Part 7 (2/2)
”Flew out without hands!” exclaimed Hopkins, but Carver raised his finger and asked mildly,--
”And what didst thou with the powder on the floor, John?”
”I made some squibs as father did last Guy Fawkes Day,” muttered the boy.
”And dropped the fire among the loose powder on the floor, and so sent all off together!” broke in Hopkins again. ”And if the keg had caught, thou wouldst have blown the s.h.i.+p to pieces! Thou unwhipt rascal, thou 'rt enough to corrupt a whole colony of boys. If my Bartholomew ever speaks to thee again I'll break every bone in his body, as I'd well like to thine, and will”--
”Nay, nay, Master Hopkins!” interposed the governor sternly. ”It is never well to threaten what we cannot perform. We break not bones nor put to the torture in our new community; but, John Billington, I shall counsel thy father to take thee ash.o.r.e and whip thee so soundly as shall make thee long remember that gunpowder is for thee forbidden fruit. Go, now, to thy cabin, and remain there till he comes, while I go to see what harm thou hast wrought.”
”Mistress Carver would fain see the governor without delay,” announced Lois, Mistress Carver's maid, in a quavering voice. ”Jasper More was so frighted by the noise that he is in convulsions, and we know not but he is dying.”
”Is Doctor Fuller here?” demanded another voice. ”Mistress White would see him presently.”
”And this is thy work, boy!” exclaimed Carver solemnly. ”Go!”
And the boy crept miserably away, foreboding the whipping of which he was not disappointed.
CHAPTER VI.
THE FIRST ENCOUNTER.
So thoroughly were the bolder spirits among the Pilgrims impressed with the necessity of haste in finding an abiding place that by afternoon of the next day the pinnace was victualed and fitted for a voyage of ten days or more, and the adventurers ready to embark. To the twelve men previously named, all of whom were signers of the Const.i.tution already drawn up to quell symptoms of insubordination on the part of Hopkins and others, were added Clarke and Coppin, acting as pilots, with the rank of master's mate, three sailors, and the master gunner, who, uninvited, thrust himself into the company in hopes of making something by traffic, or, as he phrased it, _trucking_ with the Indians.
But hasten as they might many things delayed them, some of them as important as the death of Jasper More, an orphan in charge of the Carvers, and the birth of a son to Mistress White, whom his father and Doctor Fuller whimsically named Peregrine, latest of the Pilgrims, and first of native born American white men. When at last the shallop left the Mayflower's side it was in teeth of such bad weather as left the former expedition far in the shade, for not only was the northeast wind more bitter, but the temperature so low that the spray froze upon the rigging and the men's jerkins, turning them into coats of mail almost impossible to bend.
It was soon found impossible for Master English to lay his proposed course, and finally the Pilgrims resolved to land and encamp for the night, partly for the sake of the greedy gunner, who had turned so deadly sick that it was feared he would die, and for Edward Tilley, who lay in the bottom of the boat in a dead swoon, while his brother John crouched beside him covered with John Howland's coat, which he declared was but an impediment to him in rowing.
”They should never have come. Had I guessed their unfitness I would have hindered it, but now alack it is too late, and I fear they have come to their death,” said Carver in Bradford's ear, and indeed it was so. The brothers, never divided in body or soul since their birth, had as one man given their substance, their strength, their faith, to the common cause, and now were giving their lives as simply and as willingly as heroes ever will go to their death, so giving life to many.
The second night found them only as far as what we now call Eastham, and again building a ”randevous” and gathering firewood, a difficult task at any time in this vicinity, for the trees were lofty and the underbrush annually burned away by the Indians to facilitate hunting. But it was finally done, as all things will be when such men set about them, the fire was built, the supper eaten, the prayer said, and the psalm sung, its rude melody rising from that wilderness to the wintry sky with the a.s.surance of Daniel's song in the den of lions. Then all slept except Edward Dotey, to whom was committed the first watch, to last while three inches of the slow-match attached to his piece were consuming.
Striding up and down his appointed beat the young man hummed again the evening psalm, mildly anathematized the cold, peered into the blackness of the forest, and glanced enviously at his comrades sound asleep about the fire.
”'T is all but burned,” muttered he stooping to examine the match, and thrusting a fallen log back into the fire with his boot. But in that very instant upon the intense stillness of the night burst suddenly a discordant clamor, a confusion of horrible and unknown sounds, unlike, in simple Edward Dotey's mind, to anything possible this side of h.e.l.l.
Undaunted even thus, he answered the a.s.sault with a yell of quivering defiance, fired his matchlock into the air, and shouted at the top of his voice,--
”Arm! arm! arm! The fiend is upon us!”
All sprang to their feet alert and ready, and two or three pieces were shot off, but no foe appeared, and no reply was made to their shouts of defiance.
Dotey, questioned by Standish, was fain to confess he had seen nothing, and Coppin averred that he had more than once heard similar sounds upon the coast of Newfoundland, and that they were commonly thought to be the voices of sirens or mermaids who haunted lonely sh.o.r.es.
”If naught more imminent than mermaids is upon us I'll e'en go back to sleep,” said Winslow in good-natured derision, while Standish, lighting his slow-match, said pleasantly to Dotey,--
”Lay thee down, man, and sleep. If thy fiend comes again I'll give account of him.”
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