Part 42 (1/2)
”Oh Mary, Mary maid, why art thou crying! Silly wench”--
”Nay, but thou 'rt crying thyself, Priscilla! Nay, now thou 'rt laughing!”
”To think how John Alden turned white as any maid when the good news came!” sobbed Priscilla running in to fling her arms around Dame Brewster, who sat with folded hands and rapt face praying to the G.o.d of battles.
”Oh mother, mother, they all are safe, and 't is an English s.h.i.+p.
Belike, Fear and Patience and their brother are aboard.”
”Nay, dear maid, nay, be not so carried away. If indeed G.o.d sendeth my children”--
But the mere thought of such joy was too much for the self-control the poor mother so struggled for, and when the elder hastened into the house he found his wife weeping for joy upon Priscilla's heaving breast.
”Nay then, wife, nay then, doest thou well?--and yet mine own eyes might but too easily rain with grat.i.tude. Dame, wife I say, nay then--let us pray that in all things His will be done.”
And in less than an hour Mary Brewster was sobbing afresh in the stalwart embrace of her eldest son Jonathan, a young fellow of five-and-thirty, who full of health and courage was come to be the staff of her old age, and to bring news of the fair sisters who would come anon.
For this was the Fortune, a little s.h.i.+p of fifty-five tons, dispatched by the Adventurers in London to carry over some of the colonists disappointed of a pa.s.sage in the Mayflower, but princ.i.p.ally to convey Robert Cushman, who came pledged to obtain the consent of the Pilgrims to a contract more favorable to their English friends than that they were disposed to undertake. With him came his son Thomas, a boy of fourteen, whom his father upon his hasty return in the Fortune left behind under charge of the governor, to whom he subsequently wrote, ”I pray you care for my son as for your own;” and so well did Bradford train the boy soon orphaned and left entirely to his charge, that Thomas Cushman became successor of William Brewster as Ruling Elder of the Pilgrim Church, and now lies on Burying Hill beneath a goodly monument erected by his numerous descendants.
But little on that bleak November day recked the boy of future honors or proud posterities, for he and his friend Thomas Prence, future governor of the colony, but then a merry youth of nineteen, were hand and glove with a gay company of lads and young men who had accepted the adventure of Pilgrimage as they would have sailed with Drake, or Hawkins, or Captain Cooke,--any leader who promised novelty, excitement, and the chance of hard knocks and treasure.
So little responsible for their own welfare were many of these younkers that, although fairly fitted out for the voyage, they had while weather-bound in the British Channel gone ash.o.r.e at Old Plymouth and ”brushed away” even their cloaks and extra doublets, in some cases their very bedding and such cooking utensils as pa.s.sengers were then expected to provide themselves with. So far from bringing fresh supplies of food to the colony, these runagates had devoured perforce the provisions that should have victualed the Fortune on her return voyage, and the colonists were forced for humanity's sake, to supply her out of their own scanty stock.
Among these young fellows was a slight, dark-eyed lad of about nineteen, who so soon as he had landed asked for the Demoiselle Molines.
”Priscilla Molines? Dost thou know her then?” inquired Alden who heard the question, although addressed to Billington, who only grinned at the lad's French accent and made no reply.
”Certainly, yes. My sister is of her closest friends.”
”Ay? Is thy name De la Noye?”
”Truly!” exclaimed the boy, his face lighting vivaciously. ”I am Philip de la Noye.”
”Hm, and your brother Jacques--is he in the company, or coming in the next s.h.i.+p?” asked Alden grimly; but at that moment Priscilla coming swiftly forward, held out both hands to the new-comer exclaiming joyously in French,--
”Philip, dear lad! Glad am I to see thee.”
”She will have news now from her lover,” muttered Alden bitterly, but just then the captain hailed,--
”Here Jack, put thy long legs and brawny thews to service in bringing some of these budgets up the hill. Here's a poor soul with three little children tugging at her skirts and she a widow, and fit to be put to bed herself.”
”I'll help her up the hill, Captain,” interposed Peter Browne hastily, and as he carefully aided the Widow Ford to climb the steep ascent some sprite might have whispered in his ear that this was his own future wife. That night was born Martha Ford, who should from similarity of history have married Peregrine White, but who instead wedded William Nelson.
Not until the last bale or packet unloaded from the Fortune had been disposed of in the Common storehouse, or in some one of the houses all hospitably thrown open to the new-comers, did John Alden cease his labors or exchange more than a brief word with those about him, until at last Bradford cheerily declared labor over for the day and added,--
”Come friends to my house, and hear what Master Cushman will have to tell us of affairs in the old home. Come Alden, and reward thy labors with a good flagon of beer.”
Muttering some reply, the young man followed the rest up Leyden Street, but as they reached the governor's house, a somewhat larger and more important cabin than the rest, he pa.s.sed quickly on and up the hill.
Pausing but a moment at the Fort, he struck down the steep southerly side to the brook, and having performed his simple toilet strode moodily on toward the forest, but had only gone a few rods when a familiar voice called his name, and turning he saw Priscilla with Mary Chilton and the young Frenchman, to whom they seemed to be showing the brook and its springs of ”delicate water.”
Very reluctantly Alden turned and moved toward them.