Soldier Rigdale: How He Sailed in the Mayflower and How He Served Miles Standish

by Beulah Marie Dix

  Produced by sp1nd, Emmy, and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

  SOLDIER RIGDALE

  "As if he knew the place and held he had the right tocome there."]

  Soldier Rigdale

  HOW HE SAILED IN THE "MAYFLOWER"

  AND HOW HE SERVED MILES STANDISH

  BY

  Beulah Marie Dix AUTHOR OF "HUGH GWYETH: A ROUNDHEAD CAVALIER"

  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH_

  New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1899

  _All rights reserved_

  COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

  _Norwood Press J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._

  Contents

  CHAPTER I Page Playing with Powder 1

  CHAPTER II The Name of Miles 17

  CHAPTER III Thievish Harbor 30

  CHAPTER IV Hewers of Wood and Drawers of Water 45

  CHAPTER V News from the Shore 61

  CHAPTER VI The Going Landward 74

  CHAPTER VII The Man of the Family 81

  CHAPTER VIII In the Time of the Sickness 95

  CHAPTER IX Master Hopkins's Guest 108

  CHAPTER X The Lords of the Soil 125

  CHAPTER XI When the Good Ship Sailed 141

  CHAPTER XII The Sowing of the Fields 156

  CHAPTER XIII The Two Edwards 171

  CHAPTER XIV A Mighty Resolution 187

  CHAPTER XV In the Southward Country 202

  CHAPTER XVI The House of Bondage 217

  CHAPTER XVII How they kept the Sabbath 228

  CHAPTER XVIII At Nauset Village 243

  CHAPTER XIX Fallen among Friends 257

  CHAPTER XX A Son of Perdition 270

  CHAPTER XXI Between Man and Man 283

  CHAPTER XXII The Bearer of Tidings 296

  CHAPTER XXIII The Captain's Soldier 311

  List of Illustrations

  "As if he knew the place, and held he had the right to come there" (p. 111) _Frontispiece_

  Opposite Page "With his arm up to shut out the glare of the lanterns" 14

  "Dolly plaited a fold of her apron between her fingers" 66

  "'Do you like to do it, Captain Standish?'" 102

  "Saw the two young men close in combat" 184

  "'Oh, Miles, 'tis the savages come for us!'" 214

  "Miles made out the figures of the men in the shallop" 254

  "The breath came gripingly in his throat" 308

  SOLDIER RIGDALE

  CHAPTER I

  PLAYING WITH POWDER

  WITH the approach of sunset, the wind that all day had ruffled thewaves to white edges died down, till there was left on the water onlya long, heaving motion, that rudely swayed the old ship _Mayflower_.One moment from her broad deck could be seen the steel-like gleam ofthe fresh-water pond on the distant beach; the next moment, as the shiprolled between the waves, the shore presented nothing but solid sanddunes and shrubby pine trees. But always overhead the sky, athwartwhich the yards, bulging with the furled sails, were raking, remainedthe same,--a level reach of thick gray that, as twilight drew on,seemed to brood closer over earth and ocean.

  How those yards seesawed up and down with the rolling of the ship, andthe mastheads, they dipped too, quite as if they might pitch down upona body! Miles Rigdale, standing with legs craftily planted and headthrown well back, stared and stared at their measured movement till,dizzy with the feeling that the great spars were tottering loose, hewas glad to straighten his aching neck once more.

  "Did you see a goose, all roasted, flying for your mouth?" FrancisBillington called from the waist of the ship, where he perched jauntilyupon the bulwark.

  Sauntering from his place near the companion way, Miles halted besidethe speaker; not that he had a great liking for Francis Billington, buthe was a sociable lad, who must talk to some one, and, as the bleak airhad driven the women and children into the great cabin, while the menwere absent,--the leaders conferring in the roundhouse and the lessermen seeking firewood on shore,--he could for the moment find no comradesave young Billington.

