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

by Beulah Marie Dix

  CHAPTER XX

  A SON OF PERDITION

  MILES was not fated, however, to learn by experience how it felt tobe tied neck and heels; for all his double sin of abetting a duel andrunning away from the settlement, he suffered no unusual punishment.Instead, next day at noon, when Master Hopkins returned from thefields, he ordered him into the closet, and there gave him as thorougha flogging as even the boy's tormented fancy had conjured up.

  Miles came out, with his shoulders quivering, and, not staying fordinner, slouched away through the fields to the shore, where he stood atime blinking out to sea. He had been bidden go present himself to theElder and be admonished for his sins, but he did not hold it necessaryto go just yet.

  At last he had himself tolerably in hand, and, with no great heart forwhat was before him, was loitering along the shingle to the village,when a shrill voice hailed him, and, looking up, he saw Jack and Joeand Francis running toward him. So Miles put on an unconcerned bearing,and, making the pebbles clatter beneath his tread, swaggered to meetthem.

  Oh, yes, he could tell them brave tales of how he had lived with theIndians, he bragged, but not now; he had to go now and be admonished bythe Elder, he explained, as if he took pride in such awful depths ofiniquity.

  "And Stephen Hopkins has admonished you ere this, I'll warrant,"chuckled Francis. "How heavily did he lam you?"

  With melancholy satisfaction, Miles pulled off his shirt and exhibitedhis stripes to his admiring companions.

  "Big red weals," quoth Jack. "I'm glad 'twas not I must bear such abanging. Here's more than one stroke has broken the skin."

  Miles twisted his neck, in a vain effort to study his smartingshoulders, while his estimate of himself rose surprisingly.

  "And for each whang Miles cried out, I'll be bound," added Francis.

  "I did not open my lips," boasted Miles. "A' could not make me. You cantalk, if you will, Francie. We know if you'd borne the half of this,we'd 'a' heard you roaring from the Fort Hill clear to the Rock. But Imind not a beating, nor aught they can do to me or say. 'Twas so bravea life I led among the Indians--"

  There something in Francis's face made Miles glance over his shoulder,and right behind him, his step deadened by the sand, stood the Captain,who was gazing down at him with a look between contemptuous and amused,that made the other lads slip away, and set Miles scuttling into hisshirt.

  "Well, sir, you show a deep and edifying sense of the mischief you havedone," Standish said quietly, but the very absence of anger from histone made Miles's face burn the hotter.

  He was glad that his shirt was over his head at that moment, so hecould not see the speaker's look, and he dreaded to meet it. But whenhe had drawn on the garment and could glance round him, he saw, withan added pang of humiliation, that Captain Standish, not holding himworthy of further notice, had trudged on to the landing.

  For a moment Miles stood gazing blankly after him; then he turned and,kicking up the sand in half-hearted little spurts, plodded on up thehill to Master Brewster's gate. Beneath the bluff, on the shore of thebrook, he came upon the Elder, laboring diligently among his greenthings, and told him in a listless tone why he had come thither. MasterBrewster talked to him a long time and wisely, Miles had no doubt, buthe only heard the words vaguely, for he was feeling the piteous smartof his irritated shoulders, and watching the flecks of light throughthe green bushes that shifted across the Elder's doublet, and harkingto the loud purr of the fat cat Solomon, who was rubbing himselfagainst the Elder's knees.

  Yet he was dully sorry when the Elder dismissed him, for that left himfree for some heavy thoughts. It would be a little comfort to speakwith Dolly; so, rather uncertain what welcome such a rapscallion as hemight hope for, he toiled up the bluff and faltered into the Brewsters'living room.

  The wind from the sea stirred the curtain at the window, and in thefull blast, industriously sewing at a small gown, Mistress Mullins satalone. "So you've come to visit me, little Indian?" she greeted Miles,and put her hands to her brown hair that had ruffled in the draught."My scalp is quite safe? You are well assured you have no tomahawkabout you?"

  Miles shook his head in crestfallen fashion; he only wanted to seeDolly, he murmured.

  "She is in bed, poor little one! till I make her some tidy clothes toput on," Priscilla answered. "Stay and talk with me, Miles, like agallant lad. Come, if you'll look merry again, I'll show you somethingrare. 'Tis a humbird."

  She led him to the western casement, where on the window-sill rested alittle cage of paper, in which fluttered a shimmery atom no bigger thana bee. For a moment, because Priscilla expected it of him, Miles gazedat the tiny whirring wings, and touched the cage gently, but in solistless a fashion that the young girl asked abruptly: "What has gonewrong with you, Miles?"

  "Naught."

  "Then you are an uncivil youth to wear such a glum face. Come, tell meit all. Is it that Stephen Hopkins hath flogged you?"

