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

by Beulah Marie Dix

  CHAPTER V

  NEWS FROM THE SHORE

  BECAUSE Miles's hand was hurt, Goodwife Rigdale made much of him, tillhe fairly resented it, for he had grown into the age where he wassheepish and awkward under open petting. He soon slipped away from hismother and the sympathetic Dolly, and went to spend his time with JackCooke, who, during the day, while his father worked on shore, was gladof company. The boys had now almost room enough on shipboard to playsatisfactorily, for many of the passengers had gone ashore; but it mustbe quiet playing, for, of those who still remained in their cabins nota few were ill.

  Goodwife Rigdale was busied to and fro in caring for the sick ones,and, at her bidding, Miles ran many an errand, to fetch water from thecasks on deck or heat a pot of broth in the ship's galley. But theirjoint labor soon ended, for, a few days after the boy's return to theship, came a message from Goodman Rigdale: he was just touched with thefever, he said, though nothing serious, but a many lay sick ashore,and the Goodwife could aid them as well as himself; Mistress Brewster,who, with her family, had gone to the settlement, had offered toshelter her, and he prayed her come.

  Next morning Goodwife Rigdale bundled her cloak about her, and setout in the shallop. Miles, standing by the bulwark, watched her go,but only for a time; it had snowed the night before, so the railingswere white and smooth to the touch, and he found it of more absorbinginterest to poke off strips of the frozen snow, and send them splashinginto the cold-looking water beneath the ship's side. By the time helooked again to the shallop, it was so near shore he could no longermake out his mother's figure, and his feet were chilled too, so he wentback to Dolly in the cabin.

  At first he found it manly and grown up to be left in charge, for sohe esteemed his position. The cut in his hand was healing well, andhe felt he would have been working ashore, if it were not that someone must mind his father's quarters on shipboard and care for Dollyand Solomon. He ordered his sister about in a paternal manner; herebuked her severely if she so much as showed her small, snub nose onthe frosty deck without wrapping herself up well; and he even insistedon her going to bed punctually at sundown, while he, in the glory ofmanhood, waited in the great cabin to hear what news those who camefrom the shore would bring.

  But Dolly took her turn when it came to their daily meals, for she hadcertain deft, housewifely ways, which Miles could not hope to imitate,and he was ashamed even of trying to better himself, after he heard thelittle woman speak like her mother of "men and boys that set a body'skitchen in a mash." Miles might tug out the pot of broth,--'twas all hewas fit for; Goodwife Dolly would herself do the stirring and tasting;and though, among so many cooks, the broth sometimes burned, yet theyalways contrived to eat it.

  The four of them--Miles, Dolly, Jack, and Solomon--ate their foodtogether in the Rigdales' cabin: most times it was only broth, orperhaps salted meat and biscuit, which Goodwife Rigdale, before shewent away, had laid out for them; but once Goodman Cooke brought themfrom the shore a large piece of a cold roast goose. There was but onedrumstick, and each felt he should have it,--Jack because he had beenill, and Dolly because she was a girl, and Miles because he was theeldest. Solomon said nothing, but he purred his loudest and rubbed hishead against Dolly's knee. They ended by eating the drumstick together,each a bite, turn and turn about, and what they could not get from thebone was left to Solomon, who dragged his ration beneath the bunk,and, with eyes big and fiery, growled at them.

  The children remembered that supper, not only because of the coldgoose, but because it was the last they ate together, for next morningGoodman Cooke took Jack to the shore. Miles watched his friend's smallpreparations enviously, and Dolly, who had come also to stand in thedoorway of the Cookes' cabin, voiced a sorrowful wish: "I think I'dbest go too, and see father and mother."

  "They've no place to put you, lass," Goodman Cooke explained. "So soonas there is place, they'll send for you both, be sure. For DoctorFuller says your father grows heartier, Miles," he went on; "you've noneed to worry yourself."

  "Indeed, I have not worried," Miles answered, in some surprise.

  After Jack went, life on shipboard was not so pleasant. Dolly beganto fret for her mother and scoff at Miles's authority; Miles grewcross; and the broth burned oftener than ever, and finally, giving outaltogether, left them with nothing to eat but dry biscuit. With thiswoful tale of starvation, Dolly betook herself at last to ConstanceHopkins in the great cabin, and Miles, glad that some one should makeknown their unhappy state, yet ashamed to do so himself, lagged onbehind.

  Constance Hopkins was Giles's sister, a slip of a lass, not threeyears older than Miles, but to him she seemed quite grown up. Certainlyshe bore the responsibilities of age in those days, for not only mustshe nurse her stepmother, Mistress Elizabeth Hopkins, who lay helplessin her cabin, but she must care for the baby, Oceanus, born on thevoyage across the sea, and the little half-sister, Damaris, a babyalso, not two years old. Yet somehow motherly little Constance foundtime to comfort Dolly, and cook a bit of meat for hungry Miles, andassure them both that their father and mother surely would come soon tolook to them.

