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

by Beulah Marie Dix

  CHAPTER VII

  THE MAN OF THE FAMILY

  AT first Miles found a jarring unfitness in everyday life. Only eightand forty hours before, they had buried his father on the bluffoverlooking the harbor; they had read no prayers over the dead, as theministers did in England, and, lest the savages should spy and note howfew the colonists were becoming, they had levelled the grave, like themany round about it. A raw wind had blown from off the sea, so GoodwifeRigdale shivered as she stood by the grave, and Miles's hands weresenseless with the cold.

  Now it was over, and Goodman Rigdale dead and buried, but life went on,just as usual. Goodwife Rigdale helped Mistress Brewster prepare food,and ate of it herself; and Love and Wrestling, sorry though they hadbeen for their playmates' sorrow, frolicked gayly with Solomon, whomNed Lister had brought to the cottage, bag and all. By the second day,though her eyes were still heavy with crying, and her mouth tremulous,Dolly plucked up spirit to join the boys. Even earlier, Miles hadbegun to fetch wood and water for Mistress Brewster, lay the fire, andhelp where he could; if only everything had stopped for a time, till hecould realize what had happened and master himself, he felt he couldbear it; but the petty acts of living would go on.

  In such a mood of wretchedness he trudged forth on the third morning,up the path beyond the spring, to fetch sticks from the edge of thewood where the trees had been felled. He gathered the fagots, and wastrying to tie them strongly, as his father tied the swamp grass thatlast day they worked together, when he saw Francis Billington, also insearch of wood, drawing near.

  "Why, Miles!" the newcomer greeted him, in some surprise, for in thesedays Miles avoided his old comrades. But now there was no avoiding tillthe wood was tied up, so Francis came to him and, a bit awed, triedclumsily to be sympathetic. "I'll help you tie that wood, Miles."

  "I c'n do 't alone."

  "Look you, my daddy's going fowling to-day. Mayhap he'll take us."

  "I don't want to go," snapped Miles, with a sick sort of anger thatother boys still could talk of their fathers.

  "You might at least be civil to a body," Francis said rather huffily."What need to carry such a face for it, Miles? You were mortal afeardof your father while he lived. And now he can never flog you no more."

  Without warning, other than a small catching of the breath, Milessprang to his feet and struck the speaker in the face. Francis,thoroughly surprised, hit back, and, clenching, they pitched over amongthe crackling sticks. Miles fell uppermost, and, hardly realizing howor why, he was pommelling Francis lustily, when a mighty hand heavedhim up by the scruff of the neck. "You must not strike a man when he isalready worsted," spoke the voice of long-legged John Alden.

  Miles stood biting his lips that twitched. "'A' shall not say--" hebegan, and there his voice broke. "Oh, I wish he could flog me again!"

  Alden stared a moment, then, with sudden understanding, swung roundupon the whimpering Francis and rated him mightily, while Miles, gladnot to be noticed, caught up his bundle of wood and stumbled awaytoward the settlement.

  Yet this was the last outward showing of the boy's grief. Little bylittle, as the busy days came, he found himself fitting into his newlife, and at length even taking a certain zest in it. For he was nowman of the family, and the cares he felt called on to shoulder did nota little to distract him from any sorry broodings. He must work withhis full strength, wherever they sent him and whoever bade him; hemust keep flibbertigibbet Dolly out of mischief; above all, he mustrun after his mother, as she went about to nurse the many sick of thesettlement, and see to it that she did not catch cold or come to anyharm.

  The greatest and most important labor, however, he did in the earlierdays of his loss, when he went to fetch his father's goods from the_Mayflower_. Others might have said the work was done by Ned Lister,for Master Hopkins, who had promised Goodman Rigdale to look to hisfamily, so far as he was able, sent him about this task; but Miles, whowas sure he was the leader and Ned only the assistant, felt the wholeexpedition a tribute to his own new-come manliness.

