CHAPTER XVI.
PRISCILLA MOLINES' LETTER.
"John Alden, the captain says thou 'rt a ready writer. Didst learn thatalong with coopering?"
"Nay, Mistress Priscilla, I was not dubbed cooper until I was ase'nnight old, or so."
"Oho! Then thy schoolcraft all came in the first week of thy life. Eh?"
"Have thy way, Priscilla. Thou knowst well enow thou canst not angerme."
"Truly? Well I never cared to see a man maiden-meek. But thou canstwrite?"
"Ay, and so canst thou, I have heard."
"Heed not all thou hearest, John; no, nor believe all thou seest."
"But what about my pencraft? Can I do aught for thee, Priscilla?"
"Mayhap."
"And what is it, maid? Well thou knowest that it is more than joy for meto do thy bidding."
"Nay, I know not what feeling 'more than joy' can be, unless haply ittopple over t' other side and become woe, and I would be loth to breedthee woe."
"And I am as loth to let thee; but still thou dost it and will do it."
"Verily!"
"Ay, verily; but what is thy bidding, Priscilla? for I have an errand onhand."
"And what weighty matter claims thee for its guardian?"
"Nay, 't is no such weighty matter, nor is it a secret. The governorwill have me warn the men to gather in the Common house to-morrow tocomplete the affairs twice broken off by the visit of our red-skinnedneighbors."
"And mark my words, John, they'll come again to-morrow so sure as youtry to hold council. 'T is a fate, and you'll not escape it."
"Pooh, child! Dost believe in signs and fates?"
"My forbears did. Haply thou hadst none, and so escaped the corruptionof such folly."
"Nay now, Priscilla, each one of us has just as many grandsires asanother all the way back to Adam, only some of us have had moreimportant matter in hand than to reckon up their names, and 't willnever spoil a night's rest for me that I know not if my great-grandamwas Cicely or Phyllis. But tell me, mistress, what my pen can do forthee?"
"Thy pen! Then 't is not thy heart or thy hand that is at my service?"and Priscilla raised a pair of such melting and velvety brown eyes tothe somewhat offended face of the young giant that he at once tumbledinto the depths of abject submission, and trying to seize her handexclaimed,--
"Oh sweetheart, thou knowest only too well that hand and heart and all Ihave are thine if thou wilt but take them."
"Nay, John, thou must not speak so, no, nor touch my hand until I giveit thee of mine own free will"--
"Until? Nay, that means that some time thou wilt give it!"
"Well, then, I don't say until, and if thou dost pester me I'll saynever. And I'll ask John Howland to write my letter."
"Stay, stay Priscilla! If 't is a letter to be written let me write it,for I was the first one asked, and I'll not pester thee, lass. I am apatient man by nature, and I'll bide thy good pleasure."
"There, now, that's more sensible, and as my own time runs short as wellas thine, sit down at the corner of the table here--hast thy ink-hornwith thee? Ay, well, here is paper ready, and we have time before I mustmake supper."
"Yes, an hour or more," said John looking at some marks upon the windowledge cut to show the shadows cast at noon, at sunrise, and at sunset atthis time in the year. Priscilla meantime had arranged the writingmaterials upon the corner of the heavy oaken table with its twisted legsand cross pieces still to be seen in Pilgrim Hall in Plymouth as ElderBrewster's table, and drawing up two new-made oaken stools, for theelder's chair in the chimney-corner was not to be lightly or profanelyoccupied, she said,--
"Come now, Master Alden, I am ready."
"I would thou wert ready," murmured John, but as the blooming faceremained bent over the table, and the very shoulders showed coldindifference, he continued hastily as he seated himself,--
"And so am I ready. To whom shall I address the letter?"
"Methinks I would first put time and place at the head of the sheet. Sohave I noted that letters are most commonly begun."
"Ay. Well, then, here is:--
"'The Settlement of New Plymouth, March the 21st inst. A. D. 1620.'" Forthus in Old Style did John Alden count the date we now should set atMarch 31st, 1621. And having written it in the queer crabbed Saxonscript we find so hard to decipher he inquired,--
"And what next, Mistress Priscilla?"
"Next, Master John, thou mayest set down,"--
"'My well beloved'"--
"Well, who is thy well beloved?" demanded John pen in hand and flame oncheek.
"Nay, the name is of no importance," replied Priscilla coldly. "Let usgo on."
"Very well, 'My well beloved,' is set down."
"'I promised thee news of my welfare so soon as opportunity should serveto send it.'"--
"Well?"
--"'And now I would have thee know that I find none to take thy place inmy heart or eyes'"--
The young man laid down his pen, and with a sterner look upon his facethan the teasing girl had ever seen there, rose from the table saying,--
"I did not deem thee so unmaidenly, Priscilla, as to ask a man who lovesthee to write thy love-messages to one thou favorest more highly. 'T isnot well done, mistress, neither modest nor kind."
"I wonder at thy hardihood, John Alden, putting such reproach upon me.Never think again that I will listen to thy wooing after such insult,and thou stupid oaf, did I not tell thee that the letter was to JeanneDe la Noye, my dear girl-friend in Leyden?"
"Nay, thou toldst me no such thing."