  Dolly hugged the "big girl," but Miles could scarcely do that, and heknew no civil speech to tell his gratitude, so he was glad when, hiseyes falling on Damaris, he thought to pick her up. "I'll mind her foryou a bit, Constance," he offered.

  Damaris was pleased with Miles's tousled hair and sturdy arms, thatheld her more firmly than her half-sister could; and Miles, neverguessing what a source of misfortune her liking would prove to himhereafter, was much elated at his success with her. He tugged babyout on deck to show her the gulls looking for food in the water, andthe bright crusted snow that sparkled in the sunshine on the woodedpoint. Damaris gurgled appreciatively and pulled Miles's hair; then,when he carried her back into the cabin, slept like a kitten, whereatConstance was so relieved and pleased that Miles gladly cared for thebaby, his baby, the next day, and the next.

  "Dolly plaited a fold of her apron between her fingers."]

  But the third day, a Friday, a pelting fine rain set in that made anairing on the deck out of the question, not for the baby alone, butfor a well-grown boy and girl. Miles and Dolly went up to spend theafternoon in the great cabin, because in their own quarters there wasno one to talk to, and, moreover, it was cold. In the main cabin theywould find some one to keep them company, and they could, at least,warm their hands at the little fire burning in a tubful of sand, whichConstance often used in heating food for Mistress Hopkins.

  But this afternoon the fire was out and Constance busied with hermother, so the two children, disappointed, sat down together on arude bench, at the angle in the stern where two rows of little cabinsjoined. "I wish I were with my mother," sniffed Dolly; and "'Twill doyou no good to cry," Miles checked her sternly.

  "I was not crying, Miles Rigdale," the damsel answered hotly.

  It was on Miles's lips to reply, when close at hand a voice spoke hisname, "Miles Rigdale!"

  Readily enough he jumped up and went to the half-opened door of theadjoining cabin. It was Captain Standish's cabin, he remembered now,and, as he halted in the doorway, he perceived Mistress RoseStandish lying in the bunk. A little of the afternoon light siftedin through the tiny port-hole, and by it he noted how her hair fellloosely about her face, unlike the way she wore it when on deck;but her cheeks were rosy as ever, and her voice quite steady as shespoke: "It's you, the lad my husband told me of? I thought I heardone call you by name. Will you not do somewhat for me, Miles? Fetchme my jug here full of water again. Goodwife Tinker was to look tome to-day; I felt very well this morning. But she's ill now herself,and when I tried to rise,--" she laughed, with a nervous catch in herlaughter,--"why, then things went whisking round me very strangely. Butyou look as you still could stand stoutly, sir."

  "I'll fetch you the water, and gladly, mistress," Miles answered, soeagerly that he stammered. He stepped into the cabin to take the jugfrom where it rested on a chest beneath the port-hole, and Dolly,following shyly afte
r, hesitated on the threshold.

  "Is this little maid your sister?" Mistress Standish roused up to ask."Won't you come in and bear me company, sweetheart, while Miles fetchesthe water?"

  Dolly plaited a fold of her apron between her fingers and nodded dumbly.

  "That's well," said Mistress Standish. "Sit you down here on the chestby me. And I've some raisins of the sun you shall have if you'll stay."

  "Dolly must not eat your raisins if you be sick." Miles formulated therelentless principle which had been enforced as regards himself whenDolly lay ill. "And I'll fetch the water speedily." He stood a momenton the threshold, balancing the jug in one hand. "Mistress Standish,"he blurted out, with sudden resolution, "would you not rather have beerthan water?"

  "Than the water from the ship's casks, yes," she answered; "but 'twillrelish well enough, Miles. At even, when Captain Standish comes, mayhaphe'll get me a draught of beer."

  "I'll get it for you now," Miles said cheerily, and walked away, withhis head up and the jug swinging.

  Outside the door of the great cabin the chilly rain, that stungfinely on his cheeks, pricked him alive to realization of what he hadundertaken. Since Christmas, when the supply of the Pilgrim emigrantshad given out, beer could be obtained on board the _Mayflower_ onlyfrom the ship's stores, through the courtesy of Master Jones, thecaptain; and he was a terrible person. Most times he ranged about thehigh quarter-deck, where only the chiefs of the Pilgrims dared go;once Francis Billington, to show his daring, had clambered thither,and Master Jones, without parley, had bidden his quartermaster, "Kickthat young imp down into Limbo, where he belongs." From that experienceFrancis had been black and blue, and subdued in manner for a week.

  So it was no wonder now that, for long minutes, Miles stood shiveringin the rain at the foot of the companion ladder, while he tried tosummon courage to venture up. He might never have arrived at suchhardihood, had not Jones himself, strolling forth upon the quarter-deckto study the weather, observed him, and presently bellowed lustily:"What beest thou staring up hither for, hey?"

