tt*^#$
DAVID -ALDEN SLAUGHTER
AND OTHER STORIES OF
COLONIAL TIMES
JANE G.AUSTIN
I
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DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER
AND OTHER STORIES OF
COLONIAL TIMES
JANE G. AUSTIN
AUTHOR OF "STANDISH OF STANDISH," "BETTY ALDB
"A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN," " DR. LB BARON J S
DAUGHTERS," ETC.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Copyright, 1892,
BY JANE G. AUSHH.
Aft rights reserved.
rs
"And if I have done well, and as is fitting
the story, it is that which I desired : but if
slenderly and meanly, it is that which I
could attain unto. And here shall be an end."
872298
PREFACE.
MOST of the stories collected in tliis volume were
written some years ago and printed in various mag-
azines, as "Harper's Monthly," " The Atlantic
Monthly," the late lamented " Putnam's Monthly,"
and others, to each of which thanks for the privi-
lege of republication are hereby tendered.
At the period when some of them notably "The
Love Life of William Bradford" and "Barbara
Standish " were written, the author was in the
first flush of delight and surprise at discovering the
wealth of romance imbedded in that " Forefathers'
Rock" which to many observers still appears a
mere mass of granite, stern, cold, and sad.
Perhaps the joy of this discovery, working upon
a youthful imagination and untried powers, may
have induced a certain fermentation of fancy,
suggesting rather what " might have been," than
what is known to have been.
Certainly, the author recalls with rather rueful
mirth the reproof received from an aged relative
vi PREFACE.
who, after vainly inquiring for " the documents in
the case " of William Bradford, remarked :
" You have no right to defraud people by pre-
tending to have what you have not."
The reproof bore fruit, as righteous reproofs al-
ways should, and in later and more extended nar-
ratives of the same events nothing is set down as
fact that has not been carefully determined to be
such.
In this connection it seems well to notice a
somewhat sturdy popular error, supported as it is
by what should be important evidence. The error
is that Governor Carver left children, and that
one of them, named Elizabeth, became the wife of
John Rowland, the Mayflower Pilgrim.
The important but most erroneous evidence is
a stone upon Burying HiD in Plymouth, erected
some forty years ago to the memory of the Pil-
grim, whereon it is stated that his wife was daugh-
ter of Governor Carver, a statement resting upon
tradition, both printed and oral. But this, like
many another tradition, was slain at the root in
1855 when the long-lost journal of Governor Wil-
liam Bradford, taken by the British soldiers from
the steeple of the Old South Church in Boston,
during the Revolution, was rediscovered in the
library of the Bishop of London, and by the cour-
PREFACE. vii
tesy of that prelate accurately copied and printed
by the Massachusetts Historical Society. There the
governor, as if foreseeing the importance to poster-
ity of such information, has set down not only the
names and relationships of every passenger of the
Mayflower, but thirty years later has continued the
record with memoranda of the subsequent fortunes
of these passengers. This is a statement at first-
hand and of the most incontrovertible character,
and from it we learn that John Rowland, who
accompanied Governor Carver as some sort of
assistant, married Elizabeth, daughter of John
and Bridget Tillie, who with their brother Edward
Tillie and Ann his wife died in the first sickness.
Carver and his wife also died within three months
of landing, leaving no children, nor is there any
reason to suppose that they ever had any.
A certain Robert Carver appeared in Marshfield
in 1638, but he never claimed connection with the
governor, nor has the most careful research discov-
ered any tie between them. From him have de-
scended a numerous posterity, many of whom
proudly claim Governor Carver as an ancestor,
until the facts are set before them and they are
painfully convinced that a childless pair cannot
become anybody's ancestors.
It is much to be wished that the misleading
vi PREFACE.
who, after vainly inquiring for " the documents in
the case " of William Bradford, remarked :
" You have no right to defraud people by pre-
tending to have what you have not."
The reproof bore fruit, as righteous reproofs al-
ways should, and in later and more extended nar-
ratives of the same events nothing is set down as
fact that has not been carefully determined to be
such.
In this connection it seems well to notice a
somewhat sturdy popular error, supported as it is
by what should be important evidence. The error
is that Governor Carver left children, and that
one of them, named Elizabeth, became the wife of
John Rowland, the Mayflower Pilgrim.
The important but most erroneous evidence is
a stone upon Burying Hill in Plymouth, erected
some forty years ago to the memory of the Pil-
grim, whereon it is stated that his wife was daugh-
ter of Governor Carver, a statement resting upon
tradition, both printed and oral. But this, like
many another tradition, was slain at the root in
1855 when the long-lost journal of Governor Wil-
liam Bradford, taken by the British soldiers from
the steeple of the Old South Church in Boston,
during the Revolution, was rediscovered in the
library of the Bishop of London, and by the cour-
PEEFACE. vil
tesy of that prelate accurately copied and printed
by the Massachusetts Historical Society. There the
governor, as if foreseeing the importance to poster-
ity of such information, has set down not only the
names and relationships of every passenger of the
Mayflower, but thirty years later has continued the
record with memoranda of the subsequent fortunes
of these passengers. This is a statement at first-
hand and of the most incontrovertible character,
and from it we learn that John Howland, who
accompanied Governor Carver as some sort of
assistant, married Elizabeth, daughter of John
and Bridget Tillie, who with their brother Edward
Tillie and Ann his wife died in the first sickness.
Carver and his wife also died within three months
of landing, leaving no children, nor is there any
reason to suppose that they ever had any.
A certain Robert Carver appeared in Marshfield
in 1638, but he never claimed connection with the
governor, nor has the most careful research discov-
ered any tie between them. From him have de-
scended a numerous posterity, many of whom
proudly claim Governor Carver as an ancestor,
until the facts are set before them and they are
painfully convinced that a childless pair cannot
become anybody's ancestors.
It is much to be wished that the misleading
viii PREFACE.
stone upon Burying Hill might be amended before
another summer brings its thousands of True Be-
lievers to the Mecca of New England, and the
authorities have promised that this shall be done.
Doubtless we who are proud to claim descent
from John Rowland should be glad to claim Car-
ver as the father of his wife, but we may be sure
that the man who even among the Pilgrims bore a
reputation for probity and uprightness, would be
the last to desire fictitious honors, or a deceitful
record.
JANE Q. AUSTIN.
PLYMOUTH, October, 1892.
CONTENTS.
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER, AND MA JOB BRADFORD'S RED
ROKELAY 1
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER 28
BARBARA STANDISH 63
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE 91
NAZARETH PITCHER 115
WITCH HAZEL 141
THE FREIGHT OF THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN . . . 169
Miss BETTY'S PICTURES 194
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCARENE 208
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS . . . .229
THE FIRST AND THE LAST 258
WRECKED AND RESCUED . 279
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER
AND
MAJOR BRADFORD'S RED ROKELAY.
A DROVE of cattle, followed by a man on horse-
back, and surrounded by an active collie dog, came
slowly into Koxbury town in the afternoon of a
day in July, 1698, and paused at the Parting
Stone, or, to be more accurate, at the Parting, for
the Stone was not there then.
It is now, however, and if you like, you may go
to Koxbury and see and read, as people have been
doing for a century and a half, upon its honest
eastern face,
THE PARTING STONE
1744
P. DUDLEY
while the northern side directs you " To Cambridge
and Watertown," and the southern one more gen-
erously gives you the route "To Dedham and
Khode Island." It is only a curiosity now; but
when Paul Dudley set it at the junction of two
lonely country roads just behind his own house, it
was as much a convenience as the guide-boards we
2 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
hail with so much pleasure in our country drives
this very summer.
" So this is Roxbury, is it ? " said Samuel Cheese-
boro, staring about him ; " whoa, Lightf oot ! Let
be, Rover, let 'em graze a bit if they can find a bite.
'T is the last grass they 're like to see, poor beasts.
Roxbury, eh ? "
And Samuel pulled off his clumsy wool hat,
took a bandanna handkerchief from the pocket of
his riding coat, and proceeded to rub his head, face,
and neck very much as a warm and dusty man does,
after two hundred years of progress.
A comely and personable young bachelor was
Samuel Cheeseboro, and so thought and declared
not only most of the maids and widows of Stoning-
ton, Connecticut, where he lived, but nearly every
woman encountered upon the long journey he was
now completing from that place to Boston, measur-
ing the distance by the footpace of his carefully
driven cattle. Of course, he had been many nights
upon the road, and at his last stopping place came
near falling a victim to the determined overtures
of a buxom widow, who plainly declared that the
drover's cattle and her pasture suited each other so
marvelously that it was a sin to divide them, and
that she would give her eyes if her farm had so
shrewd a master as Cheeseboro would be sure to
prove.
" At any rate, you '11 be coming back this way
when you 've made your market on the beasts, and
you '11 tarry a day or two and rest, and look over
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 3
my acres, won't you, Samuel ? " asked she, ten-
derly, when the youug man persisted in pursuing
his journey; but Samuel pursed up his mouth,
and shook his head mysteriously.
" Not this way, dame," said he. " Not with the
load I '11 be taking home. There 's too many gen-
tlemen of the road between here and Stonington
for a man with a sack of silver on his nag's neck.
I have planned to ride home with neighbors of
mine who are visiting their kin somewhere nigh
hand to Boston, and we must take another road
altogether. Doubtless the loss is mine if we do
not meet again, but so it is."
" Well, and you 're right, my lad," replied the
widow, good-naturedly. " And I 'd as lief not
think of your riding these lonely roads with a bag
of coin jingling a call to evil-doers. What with
the Indians, and what with the swashbucklers that
pretend to hunt them, the roads are far from safe.
But when you ride Dedham way again, you'll
stop nowhere but at Joyce Patterson's, will you,
now, Samuel ? "
"You'll have another goodman by then, and
he '11 none of me," retorted Samuel, who, safely
mounted upon Lightfoot, with the herd already
under escort of the accomplished Rover, found him-
self enough at his ease for pleasantry.
And so, a few hours later, the drove and the
drover paced softly through the dust of the Ded-
ham road, and coming to the Parting paused, the
drove to snatch a last mouthful of grass, even as
4 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
at the same day the merry lads bound up Tyburn
Hill paused for a last deep, strong draught of
spiced ale or mighty spirits at the hostelrie known
as The Highwayman's Exchange, and the drover
to look about him.
" Roxbury, eh ? " again remarked Samuel Cheese-
boro, restoring the bandanna to his pocket and the
hat to his head. " Well, 't is a tidy little town
enough, but not a patch upon Stonington."
A verdict loyal and self-respecting upon the
part of the Stonington man, but liable to contro-
versy if a Roxbury man had heard it, for Roxburi-
ans at that date considered their settlement rather
as the Court End of Boston, the dignified retreat of
its wealthiest citizens, than as a village by itself.
Turning his back upon the Parting Stone, one
now faces a quaint old meeting-house, and sees the
Norfolk House at his right hand. Samuel Cheese-
boro, standing where the Stone should be but was
not yet, faced the ancestor in the fourth degree of
that meeting-house, and saw at his right hand a
comfortable hostelrie called the Flower-de-Luce,
kept by Samuel Ruggles, a worthy citizen of Rox-
bury.
Grouped around the meeting-house were several
substantial mansions belonging to magnates of the
settlement. Chief of these was the great mansion
and the seven acres of merestead originally set off
for Governor Thomas Dudley, and in 1699 owned
by his son Joseph, and grandson Paul, who benevo-
lently placed the Stone. The house stood nearly
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 5
upon the site of the present Universalist church,
and the garden joined the grounds of the meeting-
house at what is now Putnam Street. In front of
the mansion, along what we call Guild Row, flowed
the bright waters of Smelt Brook, over which Paul
Dudley later on threw a stone bridge. But we
must not keep Samuel Cheeseboro, who is very
thirsty, waiting any longer.
" They '11 have a tap of ale over yonder for sure,"
remarked he, considering the Flower-de-Luce, a
large low-ceiled house, with gambrel-roof, swing-
ing casement windows with roses and columbine
twining around them, a sign painted with three
fleur-de-lis, and a great oaken door set wide open,
and giving entrance to a cavernous, low-browed
chamber with sanded floor and wainscoted walls,
one heavy oaken table in the midst, and others set
in convenient nooks for customers needing only a
" snack " and a draught. This, the principal room
of the inn, served as dining-hall, bar, conversation
room, and general exchange for the citizens who
found themselves with an hour and a sixpence to
spare for social intercourse and a glass of ale or
Geneva bitters.
" You 're just in luck, young man, for the maid
is putting supper on the table," cried the landlord
heartily. " Or will you rather have a hack at a
round of spiced beef and a home-baked loaf for a
shilling, not counting your draught ? "
" My thanks to you, landlord, but I '11 tarry for
neither, though I've as good a stomach for it as
6 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
any man you ever saw ; but I must get my beasts
on, and over The Neck before nightfall. To-mor-
row is Thursday, as you must know."
" Ay, market day, sure enough. Well, do you
know, drover, that the Boston folk will have no
more cattle pens, barring those nigh the Town
House, at the head of King Street? The yard
by the docks is closed, to make way for the growing
traffic in that quarter."
" All the more reason for me to hasten, then,"
replied Cheeseboro, blowing the foam from the
pewter tankard of ale with a roasted crab-apple
floating upon it, just handed him by one of the
drovers. " And I 'd as lief pen my steers by the
Town House as farther a-field, for I shall put up
at the State Arms, in King Street, and that '11 be
handy by."
"Better stop at the Old Anchor, in the same
street, neighbor," said Ruggles, cheerily ; " they 've
a better strike of malt on tap just now."
" Give me the Dragon, the Green Dragon, 't is
nigh hand to the Mill Pond, Union Street they 're
taking to call it nowadays ; set 'em up ! " growled
a gray-bearded companion, who sat next to Cheese-
boro, sipping a rummer of hot Hollands and water.
"The King's Head, close to Scarlett's Wharf, is
the best of all, says I," remarked another.
" Without you make your manners to the fe-
males, and say the Queen's Head, a little furder
up the street," amended another ; and the next
man spoke a good word for the Red Lion, kept by
DAVID ALLEN'S DAUGHTER. 7
a kinsman of his own ; and his neighbor claimed
the palm for the Noah's Ark, in Ship Street, kept
by old John Viale ; until at last Cheeseboro, smiling
broadly on all around, tossed down the threepence
due for his ale, and said :
".If but one man had spoke, I might have pon-
dered his counsel, but since there are so many and
so good ordinaries, I '11 e'en keep to my first choice
and get me to the State Arms, as I was bidden
before I left home. So a fair good e'en to ye all,
neighbors."
" Good e'en, drover," replied the landlord, care-
lessly ; " and since you will go, it is as well for you
to get on, for more than one wayfarer has been
swamped in the marshes either hand the roadway
across The Neck. One poor fellow got stuck there,
and froze to death, in a bitter night last winter."
" Yes, 't is a parlous place of a dark evening,
what with the trees and bushes, and the swamps
and flats," said the gray beard.
" They 've cut pretty nigh all the trees that were
fit for firing, but there 's a mort o' scrub left," re-
marked another ; and leaving them to their gossip,
Cheeseboro mounted his horse, whistled to Rover,
who at once began collecting and driving on the
cattle, and in a few moments the herd moved
briskly down Meeting-House Lane, which we now
call Roxbury Street, past the stately Dudley man-
sion, over the ford of Smelt Brook, and, leaving
the houses behind, entered upon the dreary stretch
of waste and broken land then lying between Rox-
8 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
bury and Boston, and called by everybody The
Neck.
At what is now Dover Street, the narrowest part
of the isthmus, a mud wall had been thrown up,
with a pair of strong gates in the centre, and this
fortification, with various improvements, remained
for nearly two hundred years, until 1832, as a line
of demarcation between city and country.
In good time to pass the gates, closed at sun-
down, Samuel Cheeseboro drove his weary cattle
through, and, once within the city limits, looked
curiously about him. I wish we could pause to
tell just what he saw, and what are the changes
two hundred years have made at the South End of
the city some of us love so well. But space and
time forbid, and we hasten on, until we find our
hero penning his cattle just behind the Town
House, a building then about forty years old,
standing on the site of the Old State House of our
day. Some fifty years later, the Town House was
burned, and with it many valuable records never
to be replaced. But, rising again and yet again
from its ashes, the Town House held its original
place, with King Street running past it at either
hand, until the one became the State House, and
the other State Street. The cattle pens lying just
behind it have disappeared, however, and Thurs-
day is no longer market day for all Boston. Be-
tween the Town House and the sea lay what might
be called the South End of the Boston of that day,
while the mass of the citizens lived at the North
End, around Copp's Hill.
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTEE. 9
The cattle and Lightfoot safely bestowed for
the night, Samuel Cheeseboro, having secured his
bed at the State Arms, sallied forth to view the
town, with a certain sense of Bohemian delight
incident to the first visit of a countryman to the
metropolis.
" Go look at the Province House, master,^ ad-
vised his new landlord. " 'T is the finest house in
town, as befits the dwelling of a real live lord."
"What! Sir William Stoughton?"
" No, but the Earl of Belmont, my Lord Bel-
mont, as he 's to be called. Have never you heard
down in Connecticut of my lord's appointment ? "
" Nay, we 've heard naught of the grandees since
Sir William Phipps was sent home to England to
answer for malpractice in office," replied Cheese-
boro dryly, and the landlord laughed with a relish,
for the imp of independence was already born in
the American colonies, although it took some half
century to bring it to maturity.
The next day was market day, and before noon
Samuel Cheeseboro had sold his beasts to good
advantage, refused more than one offer for Light-
foot, paid his score at the State Arms, and set out
for Hingham, where he intended to pass a night
with the Hobart family, and carry to the widow
of the Rev. Peter Hobart his mother's love and a
little pot of rose-conserve, which had been a great
trouble to him upon the road, as his entire luggage
consisted of a horseman's knapsack strapped to the
back of his saddle. This knapsack, furthermore,
10 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
was now stuffed to repletion with gold and silver
pieces, amounting to between two and three hun-
dred pounds, the price of the drove of cattle. The
principal purchaser had, indeed, offered to pay in
one of the new-fashioned letters of credit then be-
ginning to be used after the manner of bankbills,
but Samuel Cheeseboro looked askance and shook
his head.
"I won't say they're not just as good as the
gold, neighbor," began he, " but " And here the
other indignantly interrupted :
" Why, surely they are, drover ! This one is
drawn on Jonathan Gibbs, the shipowner and mer-
chant, whose warehouse you may see down King
Street this minute. If he 's not good for a hundred
pounds, I '11 give you my head for a China orange."
" Doubtless he 's good for more thousands than
I ever saw hundreds," replied Cheeseboro, good-
humoredly. " Natheless, friend, I 'd rather hold
the coin than a slip of paper in the stead of my
cattle. They are not all my own, and I know well
enow that those who trusted them to me would be
but ill-suited with a bill of exchange, or letter of
credit, whichever name I might give it, when they
look for gold and silver in hand."
"Say no more, man. Gold is scarce, but so
long as Neighbor Hull turns out his sixpences and
shillings at the rate he does, there 's plenty of
silver. Didst hear that he dowered his daughter
t' other day, when she was wed to Justice Sewall,
with as many pine-tree shillings as would weigh
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 11
her down in his own scales ? Thirty thousand
pound they footed up, I 'm told."
" I heard naught of that, but I 've seen a many
of Master Hull's shillings," replied Cheeseboro,
cautiously.
" Nay, I 'm not jesting with thee, man ! 'T was
so in sober verity ; and now I '11 be off to fetch
some of those same shillings to meet thy demand,
since thou 'It have none of my bill of credit."
" I 'd liefer have guineas than shillings ; they 're
less bulky," remonstrated Cheeseboro, but the
other retorted mockingly :
" The Colony's silver is legal tender, and what
more is needed for a good citizen who lodges at
the State Arms rather than the King's Head ? "
This business finished, and the noonday din-
ner eaten and paid for, Samuel Cheeseboro lei-
surely walked his horse over the desolate Neck and
through the gates into the open country, with a
heavy bag of coin strapped to his saddle-bow be-
sides the knapsack at the croup.
" Better throw your coat over yon bag, friend,"
suggested the gate-warden, who with four men
kept watch over the safety of the town by day and
night. " It looks marvelously like a money pouch,
and there 's no lack of light-fingered gentry on the
road 'twixt here and Connecticut."
" Many thanks to you, friend," replied the young
man, gayly. " But I 've a comrade at either hand
that will have a word to say to any such gentry I
may meet withal." And, touching the butts of a
12 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
pair of pistols in the holsters of his saddle, he rode
through, adding distinctly :
" I shall hardly reach Wrentham to-night."
" Wrentham, says he I " ejaculated a rough-look,
ing horseman, who had dismounted at the gate a
few moments before, and now hastily mounted
again ; " why, it 's a matter of five-and-twenty mile
to Wrentham, and none too good a road. He '11
never get beyond Dedham, sure."
" If that chap has his will, the drover '11 never
reach Wrentham with that bag o' coin at 's saddle-
bow," remarked the warder, gazing after the horse-
man, and his subordinate slowly shook his head
and filled his pipe, as who should say it was no
affair of his.
But arriving at Roxbury Line, the canny drover
suddenly put spurs to his horse, and turning to the
left pushed down Eustis Street, as we now should
say, a proceeding which so bewildered his follower
that he drew rein, and sat staring stupidly after
him, until, a brilliant idea penetrating his brain, he
muttered an oath or two, and putting spurs to his
horse galloped off down the Dedham Turnpike, to
wait in ambush at a point where a cross-road con-
nected the southern and southwestern highways.
" He thinks to cheat me by making a roundabout
turn, does he ? Well, he '11 find I 'm upsides with
him, I fancy," muttered he.
Meanwhile Samuel Cheeseboro, unconscious that
he was "wanted" by this knight of the road,
passed quietly by the turning that would have led
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTEB. 13
him into the snare, and pushed gayly on through
Dorchester, Quincy, and Weymouth, reaching
Hingham in good time for supper at the hospita-
ble parsonage, where the aged widow of Peter
Hobart received his mother's message with that
pathetic gratitude for remembrance one finds
sometimes in very old persons.
The next morning, soon after breakfast, Cheese-
boro was again in the saddle, and passing through
Scituate and Marshfield reached the confines of
Duxbury just about as the sun told him that it was
nearing midday.
" They '11 have eaten dinner at Master Alden's,
and I shall put them about if I go there fasting,"
muttered he, drawing rein at the top of a long,
sandy hill, and looking about him in search of some,
house where he might apply for a dinner to be
duly paid for.
No house was in sight, but as he gazed behind
him another horseman suddenly appeared, rapidly
riding along the road he had just covered.
" Mayhap he '11 know," murmured Samuel ; and
turning Lightfoot across the road he saluted the
stranger on his approach with, " Good-morrow,
friend ! Can you tell me of e'er a house nigh
hand where a man might find a crust and a cup ? "
"Oh, ay surely why not why not ride
with me so far as my brother's, just past that little
wood ? They '11 be gay and glad to give you all you
want," stammered the stranger, who was in fact
none other than he who had accompanied our hero
14 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
out of Boston, and, having since then learned his
plans from the hostler at the State Arms, had
spurred after him, hoping that, owing to the
drover's delay in Hingham, he might overtake him,
as he in fact now had.
Something in the man's voice and looks and
strange embarrassment of manner touched the
vein of caution in the nature of the Connecticut
man, and it was very coldly that he presently
said :
" Well I 'm beholden to you, sir, and if your
brother truly lives nigh hand, and they will sell
a meal to a man "
" Surely they will, friend, surely," replied the
robber, who had now recovered his presence of
mind. " They '11 give you of their best, and ask
naught but your good-will in return."
" Nay, then, that 's not my fashion," returned
Cheeseboro, stolidly. " I pay as I go, among
strangers, and ask no favors but of them to whom
I can give favors."
" A pest on your proud stomach ! But come
along, come along, and sith you 're so particular,
I '11 promise you shall pay handsomely for all you
get."
" This way, do you say ?."
" Ay, 't is but a bridle path through the wood,
but 't is the shortest way."
" Well, go you first, and show the road."
Without reply the stranger pushed his horse
Into an obscure path leading, very much as it does
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 15
to-day, into what has been called the Cathedral
Wood. Cheeseboro followed closely, and after a
few rods both horses emerged into a little clearing
with a spring welling up in the middle. Light-
foot, thirsty with her long journey, whinnied ap-
provingly, and, snatching the rein from her mas-
ter's hand, made a push for the water and thrust
her muzzle into it.
" It 's like your willfulness," exclaimed Cheese-
boro, reaching far over his saddle for the bridle
just slipping into the water.
The defenseless posture was too great a tempta-
tion to the robber, and, pushing his own horse close
behind that of his victim, he aimed a terrific blow
at that lowered head with the loaded stock of his
riding whip. Some slight sound, some subtle in-
stinct, warned Samuel Cheeseboro of a danger that
might well have been his last, and with a sudden
start he swerved from the blow, which fell, indeed,
but upon the shoulder of the mare, who, with a wild
cry of terror and pain, wheeled in her tracks and
flew again through the narrow path into the open
road, the bridle trailing around her knees.
With a furious oath the robber gathered up his
reins and started in pursuit, but as his horse flew
through the thicket bridle path, and emerged into
the main road, he came into violent collision with
the sober steed of an elderly gentleman, jogging
quietly along the road from Plymouth to Duxbury.
Now, this quiet, elderly gentleman was none
other than Major William Bradford, eldest son of
16 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
the late governor of the Colony, and a man of
wealth and consideration in not only his native
town of Plymouth, but in all the country round,
even as far as Boston.
Invited to a festive occasion at the house of his
step-brother, Constant Southworth, the major had
donned holiday array, and especially adorned him-
self with his new scarlet roquelaure, embroidered
in gold thread and fastened with a silver clasp.
Now, Major Bradford was not a fool, and unfor-
tunately highway robbery was by no means an un-
common occurrence, even in the Old Colony, at that
date ; so, seeing one man carrying a heavy saddle-
portmanteau rush out of a wood, with flying reins
and disordered air, and another pursuing him with
a leveled pistol in his hand, the major understood
the case as well as if he had been present through-
out, understood, but unfortunately had no means
of interfering, except the slight dress sword he
wore at his side, a weapon quite useless, unless the
highwayman would consent to pause and meet it.
" Halt, you rascal ! " shouted the major, and as
he shouted, the east wind, which that day tore
madly in from sea, seized and filled out his scarlet
roquelaure with such sudden fury as to drag one
side of the great silver clasp from its fastening,
and tear the whole garment from the major's
shoulders, filling it out and lifting it for one mo-
ment like a great collapsed balloon, and then with
a sharp gust, too much like elfish laughter, tossing
it into the face of the highwayman and around
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 17
the head of his horse, who, already exasperated by
sharp and sudden spurring, neighed wildly, reared,
plunged, kicked, and finally set off at a mad gallop
on the road toward Plymouth.
Major Bradford turned in his saddle, and stared
after the fugitive for a long minute, then, raising
his cocked hat, bowed ceremoniously toward the
retreating figure, saying :
" A pleasant ride to you, friend, and so soon as
I arrive at my brother Southworth's house I will
take care to send a swift messenger to Plymouth
with testimonials to your character. But glad am
I that you left my rokelay behind, albeit in the
dust."
So saying, the major dismounted, deliberately
picked up his cloak, examined the parted fastening,
and finally, throwing it loosely over his shoulders,
led his horse to a convenient stump and remounted.
"'Tis best to see whether Orlando Furioso gath-
ered up his reins, or if the nag hampered himself
and flung his rider," muttered the major, resuming
his road and noting the deep imprint of the flying
horse's feet. Passing with only a reluctant glance
the road that led to Constant Southworth's and the
wedding feast, Master Bradford again soliloquized
a little :
" Ah ! he '11 come to David Alden's by this
road, and they '11 care for him if he 's in straits.
David has two comely daughters left, though John
Seabury has carried off my sweetheart Bessie.
Well, well \ 't is the way of a man with a maid ;
18 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
they'll aye crop the fairest flower and make off
with it for themselves, caring little enough what
lack they leave behind. Ay, old Solomon had the
rights of it "
But just here the major's philosophical mutter-
ings were cut short by the sight of a riderless horse
cropping the stunted native grass beside the road,
with the reins dangling broken beside her head.
" Oh, you unmannerly brute ! " exclaimed he
angrily ; "you've flung your master, and now your
only concern is to fill your own belly ! "
Lightfoot, thus adjured, raised her head, and,
whinnying in an apologetic manner, trotted slowly
back upon her tracks, and presently stopped beside
a tangle of red-leaved blackberry vines and elder
bushes half hiding the crumpled body of a mo*
tionless man.
" Here we are ! Hi, friend ! Art hurt ? " queried
the major rather uselessly, as the man was obvi-
ously unconscious. Then, without waiting for a
reply, he cautiously dismounted, tied Lightfoot's
broken bridle to that of his own steady nag, and,
stepping gingerly through the briers, stooped over
the unconscious form of the drover and carefully
moved the limbs, turned the face to the light, and
laid an intelligent finger upon wrist and heart.
" Yes, yes ! poor fellow ! Grievously hurt, yet
not unto death yes "
A curious sound compounded of a growl and a
whine startled the major from his abstraction, and
a footsore and bewildered dog, brushing past his
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 19
legs, planted himself upon the other side of the
prostrate body, and fixed a glance of stern inquiry
upon the stranger.
" Hi, good dog ! 'T is your master, is it ? Well,
now, that's well enough, for you shall stay and keep
goold while I ride for help. Watch him, good
dog ; watch him, sir ! "
To this superfluous charge Rover vouchsafed no
reply save a somewhat contemptuous wave of his
tail, but the expression of his face and attitude an-
nounced better than words his acceptance of the
kind offices of this well-meaning if somewhat im-
pertinent interloper, who evidently was not the
person responsible for his master's misfortune.
" That 's all as it should be, then, and I '11 come
to David Alden's in five minutes by the sun-dial,"
quoth the major, mounting briskly and stirring his
fat cob to unusual speed, while Lightfoot, with the
precious saddle-bags intact, trotted contentedly be-
side him.
Rover, a little uneasy at this proceeding, bounded
from his master's side to the road, growled faintly,
and, leaping against Lightfoot, made a feint of
seizing her bridle, but yet in so tentative a fashion
that, when the major stooped, and patting his head
said, " 'Tis all right, good dog ; all right ! I do
but serve thy master, sirrah, and am his friend and
helper," Rover accepted the assurance, and, stand-
ing in the road with faintly waving tail, watched
the horses out of sight before he slowly resumed
his position beside his master.
20 DAVID ALDEN' S DAUGHTER.
Half an hour later, Major Bradford returned,
and with him an ox-sled driven by Samuel and Ben-
jamin, sons of David, and grandsons of the Pilgrim
John Alden, but lately gone to his rest. The sled
had been hastily provided with a straw bed and
some rugs, and the major, still on horseback, bore
a flask of mingled spirit and water, a generous dose
of which he at once proceeded to pour down the
throat of the young man, now slowly returning to
consciousness.
" His arm is broken for sure," remarked Samuel,
as he and his brother carefully raised the helpless
body.
" And Comfort Starr gone, and no other leech
nearer than Boston ! " suggested Benjamin, gloom-
Hy.