  The latter was an unprepossessing lad, stunted and small for hisfourteen years, with elfish eyes which he now turned sharply on Miles."I take it, Jack Cooke is ill, and Giles Hopkins has packed youabout your business, that you've come to spend the time with me," hesuggested disagreeably.

  "I take it, maybe you've spoke the truth," Miles answered unruffled,as he propped his chin on his fists and braced his elbows against thebulwark.

  Gazing thus northward, he could see all about him green hills, woodedto the water's edge, now higher, now lower, as the ship mounted uponthe waves, and the strip of sand beach, off which rode the bobbinglongboat. "I wish my father had taken me with him when they went tofetch the wood," Miles broke out at that sight; "it's weeks and weekssince I set foot on land."

  "Pooh! I've been ashore thrice already," bragged Francis, setting onearm akimbo, though he took good care to grip the shrouds tightly withthe other hand, for the bulwark was not the safest of perches.

  Miles tried to swallow down his envy, but he could not help saying,with a touch of triumph: "Anyhow, you saw no savages, and my father saw'em when he went exploring with Captain Standish,--six Indians and adog, he saw."

  "So did my father," Francis sought to crush him; but Miles, declaringsudden truce, was asking, with civil interest: "You did not see anylions when you went ashore, did you, Francis?"

  "N--no, but Ned Dotey thought he heard one roar the other night."

  "Father would not take our mastiff Trug on land lest they kill him.Trug would give 'em a fight for it, though. But he couldn't fight theserpents; nobody could. Did you know, Francie, there's a serpent herein America,--they call it the rattlesnake,--and if it but breathe onyou, you die presently."

  "How do you know?" asked Francis, awed, but incredulous.

  "My father read it in a book about plantations in Virginia. Maybethe serpents lie close in cold weather, though, so you did not seethem." Miles was silent a long instant, while he gazed fixedly atthe mysterious shore yonder, where all these rarities were to be metwith. "The trees do not look like our English trees," he said, halfto himself, "but I'd fain go in among them. Perhaps you found coniesthere, Francis? There were a plenty of them on the common at home; Trugand I used to chase them, and 'twas brave sport."

  "Mayhap if you had Trug with you, you could start some here," suggestedFrancis. "Tell you, Miles, you beg your father let you go ashoreto-morrow, and I'll go too, and we'll seek for conies together. Willyou?"

  "'Tis no use," Miles answered, scowling straight ahead.

  "Why not?"

  "Father says I cannot go," the boy blurted out. "I an
swered him saucilythis morning, and he said for that I should not stir foot off the shipfor a week. I think--I think he might let me go ashore. Along the firstI was coughing, so my mother said I must not venture in the boat; andthen my sister Dolly was ailing, and I must stay to bear her company;and then it stormed; and now he will not let me go. And I am so wearyof this ship!"

  "I'd not bear such usage from any man," Francis boasted grandly. "If'twere my daddy treated me so harshly, I'd tell him to his face 'a' wasa sour old curmudgeon, and--"

  "You need not talk so of my father," Miles interrupted sullenly, thoughhe held his eyes fixed upon the shore line, not on the speaker. It washard, while he looked toward the land of wonders, still unknown to him,to think quite kindly of the father who had arbitrarily shut him outfrom the enjoyment of it. "If you miscall him so again, Francis, I'llfight you," he added, conscience-stricken, in the hope of making amendsfor the disloyalty of his thoughts.

  Francis bent his sharp eyes on his companion, but did not take up thechallenge; indeed, a less discreet lad than he might have consideredan instant before coming to fisticuffs with Miles Rigdale. The boy,for his scant eleven years, was of a proper height, with straightback and sturdy limbs, a stocky, yet not clumsy, little figure, thatpromised a vigorous stature when he came to man's age. His deeplytanned face, that was lightly sprinkled with brown freckles, wassquare and resolute; his blue eyes were very level and honest; and histousled brown hair tumbled about his forehead in a way to make morewomen than his mother think him a bonny boy. For the rest, he was cladhumbly enough in doublet and breeches of dark gray frieze, with longgray stockings and stout shoes; he wore neither cloak nor hat, and hisclenched fists, that now rested firmly on the bulwark, were bare andchapped red by the wind.

