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

by Beulah Marie Dix

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE TWO EDWARDS

  THE fields of New Plymouth at last were sown,--twenty acres of Indiancorn and six of English seed, wheat, barley, and pease,--enough toyield an ample harvest. There was besides another field, where thecorn, however tall it grew, would never be reaped, for, that thesavages might not know the number of the dead, it was planted upon thegraves of those who perished in the winter's sickness.

  Among them lay John Carver, buried honorably with such poor militarypomp as the colony could show its governor, and with a more precioustribute of grief for a good man lost. Near him lay now his wifeKatharine, who at his death had grieved and pined, till within sixweeks they had dug for her a grave in the new-sown corn-land.

  Master Bradford was the new governor; a grave, wise-headed gentleman,with a gift of kindly speech and a shrewd sense of humor, but, toMiles, his greatest claim to respect was that the interpreter Squantohad chosen to dwell with him. For Miles Rigdale, to use MistressHopkins's vexed phrase, was "ever beating the street after the heathensavage." It must be owned that to his guardians he was a troublesomeboy; not a bad boy, but a careless fellow, who, though he might meanto do well, was likely, when sent to weed in the fields, to be foundswimming in the river, or hunting strawberries on the hills, or fishingwith Squanto.

  Miles did not reason out his new dislike for responsible labor, didnot take into account the influence of lazy Edward Lister, or thedistractions of the spring and early summer in this new country; but hedid feel there was a difference between working with his father, whenhe knew the harvest would be for his mother and Dolly, and grubbing ina corner of a great field that was the property of no man, but shouldfeed the whole colony. He no longer took pride in his labor, and, ifhe had taken any, Mistress Hopkins's dissatisfied comments would havedestroyed it. Yet, much though he disliked the bustling woman with thesharp tongue, he neither disliked nor feared her the half as much as hedisliked and feared her husband.

  Years later, when he had come to manhood, Miles was able to thinkon Master Hopkins with gratitude, for, in all honesty, this severe,undemonstrative man used him like a son, as kindly as he used his ownboy, Giles. Except in the stress of planting-time, Miles was neverset to tasks beyond his strength; he was well fed,--as the fare of thecolony went,--well sheltered, decently clad, while the little store ofhis father's goods was scrupulously left untouched for his later use.

  Master Hopkins tried also, conscientiously, to keep him to the path ofstrict virtue, with admonitions, and, if need were, with corrections.It was an age of whippings, and, on occasion, Miles was whippedpainstakingly. Master Hopkins's floggings were, on the whole, not sosevere as Goodman Rigdale used to give his son, but Miles resented themwith an amazing outburst of anger. "You are not my father; you haveno right to beat me," he cried, the first time Master Hopkins took abirch rod to him, and, swinging round in a fury, he lustily kicked hischastiser's shins.

  After that one attempt and the sorry consequences which it entailed, henever again tried to defend himself, but, though he had to submit, theold feeling remained; to the pain and shame of a beating was now addeda rankling sense of the injustice and, so to speak, of the illegalityof it all.

  Beatings, though, were something every boy in the colony, even thesober Giles, had a good share of, so Miles made shift to endure; butMaster Hopkins presently devised a new-fangled means of persecution,for he insisted on teaching him to read.

  The boy had clung to the black-letter Bible because it was hisfather's, and sometimes of a Sunday, between the morning and afternoonteachings at the Common House, when it grew irksome to sit quiet and donothing, would take the book and spell out half a chapter, and amusehimself with looking at the funny black letters. But one Sunday, a warmMay Sunday, when Miles was lying with his book in the young grass inthe shadow of the house, Master Hopkins, noting his unusual employment,bade him read aloud to him, and, as he was a man of education, washonestly shocked that, as he put it, "the lad could scarce spell outhis mother-tongue."

  From that time dated Miles's tribulations. It was useless to protestthat he could read well enough, he did not wish to read better; MasterHopkins's decree went forth that every night after supper the boy wasto come to him with his Bible, and read aloud a chapter. Miles neverreflected that, after a day of hard labor in the fields or woods, or ofserious consultation with the other leaders of the colony, it could beneither restful nor pleasant to Master Hopkins to hear a stupid littleboy stumble through a dreary waste of words. But he was quite aware ofthe unjust fact that the space of daylight, in the long summer eveningsafter supper, was the time when all the other lads were at liberty toplay, while he must drone out the chronicles of dead and gone Hebrewswith unpronounceable names.