" Nay, father and I can set it as well as ever a
doctor of 'em all," replied Samuel, and the major
added:
" Ay, that you can, Sam. David Alden and I
dressed many a broken arm, and leg too, in the
Pequod time."
" The womenfolk are all agog to have the care
of him," suggested Benjamin with a grin. " Mo-
ther and Betty (you know, major, our Betty and
John Seabury, her goodman, are on a visit to the
old homestead) and Prissy and Elsie are just gay
at thought of such matter of wonder and amaze."
"Ay they're women," returned the major
briefly, and the oxen started on, Rover trotting se-
dately at his master's side.
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 21
A week later, Samuel Cheeseboro, paler and
thinner than when he drove his cattle over Boston
Neck, but otherwise very nearly his own man, lay
upon a broad wooden bench beneath the balm o'
Gilead trees that shaded David Alden's doorstep.
Near him sat David himself, comfortably smok-
ing his evening pipe, and chatting with John Sea-
bury, the husband of Elizabeth Alden, while thai
young matron, crouching upon the doorstep, held a-
half-whispered conversation with her mother sitting
just inside the house. Priscilla, a comely, fair
haired maid of eighteen, and Alithea, her younger
sister, strolled up and down just out of earshot,
and laughed and murmured little confidences, and
laughed again in the sweet foolishness of untired
youth, and made so fair a picture in the summer
gloaming that Samuel Cheeseboro answered more
than once at random to the wise remarks his host
was making upon the result of Andres's malad-
ministration.
Suddenly his reverie was interrupted by a ques-
tion from John Seabury.
"Shall you be able to ride by then, Cheese-
boro ? "
" Ride by when ? where ? "
" For the where, to thy own home, man, and to
mine, to Stonington," returned the other, laughing.
" And for the when, it is just what I was asking
of thee. My wife and I would set forward to-mor-
row, or on Wednesday by farthest, but I am doubt-
ing if you can ride all day, and for more than one
22 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
day, so soon. What think you yourself, young
man?"
" If 't were not for this arm " murmured
Cheeseboro, casting a rueful look at the wounded
member as it lay in a sling of red silk handker-
chief. The others laughed good-naturedly, and
David Alden said :
" Why, if 't were not for that arm there would be
no question at all. But as it is, we must not have
the kindly intention of its healing disturbed more
than can be helped, and I fear me the jar of rid-
ing may do it no good. If, now, we had some sober
lad to ride behind you and support the bent arm
just as it lies "
" Ay, to hold it in his own arm, as it were,"
suggested Mistress Seabury eagerly. " If ifo were
not that I have the baby to carry, I would do it
myself."
"Why might not I do it?." cried a fresh young
voice, and hastily looking around, Cheeseboro saw
that Priscilla and Alithea had halted close beside
the group and were listening to the conversation.
" If you only would, mistress ! " exclaimed he
ardently, so ardently, indeed, that Betty Seabury's
eyes sought her husband's with a many-volumed
romance in their depths.
"Why should you not, Pris?" cried she hur-
riedly, before her mother could utter the slow re-
buke upon her lips. " Father and mother said but
yester eve that you might go home with me for a
visit, and father was to spare Ben to carry you and
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 23
fetch the horse again ; so now, if you can ride be-
hind Sam Cheeseboro, father '11 have to spare
neither Ben nor horse, and you can hold up the
broken arm to pay for the accommodation."
" There 's no pay wanted " began Cheeseboro,
but stopped short, struck dumb by the merry warn-
ing glance of the young matron's eyes, and David
Alden, dear old soul, helped on the matter with the
prosaic statement :
" I shall be glad enough to keep Ben and Dobbin
at home to haul kelp."
" Of course you will, father, and I '11 be thankful
enough if I may have Pris to spell me with the
baby on the road and at home."
" You '11 take turns riding behind Master Cheese-
boro, then ? " suggested the careful mother, looking
from one daughter to the other, and although Pris-
cilla's dainty color was deeper than its wont, her
eyes were placid as the summer sea shining in the
distance, while Betty answered for both :
" Of course we shall, mother, and I '11 warrant
me Pris shall do her full share of jogging behind
my John with little Molly on her lap ; " and Mis-
tress Seabury in the twilight ventured to give a
reassuring little push to her mother's foot close be-
side her.
"How could you do it, Pris?" said Alithea, as
the two girls prepared for bed in the fragrant dusk
of their unlighted attic bedroom, an hour later.
" Why, did n't Parson Holmes tell us no longer
agone than yesterday that we were every one of us
24 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
to play Good Samaritan so often as we got the
chance ? And wasn't this a rare good chance, Mis-
tress Alice?"
"Rare and good, Mistress Pris. I only wish
Judah Paddock might break his arm at our gate."
" Nay, that 's not a Good Samaritan at all,
Elsie ! "
Then with a delicious little giggle the two maids
fell on their knees, and the sweet summer night
was still.
" 'T is too good to be true ; they '11 think better
of it by morning," confided Samuel Cheeseboro to
his pillow in the next room ; but although David
Alden, after a talk with his wife, looked upon the
proposed arrangement as more serious than he had
as first considered it, he did not withdraw his con-
sent, and Priscilla made her preparations for the
journey with a heart beating in some strange, new
excitement, which she chose to attribute to her first
visit so far from home.
The next morning but one, when the sun still
dripped glory from his morning sea-bath, two horses,
a frantic dog, two men, two women, and a baby
grouped themselves about the flat boulder serving
as horse-block in front of David Alden's cottage,
and with all the bustle and chatter and running
back and forth incident to such occasions, the hus-
band, wife, baby, and a bag of varied provisions
for man, woman, and child were packed upon Ru-
fus, John Seabury's strong roadster, and moved for-
ward to leave room for Lightfoot, to whose saddle
DAVID ALDEN 1 S DAUGHTER. 25
a thick pillion had been attached at the rear, while
the money bags were elaborately fastened in front,
forming a fortification almost amounting to breast-
works for the rider.
" Now, then, fair and easy, my son," said David
Alden, beckoning Cheeseboro to step upon the
boulder. " Come up hither and slide into the sad-
dle 'twixt bags and pillion as gently as a gouty old
man might do. There, then, that 's clever ! You 're
saddle-fast, and now, Priscilla, wow, then, my
lass, thou dost need no more help than a bird to
reach thy perch ! Settle thyself well, seize Sam-
uel's belt with thy left hand and put the right
under his elbow, so nay, 't will not bite thee,
foolish lass ! Put out thine arm, so that his may
rest upon it as a shelf. There ! That 's better.
Now, Cheeseboro, how does it seem? As if 't
would do ? "
" As if 't would do for life, sir," replied the young
man, with a vigor that reminded David Alden of
his wife's hints and suggestions so forcibly that he
remained speechless. Perhaps the reflex of those
suggestions reached the heart and conscience of the
younger man ; for after that startled pause, a deep
red surged up even to the back of the neck Pris-
cilla was shyly contemplating, and pulling off his
hat he said in a low voice :
" I heard you bless Seabury and his wife, won't
you bless us, too ? "
" Indeed I will, my son, for he who craves a bless-
ing surely means to deserve a blessing."
26 DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER.
"God so deal with me, father, as I shall deal
with thee and thine," murmured Samuel Cheese-
boro; and as the patriarch blessed them and sent
them forth into the world together, a new day began
in their lives as well as over that quiet, pastoral
landscape ; a fair summer day, with sunshine and
flowers and song of birds, and delicious fragrance
of moist woodland and herbage, and the sweet,
strong breath of the incoming tide. What a jour-
ney that was ! Spite of all her stout-hearted prom-
ises, Elizabeth Seabury trusted no one but herself
with the care of her precious baby, or the privilege
of clinging to her husband's belt, nor did Priscilla
weary of tenderly supporting the broken arm, whose
breaking Samuel Cheeseboro counted as the most
fortunate incident of his life.
Day after day of that wonderful journey they
rode along through the enchanted country which
most of us have visited, yet never might abide in ;
that fairyland whose experiences lead us up from
earth into the misty mountain regions where our
ideals dwell forever, safe because we never reach
them.
Yet day after day Samuel Cheeseboro forbore to
touch the little hand upholding his wounded arm,
or to speak one word of all those trembling upon
his lips and shining in his eyes.
" She shall be safe in John Seabury's home be-
fore I tell her how I love her, or so much as put
that dear hand to my lips," said the brave fellow
to himself, and kept his word so well that, as she
DAVID ALDEN'S DAUGHTER. 27
slipped from her pillion at her sister's door, Pris-
cilla's beautiful eyes were too heavy with tears to
rise to her lover's face, and when he eagerly asked,
"May I come to see you to-night, Mistress Pris-
cilla ? " she dared not assure herself for what he
wished to come.
That was in July, and on the old records of
Stonington Church one little sentence tells the
story of the next six months :
" 1699 January. Samuel Cheeseboro to Priscilla
Alden," and some later hand has added, "grand-
daughter of Pilgrim John."
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
" A FAIR wind and a strong ! Shame it were
that it should be wasted as those before have been !
Sit you here, Dame Kate, while I go up to the
change-house and speak again to Master Jones,
who of a truth is treating us but scurvily in thus
delaying. You do not fear to tarry here a short
half hour, with Roger Wilder for guard and Eliza-
beth Tillie for company, eh, Kate ? "
" Surely not, John. Go your ways, and we will
spend the time in walking up and down the pier.
This same fair wind blows somewhat shrewdly for
sitting still."
" Nay, if it is cold to thee, sweetheart," replied
the husband, a grave man already in middle life,
and dressed in the sombre garb of the Separatists,
turning back and looking somewhat anxiously into
the face of his wife, a young and lovely woman,
whose blonde beauty proclaimed her English birth,
as her somewhat sad-colored and demure garments
did her adhesion to the strait sect of which her
husband was a prominent member. And yet, had
Dame Katherine Carver allowed herself the aid of
all the coquettish appliances distinguishing the toi-
let of the gayest beauty among the cavaliers, she
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 29
could hardly have selected head-gear so becoming
as the hood of dark purple velvet shaped around her
face in the fashion first introduced by Mary the un-
happy Queen of Scots, and followed at intervals by
the whole female world for almost three hundred
years. Against the background of this hood the
pale, pure face, with its delicate features, faint col-
oring, and sweet, calm expression, showed in almost
angelic loveliness ; while the glimpse of a throat
whiter than ivory vouchsafed by the handkerchief
modestly crossed upon the bosom, and the delicate
hand, foot, and ankle displayed at intervals by the
" shrewd wind " of which the lady complained,
were, if not so angelic, perhaps equally admirable
points of beauty.
Fair and winsome as she was, who can wonder
that John Carver's thoughtful and somewhat anx-
ious gaze softened as it rested upon her face, and
that a loving smile stirred the gravity of his ex-
pression ? But to the tender expostulation, sec-
onded by a movement to lead her away from the
pier, Dame Katherine hastily replied :
" I said not it was too cold, goodman, and I am
overweary of staying within-doors. We two, Eliza-
beth and I, can walk or rest here in all safety until
your return, and Roger Wilder shall guard us if
you will. Come, Bess." ,
And putting her hand within the arm of her
companion, a sweet English lass, not yet past her
seventeenth summer, and fresh and blooming as an
English spring, Mistress Carver led her down the
30 THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEB.
pier, while John Carver, the smile still lingering
upon his lips, walked rapidly back toward the
town.
" There he is again, dame," said Elizabeth, sud-
denly, as the two women approached the end of the
pier.
" He ? And what he, my girl ? " asked the elder
lady, a little coldly.
" Why, the young man of whom I was speaking
yester-eve. I said that he looked in desperate case,
and as if but little more were wanting to send him
off the end of the pier, where he sits to-day as he
sat then, gazing now into the water at his feet,
now at our vessel riding there at anchor. I marvel
if he may be wishing to join himself to us."
" If he does, he should make his petition to
Master Bradford, or Master Carver, or Captain
Standish % Of a truth he does look in evil case ;
and what is worst of all, he seems too downcast to
bestir himself to the mending of his condition. I
would that my goodman were here, that I might
ask him to give the poor soul opportunity to speak
with him."
Even as she spoke, chance and the wind pre-
sented the coveted opportunity to the object of this
conversation; for, as Mistress Carver drew from
her pocket a handkerchief somewhat heretically
embroidered, the breeze snatched it from her hand,
and would have whirled it into the water, had not
the young man sitting at the end of the pier caught
it as it flew past him, and, rising, come toward the
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 31
two ladies with an eagerness of manner immedi-
ately noted by the younger.
" Beshrew me, mistress, but he is glad enough
of the chance to speak with us," said she, softly.
" Hush, Bess," replied the other, and the next
moment returned the obeisance of the young man,
with a gesture courteous, but full of dignity and
reserve, while she said :
" Truly, sir, I am beholden to you, and render
you my thanks."
" It is nothing, madam. If I might venture to
say it, I am myself your debtor in being permitted
even so simple a service."
"You have my thanks, sir, and good-even to
you."
" Pardon, madam, if my foolish words have of-
fended you. I spoke only as I felt."
" I am not offended, young man, but I and my
husband, and this young gentlewoman my friend,
are of the adventurers in yonder vessel, and, as per-
haps you know, we of that sort hold not to compli-
ments and courtly phrases, such as you seem to
have been bred in."
And the young woman could not or did not re-
strain a swift, scrutinizing glance at the soiled and
disorderly dress which might have placed this
stranger very low in the social scale, had not his
manner, words, and expression been unmistakably
those of a gentleman. The object of this look
caught and read it as rapidly as it was given.
" I have, indeed, been bred to other things than
32 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
I have attained, madam," said he, gloomily ; " and,
although not yet past my seven-and-twentieth birth-
day, have come to the end both of my patrimony
and my friends. Poor as this suit may be, it will
last my life out, and serve for grave-clothes, too."
The last words, muttered to himself as he turned
away, and not intended for the lady's ear, reached
it, nevertheless, and she exclaimed :
" What is that ? A full-grown man, hale and
sound of limb, and not untaught, and speak after
that fashion ! Nay, sir, you shall give me warrant
for your words, and if I have not skill or means to
help your hurt myself, it may chance that I know
those who can. What is this deadly trouble which
has turned your brain, as it seems to me ? "
As the sweet, somewhat imperious, but kindly
and womanly tones fell upon the young man's ear,
he turned suddenly, and, raising his haggard eyes
to the lady's face, exclaimed :
" You are the first woman, madam, who has
spoken to me for mine own good since my mother
died."
"Poor lad! And will it help you to tell me
something of your case ? I would not intrude, but
it may be I or mine can help you."
" What there is to tell, madam, I will gladly
narrate ; but there is not much chance of help."
" Say not so. Had we, whom you call Separa-
tists, been thus easily daunted and dismayed, I had
not been here to-day to listen to you," said Mistress
Carver, seating herself upon a bench beside a pile
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 33
of merchandise, and motioning Elizabeth to sit be-
side her. " Know you not, young man, that we
sailed out of the Low Countries nigh upon two
months by-gone, and that since we finally bade
farewell to home and friends we have twice been
turned back from the unknown road we are bound
to travel, putting in once at Dartmouth, and now
here at Plymouth, where we have been forced to
give up one of our ships and part of our company,
but yet are steadfast to proceed with what is left,
although we journey whither we know not, and to
what ending no man can tell ? And of our com-
pany are many aged and infirm, many little chil-
dren* and women to whom God has denied such
strength as they earnestly desire, but yet are none
afraid, or willing to turn back. Is this spirit yours
as well ? But come, get thee to thy story, for my
husband will be here anon to take us on ship-
board."
" First, then, madam, my name it is John How-
land, and I come of a good family in Essex ; but
my father and mother being dead, and my elder
brother in possession of their estate, I, with my
younger son's portion, have long been a stranger
to the house where I was born ; and it is now three
years since the last sixpence of that portion left
my pocket. How it went it would be shame for
me to tell, and unfitting for you to hear ; but my
brother, who looked coldly upon me while I was
wasting my patrimony in riotous living, turned his
back outright when I went to tell him that I would
84 THE WIFE OF JOHN CABVER.
fain adopt some honest course, and be put in the
way of earning a decent livelihood ; so, being turned
off by frowning Virtue, I e'en returned to smiling
Vice, and danced to the Devil's piping until I had
no longer a groat to pay the piper ; since when I
have lived I know not how, save that I have never
begged or stolen, or done aught of which I need
to be ashamed. For this week past I have watched
your vessel there at anchor, and wondered if by
any chance it might befall that those holy adven-
turers would receive among them an unholy adven-
turer desperate as myself ; but I have no money,
and no recommendation ; and now that the Speed-
well is condemned, and her passengers crowded
upon the Mayflower, I should never dare to ask to
be taken."
" I said, Dame Carver, that he fain would go,"
murmured Elizabeth Tillie ; and John Rowland
turned his hollow, hungry eyes upon her for the
first time.
" Said you so, mistress ? " asked he, kindly ;
and the girl, blushing scarlet, murmured assent,
while the elder lady slowly said :
" Of a truth, we are crowded overmuch, but it
seems a question of saving a man body and soul,
and Ah ! here is my husband. Elizabeth, take
Roger and walk down the pier, and Master How-
land may accompany you if he will, while I speak
to Master Carver."
Rising as she spoke, with a delicate flush upon
her cheek, Katherine Carver went to meet her hus-
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 35
band, who received her wonderingly, and listened
to her story, at first with some distrust, but finally
with grave sympathy.
" And, John, if you would take him for your
servant, and bear his charges until we come to Vir-
ginia, he will repay you amply with his service, I
am sure of it," said the young wife, in conclusion,
and so earnestly that Carver smiled.
" Why, dame, if he was thy brother thou couldst
not plead more earnestly," said he. "How can
you be so sure of a stranger all at once ? "
" I know not, but I am ; and I have set my
heart upon snatching this goodly brand from the
burning ; and you will not refuse me your aid,
goodman ? " replied the wife, with so s'ubtle a smile
that it was reflected upon the grave face of her
husband as he replied :
"Why, no, Kate, I will not refuse thee ; for
thou art such a shrew that indeed I dare not."
"That is well, and as it should be," replied Mis-
tress Carver, merrily ; " and now call John How-
land and settle matters with him, while I speak
with Elizabeth Tillie."
So then it fell out that when, in the course of
the next day, Captain Jones was prevailed upon
to set sail from Plymouth in England toward
what was to be the Plymouth of New England,
John Howland was enrolled among the passen-
gers of the Mayflower as "servant to Mr. John
Carver."
36 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
U.
The annals of that voyage have descended to
us ; and, simple and unconscious as they are, every
page is filled with a story of sublime faith, heroic
endurance, and indomitable resolution such as
never in the world's history has been excelled, and
is only equaled by the inspired voyage of Columbus
toward these same shores.
In the story of the Mayflower's winter passage
occurs one mention of our hero not to be omitted
here. William Bradford says :
" In sundrie of these storms the winds were so f eirce
and y e seas so high as they could not beare a knote of
gaile, but were forced to lie at hull for diverce days to-
gether. And in one of them, as they thus lay at hull in
a mighty storme, a lustie yonge man called John How-
land, coming upon some occasion above the gratings, was
with a lurch of y e ship throwne into y e sea ; but it pleased
God y* he caught hold of y e tope-saile halliards which
hunge overboarde and ran out at lengthe ; yet he held
his houlde, though he was sundrie fadomes under water,
till he was haled up by y e same rope to y e brime of y e
water, and then with a boate-hook and other meanes got
into y e ship againe, and his life saved ; and though he
was something ill with it, yet he lived many years after,
and became a profitable member both in church and
commone-wealthe. ' '
Before the Pilgrims landed upon the famous rock,
now become the Mecca of the New World, Master
John Carver was formally chosen governor of the
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 37
colony about to be founded, and accepted the office
in the primitive spirit which ordained that he who
would rule should also serve, and that the chief
among a people should be he who labored most
anxiously and untiringly for its good. No man,
accordingly, wrought more laboriously than the
new-made governor at the arduous tasks of unload-
ing the ship, landing the passengers and their ef-
fects, felling trees, hewing timber, and building first
the common-house, to serve as a temporary refuge
for those who first landed, and then smaller cabins
for the accommodation of separate families. When
these families were small, it was adjudged that
they should receive the addition of two or three
single men, of whom there were quite a number,
and in this manner the hundred and one persons
comprising the colony were divided into nineteen
households. The governor, partly out of defer-
ence to his position, partly because his family al-
ready numbered eight, namely, himself, his wife,
Desire Minter, and another maid-servant, John
Howland, Roger Wilder, a servant lad named Wil-
liam, and a little adopted boy called Jasper More,
was allowed to occupy his cabin alone ; and it was
hardly completed before it began to assume a cer-
tain air of refinement and delicate care hardly to
be accounted for by the few articles of handsome
furniture John Carver had indulged his wife by
saving from the wreck of their household plenishing
in Leyden. Chief among these meubles was a great
arm-chair, richly carved and quaintly fashioned,
38 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
which may to-day be seen preserved in the Pilgrim
Hall of Plymouth, Massachusetts, where the mem-
ory of this her earliest governor and faithful ser-
vant still is venerated, although he left no descend-
ant, and the Carvers of the present day come from
another stock. But it was not the chair, the table,
or even Katherine Carver's dainty sewing-stand and
carved footstool which gave to the unfinished sit-
ting-room of this cabin its air of taste and elegance :
it was the presence of the woman herself ; it was
the gentle and refined atmosphere which surrounded
her, the impress of her own pure and womanly
delight in all that was graceful, beautiful, and fit-
ting. Elizabeth Tillie, coming often hither for
refuge from her own noisy and utilitarian home,
more than once asked, not without a sigh :
" What is it, dear Mistress Carver, that makes
this house so different from the rest ? Certain it is
that my mother and I toil more than enough to
bring our own home into order, and we, too, have
some little furniture from over-seas, but our place
is forever in a hurly, or else so cold and formal
and forbidding. What is the secret, mistress ? "
"Truly I know not, except that John Carver
dwells here, and not there," the wife would some-
times reply; but Elizabeth only shook her head,
until at last one day John Rowland, waiting until
Katherine had left the room, said to the despondent
girl :
" Do not be cast down, Elizabeth, because you
cannot be like the governor's dame, or make your
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 39
home like that which takes its hue from her. Do
the flowers droop and die because they are not the
moon, who shines over all, and whom all may love
and admire, even though they never may come
anear her, or even imitate her ? "
" And you hold the governor's wife even thus
above all other women ? " asked Elizabeth, sharply.
" Even as the Papists hold their saints," replied
the young man, gravely. "A being to be loved,
venerated, followed humbly and awfully, a light
set above the path of sinful man, even as a lamp
unto his feet and a guiding beacon to his weary
eyes."
" It is well that Elder Brewster hears you not,
young man," said Elizabeth, dryly. " He would
surely deal with you somewhat straitly for giving
that adoration to a fellow-creature which is only
fitly placed above."
" I did think, Elizabeth, that you, too, loved Mis-
tress Carver heartily and singularly," replied How-
land, a little severely.
" Well so I do. Who dares say I do not ? But
but that is another blatter. Good-even to you,
John Rowland."
And as Elizabeth quickly left the house, her face
flushed, her eyes brimming with tears, the young
man looked after her in astonishment, muttering:
" Truly the ways of women pass a man's under-
standing. How have I angered her by praising our
lady and mistress ! "
Hardly were the Pilgrims disembarked when
40 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
came the pestilence, which in three terrible months
carried off half of their little band, leaving barely
fifty alive when it passed away. Day after day, as
Carver and his two assistants returned from labor-
ing with or in the service of the sick, they had a
new story of death or disease to relate, and Dame
Katherine, her sweet eyes overbrimming with tears,
would hasten from her own household duties to such
offices at the bedside of her neighbors as she could
with her slender strength perform, until she herself
was stricken down ; and Carver, returning home at
night, found her and Desire Miuter stretched upon
their beds and groaning with pain, while in the
next room Roger Wilder and the little Jasper lay
dead, the boy William and the maid-servant being
in almost as bad case in the loft above.
" Here is work enow for us at home, John," said
the governor, sadly. " And if we could but have a
woman's help "
"John Tillie and his wife died yesterday, and
Edward, his brother, and his wife are dead to-day,
and Henerie Sampson and Humility Coper are bet-
ter, so that Elizabeth TiHie has naught to do at
home but mourn, and might come hither, if Mis-
tress Carver wills it," suggested John Rowland, his
hand upon the door-latch.
"Go and ask her to come, John," replied the
governor, his wistful gaze fixed upon the flushed
face of his darling.
And Elizabeth, wiping the tears of orphanhood
from her eyes, came at John Rowland's bidding [
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 41
and they two nursed not only Katherine and the
others, but the governor himself, who shortly after
fell sick, more of weariness and over-effort than of
the disease, which at last left only seven persons
able to perform the offices for all the sick and dying
and dead about them.
But with the sharp spring winds came a change.
The pestilence passed, and its victims crept out
into the pale sunshine, and, finding some uncertain
strength returning to their gaunt frames, applied it
to the great task, still scarce begun, of building a
home in this wilderness for themselves and their
children.
Among these laborers was Carver, who, still fee-
ble from long illness and anxious attendance upon
his wife, now in a measure restored to health, daily
led forth the laborers, under the direction of
Squanto, an Indian, who, alone surviving the pes-
tilence which had some years before desolated this
region, still lingered about his birthplace, and
became very serviceable to its new inhabitants.
Squanto it was who taught his pale-faced friends
how and when to sow their scanty crop of corn,
where to catch fish, how to net the abundant shoals
of herring with which to dress the poor and ex-
hausted soil, and many another savage art, known
and practiced by his fathers upon this very spot for
centuries before the Pilgrims, or even Columbus,
saw the shores of the New World.
Squanto, too, it was who brought his adopted chief,
Massasoit, to make a treaty with the white men,
42 TEE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
and later on warned them of hostilities meditated
against them by the Narragansetts, and other hos-
tile tribes and factions, proving himself from first
to last their firm and faithful friend. And it was
Squanto who, opening the door of the governor's
cabin while the family sat at breakfast, stepped
lightly inside, and said, in the broken English he
had acquired during a captivity in England some
years before :
" Good-morning, master. Want plant corn again
to-day?"
" Yes, Squanto, yes. We must be up and doing,
must labor while it is yet day, for the night
cometh "
And, not finishing his sentence, the governor
stood still in the middle of the floor, fastening a
strange look upon his wife, who felt it, and rising
came toward him, inquiring tenderly :
" John, must you work so hard again to-day ?
You are not yet strong from that terrible illness,
and you overwrought yesterday."
" Dear heart, be not alarmed. It is my place to
set a good example to my brothers, and the Lord
will uphold his servants. Come, John Rowland,
Squanto is already gone."
But John lingered until he could say to Kath-
erine, unobserved by her husband :
" I will stay by his side, dame, and lighten his
burdens if I may, and though he look something
pale and meagre he has the strength and spirit of
two yet in him."
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 43
" I thank you, John, and I trust him to you for
so much as he will allow you to do ; but it is this
very spirit that leads him on'emprises beyond even
his strength."
"I will do my best, dame," repeated John,
mournfully, and hastened to follow his master to
the field ; while Elizabeth Tillie, watching the pri-
vate conference, bit her lip, turned red and pale by
turns, and finally left the room, muttering :
" I know not what to think of this saint-worship.
No, not I."
III.
The April day rose soft and sweet, but, rapidly
increasing in heat as the hours marched on, arrived
near noon at the sultry fervor of July ; such an-
other day as that famous 19th of April, a hundred
and fifty years later, when the British, retreating
beneath the fire of every stone wall from Concord
and Lexington, dropped exhausted in their march,
overcome as much by the intense heat as by their
enemies or their own panic.
"Truly, if this is the spring, what shall we
expect of summer weather ? " panted the choleric
captain, as he vigorously broke the matted sod with
his heavy hoe. Beside him toiled Winslow and Car-
ver, side by side, John Howland close at the gov-
ernor's right hand. All three, all four indeed, had
been gently nurtured ; all were of the class whose
habits inure to luxury rather than to toil ; but no
four men among the twenty or thirty laboring be-
44 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
neath that scorching sun kept even pace with these
that day. It is not the large-boned, heavy-limbed
draught-horse who bursts his heart in voluntary
emulation or endeavor, but the fiery thoroughbred,
whose superb muscle and sensitive nerve are but
the electric wires between his noble spirit and his
wonderful deeds ; and among men, the heroes and
martyrs are not they who simply do their duty, but
those who see in duty the broad foundation of aspi-
ration and endeavor.
The sun had reached its meridian, and already
some of the toilers straightened their bowed backs,
and glanced at their cumbrous watches, when John
Rowland, about to request his master to follow their
example, saw his face turn deadly white, then flush
of a dark red, while his eyes glared wildly, and
one trembling hand wavered uncertainly toward his
head, then grasped wildly at the air. The arms of
the young man were already about him, and Master
Winslow, seeing his comrade's case, threw off the
sick dizziness besetting him also, and came to How-
land's help.
" It is a return of the sickness," said one.
" Nay, it is a flow of blood upon the brain," cried
another.
" It is a sunstroke. The great heat hath been
too much for his weakened condition," said John,
tremulously. " But let us get him home to nay,
who shall warn the poor wife of the terrible calam-
ity that hath befallen her and us? You, Master
Winslow ? Where is the Elder ? "
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 45
" He went home with a bitter pain in his head an
hour or more agone," said one of the men ; while
Winslow, kneeling beside the insensible body of his
comrade and chiefest friend, groaned aloud :
" I cannot, John ; no, I cannot. This new cross
is bitterer than all the rest, and I lie crushed be-
neath it. Oh, my friend, my friend, my more than
brother ! The hand of the Lord is very sore upon
us this day ! "
" Then it is I who must bear the tidings ! " ex-
claimed Howland, in a voice of anguish. " Tarry
for yet a few moments, friends, then bear him home,
and I will hasten forward to prepare "
The next words were smothered in the great
sob that all unconsciously rose in the young man's
throat, and then he sped away, running as fast to-
ward the scene he dreaded scarcely less than death,
as ever hastened guest to joyous festival.
The frugal dinner was already upon the board as
Howland entered the house, and Elizabeth Tillie
was putting the last touches to the little decora-
tions with which she had learned to embellish these
simple feasts. She turned as she heard the familiar
step, but stopped short in the cheerful greeting that
first rose to her lips, and stood staring into the
ghastly face of the messenger, the rich color slowly
fading out of her own.
" What is it ? Oh, John, what has happened ? "
gasped she.
" Where is the mistress ? I must see her this
moment."
46 . THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
" She went to lie down, quite worn out, but now.
What is it ? Hath aught befallen "
At this moment the door from the inner room
suddenly opened, and Katherine Carver stood be-
fore them, a smile upon her lips.
" Truly, dear Bess, I am but a loiterer " began
she, yet paused panic-stricken as John Rowland,
stepping forward, took her passive hand in his,
and, leading her to the great arm-chair, seated her
therein, saying sadly :
" Dear mistress, I am the bearer of ill-tidings ;
but I beseech you not to be utterly dismayed, for
the Lord yet reigneth, and He will guide his own."
" My husband ! Is he "
" No, dear lady, he yet lives ; but he is very, very
ill, stricken down but now, even at my side."