  They went out in the shallop to the _Mayflower_ on a morning so brightand open that it scarcely recalled to Miles his coming from the ship.Once aboard, to be sure, the half-homesick pang laid hold on him, whenhe scrambled down to the little cabin that had sheltered him so long;but there was so much to do he soon cast it off. The bedding must betied up securely, and the pots and platters loaded into the biggestkettle; and Ned, who had a coughing fit and said he didn't feel verywell, let Miles do it all. He recovered, however, in time to help dragthe stuff to the deck, and to get up from the orlop a small chestof Goodman Rigdale's; and he was also selfish enough to take chargehimself of the loud, manly labor of transferring the goods to theshallop.

  Somewhat disappointed, Miles clambered down again to the cabin to fetchthe box with Dolly's Indian basket, and, when he came back, the shallopwas so near ready to push off that he had only time to drop into thebow beside Lister. Glancing round the great sail toward the stern,where such other passengers as were going from the ship were placed, hecaught sight of Captain Standish, who sat stiffly, with one arm aboutthe muffled figure of a woman. "Yon is Mistress Standish, is it not?"Miles questioned Lister, very softly.

  His companion nodded. "Set to come ashore, poor lass!" he answered,in the same low tone. "'Tis the last trip she'll ever make in theshallop." This Ned spoke sympathetically; then had no further leisureto talk for settling himself comfortably with his back against GoodmanRigdale's bedding.

  Miles moved a little to give Ned room, but, without heeding him,continued to gaze at Captain Standish and Mistress Rose. He could notsee her face for the hood about her head and the cloak drawn up aboveher chin, but he marked the listless droop of her whole body; and henoted, too, how the Captain sat with his eyes looking straight out andhis mouth hard. Miles wondered if what Lister said of Mistress Standishwere true, and, what with wondering and watching, was taken by surpriseand nearly overset when the shallop bumped up to the landing place.

  For a moment he lingered by the boat, feigning to busy himself withunlading the kettle, while he watched Mistress Standish. The Captainand Alden, who was waiting at the landing, helped her from the boat,and half carried her away between them up the hill. The Captain's facewas still so grave and stern, that Miles was a trifle frightened, andvery sorry; he wished he were a man like John Alden, so he could havespoken to the Captain and helped Mistress Standish.

  Then he had to think of other matters, for Ned, with an access ofenergy, was tumbling the goods ashore, and they must together dragthem up to the Elder's house. Just at present that was home to Miles,because his mother and Dolly lived there, and he sometimes ate withthem, though, as an additional mark of manhood,--so he esteemed it,--hespent his nights at the Common House.

  It really came about because his friends could not shelter him.Goodwife Rigdale and Dolly had the last spare bed at the Elder's house;the cottage higher up the hill, on which Goodman Rigdale had labored,and where Goodman Cooke and Jack had now one bunk, was filled with menwhose houses were building; while Master Hopkins, however well he mightmean by his friend's son, had not a roof to cover his own family. SoMiles slept with Giles Hopkins at the Common House, where at night thebeds were placed so thick one need not step on the floor in passingfrom the fire to his sleeping place.

  On Sunday all was changed, however, for then the Common House became ameeting-house. They tucked the beds up in corners, and swept the floor,as Miles knew to his cost, for on this, his second Saturday on themainland, they pressed him into the service. Twice on the Sabbath theElder taught his little company, and prayed with them there,--a sorrylittle company indeed, of whom fair half lay sick within the cheerlesscabins, or dead beneath the level ground of the harbor bluff.

  The thought of his own dead father made Miles listen attentivelythat day; and, when he walked staidly up to the Elder's house beforetwilight, he took Dolly apart into his mother's cold little chamber,where he read to her from Goodman Rigdale's black-letter Bible. Hewas a p
ainful reader, but he felt it was the fit thing for him to doin filling his father's place, so, with the great book on his knees,he sat on the floor, beneath the little window that let in the lightsparsely through its oiled paper, and Dolly sat by him, with herhead on his shoulder. He was much elated at finding her so quiet andattentive, but, when he paused to recover breath at the end of a verytough sentence about the Perizzites, he perceived the little girl wasfast asleep.