  The reading lesson always took place just without the house-door, wherethere was a bench on which Master Hopkins sat; Miles stood beside him,where he could see the harbor and the street, with the boys passingdown it to the beach, perhaps; and where, too, it was convenient forMaster Hopkins to cuff his ears when his attention strayed hopelesslyfrom the book to the affairs of his playmates.

  Sometimes, when he wished to get away and join them in carrying outa long-laid plan of sport, Miles would pore over his chapter twiceor thrice in the day, and so, when evening came, be able to read itfairly. But on such occasions Master Hopkins always said there wouldbe time to finish another chapter; and when it came to that, poor,disappointed Miles always stumbled, so that his lesson ended indisgrace and bitter rebuke.

  Early in July, however, he had a blissful holiday, for Master Hopkinswent with Master Winslow and Squanto far inland to visit KingMassasoit, so for five days there was no one to bid Miles read a word.Neither did any one whip him, for all he shirked his weeding, and ranaway to fish in the harbor with Ned Lister and the sailor, Trevor, andplayed by the brookside with the other boys till long after dark.

  Dotey, to be sure, one morning when Miles forgot to fetch a supply ofwater, and he had to fetch it himself, threatened to "swinge" him; hewas a steady fellow, was Dotey, and, since Giles was but a lad, in hismaster's absence was tacitly admitted to the headship of the household.But when he talked of beating Miles, up rose Ned, and called him, withan oath, a great bully, swaggering in his little ha'penny borrowedauthority, and threatened, if he laid hands on the little fellow, tobreak his head for him.

  It was in the living room this happened, just before the noon meal;Miles remembered afterward the good smell of the roast fish MistressHopkins was setting on the table, and what an overpowering heat camefrom the great fire on the hearth. He was standing near the fireplace,backed up against the wall, a little conscience-stricken and fearfulof a whipping, but still more frightened by the vehemence of the twomen. Lister had swaggered across the floor, and stood before him, andMiles was glad of his protection, though he half realized that it wasnot alone the desire to defend him, but the desire to defy Dotey, thetrusted and sober, that spoke in Ned's tone.

  Constance's quiet voice, as she stepped between the two young men,quelled the squabble: "Don't curse so, pray you, Ned. And, Ed Dotey, donot you whip Miles; he only forgot--"

  "He does not merit whipping," spoke slow Giles, who held his own littleresentment that his father's servant was set in authority over him.

  Mistress Hopkins interrupted tartly that Miles needed a strong handto correct him, and Dotey was quite in his right; her approval madeit lawful enough for the young man to carry out his intention, butDotey, like a discreet fellow, had no wish to bring about a scufflewith Lister and a hot family quarrel in his master's absence. So hesaid, as if it were a concession, that he would do as Constance asked,and let Miles off this time; and with that they all sat down peaceablyto dinner. Miles ate his full share of the fish, and, believing thisepisode happily ended, put it quite out of his head.

  He had good cause to remember it some ten days later. By then MasterHopkins had returned, so it was necessary for all to be busy, and Milesweeded in the corn-field till his back ached, and every evening
readhis chapter in the Bible. But one morning, a hot, dull morning withan overcast sky, Ned and Giles planned to go with Squanto to fish forperch in a pond far up in the woods, and Miles received a reward forhis diligence of the last few days in a permission to go with them.Giles and the Indian started on ahead, to take the bait, while the twoothers stayed to make ready the extra tackle, which, being left toNed's management, was always in a snarl.

  Lister was sitting on the bench by the house-door, whistling a little,as he disentangled lines and adjusted hooks, and Miles, kneeling onthe grass beside him, was giving what help he could, when MasterHopkins and Dotey came out of the cottage. Dotey, who had an axe on hisshoulder, headed away through the garden to the hills whence firewoodwas fetched, but Master Hopkins came and stood over Ned.

  How it went and exactly what was said, Miles scarcely comprehended, buthe heard Master Hopkins's stern voice and Ned's sulky answering tones,and in the lulls the rattle of trenchers, as Constance, inside thehouse, cleared the breakfast table. The gist seemed to be that MasterHopkins had found out about Ned's threatening to break Edward Dotey'shead, for he rated him soundly that he durst lift his voice against oneset in authority over him, a sober man, who was his better--

  "He is not my better," Ned retorted, flinging up his head, with hiseyes sullen and angry.

  "Do you grow saucy to contradict me?" Hopkins asked frowningly.

