up from the rock where he had fallen; his knees
were aching, and he suddenly felt he should like to cry. "Yes, I hurt
me," he said dazedly. "Give me Solomon."
He made his way, groping through the dark, to the path beneath the
bluff that led up to the settlement. The ground had thawed, so broad
puddles had formed; he must have splashed into one, for, as he stepped,
his shoes squeaked with water. Ned Lister strode up alongside him, with
Dolly gathered in his arms. "You come with me up to the Elder's house,
Miley," he said breathlessly, for Ned was wiry, rather than robust, and
Dolly was a heavy little maid.
All the way up the hill Miles had a sickening sense of awaking to
something full of dread. The ground and the sky and the dimly seen
houses were now all real; he felt the rain and the cold and the weight
of the bag on his arm, and he began to realize that what had happened
also was no dream.
"Oh!" he cried, with a sudden hard gasp, and, dropping the bag, broke
into a run. He stumbled and slipped, but pantingly he held on till he
reached the Brewsters' cottage. From one of the tiny windows a light
shone forth, but it blinded without aiding him. He fumbled a moment at
the heavy door, then, grasping the rude latch at last, thrust it open
with his shoulder, and plunged headlong into the common room.
On the hearth, opposite the door, a fire blazed, and on the table
flickered a candle. Spite of the dazzle of sudden light, Miles made out
a woman, just turning from the fire, and, knowing her for the Elder's
wife, ran to her. "Where's my mother, my mother?" he cried.
"Hush, hush, Miles! You must quiet yourself ere you see her," Mistress
Brewster urged, never so gently.
But there came from an adjoining room his mother's voice: "Miles, I am
here. Come to me."
The narrow chamber was dark, but, seated in the far corner, he could
distinguish a woman's bowed figure, and, stumbling heavily across the
floor, he flung himself on his knees beside her. "Mother! Oh, mother!"
he choked, and, burying his face in her lap, burst out crying.