Standish of Standish: A Story of the Pilgrims

by Jane G. Austin

  CHAPTER XIV.

  SECOND MARRIAGES.

  Doubtless the Indians lurking in the woods of Watson's Hill had watchedwith wonder and alarm the process of mounting and securing the ordnanceof the Fort, itself a novel structure in their eyes, and wiselyconcluded to consider the question of peace or war a little furtherbefore bringing it to an open issue. At any rate, they were no more seenat present, and the colonists wasted no time in pursuing them, but asthe ground dried and warmed hastened to put in such grain and gardenseeds as they had provided, and to lay out the little plots of groundattached to each house. Among the other crops was one whose harvest noman, woman, or child of that well-nigh famished company would haveeaten, a crop of wheat whose ripened seeds were allowed to fall as theywould, to sink again into the earth, or to feed the birds of heaven, forit was sown above the leveled graves of that half the Pilgrims who inthe first four months found the city that they sought. So numerous andso prominent upon the bold bluff of Cole's Hill were these gravesbecoming, that Standish, overlooking the town from the Fort and his homeclose beneath its walls, pointed out to Carver and Bradford that thesavages, doubtless as keen-eyed as himself, would in seeing how many ofthe invaders were under ground find courage to attack those stillliving, and it was his proposal that the earth should be leveled andplanted.

  "To what crop?" asked Bradford.

  "It matters not," replied Standish a little impatiently. "No man willcare to eat of it, knowing what lies beneath."

  "'Thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare grain, it may chanceof wheat or of some other grain, but God giveth it a body,'" quotedCarver in a low voice, and Standish reverently answered,--

  "Ay. Let it be wheat, since that is Paul's order."

  But that night as the sun was setting behind the gloomy evergreen forestclosing the western horizon, the captain, avoiding his comrades, wentquietly up the hill to the Fort, and thence made a circuit northward andeastward so as to come out upon the bluff of Cole's Hill. Passing amongthe graves with careful feet he presently stood beside one, mounded andshaped with care, and protected by willow rods bent over it and into theground at either side. Recently cut, these boughs yet bore their prettycatkins, and the leaves which had already started seemed inclined topersist in life and growth.

  Removing his buff-cap and folding his arms Standish stood long besidethis grave, silent and almost stern of look, but his heart eloquent withthat deep and inarticulate language in which great souls commune withGod, and with those mysteries of life so far transcending man'scomprehension or powers of definition.

  At last he gently pulled up the ends of the willow rods at one side, andpassing round to the other would have done the same, but seeing howfresh and green they looked held his hand.

  "They would grow an' I left them," muttered he; but then with a mournfulgesture added in the same tone, "Nay, then, what need. I shall knowwhere thou liest, Rose, and"--

  Not ungently he drew the twigs from the earth, and stood holding them inhis hand as a voice behind him said,--

  "Ay, brother, we must say good-by even to the graves we have loved.Stern necessity is our master."

  Standish, ill pleased at the interruption, turned a dark face upon thenew-comer.

  "And yet I have heard, Master Winslow, that thou art already speaking ofmarriage with Mistress White. Is stern necessity master there also?"

  "Yes, Standish," replied Winslow frowning a little and speaking morecoldly than at first. "You may see it for yourself. Here are we, a scantthreescore souls, not one score grown men, come to people a savage landand make terms with hordes of savage inhabitants. Is it not theclearest, ay, sternest necessity that those of us who are unwived, toour sorrow though it be, should take the women who remain, be they maidsor widows, in honorable wedlock, and rear up children to fill our placeswhen we are gone? Have we a right, man, to follow our own fantasies andmourn and mourn like cushat doves over the graves of our lost mateswhile the women we ought to cherish struggle on uncared for?"

  "Hast put the matter in this light to William White's widow?" askedStandish sarcastically.

  "Nay," returned Winslow with his usual calm. "Words that suit men arenot always for women's ears. What I may say to Susanna White is not ofnecessity the business of the Council"--

  "Any more than my errand here to-night," retorted Standish, the sparkkindling in his brown eyes.

  "Softly, brother, softly," replied Winslow in his measured tones, andlaying a finger upon the other's arm. "It would ill befit us two toquarrel here between thy wife's grave and mine. We are brethren, and ifI said aught that mispleased thee I am right sorry"--

  "Nay, then, 't is I was hasty," interrupted Standish. "Surely thymarriage is thine own affair, not mine, and I wish you godspeed with allmy heart."