" And you promised to guard, to save him ! Oh,
false friend and careless servant, who did not see
that this was coming upon him, did not warn him,
save him ! "
" Nay, dame, what man can foresee the hand of
the Almighty, or guard against his decree" be-
gan Elizabeth, half indignantly. But Rowland
silenced her with a look, and turned again to the
bereaved and almost desperate woman, who was
rising from the chair, casting an indignant and
contemptuous look upon him, and moving toward
the door ; but Rowland threw himself in her path,
crying :
" Dear lady, go not forth to meet them ! The
feet of them who bear him hither are already at the
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 47
door. Dear, dear mistress, be strong, be steadfast ;
arm thy soul with courage such as it hath already
shown among us. Oh, beloved mistress, he is sorely,
sorely ill ! "
" He is dead tell me the truth ! " demanded
Katherine, hoarsely, but still she tottered toward
the door.
" Not dead, but smitten very sorely. They are
here. Elizabeth, where shall he be laid? Rest
upon this chair, mistress ; cover thine eyes, and
pray for strength; for verily thy need is at the
greatest."
" Lay him upon his own bed, his marriage-bed,
the bed where I, his widow, will lay me down to
die," whispered Katherine, shuddering from head
to foot, yet suffering herself to be put gently back
into the deep chair as the shadow of those who
bore her husband home fell across the sunny room.
Then came the solemn, heavy footfalls, the sup-
pressed question and answer, the passage of that
mournful group ; and then they laid him down, a
dying man, upon the bed his death should widow.
But Katherine, pushing aside the trembling hands
that would have detained her, arose and followed,
saying, in a voice no longer like her own :
" It is my right. Let be ; I am his wife."
So she and Elizabeth ministered to him as best
they might, the maid weeping and shivering, but
the wife, with a rigid calm of face and manner
awful to those who looked upon her.
" He will never speak again, he will scarce out-
48 THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVER.
live the day," murmured Standish, who was reputed
to have more knowledge of leech-craft than the rest.
And John Rowland, listening, shook his head, and
looked with eyes of anguish at the wife, who, pale
and cold as marble, stood holding one of the icy
hands, her stony gaze fixed upon the deathly face.
The brave and gentle soldier caught the glance and
followed it, then moved toward Dame Katherine's
side, and took her other hand.
" Sister," said he, " you spoke words of marvel-
ous comfort to me when Rose Standish died, three
months agone. Think upon them now, for I can
speak none half so sweet or wise."
She heard, yet never moved her eyes from their
set gaze, nor changed her frozen calm, although she
muttered :
" Let be ; I am his wife."
" As Rose was mine ; but God took her, and you
bade me bow before his judgment. You told me
she was safe and happy now "
" I prithee peace, friend ! Vex not mine ears
with words whose meaning I cannot guess. Oh,
leave me, all of you, leave me with my husband
my husband ! "
And with a wild sob she flung herself upon her
knees, and buried her face one moment ; but as a
faint moan broke from the lips of the dying man
she rose, and, stooping toward him, seemed to still
even her own breathing, lest by emotion she should
shake ever so lightly those last few grains not yet
run out of Death's hourglass.
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 49
But it was not until three more days had passed
that the noble and heroic Carver drew his last pain-
ful breath, and passed from beneath the cross to
receive the crown he so well had earned.
" Our brother sleepeth in the Lord," solemnly an-
nounced the reverend Elder Brewster, who watched
beside the bedside of the dying man ; and then he
turned to Katherine and laid a hand upon her arm,
saying :
" Come away, daughter ; thy work is ended here.
Come and pray for comfort to Him who alone can
give it."
But breaking from his hold the bereaved and
stricken woman, with one cry of such agony as few
are called to endure, fell prostrate upon the bed,
her head upon that heart which had pillowed it so
tenderly and so faithfully through the bright brief
years of her wifehood, and never, never had met
her with coldness or with silence until now.
" My husband ; oh, my own ; my treasure ; my
darling ; my life ! My husband, my husband ! "
And clinging there, she swooned so utterly, and so
long, that they thought she too had died. But after
weary hours of waiting, and of unceasing effort,
those who watched beside her saw her eyes open
slowly, at first with only a heavy, unconscious sad-
ness in their depths, across which presently shot a
gleam of sharpest anguish, and then the dull apathy
of hopeless suffering. It was John Rowland who
first ventured to address her, and he said :
" God be praised, dear mistress, that you have
50 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
come back to us, else had we been like lost chil-
dren indeed, lacking both a father's guidance and
a mother's love."
But Katherine only moaned, and turned her face
upon the pillow, where it lay for hours cold and
white and still as that of the husband sleeping
his last sleep upon his marriage-bed in the room
beyond.
IV.
The funeral over, William Bradford, upon whom,
as men already whispered, should devolve the gov-
ernorship of the little colony, and the personal su-
pervision of its private as well as public interests,
came to see the widow ; and after certain wise and
kindly sayings, mingled with exhortations to resig-
nation, or at least submission, whose only fault was
that they were somewhat hard and strong for the
nature to which he would adapt them, the governor-
elect inquired :
" And how will it suit you to live, Mistress Car-
ver? Will you continue here, with Desire Minter
and John Rowland and Elizabeth Tillie for com-
pany, or would it be easier for you to conjoin your-
self with the fragments of some other broken fam-
ily, as hath been done already in several cases ? "
" I will stay here in the home which my husband
made, and where he died ; and if these will tarry
with me "
" I, for one, will tarry with you, mistress, until
you send me from you," said John Rowland, his
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 51
eyes fixed upon the delicate face of the young
widow, and his own cheeks glowing with eagerness.
William Bradford looked scrutinizingly at the
young man, and drew his eyebrows deeper above
his keen eyes, as if to shield the thought suddenly
arising behind them. In the Mayflower, which some
two weeks before this date had sailed for home,
went a letter from William Bradford to Alice
Southworth, his early love, telling her that he was
a widower, and beseeching her to come out to him
as his second wife, and not yet four months had
rolled over the watery grave of poor Dorothy May,
so that the mind of him wno had been her husband
would naturally not be startled overmuch at thought
of second nuptials somewhat speedily arranged.
"Thank you, friend," said Katherine, gently; "I
shall not long keep you from gayer company."
" I pray thee, mistress " began John, and
stopped. Bradford took up the word :
" Nay, dame, such intimations are but rebellious,
or, at the least, weak and cowardly. You will
doubtless live out the days appointed for you, and
it may be that the affliction which to-day seems to
touch your very life will in time become but a
chastened memory, above which may be built the
structure of a fair, new life."
Neither of his hearers replied, and after a few
more words Bradford arose to go. Rowland left
the house with him, and as the two walked down the
steep street toward the water-side the elder said :
" We who are men, friend Rowland, are bound
52 THE WIFE OF JOHN CAE VER.
to protect and guide the weaker vessels that are
conjoined with us, and it has become your especial
duty, it would seem, to have a care for this sad and
weeping sister of ours. Should it even seem as if
this end could best be reached by a marriage be-
tween you two, I for one should consider such mar-
riage a wise and advisable step. It is much for
the interests of the colony that every man should
rear a family to succeed to his work and his posses-
sions ; and also that women, bereaved of their nat-
ural protectors, should receive others as soon as
may be. It is needless to say more at present upon
these matters. You apprehend my meaning and
my object in speaking to you at this time ? "
"Yes, sir. You thought I should have consid-
ered such a hope too wild and too high, and should
have crushed rather than encouraged any yearning
I might find in my heart toward a lady so far
above me "
" No man in this wilderness is above another ! "
sternly interposed Bradford. "Did not we leave
all that was easy and comfortable and dear, all
save our own souls and those of our wives and chil-
dren, and brave a thousand deaths, that we might
also leave behind us the vanities and godless rule
of the Old World ? Each man, and each woman
too, stands here to-day, as he shall one day stand
before God, answering only for himself, founded
only upon himself, worthy of respect or love only
from his own deeds and efforts."
So spake the governor of the infant republic
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 53
dropped like an acorn upon the shores of the New
World, and destined one day to develop into the
oak whose roots grapple the round earth, and
whose crest rises free and glorious in the light of
the rising and the setting sun.
Returning homeward, John Rowland met Eliza-
beth Tillie, who had been present, although silent,
during Bradford's visit to her friend and mistress,
Dame Carver. She paused as John was about to
pass her, compelling him to do the same.
" You staid not long at the water-side," began
she.
" No ; we did but go to look at the fare of fish
the men took this morning. It is a goodly one."
" Ah ! And did you hear news of the marriage
that is to be ?"
Rowland started, and turned pale. Elizabeth,
watching him narrowly, tossed her head and bit
her lip, and, before he could reply, continued :
" Nay ; I know not why it should go so near
your heart, seeing the bride is to be the widow
Susannah White, whose goodman died but two
months since ; while Master Edward Winslow,
who is to marry her, buried his wife Elizabeth seven
weeks agone come Monday. It is the fashion of
the colony, you see, to bury a man's memory along
with his bones ; and the first decays sooner than
the last. I think not overmuch of widows like
that, even though Master Bradford lend himself
to make the match."
"It is not well to judge too hardly of our breth-
54 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
ren, Elizabeth " began the young man, in a
troubled voice; but the girl snatched the word
from his lips.
" Lest we make for ourselves a law against our
own inclinations," said she, sharply ; and, without
waiting for reply, kept on her way, leaving How-
land to slowly and thoughtfully climb the hill and
enter the house, where he found Katherine still
seated, as he had left her, in the governor's great
chair, her pale face laid against the back, and the
great tears slowly gathering upon her lashes and
rolling over her thin white cheek. The young man
stood looking at her for a moment, then slowly ap-
proached, and stood close beside, but without
touching her.
" Dear mistress, your sorrow breaks my heart.
If I could soothe it in any fashion, if the know-
ledge that one man at least would give all else to
pleasure you and bring you comfort "
"Thanks, good friend, and more than thanks.
I know that you would think any trouble light, if
by it you could ease mine ; but, oh, John, it is my
life that is crushed, my heart that is broken ; and
for that trouble what balm can even your kind and
brotherly affection devise? Stay with me until
the end, John, and soothe my dying bed as you did
his; no more is possible."
" I will never leave you while we two live, Dame
Katherine," said the young man, solemnly ; and
between those two full hearts fell a silence, broken
only by the sound of the stormy waves lashing
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 55
the shore hard by, and the solemn voice of the
clock telling of Time speeding momently toward
Eternity.
V.
Another month passed over, and May was soft-
ening into June, when Governor Bradford, meet-
ing Rowland a little way from the town, abruptly
inquired :
" How is Mistress Carver now, and how comes
on thy wooing, man ? "
" My mistress is but poorly, sir ; and I have
never dared intrude such a thought as that of an-
other marriage upon her sorrow," replied John,
with such a change of color that the elder shrewdly
remarked :
" But you have thought upon it yourself, and
the idea is a marvelously sweet one to your mind."
" I cannot deny so much, sir, but "
" Leave ' but ' to keep company with ' peradven-
ture,' and go home and speak your mind to the
widow. You are but a young man, and know not
women as your elders do, John. They love to be
importuned, and persuaded, and urged even against
their own commands. Many a man has lost his
chance from too great a modesty and distrust of
his own worth, like our gallant Captain with Pris-
cilla Molines. Go you home and ask Dame Carver
to promise to become Dame Howland by and by,
and you shall see that the roses will bloom again
upon her cheek, and the tears dry from her eyes.
I fain would see that matter settled."
56 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVES,
And the governor, assuming a little more than
his usual dignity, as if to compensate for the frivo-
lous nature of the discourse in which he had just
indulged, strode up the Burying Hill to search the
offing for the ship of supplies then anxiously ex-
pected, and Rowland meditatively pursued his way.
" It is all but hopeless, and yet it might give
a change to her gloomy thoughts at least," said he ;
and finding Katherine alone, sitting, as was her
wont, in the great chair, her hands locked upon her
lap, her sad eyes fixed upon them, and an air of
abstraction and melancholy veiling her from head
to foot like a garment, he seated himself beside her
and gently said :
" Dear lady, I wish that I might see you less
sad."
Katherine looked up with a wan smile.
" I am not so sad as I have been, John."
" God be praised if your sorrow is lightened."
" God be praised that He is answering my
prayer."
" Your prayer for resignation ? "
" Nay, but to be allowed to follow him who hath
gone before."
" You do not mean that you would die ! " ex-
claimed the young man, turning pale. A gentle
smile alone replied to him, and, covering his face
with his hands, he groaned aloud.
" Nay, John, why grieve that I am at last to be
happy once more, after so many days of suffering
and well-nigh despair ? "
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 57
" Because oh, mistress of my heart and my
life because I love you with all the strength that
is in me, and have loved you since first you spoke
to me that black day long since, when I did but
wait until you should be gone before I drowned
myself ; and you it was who saved me and made a
man of me, and brought me hither, and I wor-
shiped you saint-wise, nor thought of earthly love
until now that you are all alone in the world, and
I at least might stand between you and suffering
and want ; and, oh, Katherine ! if all the love and
all the worship that are possible from man to wo-
man would move you, if the thought that you
were leading me heavenward day by day, if "
" Oh, stop stop ! Cruel, false, unfaithful that
you are, how dare you thus insult my wifehood !
How dare you think of me or speak to me as other
than John Carver's faithful wife, whom God hath
for her sins divided from him for a while, and after
will bring into his presence for an eternity of bliss ?
Oh, John Rowland ! you have bitterly disappointed
me, for I did think that in you I had a true and
trusty friend and brother ; and now "
" And now you hate and despise me, and will
withdraw even the liking and the confidence that
you have entertained for me so far," broke in the
young man, bitterly.
" But how could you, John, how should you
even dream of such a matter ? And I had thought
to see you wedded to Elizabeth before I died."
"Elizabeth?"
58 THE WIFE OF JOHN CABVEB.
" Yes, Elizabeth Tillie, who loves you, and has
loved you for all these weary months ; and you
never saw it ? "
"Nay, dame, I thought not of her, at any rate,"
replied Howland, sadly and abstractedly. Mistress
Carver, her short-lived indignation changing to
milder feelings, sat looking at him for a while,
then said, kindly :
"Think not overmuch of my reproaches but
now. I might as well have answered you more
kindly ; for you did not mean to wound me, and I
am not so rich in love that I should trample upon
an honest heart, though it may be that I could not
so much as think of accepting it ; but, John, it is
true that I am soon to leave you, and I fain would
see the two I love best happy together before I die.
John, you said you would do much for my plea-
sure."
" God knows I would, dame," groaned the young
man.
" Then will you marry Elizabeth ? "
" Oh, mistress, will no less satisfy you ?"
" Naught else would give me half the pleasure,
or add to the delight I have in following my hus-
band." .
A long silence followed, and then John Howland
laid his cold and trembling hand upon his mis-
tress' knee.
" I am all yours, lady," said he. " Do with me
as will best pleasure yourself."
"Thank you, dear friend. Shall I speak for
you to Elizabeth ? "
THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER. 59
" An you will. But profess not that I love her
other than as a kind friend and sister. Let her
not mistake."
" I shall ask her, as I have asked you, to do this
for the love and satisfaction of a dying woman
who holds you two dearer than any now on earth."
Then forth into the chill and damp spring night
the young man rushed, and wandered for hours,
wrestling with a man's strength against his own
rebellious heart and disappointed hope.
Four weeks later Elizabeth called her betrothed
to the bedside of the beloved mistress, whom now
all confessed to be a dying woman. Dame Kather-
ine held out her thin, hot hand, and looked into his
face with a tender smile.
" Faithful friend, be not so sad and downcast in
seeing the day of my deliverance at hand. Would
you weep if you saw a dear sister wedded to the
man she loved ? and I go to rejoin the husband
dearer than any bridegroom. But first for still
will the cares of this life follow us even to the
gates of the next first I fain would see my poor
Bessie happier than she is. John, you do not love
her overmuch."
" I strive to be kind to her, dear mistress ; and
I did ask you to tell her at the first that I was no
lover," replied the youth, struggling for composure.
" But, John, that is but keeping the word and
breaking the spirit of your promise to pleasure me
in this matter. I would see you love her as well
as be kind to her."
60 THE WIFE OF JOHN CARVER.
" Oh, dame, you are very hard, very cruel with
me ! You know that your word is as a law to me,
and you are pitiless as the grave ! "
" John ! "
" Nay, pardon me ! I am but a savage to speak
thus, and you lying there ; but oh, if you had bid
me die for you, it had been easier."
" Yes, dear friend, for it is easiest of all to die
when one is called to prove a great love ; and so,
because your love was yet greater than enough for
that test, I have put it to a sharper one, and asked
you to live for me, yes, and to be happy, and to
make another happy, and all for love of your poor
heart-broken sister, who can do naught for you.
John, did I count too far upon that love of yours?"
" Dear lady, if it may be that the blessed spirits
look down from heaven upon this sad earth of ours,
you, so looking down, shall see your friend Eliza-
beth a happy and an honored wife, yes, and a
beloved one in time, if love will grow by care and
will."
" I would fain see the beginning now, if it might
be. Will not you wed her here at my bedside this
very night, for I doubt me if I see to-morrow's
sun?"
John Rowland reverently raised the wasted hand
he held to his lips. It was the first approach to
a caress he had ever offered to the woman he so
passionately loved, and it was also the seal of the
abnegation he had made of that forbidden love.
Then he said :
THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE. 61
" I will speak to Elizabeth and to the magistrate,
and all shall be appointed as you wish. I will go
this moment ; but "
" I will not depart before you return, dear John,"
murmured the dying woman, reading his thought ;
and with one glance of anguish this man, whose
love, as Katherine herself had said, was greater
than that of him who dieth for his friend, went out
to do her bidding.
When he returned, Elizabeth, pale and silent, sat
beside the bed. Katherine lay with her eyes closed,
yet not asleep, and, as he entered, gently asked:
" Has Master Bradford come ? "
" Yes, mistress ; he is waiting in the outer room."
" And is all in readiness, Elizabeth ? "
" All, dear mistress, so far as I am in question."
" And you, John ? "
" I am ready, mistress."
" Then hasten, for the time grows short."
Rowland, without replying, summoned the mag-
istrate, and in a few minutes more he had become
the husband of Elizabeth Tillie, who, pale and
silent, looked as little like a bride as he like a
bridegroom. The ceremony over, and the governor
gone, Katherine called the two to her bedside, and,
giving a hand to each, whispered a few words of
thanks and love ; then, closing her eyes, lay still
and silent, until, as the beautiful light of the pure
morning broke over sea and sky, touching the
sombre forest and the rugged hills with glory, and
transforming the wilderness of waters to a golden
62 THE WIFE OF JOHN CAEVEE.
highway leading straight from earth to heaven,
Katherine Carver's faithful soul went gently forth,
seeking reunion with its mate, and entering, as
who shall doubt, into that eternal joy of which the
purest and the happiest earthly love is but a dim
reflection.
John Rowland and his wife lingered beside her
grave when all else were gone, she weeping, he
still and self-contained. All at once she said :
" You loved her better than me, John, and you
married me to pleasure her."
The husband was silent for a while, then passing
his arm around his wife's waist he softly said :
" And as we both of us loved her, and she loved
both of us, that love shall be a holy tie between us,
Elizabeth, and out of it shall grow a happy and a
loving life, if you will help me to cultivate it."
" But all for love of her ? " persisted Elizabeth.
" She is now an angel in heaven, and you are my
wife, and all that I have on earth to love me or to
love. Elizabeth, will you love me, and help me try
to make a happy life out of this our great sorrow ? "
Silently the young wife laid her hand in his, and
they two went home to the lonely house to begin
what was in the end a life as fair and sweet as its
beginning was sad. 1
1 In grading Cole's HOI, which was the first burial place of the
Pilgrims, a grave was found, containing the skeletons of a man
and a woman. The male skull was of fine development, and it is
very possible that this was the grave of Governor Carver and his
faithful wife.
BARBARA STANDISH.
THE pale sunset of a New England winter day
was fading from sea and shore, although it lingered
in the tops of the melancholy pines sparsely cloth-
ing the sides of Burying Hill in the town of New
Plymouth, when a young woman painfully climbed
its steep acclivity, and, drawing her cloak of fine
gray duffle closely about her, sank upon one of the
tree-trunks lying all about, waiting to be squared
and fashioned into beams for the fort not yet
erected.
A fair, young girl she looked, with lovely rose-
tints on cheek and lips, mild blue eyes, a wealth of
golden hair, and a sweet mouth, just now piteously
down-curved. Gentle and timid and loving she
looked and was, none more so, and yet the strong-
est man, the most robust woman of the hundred,
who had borne her company across the stormy win-
ter sea, not one had shown more of the high
courage and brave endurance that were their glory
than this frail girl, Rose, wife of Myles Standish,
already military leader of the colony.
Through the discomforts and privations of the
voyage, with its mishaps, delays, and constant dis-
appointments ; through the sickness and death al-
ready rife among the doomed company ; through
the lonely terrors that must have beset her while
64 BARBARA STANDISH.
her husband led his little band of explorers into
the unknown fastnesses of the forest, and was ab-
sent from her days and nights that might mean
forever; through the fatigue and annoyances of
debarkation, and the necessity of putting her
dainty hands to uses they had never known before,
through all and everything, this fair English
Rose had borne herself with a noble courage and
strength, the admiration of all who saw her, the
wonder of all except the husband, who knew her
for his fitting mate.
But now the end was drawing nigh, and she felt
it. Sitting upon that desolate hillside, with the
winter sky darkening above her, and the winter
wind moaning through the pine-trees at her back,
she looked across the sea, whose waves, leaden in
hue, and each tipped with an angry line of foam,
came hissing sharply in upon the sandy shore be-
low, and thought of the fair home which she should
see no more forever. The deep lanes white and
odorous with hawthorn bloom, the sunny nooks
filled with violets and daisies, the meadows gay
with cowslips and blue with harebells, the trees
green with spring and filled with those blithe home
birds whose very songs were gayer and more
heart-free than these of the new, strange world
about her could possibly be, all these she saw
and heard, sitting so motionless there in the pallid
twilight, and gazing across the bitter sea to the
line of palest blue, which, like a wall of ice, shut
her away from all these tender memories. Then
BARBARA STANDISH. 65
her eyes wandered slowly back to the encampment
at her feet, the huts of hastily felled timber, some
few complete, others in every stage of progress,
and already arranged in the steep and formal
street by which the pilgrim of to-day climbs from
the shore to the level of the town. Among them
stood the temporary common-house erected upon
the first landing, and still occupied by most of
the company ; and nearer at hand the half-finished
cabin which her husband and John Alden were
building for her own future home.
In the offing lay the Mayflower, weather-beaten,
insufficient, unreliable, and yet the one only link
between home and the hundred brave or failing
hearts who had abandoned that home and all its
joys, all its security, devoting life and fortune,
nay, planting their very bodies as seed in this
barren soil, whence was to spring the magnificent
growth of a nation.
" Never, never, never again ! " whispered Rose
Standish, drawing the warm cloak about her, and
yet shivering through its ample folds. " Never
shall I see home flowers bloom again, or hear the
song of home birds, or kiss my little Barbara's
lips ; and I would that yon vessel were away, for
its gray sails beckon me like hands, and tempt me
to wish that my lord should carry me to lie among
my kin, and beneath the old yew-trees where we
cut our names "
"What, dame, is 't thou?" exclaimed a voice
somewhat gruff and hoarse perchance, but powerful
66 BAEBAEA STANDISH.
and frank, as befitted the captain of the colony's
army, and the protector of its hundred lives.
Most vigilant, too, was he in its defense, and had
mounted the hill in the winter twilight to make
sure that all was safe and well about the embryo
fortress, whose chief architect and deviser he was.
And here among the timbers, and the tools, and
the black frost, and the glooming night he had
come suddenly upon his tender Kose, sitting so
fair and spirit-like, as if she were the guardian
angel of the little camp below.
" What, sweetheart ! " repeated the captain, his
hand upon her shoulder. " How come you here,
and all alone ? "
" I was so tired, Myles, of the noise and heat i
the common-room, and my head ached so sadly,
that I thought perhaps the cold, fresh air would
help it."
"Thy head, child? Yes, and those blue eyes
are over-bright, and thy little hands are scorching
hot even in this nipping cold. Rose, darling little
one, you are ill at last, and who can wonder ? "
He threw his arm around her as he spoke, and,
raising her to her feet, pushed back the hood from
her face and perused it anxiously. The sweet face
smiled upon him bravely and tenderly, yet could
not hide the terrible story written so legibly upon
it. Full five minutes they stood thus, while the
waves sobbed heavily upon the shore, and the wind
moaned among the pine-trees in awful sympathy.
Then with a sudden movement the soldier, the man
BAEBAEA STANDISH. 67
who knew no fear in face of foe or sternest priva-
tion, clasped his wife close to his heart, and bend-
ing his head upon hers, cried aloud, in sudden
terror :
" Kose, my Kose ! What were I without thee ! "
" Dearest, our God is good. I will not die if
He will let me stay," whispered the girl, and cling-
ing to her husband's breast she shivered heavily,
like one who feels the cold blast from an open door
strike through his blood. Yes, and the door was
opened wide, the door that never opens in vain,
nor closes until one has passed through to return
no more forever.
Myles Standish bore his wife down from the hill
that night in his arms, her head lying heavily upon
his shoulder, and her quick breath scorching his
cheek. Ten days later he took her in his arms
again, while the fair head drooped yet more heavily
upon his shoulder, and the dim eyes vainly strove
to speak the love that neither pain nor death could
chill, and the cold, faint breath fluttered across the
pale lips, and died upon those that bent to meet
them.
" Good-by, dear love " those were the words ;
but whether they were spoken by the dying lips of
flesh, or the deathless spirit already exhaled from
its fair tenement, Myles Standish could not say.
One of the matrons standing weeping there took
the precious burden from his arms, softly say-
ing :
" Alack, dear heart, she is gone at last, and now
68 BABBABA STANDISH.
is free of all her pain and weariness. Thank God
for that, at least, goodman ! "
" Hold thy prating tongue, dame, nor bid me
thank God for taking away more than mine own
life ! " exclaimed the captain, sternly ; and so strode
from the room, from the house, and away into the
wilderness, leaving all who heard him aghast at
such impious rebellion.
When he returned, hours later, mild Elder
Brewster sought and labored with him long and
zealously, yet at the close went away sadly, shaking
his hoary head.
" It is a strong and stubborn heart ; yea, and a
proud, unyielding neck," murmured he. " God
must deal with him in his own way, for I am not
strong enough."
They dug a grave for Rose Standish upon the
hillside, one of the earliest among the graves so
soon opened in the virgin soil of that stern new
home ; but before spring there were so many that
the Pilgrims leveled and planted them with wheat,
lest the savages, whom as yet they knew not and
ignorantly dreaded, should perceive their ever-
increasing number, and so take courage to fall
upon and exterminate the feeble remnant that re-
mained alive.
And ever as the pestilence spread, and one after
another was stricken down, until the living scarce
could bury the dead or attend upon the dying,
Myles Standish held the foremost place, whether
as laborer, as nurse, as counselor, providing food
BARBARA STANDISH. 69
for those who could eat, forcing the churlish ship-
master to supply such things as were needed from
his stores, ministering to the sick, burying the
dead ; ever strong and resolute as men should be,
gentle and patient as women are; never shrinking,
as his noble fellow-laborer, Bradford, has recorded,
" from the meanest or most loathly services ; "
never yielding to fatigue, or infection, or despair ;
so that the Elder himself confessed at last :
" Though he may not be godly, he is of a verity
goodly ; and though holy words are full seldom in
his mouth, holy works are ever in his hands."
So passed the winter and the spring, until the
day when the Mayflower set sail again for Eng-
land, bearing among her other dispatches a letter
from Captain Myles to the relatives of his late
wife, recounting her death and the manner of it,
and ending thus :
But this heavy sorrow and loss makes no change in
the purpose I expressed when last we met, with regard to
relieving you of the charge of maintaining my late wife's
cousin Barbara, and she may be forwarded to me by the
first ship sailing hither. It was very near to my wife's
heart that the child should come to us ; and now that she
is gone, I do but desire the more to fulfill her wishes,
and in this case still the more that it has been told me
Barbara is neither welcome nor happy under your roof ;
and although God knows it is little enough I have to
offer here, such as it is is heartily at the service of Rose
Standish's adopted sister or, for that matter, at the
service of any of her kin who choose to come hither.
70 BARBARA STANDISH.
Lest there should he talk of unfitness in placing a
little maid in the care of a gruff, middle-aged soldier; I
will say in this place that I have thought of marrying
again with a very modest as well as comely young wo-
man of this place, whom the sickness of the last winter
has bereft, even like myself, of all that belonged to her.
And this I do, not through forgetfulness or carelessness
of Rose, my wife, who has her own place in my heart,
wherein no other can ever enter, but because in this new
country it is well for every man to be the head of a
household, and to rear up children to become fighting
men for. the defense of the colony, and sturdy mothers to
increase it. In such a handful of struggling souls as
this, every man is bound to act, not for himself, but as
part of the whole, and has no more right to indulge a
selfish and churlish grief than to burn up his own house
because it no longer pleases him, and in so doing set the
whole village in a low.
All this I say, not that I see need of setting up a
defense against your judgment, but that you may know
under mine own hand the deliberate reasons for the course
I propose, and which may very likely be hardly judged
by those of you at home \vho sought, and vainly, to di-
vide Rose from me before that we were wed.
And so, with a father's greeting to the little maid,
and such as are fitting to you and the rest, I remain,
MTLES STANDISH,
Captain of the Plymouth Colony.
" There they have the bitter and the sweet to-
gether," muttered the captain, laying his letter
among those John Alden, his helper and house-
mate, was preparing to send by the Mayflower on
BAJRBABA STANDISH. 71
the morrow. " They are rid of this poor little
Bab, and they know that I shall marry again, and
none of their blood shall ever sit in Standish Hall
as heir of mine, should I come by my rights."
But before the gray sails of the Mayflower had
sunk behind the Gurnet upon her homeward voy-
age, Standish had committed the fatal error of
sending John Alden to do his wooing, instead of
venturing himself, and Priscilla Molines had mur-
mured that naive sentence which comes down
through the centuries as fresh and bright and girl-
ish as any utterance of to-day :
" Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? "
We all know how that ended, and how the
captain, hardly pausing to hurl an angry reproach
at his unfortunate and yet too fortunate envoy,
rushed away to fight the savage Wituwamat and
his band, who had hurled defiance at the little
colony in the form of an imperious summons to
depart as they had come, leaving the land already
occupied and owned by the red men. This mes-
sage was accompanied, so says the old chronicle,
by the skin of a rattlesnake filled with arrows,
a symbol of deadly warfare; but when this
was laid upon the council table by the envoy of the
Indians, Standish seized it, threw the arrows con-
temptuously upon the floor, and filled the snake-
skin with bullets ; then he thrust it with a few
stern words into the hands of the messenger, and
pointed toward the door.
So there was war to the knife between the colo-
72 BABBABA STANDISH.
nists and the Indians ; and in the early gray of the
next morning the captain led forth his little band
to fight to die, if so God's will should be ; and in
the leader's breast lay rankling the bitter thought
that if it should indeed be death, he left no one
behind to shed so much as a single tear upon his
bloody grave.
