A Pilgrim Maid: A Story of Plymouth Colony in 1620

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER XIV

  Light-Minded Man, Heavy-Hearted Master

  Constance Hopkins sat at the side of the cave-like fireplace; oppositeto where her father, engrossed in a heavy, much-rubbed, leather-boundbook, toasted his feet beside the fire, as was his nightly wont.

  He was too deeply buried in his reading to heed her presence, but thegirl felt keenly that her father was there and that she had him quite toherself. The consciousness of this made her heart sing softly in herbreast, with a contentment that she voiced in the softest humming, notunlike the contented song of the kettle on the crane, and the purring ofthe cat, who sat with infolded paws between her human friends.

  Puck, the small spaniel, and Hecate, the powerful mastiff, who had comewith the Hopkins family on the _Mayflower_, shared the hearth with LadyFair, the cat, a right that their master insisted upon for them, butwhich Dame Eliza never ceased to inveigh against.

  However, Dame Eliza had gone to attend upon a sick neighbour that night,a fact which Hecate had approvingly noted, with her deep-grooved eyelidshalf-open, and in which Constance, no less than Puck and Hecate,rejoiced.

  There was the quintessence of domestic joy in thus sitting aloneopposite her father, free from the sense of an unsympathetic elementdividing them, in watching the charring of the tremendous back log, andthe lovely colours in the salt-soaked small sticks under and over itwhich had been cast up by the sea and gathered on the beach for thisconsumption.

  Damaris and baby Oceanus were tucked away asleep for the night. It wasas if once more Constance were a child in England with her widowedfather, and no second marriage had ever clouded their perfect oneness.

  So Constance hummed softly, not to disturb the reader, the content thatshe felt not lessened by anxiety for Giles; there were hours in whichshe was assured of Giles's safe return, and this was one of them.

  Stephen Hopkins had been conscious of his girl's loving companionship,though not aware that he felt it, till, at last, the small tune that shehummed crept through his brain into his thought, and he laid down hisbook to look at her.

  She sat straight and prim by necessity. Her chair was narrow anderect--a carved, dark oaken chair, with a small round seat; it had beenConstance's mother's, and had come out of her grandfather's Tudormansion, wherein he had once entertained Queen Bess.

  Constance's dress was of dark homespun stuff, coming up close under hersoft chin, falling straight around her feet, ornamented but with narrowbands of linen at her neck and around her wrists. Yet by its extremeseverity the Puritan gown said: "See how lovely this young creature is!Only her fleckless skin, her gracious outlines, could triumph over mybarrenness!"

  Obedient to her elders' demands upon her to curb its riotousness,Constance had brushed smooth and capped her lustrous hair, yet itstendrils escaped upon her brow; it glinted below the cap around herears, and in the back of her neck, and shone in the firelight likeprecious metal.

  Stephen Hopkins's eyes brightened with delight in her charm, but, thoughhe was not one of the strictest of Plymouth colonists, yet was he tooimbued with their customs to express his pleasure in Constance's beauty.

  Instead he said, but his voice thrilled with what he left unsaid:

  "It's a great thing, my girl, to draw such a woman as Portia, here inthis leathern book. She shines through it, and you see her clever eyes,her splendid presence, best of all her great power to love, to humbleherself, to forget herself for the man she hath chosen! I would have youconversant with the women here met, Constance; they are worthy friendsfor you, in the wilderness where such noble ladies are rare."

  "Yet we have fine women and devoted ones here, Father," objectedConstance, putting down the fine linen that she was hemstitching for herfather's wearing. He noted the slender, supple hands, long-fingered,graceful, yet a womanly hand, made for loyalty.

  "Far be it from me to belittle them who recognized their hard andrepulsive duty in the plague last winter, and performed it with utterself-renunciation," said Stephen Hopkins. "But, Constance, there is asomething that, while it cannot transcend goodness, enhances it andplaces its possessor on a sort of dais all her life. Your mother had it,child. She was beautiful, charming, winsome, gracious, yet had she alordly way with her; you see it in a fine-bred steed; I know not how todescribe it. She was mettlesome, spirited. It was as if she did theright with a sort of inborn scorn for aught low; had made her choice atbirth for true nobility and could but abide by it for aye, having madethat choice. You have much of her, my lass, and I am daily thankful forit. A fine lady, was your exquisite young mother, and that says it,though the term is lowered by common usage. I would that you could haveknown her, my poor child! It was a loss hard to accept that you weredeprived of her too soon, and never could have her direct impress uponyou. And yet, thank Heaven, she hath left it upon you in mothering you,though the memory of her doth not bless you. And you sit here, upon aPlymouth hearthstone, far from the civilization that produced her, andto this I brought you!"