  "And yet, brother, I am not all content lacking thine approval, forthere is neither head nor heart in the colony more honorable thanthine."

  "'He who praises thee to the face is a false friend; the true onereproveth thee,'" quoted Standish with his peculiar grim smile.

  "And am not I reproving thee for thy selfish disregard of the commonweal?" persisted Winslow, his own smile a little forced. "Nay, then,must I bewray confidence and tell thee that one who knows assures methat Priscilla Molines would not say thee nay wert thou to ask her?"

  "Pst! What folly art thou at now, Master Winslow? This is no more thanwoman's gossip. Some of thy new love's havers, I'll be bound."

  "Did not William Molines send to seek speech with thee the night hedied?" asked Winslow fixing his keen eyes upon the soldier's perturbedface.

  "Ay, but it was he and I alone."

  "Well, then, he had taken counsel first with a godly matron, in whosejudgment he trusted."

  "Mistress White?"

  "Ay."

  "I would I had known it that day." And with no farther good-by theCaptain turned and strode down the hill ill pleased.

  The next day rose warm and misty. The veiled sun seemed smiling behindthe soft vapors, and the earth throbbing with the sweet hopes of springsmiled back at him. The leaves of willow, and alder, and birch, andmaple, and elm, uncurled their delicate fronds and shyly held out handsof welcome to the south wind; the birds sang clear and sweet in thewoods, and the delicate springs of sweet water answered back withrippling laughter and joyous dance.

  "A goodly scene, a veritable garden of the Lord," said William Bradfordstanding outside the elder's door, and gazing down upon the valley ofTown Brook, and across at the wood-covered hillside beyond. Standish,whom he addressed, was just coming out of the house, after hisbreakfast, and without reply laid his hand upon the younger man's armand led him up the hill.

  "Whither bound this fair morning my Captain?" asked Bradford, in whoseblood the brave morning air worked like wine.

  "First to fetch my snaphance, and then I will have thee into the woodfor a stroll to enjoy thy fine day, and to hold counsel with thyfriend."

  "And that is ever to mine own advantage," replied Bradford withaffectionate honesty. Standish glanced at him with the rare sweetnesssometimes lighting the rigor of his soldierly face, and as they hadreached the door of the cabin nestled beneath the Fort, where John Aldenand his friend abode, Standish entered, leaving the future governor tofeast his eyes upon the wider view outspread at his feet. Climbing stillfurther to the platform of the Fort, he stood lost in reverie, his eyesfixed upon the lonely Mayflower, sole occupant of the harbor, as sheclumsily rode at anchor tossing upon the flood tide.

  "We shall miss the crazy craft when she is gone," said Standishrejoining him.

  "Ay. She is the last bit of Old England," replied Bradford, musingly.For a few moments the two men stood intently gazing upon the vessel,each heart busy with its own thoughts, then, as by a common impulseturned, descending the side of the hill toward the lower spring, andpassed into the forest.

  "What is thy matter for counsel, friend?" asked Bradford finding thatStandish strode on in what seemed gloomy silence.

  "Yon ship."
<
br />   "The Mayflower?"

  "What other? She brought a hundred souls to these shores some six monthsagone."

  "Ay, and now we are fifty."

  "Fifty alive, and fifty under the sea, or on yon headland where to-daywe level the mounds over their poor bodies and plant wheat to cheat thesalvages."

  "'T is too true, good friend, and well I wot that the delight of thineeyes lies buried there"--

  "And thine beneath the waters of our first harbor," interrupted Standishharshly, for the proud, tender heart could not bear even so light atouch.

  "Yes," replied Bradford briefly, and over his face passed a cloudblotting out all the boyish enjoyment of scene and hour that hadenlivened its ordinarily thoughtful features. Was Dorothy May indeed thedelight of his eyes and heart?

  "Yes, we two men came hither husbands, and to-day we stand as widowers,and 't is in that matter I seek counsel," exclaimed Standish suddenlyas he turned to face his friend. "Last night, Master Winslow standingbetween the graves of his wife and mine, read me a lecture upon the dutyunwived men owe to the community. He says it is naught but selfishnessto let our private griefs rule our lives, that we are bound to seek newmates and raise up children to carry on the work we have begun. Nor canwe doubt his own patriotism, or the honesty of his counsels, for alreadyhe has spoken to the widow of William White, and his own wife but sixweeks under ground."