Have you read the quaint old story ? Do you
know how the stern little band of Christians put
to shame a whole tribe of savages, and slew their
leader in their very midst, hewing off his head to
bring back as a trophy to be set upon the roof of
their citadel as a warning to his fellows ? If you
have not, get the old record and see for yourself
how the men of those days bore themselves, and
with what sublime arrogance they punished and
dispossessed these savage interlopers in " the land
which the Lord had given them."
But killing savages, and leading night-marches,
and wearying himself with all sorts of toil, proved
but a slow cure to the great hurt which not only
the captain's heart but his pride had received, and
it was about this time that he set up a temporary
shelter for himself on what is still called the Cap-
tain's Hill in Duxbury, the town itself named in
memory of a part of his ancestral domain. Here
with Hobomok, his faithful Indian friend, and one
or two of his fellow-colonists, he delighted to retire
as often as his duties would permit, although still
retaining his house on Burying Hill, and his cus-
tody of the fort.
BAEBAEA STANDISH. 73
In July of 1623, two years and a half after the
landing of the Pilgrims, the ship Anne came sail-
ing into Plymouth Harbor, and might well have
dropped her anchor to the tune of " Sweethearts
and Wives," so many of them were on board.
Myles Standish, stern and silent as was his wont,
stood with the rest of the townfolk upon the beach,
and watched the ship's boat as it left her side and
rapidly drew near with its first load of passengers.
" There is one for whom I looked," exclaimed
William Bradford, breaking his sentence in the
midst, and glancing with austere confusion into the
face of his friend and comrade but not confidant,
the silent captain. And then, as Mistress South-
worth rose in the boat, and gave her little hand to
the sailor who lifted her on shore, the governor
went down, hat in hand, to meet and greet her ; and
Myles Standish stood alone, fiercely tugging at his
yellow beard, and looking beyond the boat to the
gloomy offing and the ship already riding at anchor
within the curving beach.
So he stood when Governor Bradford returned
toward him, Mistress Southworth upon his arm,
and beside them a fair and stately maiden, with
bright northern eyes, golden hair, and a head regal
as that of Editha, last of the Saxon queens. Stan-
dish made some slight obeisance, and would have
moved aside, but Bradford, his noble face lighted
with a sudden secret joy, and his bearing full of a
tender exultation, detained him.
" Ho, there, thou valiant man of war. Wouldst
74 BARBARA STANDISH.
play the dastard for the first time, and run from
these fair ones who have braved the perils of the
seas and of the wilderness to visit us ? Here then,
let me present the valiant captain of the Plymouth
Colony to Mistress South worth, of whom he may
have heard me speak. And here, friend Myles,
here is another, a maiden who asked for thee or
ever she had stepped from the great rock to the
sands. This is thy late wife's cousin, Barbara, who
has journeyed hither under the protection of Mis-
tress Southworth, who in very sooth looks to need
protection herself."
" Is this Barbara ? " exclaimed the captain, star-
ing into the bright, proud face so nearly upon a
level with his own ; for the maiden was tall and
stately beyond the wont of women, and the gallant
soldier was low of stature.
" This Barbara ! " repeated he. " Why, I thought
she was a child."
" I was twenty years old Sunday was a se'night,
cousin Myles," replied Barbara, in a clear, sonorous
voice, and meeting his scrutiny with fearless eyes.
"You do not look like Rose. She was little,
and "
The captain did not finish his sentence, but
gravely taking the two hands of his cousin in
his, kissed her upon both cheeks ; then following
the governor, who already was climbing the hill
with Alice Southworth by his side, he led her to-
ward the irregular row of houses already named
Leyden Street, and said, somewhat confusedly :
BAEBAEA STANDISH. 75
"You are welcome, Barbara; as welcome as
though it had been the child I imagined. But a
fair maiden like you will hardly brook the solitude
and dullness of the lonely hut where I abide. You
will fret for your gay home and young compan-
ions, I fear me."
" Do you not live in the village, then, cousin ? "
asked the girl, climbing the hill with firm, elastic
tread, and examining everything with her bright
blue eyes.
" Well, I do and I do not," replied the captain
with some hesitation. " The home of my choice is
over there." And pausing upon the brow of the
hill, close to the edge of the wheatfield beneath
whose waving green lay the dust of Rose his wife,
Captain Myles pointed across the head of the bay
to a promontory crowned by a stockade, with some
roofs showing above it.
" There is my favorite dwelling-place," said he,
briefly. " I call it Duxbury, after the place owned
by my people in Lancashire. I reach it by water,
and there you see my boat buoyed close beside the
rock. Sometimes, indeed, I walk ; but that would
be a rough journey for yo.u, and perhaps you had
better abide here in my old house. I cannot
tell"
" I will, by your leave, speak to my friend Mis-
tress Southworth first," said Barbara, gravely.
" For she did charge me to make no disposition of
myself until she saw whether we might not abide
together, at least until her marriage."
76 BARBARA STAND1SH,
"Aha! she will marry Bradford, then!" ex-
claimed Myles, with some show of interest.
"Surely. It was for that she came," replied
Barbara, simply, and with no girlish nutter or
giggle. Her kinsman looked at her attentively, and
somewhat disapprovingly. In truth, he did not
quite admire this frank and fearless bearing, this
want of shyness and weakness, this self-reliance,
which, as he thought, would have better befitted
Rose Standish's brother than her adopted sister.
And, in sooth, it was the contrast between the two
which displeased him most of all ; and still stand-
ing there upon the brow of the hill, with the wheat-
field at his feet, and the tall, stately maiden at his
side, he said again :
" You are very unlike Rose, and still your fea-
tures have a trick of hers. She was a marvel of
sweet humility and patience, yet brave and un-
tiring withal as any among us ; a rare and admira-
ble creature, a model among women, was Rose
Standish."
And with eyes downcast and absent the soldier
strode on toward the houses ; while Barbara, keep-
ing at his side with her quick, light steps, said
somewhat bitterly :
" And I know naught of sweet humility or pa-
tience ; and though I may be brave and tireless, I
am not gentle or admirable, and no man will ever
call me a model among women. You see I take
your meaning, cousin."
" Be not over quick at snatching the gage before
BARBARA STANDISH. 77
it is flung down to you, mistress," replied the cap-
tain, dryly. " To praise the dead is not to dispraise
the living ; and there are men enow in this colony
who, wooing you, will swear that you are the model
of all that is loveliest in woman."
" I came not hither to be wooed, or to woo," be-
gan Barbara, hotly ; but with an imperious gesture
the captain silenced her, and led the way into one
of the rough yet comfortable cabins, which already
had gathered about them the air of occupation and
aome comfort not to be obtained in the first months
of residence either in cabin or palace.
" Here is the house where Mistress South worth
wjll abide, as I am told," said Standish, gravely ;
and, in fact, it was Governor Bradford himself who
opened the door of the inner room and met them
upon the threshold.
" Your friend is asking for you, fair Mistress
Barbara," said he, pleasantly ; and the captain,
pushing his charge gently forward, said :
" Go you in and find her, then, and I will see you
presently. Master Bradford, a word or two with
you."
And the military leader of the colony walked
away beside its civil guardian, leaving his kins-
woman standing upon the threshold and looking
after them.
" I do not wonder my poor Rose died of disgust
at finding herself chained to such a boor for life,"
said she aloud, and then went in to find Alice
Southworth, who greeted her eagerly.
78 BAEBAEA STANDISH.
" You are to bide here with me, Barbara," said
she. " Master Bradford tells ine that your father
nay, your cousin, but indeed he looks more like
your father has naught but men in his household,
and that he dwells for the most part in a savage
and even dangerous spot, far away from the town,
(alack, that this should be called a town !) so
even he saw how unfitting it were for a young
maid to take up her dwelling there at present ; and
of course we must all heed what Master Bradford
says, for is not he the governor? And, Barbara,
what think you of his looks ? "
Barbara stooped and kissed the laughing, blush-
ing face of her friend, and answered gayly :
" Methinks he looks wondrous happy ; and, for
that matter, so do you, Alice ! "
" I ? Truly I am right happy in setting my feet
on shore once more, and off that filthy, crowded
ship. Think, girl, of finding water plenty enough
to bathe in, and to be able to wash and dry one's
linen without submitting each piece to the scrutiny
of a crew of bold, staring fellows, who seemed to
me always at hand when they should have been
away, and away when they might have been useful !
And how like you the captain ? "
" He may be a very good captain, but hardly
much of a gentleman," replied Barbara, with a
little acrimony; and Alice Southworth laughed
gayly.
"Ah, he has begun to chasten that haughty
spirit and teach the beauty of obedience, has he
BARBARA STAN DISH. 79
not ? " asked she. " You will be none the worse
for a little training to prepare you for a husband's
yoke, Mistress Bab."
" I will never marry if I must bend my neck to
the yoke in doing so, and Captain Myles Standish
will never teach me obedience, kinsman though he
may be," said Barbara, proudly ; and Alice South-
worth, fluttering and joyous in her own great hap-
piness, kissed her friend once more, and laughed,
while she ran away to look for her mails, she said,
but in truth to see if William Bradford were re-
turning.
So Captain Standish went home alone to his
fortress upon the hill, and smoking his pipe beside
the roaring open fire, grimly smiled in remember-
ing his mistake :
"I thought to bring home a child to sit upon
my knee and play with her rag-puppets, and here
instead is a strapping wench as tall as I am, and
three good inches taller than any woman has a
right to be, and with a will and a pride as over-
grown as her stature. Mistress Priscilla Alden
may be thankful that she is not Mistress Standish,
with the charge of such an Amazon upon her hands.
Glad enow am I that Mistress Southworth found
it unseemly to let me fetch her home here, and I
will see that it becomes no easier. I -must find
some stout fellow to take her off my hands, some
man of courage and spirit, and not easily cowed,
or, my faith, it will be the worse for him. To
think of her being close kin to Rose, my wife ! "
80 BARBARA STANDISH.
And as that name and that memory rose freshly
in the soldier's mind, he leaned back in his chair,
his eyes fixed upon the fire, his face softening from
the stern and somewhat sneering expression it had
worn but now, and one idle hand beating a tattoo
upon the arm of his wooden chair, while the other
held the forgotten pipe. Then while the firelight
played upon his grizzled hair, and bronzed face,
and high, proud features, a strange dimness crept
into the captain's keen blue eyes, and something
dropped and shone upon his thick-set beard.
" There was never woman like her, there never
will be, and she has spoiled me for the rest," mut-
tered he at last, and with a long sigh roused him-
self, relighted the great pipe, and called upon his
henchman, John Howard, to come in and give him
an account of his day's work among the corn.
Three weeks later Alice Southworth was married
to Governor Bradford, and Barbara removed with
her to her new home, partly as guest, partly as
assistant in the household labor ; for in those early
days there were no servants among the colonists,
but each man and woman did with all his might
whatever his hands found to do, and he was the
most considered who proved himself of most value
to the whole.
Affairs of state, military necessities, and a mu-
tual friendship drew the captain and the gover-
nor constantly together, either in public or at the
Council Chamber on Burying Hill, or at Brad-
ford's own house, where Standish was often hos-
BAEBAEA STANDISH. 81
pitably entreated to dine, sup, and take lodging for
the night. He had thus, without effort or indeed
thought of his own, ample opportunity to culti-
vate the acquaintance of his young kinswoman,
who, on her part, rather sought than shunned op-
portunities of meeting him, for the very purpose,
as Dame Bradford declared, of angering and shock-
ing him. For instance, one day when the talk at
the dinner-table was of Indians reported prowling
about the settlement, Barbara gravely turned to
Bradford and asked if she might borrow his mus-
ket that afternoon for a Ijttle while.
The governor, smiling, gave assent, adding, how-
ever, " But I will draw the charge, fair mistress,
lest thou do thyself an injury."
"Nay, that will not answer my turn," replied
Barbara, willfully. " I must have it loaded, and
that carefully."
"And what then? What will you do with a
loaded musket when you have it in your foolish
hands ? " sternly inquired Myles Standish, turning
sharply toward her.
" What will I do with it! Marry, the same that
you would, cousin-in-law. I am going to walk in
the woods, and if I find an Indian I will shoot
him and bring in his scalp, or, at the very least,
his scalp-lock."
She spoke with a perfectly serious face, and the
captain, after looking at her a moment in deep
displeasure, replied :
" Verily, I think no less than the scalp would
82 BARBARA STANDISH.
serve your turn. It is a pity you came hither,
mistress, for we had men enow already, and needed
some women."
" When the men are so stunted, the women have
to learn manly arts," replied Barbara, quickly.
And the captain :
" It would be well, minion, if you might learn
the manly art of holding your tongue."
" I can hold my tongue when it pleases me, and
I can speak out when it pleases me, as Priscilla
Molines did, when she told John Alden she had
rather marry him than you."
But at this taunt the choleric captain lost pa-
tience altogether, and pushing back his chair from
the table, left the room and the house, his face
black with anger, and his step hasty and dis-
ordered.
" Now see there, thou naughty child ! " exclaimed
Mistress Bradford, half vexed and half amused ;
"thou hast angered our good captain so that I
doubt he will never forgive thee. Why needest
thou have thrown Priscilla in his face ? "
" She likes it, you know, for she threw herself at
John Alden's head ; and I must say I wonder at
her taste, for even my cousin-in-kw is better than
that," replied Barbara, leaving the room almost as
hastily as Standish had done. The master of the
house looked after her and shook his head.
" The maiden is too fro ward, Alice," said he.
M She needs a master, and a sharp one."
" Spoken like a man," replied the wife, smiling
BAEBAEA STANDISH. 83
subtly. " No master but Love will quell our Bar-
bara's spirit, and he has not come yet."
" Isaac Allerton was speaking to me this morn-
ing on her account," replied Bradford, hesitatingly.
" It is a secret, dame, but I trust it with you."
" Have you told her ? " asked Alice, quickly.
" I said something of it," admitted the husband.
" Before telling me, William ! Well, how did
Barbara receive it? "
" But coldly. She said she had no mind to wed
at all, but when I urged her to consider the matter
further, she took until to-morrow morning to think
of it."
" Perhaps it is that makes her so waspish with
her cousin," suggested Alice, smiling. " It is irri-
tating to weak nerves to be in doubt and quan-
dary."
" I had not thought of Barbara's nerves being
weak," returned Bradford, smiling, and stooping
to kiss his wife before leaving the house.
Myles Standish meantime was striding along
through the town and into the woods at a prodi-
gious rate, his face flushed, his brows knitted, and
his blue eyes bright with anger.
" I would she were a lad, and under my com-
mand for but a month," muttered he. " Beshrew
me, but I 'd tame that spirit of hers. And she the
kinswoman of Rose, my wife ! "
A little way from the town the captain stopped
at the smithy to see if the iron braces he had that
morning bespoken for his boat were finished ; but
84 BAEBABA STANDISH.
Manasseh Kempton was only just beginning them,
and in reply to the captain's impatient queries, re-
plied that his wife lay ill in bed, and he had been
nursing her all the morning, but if the captain
would wait but a couple of hours
"Not a couple of minutes, varlet," roared the
captain, forgetting a little the social equality and
brotherly love of the New World. " Do you think
I have no other errand but cooling my heels in a
smithy ? Get the boat done as fast as may be, and
to-night John Howard shall come and fetch it."
So saying, he strode away along the narrow foot-
path bordering the head of the bay, leaving the
stalwart smith amazed and somewhat ill-pleased.
" What ails the captain now ? " muttered he,
throwing one arm above his eyes to shelter them
from the sun, and watching the wiry, active figure
of the soldier as it passed into the shadow of the
pines, and so out of sight. " Has he been a-wooing
again, or have the Council refused to let him pur-
sue the savages to their haunts, as men were saying
he was fain to do ? "
And shaking his head in solemn protest against
such hastiness of speech, or temper, the smith went
back to his work, humming a holy hymn between
his teeth, and timing the cadences with blows of
his heavy hammer upon the white-hot iron he was
fashioning for the captain's boat.
Two good miles of sand and scrub and forest
had Myles Staudish put between himself and town
when, on the crest of a little rocky hill, he threw
BARBARA STAN DISH. 85
himself down to rest for a moment ; and taking off
his steeple-crowned hat with its waving plume of
cock-feathers, worn partly as symbol of his calling,
partly in honor of his ancestral crest, the captain
wiped his brow, and suffering his eyes to rest upon
the lovely view of headland, bay, bright waters,
and brighter sunshine spread before them, felt the
anger of his mood dying within him, and a feeling
of amusement mingling with his annoyance.
"It is ill-befitting a man's dignity to quarrel
with a saucy girl," muttered he, and presently
laughed outright. " I would that I might see her
try to fire the musket that she begged ! Ten
pounds to one that it would kick her over."
The smile was still upon his face, and the merry
fancy in his brain, when up from the woodland at
his feet, the woodland through which he but now
had passed, rang a wild, wild shriek, the cry of
a woman in deadliest terror or pain.
" What now ! Is it a tiger-cat again ? " ex-
claimed Standish, starting to his feet, and hastily
resuming the musket and equipments he had
thrown aside on lying down, and without which no
man traveled in those days. Before he had them
adjusted the cry was repeated, this time a little
nearer. The soldier replied to it with a stirring
halloo, and darted down the hill in the direction
whence it sounded.
" Help ! help ! Oh, quick, for the Lord's sake ! "
shrieked a voice that he knew ; and striking off
from the path into the low growth of the pine
86 BARBARA STANDISH.
wood, he caught presently the glimpse of distant
figures, then the rustle of displaced branches, then
the flutter of a woman's clothes, and springing for-
ward with an angry cry he cut off the retreat of
his flying foe, and stood face to face with a stal-
wart savage, who dropped his prey when thus fairly
overtaken, and, dodging behind a tree, threw his
tomahawk full at the head of his assailant, who
caught it upon the barrel of his piece, and at the
same moment fired at the outline of the Indian's
figure left exposed by the insufficient tree-trunk. A
derisive whoop spoke the ill-success of the shot,
and the next instant the twang of a bowstring
jent an arrow into the captain's shoulder.
With a shout of defiance he sprang forward,
grasping at the dusky arm of the savage and draw-
ing his knife, but with another mocking laugh the
Indian slipped from his grasp, and would have
escaped, when the tomahawk he had thrown was
thrust into the captain's hand, with the hurried
injunction :
" Hurl it at his head ! "
And hurl it Myles Staudish did, so strongly and
jo well that it bit deep into the brain of the flying
savage, and laid him convulsed, dying, dead, at
the foot of the great pine whose shelter he was
seeking.
Then the captain turned to his ally, who stood
pale and trembling, now that all was over, her
hands clasped, and her lips quivering with agita-
tion and alarm.
BARBARA STANDISH. 87
Myles Standish looked at her for a moment with
a grim smile upon his lips, then extending the
knife he still held toward her, he said :
" Now, mistress, go and take the scalp, if you
will." But instead of blazing out in anger, as he
had expected, Barbara only flushed crirhson, raised
her eyes appealingly to his, and softly said :
" Oh, Myles ! That is not kind of you."
" Not kind ? Well " and the captain walked
away to the side of his fallen foe, looked at him
for a moment, then returned. " The savage is
dead," said he, quietly, "and I will take you back
to the town, and tarry there to-night myself."
" Thank you, Myles," said the girl, now so pale
again that her kinsman put his arm about her,
asking anxiously :
" Art going to swoon, child ? "
" No there, I am better now let me but rest
a moment not here, though let us get from
the sight of that horrid creature "
" But you came out of purpose to find and slay
him," insisted Standish, mockingly.
" Nay, Myles, I had not thought you could be
so cruel." And the proud, bright head suddenly
bent itself upon his shoulder, and Barbara sobbed,
as she did all else, with her whole strength.
" Now, then, now, what is this ? What ! crying,
girl, for a cross word or two, and that from me,
whom you hate of all men ! " exclaimed the cap-
tain, putting his hand beneath the square white
chin and raising the quivering lips to m'eet his own.
88 BARBARA STANDISH.
" Why, there, then, let us kiss and be friends, as
the children say. I meant not to hurt thee, lass."
" But you did hurt me, and you are ever hurting
me, with chiding and sneering at me and all my
ways ; and when you say I hate you, you mean
that it is you who hate me, and let slip no occasion
of showing it, and I wish I wish I had never
come out of England to be your mock and scorn."
Down went the head again, while the tears so
long gathering gushed out like a summer tempest.
The gallant captain, the man who knew no fear,
stood for a moment appalled at this most unex-
pected attack ; then, seizing both the strong white
hands with which the girl sought to hide her face,
he held them in his own, saying, eagerly :
" Here is some strange to-do. Tell me, Barbara,
didst really think I hated thee, and mocked at
thee?"
" I did not think it, I knew it," said Barbara,
softly.
" See there, now. While I was thinking that it
was you who could not abide the sight of me, you
were thinking that I hated thee, and so we went
on plaguing each other, and turning the worst side
instead of the best. Dost know, Barbara, I like
thee all the better that thou wast so afeard but
now ? "
"I was horribly afeard, in good sooth," mur-
mured Barbara, clinging to his arm.
" Then thou didst not come out to seek the sav-
age?" asked the captain, smiling with grim playful'
BARBARA STANDISH. 89
" I forgot all about the savage when I came."
" Ay ? And for what didst thou come, then ? "
" I was trying to overtake thee, Myles."
"What! Why was that, child? What was
thine errand ? "
"I I wanted to tell thee that I was sorry for
the gibes and insults I so saucily put upon thee
to-day. I did not mean all I said, Myles, and I
take shame for my frowardness."
Myles Standish looked long and keenly at the
fair and noble face, dyed in blushes, and drooping
before his gaze with a proud shame he had never
seen upon it before. Long he looked, and ear-
nestly, and then he said :
" Why, Barbara, thou art a very woman after
all ; a woman sweet, and tender, and modest as
the most timid of thy sisters ; yes, as womanly as
Rose my wife, and worthy to be her adopted
sister, as she so often called thee. Barbara, seeing
thee thus, I am filled with sudden wonder that I
have not rightly seen and known thee before.
Girl, take care, or instead of hating I shall come
to loving thee outright. I, the gray, grim old
soldier, with his stunted form, as thou didst say
to-day, and his "
" And his great heart and noble spirit, such as
bigger men never yet dreamed of possessing ! "
broke in the girl, her eyes rising brightly upon his,
then falling in a sudden terror at their own te-
merity.
"Barbara! Can it be, Barbara, that I might
90 BABBAEA STANDISH.
win thee to love me, and to look upon me always
with those sweet and gentle eyes, instead of the
scornful regard with which thou hast met me hith-
erto ? Can it be, Barbara ? "
" Thou shouldst have seen what a poor pretense
the scorning was, Myles."
" Then, maiden, thus I make thee mine."
And the captain, taking his betrothed in his
arms, pressed his stern and bearded lips upon her
pure and fresh ones, then led her tenderly on to-
ward the place so soon to.be her home.
For they were married within the month, and
they lived at Duxbury, at the foot of Captain's
Hill, where you may trace the foundations and
stand upon the hearthstone of their house to-day,
and in the Pilgrim Hall of Plymouth you may see
the captain's mighty sword, some household relics
of his home, and a sampler wrought by his only
daughter, bearing a legend beginning with the
words,
" Lorea Standish is my name," etc.
Not only one fair maid, but sons, brave as their
father, tall and comely as their mother, sprang
from this union, and the eldest of them, Alexander
by name, wooed, won, and wedded Sarah, eldest
daughter of John and Priscilla Alden, thus uniting
the two families in one common bond at last.
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
I. ALICE CARPENTER.
" ALICE, will you give me your answer ? I have
traveled many leagues and run no little risk to
ask this question."
" And after all may get no answer at all," re-
torted Alice Carpenter, pouting her pretty lips,
and glancing mutinously into the grave face bent
toward her.
" Nay, child, be not fro ward, nor trifle with what
is or should be solemn earnest to both of us. I
have already told you that this is the only hour I
can call mine own while we remain in England.
It is true, I accepted the mission with the full
intention of seeing you while here ; but, having
accepted, I must fulfill it, and to-night's sunset
should see me far on the road to London."
"Why wait for sunset, Master Bradford ? If
your London business is so pressing, I marvel that
you should delay it for the sake of a silly maiden,
who in truth knows not her own mind as yet."
And the spoiled little beauty turned to chase the
greyhound who leaped in sport upon her.
William Bradford stood moodily watching the
game of play which followed, making for himself,
all unconsciously, a picture of the scene never to
92 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
be forgotten amidst all the vicissitudes of a stormy
life.
It was the garden of an English manor house in
Somersetshire, built in the reign of Elizabeth, then
but just closed, and bearing the sign manual of that
era in the formal architecture of the great rambling
buildings, and the quaint ordering of the garden,
with its yew-trees sedulously clipped in shape of
towers and ships, falcons, peacocks, and rampant
lions ; with its great beds of roses, cultivated not
only for their beauty, but as material for conserves,
rose-water, and scent-jars ; with its trailing honey-
suckles and sweet-brier running riot among clumps
of heart's-ease, garden lilies, love-lies-bleeding,
prince's feather, marigolds, and hollyhocks. The
northern limit of the garden, near which William
Bradford stood, was defined by a high wall built of
the same hard, red bricks as the house, and upon
the southern face of this was nailed a long range
of espalier fruit black-heart cherries, peaches,
pears, and great golden plums, celebrated through-
out the country for their size and flavor. They
were ripe just now, and the hot sun brought out a
musky odor from their rich clusters, filling the air,
and mingling forever in William Bradford's mem-
ory with the hum of the bees, the ringing laughter
of the girl, and the glowing crimson of the roses at
his feet.
Many and many a day, in the dark years that
were to come, that garden bloomed and ripened,
those rich scents filled the air, and the hum of bees
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 93
and peals of laughter filled his ears, among the
black solitudes of the New England forests, or the
cold desolation of the rock-bound coast ; and yet,
looking upon the scene to-day, he saw it not,
heeded it not, thought only of the merry girl,
who, suddenly deserting her playmate, stood beside
him, and mockingly exclaimed : " What ! not gone
yet, Master Bradford ? Truly the elders of your
church did ill to intrust their mission to such a
dreamer and laggard as yourself."
But her jesting drew no responsive smile to the
face of the young man, as, laying a hand lightly
upon her arm, he gravely answered :
" You have had your jest, fair Mistress Alice,
and you have taken your time. Now I will pray
you to give me a serious answer to my most serious
petition. Will you be my wife, and fare with me
to Holland, or it may be farther still for our
people are minded to remove thence to some coun-
try over seas where shall be room for all and op-
portunity for all to thrive by honest labor ? It is
no life of luxury, no certain prospect of any sort,
that I can offer, Alice ; and yet I dare to urge
you, for I know that the great love I bear toward
you, and the earnest will that I find growing within
my heart, will give me power to make you happy,
and shield you from all suffering but such as God
appoints. Alice, will you be my wife ? "
For a moment the girl stood with downcast eyes
and blushing cheeks, her answer trembling upon
her smiling lips, and shining from beneath her
94 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
drooping lids. The lover read it, and suddenly
clasped her to his breast.
" Yes, sweet one, you confess it at last, you
confess even without a word ; and thus I take the
answer you have been so long in giving."
He pressed his lips upon her own, but hardly
had tasted their honey when he was startled by a
smart blow upon the cheek, while Alice, tearing
herself from his embrace, cried, angrily :
" Not so fast, good sir. I never have said that
I would even give you any answer, and here you
pretend to read it in my face, and proceed to take
it unspoken from my lips. I '11 give you no an-
swer at all to-night, no, nor to-morrow morning
neither, unless the humor takes me to do so."
"Then, Alice, you will never give it," replied
the young man, not angrily but resolutely. " When
that sun, now lost in the fir-tops, sinks behind the
horizon, I shall say good-by ; what comes between
now and then it is for you to decide. The petulant
blow and the froward words I forgive, but further
trifling with an honest heart and a man's life I
shall find it hard to pass over. Your answer,
Alice."
" I have told you once, fair sir, that I have no
answer for you before to-morrow morning. I have
a will as well as you, and if you do not care enough
for me to abide my pleasure, why, good-by, good
Master Bradford."
" Good-by, Alice, since you so will it, and yet, I
pray you, pause once more. This is no idle play,
WILLIAM BEADFOEUS LOVE LIFE. 95
Alice, but saddest earnest. I solemnly asure you
that I must be gone at sunset, and I cannot leave
London again before we return to Leyden. If you
are my betrothed your father will bring you to me,
and we will be married "
" Again not so fast, good master," interposed
Alice. " Suppose I refuse to be brought to you in
London. Suppose I demand a longer wooing and
somewhat more ceremony in my wedding? And,
in good sooth, I fancy that your style is altogether
too masterful for me already. I know not what
might chance if you were indeed my lord, so I
think I will say you nay for to-night at least ; it
may be that in the morning I shall have changed
my mind, but now fare you well, sir."
" And fare you well, Alice. I have your answer,
and I have told you more than once that I can wait
for no* other. And yet Alice, I shall be three
days longer in London if you will come to me,
you and your father "
" Marry come up ! I go after you to London,
saying, ' Kind sir, will you of your goodness take
me to wife ? ' A long day it will be before I seek
you, Master Bradford, a very, very long day."
And half in anger, half in mockery, she flung
her handful of roses full into the grave face of
him whom she addressed, and ran, light and swift
as a fawn, up the path toward the house.
One of the roses lodged upon the young man's
folded arms, and, smiling bitterly, he caught it,
looked for a moment into its glowing heart, then
put it inside his doublet.
96 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
"A fair ensample of her love, as sweet, as
short-lived, and as thorny," muttered he ; and
leaving the garden by the postern gate, he mounted
the sturdy horse awaiting him in the green lane
beyond, and rode away just as the sinking sun
touched the horizon.
" He will come to-morrow," whispered Alice
Carpenter, watching the sunset, and listening to
the horse's retreating feet, while her bright cheek
grew pale and her eyes filled with tears.
But the morrow came, and brought neither lover
nor message, and still another and another morrow,
until a grave friend of her father's, down from
London for a day, set the girl's mind at rest by
mentioning that the deputies from the dissenting
folk at Leyden had returned thither, having met
but ill success in their attempt to obtain a patent
from the Virginia Company.
" Fool ! Fool ! Fool ! " muttered Alice between
her set teeth, as she stormed up and down the gar-
den path, where now the rose-petals lay a-dying.
" Fool that I was, and more fool that he was, not
to know that a maiden's no-say does not always
mean blank no ! And yet I care not ; who shall
say that I care overmuch ? "
In this mood her father found her, and placing
her hand within his arm restrained her hurrrying
steps to his own pace, while he said :
" Daughter Alice, I have received a proposition
of marriage for you from a worthy gentleman, not
as I think quite disagreeable to you. Indeed, it is
the son of our friend within there."
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 97
" Master South worth ! " exclaimed Alice.
"Yes. His son Edward asks your hand, dear
child. What is your answer ? "
"Yes."
The father turned in some surprise, and looked
into his daughter's face. It was white and rigid
almost as death.
" My daughter, there is no need for such instant
consent unless you are quite sure of your own
mind. I had thought that Master Bradford "
"Do not mention that person, if it please you,
sir. I like Edward Southworth passing well. He
is a brave gentleman, and a courteous ; and, please
you, dear father, go and tell your friend that I
say yes, and excuse me for to-night. Good-e'en,
father."