  It was the sight of the aggressive fists that made Francis use adifferent tone: "You're a pretty comrade, Miles, to fly out at me so."

  "You may leave my father in peace, then."

  "Perhaps you'd wish me to leave you in peace too. I know GoodmanRigdale has forbid his little son speak to me."

  "I'm still speaking to you, am I not?" answered Miles, and bent toadjust one of his shoes, so Francis could not see his face; those lastwords had hit dangerously near.

  "But you'll show me a clean pair of heels very speedily," sneered hiscompanion, "for yonder the boat with your good father is putting offfrom shore, and when he comes--"

  "That's how the wind blows, is it?" struck in a new voice close athand. Looking over his shoulder, Miles saw, lounging on a coil ofrope by the foremast, a certain Edward Lister, one of the servantsof Master Stephen Hopkins. He was a slim, dark fellow of some twentyyears, whom Miles admired for a tall swaggerer, because he always worehis red cap rakishly on one side, and, since the rules about lightingtobacco aboard ship were strict, was ever chewing at a long pinesplinter instead of a pipe. "So if your father catch you with MasterBillington here, he'll swinge you soundly, eh, Miles Rigdale?" heasked, with his mouth quite grave, but a glancing mockery in his blackeyes. "Better show us how briskly you can run into the cabin."

  Miles ostentatiously leaned his shoulders against the bulwark andcrossed one leg over the other, as if he thought to finish theafternoon in that position. Shifting round thus, his gaze travelledbeyond his companions to the high quarter-deck, where he spied severalmen trudging forth from the roundhouse. "Has the conference brokenoff?" he asked, forgetting in his curiosity that he was angry with bothFrancis and Ned Lister.

  "How else?" the latter answered dryly, and, rising to his feet,sauntered over to the two boys. "D'ye think they would confer withoutthe great Master Hopkins? And he quit the roundhouse long since.Wearied out, doubtless, with such vigorous labor. It has taken them anhour to determine no more than to send forth a gang to-morrow and trya third time for a place where we may settle."

  "Another exploration? Is my father to go on it, do you know?" Milesquestioned.

  "They won't let any but the great folk have a hand therein; daddy said'twould be so," commented Francis.

  "True enough," scoffed Lister; "the Governor, and Captain Standish,Master Bradford, Master Winslow, Master Hopkins, and--the worshipfulMaster Edward Dotey."

  "Aha!" jeered Francis. "They're taking old Hopkins's other man Doteyalong, and Ned Lister is jealous of him."

  "Hold your tongue!" cried Lister, catching the lad by the scruff of theneck, "else I'll heave you over the bulwark."

  Francis twisted up his face and opened his mouth in a prodigious,dry-eyed howl, which would have set Miles laughing, had he not beenintent just then upon the approaching boat. He could see her visiblygrowing larger, as she bounded nearer and nearer over the swell of thewater, and each moment he recalled more distinctly in what terms hisfather had forbidden him have to do with "that Satanish brood of theBillingtons." Miles shuffled one foot uneasily; perhaps he really oughtto go into the cabin now and see how his sick friend, Jack Cooke, wasfaring.

  He turned away and had idled a few paces along the deck, when Francis,who had been suffered wrest out of Lister's hold, called after him:"Ah, Miles daren't let his father find him with me. I knew so."

  "It's not so, neither," Miles flung back, and made a great show ofstopping by the mainmast, where he stood gazing down the open hatchwaywhich led to those cabins that were in the depth of the hold. "Aren'tyou coming with me, Francis?" he asked presently.