  "No!" Miles answered, with an angry sniff. "A beating more or less,'tis nothing to a man."

  Priscilla suddenly put an arm about his neck. "My poor little--man!"she said, and, for all she laughed, her voice was tender. "I know I ambut a silly woman, yet mayhap I can help you,--an you let me. Is itthat the Elder rated you grievously?"

  Miles shook his head, then, spite of himself, blurted out:"'Tis--Captain Standish is angry and scarce will look at me. And he hasever been kind to me. But now he will have none of me. I had no mind tobe so wicked; I did not mean what I said; I'm sorry."

  "Why, you need not lay it to heart if the Captain has been round withyou," the girl coaxed. "He must be so troubled now with all this illnews of the savages."

  "But he--he thinks I'm not sorry," Miles faltered, twisting the endsof the window curtain relentlessly between his hands. "And I am, but Ican't go to him and say it, when he is angered."

  "But I can go to him and tell him you are sorry, if 'twill comfortyou," Priscilla answered coolly. "I have no fear of your Captain."

  "Will you so?" Miles cried gratefully. "Sure, you're uncommon good.When I'm older I'll marry you,--unless Jack Alden does it ere then."

  Whereat Mistress Mullins's face flushed pink, and she pulled Miles'sears, and, calling him a scamp, packed him into the bedroom to speakwith Dolly.

  So, when Miles ran home to supper, he was in an almost cheerful mood,which speedily ended, for Master Hopkins made him read a sorrowfulchapter on the wrath of God against transgressors, and cuffed himbecause he could not pronounce the word "Zarhites." Mistress Hopkinsscolded too, because she had labored all the afternoon to mend theshirt which Miles had worn upon his wanderings; moreover, she wouldhave to make the troublesome boy a new doublet, to replace the one hehad lost, and new breeches, for those he now wore were disgracefullyragged, so perhaps she had reason to be vexed on his account.

  "But I did not tear them wantonly," Miles lamented to Ned Lister nextmorning. "Yet she says she is so busied she cannot make me new clothesfor days, and I must wear my breeches all ragged for punishment."

  "Hm!" answered Ned. "Half Plymouth seems to take its diversion inpunishing the other half." He was on his knees between two rows of therustling green cornstalks, where he was grubbing up those weeds thatwere so tough as to resist his hoe; his doublet was off, but he had soscrupulously turned up the collar of his shirt that no trace of the redmark about his neck could be seen.

  It was so unusual for Ned to work that Miles was lingering to watchhim, when suddenly the young man broke out: "Look you here, Miley, youwere with me that day I made Dotey to fight me, and you heard all Isaid unto him, so I ought to tell you--'twas not he bore tales of meunto Hopkins; 'twas the mistress herself."

  Miles nodded his head. "I never had any liking for her," he said softly.

  Ned weeded scowlingly. "Well, she made Hopkins go unto the Governorand beg that Ed Dotey and I be released after we'd been tied an hour,"he admitted, in a grudging tone. "She might be worse, and so might EdDotey; he's no talebearer, though he is a self-sufficient
coxcomb."

  For several days this was the only bit of private talk which Mileshad with Ned, for Master Hopkins, who said that Lister had alreadycorrupted the boy sufficiently, took now a new course of keeping thetwo rigorously apart. While Ned was sent to work in the fields, Mileswas bidden weed in the house-garden, or fetch and carry for MistressHopkins.

  Master Hopkins believed, too, that Satan found mischief for idle hands,so he saw to it that one task followed another, till Miles, honestlywearied, looked back with fondness to his life among the Indians as atime of perpetual holiday. One morning, indeed, about a week after hisreturn to Plymouth, when he was forbidden to help Ned dig clams, andordered, instead, to fetch water and then weed in the garden, he voicedhis rebellious wish: "I would I were back with those good, friendlyIndians at Manomet."

  Master Hopkins, who was busy at the delicate task of repairing the lockof his musket, looked up at the muttered words. "You wish to dwellamong those shameless idolaters?" he questioned grimly. "Verily, MilesRigdale, you are a son of perdition."

  A very terrible name that was, Miles thought, but it was worse than thehard name, that Master Hopkins cuffed him till his ears tingled and hiseyes watered.

  Frightened at his own wickedness, and smarting with the blows, hehurried off to the spring, and, halfway thither, met with FrancisBillington. Even Francis's sympathy would have been welcome just then,and, after all he had undergone because of his confession to save theboy, Miles thought he had some claim to it. But Francis stiffened up athis greeting and put on a surprising new air of virtue. "I'm forbid tohave to do with you, Miles," he announced, with open delight. "Sure,I see not why your father ever need keep you so tenderly from myconversation. Why, you are yourself the worst lad in all the colony;'twas Captain Standish himself said so to my father."