" Good-e'en, little maid ; and yet, wait one mo-
ment before you run away. -It is but right that
you should know that I have nearly settled my
mind to sell all that I have, and cast in my for-
tunes with our brethren in Holland. It was for
that I went to London so often in the last month,
while worshipful Elder Brewster and his associates
were there. If I do this, and you wed with Ed-
ward Southworth, who abides in London, we must
be parted, my little girl, we two who have never
been parted yet."
" Oh, father ! " and Alice, clinging about her
father's neck, wept piteously ; wept for the ap-
proaching separation, and wept for the death of
her young love-dream, yet never wavered in her
desperate determination.
98 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
" Oh, father, father ! " sobbed she, and then
" but you will have all my sisters left, and I could
never abide in Holland."
" It will not be like this, truly ; " and the man
looked round upon the pleasant garden where he
had played in childhood, where he had wooed his
sweet young wife, where he had wandered seeking
comfort for her early death, and where he had
thought to watch his own day draw to its close.
" Not like this, but ' whoso loveth house or
lands better than me ' it is daily borne in upon
my mind that I must go, Alice ; and for myself I
grudge not the sacrifice ; nor for your sisters who
are ready to go ; but if you shrink from the toil
and privation, or if your conscience does not bid
you go, sweet one, here is an opening for honorable
escape. What say you ? "
" I will never go to Holland, father. And if
Edward Southworth cares to marry me, he may."
She was gone, and her father, looking after her
in wonder and some doubt, could only say :
" What man so wise as to read a woman's heart !
But yet it was consent, and as such I must repeat
it."
Six months later, Alexander Carpenter, with his
daughters Agnes, Juliana, Mary, and Priscilla, ar-
rived at Leyden, and among his first guests was
William Bradford, who, with pale lips and a high-
throbbing heart, inquired of him for news of his
daughter Alice.
" Alice ? She wedded with Edward Southworth
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 99
the morning that I sailed from Southampton," re-
plied the father, carelessly, for already he had for-
gotten a dim suspicion formed by the strange man-
ner of the girl at the time of her betrothal, and
Bradford had never opened his mind to him.
II. DOROTHY MAY.
From the house of Father Robinson, the pastor
of the struggling community at Leyden, and with
whom Master Carpenter was at present lodged,
William Bradford returned to his own abode in
a family of the name of May. In the little par-
lor sat a young girl spinning flax upon a small
wheel, who at his entrance glanced up, blushing
brightly.
" So soon returned, William ! " said she, shyly.
" Did not you find your friends ? "
" Yes and no," replied the young man, toss-
ing his hat upon the table, and throwing himself
upon the high-backed settle beside the fire.
" * Yes and no ! ' You speak in riddles, friend,"
said the girl, her bright color fading as quickly as
it had come. " Have you ill news from home ? "
" No, Dorothy, no ill news ; no news at all to a
man who knows what women are ; only tidings
that one whom I thought mine own has given her-
self to another man, and I dare to say, were
the whole truth known, cares naught for either of
us."
And as he spoke he folded his arms upon the
end of the settle, and bowed his face upon them,
100 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
careless whether she who watched perceived the
emotion he could no longer conceal.
A few moments passed in utter silence, and then
a light foot crossed the floor, a hesitating hand was
laid upon his head, and a girlish form sank upon
its knees beside him.
" William, dear William ! " said Dorothy May's
soft voice ; " all women are not like that."
" What care I whether they be or not ? " And
the young man ground something worse tl?an a sob
between his clenched teeth.
Another pause, and then again the timid voice :
" Nay, William, do not scorn all because one is
false, for that is neither just nor kind to your-
self."
" I do not scorn you, Dorothy. You are good
and kind, and will, I doubt not, some day be true
to the man who wins your love ; but she "
"Indeed I would be true, did the man I love
love me," sighed the girl, her head sinking so low
as to hide the glowing color of her cheeks.
William Bradford listened ; took counsel of his
own heart : nay, then, of his wounded pride and
love, if you will have Jthe truth ; finally sat upright,
and placed a hand beneath the chin of that rosy
face, raising it to a level with his own.
" And you love a man who loves not you, fair
Mistress Dorothy ? " asked he at length.
" To my shame be it spoken."
" Nay, to the honor of thy tender, humble heart.
And wouldst thou wed that man, knowing that he
WILLIAM BBADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 101
had loved another woman passing well, and that
the wound was not wholly healed ? "
" I would wed him, and try to heal the wound
with my own love," whispered the girl.
" Dorothy, am I that man ? "
" None other."
" And thou wilt be my wife ? "
" A true and loving one, so surely as God gives
me strength and life."
" So be it." And again the young man raised
the blushing face, and kissed the trembling lips.
It was a strange betrothal, a most unwise one ;
for human love is at best but a feeble staff to sup-
port one over life's rough places; and, weakened
as this was, ah, who could not have foreseen the
end?
But Dorothy May's parents saw only comfort
and satisfaction in the gaining a husband for their
child of so well-esteemed a character and so fair
worldly prospects, not to mention the setting at
rest a suspicion which had for some time haunted
the good mother's mind, connecting Dorothy's pale
cheeks, lagging step, and tearful eyes with William
Bradford's attention or neglect.
So all was arranged without difficulty on the
one side or the other ; and the second letter that
Master Carpenter sent home to his daughter
Alice announced the marriage of her " sometime
playmate, William Bradford, to a very worthy
and also comely young woman, Dorothy May by
name."
102 WILLIAM BBADFOKD'S LOVE LIFE.
t
III. MISTRESS ALICE SOUTHWORTH.
When Mistress Southworth read this letter in
the dim, vast chamber of her new home in " Duks
Place, near Heneage House," she uttered a little
cry, and with one of the impulsive movements of
her girlhood flung it into the fire blazing at her
feet. Then she covered her face and sobbed for a
few moments wildly, passionately ; and at last she
rose, and, slowly pacing the long, vaulted chamber,
took counsel with her own heart, until at last, com-
ing back to the fireplace, she stood there, a pretty
picture, with the ruddy light striking up upon her
fair young face, disheveled golden curls, and whit-
est throat and arms, left bare by the fashion of the
rich " padusoy " robe which fell trailing upon the
oaken floor.
As fair a picture, and but little older than that
of the girl who, half in jest and half in wrath, had
pelted her lover with roses in the quaint walled
garden of the manor-house six months before, and
yet
The crisp cinder of the burned letter had fallen
out from the fire, and lay upon one of the painted
tiles of the wide hearth. Smiling bitterly, Alice
Southworth stirred it with the toe of her satin shoe ;
it crumbled beneath the touch, and caught by one
of the draughts eddying through the room, flew in a
cloud of black flakes up the chimney and was gone.
" So best so best ! Smoke and ashes, and the
last trace blown to the four winds ! So let it be."
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 103
And thus unconsciously echoing the words in
which William Bradford had sealed his betrothal,
Alice South worth closed, as she thought forever,
the sweetest chapter in her book of life, and turned
to the new duties and new ties she had voluntarily
if rashly assumed.
iv. PILGRIMS.
"And you will sail with these others in the
Mayflower, Master Bradford?" said Elder Car-
penter, glancing keenly at the young man, who sat
looking gloomily from the latticed window of the
little Dutch ale-house where they had met for
noontide refreshment.
" Yes, I have so resolved," replied he, moodily.
" And your wife and the little one ? "
" They will remain behind I think."
" Does the dame consent to be so deserted ? "
" We have not yet spoken of it. She can re-
main with her mother, and come to me afterward,"
said the younger man, hesitatingly ; and Elder
Carpenter again glanced keenly into his perturbed
face.
" It is a grievous burden to my spirit," said he,
after a pause, " that I am denied this means of
testifying to my faith. Were it only mine own
infirmities and inconvenience that stood in the
road I would count it naught, though I perished
by the way ; but I must not burden you younger
men with the charge of one who can at best serve
but little purpose in the life you enter upon, and
104 WILLIAM BEADFOBD'S LOVE LIFE.
would most likely become a serious charge and
trial. Nor can I bear to abide here longer, or
to lay my bones in foreign soil. My night ap-
proaches, and I will get me to mine own land and
sleep where my fathers sleep."
" You will return into England ? " asked Brad-
ford, in some surprise.
" Yes. This ship has brought me letters from
my daughter, Mistress Southworth. She has met
with heavy affliction in the loss of her good hus-
band ; and she prays me very earnestly to return
to her, I and my daughters Mary and Priscilla still
unwedded, and abide beneath her roof to the end
of my days."
"Master Edward Southworth dead!" echoed
Bradford, blankly.
"The Lord has willed it so," replied the elder,
reverently.
" And Alice a widow ! "
" The widowed mother of two little children.
Truly she needs a father's counsel and assistance,"
mused the old man, and, lost in reverie, he did not
perceive that with his last words William Bradford
had left the room.
Deep in that evening's twilight, as Dorothy sat
hushing her child to sleep with the murmured
cadence of a hymn, some one entered the room and
laid two hands upon her shoulders from behind.
" Is it you, William ? " asked the young mother,
softly.
** Yes, wife. I shall sail with the first party of
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 105
adventurers in the Mayflower. Will you go with
me?"
" Why, this is something more than sudden ! "
exclaimed Dorothy, trying to turn her face toward
her husband, who resisted the attempt, and only
repeated :
" Will you go with me, wife ? "
" Where you go I will go, you know full well,"
was the meek response. " But why have you not
told me your will before, that I might have made
preparation ? "
" I did not know it myself ; and I thought that
if I went, you and the child would abide a while
with our good mother here. But if you will go,
Dorothy, it will be a singular favor to me."
And now the wife would not be restrained, but,
rising hastily, confronted her husband with looks of
undisguised amazement.
" A singular favor to you ! " repeated she.
" Why, what words are these from you to me,
William ! Am I not your own true and loving
wife, no less bound to obey your lightest wish than
anxious to lay down my life, if so I might pleasure
you ? Why, had you waited until our friends were
embarking at Delft Haven and then said to me,
Up and follow them ! do you think I would have
faltered ? And had you tried to go without me,
William, I would have thrown myself at your feet
and wept and prayed and importuned until you
gave consent to my accompanying you. Dear
husband, what have I done amiss that you should
106 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
have entertained this cruel thought of leaving
me?"
She was weeping now, and clinging about his
neck, so that she could not see the ashen face and
haggard eyes he bowed above her, as, gently re-
moving those clinging arms, he said :
" Naught amiss, naught amiss, Dorothy ! You
have ever been, as you promised to be, a true, faith-
ful, and most loving wife. Mine is all the blame,
mine should be the punishment."
"What blame? what punishment? What do
your words mean, dear William ? And what makes
you look so wan and distraught ? Have you bad
news from England? they told me that a ship
was arrived with letters "
" Peace, woman, peace ! The wife should not
too curiously pry into her husband's will, but ac-
cept it unquestioned, for is he not her head and
law?"
And, with a laugh of bitterest self-contempt,
William Bradford left the room and the house.
The next day, when Dorothy Bradford went
abroad to consult her gossips about the needful
preparation for the voyage and the new life before
her, she heard the news of Edward Southworth's
death, and clasping her ha ads of a sudden above
her heart, cried out as if in sharpest pain.
" Dear child, what is it ? what ails you ? " ex-
claimed her friend, running to her.
" Nothing, nothing ! A sudden pang I know
not what as if one's heart broke ; but hearts do
not break in sober truth, do they ? "
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 107
" No, not so suddenly as that, nor yet without a
cause, and we all know you have none, Mistress
Dorothy," said the other, sharply eying the pallid
face and trembling form of the young woman.
" Not when I am leaving my mother and my
little child, and may never see either again ? "
asked Dorothy, bursting into tears, and making her
escape.
And that day she began to die.
v. DOROTHY BRADFORD'S JOURNAL.
In the month of August, 1620, the Leyden Pil-
grims sailed in the Speedwell from Delft Haven
for England, and some weeks later, transshipped
into the Mayflower, sailed from Southampton for
God alone knew where.
Let him who would know what human courage
and human fortitude, combined with a high faith
and confidence almost more than human, are capa-
ble of, let him read the record of that voyage, as
told in Bradford's own simple and earnest record,
so self-forgetful and so unconscious of its own im-
portance that the only fault of the history is that
it omiks all notice of the historian, except in the
vaguest allusion,
Had not other papers remained, some precious
letters, and a few leaves of a private diary in the
faint and timid manuscript of a woman, this
story had never been written, or had been based
upon mere imaginings, instead of saddest and most
undoubted fact.
108 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
Let us here transcribe one of these fragmentary
leaves literally, except for the modernizing of some
obsolete phrases, and the supplying of some words
illegible from time and wear.
It is Dorothy Bradford who writes :
" At last, praise be to God ! we lie within sight of land,
but what a land ! Stern rocks, with cruel waves forever
dashing upon them, black forests sheltering who knows
what fearful creatures, and still more fearful salvages ;
snow, ice, desolation at every hand ; no housen, no Chris-
tian people, no sign of the work of man ; I had almost
said, no sign of the work of God. Such is our new
home ; and yet we have no choice but to accept it, for
the captain says and swears that he can carry us no
farther, and, unless we determine where we will establish
ourselves without more delay,' he will put us ashore at the
nearest point.
" William, with Master Carver, Myles Standish, and
some others, has gone ashore in one of the ship's boats,
to discover, if they may, what sort of place lies over
against us at this present. I trust they will not elect to
settle just here, for surely no place can be worse, if as
bad. And yet I know not why I should care. All the
earth hereabout will be too sternly frozen to give me
room. I wonder how they would go about to dig a grave !
pity to give them so much pains, when this cold, bitter
sea washing past my cabin window would bury me in a
moment a little moment !
" Ah, God forgive me ! what wild and wicked thoughts
are these! Away ! away ! Get thee behind me, Sa-
thanas ! Last night I dreamed that my mother came to
me with my baby dead in her arms, my baby, my one
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 109
child. Ah, child ! you never loved another better than
ine, and yet I left you for him. When I woke
startled from my dream, he stirred in his sleep, and mur-
mured : ' Alice ! Sweetest, dearest ! '
" That was all, for I laid my hand upon his lips, and
he kissed it, and so slept again. Ah, did he know it was
my hand he kissed, or did he still dream ? They do not
dream when they are dead, I think. I hope not, surely,
for I would not be haunted with that dead baby, nor yet
with his father, whispering in his sleep : ' Alice ! Sweet-
est, dearest ! '
" Dec. 7. Well, they did not pitch upon that spot
where we lay when I last wrote, and now we are moved
farther into a great bay or gulf, and lie again at anchor,
while the men, with Master Bradford among them, are
away exploring anew. They found before some bas-
kets with corn in them, and some signs of rude cabins,
where it is supposed the salvages or Indyins lived,
though now they are gone. But it is weary work not-
ing these things down, and in sooth I have small heart
for even thinking of them. Last night I dreamed again
of my baby, and he wore wings and stretched his little
arms to me. I would I knew if he be indeed in heaven.
I wonder if I could win there if I took my life in mine
own hand, and so went begging entrance. William
speaks no more of Alice, either waking or sleeping, and
in good sooth he speaks but little to me in any fashion.
One might think he was afraid of me, he shrinks so from
my presence, and yet I never reproached him, oh, never
never ! How could I, when my whole heart has wasted
itself in vain love and longing toward him ? Yes, I
think that is why I must die ; my life has wasted itself
like a little brook I once saw at home that came leaping
110 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
down from the hillside, and falling upon a sandy plain
was swallowed up, and perished, in spite of all its strug-
gles. Poor brook ! Poor Dorothy ! I wonder will he
be sorry when I am dead. Ah, how the cold, bitter sea
runs past these windows ! I will up to the deck, and
climb over in the chains as I did yesterday, and look
down at the water. Perchance God forgive me, God
forgive me the awful thought, and yet "
That is the last, the very last, of the worn and
faded manuscript. Join it to what follows.
In the journal of William Bradford, after a long
and minute account of the perils and adventures of
the exploring party who finally selected the site of
the present town of Plymouth, Massachusetts, as
their point of debarkation, occurs the brief state-
ment that, upon their return to the ship, it was dis-
covered that Dorothy Bradford had fallen overboard
and was drowned.
Only that.
VL WILLIAM BRADFORD AND ALICE SOUTH-
WORTH.
Almost two years later, Mistress Southworth, fa-
therless as well as husbandless, received a letter
of which but one torn fragment remains. Let us
add it to our story :
God he knows, I never wished her death, or failed
in the dismal effort to feign a love I never felt. How ill
I succeeded you shall see, for I send you certain writings
in the fashion of a diary, discovered in one of her coffers
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. Ill
some time after her most untimely end. No eyes but
mine have seen them.
And now, Mistress Southworth, nay, I will say, as ,1
have said many a fair time before now, sweet Alice, I
ask you once again, as I asked you long since (and I think
you will remember, as I do, the fair, well-ordered garden,
with its bourgeon of bloom and its rich scents of fruit and
flowers, and the humming of the bees about the ripened
plums), I ask you once again the question that I asked
you then and there, and once again I beg you for such
answer as truthful woman should give to honest wooer,
will you have me to your husband ? And yet, Alice,
as I write, the scales fall from mine eyes, and I see as I
have not before that I am asking far more of you now
than I asked then. I have been the husband of another
woman ; my worldly estate is mean and impoverished,
notwithstanding the title of Governor which my brothers
and co-workers here have bestowed upon me since the
death of the noble Carver ; and the life which I ask you
to share is one of labor and self-forgetfulness.
But yet, Alice, I dare to ask you, for within my own
heart I carry an assurance of such undying love and
respect toward you that it meseems to outvalue all other
things, and if it were possible that you could find in your
own breast a similar assurance, I think, Mistress, that
not your garden, whose bloom and scent lie so fairly in
my memory, were a sweeter abode than these rugged
rocks and melancholy forests, so we two might be to-
gether.
In conclusion, I must say that although I have dis-
coursed at large upon this matter to you, and although
much pains and many qualms of doubt have gone to the
composition of this letter, I find by reviewing it that I
112 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
have said nothing of what is hi my heart, and have
worded my petitions so coldly and so awkwardly that I
hardly dare hope you will approve them ; but yet, Alice,
I remember me of a time long since when I thought
yet let that pass, and believe that, whether you say me
yea or nay, I shall ever be, while life endures,
Your faithful friend and humble servitor,
WILLIAM BRADFORD.
Stitched to this fragment of a letter is another,
a mere scrap, written in the cramped, delicate, and
almost illegible hand of a woman, and superscribed
To the Worshipful Governor of the Plymouth Colony
in Massachusetts Bay, these :
FAIR SIR, You do remember my father's garden
with its roses and its wall-fruit so well that I marvel you
should have forgotten the last words ever spoken to you
in that garden by me, or rather, the marvel is that I
should remember them myself ; and yet I do. I told
you then, Master Bradford, nay, pardon me, I would
have writ, Right Worshipful Governor Bradford, I
told you then that it should be a long day and a very
long day before you should see Alice Carpenter following
you to London and offering herself to you for wife ; and
now you ask me to come, not to London, but across seas
to the strange New World where you abide, and all with
the selfsame purpose. Truly, sir, I marvel at your hardi-
hood, and again I marvel more at my own sudden lowli-
ness of heart which does not resent as I would have it
this arrogance of yours. Wait until I summon Pride,
and ask her counsel. " Give him the old answer," quoth
she, and so, sir, you have my reply. Yet softly, here
WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE. 113
speaks another voice ; methinks it is that of Common-
Sense. " How fared it with yourself after you gave
him that scoffing answer five years ago ? " And again :
" Mind you, the long day that you promised him has
passed, and it is not Alice Carpenter who goes to seek
him, but Alice Southworth."
So sit I, listening to my counselors, uncertain which to
credit as the true one ; and so, unable to determine the
bent of my own mind, I close these lines, and remain,
fair sir, your good wisher and old friend,
ALICE CARPENTER SOUTHWORTH.
Post Scriptum. I omitted to mention in the body of
my letter that I am resolved upon emigration, and have
taken passage in the ship Anne, bound from Southamp-
ton to your colony, for myself, my two children, and
my sister Mary, whom you will perhaps remember, and
perhaps also may elect to the place in your affections
once held by my unworthy self. At all rates, however, we
shall have the time and opportunity for considering face
to face these matters, so largely and yet so uncertainly
spoken of in our letters.
VII. THE END.
No tradition, no memento, tells us how the gov-
ernor of Plymouth Colony received this letter of
his former love, this proof that time and distance
and sorrow had cured her neither of her audacious
coquetry nor her affection for himself; but this
much we do know, that when the Anne arrived in
Plymouth harbor, in the last days of July, 1623,
it brought among her passengers Mistress Alice
Southworth, although neither her boys nor her
114 WILLIAM BRADFORD'S LOVE LIFE.
sister Mary came for another while. But Mary
did not marry William Bradford, for, many years
after, she died " a godly old maid who never mar-
ried."
Three weeks after the arrival of the Anne, Alice
Southworth and William Bradford became man
and wife, and here is the double note of the event
made in the governor's private journal by his own
hand and hers :
" This day Alice Carpenter hath answered the question
I asked of her six years agone among the roses of her
father's garden in Somersetshire, and she hath answered
yea, as she should have answered then."
And below, this note :
"This day, the 15th of August, shall hereafter be
known as the long day ; for it is the one promised by
that same Alice Carpenter as the day whereon she would
wed with William Bradford, whom God forever bless
and hold in his holy keeping."
What more do we know ? Only that they lived
to a ripe old age, and departed, he some years the
first, leaving sons and daughters to inherit their
name, and perchance their qualities.
NAZARETH PITCHER.
UPON the coast of Massachusetts, a little south
of the headland where Thomas Morton set up the
Maypole of Merry Mount, and that neighboring
height whence Sir Christopher Gardiner watched
the Boston catchpoles coming to arrest him, a
curious little bay makes in, called Floater's Cove.
Ask whom you please, within twenty miles of its
waters, how or when or why Floater's Cove re-
ceived its name, and you will probably be informed
that the how and the when are questions without
reply, but that the why is " because of the floaters
there."
Pursuing the inquiry, you will further learn that,
owing to some peculiarity in the trend of the shore
and the course of the tides, whatever bread may
be cast upon the waters within fifty miles of this
point is sure, sooner or later, to make its appear-
ance in Floater's Cove, there to be either thrown as
a waif upon its shores, or to wearily wear itself to
fragments by ceaselessly beating upon the rocky
point that guards its entrance.
Holding fast to this clue, you will, if you care to
pursue the inquiry, be led to search the county
records in the neighboring shire town, and will
find that the tract of land granted to Gabriel
116 NAZARETH PITCHER.
Pitcher, yeoman, in 1685, is bounded upon its east-
ern limit by the waters of Flotsam Bay. More puz-
zled than you were before, because a new idea be-
gins to stir in your mind, you will close the book,
thank the dignified clerk for his courtesy, and go
away, not satisfied, but as nearly so as you are ever
likely to be, for you will have possessed yourself of
all the exact facts to be gained upon the subject.
Compassionating your evident desire for informa-
tion, some one of the half dozen dwellers beside
Floater's Cove will direct you to the " old Pitcher
place," and, making your way there through fra-
grant summer lanes, you may be privileged as was I
to sit in the woodbine-covered porch of the old, old
house, and listen with dreamy faith to the story of
an ancient dame, who fills the pauses of her legend
with the whirr of such a spinning-wheel as the
wife of the first Gabriel Pitcher may have used be-
neath this very roof ; for, as the spinner assures
you with triumphant appeal to the solid log-built
walls and massive masonry of the chimneys, this is
the house built by the first Gabriel upon his newly
acquired property.
About half-way between that day and this, the
master of the Pitcher house and farm was a Gabriel,
who, in addition to his hereditary possessions, had
acquired property in a wife and an only child, a
daughter, upon whom he had bestowed the name of
Nazareth, and whom he educated in the fear of
God and the love of duty, as interpreted by the
strait rule of Puritan tradition.
NAZARETH PITCHER. 117
It may be that Gabriel enforced this rule a little
more strictly than was quite consistent with the
comfort of his household, by way of making
amends for the fact that he had himself departed
from it in marrying a Quaker, who, loving and
submissive wife though she had proved, quietly re-
tained and exercised the privilege of separate faith
stipulated for in her marriage covenant. With
equal exactness did she observe the counter stipula-
tion that her children were to be educated in their
father's creed, and Nazareth had assuredly been
so educated. But besides the Puritan and the
Quaker, the girl possessed a third parent called
Nature, and upon her bestowed all unconsciously
an adoring faith and tenderness quite foreign to
the placid love and duty never denied to father or
mother.
Those whom we love, we love to meet without
spectators, and Nazareth's reward and indulgence,
after the labor of the day, was to wander by her-
self through the woods and fields, or along the
shore, indulging in the dreams and reveries that
her father would have called sinful and her mother
idle. The third parent, however, approved and en-
couraged them ; and to her only did Nazareth re-
veal them, not in words, but in snatches of song, in
faint lingering smiles, in long, wistful gazing across
the quiet waters, in half-unconscious tears and
causeless sighs, in the tender touch of her lips
upon some unplucked flower, in the fondling care
bestowed upon some wounded bird or stranded fish.
118 NAZAEETH PITCHES.
" If Nature put not forth her power
About the opening of the flower,
Who is it that could live an hour ? "
It was in the dreamy twilight of an autumnal
day that Nazareth, somewhat sad and solitary,
though why she could not have told, sat upon the
beach at the head of Floater's Cove, and amused
herself by shaping figures in the mist wreaths creep-
ing in from seaward. Of a sudden one of these
shadowy forms grew real, and from an iceberg or a
man-of-war fell to the proportions of a little boat,
manned and commanded by a gallant young fellow,
who presently leaped ashore, and holding his boat
by the painter as a landsman might his horse, took
off his cap and said :
" Excuse me, madam, but can you tell me who
lives in the farmhouse beyond the hill ? "
"My father, Gabriel Pitcher," said Nazareth,
with the blood tingling at her fingers' ends.
" And do you think he would give a night's lodg-
ing to a belated traveler?" pursued the stranger,
with a frank smile ; and as the girl slightly hesi-
tated at answering a question in her father's name,
he continued, with a little hauteur :
" My name is Richard Armstrong, and I am pas-
senger upon the ship Anne Levering, lying just
now in the harbor above here. Finding the time
hang somewhat heavy upon my hands, I took a
boat this morning and set out for a cruise along
the shore. I ran farther than I intended before
t\ie wind, and now that I have it ahead, and the
NAZAEETR PITCHER. 119
fog coming in like a race-horse, I hardly dare ven-
ture a night voyage in unknown waters. So, fair
Mistress Pitcher, if your father will, as I said, give
me shelter, and you will show me the way to his
house, I shall owe you both my hearty thanks and
such further acknowledgment as you will consent
to receive."
" Come with me, sir, and I will bring you to my
father, who will answer for himself," said Nazareth,
not without a certain quiet pride upon her own
part, and then she stood silently observant while
Richard Armstrong made fast his little skiff to the
boulder upon which she had been sitting, arranged
his disordered dress, and finally turned to her, say-
ing with a smile :
" Your pardon again, mistress, for having kept
you waiting, but I am ready at last."
So they went silently up the rocky path, and
over the hill, and through the meadow skirting
the wood, until, through the shining and odorous
orchard, they came upon the house, and Gabriel
Pitcher just coming from the barn with pails of
frothing milk.
To him the stranger announced his errand in the
same frank and assured manner he had already
told it to the girl; and, hardly waiting for the
end, the farmer gave him welcome in the hearty
and homely fashion of the times when words meant
deeds, not sound.
In the morning the guest departed, but with an
invitation and a promise to repeat his visit before
120 NAZARETH PITCHES.
the Anne Levering should again set sail for Eng-
land, whence she had come. The promise was kept
so well that the Anne Lovering discharged her
cargo, and received another, and at last set sail for
her appointed port, while Richard Armstrong lin-
gered in the quaint old seaport town which at first
he had pronounced so dull, and where now he
seemed well content to spend his life. To such
questions as were put to him, he answered care-
lessly that he had no especial business anywhere,
that he was traveling to see the world, and that
his stay or his departure at any given time were
equally uncertain.
So Nazareth no longer wandered alone upon the
shore, or through the withering fields and woods ;
no longer gazed with nameless yearning across the
waters, or spent her tenderness upon flowers or
birds or fishes. The sun had risen upon her day,
and his glory filled her life with joy and beauty.
All this did not come about unquestioned. The
mother, through many wise and cautious observa-
tions, convinced herself of the probity and moral
worth of her daughter's lover, and the father made
inquiry of the merchants to whom Armstrong gave
his reference as to his worldly standing and repute.
The answers to these questions were satisfactory
beyond the farmer's expectations ; and, in the con-
fidence of their own bedroom, he informed his wife
that Nazareth had done better for herself than ever
he had expected to see her.
So the wooing prospered, and at Thanksgiving
NAZARETH PITCHER. 121
time there was a quiet wedding at the old farm-
house, and Nazareth Pitcher became Nazareth Arm-
strong, while her father, with pride and ambition,
and her mother with loving trust, looked on with
no thought of misgiving.
It had been settled that the new-married couple
were to spend the winter at the farmhouse, and in
the spring to take passage for England, the bride-
groom's home. But when spring came these plans
were changed. Armstrong, who had in the course
of the winter made several journeys to the city, for
the purpose, as he said, of receiving remittances
and news from home, brought back upon one occa-
sion a very grave face and a business-looking letter
announcing that his immediate presence in London
was absolutely necessary to the safe conduct of his
affairs. This letter he showed to Nazareth ; and
when she had read it, and looked confidingly into
his face, he kissed her and said :
" You see, sweetheart, that I must go at once."
" Yes, we must go," said Nazareth, placidly.
" Not we, but I," explained the husband, with a
look of pain and something more upon his face.
" I cannot take you in your present state of health,
and in this stormy season of the year. You must
wait, and I will come again for you so soon as you
can travel."
The poor child turned as white as the stiow dash-
ing against the window, and sank suddenly into a
chair. It was the first cloud between her and that
glorious sun that had risen upon her life, and the
122 NAZARETH PITCHER.
shadow fell with an ominous chill upon her heart.
She said little, however, and her parents less, in
opposition to her husband's plan ; and a week later
he left them, with more than one tender charge to
Nazareth's parents to keep her safely until his re-
turn, and to Nazareth herself so many loving and
passionate farewells that the mother at last came
between them, saying, gently :
" Richard, thee will make her sick. Go, and
return as quickly as thy business permits. Thou
dost not leave thy wife with strangers, but with
her own people."
A prophetic sentence, and one that may have
risen to the memories of all that little group more
than once in the days that were to follow.
A letter sent back by the pilot announced that
Armstrong had sailed, and another, two months
later, that he had arrived at Liverpool, but after
this nothing. Nazareth wrote by every oppor-
tunity, and waited with the terrible patience of
woman for replies, but none came. The long, hot
summer days found her still watching and waiting,
a little less confidently now, but still with a pa-
tience only to end with life. Her favorite haunt was
Floater's Cove ; and here she would sit for hours,
curiously watching the waves breaking at her feet,
and now and again depositing some waif of town,
or vessel, or far-off wreck. Once her mother, softly
following, stood watching her long and silently
until she could bear it no longer, and, coming for-
ward, drew the bright head to a pillow upon her
bosom, saying :
NAZAEETH PITCHER. 123
" Does thee think to find news of him among
the floaters, child ? "
" It will come in God's own time, mother," said
the girl, turning her white face a little closer to
that tender heart ; and so they sat for hours, with
never another word between them.