  Miles did not wake her; just sat with the Bible in his lap and hisstiffening arm round his sister till, when it had grown darker, hismother came to seek them. He had nothing to say to his mother thatnight, but afterward it was something to remember keenly, though withan under-pang of sorrow, how he had sat close by her in the dark andhad felt her hand rest on his head.

  Next day was dreary with rain and sleet, and a dull twilight that,closing in early, drove Miles into the house, where he played atEven-and-Odd with the little Brewsters and Dolly, very quietly,because the Elder was writing at the table. Elder Brewster was alwayskindly-spoken, but the fact that he knew such a deal about the nextworld, and what would befall you if you were not good, put Miles ingreat awe of him.

  When he went forth at length, Miles, feeling more like himself, raisedhis voice, and even let the trenchers clatter while he and Dolly laidthe table. But he had no desire to be noisy, when, late in the evening,the Elder returned from the house where the sick lay. A word or twopassed between the older folk that sent Miles with a whispered questionto his mother, who told him simply that Mistress Rose Standish had diedthat evening.

  Dolly cried, because she was a foolish girl, but it did not stir Milesso deeply. Indeed, he did not come to feel a hearty grief till nextmorning, when, as he climbed the hill to Elder Brewster's cottage, hesaw Captain Standish, grim and set-faced, trudging up to the woodsthrough the sleet and rain. The weather was too bitter for work, andthe axe which the Captain carried was, Miles guessed, a mere pretext.All through the day it made him shiver to think of the solitary man,lingering in the cold among the pines; he wondered if even to himselfthe Captain would make pretense of working, or if he would sit idleamong the wet logs.

  But forty-eight hours later the Captain was going and coming andworking among the rest, just as before, though maybe a bit more silent.For the hale ones who could labor were few; the work must be done;and, where so many were falling, there was small space to grieve for asingle life.

  Miles had even grown somewhat blunted to the sight of the sorry littlecompanies that twice and even thrice a week trudged with the body of afriend or kinsman to the bluff above the harbor. His own life went onmethodically; he worked, and even played with Jack Cooke and Trug, andsome days, when he was allowed to go fowling with Ned Lister and GilesHopkins, fairly enjoyed himself.

  But Ned began presently to have coughing fits even when he wasbidden to go hunting, though Miles, who had grown distrustful of hisconvenient illness, urged him to "have done with fooling and comealong." One morning in February, when Lister, instead of going abouthis work, was wasting his time thus with Miles and Jack and Giles bythe fire in Goodman Cooke's cottage, came another to urge him, no lessa one than Master Hopkins. Miles remembered a long time the terriblerating he gave Ned for his laziness and trickery, and he wondered thatthe young man sat with his head leaning on his fist, and flung back buta single protest: "I can judge better than you, sir, whether I be illor not. 'Tis my head that's aching, not yours."

  To which Master Hopkins retorted grimly that, if there were a whippingpost in the colony, something besides Ned's head would ache.

  Then, for that there was no help for it, Lister took his fowling pieceand slouched away from the fire. "I'm going, since you drive me," hesaid sulkily, "but these youngsters need not follow at my heels. 'Twillbe all I can do to fetch myself home again, let alone three brats."

  Much disappointed, Miles spent the day in the less joyous labor offetching and carrying on the great hill, where they were putting thelast touches to the platform on which the guns were to be mounted.He came to be interested, none the less, when Goodman Cooke told himhow, in a few days, they would drag the guns up the hill and put themin place. That would be a brave thing to see, Miles thought, for thesailors from the _Mayflower_ were to come ashore and help, and thestreet from the hill to the landing place would be noisy and busy. Notso busy, though, as the crew of the _Mayflower_ would have made it amonth before, for the sickness now had settled on the ship, where itwas raging unchecked.