  Too much had been said of Dotey for Ned to cast off rebuke with hisusual shrug; flinging aside the tackle, he started to his feet, but,before he could walk away, Hopkins caught him by the shoulder. As theystood thus Miles noted, with sudden surprise, that alongside MasterHopkins Ned looked slight and almost boyish; somehow Miles had alwaysthought of him as a man, because he was old enough to use a razor.

  "You shall stay till I have done with speaking," said Master Hopkins;and then Ned made a sudden movement to free himself, flung up one arm,half involuntarily,--and Stephen Hopkins reached him a blow that,taking him beneath the chin, stretched him flat on the ground at hismaster's feet.

  The women came to the house-door, and it surprised Miles that it wasnot Constance, but Mistress Hopkins, who cried, in a frightened voice:"Stephen, Stephen, I pray you--"

  Ned rose to his feet with his face white, and stood brushing the dirtoff the side on which he had fallen; there was a great brown streak ofit along one sleeve and the shoulder of his shirt. "There's work youhave made for the mistress, sir," he said, and began laughing in a highkey.

  "That's enough," Stephen Hopkins checked him. "Remember, I've neverlaid hands on you ere now, Edward Lister, but if you mend not yourways, this will not be the last time." He lingered yet a moment erehe turned away to the door, as if awaiting an answer, but Ned made noreply, just stood fumbling at the fishing tackle with one hand, whilethe other hung limp at his side.

  Only when Master Hopkins had passed out of sight into the house didLister raise his head, and then, squaring his shoulders, he led the waytoward the street. "Will you not take the tackle, after all?" askedMiles, running at his side. Ned's only answer was a shake of the head,and to all Miles's further efforts at talk and one clumsy effort atsympathy he kept silent.

  They left behind them the sandy street, and, skirting along the bluff,came to the path to the spring and the stepping-stones, beyond whichlay the trail to the ponds. Ned did not turn off there, however, buttrudged on till he reached the little stream that flowed from the poolwhere they had cut thatch. "Whither are you going?" panted Miles, forthe third time.

  "Where you were best not come," Ned answered, crashing into the busheson the right hand. But Miles turned doggedly in his steps, through thefirst crisp thickets and then along the miry ground by the edge of thepool, where the air was so muggy that he wondered Ned cared to keep uphis reckless pace.

  Of necessity the speed slackened, as they clambered over the pebblesand pushed aside the crackling undergrowth of a dry gully in thenorthern hillside, but it was not till they were tramping through thehushed woods on the summit that Ned spoke: "Did you know, Miley, myfather was a gentleman? A great family, the Listers, up Yorkshireway. But he was a mere younger son, and he married a pretty servingwench out of his father's hall, so they would have no more of him. Buthe was a gentleman, and he tried to give me a smattering of decentbreeding,--" there Ned began to laugh, with the corners of his mouthdrawn up, and his eyes mirthless,--"and I am a brisk serving fellow,whom the master pommels at will, eh, Miles? And they set a clod likeEdward Dotey over me."

  There was going to be a fight, Miles guessed, but though at anothertime he might have been secretly glad at the prospect of suchexcitement, he had seen one man knocked flat that day, and it had notbeen amusing, so now he was not over-zealous for the sport. "Come backand fish, Ned," he coaxed, plucking at his companion's sleeve, whenthat very moment, on the hillside below them, both caught the sound ofan axe falling on wood.

  After that Miles scrambled down the slope, eager as Ned himself, inhis curiosity to see what would follow. A little clearing it was theycame out in, where one tree had been newly felled, and its clean stumpshowed yellow; by the tree trunk, leaning on his axe and wiping hissweaty forehead with his sleeve, stood Dotey.

  "Well, Neddy, I've come to talk with you," Lister greeted him, in afleering voice, and on the word set himself down on the stump, with hishands clasped about one knee.

  At first it was a talking, that lay all on Ned's side, while Doteytried to keep up a pretense of work. Ned spoke words, well-chosen andstinging, that should make even stolid Dotey wince, and spoke them ina jibing tone, with a hateful laugh that startled Miles, even morethan the sight of the little pulsing motion of the blood in Ned's darkcheeks.

  Dotey swung round impatiently at last. "Hold your tongue, will you?" hecried.

  "It is thou who wert better have held thy tongue, Neddy, before thouwentst blabbing to Hopkins of what passed between us."

  "I did not," Dotey answered blankly.

  "Thou art a liar," quoth Ned, quietly, and still hugging his knee.