  The other, quite undeceived, came snickering up to him: "Have no fear;I'll take myself off ere your father come. Sure, you're a stout-heartedone, Miles."

  "You're a pretty fellow to talk of courage," Miles was goaded intoreplying, "after the way you howled out but now. You might have knownNed Lister'd do you no hurt."

  "No doubt you'd not have been afraid," his tormentor scoffed. "You'renot afraid of anybody save your father."

  "So are you, if you told the truth of it," Miles took him up. "You'dnot have Goodman Billington hear you vaporing so for all the silvercrowns in England, and if Goodwife Billington came by and heard you,she'd cuff your ears smartly."

  Francis's sallow face reddened. "Much she would!" he said angrily."I'll show you I be no milksop to stand in fear of my father andmother. Maybe now you think I'd not dare to--" he paused, his eyeshalf-closed, while he tried to concoct some peculiarly wicked soundingproject--"to take some of my father's gunpowder and make squibs?" heconcluded, with a triumphant look at his companion.

  "No, I don't think you dare," Miles answered stolidly.

  "Come, then, I'll show you," the other cried, and headed for thecompanion way that descended beneath the quarter-deck.

  Four steps down, and, passing through a narrow door, they enteredinto the stifle and stir of the "great" or main cabin. On every handmurmured the ceaseless confusion that always filled the straitenedspace: underfoot, sometimes with fretful wrangling, children were atplay; women were passing to and from their cabins, or dressing theirmeat for the evening meal at the long table; upon the benches severalsick men, whose heavy voices were audible through the shriller tones ofthose about them, sat together in talk. Over all, the brightness fromthe narrow skylights fell wanly, so the corners of the low apartmentwere dusky with thick shadows, and the dim outline of the great timbersoverhead, and the slits of doors into the double tier of little cabinsadjoining, could only just be made out.

  Miles was glad of the half light, for he knew well that if his mothershould chance to be there and see him with Francis, she would makea pretext of some task to call him to her. He caught sight of hernow, as she stood by the table in speech with Constance Hopkins, and,almost treading on Francis's heels in his hurry, he slipped into theBillingtons' cabin.

  It was the veriest closet of a room in which he found himself, black,save for a glint of sickly light that crept through an opening in thedoor, by which Miles contrived presently to discern the unmade bunkalong the wall, the mattress, still spread out upon the floor, and theiron kettle and other vague household stuff that littered untidilythe narrow space. Comparing it with his father's ordered cabin, herecalled his
mother's indignant comment to Mistress Hopkins, that EllenBillington was a poor, thriftless body, who would better be tidying herquarters than gossiping with her neighbors.

  "Now you'll see what I dare, Master Miles," Francis broke in, as, withmuch panting, he dragged from beneath the bunk a small keg. "This isgunpowder, if you be not afraid of the sight of it."

  "It does not take much courage to touch gunpowder," said Miles, bendingforward from the bunk, where he had seated himself, and plunging hisfist into the keg. "Let's see your squibs, Francis."

  Young Billington stretched himself on his stomach and, grubbing oncemore beneath the bunk, drew out a fistful of rustling papers. "Theseare leaves I tore from a jest book of daddy's," he bragged. "No doubtyou won't believe I durst."

  Miles made no reply; after all, he scarcely cared to prolong hisdifferences with a boy who had such a delightful plaything as a keg ofpowder. "Let me make a squib too, Francie," he begged, squatting downon the mattress beside his host.

  For a space there was silence, while, with some hard breathing, thetwo, guided more by touch than by any sight they had in the dark cabin,labored industriously. Blacker and blacker it grew all round them, tillthey struck their hands together as they groped in the keg, when aray of faint yellow light, that must fall from a lantern in the greatcabin, stole through the door.