At last Nazareth could go no longer to the shore,
and when the golden autumn came, and brought
the anniversary of the day she first met Richard
Armstrong, her desperate calm gave way at last ;
and shutting herself up in her own chamber, her
marriage chamber, she gave way to such a terrible
passion of grief as in the end nearly destroyed her
life, for before morning she was desperately ill, and
when she recovered it was with the loss of the
great hope and joy that had hitherto sustained her.
The anniversary of her wedding came and passed,
and the broken-hearted mother left her daughter's
bedside and came to her husband, where he sat
alone, gloomily gazing into the embers of a decay-
ing fire.
" We shall lose her, Gabriel ; she is going fast.
Our only child is dying, and none can save,"
moaned she.
" She shall not die ! How dare you say that none
can save ? Is this your faith in God, or in your
own child?" sternly demanded the old Puritan,
and, rising up, he went straight to Nazareth's bed-
side and confronted her, not with the tender peti-
tions of love, but the stern and requiring exhorta-
tions of his uncompromising belief, demanding that
124 NAZARETH PITCHER.
she should rouse herself from the lethargy of soul
and body into which she had fallen, should prove
herself worthy of her ancestry and of the holy
faith in which she had been bred ; that she should
remember those who had cared and prayed and
toiled for her through all her infancy and youth,
and make some effort now to repay their exertions
by the exertion on her own part necessary to keep
life within her wasting body.
To this keen and wintry argument Nazareth list-
ened with wide-open eyes, and cheeks that flushed
and paled with emotion. Evidently the shock of
such an appeal, following the tender and tearful
lamentations of her mother, had at least recalled
the dying girl's attention to matters around her
which had seemed entirely forgotten or set aside.
When Gabriel Pitcher ceased, his daughter humbly
said i
" Thank you, father. I will try."
And try she did to such effect that in a few days
she was creeping about the house, the wreck and
shadow of herself to be sure, but still alive, and
with the weapons of youth and a strong constitu-
tion to aid her in the terrible fight she had yet to
make against despair.
The winter passed, and the spring came on with
more than its usual proportion of furious storms
and deadly winds. Floater's Bay was crowded
with relics of wrecks and trophies torn from vessels
not wholly subdued by the attack of wind and
wave. Nazareth, now restored to bodily health,
NAZARETH PITCHES. 125
but sadly changed from the bright and hopeful girl
whom Richard Armstrong had found waiting for
him upon the shore, had resumed her daily walks,
and almost every sunset found her seated quietly
upon her favorite rock, watching the wild waves at
her feet as earnestly as if some day they were sure
to bring her back the peace and joy and hope
that she so long had lost.
One night her father interposed as she was leav-
ing the house, saying :
" There will be an awful storm to-night, Naza-
reth ; I would not go down to the shore. Wait
until morning."
"Very well, father," replied she, and waited;
but all the night long her mother heard her softly
pacing her chamber, moaning and sobbing, and
only pausing while she leaned from the casement
out into the black and howling storm. Suddenly
she came to her father's door and called to him :
" Father ! father ! There is a vessel driving upon
White Reef ! They are firing guns. I can see
their lights. Oh, father, father, can nothing be
done ? "
She was like one mad in the fierce excitement of
her hope, and before her father left the house he
led her back to her chamber and turned the key
upon her, saying to his wife :
" Go to her, Rachel, and do not leave her for
one moment, if you care for her. She fancies that
man is aboard the wreck, and she may be down on
the beach before you know it, unless you watch."
126 NAZARETH PITCHER.
" Surely I will watch over her, Gabriel," replied
the mother, somewhat reproachfully ; but when,
after helping her husband to gather together the
articles likely to be needed upon his expedition,
the good woman went to look after her charge, it
was too late. The casement swung loose in the
furious wind, and the chamber was empty. Like
one distracted, the poor mother rushed out into the
night, calling and searching, equally in vain, for
the sweeping blast bore away her -voice, and the
darkness and rain blinded her eyesight. She knew
not whither her husband had gone, or what point
Nazareth would be likely to attempt to reach, so
that finally she could only return to the house, and,
casting herself upon her knees, pour out her soul
in silent prayer, not only for her own beloved ones,
but those others who might at that moment be per-
ishing even in sight .of rescue. Morning broke
and found her still so occupied ; but as soon as the
light had grown sufficient to enable her to distin-
guish objects with certainty, she prepared to leave
the house, and, in spite of the unabated storm, to
seek her child wherever she might have wandered.
Upon the threshold she met her husband, and in
few words told him their common misfortune and
her proposed errand.
" Stay you at home, Rachel. I will seek the
child and bring her to you," said he, briefly, and
Rachel did not think of disputing his command.
Drawing his hat lower upon his brow, and fas-
tening his coat more securely about him, Gabriel
NAZARETH PITCHER. 127
Pitcher turned his face again toward the sea, and
for an hour wandered along the shore among the
groups of men looking out to White Reef, where
still hung a few timbers and fragments of the
wreck. Not one body had come ashore, and no
attempt at rescue had been possible from the very
moment she had struck.
But none of the watchers had seen Gabriel
Pitcher's daughter, and, although several had of-
fered to aid his search, no one disguised his belief
that it was useless.
" She 's gone over the cliff in the darkness, and
unless she comes ashore in Floater's Cove, never
will be heard from again," muttered the fishermen
among themselves ; but Gabriel, without listening
to them, was already on his way to Floater's Cove,
unsearched as yet, because it lay in quite another
direction from the beach opposite White Reef,
where the doomed ship had struck.
Floater's Cove was reached at last, but the driv-
ing mist and wrack so obscured the view that the
father at first believed his search as vain here as in
other quarters. In despair he called aloud :
" Nazareth ! Nazareth, my child ! "
" Here am I, father," answered a feeble voice,
and from beneath the shelter of a cave-like rock
appeared the young woman, pale, drenched, and
exhausted, carrying an infant in her arms.
" I thought you would look for me, father," said
she, "and as I was afraid I could not come over
the hill alone, I waited for you."
128 NAZARETH PITCHER.
" What have you there, Nazareth ? " asked the
father, much surprised, as he wrapped her in the
great shawl that Rachel had pressed upon him at
the last moment.
"It is a little child, father. It came drifting
into the bay, lashed to a spar, and I went through
the water and rescued it. I always thought the
bay would bring something to comfort me for the
loss of its other gift."
She murmured the last words to herself, but her
father heard them, and, folding the shawl more
carefully about them both, half led, half carried
his child and her new-found treasure up the hill
and over the well-known field-path home.
"Care for the baby first, mother," said Naza-
reth, laying the infant in her mother's arms ; and,
without pausing to question her, Rachel did as she
was asked. Not for hours, however, were her ex-
ertions rewarded, and more than once she was on
the point of abandoning the attempt as useless,
when the look of imploring anguish in Nazareth's
eyes moved her to renewed efforts, repaid at last
by a faint sign of life. In another hour the little
creature lay sleeping in the arms of its adopted
mother, safe and well.
From this moment Nazareth came back to life.
So far as could be ascertained, the child whom
she had rescued was the only survivor of the
wrecked ship, which had been so entirely broken
up that no clue to its name, size, or history could be
obtained ; and, unfortunately, a wreck upon White
NAZARETH PITCHEE. 129
Reef was not so rare or terrible an event in those
days as to call for any extraordinary research or
comment. So Nazareth, without opposition either
upon the part of her own friends or those of the
little girl whom she now considered her own,
adopted her into her heart as well as her home,
gave her the name of Coral, and grew once more
like herself in loving, attending, and petting her
little nursling.
And Coral proved herself worthy of the love and
care so lavishly bestowed, developing not only such
wealth of beauty and grace that even Gabriel
Pitcher confessed her " the prettiest thing God
ever made," but a sweet and docile disposition, a
loving heart, and unusually quick mental capa-
cities.
" Take care, Nazareth," said her mother at last,
" lest thy pretty Coral prove a snare to thy feet
and a pitfall in thy path. Thee loves her too
well, daughter."
The warning rang ominously in Nazareth's ears
for many a day ; but still she clung to and served
her pretty darling, as only a heart so loving and so
wounded as hers can cling to what is left after the
best is taken.
Again the summer was waning, and the second
anniversary of Richard Armstrong's advent had
nearly arrived, when one day, as Nazareth sat
upon her rocky seat at Floater's Cove and watched
the little Coral playing with some bright seaweed
and pebbles upon the shore, a hasty footstep caused
130 NAZARETH PITCHER.
her to look quickly up, just to catch the glimpse of
a dark, handsome face, the next moment buried in
Coral's golden hair.
Gabriel Pitcher stood behind, and laid his hand
upon his daughter's head, saying brokenly :
" Nazareth, my child, be strong. The Lord has
appointed you another trial."
Without reply Nazareth rose, and, approaching
Coral, knelt and put her arms about the child's
waist.
The dark face of the stranger confronted her.
" She is mine. The Lord gave her to me," said
Nazareth.
" She is mine. I am the mother who bore her,"
replied the stranger, fiercely ; and little Coral, cling-
ing convulsively to Nazareth, stamped her foot and
cried :
" No, no, naughty lady ! You are not my mother.
I will have no mother but this. Her name is Naza-
reth, and mine is Coral, and that is grandfather."
" Hush, foolish darling ! " said the stranger,
frowning and smiling at once. " You are no Coral,
but my own little Mabel, and you shall go with me
to such a beautiful home that you will soon forget
all this, and even your new mother and grandsire."
She laughed as she spoke, but in the next moment
laid her hand upon her heart with such a look of
deadly anguish that Nazareth, forgetting herself
and even little Coral, sprang forward to help her,
but the stranger warned her off.
" Thanks, mistress ; it is past now. It is only a
NAZARETH PITCHER. 131
pain that comes when I am over-tired or agitated.
Just now, it is seeing my little darling there, for
whose healthy and merry looks I thank you kindly."
At the word Nazareth fled again to her nursling,
and, laying her arms closely about her, cried in bit-
terness of heart :
"No, no, no, she cannot be yours, for God sent
her to comfort me when I was ready to die. She
is mine my very own ! "
At this the father interposed with stern decision.
" Daughter," said he, " you may not keep from the
woman what is indeed her own, or say that God
gave you what was only lent for a purpose. Hear
her story, and submit, as a Christian should, to the
rod freshly laid upon your shoulders."
So the stranger, obedient to Nazareth's imploring
eyes, told how she had been married three years
before to a man who could not acknowledge her on
account of his family's opposition, and had left her
not knowing that she was likely to become a mo-
ther. After the child was born she had sought him
all over her own country, and others where she could
hear that he had been seen. At last she traced him
to an American city, and finally heard that he had
spent a winter in or near a fishing hamlet upon the
New England coast. So, taking her child, she came
to find and reclaim him, and it was the vessel in
which she was passenger that had gone to pieces
upon White Reef the night that little Coral came
to comfort Nazareth.
When the storm grew furious the sailors lashed
132 NAZAEETH PITCHER.
the mother and child to separate spars, intending
that each should be the charge of two stout swim-
mers ; but no human strength was able to combat
for a moment the fury of the waves upon that
dreadful night, and no sooner did swimmers and
burden touch the water than they were hurled
asunder, and the unhappy mother knew no more
until she found herself on board a British packet
homeward bound, and was told that she had been
picked up some hours previously by a fishing craft,
which, not to delay her own voyage, had put her
aboard the British brig, where she could receive
proper care and ultimately reach a central port.
That her child should have been saved seemed im-
possible to hope, and at any rate the captain of the
brig absolutely refused to put back for the purpose
of landing his involuntary passenger. So soon, how-
ever, as she reached England, she had dispatched
a special messenger to make inquiries in the neigh-
borhood of the wreck for any news of child or
father that could be obtained, and through him
had at last received intelligence not only that
her child was safe, but that her adopted mother
was Gabriel Pitcher's daughter and Richard Arm-
strong's wife.
" And your husband ! " gasped Nazareth, as the
stranger paused, and again laid her hand upon her
side.
" Richard Armstrong is my husband, and that
child is his and mine, born in lawful wedlock,"
said the woman, with sturdy determination.
NAZARETH PITCHER. 133
Then Nazareth fell prone upon the sand, and hid
her face from even the light of day.
" Both, both ! " moaned she. " Take both, and
leave me desolate ! "
" Not desolate, for you have God and your fa-
ther and mother. More than father or mother,
you have an unspotted life and a clear conscience,"
said Gabriel Pitcher, raising his child, and folding
her to his breast with unwonted emotion.
Then, without a look at the stranger, he took
Nazareth in his arms, and bore her homeward, as
he had done the night when she carried her new-
found comfort in her arms.
The child, dimly conscious of the change in her
destiny, half-followed, half-lingered, weeping bit-
terly. Gabriel had reached the top of the hill,
and paused to rest, when the patter of little feet
resounded along the hard field-path, and Coral,
flushed and breathless, caught him by the skirt.
" Away, child ! Go to your mother ! " cried the
old Puritan, sternly, and Nazareth moaned upon
his breast ; but Coral, unheeding all else, cried
piteously :
" She is sick, the woman is. Perhaps she is dead.
I cannot go to her. I am afraid ! "
" What is that to me ? I must care for my own,"
muttered Nazareth's father between his teeth, and
would have held his onward course ; but she, who
till now had seemed insensible, raised her head, and
said feebly :
" Set me down, father, and go to her. It is the
134 NAZARETH PITCHER.
duty of a Christian man; and she has done no
harm, poor woman, to you or yours."
" But you, Nazareth ! How can I leave you ? "
" Coral will stay with me, or help me to go to my
mother. Will you help me, little Coral?" asked
Nazareth, smiling wanly, and the child answered
joyfully :
" That will I, mother dear, for you know I am
your own little comfort. You call me so very often,
and I do not forget anything you say."
" Come then, little comfort, and let me lean upon
you for a last sweet moment," said poor Nazareth,
taking the child in her arms, and bending over her
until Coral's golden hair shone full of diamonds.
Gabriel Pitcher looked at them a moment, then
strode away, his face dark, and his heart swelling
more with wrath than pity ; and had Richard Arm-
strong stood that moment in his path he had surely
found the stern old Puritan a worthy descendant
of those who went out to fight, the Bible in one
hand, and the sword in the other.
Beside the rock where Armstrong had made fast
his skiff upon the night of his first visit, and where
Nazareth had sat and waited for him through the
two weary years since past, lay the stranger woman
who had come to claim Nazareth's husband and
Nazareth's child as all her own, dead, Gabriel at
first thought, for her dark face was livid, her teeth
set, her eyes glassy, and her form rigid.
" I will call the neighbors to attend her. Why
should I bring her beneath the roof she has made
NAZAEETH PITCHER. 135
desolate ? " asked Gabriel Pitcher of himself, look-
ing down at the prostrate form, with a sense of all
the wrong his only child had borne seething in his
heart ; but there came the memory of Nazareth's
plaintive voice, " It is the duty of a Christian man ; "
and because he was a Christian he stooped and lifted
her, and carried her, not tenderly but carefully, up
the hill and along the field-path to his home, whither
Nazareth had already made her way, leaning upon
little Coral, and counting as a precious boon every
moment in which the child was yet spared to her.
" Here is Richard Armstrong's wife, Rachel. If
you can find it in your heart to serve her, do so.
I am going for a doctor," said Gabriel, bringing in
the stranger and laying her upon a couch in the
wide, old-fashioned sitting-room. And Nazareth's
mother, pale and cold and very gentle, ministered
to the woman who had stolen all that Nazareth held
dear, even to her good name and maidenly repute,
as if she had been her own child.
The doctor came, and after a while restored the
sufferer to consciousness ; but in private he warned
Mistress Pitcher that her guest was the victim of a
fatal disease, that her days were numbered, and that
their continuance depended upon the care that was
taken to keep the patient from any fatigue, exposure,
or emotion.
" You must nurse her as you did Nazareth, when
you saved her life a year ago," said the good old man,
unwitting what a stab he was inflicting upon the
mother's heart.
136 NAZARETH PITCHER.
When he was gone, Rachel went away into her
own room, and there sought help and strength where
such women are sure to find it ; and when she came
forth it was with a holy light upon her face that all
who saw her felt and understood.
Then for days and weeks Rachel and Nazareth
bent themselves to this new burden and bore it, not
patiently alone, but lovingly and caressingly, and as
if it had been a precious and coveted gift ; so that
before she died the stranger, who had come with bit-
terness in her heart and the law in her hand to wrest
from Nazareth what she had been deceived to think
her own, humbly asked forgiveness of her innocent
rival for the harshness she had shown, and died
blessing her and hers, and leaving her child to
them as a precious legacy and remembrance.
So they buried her, bravely putting upon her
gravestone
"THE WIFE OF BICHABD ARMSTRONG."
And little Coral once more was Nazareth's child.
Two years more passed silently and swiftly on.
Nazareth, still in the early blossom of her life, had
settled into the quiet and completed aspect of a wo-
man whose morning dreams are past, and who has
accepted the appointed task of her day. Some
threads of silver shone among her wealth of soft,
brown hair ; her sweet eyes no longer wandered ex-
pectant over sea and earth and sky, but looked out
upon the world straight and steadfast, content with
what lay day by day before them ; her voice, clear
and soft as it had always been, gained a pathetic
NAZAEETH PITCHER. 137
tone, the echo of a far-off sorrow ; but besides these,
and a certain shrinking from the presence of stran-
gers, Nazareth's life showed no outward sign of the
storm that had swept over it. She had resumed
her maiden name, and, although more than once
besought to change it, quietly expressed her reso-
lution to live out her days in her father's house,
content with the duties she there found.
It was thus with her, when one day Coral came
home followed by a gentleman, at sight of whose
handsome face Gabriel Pitcher rose wrathfully,
while Rachel moved hurriedly toward her child as
if to protect her. Nazareth alone had power to
" Have you come for your child, Richard ? " asked
she, in a sudden agony of fear.
" I have come for you, Nazareth," replied Rich-
ard Armstrong, slowly, and with his eyes upon
the ground. " Can you forgive me, and consent
to marry me, and be my child's mother in very
truth?"
No one spoke, but Gabriel Pitcher's stern features
softened, and his wife looked eagerly into her child's
face. They had never confessed it to each other,
but the stain upon their name was eating deep into
both their hearts.
Nazareth looked slowly from one to the other,
reading their wishes in their eyes. Then she
stooped thoughtfully to kiss the child's upturned
face, and finally she looked at Richard Armstrong,
who never dared to raise his eyes to hers.
138 NAZARETH PITCHER.
"Come with me, Kichard," she said at last;
and the two passed out of the house, and over the
well-known path, until they stood beside the great
rock at the head of Floater's Bay.
Then Nazareth spoke :
" It is nothing new to me that you should come
to-day to ask this question," she said. " I knew
that you loved me still, and I knew that you could
never forget the cruel wrong you had done me ; I
knew, too, that your brave, frank heart would at last
overcome the shame that at first kept you away.
So I expected you, and my mind is quite resolved.
Here, where we first met, we will say good-by for-
ever. "
He had not expected this, and threw himself on
his knees beside her, passionately clasping her
hand.
" No, no, Nazareth ! " cried he. " I cannot take
"this as your answer. I cannot believe you will so
defeat my hope. Nazareth, I never loved woman
but you, and I only left you in the hope that the
law might release me from her, and suffer me to
make you wholly my own. When I found this
release impossible, I dared not return to you, even
had you remained forever in ignorance of my de-
ception. I had learned so to venerate the purity
and holiness of your life that I could not sully it
by my approach. Then, when I knew she had told
you all, I dared not come for very shame, even
though I then was free to offer what to-day I beg,
I implore you to accept. At last I have gathered
NAZAEETH PITCHER. 139
courage, and now, oh, Nazareth, you will not deny
me at the last ! For the child's sake, for the sake
of your parents, of your own good name ! Oh,
Nazareth, will nothing move you ? "
She looked him steadfastly in the face, then drew
her hand away, and pointed to the waters rolling
in with their mysterious treasure.
" All the crises of my life," said she, " have come
in presence of these waves. They brought me you,
they brought me Coral, they brought me the news
that what I mourned as lost had never been really
mine ; and now at the last they bring me you to-
day. Richard, when they bring me again my youth
and strength, and the glory and freshness of my
life, when they bring me my maidenhood and the
hope and pride of a young girl's heart, on that
day I will become your wife. Till then, good-by ;
and if, indeed, you sorrow for what you have done,
and will be happier in thinking you have made
some amends, leave me the love and companion-
ship of your child. Let me keep little Coral for
my own ; I whom no other child shall ever call
mother."
Her steady 'voice failed a little as she said this,
and she turned away her face, while Armstrong
sadly made reply :
" She is yours, dear Nazareth, as long as you will
keep her; and if ever while we live your heart
should turn through her to her father"
" I have answered you, Richard, for once and for
always/' said Nazareth's soft voice, calm and steady
140 NAZARETH PITCHER.
now as it had ever been. And without a word o
reply Richard Armstrong slowly went his way, turn
ing at the brow of the cliff to take one long, last
look at the patient figure seated beside the sea, her
eyes fixed upon the dim horizon, her brow calm,
serene, and natient beneath the crown of thorns
that yet should turn to a wreath of immortal bloom.
Then he went his way, and upon earth they met no
WITCH HAZEL.
" Chickens and curses come home to roost."
Two men stood upon the brow of Burying Hill
overlooking the town and harbor of Plymouth, in
the Old Colony. Below them lay the sparkling
white beach inclosing the town with one long pro-
tecting arm, the green headland called Saquish,
and the Gurnet with its lighthouse ; beyond all
these the ocean, clear, brilliant, and blue, stretched
to the horizon, and met a summer sky blue, clear,
and brilliant as itself.
The two men who, standing upon the steep sum-
mit, overlooked this fair scene were, as the first
glance suggested, father and son, Captain Thomas
Randall and his boy Philip, as he liked to call
the stalwart young man, whose six feet of stature,
broad shoulders, and assured bearing imparted a
mingled pathos and drollery to the appellation.
But Philip was an only son, an only child in fact,
and had never yet left his home in the old town, or
shaken off the luxurious dependence in which his
father still liked to hold him. He had shot, fished,
trained and driven his own horses, played cavalier
to the merry-making lasses of Plymouth and neigh-
bor towns ; had strolled in and out of his father's
country-house, and taken two or three voyages to
142 WITCH HAZEL.
the West Indies and the ports of the Southern
States in his father's trading vessels ; but, after all
this, Philip Randall's life was yet to begin.
Between father and son lay a new-made grave,
its slate headstone, just set up, proclaiming it the
resting - place of Gregory Randall, aged eighty-
seven ; while under the name and dates appeared
the following verse, gratuitously added by the lap-
idary, who desired to add his mite of respect to
the venerable deceased :
" Stop heare, my friend, and cast an eye :
As you are now soe once was I ;
As I am now soe yon most bee ;
Prepare for deth and follow mee."
It was to see this headstone properly set that
father and son had mounted the Burying Hill,
and upon it the elder now sadly gazed, while he
said :
" Yes, Philip, he was a good father and a good
man, and I doubt not has entered into rest and
peace. Mr. Priest seems also to have done his
work well, and we need tarry here no longer. And
yet, Philip, perhaps this may be as good a place as
any to open a matter which lieth somewhat heavily
at my heart."
"And what is that, father?" asked Philip, his
frank and blithe young face assuming a shade of
concern deeper than the mortuary spot and theme,
or even the death of his aged relative, had brought
upon it.
" My son, it is not matter for alarm or sorrow,
WITCH HAZEL. 143
but rather for much rejoicing, and and but it
behooves us to walk softly in the matter, for there
will be opposition and heart-burning ; but a man
must cleave unto his rights, Philip, even Elder
Faunce and the parson would grant that, would
they not ? "
" Of course, father ; but what rights of ours are
periled just now? Have the Frenchmen meddled
with your fishing station in the Penobscot again,
or"
" Nay, nay, boy. Wait, and I will satisfy you,
as indeed I appointed with myself to do when we
came up hither. Philip, you know that yesterday
I spent in looking over your grandfather's private
papers and such matters."
" Yes, sir," carelessly replied the young man, as
the elder, strangely embarrassed, seemed to pause
for encouragement.
" Well, lad, I found a very curious document
among those papers, a document which I never
knew to exist ; and I can hardly suppose my father
knew of it, or rather of its value, although the in-
dorsement upon the back seemeth in his handwrit-
ing ; though why he should have written ' Just so
much wasted parchment ' across an instrument en-
riching himself and his children forever, it passeth
me to see."
" But what is this instrument, sir ? " asked
Philip, half laughing ; for the elder, becoming ab-
sorbed in reverie, stood staring down at his father's
grave, with an expression curiously compounded
144 WITCH HAZEL.
of respect, grief, and reproach upon his handsome
features. Recalled by his son's voice, he looked
up, stared a moment at him in turn, and then
slowly said :
" It is a deed of entail, Philip, confirming to
your great-grandfather, John Randall, and his heirs
male, in regular succession, the full ownership,
control, and possession of a large tract of land,
accurately described and bounded, lying chiefly in
this town of Plymouth, but extending into the
town of Carver, and embracing not only much
valuable land in the outskirts, but a large portion
of that in the very centre of the town ; in fact,
my boy, including almost all the territory north
of the Forefathers' Rock until we reach the Cold
Spring."
" But, father, very much of this land is already
occupied and built upon," objected Philip. " Why,
it would take in those houses upon what they in-
tend to caU North Street."
" It wiU take in all of North Street, Philip," re-
plied Captain Randall, complacently, and meeting
his son's look of perplexity and dismay with one
of triumphant satisfaction. "It takes in all of
North Street, Philip, and you, my boy, will be the
richest man in Plymouth Colony; yes, or in the
whole Massachusetts Bay, for that matter."
" But, father, the people who have built upon
and improved these lands, supposing them to be
their own "
"They either become our tenants, Philip, or
WITCH HAZEL. 145
they make satisfaction for the trespass they have
committed, by purchasing their lands at our price."
Philip Randall frowned, and dug his heel
thoughtfully into the spongy turf of the hillside
where they still stood.
"Entail!" exclaimed he, at length. "Why,
who ever heard of an entailed estate here in New
England ? We have no such institution."
" We live under English rule, and we govern
ourselves by English law, do we not ? " replied
his father, dryly. " What is legal in the parent
country cannot be illegal in the colony."
" Perhaps not, father. I have never thought
upon such matters, and yet there seems an in-
justice "
" Stop there, Philip Randall, and do not accuse
your father of injustice in the same breath that
you make acknowledgment of ignorance, concern-
ing this matter. Because I have, perhaps, erred
in over indulgence toward my only child, do not
suppose that I intend to pretermit altogether
the respect and deference which is my due from
him."
" Surely not, sir ; and I pray you to hold me ex-
cused if I have failed in either," replied Philip, a
little haughtily, while the frown reflected from the
face of the father to that of the son brought out
a certain harsh, stern, and determined likeness,
boding ill for any serious difference that might
arise between the two.
But why except at the instigation of some
146 WITCH HAZEL.
demon of perversity, just then whispering at his
ear, why should Philip Randall have chosen this
time, of all others, to convey to his father certain
tidings sure to meet with determined opposition ?
Why prefer just now a request to which the elder
would scarcely have listened patiently in his most
indulgent mood? And yet, just then it was, as the
two in a somewhat sullen silence descended the path
and turned into the Main Street and homeward,
that Philip said :
" Perhaps, sir, as we are on family matters, it
is a convenient time to inform you that I am think-
ing of marriage."
" Indeed, son Philip ? If it be not intrusive, may
I ask whom you have selected as my daughter-in-
law?"
" The name of the young lady is Bethiah Hazel,"
replied Philip, half sullenly, half defiantly.
His father paused and faced him, the level rays
of the rising moon falling full upon his face of
stern astonishment.
" Bethiah Hazel ! " slowly repeated he. " What,
the daughter of yonder old webster, who should
have been hung or burned for a witch long enough
ago ? "
" Goody Hazel weaves for a living, and she is
old. As for the witchcraft, I did not suppose we
believed in such matters here," replied Philip,
shrugging his shoulders. " It is fifty years since
those poor wretches were hanged at Salem, and the
world has gone on since then."
WITCH HAZEL. 147
" Not so fast as to release children from their
duty to their parents, young man," replied his
father, sternly. " And once for all, I forbid you to
think or speak of this matter further. When you
marry it will not be after this fashion, I can promise
you."
" I am two-and-twenty, sir," returned Philip,
briefly.
" Two-and-twenty fools in one, then ! " roared his
father. " Do you mean to defy me, sir ? "
" Nothing of the kind, father, but only to bring
to mind that I am a man grown, and able to judge
for myself as to a man's dearest and most personal
matters."
" Very fine, very fine indeed, Mr. Philip Ran-
dall ; and I suppose you are also prepared to earn
your own living, and that of your lady-wife, and of
her lady-mother ; unless, indeed, that worthy dame
is to support you and yours by her praiseworthy
arts ! "
" I don't doubt I can find means to support my-
self, and whomever else I may choose to take under
my charge," replied the younger man, doggedly.
"And how, pray?" sneered his father, pausing,
with his hand upon the gate of the handsome house
they had now reached. " Do you remember, sir-
rah, that everything you have ever used, or pos-
sessed, or enjoyed the very coat upon your back,
the very victual that supports you are all of my
bounty ; that of yourself you are nothing, and less
than nothing, a beggar, a dependent, a mere
148 WITCH HAZEL.
hanger-on upon the fruits of my enterprise and
industry "
" You forget, sir, that our estates are entailed,"
interrupted Philip, with a sneer. His father's face
grew livid with rage.
"The entail can be set aside, sir, and it shall
be ! I will claim this property to which you pre-
sume to tell me I have no right, and then I will
take measures either to secure your obedience, or
to turn you and your witch's brat of a wife upon
the world, with a father's curse for your only in-
heritance."
" A witch's brat ! " echoed Philip Randall, with
an expression which even his father's taunt of de-
pendence and threat of beggary had not called to
his face.
" Yes, a witch's base-born brat ! " repeated Cap-
tain Randall. " Once for all, sir, I forbid you to
visit or speak to her again. I forbid you ; do you
understand ? "
" I understand, sir."
" And you will obey ? "
" Most assuredly I will not obey."
" You will not ? "
" I will not obey you in this, so help me God ! "
The two men stood for a moment in the moon-
light, looking full into each other's eyes, those
eyes so wonderfuDy like in their stern, dark deter-
mination ; and then, with no gesture of leave-tak-
ing, the younger turned and went his way.
"He has abandoned his father's roof forever,"
WITCH HAZEL. 149
said the old man, with even then a pang of anguish
wringing the heart so filled with anger and disap-
pointment.
Turning into the house, he went directly to a
room upon the second floor, devoted to his private
use, and called, for want of a fitter name, his study.
Here, as the clock was on the stroke of midnight,
he was found by his wife, a fair-haired, timid, and
delicate woman, who loved her husband but feared
him more, while she adored her son with no shadow
of fear or doubt.
" Philip has not come in, captain," said she,
in a hesitating way, for she had seen them at the
gate.
" Well, what of that ? " harshly demanded her
lord.
" It is late, almost twelve o'clock."
" I know it. Why are not you in bed ? "
" I waited for Philip," stammered the wife.
" Well, then, wait no longer. Get you to bed."