  "Yes, I know--they will be wed shortly," replied Bradford a littleembarrassed. Standish eyed him keenly.

  "And thou art of his mind, and mayhap thine own new mate is alreadybespoken?" demanded he in angry surprise.

  "Nay, Standish, thou 'rt not reasonable to quarrel with another man'sconscience so that it thwarts not thine," replied Bradford patiently,although the color rose to his cheek as he felt the scorn of hiscomrade's voice. "Neither Winslow nor I would do aught that we could notanswer for to God, and have not we come to this wilderness that we mightbe free to serve Him only, in matters of conscience?"

  "I meant not to forget courtesy, nay, nor friendship neither, Bradford;but my speech is ever hasty and none too smooth. So thou wilt marry,anon?"

  "I'll tell thee friend, and thou 'rt the first I've told. There is alady in the old country"--

  "Which old country? The Netherlands or England?"

  "She is in England now, or was when we set forth. Thou must have seenher, Standish,--Alice Carpenter, who wedded Edward Southworth inAmsterdam."

  "Oh, ay. A goodly crop of daughters had Father Carpenter, and not onehung on hand so soon as she was marriageable. Truly, I remember MistressSouthworth well, a fair and discreet dame. And she was left a widow notmany days before we left England, if I mistake not."

  "Ay. One little week."

  "And didst thou woo her as in the play I saw when last I was in London,King Richard wooed the widow of him he had slain, following herhusband's corse to the grave? Nay then, nay then, man, I meant it notawry. But to ask a woman within one week of her widowhood, and thoustill wived"--

  "Nay, nay, nay, Myles, thou 'rt all aglee and I doubt me if I had notbetter kept mine own counsel. I have not looked upon Alice Carpenter'sface nor heard her voice since she was Southworth's wife."

  "Oh, ay--I see, I see--'t is an old flame and thou 'rt of mind to try tokindle it once more. You were sweethearts of old, eh, lad?"

  "Something so,--though I meant not to say so much, and now must leavethe secret in thine honor, Captain."

  "Dost doubt the ward, Bradford?"

  "Nay. I trust thee as myself, and thou knowest it. Why must thou ever beso hot, Myles? Yes, when Master Carpenter and his fair troop ofdaughters came to Leyden it was not long until I saw that Alice was bothfairest and sweetest of them all; but thou knowest the fight we had forbread, winning it by strange and unaccustomed labors: I, who knew naughtbut my books, and something of husbandry, becoming a weaver of baize;Brewster a ribbon weaver, Tilley a silk worker, Cushman a wool comber,Eaton a carpenter, and so on; well, goodman Carpenter was loth to trusthis maid to such scant living as I could offer, nor would he let us evencall ourselves troth-plight; and Alice, the gentle, timid maid that shewas, yielded all to her father's will, and I, in the naughty pride of ayoung man's heart, was angered that she would not promise to holdherself against all importunities, and we quarreled, or forsooth Ishould say I quarreled, and flung away, and I knew Dorothy May and herkin, and she, poor soul, was ready to wed as her father willed"--

  "Enough Will, enough; it is not good to put all that is in one's heartinto words. I see the whole story. And now thou 'lt write to MistressSouthworth and ask her to come out with the residue of our company, andbecome thy wife?"

  "Ay, dear friend, that is my plan," said Bradford, wringing the handStandish extended, and turning his flushed face aside.

  "And why not?" asked Myles heartily. "'T is no new affair, no hastyfurnishing forth of a marriage feast with the cold vivers of the funeraltables, as yon fellow said in the play. 'T is marvelous like one ofthose old romaunts my kinswoman Barbara used to tell over to me and thedear lass that's gone. There now--and thou hadst not this matter inhand, I'd wive thee to Barbara Standish--'t is the best wench alive, Ido believe, and full of quip, and crank as a jest book."

  "Thy cousin?" asked Bradford rather absently.

  "Ay, but I know not just how nigh. Her father held for his lifetime alittle place of ours on the Isle of Man, and I, trying to find an oldrecord that should give me a fair estate feloniously held from me now,went over there once and again, and so met Rose, and went yet again andagain, until we two wed, and I carried her away to my friends in theNetherlands."

  "And is thy cousin wed?"