"Well, I tell thee now, and thou mayst put Jeanne after 'mywell-beloved' at the top, an' thou wilt. Art satisfied now, thouquarrelsome fellow?"
"Satisfied that thou wilt bring me to an untimely grave, thou wickedgirl!"
"Well, then sit down and finish my letter before thou seekest that samegrave, for the shadow creeps on apace. Nay, now, I will be good, goodJohn."
"Ah well-a-day, I am indeed an oaf, as thou sayest, to be so wroughtupon by a coy maid's smiles or frowns, but have thy will mistress, havethy will."
"Nay now, John, cannot a big, brave fellow like thee take a poor maid'sfolly more gently? Think then, dear John, of how forlorn a maid it is;think of the graves under yon springing wheat"--
"There, there, dear heart, forgive my rude brutishness; forgive me,sweet one, or I shall go out and do some injury to myself or another,thou hast so stirred my sluggish heart"--
But a peal of laughter, rich and sweet as a bob-o-link's song, cut shorthis speech, and Priscilla dashing away the tears that hung in her archlycurved eyelashes exclaimed,--
"_Thy_ sluggish heart, John! Why, thy heart is like an open tub ofgunpowder, and all my poor thoughtless words seem sparks to kindle it!Well, then, sith both are sorry, and both fain would be friends, let usget on with my fond messages to Jeanne and her sister Marie, or I shallhave to put away my paper hardly the worse for thy work."
"Well, then, thou honey bee, as sweet as thy sting is sharp, what next?"
"Tell her in thine own words how long we were cooped in yonvile-smelling old tub, and how when we landed, Mary Chilton and not Iwas first of all the women to leap upon the rock we call our threshold;and oh John, tell her how I am orphaned of father and mother andbrother, and even the dear old servant who carried me in his arms, andmany a time in Leyden walked behind us three malapert maids--oh me, ohme!"--
She turned away to the window and bowed her face in her hands,smothering the sobs that she could not quite restrain. John sat still,looking at her, his own eyes dim and his face very pale. At this momentthe door was suddenly thrust open, and Standish entered the roomexclaiming,--
"Is Alden here?"
"Ay, Captain," replied the young man rising and coming forward. Standishcast a hasty glance at the figure of the young girl, another at theyoung man's face, and motioned him to follow outside.
"Hast thou done aught to offend Mistress Molines?" demanded he as Johndrew the door close after him.
"Not I," replied he somewhat indignantly. "She asked me to write for herto some maid of her acquaintance in Leyden, and when it came to tellingof her orphanage and desolate estate her woman-heart gave way, and shewas moved to tears."
"Ay, ay, poor child! 'T is sad enow, but we will put all that rightpresently--yes, I promised William Molines, and so let him die at ease,and I will keep my word to the dead. A husband and a home, and haply atroop of little rogues and wenches at her knees will soon comfort herorphanhood, eh, John?"
"I know not, sir--I--doth she know of this compact betwixt her fatherand you?"
"Come, now, thou 'rt not my father confessor, lad, nor yet my general,"replied Standish with peremptory good humor. "Get thee back to thypencraft, and when it is done come to me at the Fort, I have work forthee."
"Yes, sir." And the young man turned again into the house wherePriscilla, quite calm, but a little subdued in manner, awaited him.
"And now wilt thou set thy name at the foot, Priscilla?" asked thescribe when the fourth side of the paper was nearly covered.
"Let me see. Ah, there is yet a little room. Say, 'My friendlysalutation to thy brothers, Jacques, Philip, and little Guillaume; andnow I think on 't, Jacques asked me to advise him if this were a goodplace for a young man to settle, and as I promised, I will now bid theesay that to my mind it is a place of goodly promise, and I were gladindeed to see all my friends of the house of De la Noye coming hither inthe next ship.'"
"I have heard ere now that the pith of a woman's letter was in the postscriptum, just as the sting of a honey bee cometh at the latter end,"said John dryly. "And now wilt thou sign?"
"Yes. Give me the quill. _Ciel_, how it sputters and spatters! 'T is awondrous poor pen, John."
"It served my turn well enow," replied John surveying with a grim smilethe childish signature surrounded with a halo of ink-spatters; but asnot one third of the women in the company could have done as well,Priscilla felt no more chagrin at not being a clerk, than a young ladyof to-day would at not knowing trigonometry.
"And now address it to the Sieur Jacques De la Noye for MademoiselleJeanne De la Noye, and I will trust thee to put it with the lettersalready writ to go by the Mayflower. And thank thee kindly, John, forthy trouble."
"Thou 'rt more than welcome, Priscilla."
"But why so grave upon 't, lad?"
"'The heart knoweth its own bitterness,' and mine hath no lack of bitterfood, Priscilla."
"Nay, perhaps thou turn 'st sweet into bitter. A kind word to thebrother of my gossip Jeanne"--
"Ah, that's not all, nor the worst. But there, I'll fetch thee somewater from the spring." And seizing the bucket, the young man wenthastily out, leaving Priscilla staring at the folded letter upon thetable, while she half murmured,--
"Handsome Jacques with his quick wit and gentle breeding, and our braveCaptain, the pink of knightly chivalry, and--John!"--
Standish of Standish: A Story of the Pilgrims Page 17