  Now they could see how they were faring at their work, and Francis,who had laid his handfuls of powder on the papers and folded themquite dexterously, laughed in provoking fashion at Miles, who, new tothis game, had spilt the powder and failed to make his papers stayfolded. "It's all very well," the boy retorted irritably, as one of hispainfully made squibs, bursting open, scattered powder between hisknees, "but after you've made these mighty squibs what else do you do?"

  "Why, I'll light a bit of match," said Francis, scrambling to his feet,"and then we'll touch 'em off."

  Miles jumped up delightedly, and, reasoning that a really satisfactorysquib should be set off in darkness, took from the bunk a blanket whichhe fastened by two nails across the opening in the door.

  Meantime Francis had struck his father's flint and steel together, tillat length he succeeded in catching a spark upon the piece of "match" ortwisted tow steeped in saltpetre. Miles could see the little red pointshimmering in the dark and, picking up the squibs, he moved warilytoward it. "Gi' me a squib," came Francis's voice, close at his feet.More accustomed to the dimness now, Miles could make out the boy'scrouching figure and saw him lean far forward with one arm outstretchedto touch off the powder.

  Then he felt Francis crowd up against his knees, and instinctively hedrew back so his own body was pressed against the wall. Out of the darkon the floor, right at his feet, started a little flicker of flamewhich, with a sudden whishing sound, leaped up, a broad, bluish puffof fire, almost in his eyes; then, before the exclamation had left hislips, died sizzling away.

  "That was brave, wasn't it?" spoke Francis, in a rather quaveringvoice. "You can touch off one now."

  "With his arm up to shut out the glare of the lanterns."]

  Miles eagerly seized the match and, setting it to a squib, flung thetwisted paper a pace from him. The same whiz, burst, sizzle, but thistime he lost the keen pleasure in a sudden hideous thought that, evenas the squib left his hand, came over him. "Francis," he cried, beforethe flame died down, "is this safe, think you? Say the powder in thekeg took fire?"

  "Pshaw! You're afraid; I knew you'd be," replied Francis, his owncourage quite restored.

  Thereupon Miles lit a third squib to show his fearlessness, and thentogether they set off the remaining two. "That's the last, and I've nomore paper," sighed Francis, and Miles echoed the sigh.

  They were sitting now on the edge of the bunk; the cabin seemed veryblack to their eyes, still dazzled with the last flash, and the airwas hot and heavy with the pungent odor of burnt powder. Miles sniffedit contentedly. "This is what 'twould be like in a great battle," hebegan. "Sometime I mean to be a soldier and have a musket. Did you evershoot with a musket, Francis?"

  "No, but I've shot off a fowling piece," answered the other. Heclambered upon the bunk, groping audibly in the dark, and presentlydropped down again beside his companion with something long andslender and heavy in his arms. "Look you, Miles, here's daddy's fowlingpiece now," he said exultantly. "What say if I shoot her off?"

  "'Twould make a mighty big noise in so small a room," Miles answeredlongingly.

  "Give me the match, then."

  Later Miles remembered clearly how Francis had sprung to his feet atthe word, but after that all was a confusion of dire noises,--a rendingcrash, then a sound of women screaming, of children crying, and ofmen running with clattering footsteps across the great cabin. Throughit all he felt the weight of Francis Billington, who had pitched backagainst him, and he saw a little spurt of yellow fire that licked alongthe boards. Though he did not remember snatching a blanket from thebunk, one was in his hand, and he was down upon the floor, smotheringthe flames that would press out beyond the edges. A powder keg wassomewhere near, he recollected, and he beat out one little jet of flamewith his hand, that smarted fiercely.

  It all must have taken a long, long time, but still the women screamed,and the heavy footsteps had only just reached the door. The latchrattled beneath a rough hand, the light streamed into the cabin, andMiles dropped back against the bunk, with his arm up to shut out theglare of the lanterns, and the sight, too, of the angry faces in thedoorway. "Francis, Francis," he found himself saying, in a poor whisperthat he realized was not meant for Francis Billington's ears, "we must'a' killed some one."