  "Oh, Father, Father, my darling!" cried Constance, flinging aside herwork and dropping upon her knees beside him, for his voice quivered withan emotion that he never before had allowed to escape him, as he uttereda self-reproach that no one knew he harboured. "Oh, my father, dearest,don't you know that I am happy here? And are you not here with me?However fine a lady my sweet mother was--and for your sake I am gladindeed if you see anything of her in me!--yet was she no truer lady thanyou are a fine gentleman. And with you I need no better exemplar. Astime goes on we shall receive from England much of the good we have leftbehind; our colony will grow and prosper; we shall not be crude,unlettered. And how truly noble are many of our company, not only you,but Governor Bradford, Mr. Brewster, Mr. Winslow; their wives; our Arm,Captain Myles; and--dearest of all, save you--Doctor Fuller! No maidenneed lack of models who has these! But indeed, I want to be all that youwould have me to be! I cannot say how glad I am if you see in meanything of my mother! Not for my sake; for yours, for yours!"

  "Portia after all!" Stephen Hopkins cried, stroking Constance's cheek."That proves how well he knew, great Will of Warwickshire--which is ourcounty also, my lass! Not for their own sake do true women value theircharm, but for him they love. 'But only to stand high in your account Imight in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, exceed!' So spake Portia;so, in effect, spake you just now. That was your mother's way; she,too, longed to have, but to give, her possessions, herself----"

  There came a knocking at the door and Constance sprang back to herchair, catching up her sewing, thrusting in her needle with shortenedbreath, not to be caught by her severe Plymouth neighbours in sounseemly a thing as betraying love for her father, leaning on his knee.

  Mr. Hopkins answered the summons, and there entered Francis Eaton, Mr.Allerton, and John Howland, who having come to Plymouth as the servantof Governor Carver, was now living in the colony with his articles ofbondage annulled, and was inclined to exceed in severity the otherPuritans, as one who had not long had authority even over himself.

  "Peace be to you, Mr. Hopkins," said John Howland, gravely. "MistressConstantia, I wish you a good evening. Sir, we are come to consult youas to certain provisions to be made for the winter to come, as to careof the sick, should there be many----. Will that great beast bite? Sheseems not to like me, and I may say the feeling is mutual; I never couldbear a beast."

  "She will not bite you, John; she is but deciding on your credentials asset forth in the odour of your clothing," said Mr. Hopkins, smiling."Down, Hecate, good lass! While I am here you may leave it to me to seeto your dwelling and fireside, old trusty!"

  Hecate wagged her whip like tail and instantly lay down, her nose on herextended paws, frowning at the callers.

  "But what is this, Stephen Hopkins?" demanded Francis Eaton, picking upthe marred, leather-covered great volume which Stephen Hopkins had laiddown when he had risen. "Shakespeare! Plays! Fie, fie upon you; sir! Iwot you know this is godless matter, and that you are sinning to set theexample of such reading to your
child."

  Stephen Hopkins's quick temper blazed; he took a step in the speaker'sdirection, and Hecate was justified in growling at her master's lead.

  "Zounds! Eaton," he cried. "I know that an Englishman's house is hiscastle, on whichever side of the ocean he builds it, and that I will notbrook your coming into it to tell me--_you_ to tell _me_,forsooth!--that I am sinning! Look to your own affairs, sir, but keepyour hands off mine. If you are too ignorant to know more of Shakespearethan to think him harmful, well, then, sir, you confess to an ignorancethat is in itself a sin against the Providence that gave us poets."

  "As to that, Francis Eaton," said Mr. Allerton, "Mr. Hopkins hath thebest of it. We who strive after the highest virtue do not indulge inworldly reading, but there be those among us who would not condemnShakespeare. But what is the noise I hear? Permit us to go yonder intoyour outer room, Mr. Hopkins, to satisfy ourselves that worse thanplay-reading is not carried on within this house."

  "Noise? I heard no noise till now, being too much occupied to note it,but it is easy to decide upon its cause from here, though if you desireto go yonder, or to share the play, I'll not prevent you," said Mr.Hopkins, his anger mounting.

  "Say, rather, as I seriously fear, that you are too accustomed to thesound to note it. I will pass over, as unworthy of you and of myprofession, the insult you proffered me in suggesting that I would bearpart in a wicked game," said Mr. Allerton, going toward the door.

  He threw it open with a magnificent gesture and stalked through it,followed close by the other two, and by Hecate's growl and Puck's sharpbarking.

  Constance had dropped her work and sat rigidly regarding her father withamazed and frightened eyes.

  Stephen Hopkins went after them, purple with rage. What they saw was atable marked off at its farther end by lines drawn in chalk. At thenearer end sat Edward Doty and Edward Lister, the men whom StephenHopkins had brought over with him on the _Mayflower_ to serve him.Beside them sat tankards of home-made beer, and a small pile of coinslay, one at each man's right hand.