  At dusk, as Miles came down from the hill, he chanced on MasterHopkins, still grumbling at Lister, who bade him go see if thatmalingerer were loitering anywhere in the settlement. It seemed aspying errand, but, not thinking of disobedience, Miles started downthe street. Nearest the shore stood the Common House, the house forthe sick, and the storehouse, all three of which, to make the searchcomplete, he visited.

  In the big main room of the sick-house lay the men who were ill, and,as Miles stepped in, on tiptoe because of his heavy shoes, the firstthing he saw beneath the candlelight was Ned Lister's black head, halfhidden under the coverlets of one of the bunks. Miles stole up to him."Why, Ned, ha' you cheated the Doctor himself?" he whispered cheerfully.

  Lister raised his head and looked at him, with his eyes very bright."I'm cheating you all; yes," he said, with a laugh. "Go tell Hopkins bemore cautious next time how he wastes so good a property as a servingman. A pity! If I die he'll be out my passage-money. Well, I alwaysowed him a grudge for bringing me to this forsaken country, and I'lleven scores now."

  The thought seemed to please Ned mightily, for he laughed, till DoctorFuller, stepping from the inner room, sharply bade him hush. "Get youto Master Hopkins and tell him the man is ill," he ordered Miles; and,as he let the boy out at the door, added, for his ear alone, "very ill."

  Somehow Ned's overthrow frightened Miles more than any other illness.Lister had always seemed so tough and wiry that his succumbing at lastset the boy to asking himself, in some fright, if he, too, might notfall ill. A soreness in his throat or an ache in his head made himnervous. He questioned Jack minutely as to how he felt before he wastaken sick, and then he began at once to feel as Jack had felt. Hestarted to tell his mother and get her to comfort him, but then he wasashamed; she was busy and anxious all the time for the people she wascalled on to nurse, and he was a great, strong boy, who, of course,would not be sick.

  But one day his head ached in good earnest--no imagination; and nextmorning the ache was worse, so he was too stupid even to go out.Wrestling Brewster was ailing too, so Dolly and Love stayed by his bedto amuse him, and Miles was left quite alone. All day he sat toastinghimself by the fire, till he was too warm and was sure his head achedbecause of the heat, so out he went, and tramped up and down the streettill his teeth chattered with cold. He wanted no supper, but he wentback to the house to bid his mother good night and get to bed early.

  "Mother came home very weary and has lain down within," Dolly said,so he went into the bedroom. A cold light streamed in at the littlewindow, but the corners of the low room were dark and the pallet was inshadow. His mother was stretched upon it, with the cloak that had beenhis father's wrapped round her, but at his step she raised her head."It's you, my lad?" she asked, and reached out her hand.

  "I came in to give you good night, mother," he said, in his manliesttone, because it made him proud to think he was hiding his illness fromher. "I'll mess at the Common House to-night."

  She put up her hand, and, drawing his head down to her, kissed him. Hercheek felt hot as it pressed against his, and even in the dim light henoted that her face was flushed, but his head ached so lamentably thathe made nothing of it. "Why, deary, you're not ill?" he heard her say.

  "Indeed, no, mother. No more ill than you," he answered bravely, and,bidding her good night, went softly out of the room.

  The west was all a chill yellow, and a northerly breeze was astir thatset Miles shivering long before he reached the Common House. Therea fire was alight that looked comforting, and, going u
p to it, hesnuggled down in a corner of the hearth. At the table of boards laidon trestles some of the men were eating their supper, but Miles wassick at the mere thought of food. He sat staring and staring into theheart of the flames, where he could see the outlines of the farmhouseat home, and then he saw nothing, but he faintly heard steps upon thefloor, and somebody caught him up.

  "What are you falling on the fire in that fashion for, eh?" oneasked, and the man who held him--he had a vague notion it wasAlden--questioned, "What's wrong, lad?"

  "Oh--h!" wailed Miles, "I think I'm dying."