  "I--I want to come up, if it like you, sir," Miles piped quaveringly.

  "Then come up. Beelzebub fetch thee! What's hindering thee?"

  Miles could have answered truly that it was a loud-voiced,broad-shouldered man, with a bushy gray beard, whose name was Jones,that hindered him; but he thought best, even on so poor an invitation,to scramble in silence up the steep ladder to the quarter-deck. Thewind there was high, so he gripped the bulwark to keep erect.

  "Well, now thou art up, what is it thou wouldst have?" roared Jones.

  "Beer, sir. For Captain Standish's wife. She is ill."

  Master Jones hesitated a little minute, then caught Miles by thecollar of his doublet, and only let go when he landed him withinthe roundhouse. Miles said nothing to this, but his heart thumpedalarmingly at finding himself thus tumbled headlong into the very lairof the Master. Yet the roundhouse proved a harmless place, with itsshipshape bunks and table and stools; and one of the mates, who layupon a bunk, rose up at Jones's bidding, to do nothing more formidablethan fill Miles's jug from a keg that stood in one corner.

  "Now see to it thou dost not filch the beer by the way," grumbledMaster Jones. "I be ready to give to your Captain's wife, but not tofill the stomach of every knavish lad on shipboard; dost thou hear?"

  "I wouldn't take the beer that was meant for Mistress Standish," Milessaid indignantly.

  "Nay, but boys be a slippery race," growled the Master. "The saints beblest I never had none!"

  Miles privately was glad of that, for he could not help thinking howunhappy a boy would be, with such an alarming father as Master Jones.Very prudently, he did not say so, but, seizing his jug, backed out ofthe roundhouse, almost too hastily to say "Thank you."

  He had come back to a good conceit of himself, however, by the time hehad manoeuvred safely down the ticklish ladder, and he walked in onMistress Standish and Dolly quite proudly. Mistress Standish thankedhim mightily, enough to make Miles redden and shuffle his foot on thefloor. "But I liked to do it for you," he muttered.

  After that he was persuaded to sit down on the chest beside Dolly, andtell Mistress Standish all about how they were building houses on theshore, and how he had gone to the Indian fields, and what a wonderfuldog Trug was. Dolly chimed in there to tell what a rare pussy Solomonwas, and how he would leap over your hands. Then Mistress Standish, wholay listening, and seemed to like their talk, though she said little,bade Miles bring her a box from a shelf against the wall, and in it,sure enough, were a few big raisins and a small handful of currants.

  The sight was too much for Miles's scruples, and when she urged thechildren eat of them, he yielded, weakly as eager little Dolly. "We'lltake two raisins each," he said, with an effort at firmness, "and threecurrants." Then, with a sigh, he shut the box up tight, and ate his ownshare very slowly.

  Dolly finished more speedily, and straightway Mistress Standish urgedher sing to them. "Dolly told me while you were gone that she is wontto sing to mother," she explained to Miles. "Now I want her to sing tome. You shall have more raisins if you will, Dolly, in spite of BrotherMiles."

  Dolly was bashful, and, for all it was now murky twilight, so faceswere not plain to see, insisted on sitting on the other side of Miles,where she could hide behind him. Then, at last, she sang. "Though it isa worldly song," she protested.

  "No matter. I am what your people call a worldly woman," MistressStandish answered.

  So Dolly cuddled up to Miles and sang:--

  "Skip and trip it, Hey non nonny! For the lark is in the clover, And the fields are green and bonny, And a dappled sky shows over. Sing hey nonny nonny! 'Tis blithe world and gay, When spring comes bonny And the winter packs away."

  There Dolly broke off, short and sudden, and Miles, looking to thedusky doorway, saw a man's sturdy figure blocking it.

  "'Tis you come back, Miles?" Mistress Standish spoke quickly. "Come youin and sit down. Your namesake and his sister have been caring for mebravely--"

  "I'm sorry," came the Captain's voice out of the dark. "That is-- Youmust be wearied now, sweetheart. Come, Miles, my soldier, I want tospeak with you."

  Miles wondered why, as he stepped out from the cabin, the Captaintroubled to put one arm about his shoulders; he was pleased at thecaress, yet awkward in receiving it. "I want you to go in here," saidCaptain Standish, leading him to the cabin that the Brewsters hadoccupied. "Constance Hopkins is waiting within to tell you somewhat.And you must remember, Miles, that you are to bear you like a man."

  Miles wrested round suddenly and faced the Captain. There was a littledim lantern light in this part of the great cabin, not enough for himto read the other's face, but he could guess and feel what was coming."Has anything gone wrong with my mother? Tell me; tell me, quick!" hecried.

  "Not your mother, Miles. Your father."