  "I think you are not speaking the truth," Miles answered doggedly; hehad a mind to fight Francis for such a story, but very likely if hefought, Master Hopkins would whip him. So he drooped his head under theother's taunt and plodded on to the spring. He didn't believe Francis,he repeated to himself, while he swallowed and swallowed in his throat.But there came the remembrance of the look the Captain had given him,there on the shore, and his contemptuous words, and, with a sickeningfear that, for once, Francis had spoken the truth, he felt the lump inhis throat swell bigger.

  He did not care, though the water, as he scooped up his pailful at thespring, slopped over his shoes, but he did care when he heard on thepathway from the bluff the scatter of pebbles under a quick footstep;he could not let any one see him in so sorry a mood. Catching up hispail, he pressed into the crackling green alders at the farther side ofthe spring, and, as he did so, heard some one call sharply, "Miles."

  It was Captain Standish's voice, Captain Standish who would want torate him as the worst lad in the colony, who would never believe he waspenitent. Miles put his head down and, crashing through the alders,never paused till the whole dense thicket lay between him and hispursuer. He could hear on the lifeless, hot air no sound save that ofhis own fluttering breath; no one had offered to follow him, and hefelt suddenly sorry that he had escaped.

  But, without courage to go back to the spring and face the Captain, hecrouched down beneath the bushes and sat a long time staring throughthe leaves at the bright water of the brook. Up in the street he heardeager voices once, but the dread of encountering Captain Standish madehim stay quiet in his hiding place, till the street was still again.Then he clambered painfully up the steeper part of the bluff belowCooke's house, and, with a new terror growing on him of the mightyscolding he could expect for his delay, scudded home.

  But no one had space to scold him. When he came to the house he foundMistress Hopkins, quite silent, and Constance, with a scared face,busied about dinner, and Ned and Dotey, with Giles to help, overhaulingtheir muskets. "What is it has happened?" Miles questioned in amazement.

  "War!" Ned answered cheerily, and Mistress Hopkins, with a grewsomesort of satisfaction, added that she always said they'd yet be slain bythe heathen savages.

  "It happened at Namasket, five league from here," Ned ran on. "Squantoand two other friendly copper-skins, Hobbamock and Tokamahamon, theywent thither quietly to learn how much truth was in this talk ofrebellion against Massasoit. And there was a certain Corbitant, anunder-chief of the King's, who is in league with the Narragansetts, andhe discovered them. Hobbamock broke from them and came fleeing hither,not an hour agone, but Tokamahamon they took and Squanto they've slain.So we are furbishing up our muskets."

  Poor Squanto, who had fetched him from Nauset, was dead. That wasMiles's first thought, and he was honestly grieved. But ere dinner wasout he learned from his elders that there was other fearful matterto think on, for if Massasoit's men were rebelling and joining theNarragansetts against the King and his allies, it meant a dreadfuldanger for the settlement.

  Quietly, but resolutely enough, the Englishmen made their arrangementsto march against Namasket and punish the slayers of their friends.After a night of watching and half hidden fear, next morning, in themidst of a beating rain, a little squad of ten, with the Captain attheir head, and Hobbamock to guide them, went forth to the attack.

  From the western window Miles watched them go. He had hoped tobe allowed to slip forth from the house and see them start upontheir expedition; at least get a last glimpse of Captain Standish,who, perhaps, in the confusion, would forget he was angry and say,"Good-morrow, Miles," as he used. So Miles fetched Master Hopkins'sbuff-coat, and helped Constance with the breakfast kettle, and mendedthe fire, and quieted Damaris, and waited and hoped, till he saw thelast man of the column disappear over the bluff.

  He could run out and seek a dry stick of wood from the pile now, whengoing forth profited him nothing. He slouched into the wet and thewind, and, in the pashy dooryard, met Ned, who was in a bad temper,because, when he asked his master to let him go on the expedition, hehad been contemptuously bidden by Hopkins to "stay home with the womenand tend the disgraceful hurts he had taken in his godless brawl."

  "If I'd not been such a Jack as to get myself slashed, I might 'a'gone," Ned grumbled now to Miles, as he kicked his heels in the bigpuddle before the doorstone. "And they'll have some good fighting, I'llwager."

  "Do you think surely some of our men will be slain?" Miles questioned,terror-stricken.

  "A buff-coat does not make a man immortal," Ned cast over his shoulder,as he stamped into the house.

  But Miles, standing in the pouring rain, gazed up the path by whichthe little company had gone. The sky was thick gray, and the rain,driven by the wind from off the harbor, fell in long, livid streaks. Hetook up a shiny wet stick from the ground and snapped it slowly in hishands. "The Captain may be killed," he told himself dazedly. "And hedoes not know that I be sorry."