" Captain, what does it all mean ? Where is the
boy ? What have you done with him ? " And
fair-haired and timid though she was, the cap-
tain's wife spoke with the courage of a bereaved
mother who sees an opening to fight against the
bereaver. Captain Randall looked up in some sur-
prise. Very rarely had his wife dared to question
him thus, never, perhaps, with such a look and
such a voice.
"What ails you, woman?" asked he, sternly.
" Get you to bed, I say ; or, stop, you asked about
150 WITCH BAZEL.
your son Philip. He has gone to marry Bethiah
Hazel, and I have bestowed my curse upon him for
a marriage-portion."
" My boy I " screamed poor Mrs. Kandall, van-
quished by this one cruel blow, and in the next
moment fell upon the floor in a dead faint. Her
husband raised her in his arms, carried her to her
chamber, summoned Mehetabel Fry, the servant-
maid, and went back to his study so soon as re-
turning consciousness and a flood of tears pro-
claimed the patient out of danger.
" Yes, go along, you hard-hearted old flintstone !
It 's little enough you care for fainting, or crying,
or dying, for that matter, as long as you get your
own way." In which words Miss Fry expressed
the widespread and popular estimate of her mas-
ter's character ; but yet few of his townsmen dis-
liked, very few opposed him.
Alone in his study, Captain Randall unlocked
the tall, old-fashioned secretary brought from his
father's house a few days after the funeral, and
taking from it certain papers, among them the
Deed of Entail, with the indorsement, "Just so
much wasted parchment," he sat studying them,
referring occasionally to a rude map of Plymouth
and its environs, until the gray morning light crept
over the sea and in at his unshuttered window.
Just then Thomas Randall stumbled upon what he
had been all that night unconsciously seeking, a
link between the two terrible injuries he considered
himself to have received at the hands of his son
WITCH HAZEL. 151
and the course he was obstinately bent upon pursu-
ing ; yes, and a means of punishing at once Philip,
the girl who had dared to receive his addresses, and
the mother who had allowed her to do so.
" Surely, surely," muttered the captain to him-
self, as he eagerly read the description of the tract
conferred upon Gregory Kandall by his gracious
majesty Charles I., and his heirs male forever.
" Surely, ' the Sagamore's Cypress,' I remember
that landmark right well, and it stands fairly to
the north of Judith Hazel's hut. Yes, yes, that
comes well within my privileges, and, by the sword
of the Lord and of Gideon, I will claim that which
is mine own."
Then the captain blew out the candles, waning
and dying into all sorts of coffins and winding-
sheets in the growing morning light, and threw
himself upon a sofa for an hour or two of unre-
freshing sleep.
Almost at the same time Bethiah Hazel, throwing
open the door of her mother's cottage for a breath
of fresh air after the sultry night, started back with
a little shriek of surprise, for a man was seated
upon the doorstep, his head leaned upon his folded
arms.
At sound of her voice he rose, and, standing be-
fore her, showed the haggard face of Philip Kan-
dall. The girl stared at him dumbly, for indeed
there was that about him to freeze any words of
ordinary greeting, while he looked as silently at
her, looked as might a man who, having givea
152 WITCH HAZEL.
all that he possessed for the jewel which he covets,
examines it yet once again to make sure that it is
worth the purchase. And this was what he saw :
A tall and slender girl in early youth, her graceful
figure disguised in a russet homespun dress, the
short sleeves of which left bare a pair of exquisite
arms, while the brief skirts exposed feet and ankles
as bare, as white, and as beautiful as the arms ; a
clear, glowing complexion, dark wavy hair, and a
pair of eyes, brown and bright and fascinating as
the brook that wells out from gnarled oak-roots,
and pauses one moment to eddy and dimple in the
shadow before it shoots forth into the light of com-
mon day, a very beautiful picture, framed in the
low doorway of the poor cottage, and lighted by
the rosy and purplish gleams of coming day. But
yet the man who has given all for his gem asks for
more than a fair outside ; his purchase must be gen-
uine, pure, flawless, or he has indeed showed him-
self a fool, and lost all, and more than all. Upon
Philip Randall's pondering of this truth broke the
girl's fresh young voice :
" Why, Philip, it is you, and not your ghost,
is it not ? What is the matter ? What has hap-
pened?"
" Come out here, Beth. Come down to the
spring. I have something to tell you."
" Good gracious, Philip ! what is it ? " But with-
out reply Philip turned into the little path leading
through the meadow to the spring in the grove, and
Beth followed, her bare white feet daintily treading
WITCH HAZEL. 153
the dewy grass, and gleaming out from the daisies
and buttercups.
Safely out of sight of the house for, with man's
justice, Philip was coming to hate and shun Be-
thiah's mother, even while resolved to cling to the
daughter he turned, and, taking her hands in
his, said :
" Beth, you know that I love you, and you
know, too, that I have never asked you to be my
wife."
" I never expected you would. I 'm not fit to be
your wife, Philip ; and though I do believe you
love me, and I love you dearly, Philip, I 'm ail
honest girl, and "
" And will be no less than my wife, if anything,"
said Philip, gravely.
" That is it, Philip," replied the child of nature,
too pure for prudery. " And so we ought not to
be together, and you must not come here any more,
and"
" Stop, child ! " and Philip smiled, half bitterly.
" You are hastening to forestall my speech of
parting ; but I did not come here to bid good-by ;
nor need you arm your pride against one even
poorer than yourself. Beth, as I stand here, so
stand I in the world, alone, poor, without money,
position, or even the knowledge by which to gain a
livelihood. My father and I have quarreled, and
he has cast me off, or, rather, I have left him, and
never, whatever might befall, will I become again
dependent upon his charity. I am a beggar, Beth ;
154 WITCH HAZEL.
he told me so himself, and I tell it again to you ;
and before that sun reaches the tops of the trees I
shall be gone from Plymouth, gone for many a year,
gone to seek my fortune, or, rather, to make it, to
earn it, to become a man, for I feel that as yet I am
none. Beth, will you have me for your husband,
beggar as I am ? "
The girl turned swiftly, and laid her arms around
his neck, her head upon his breast.
" You are still so far above me, dear," whispered
she ; and Philip, gathering her closer to his heart,
felt that all he had given, and more had it been his
to give, was not too much to pay for the treasure
of pure and unstinted love thus poured out before
him.
After a while the lovers, returning to the things
of this world, began to discuss plans by which
Philip was to gain a livelihood for the two, and
also another plan of more immediate urgency.
This was no other than a secret marriage, and
Beth's removal to the house of some humble
friends of Philip's in Boston.
"Truth to tell, Beth," said he, after all other
arguments had failed, "I care not to leave you
with your mother longer. She has not favored my
visits, and and in sooth, I cannot be easy
unless you are away from her, and with those I
know."
The reason was no reason, as they both felt,
Philip knowing in his heart that, should he confess
that he feared his father's persecution of both
WITCH HAZEL. 155
mother and daughter when he should not be there
to defend them, Bethiah would cling all the more
closely to the parent thus threatened, while she
saw beneath Philip's embarrassment a distaste he
had not always concealed for her mother's speech,
manners, and character. A sudden flash of con-
viction showed the girl that here the path divided,
here the choice between parent and husband was
to be made, that to possess both was now be-
come impossible ; and, clinging closer to her lover's
breast, she made her choice, and sealed it with her
tears.
" Oh, Philip ! if I 've got to give up mother for
you, it 's no matter how soon I do it."
" Then come with me now this morning ! " ex-
claimed Philip, eagerly, and yielding to the im-
pulse to turn Kis back and withdraw Beth from
that place and that companionship at once, and
without fear of detention. But the girl would not
quite consent to this, and her grief at feeling com-
pelled to thwart any plan of Philip's was so ap-
parent as to disarm him- of the displeasure he felt
tempted to use as a weapon. So at last it was
agreed that the two should walk that morning to
Kingston, where they might be married by the
magistrate, as was then the custom of the colony,
and returning the next morning they would then
tell the old mother what they had done, before
bidding her farewell.
But although Bethiah consented to this scheme,
it was as she would have consented to lay her hand
156 WITCH HAZEL.
upon the block and suffer it to be chopped off, had
Philip bid her ; and even when she had left him to
return to the house and collect the little parcel of
finery without which not even she would consent
to be married, the poor child turned back to clasp
her hands and piteously ask :
" Oh, Philip ! is there no other way ? Must I
steal away from her so ? Is it right, Philip ? is it
right?"
" It must be so, Beth. Does not the Bible say
that for this shall man or woman leave father and
mother, and cleave only to the partner thenceforth
to be one flesh and one life with their own ? It
is right, Beth ; and I wish it, I ask it, for love of
me."
" I will go, Philip. Wait here, and I will return
anon."
So Beth crept into the house, made her little
preparations, and crept out again without disturb-
ing the old mother, not yet awake ; a few moments
later the two set forth together upon the road to
Kingston, and upon the road of their mutual life.
The blithe summer day came up from the ocean,
and wheeled its fervid hours across the sky until
they brought noon, sultry, breathless, and ex-
hausted ; and Judith Hazel, standing in her cot-
tage door, searched the familiar landscape once
again for trace of her missing child. The line of
the sandy road, white and dazzling, stretched away
from her little house toward the town a full mile
before it hid itself in the pine-wood, whose bal-
WITCH HAZEL. 157
samic odor, drifting toward her upon the light
breeze, mingled with the sweet, sharp note of the
locust to express a summer heat as no other scent
or sound expresses. But Judith did not heed the
heat, did not smell the pines, or listen to the lo-
cust. With one hand set upon her hip, and the
other shading her sharp black eyes, she stood there
in the doorway, a picture as striking, if not as
beautiful, as the one framed by that same doorway
six hours before.
" She 's gone, wiled away by that fellow.
Did n't I tell her what it would come to ? But
when did a girl in love listen to reason? If ever
I see him or his proud father Ha ! what 's
that ? "
The muttering ceased ; the wandering eyes fixed
themselves steadily upon the point where the road
emerged from the wood, and never wandered
again ; for in the little cavalcade just coming into
sight the bereaved mother saw the promise of an
answer to her cry for satisfaction or revenge. The
central figure of this cavalcade was a man sixty
years old, but tall, straight, strong as youth, a
man of iron jaw and unflinching eyes, a haughty
bearing and unyielding mien, a man in whom
all men trusted, because he never yet had swerved
from his word or his will, whether for good or
evil.
" Captain Randall, and two constables at his
back ! " whispered the old woman breathlessly ;
and then, folding her arms across her breast, she
158 WITCH HAZEL.
leaned lightly against the doorpost, and stood wait-
ing for her guests.
The tramp of their horses' feet came up the little
bill, along the sandy track, and paused at her door.
The keen black eyes of the old woman fixed them-
selves upon the leader's face, but no word or ges-
ture acknowledged his presence. The sheriff and
his assistant leaped from their horses and fastened
them, but Captain Randall rode close to the door
without dismounting. Still looking steadily into
his face, Judith read, as if it had been printed
there, the humiliation and agony through which
the man's soul had passed during the night just
gone. Hard and pitiless and cruel she found it ;
and yet beneath, above, pervading this expression,
there lay another, and recognizing it, she grimly
smiled.
"Do you come looking for your son, Captain
Randall ? " asked she, mockingly, at last ; and the
sudden spasm crossing the white face of the man
before her told how truly her chance shaft had
sped.
" What have you to do with my son ? " de-
manded he, fiercely, and speaking in a thick, un-
natural voice. " I have come here to-day to give
you a warning."
" Ay ? And you shall get one in return, I
promise you. I was coming down to see you be-
fore night."
" Warning to quit these premises," pursued
Captain Randall, not noticing the intimation.
WITCH HAZEL. 159
" ' Quit'these premises ! ' " echoed Bathsheba, un-
moved. " And why should I quit the house where
I was born and bred, and where I mean to die ?
Why should I quit it, except for my grave, Cap-
tain Thomas Randall ? "
" Because it is mine, my property ; do you un-
derstand? And although my father and grand-
father allowed you and others to occupy their land,
they never intended to bestow it upon you. The
line of my property extends to the Sagamore Cy-
press in this direction, and that is some rods be-
yond anything you have ever claimed. The land
is mine, and I no longer choose that you should
occupy it ; do you understand ? The house you
have chosen to put upon it becomes mine also ;
but, on condition that you and yours should leave
this town and this part of the country, I will give
you whatever two honest men will say that it is
worth ; and you may come to my office to-morrow
and receive the money. If ever you come within
my reach again, however, I will throw you into jail
for rent and damages ; and there you may live and
die, unless your master helps you out."
During this harangue Judith, hardly changing
her position, had gathered herself together, as it
were, slightly raised her head, slightly opened her
eyes, and set her thin lips closer, while every mus-
cle in her sinewy frame seemed to grow tense and
ready for action. As before she had looked not
unlike a somnolent serpent, so now she resembled
the same serpent, venomous, startled, coiled for
160 WITCH HAZEL.
a spring, and sure to carry death in that spring.
As Captain Randall paused, and moved his hand
heavily across his forehead, she said, in a sup-
pressed voice :
" You really mean to turn me out of this house,
and off this land, where I and mine have lived for
fifty years or more ? You really think to drive me
from this town, and throw the price of my stolen
home at my feet that it may carry me out of your
sight ? Is that your meaning, Captain Randall ? "
" Yes. You will leave this house within a week,
or I will burn it over your head."
" I will not go."
" You will not ! I tell you, witch, that you shall
go, even though you bring your master, the devil,
and a legion of his imps to defend you ! You
shall go if I drag you from the place with my
own hands. Yes, you and that light o' love, your
daughter, too."
" My daughter ! And if she be a light o' love
to-day, who yesterday was as honest a girl as ever
stepped, whose fault is it, Thomas Randall, whose
but your son's ? Yes, his, and none but his ; and
of him and you I ask back my girl ; and you shall
give her to me, or I will have the town about your
ears. What have you done with her ? Where is
she? Where is Philip Randall ? "
" He is gone, and you and she have wiled him
away : you with your devilish spells, and she with
her wanton smiles ; but I will have my revenge, I
will have justice. So sure as God is in heaven,
WITCH HAZEL. 161
you shall be burned for a witch, and she set in the
stocks and lashed out of the town as a lewd and
wanton woman ; your house shall be scattered to
the four winds, and your name pass into a byword
of infamy. You have robbed me of my son, and you
shall pay me even to the uttermost farthing, even
to the last gasp of your wretched breath and the
last drop of your evil blood. You have defied me,
and I will not spare you ; so surely as God liveth,
you shall die the death appointed for such as
you ! "
He raised his hand above his head, as if appeal-
ing to Heaven for a witness to his words, while his
face flushed a deep red, then returned to its former
ghastly pallor, and his eyes fixed themselves upon
the face of the woman with a stare of deadly ani-
mosity, strangely underlaid with a look of awful
terror and distress.
Meeting that wild and terrible look, Judith
Hazel stepped one step forward, and, holding his
eyes with her own, glittering and snake-like now,
she slowly said :
" And so surely as God liveth yes, and so
surely as the devil liveth, and hath power I will
not die until you are dead before me ; I will not
leave my home until you have left yours for the
graveyard; I will not leave this town until you
have left this earth; I will not be burned as a
witch until you have died like a dog, wanting priest
and leech and shelter. You have threatened me,
Thomas Randall, and I curse you ; I curse you
162 WITCH HAZEL.
with the black and deadly curse of the widow and
the fatherless, and the poor and the oppressed ; I
curse you body and soul, and lo, the curse de-
scends ! "
She extended her arm, the long, bony finger qui-
vering like a serpent's tongue, and pointed full in
the face of him she had cursed ; and as she did so
the look of terror and distress grew and grew, and
overflowed the look of rage and menace, while the
deep crimson flush mounted again across the livid
white of the set face, and reached the brain ; then,
with one wild, gasping cry, and a futile grasp at
the fallen rein, Thomas Randall swayed heavily
sideways in his saddle, and but for the attendants
would have dropped to the ground at Judith
Hazel's very feet.
" He is dead. I cursed him, and the curse has
fallen ! " said she, quietly, and going into her house,
shut and barred the door. The two men, more
afraid of her than of their dead or dying master,
mounted in hot haste and galloped down the hill:
a few moments, and even the sound of their horses'
feet died upon the sultry air. And there he lay
alone, his head upon the witch's doorstone, his ma-
jestic figure trailed in the dust she had trodden ;
there he lay, dying like a dog, as she had said,
uncomforted, untended, unsheltered, unforgiven.
Half an hour later the men returned with others,
and with a conveyance ; but Thomas Randall was
dead before they came, and it was only his dis-
colored and fearsome corpse that they carried back
WITCH HAZEL. 163
to the terrified and weeping woman who waited
for it, and too late lavished upon it the tenderness
and care for lack of which he had died.
" He was always good to me, always good to
me ; and Philip has gone too," moaned she, over
and over again ; for, weak in all else, this poor,
pale woman was very strong in loving, and mourned
herself into her grave not many months after her
stern and absolute lord.
The next morning a stout horse paced merrily to
the door of Judith Hazel's hovel, and from his back
sprang Philip Randall and Bethiah his wife.
These were days before telegraph, post-office, or
active communication of one town with another ; so
that no rumor of yesterday's tragedy had wandered
from Plymouth to Kingston, and the young people
had come to make their confession, and to bid fare-
well to the old mother, if not gayly, at least cheer-
fully, for the light of the new day, risen upon their
lives, was strong enough and rosy enough to hide,
or at least to overlay, all ugly things of yesterday ;
and Philip, with Beth at his side, could forgive her
mother for the part she had unconsciously played
in his quarrel with his father, could even forgive
her, almost, for being Bethiah's mother, and had
already explained to his attentive wife how generous
he intended to be toward her after he had earned
the fortune they neither of them doubted was await-
ing him.
The door was fastened ; and after Bethiah had
gone round to the brook door at the back, and found
164 WITCH HAZEL.
that fast also, Philip knocked long and loudly, and
then the two stood waiting, the young man's feet
upon the spot where yesterday his father's gray
head had lain. Perhaps it was the subtle commu-
nication between animate and inanimate nature,
perhaps what we now call telepathy, that suggested
his next words :
" Beth, my darling, what if I should leave you
here for an hour or so, and go down into the village
just to bid my father good-by ? He cannot be so
hard upon me now that I have gone from his house
forever, and may never set eyes on him again ; he
must treat me as a man at least, and not as an un-
grateful 'beggar, as he did in our last interview.
And then, my mother I must see my mother
again, Beth ; for now that I have you, I love my
mother better, because of your common woman-
hood. ShaU I go, Bethiah ? "
" Yes, dear ; I would gladly have you," re-
plied the wife, eagerly. " I cannot bear to think
that through poor me you should have quarreled
with"-
But just then her words were awfully cut short
by a wild shriek from within the closed house, a
shriek of mad terror, long, shrill, wavering, pier-
cing the quiet summer morning like the curse fall-
ing upon Eden. Beth stopped, turned white and
still, and clung to Philip's arm in silent horror;
nor was he undaunted.
" What was it ? " muttered he, at length ; and
the two stood looking at each other, as if each would
WITCH HAZEL. 165
make sure that his own fancy had not played him a
horrible trick.
" It was real it was in the house," whispered
Beth, her lips white, and her voice trembling as if
in an ague fit. " Oh, Philip ! what could it be ? "
" It was in the house, and we must enter," re-
plied Philip, recovering himself, and gently putting
aside the little clinging hands upon his arm. " Is
there an open window, a cellar door, any way bet-
ter than to break down the door ? " continued he,
half aloud, as he glanced about for the means of
entrance.
" The window at the end the window of my
room was hardly ever fastened," murmured Beth,
still shaking with terror, but leading the way around
the house.
Philip followed, and presently, raising the little
window, guarded only by its maidenly white cur-
tain, he climbed in at it, and stood one moment ir-
resolute, looking about the simple room, but yes-
terday a shrine of mystery and love to him.
" Open the door and let me in, Philip, first of
all," whispered Beth at the open window. " If
there 's anything dreadful, I want to be near you
when you see it."
Without reply Philip obeyed ; and setting the
door wide open, let the sunshine and Beth into the
grim old house. Then, hand in hand, they searched,
cautiously, shrinkingly, yet resolutely, through
every room, every corner, always expecting to
stumble upon some ghastly sight, to meet some
166 WITCH HAZEL.
horrible answer to the question the mind of each
was asking. The three rooms below, the cellar, the
bedroom above, had all been searched ; and then
they climbed into the little garret, unused except
for lumber, and unlighted except by a single pane
of glass at one end. Clinging to each other's hand,
and standing close beside the door, the two peered
through the darkness, at first with renewed appre-
hension, then with freer breath.
" No one is here, Beth " began Philip ; and
just then a low, unnatural laugh almost over their
heads made both start back and look up. There,
crouched upon a beam, to which she was busily
knotting a rope, sat Judith Hazel, her scant gray
hair streaming down her back, her eyes glaring
with the fearful fires of madness, her white lips
muttering incessantly, with now and then that
hideous laugh, so void of mirth, so full of menace.
" What does she say, Philip ? "
" Hark ! my father's name ! "
" Yes, I cursed him, and he was cursed, and fell
down dead at my feet, handsome Thomas Randall.
When I was maid in his mother's house I told him
how I would go to destruction for a kiss of his
proud lips, and he bade me go there if I would,
but not for that. Handsome Tom Randall ! Oh,
how I loved him, and how I hated him ! and I
cursed him, and he died ; laid there in the hot,
sweltering sun at my doorstep, and not a hand to
brush away the flies from his dead face, the beast
of the field might have kissed his lips then, and
WITCH HAZEL. 167
I sat looking at him until they took him away,
and never cared to kiss him then. I cursed him,
and he died, and I shall die ; and then he will love
me, and I shall have my kiss at last, yes, at last,
and at last, all things come round at last, and
why not that "
She had the rope knotted now, and the noose
about her neck ; and rising suddenly to her feet,
with another such shriek as that which had first
alarmed them, she flung herself from the beam
just as Philip Randall and his wife sprang forward
to receive her. Before they could do so, however,
the noose drew up about her neck, and the shock,
although not fatal, reduced the wretched creature
to insensibility. In this condition they removed
her to a room below stairs, and while Philip watched
beside her Bethiah hastened for assistance. This
was not to be found short of the town ; and there
the daughter and wife heard news that threw yet
an added horror over the scene she had just left ;
and yet, with the courage of true love, it was she,
and no other, who told Philip Randall the terrible
story of his father's death, and upon her faithful
bosom he shed the strong and bitter tears of a
man's wounded heart.
" He died without forgiving me, without my
telling him how well I loved him in spite of all,"
moaned he.
" But God knows, and your father knows too
now," whispered Bethiah, and tenderly kissed the
bowed head upon her breast.
168 WITCH HAZEL.
Witch Hazel, as she was ever after called, did
not die, nor did she ever recover her reason, but
spent the rest of her melancholy days in the house
she had sworn never to leave, in company with a
keeper liberally paid by Philip Randall, and care-
fully overlooked by his wife, who, amidst all her
new duties, seldom failed of a daily visit to the
lonely cottage where she had been born and bred.
When at last the unhappy creature died, they
buried her upon a little knoll behind the cabin, and
for many a year the country folk declared that her
ghost was to be met on almost any stormy night
wandering between the ruins of her former home
and the Sagamore's Cypress, wringing its hands,
and moaning always : " I cursed him, and he died ;
he fell dead at my feet ! "
But the shadow of this great mystery, shame, and
sorrow was lifted at last from the lives of Philip
and Bethiah Randall ; and as the years rolled on,
and children clustered about their knees, and men
spoke well of him, and the matrons made honor-
able place for her among them, the old story passed
into the dim and almost forgotten memories of the
past, and the happy present filled all the scene.
The entail was never revived, nor did Philip
Randall or his heirs ever claim the great estate that
by disuse had lapsed from their possession into the
hands of others, until the Revolution came and all
matters of private interest were merged in the
great public events that left the new country to
begin its new and nobler life.
THE FREIGHT OF THE SCHOONER
DOLPHIN.
MEETING had gone in. Parson Holbrook was in
his seat in the high, ugly pulpit, with the sounding-
board overhead; the singers, in the singing seats
in the gallery, had taken their pitch from Uncle
Jethuron's tuning-fork, and were fuguing "And
on the wings of mighty winds came flying all
abroad ; " the first families of Pilgrim Village
were seated in their square pews, each furnished
according to the taste or the means of its owners ;
and the little boys, perched upon the high wooden
seats, with no footstools near enough for their
little dangling feet to reach, had begun their two
hours' fidget, when the door, just closed by black
Pompey, the sexton, opened slowly, and Major
Cathcart walked up the broad aisle in his usual
dignified and deliberate manner. Every head was
turned to gaze upon him, every face wore an ex-
pression of astonishment and disapproval ; the
singers, finishing their hymn with hasty quavers of
discomfiture, leaned over the front of the gallery
and gazed down upon him, and even Parson Hol-
brook bent his powdered head sidewise to look
sternly at the great square pew where his wealthi-
est parishioner was uncomfortably seating himself
with an attempt at unconscious dignity.
170 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
A moment of silence fell upon the place, that
awful, pregnant silence which speaks as no words
can, and then Martin Merivale, the man whom
Pilgrim Village always chose as its representative
in colonial assemblies, and who led public opinion
as he willed in the town where his honorable, stead-
fast life had thus far passed, rose in his place, de-
liberately did on his heavy cloak, took his hat in his
hand, cast one meaning glance across the aisle into
the questioning eyes of Major Cathcart, his old as-
sociate and neighbor, and then walked slowly down
the aisle. He had not reached the door before
Dr. Holcom rose to follow his example, and then
Squire Vale, and then the Oldfields, father and son,
and finally every man in the congregation who
counted himself a person of the least consequence,
or able to set an example, until, when black Pom-
pey at last closed the door, and with a joyous grin
sat down beside it, the church, so lately filled with
the pith and sinew of the stanch old colony town,
was empty, save of women, children, and Major
Reginald Cathcart, whose ashen-gray face had
never moved after the first from its stern straight-
forward gaze, or his dark eyes blanched, or his
heavy eyebrows unbent from the frown of defiant
endurance which with some men is the only sign of
agony.
And agony it could not fail to be ; for this man,
to-day so openly and deliberately thrust from their
midst by his fellow-townsmen, counted himself only
three days earlier their autocrat, claiming by birth,
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 171
wealth, and haughty self-assertion the place yielded
to him in virtue of these qualities, as that of Mar-
tin Men vale was thrust upon him in recognition of
his own personal character.
But why this terrible insult ? Why this stern
intimation that the men of Pilgrim Village consid-
ered the presence of one so lately their magnate so
great a pollution that they preferred even to lose
the privilege of public worship to suffering him to
join them in it ?
It was 1774, and the Governor of Massachusetts,
in right of his commission from King George of
England, had sent to demand the payment of a
tax levied upon the colony for the support of the
foreign soldiers, sent over with the avowed purpose
of holding the mutinous province in subjection.
Pilgrim Village took this demand from " the man
George " into consideration, argued upon it, prayed
over it, and finally declined to accede to it, but in
so mild and temperate a manner that the governor
considered the refusal only a formal protest, and.
proceeded to enforce his demand by appointing
certain collectors of the revenue throughout the
colony, and for the town of Pilgrim Village com-
missioning Major Reginald Cathcart to this odious
office.
When the news came down to the old town, its
men smiled after the slow and solemn fashion of
their kind, and said, " The governor does not
know the mind of the people even yet, it seems."
But the next day a rumor pervaded the town, --
172 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
a rumor of dismay and incredulity, yet deepening
hour by hour to certainty. Yes, Major Cathcart
had accepted the commission, and announced his
intention of carrying out its instructions. That
was on the Saturday, and we have seen the result
upon the Sunday.
As the door closed, Parson Holbrook rose and
prayed long and earnestly for the welfare of his
native land, and the safety of those whose fathers
had been led to these shores, even as the children
of Israel were led out of Egypt to find safety
and freedom in the knd their Lord had promised
them, and he closed with a petition for protection
against all enemies, both without and within, the
foreign foe and those of their own household who
had turned against them, and whose evil counsels
might, he prayed, be turned to foolishness and
dishonor.
Then came the sermon ; and, laying aside his
carefully written discourse upon the Urim and
Thummim, Parson Holbrook preached extempora-
neously and mightily from the text, " Put not your
faith in princes," diverging finally into the story of
Judas, and the high crime of domestic or social
treachery.
When all was over, and the choir had sung,
" See where the hoary sinner stands," black Pom-
pey threw open the doors, and stood aside, as usual,
to meet and return the kindly greetings of the con-
gregation ; but as Major Cathcart strode down the
aisle, his head erect, but his face white and with-
THE SCHOONEB DOLPHIN. 173
ered, as if he had just arisen from a bed of torture,
even Pompey turned his back and stood staring in-
tently out of the open door while the stricken man
passed by. But Major Cathcart looked neither to
the right nor the left ; and if others besides Pom-
pey had intended to show their disapproval of his
presence, they found no opportunity, for the king's
collector passed quickly through the little throng
outside the door, and down the main street until he
reached the grave, handsome, middle-aged house so
strongly resembling its master, and quietly opening
the front door, passed directly upstairs, and was
hastening to the shelter of a room at the back,
known as " the major's study," when from the
open door of one of the principal bedrooms came a
gentle yet eager call: " Reginald, do come in here."
The husband paused reluctantly and, turning his
head toward the door, but without showing his face
at it, replied, " What is it, Hepzibah ? I am going
to my study."
" Not first, dear. Please come and see me for a
moment. I am all alone."
Without replying, the major obeyed and, passing
into the handsome, shadowy room, stood beside the
bed, where lay a woman whose fair and delicate
face bore the patient, almost angelic look of one
who has suffered very long and very cruelly, but
whose pains, meekly borne, are consciously drawing
to their final close. She was Major Cathcart's wife,
and the only being the cold, proud man had ever
loved, and she was dying.
174 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
He stooped and kissed her tenderly, asking,
" How have you been this morning, dear ? "
" As well as usual. But you, Reginald ? How
has it been with you ? I knew by your step upon
the stair that you were suffering, and your face
tells the story. Oh, my darling husband, they have
insulted you, as we feared. Is not it so ? "
" Yes, Hepzibah, they have insulted me, and so
cruelly that I will no longer live among them. I
have resolved that we will go to the northern prov-
inces. We have good friends at Halifax, good and
loyal to the king whom these anarchists are pre-
paring to defy."
" Even the parson and the doctor, reasonable
and law-abiding men as they are, say that the col-
ony should be free," said the invalid, timidly, and
stealing her thin hand into her husband's. But he
frowned impatiently.
" This is not talk for women or children," said
he, coldly. "And you are of those whose con-
versation should be in heaven. It would better
become Parson Holbrook to tell you so, instead of
disturbing your mind with matters so unfit for it
at any time."
The wife remained meekly silent a moment, and
then, softly pressing her husband's finger, said :
" My love, you will wait until I am gone, will
you not, before you leave Pilgrim Village ? "
" Gone, Hepzibah ! gone where ? "
The wife looked up with tearful eyes, but her
reply was prevented by the sudden entrance of a
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 175
young girl, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright
with anger and excitement.
" Father, John Belknap has been in, and told
me of the insult they have offered you," exclaimed
she. " It is a shame, a burning shame, and I hope
you will show them "
" Dolly, I am not very strong to-day, dear, and
you are speaking loudly and unadvisedly."