  Just as Francis Eaton threw open the door, Edward Lister leanedforward, balanced a coin carefully between his thumb and finger, andshot it forward over one of the lines at the other end.

  "Aimed, by St. George! Well shot, Ted!" cried Edward Doty.

  "See that thou beatest me not, Ned; thou art a better man than me atit," said Lister, and they both took a draught of beer, wiping theirlips on their sleeve in high satisfaction with the flavour, the game,and each other.

  "Shovelboard!" "Shuffleboard!" cried Francis Eaton and John Howlandtogether, differing on the pronunciation of the obnoxious sport, but onein the boundless horror in their voices.

  "Stephen Hopkins, I am profoundly shocked," said Mr. Allerton, turningwith lowering brows upon their host. "A man of your standing among us! Aman of your experience of the world! Well wot you that playing of gamesis forbid among us. That you should tolerate it is frightful toconsider----"

  "See here, Isaac Allerton," said Stephen Hopkins, stepping so close tohis neighbour that Mr. Allerton fell back uneasily, "it is a principleamong us that every man is to follow his conscience. If we have thrownoff the authority of our old days, an authority mind you, that had muchto be said for it, and set up our own conscience as the sole guide ofour actions, then how dare you come into my house to reproach me forwhat I consider no wrong-doing? Ted and Ned are good fellows, on whosehands leisure hangs heavily, since they do not read Shakespeare, as doestheir master, whom equally you condemn. To my mind shovelboard isinnocent; I have permitted my men to play it. Go, if you will, andreport to our governor this heinous crime of allowing innocent play. Buton your peril read me no sermon, nor set up your opinion in mine ownhouse, for, by my honour, I'll not abide it."

  "By no will of mine will I report you, my brother," said Isaac Allerton,but the gleam in his eye belied him; there was jealousy in this littlecommunity, as in all human communities. "You know that my duty willcompel me to lay before Governor Bradford what I have seen. Since wehave with our own eyes seen it, there needs no further witnesses."

  "Imply that I would deny the truth, were there never a witness, andHeaven help you, Plymouth or no Plymouth, brother or no brother! I'm nota liar," cried Stephen Hopkins, so fiercely that Mr. Allerton and hiscompanions went swiftly out the side door, Mr. Allerton protesting:

  "Nay, then Brother and friend; thou art a choleric man, and lax as tothis business, but no one would doubt your honour."

  After they had gone Mr. Hopkins went back to his chair by the fireside,leaving Ted and Ned staring open-mouthed at each other, stunned by thetempest aroused by their game.

  "Well, rather would I have held the psalm book the whole evening thangot the master into trouble," said Ted.

  "Easy done, since thou couldst no more than hold it, reading beingbeyond thee," grinned Ned. "Yet am I one with thy meaning, which isclearer to me than is print."

  Constance dared not speak to her father when he returned to her. Sheglanced up at his angry face and went on with her stitchery in silence.

  At length he stretched himself out, his feet well toward the fire, andlet his right hand fall on Hecate's insinuating head, his left on Puck'sthrusting nose.

  "Good friends!" he said to the happy dogs. "I am ashamed, my Constance,so to have afflicted thee. Smile, child; thou dost look as thoughdestruction awaited me."

  "I am so sorry, Father! In good sooth, is there not trouble coming toyou from this night's business?" asked Constance, folding up her work.

  "Nothing serious, child; likely a fine. But indeed it will be worth itto have the chance it will buy me to speak my mind clearly to my fellowcolonists on these matters. Ah, my girl, my girl, what sad fools wemortals be, as Shakespeare, whom also these grave and reverend seigniorscondemn, hath said! We have come here to sail by the free wind ofconscience, but look you, it must be the conscience of the few, greaterthraldom than it was in the Old World! Ah, Constance, Constance, we camehere to escape the thraldom of men, but to do that it needs that no mencame! If authority we are to have, then let it be authoritative, say I;not the mere opinion of men. My child, have you ever noted how muchhuman nature there is in a man?"

  But the next day, during which Stephen Hopkins was absent from his home,when he returned at night his philosophy had been sadly jostled.

  He had been called before the governor, reprimanded and fined, and hispride, his sense of justice, were both outraged when he actually had tomeet the situation. Dame Eliza was in a state of mind that made mattersworse. She had heard from one of those persons through whom ill newsfilters as naturally as water through a spring, that her husband hadbeen, as she termed it, "disgraced before the world."

  "They can't disgrace him, Stepmother," protested Constance, though sheknew that it was useless to try to stem the tide of Dame Eliza'sgrievance. "My father is in the right; they have the power to fine, butnot to disgrace him who hath done no wrong."