  Then Dotey strode over to him, and Ned, laughing up into his face,jeered at him, "threaten a man with his fists, would he, when he hadjust set Hopkins on to rebuke him for the like offense;" but at lengthhe rose up and cast his mocking manner. "We are agreed there is oneEdward too many in the house," he said slowly. "Now say we despatch oneforth of it. Will you fight me like a gentleman, rapier and dagger?"

  In a daze Miles listened to Dotey's first protests, Ned's taunts,till the final agreement was struck and the arrangements made. "I'llcontrive to fetch rapier and dagger from the Captain's house," Nedconcluded, "and do you, Miles, take those that hang in Hopkins'schamber, and bring them unto us behind the Fort Hill."

  Unquestioningly, Miles sped upon the errand. The sun had burnt away thefog now; among the trees it was hot and breathless, and, when he ranthrough the fields, the drying earth crumbled under his feet. Yet hescarcely minded heat or dust, as he thought on what was now to come,and thrilled with anticipation; for, down in his heart, he told himselfDotey and Lister would never hurt each other, and he had never seenanything livelier than a bout at quarterstaff, and a real duel would bea wonderful thing to witness.

  By the time he came to the house, he was all of an excited flutter,but happily Mistress Hopkins alone was within, and she was so busiedin scouring her pewter platters that she only looked up to ask sharplywhat brought him back.

  "Just to fetch somewhat for Ned," Miles answered guiltily; and thenfortune favored him, for Damaris, within the bedroom, set up a wail,and Mistress Hopkins bade him run in and soothe her.

  So Miles sang to baby, and, singing, took Master Hopkins's dagger fromthe shelf and hid it beneath his doublet; then slipped the rapier fromthe wall, and, after a hasty glance to see that none were looking,dropped it out at the open window. Still Damaris would not hush, and hehad to pace the floor a time, singing always, though his voice shookwith impatience, and his forehead was wet with perspiration.

  "Saw the two young men close in combat."]r />
  At last the child was quieted. Placing her on the bed, he passedquickly out through the living room, and, running behind the house,snatched up the rapier from the grass. Still none saw or interceptedhim; the men and boys were at work; the intense heat of the day keptthe women within their cottages. But to Miles each doorway seemed fullof faces, and, in a panic, he ran for the northern spur of the hill, ata pace that brought the heart strangling into his throat.

  On the west side of Fort Hill was a little level space in the abruptdescent, where some pine trees stood wide apart, and the ground wasbrown and slippery with pine needles. There Lister and Dotey, both withtheir doublets and shoes cast off, were awaiting Miles; Dotey, with hisstolid face grim, sat on the ground, turning a rapier in his hands, butNed Lister was pacing slowly to and fro.

  "I came--fast as I could run," panted Miles.

  "You saw no one?" questioned Lister, as he took Master Hopkins'srapier and measured it with the one Dotey held.

  "No, no one."

  "Francis Billington has been spying about here, though," Dotey spokeevenly. "'Twas while you were at the Captain's house. I sent himpacking. But he may bring--"

  "Ere any come, we'll be done with the work," Ned Lister interrupted."Here, Miles, do you run up to the hilltop and lie you down in thegrass. If you see any man coming upon us, whistle us a warning."

  The grass, in the glare of the sun where the trees had been felled,was a dazzling green, and the slope was very steep. From the summit ofthe hill where he lay down half-hidden, as they bade, Miles could seethe blue harbor and all the sunny street of the town, so deserted thathe ventured a glance back over his shoulder. His eyes were fastenedthere, for he saw the two young men close in combat; he heard the clickof steel, saw the quick thrust and recovery, the bending and swayingof the struggling bodies. Then a cry rose up in his throat and chokedthere, for he saw the dagger fly out of Dotey's hand, and saw him slipupon the pine needles.

  A clatter of feet on hollow boards made him look suddenly toward thegun platform, and he had an instant's sight of Captain Standish, who,clapping his hand to the railing of the platform, cleared it at a leapand ran headlong down into the pine thicket. Setting his fingers to hislips, Miles gave a shrill whistle, and right upon it heard the Captaincry, in a terrible voice, "What work is this?" Casting one frightenedglance down the hill, Miles saw Ned lay on his side among the pineneedles, and Dotey stood over him with one hand dripping blood.

  The sky seemed to waver and the whole green world to stagger with thehorror of what had happened. Miles crawled away through the long grassdown the hillside, through the undergrowth, and never paused till hehid himself, terrified and sick, in the tangle by the pool in thehollow.