  "Nay, did not I say I'd like to give her to thee to wife? But barringthat, I'll send for her to come with the next company, perchance undercharge of thy sober widow, Will, and I'll marry her to one of these ourgood friends here. So if I do not marry myself, for the weal of thecommunity as Winslow says, I shall purvey for some one of them a wifeand mother of children in my stead."

  "'T is well thought on, Captain," replied Bradford laughing, "and I canpromise that if Mistress Southworth makes the voyage she will gladlytake charge of thy cousin, for whom we will choose a husband of ourbest. But why wilt not thou marry again, thyself? Was not that in thymind in speaking of counsel?"

  "Ay--nay--in good sooth I know not, lad. I fain would know thine ownintentions, and I have them, but for myself--truth to tell, I care notto wed again. I lived many years with only my good sword here assweetheart and comrade, and I was well stead, and--none can make goodthe treasure late found and soon lost--but yet--come now, Will,confidence for confidence, I'll tell thee somewhat"--

  "Touching fair Mistress Priscilla?" asked Bradford with a smile of quiethumor.

  "Aha!" exclaimed Standish, a swarthy color mounting to his cheek. "'T iscommon talk, then!"

  "Well, I know not--certes I have heard it spoken on more than once, butto say 'common talk'--we who are left alive are so few and so boundtogether that 't is no more than a family, and the weal of each iscommon to all."

  "But what hast thou heard, in very truth?"

  "Why, naught, except that Priscilla hath a sort of kindness for thee,and thou hast, in a way, made her affairs thine own, and so 't wasnaught but likely"--

  "Ay, ay, I see, I ever had but an ill idea of great families, havingbeen born into one myself,--as thou sayest, the affairs of one are thegossip of all."

  "Nay, I said"--

  "Pst, man, I know what thou saidst, and what I think, so hold thy peace.Nay, then, this idle prating hath a certain foundation, as smoke ayeshows some little fire beneath, and I'll tell it thee. When WilliamMolines lay a-dying his mind was sore distraught at leaving his poor,motherless maid alone, for his son Joseph had gone before him, so hesent for me to watch with him that night, and somewhere in the smallhours we thought his time had come, and he besought me to promise that Iwould take the maid under my keeping and not let her come to want. Hesaid naught of marriage, nor did I, for my wife was but then at r
est,and such speech would have been unseemly for him and hateful to me. Itook his words as they were spoken, and I gave my promise, and so far asthere was need I have kept it, and seen that the maid was housed and fedand looked after by Mistress Brewster, but more, I thought not on."

  "Master Molines was a discreet and careful man and seldom told out allhis thought," said Bradford astutely. "Methinks he counted upon 'the wayof a man with a maid,' and left it to thee to find out the most perfectplan of caring for a young gentlewoman."

  "Dost think so, Will? Dost think he meant me to take her to wife? Dostthink she so considers it?" and Myles snatching off his barret-cappushed up the hair from his suddenly heated and burning forehead.Bradford looked at him with his peculiar smile of subtle humor andshrewd kindliness.

  "Why, Myles, thou lookst fairly frightened! Thou who never counted thefoe, or thought twice ere leading a forlorn hope, or asked quarter ofTurk or Spaniard"--

  "Nay, nay, nay, Will, spare thy gibes! Here is a moil, here is anambushment! Here am I, going fair and softly on mine own way, and of asudden the trap is sprung, and Honor starts up and cries, 'There's butone way out of it, take it, willy-nilly!' If the maid is of her father'smind I am bound to her."

  "I think she would not say thee nay," said Bradford demurely.

  "Thou hast no right to avow that, Will, and I were but a sorry knave tobelieve it. A lady's yea-say is an honor to any man, and he who receivesit must do so in all reverence. No man hath a right to fancy or to saythat a modest maid is ready with yea or nay before she is asked."

  "Thou art right, and I wrong, Myles, and in truth I know naught ofMistress Priscilla's mind."

  "But I will, and that ere many days are past. Thou hast done me a goodturn, Will, in showing me where I stand. I dreamed not that Molineswas--well,--he died peacefully and I will not disturb his rest. Yes, Iwill but wait until the Mayflower is gone and my cabin weather-tight,and the garden sown, and then I will speak with Priscilla. If Barbaracomes she'll be rare good company for both of us."

  Again Bradford smiled very quietly, and the two men walked on insilence.