  "Of course he hath done no wrong," snapped Dame Eliza. "Shovelboard wasplayed in my father's kitchen when I was no age. Are these prating menbetter than my father? Answer me that! But your father has no right torisk getting into trouble for two ne'er-do-wells, like his two preciousEdwards. They eat more than any four men I ever knew, and that will Imaintain against all comers, and as to work they cannot so much as seeit. Worthless! And for them will he risk our good name. For mark me,Constantia, shovelboard is a game, and gaming an abomination, and not tobe mentioned in a virtuous household, yet would your father permit itplayed----"

  "But you just said it was harmless, and that your father had a table!"cried Constance.

  "My father was a good man, but not a Puritan," said Dame Eliza, somewhatconfused to be called upon to harmonize her own statements. "In Englandshovelboard is one thing; in Plymouth a second thing, and two things arenot the same as one thing. I am disgusted with your father, but whatgood does it do me to speak? Never am I heeded but rather am I floutedby the Hopkins brood, young and old, which is why I never speak, but e
atmy heart out in silence and patience, knowing that had I married as Imight have married--aye, and that many times, I'd have you know--I'dnot be here among sands and marshes and Indians and barrens, slaving forungrateful people who think to show their better blood by treating me asthey best know how! But it is a long lane that hath no turning, andjustice must one day be my reward."

  When Stephen Hopkins came in Dame Eliza dared not air her grievances;his angry face compelled silence. Even Constance did not intrude uponhis annoyance, but contented herself with conveying her sympathy bywaiting upon him and talking blithely to Damaris, succeeding at last inwinning a smile from her father by her amusing stories to the child.

  "There is a moon, Constance; is it too cold for you to walk with me? Thesea is fair and silvery beneath the moon rays," said Mr. Hopkins aftersupper.

  "Not a whit too chill, Father, and I shall like to be out of doors,"cried Constance, disregarding her stepmother's frown, who disapproved ofpleasure strolls.

  Constance drew her cloak about her, its deep hood over her head, andwent out with her father. Stephen Hopkins placed her hand in his arm,and led her toward the beach. It was a deep, clear autumn night, themoon was brilliant; the sea, still as a mirror, gave its surface for thepath that led from the earth to the moon, made by the moon rays.

  At last her father spoke to Constance.

  "Wise little woman," he said, patting the hand in his arm, "to keepsilent till a man has conquered his humours. Your mother had that rarefeminine wisdom. What a comrade was she, my dear! Seeing your profilethus half-concealed by your hood I have been letting myself feel thatshe had returned to me. And so she has, for you are part of her, hergift to me! Trouble no more over my annoyance, Constance; I haveconquered it. I do not say that there is no soreness left in me, that Ishould be thus dealt with, but I am philosopher enough to see that MylesStandish was right when he once said to me that I was a fool for mypains; that living in Plymouth I must bear myself Plymouth-wise."

  "Father, have you had enough of impertinence in the day's doings, thatyour neighbours should dare to judge you, or will you tolerate a littlemore impertinence, and from your own daughter?" asked Constance.

  "Now what's in the wind?" demanded Stephen Hopkins, stopping short.

  "Nay, Father, let me speak freely!" Constance implored. "Indeed there isnothing in my heart that you would disapprove, could I bare it to youreyes. Does not this day's experience throw a light upon Giles?"

  "Giles! How? Why?" exclaimed her father.

  "Giles is as like you as are two peas in a pod, dear Father. He does notcount himself a boy any longer. He hath felt that he was dealt with foroffences that he had not done. He has been wounded, angry, sore,sad--and most of all because he half worships you. The governor, Mr.Winslow, no one is to you, nor can hurt you, as you can hurt Giles.Don't you feel to-day, Father, how hard it is for a young lad to bearinjustice? When Giles comes home will you not show him that you trusthim, love him, as I so well know you do, but as he cannot now be made tobelieve you do? And won't you construe him by what you have sufferedthis day, and comfort him? Forgive me, Father, my dearest, dearest! I donot mean wrong, and after all, it is only your Constance speaking herheart out to you," she pleaded.

  For upwards of ten minutes Stephen Hopkins was silent while Constancehung trembling on his arm.

  Then her father turned to her, and took her face in both his hands,tears in his eyes.

  "It is only my Constance speaking; only my dearest earthly treasure," hesaid. "And by all the gods, she hath spoken sweetly and truly, and Iwill heed her! Yes, my Constance, I will read my own bitterness inGiles's heart, and I will heal it, if but the lad comes back safe tous."

  With which promise, that sounded in Constance's ears like the carol ofangels, her father kissed her thrice on brow, and lips, a most unusualcaress from him. It was a thankful Constance that lay down besideDamaris that night, beneath the lean-to roof.

  "Now I know that Giles will come back, for this is what has been meantin all that hath lately come to us," was her last thought as she driftedinto sleep.