It was the mother's gentle voice, and Dolly, who
would have joyfully taken the part of Joan of Arc,
or even Boadicea, fell .upon her knees directly be-
side her mother's pillow, soothing the invalid, and
accusing herself of all manner of evil in forgetting
even for a moment the consideration and tender-
ness owing to her.
Major Cathcart stood looking at the two for a
few moments, then quietly left the room, and a
little later dispatched a servant with a note re-
questing the immediate attendance of Dr.-Holcom.
The worthy physician was one of those who had
left the church so pointedly a few hours earlier,
and the proud man, thus insulted, by no means for-
got or forgave the insult, but the feelings of the
husband were stronger than all others at that mo-
ment, and Hepzibah's words had startled him with
a new and terrible idea.
The doctor came, was closeted for half an hour
with the major, made a short call upon his patient,
and left the house. A little later Major Cathcart
summoned his daughter to his private room, and
addressed her, briefly and almost sternly :
176 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
" Dolly, Dr. Holcom does not disguise from me
the cruel truth known for some time to him and
to your mother. She is dying, surely and swiftly.
Did you know it ? "
The girl hid her pale face between her hands.
" Mamma has said it, but I hoped " Her voice
died away, and her father's filled the space.
" Hope no longer. He says two or three months
are as much as we may look for, and even that
brief respite depends upon quiet and her accus-
tomed comforts. She must on no account be re-
moved even from the room where she now lies.
But this people about us will not wait two or three
months before they carry out in act the treason
they already talk, and I, as the avowed friend of
the king, and ready and willing to execute his will
in this rebellious province, shall very probably fall
one of their first victims ; or if not personally, shall
surely suffer in property, and be stripped of land
and house and even personal belongings. Were
your mother able, we should all migrate at once
to the still loyal northern provinces ; but as it is,
you must go alone, carrying such valuables as we
can collect, and remain with your uncle in Halifax
until Perhaps God's goodness is without
limit perhaps I may bring her with me."
" Must I leave my mother ? " cried Dolly, in dis-
may. " What matter for our possessions, compared
with the comfort of her last hours ! And how can
she spare me ? and, oh ! how could I spare her ? "
"Girl, there are perils in time of anarchy and
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 177
war of which you know naught, perils for a
young and comely woman of which I may not
speak. Your mother will be cared for, since it will
be the one duty of my life to care for her, and it
will be removing a weight from my mind to know
that you are safe, and shielded from the possibilities
of evil. Say no more ; it is decided."
Dolly, stout-hearted as she was, dared say no
more, for the girl of a century ago was trained to
obedience as the first duty of her sex, and to silence
and respect for the authority of man as the next ;
nor was Dolly's father a man to soften the stern
and unquestioned rule every head of a household
felt bound to exercise in all particulars. So the
preparations for the young girl's departure went
quietly and silently forward, and the schooner Dol-
phin, a small coasting craft partly owned by Major
Cathcart, received a cargo so various in its charac-
ter that neither master, mate, nor the attentive
loungers who inspected the process of loading could
positively determine her destination.
Not until the very last days before the Dolphin's
sailing did any one outside the major's own family
surmise that his daughter was to be a passenger,
and so rapidly, even secretly, was her luggage car-
ried aboard that very few persons saw it at all.
Among the rest was one article singular enough as
part of a young lady's outfit, especially so healthy,
active, and blithe a girl as Dorothea Cathcart : it
was one of those large, square, stuffed easy-chairs
still to be found in old country-houses, sometimes
178 THE SCHOONEE DOLPHIN.
dishonored in the lumber-loft, sometimes carefully
preserved in cover of white dimity or gay old-fash-
ioned chintz in the chamber of the grandmamma.
This one was covered in green moreen, and had
stood in Mrs. Cathcart's own bedroom, although
that dear lady had not been able to occupy it for
many a day. A short time after the decision with
regard to his daughter, Major Cathcart removed
this chair to his own study, and both he and Dolly
occupied themselves over it in a very mysterious
fashion for many hours, until at last the girl deftly
sewed a wrapper of tow-cloth over all, and said to
her father, who stood watching the operation :
" There, father, it will stand in the cabin, and I
shall say that it is covered lest any but my dear mo-
ther should use it, and I am taking it to her invalid
sister in Halifax, whom I am about to visit."
" I doubt not your shrewd wit will suggest many
a quip and turn," replied the major, with a grim
smile ; " but take care that you do not pass the
bounds of truth and discretion."
" I will take heed, father. The barrels are all
ready, are they not ? "
" Yes, and shipped. Here is the bill of lading ; "
and Major Cathcart took from his pocket-book and
handed to his daughter a slip of paper worded
thus :
Shipped by the Grace of GOD, in good order and
well conditioned, by Reginald Cathcart, in and upon the
good Schooner called the Dolphin, whereof is Master
under GOD for this present voyage William Peters, and
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 179
now riding at anchor in the Harbour of Pilgrim Village,
and by GOD's Grace bound for Halifax, to say, Twenty
barrells and boxes of sundries on Acct. and Risque of
the Shipper, and consigned to Cathcart and Kingsbury,
Halifax. Being marked and numbered as in the Mar-
gent, and are to be delivered in the like good Order and
well Conditioned at the aforesaid Port of Halifax (the
Dangers of the Seas only excepted) unto said Cathcart
and Kingsbury or to their Assigns, he or they paying
Freight for the said Goods, Sixpence per cw., English
Curryancy, with Primage and Average accustomed. In
witness whereof the Master or Purser of the said
Schooner hath affirmed to two Bills of Lading, all of
this Tenor and Date, one of which two bills being ac-
complished, the other to stand void.
And so GOD send the good Schooner to her des-
tined Port in safety. AMEN.
Dated in Pilgrim ViUage, October the 15th, 1774.
WILLIAM PETERS. 1
Dolly rapidly ran her eye over the familiar form r
for her duty had been to play the occasional part
of confidential clerk in her father's business, and
she smiled as she returned it to him, saying :
" ' Barrels and boxes of sundries ? ' Well, and
so they are. China and books and household gear
are sundries, no doubt, although I dare say your
partners think it is mackerel or "
" It does not concern the other owners of the
schooner, since I ship my freight at iny own charge
and purely as a private venture," interrupted Major
1 The above is a literal copy of a bill of lading given in Boston
shortly before the Revolution.
180 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
Cathcart, hastily. " But be careful, Dolly, that you
say not a word either here or upon your voyage as
to the nature of these same sundries, for "William
Peters is a fanatic as bitter as the worst, and if he
got wind of the matter now, nothing would be more
likely than that he should persuade Merivale and
the rest to throw off the mask at once, and confis-
cate my goods to the republic they talk of found-
ing. Even at sea you must be careful, for this man
is quite capable, even in the harbor of Halifax, of
giving the order to 'bout ship, and bring you and
the easy-chair and the barrels of sundries all back
to Pilgrim Village. It is a large errand for so
young a woman as you, Dolly, and you will need
to be wily as the serpent, though innocent as the
dove."
" I think I can do it, father," said Dolly, qui-
etly ; and as the major looked in his daughter's
face, he thought she could.
The morning that the Dolphin was to sail, Cap-
tain Peters found that Thomas Wilson, his first
mate, had fallen down the steep ladder leading
from his house to the shore, sprained an ankle and
broken a wrist, and was obviously unfit for a voy-
age. As he grimly meditated over this reverse, he
encountered a flushed and breathless young man,
who thus accosted him :
" Splendid weather, captain. I 've a mind to
make a cruise with you up to Halifax."
" Cabin is all engaged and paid for, John Bel-
knap," replied the skipper, gruffly. "That old
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. J81
Tory Cathcart is sending his daughter up there to
bring down troops upon us, or something of that
color, I '11 warrant. I wonder the owners don't see
through it and refuse ; but he 's paid for the cabin
and both staterooms, so that madam should not be
spied upon, I suppose."
" Oh, never mind ; I '11 go as clerk, or purser, or
steward, or even as a foremast hand. I can hand,
reef, and steer with any man, you know, and hard
work, or hard fare either, don't frighten me."
The skipper looked meditatively at the young
man, and turned the quid in his cheek, then care-
lessly asked :
" Did you know that fool Wilson has tumbled
down the cliff steps and disabled himself, at least
for this voyage ? "
"Your first mate? Hullo, skipper! Is that
what you mean ? Will you give me the berth ? "
" Hold hard, lad ! What are you squeezing my
old flipper for, and what 's your rage for Halifax
just now ? Is the English lass that was here hist
year up there, or have you quarreled with your
uncle, or "
"Never mind why I want to get to Halifax,"
replied the young man rapidly, seizing upon this
version of his eagerness to ship in the Dolphin.
"But saying I do, will you give me Wilson's
place ? "
"Why, yes, Belknap, and be glad to get you;
for I 've seen you handle a boat round the harbor
here and up on the fishing-ground often enough to
182' THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
know that you're worth having aboard, even if
you But look here ; there 's the gal. She 's
got to have the after-cabin, and her meals are to
be separate, and no one knows all the fine airs
she '11 put on* Maybe you could n't stand it, and
I don't know as I can. The little she-Tory ! "
But John Belknap did not seem in the least dis-
turbed even at this prospect, and no other objec-
tions coming up, the bargain was soon concluded,
the young man's name set down upon the schooner's
books as mate, vice Thomas Wilson, discharged,
and he at once entered upon his duties. One of
the first of them was to receive and place the last
articles of Miss Dolly's luggage, including the arm-
chair, which he was about to have stowed in the
hold, when the young lady herself came off, at-
tended by her father. At sight of the first mate
standing beside the open hatchway, reeving a line
around the chair, Miss Dolly showed signs of some
embarrassment, whether arising from the sudden
appearance of her old friend and schoolfellow, or
from his employment, no one can say.
" Oh, John but the chair is for my cabin,
if you please ; are you helping Captain Peters get
ready ? " stammered she ; and the mate, hardly less
disturbed, replied, in much the same style :
" Certainly, Dolly of course, Mistress Cath-
cart; it will be as you direct, surely; and yes,
of course ; I am mate of the Dolphin, you know."
" You mate of the Dolphin ? Since when, John
Belknap ?" asked Dolly's father, severely.
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 183
" To-day, sir. I was looking for a voyage, and
wanting to go upon my own business to Halifax ;
and as Wilson is disabled, I took the place," re-
plied Belknap, a little more coherently, and meet-
ing as best he might the piercing regard fixed
upon him by the major from beneath his shaggy
gray eyebrows. At last the veteran slowly spoke :
" You have a right to your own business, as you
say, John Belknap, and I have known you boy and
man for an honest, honorable, and true-hearted fel-
low, until this foul breath of treason swept through
the land, tainting you among the rest with its poi-
son. And so knowing you, I give this girl into
your charge, to guard her with all respect and
modest courtesy to her journey's end, remembering
that her lonely and unprotected state should be her
best defense from even an idle word or look. Will
you accept the charge, and give me your hand upon
it, John ? "
" Indeed I will, Major Cathcart, and you may
demand account of her when I return as strictly as
you will. I shall not be ashamed to give it."
As the young man spoke, he held out his hand.
The elder grasped it heartily, and for a moment
the two gazed steadily into each other's eyes. Then
John turned to resume his duties, asking :
" Did you say, Mistress Dolly, that you wish this
chair in the cabin ? "
" If you please, sir," replied the girl, demurely ;
and presently the great clumsy structure was wedged
in between the table and the transom at the stern of
184 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
the little schooner, taking up much more than its
share of room, and greatly disgusting Captain Pe-
ters by its presence the first time he came below.
There was little to say, however, this cabin having
been secured as far as possible for Dolly's private
accommodation, the captain and mate only visiting
it for meals, which they took at a different hour
from their passenger, and sometimes of an evening,
spending the other hours off duty in the house on
deck or in their staterooms. The weather was, how-
ever, so lovely that Dolly also spent much of her
time on deck ; and as the mate of the schooner was,
of course, obliged to stand his watch, whether he
liked it or not, and the quarter-deck was his appro-
priate place at such times, it naturally fell out that
the young people were a good deal together, and
Dolly found the anxious kindness and attention of
the mate a pleasant relief from the decided gruff-
ness and half-concealed suspicions of the captain.
Whatever arrangement he could devise for her com-
fort was sure to be made, even at risk of displeas-
ing his superior, and Dolly had often to beg him
not to attempt to serve her so openly or so much,
lest he should bring trouble upon both their heads.
John promised, but the very same day broke the
promise, for, having noticed that Dolly, try as she
might, failed to arrange a comfortable seat by the
combination of a three-legged stool and a shawl,
disappeared from the deck, and presently returned,
bringing, with the aid of one of the sailors, the
great easy -chair, in which he had noticed that Dolly
usually sat when in the cabin.
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 185
" Boom won't swing over it, sir," grumbled the
man, as he set it down near the wheel.
"No more it won't," replied John, a little per-
plexed. " Well, if she needs to go over, we can
turn down the chair, Mistress Dolly. At any rate,
you '11 have a comfortable seat."
" My eye ! won't the old man growl when he
comes on deck and sees that 'ere ! " muttered the
sailor, slowly returning forward ; but Dolly, too
pleased with the attention to heed its consequences,
seated herself in the chair like a little princess, and
thanked her gallant knight so prettily that he alto-
gether forgot the boom, the sail, the captain, and
the schooner, until the wind, which had been fitful
and gusty all day, and of late had seemed dying
out altogether, suddenly revived, gathered itself
together, and came swooping down from out the
angry sunset as if determined to punish those who
had failed to respect its power and guard against
its attacks.
" Mr. Belknap, sir, what are you about, to let
the schooner go driving ahead with such a breeze
as this coming on ? " shouted an angry voice ; and
John, who had been seated on deck at Dolly's
feet, suddenly remembered that he was first mate
of the Dolphin, and that she was in immediate need
of his attention. His first act was to draw Dolly
from her seat, and then to throw the chair upon its
side, just in time to avoid the great boom, which
came flying over, as the captain fiercely cried to the
man at the helm :
186 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
" Port your helm, you lubber, port ! Mr.
Belknap, is this your watch on deck, or is n't it ? "
" The flaw struck us before any one could have
looked for it, captain, or I should have been ready ;
but there 's no harm done yet," replied Belknap,
in some confusion, and forthwith began to bellow a
series of orders so numerous and vociferous as to
drown the steady stream of grumbling abuse that
the captain distributed upon his mate, his pas-
senger, her father, and the chair, which latter he
strode across the deck for the express purpose of
kicking.
" Please not injure my chair, sir," remarked
Dolly, standing pale and haughty beside it. " To
be sure, it cannot kick back again, but still it may
not be safe to abuse it."
Captain Peters was an angry man, and more than
one cause combined to increase his wrath and ren-
der him glad to vent it where he could. He hated
Tories in general, and Major Cathcart in especial ;
he had not found the major's daughter as genial
and familiar as he imagined all young women ought
to be ; he had not felt quite satisfied with his mate's
deportment toward the young lady or toward him-
self ; and, to cap all, he had been suddenly aroused
from his after-dinner nap by the steward's knock-
ing down and breaking a pile of dishes ; finally,
perceiving with the instinct of an old seaman that
all was not right with the schooner, he had come
up the companionway just in time to meet the
squall, and to see that the first mate was in no wise
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 187
attending to his duties. Remembering all these
causes of aggravation, let us condone, so far as
possible, the next words and act of the irate skip-
per, for the words were too profane to repeat, and
the act was to seize the poor unwieldy old chair in
his sinewy grasp, with the avowed purpose of heav-
ing it overboard.
But the purpose was not effected, for, pushing
past him, Dolly seated herself upon the cushion, as
upon a throne, and with flashing eyes and trem-
bling lips asserted herself and her rights.
" Captain Peters, if you throw this chair over-
board, you will throw me with it. How dare you,
sir, to use such language toward me, or to lay hands
upon private property intrusted to your care ? "
If the captain had been angry before, he was
furious now, and roaring profanely, " Dare ! I dare
lay hands on any old Tory's goods ! ay, and on
his brat too, if it comes to that ! " he seized the
girl's arm, and attempted to drag her from the
chair. Dolly did not scream, but her mute resist-
ance was more than the skipper counted upon, and
he was grasping for the other arm, when a lithe
figure flew with a bound from the top of the house
to the deck beside the chair, and a sinewy hand
upon the captain's throat hurled him backward with
irresistible force.
" What does this mean ? What was that man
saying or doing, Dolly ? I '11 fling him overboard,
if you say so," panted John Belknap ; but before
Dolly could reply, the captain, foaming with rage,
188 THE SCHOONEE DOLPHIN.
was upon them, threatening his mate with irons
and close confinement on bread and water, and
Dolly with nothing less than hanging on the same
gallows with her old Tory father. Belknap, how-
ever, had already recovered his mental poise, and
standing between Dolly on her throne and the
captain, quietly said to the latter :
" See here, Captain Peters ; in the new times that
you are so fond of predicting, you say there are to
be no masters and no servants, and one man is to
be just as good as another, or better, if he can
prove himself so. Now why shouldn't we begin
these new times here and now ? Say I 've as good
a right as you to command this schooner, owned in
part by my uncle, and say that I 've as good a
chance as you of the men's good-will, what 's to
hinder me from trying to take the head of the con-
cern ? I could do it, and you know I could, and
five minutes from now could call myself master of
the Dolphin, with the power of ordering irons and
bread and water to anybody I chose. I could do
all this, I say ; but I 'm a quiet and law-abiding
man, and apt to stick to my word when it 's once
passed, and I don't forget that I shipped for mate
and not for skipper ; so if this young lady and her
property are to have such treatment as she has a
right to expect, and such as was engaged and paid
for by her father, and if she 's content to have it so,
I '11 agree to let by-gones be by-gones, and return to
my duty as mate. What do you say ? "
Captain Peters stood for a moment glaring at his
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN, 189
mate with red and angry eyes, then turned away,
paced the deck twice up and down, paused, and said,
in as nearly his usual tone as he could manage :
" Mr. Belknap, see everything made snug for a
gale ; we shall have one before dark. Mistress
Cathcart, I must have the decks cleared, and this
chair carried below at once."
" Certainly, Captain Peters," replied Dolly, will-
ing to accept even so rusty an olive-branch as this ;
and as she descended the steps of the companion-
way, followed by two seamen bearing the chair,
John Belknap went forward to attend to his duties ;
but as the chair remained for a moment poised
at the top of the steps, a sudden flaw caused the
Dolphin to lurch so violently that chair, sailors,
and all were precipitated down the steps and into
the little after-cabin together, all suffering more or
less in the descent, the men from bruises and
abrasions, but the poor chair from the loss of a leg
and fracture of an arm. The sailors would have
raised it up on the three remaining legs, but Dolly
suddenly begged them to leave it alone, and with-
out apparent intention, interposed between it and
them so as to nearly hide it from view, while cour-
teously turning them out of the cabin, and closing
the door behind them.
Soon after, Mistress Dolly herself left the cabin,
begged a few nails and a hammer from the steward,
and, returning, carefully reclosed the door, and
proceeded to use them so vigorously that the sound
of her hammer resounded even through the howl-
190 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
ing of the swiftly risen wind and the trampling of
the seamen overhead as they obeyed the clear and
rapid orders of the first officer.
The breeze grew to a half gale, then to a gale,
and at last to a storm so furious and resistless that
at the end of the third day the Dolphin lay, mast-
less and rudderless, a mere unmanageable hulk
rolling in the trough of an angry sea. The boats
were got out, manned, and ready to push off, when
John Belknap came down to the cabin for Dolly,
who rose from her knees and met him with a white
but very calm face.
" Come, Dolly, they cannot live a moment beside
the wreck, and I think the captain would be glad
of an excuse "
" He has found it ! " interrupted Dolly, as a
dark object swept past the cabin windows, breaking
for an instant the sullen glare of the green and
foamy waves. Belknap leaped on deck. It was
true. The captain, perhaps unable to control his
men, perhaps driven by the waves, had allowed the
boats to leave the side of the vessel, and already a
dozen oars' lengths divided them.
" We are deserted," said a calm voice beside the
young man, as he stamped and vociferated madly
upon the deck.
" Yes, Dolly ; and, Dolly, I would give my life
for yours, if so it might be saved."
" We shall both be saved, John, I am sure of it,
I feel it, we and the trust that my father has
committed to me."
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN. 191
"What trust, Dolly?"
"The arm-chair and the barrels and boxes
below."
John stared, and wondered if the poor child were
going mad under this terrible strain ; but the peril
was too pressing for words, and John Belknap was
a man of act rather than speech. Persuading
Dolly to go below, he busied himself in rigging a
rude substitute for a rudder, and then in getting
up a slender spar to serve as jury-mast. With
them, feeble and incompetent as they needs must
be, he gained some control over the schooner, suf-
ficient at least to keep her before the wind, and
thus avert the immediate danger of swamping.
The night passed, and the next day. Dolly con-
trived to find and prepare food for her guardian,
who never was able to leave the helm, although he
slept grasping the tiller, and became almost too
much exhausted for speech or thought. But help
was at hand, and the storm was past. As the sun
set he threw a clear flood of light across the sub-
siding waters, and in its gleam shone out the top-
sails of a bark plunging along toward them. The
signal raised by the girl, under her lover's direction,
was seen, and an hour later the Fairy Queen lay
alongside the Dolphin. The next morning the
arm-chair, the twenty boxes and barrels, and, last of
all, Dolly herself, were transferred to the British
bark, whose captain had consented to carry the
young lady's property as well as herself to the port
where he as well as she was bound.
192 THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN.
Arrived, Dolly was welcomed by her uncle, to
whom she at once confided her charge, and received
in return no measured praise and commendation.
" Your father says it is your own dowry, lass,"
remarked the uncle, folding up his brother's letter.
" So let us see to what it amounts, and place it in
safety."
The china, the books, the stuffs, and the house-
hold gear were released from the boxes and barrels,
and then the poor old arm-chair was ripped up, and
the fine old family plate, brought from England by
the major's father, the brocades and silks that had
been treasures of Dolly's grandmother, and still
waited for occasions grand enough to shape them
into robes, a casket of hereditary jewels, and finally
the title-deeds of property both in the Old and the
New World, were all produced ; and Dolly told of
the perils the poor chair had passed on board ship,
and how it had fallen down the companionway, and
the silver coffee-pot had peeped out and nearly be-
trayed the whole secret, and how she had protected
it and cobbled it up, and how she had been glad
to be left on board by the retreating crew that she
might not abandon the charge her father had con-
fided to her.
" And now, uncle," said she, in conclusion, " I
have promised, if you and my father approve, to
marry John Belknap; and he never suspected a
word of all this."
" In truth, that is the most wonderful part of
the story," cried jolly old Kalph Cathcart. " Not
THE SCHOONER DOLPHIN, 193
one girl in a hundred would have shown your pa-
tience and courage, my lass ; but not one in five
thousand would have kept a secret so faithfully and
long, especially with a sweetheart at her elbow.
Well, when the young man comes to-night, tell him
of your dowry, and tell him I '11 answer for my
brother's consent, as well as my own. He touched
upon the matter in his letter."
The next news from Pilgrim Village told Dolly
that her mother was at rest, and her father had
accepted a brevet commission in the royalist army.
Then came an interval of months, and then a hurried
scrawl written upon the field of battle, and with it
a letter from the chaplain of the regiment, telling
Dolly that she was an orphan.
" No one on earth now but you, John," sobbed
the poor child in her lover's arms.
" And I will try to be all that earth can give,
with a looking on to something better," replied he.
And tradition says he remembered his promise,
and that Mistress Belknap was a happy, a prosper-
ous, and a most honored wife.
And the old arm-chair ? It stands beside me,
hale and hearty, in spite of Dolly's cobbling.
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES.
WHEN I was a child in the dear old New Eng-
land seashore town where I was born, my daily
walk to school led me past an isolated house known
as Miss Betty Thorndyke's, inhabited only by that
lady and one old negro servant woman, popularly
supposed to be a witch.
Various circumstances combined to invest this
house, at least to my childish mind, with an awful
yet fascinating interest.
" Over all there hung a cloud of fear,
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said as plain as whisper in the ear,
' The place is haunted ! ' "
Certainly it had a peculiar aspect. It was a large
house, gam brel - roofed, un painted, and weather-
stained to a dull gray color, rendered more gloomy
by spots of gray-green lichen creeping like a dis-
ease all down the shingled walls. The air all
about it seemed filled with a deadly stillness,
no bird sang, nor dog barked, nor cat sunned her-
self upon the weedy doorsteps. The only life about
the place seemed indeed to intensify the desola-
tion, for in the twilight the old negress flitted out,
basket in hand, to supply the simple wants of the
household, and always Miss Betty " walked." I
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES. 195
don't know what idea of terror that simple word
conveyed to my childish mind, but I think I con-
nected it with some story of " Spirit's Pasture,"
where "old Maglathlin" was said to "walk;"
but at any rate, every window of that gray old
house was closely and constantly shuttered, except
two in the second story, which we all knew were the
windows of Miss Betty's own room, and through
those might generally be seen the figure of a tall,
gaunt woman, always clothed in white floating gar-
ments, and always wringing her hands with a mo-
notonous yet convulsive motion. I never passed
the house without hiding myself behind the great
gateposts and pausing as long as I dared, to watch,
this figure, and sometimes in summer when the
windows were open, to listen to the dull murmur
of her voice ; what it said I could not generally
make out, but once or twice, creeping close beneath
the dusty lilacs that buried the fence, I made out
the words, " Oh dear, dear ! Oh dear me ! Oh
me ! " words simple enough in themselves, and yet
so fraught with an anguish never dying yet ever
new, that I always crept away from beneath the
hedge, after hearing them, with an aching heart
and tearful eyes.
I was not a very happy child, being an orphan,
and not fond of the relatives who had adopted me.
My stirring aunt had no children, and kept no ser-
vants, so there did not seem to be anybody of
whom I could ask Miss Betty's story. Once I
mentioned her to Alice, my favorite playmate, but
she said contemptuously:
196 MISS BETTTS PICTURES.
" Pho, she 's only an old crazy woman, nobody
cares anything for her ; the boys say they 'd fire
stones at the windows, if it was n't for the old
black thing that lives with her : she 's a witch,
and could kill you any minute, just as easy ! "
I flushed, but remained silent, for I felt that
Alice was taking but a vulgar and outside view
of the subject, and I would not have my childish
dreams disturbed, either with regard to her own
character, or Miss Betty's history.
That night, however, I sat beside the window of
my little bedroom, revolving a daring scheme, and
when at last I quietly undressed by moonlight, I
had resolved upon its accomplishment. I did not
pause as I passed the old house next day, and
hardly looked at it ; I felt that I must hoard my
strength, and stifle my emotions to support me when
the time should come.
The moment that school was dismissed in the
afternoon, I hurried away, not heeding the various
invitations of my playmates, and, seeking certain
well-known nooks of wood and meadow, soon col'
lected a really beautiful bouquet of wild flowers,
mingled with some long stems of wood strawberries,
whose sweet musky odor mingled deliciously with
the more delicate flower perfumes. With this in
my hand, I hurried on, nor paused until, with dizzy
eyes and chokingly pulsating heart, I stood upon the
threshold of Miss Betty's door and, raising the
heavy iron knocker, woke the long-sleeping echoes
of the awesome house.
JOSS BETTY'S PICTURES. 197
Long silence followed my first summons, but
mine was one of those timid natures which, once
aroused, will dare all and do all, but cannot retreat.
I knocked again more loudly, more resolutely ; a
few moments, and the door opened, slowly and
groanfully ; like the door of a long-closed tomb.
It was the old negress, as I had expected, who
stood and glared silently and irresolutely at me. I
did not wait for her to speak, but hurried on :
" Here are some flowers for Miss Betty, I
think she will like them ; may I carry them up ? "
The old woman paused ; peered earnestly into
the little pale face before her, and finally, without
speaking, took me by the arm, and drew me in,
closing and barring the door behind me.
I shivered all over ; would she kill me, and
throw me in the well, like little Sir Hugh and the
Jew's daughter, which my aunt used to sing ? I
did not know, but followed resolutely as she led me
through the long and dark entry to a small side
staircase ; up this we groped, and paused silently
until the hand of the old woman fell upon the latch
of a door, which she opened ; then my heart gave a
great throb of relief, for it was really Miss Betty's
chamber, and there, dressed in her loose white robe,
paced Miss Betty up and down, up and down, still
wringing her hands, and moaning over and over :
" Oh dear ! Oh dear ! "
She did not look at us until the old woman hob-
bled up to her, and laying a hand upon her shoulder
said :
198 MISS BETTY'S PICTURES.
" Bucra pickaninny bring lilly posie to Missy ;
look, honey-plum, see de pitty posie."
It is impossible to describe the coaxing, pleading
tone of the old woman's voice, as she thus addressed
the piteous figure before her. Evidently to her, in-
stead of a middle-aged, heart-broken woman, Miss
Betty was a suffering child, who must be coaxed and
petted that she might forget her little sorrows.
The tears rushed to my eyes ; I longed, baby that
I was, to change places with Miss Betty, and give
all to be thus loved and cared for.
Miss Betty paused in her walk, took the flowers,
gazed at them eagerly, inhaled their fragrance, and
then throwing them down, covered her face, and
burst into a wild fit of crying.
I shrunk back frightened, and stood irresolute,
while the woman, lifting the slight figure of her
mistress, laid her upon the bed, and taking from
a drawer some aromatic vinegar, bathed her fore
head and temples.
Presently the invalid became more quiet, al-
though she still wept silently, and my eyes wan-
dered from her to the mysterious chamber in which
I found myself. It was a large, low room, with an
uncarpeted floor, and rich old mahogany furniture ;
what, however, particularly attracted me were the
pictures. These were five in number, evidently
portraits, and the idea at once occurred even to
my inexperienced mind that they were members
of one family.
One was a gentleman, dressed in a flowing robe
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES. 199
of Indian silk, such as I remembered my aunt to
have shown one day to a visitor, as belonging to
my grandfather. In one hand he held an open let-
ter, with a finger of the other pointing to it, while
his dark, serious eyes seemed fixed so intently upon
my face that I felt as if I were the person whose
attention he had been waiting all these years to at-
tract to that now illegible line. Opposite, hung
the picture of a lady whom I at once decided must
be his wife. She had a sweet and pensive face,
somewhat delicate and languid too, as if she did not
feel very strong. She was dressed in a soft, smoke-
colored silk dress, with a gauzy scarf about her
shoulders ; in her hair, and on her neck and arms,
were ornaments of pearl and opal, which I remem-
ber thinking well suited to her fragile loveliness,
although I did not then know either the names of
the gems, or why they suited me so well in the
picture.
The next portrait was that of a young man about
twenty years old, I should judge from recollection.
He looked very much like his father, except that
his face wore an eager, impatient expression, as if
life held out so many pleasures to him that he could
hardly bear to wait long enough to have his picture
painted. In one hand he held a wide-brimmed hat
and a riding-whip, while the other rested on the
head of a great dog, who looked eagerly up in his
face.
Next to this young gentleman's portrait hung
that of his sister, an exquisitely lovely young girl,
200 MISS BETTTS PICTURES.
about sixteen, but already dressed in her bridal
robes. Among her dark curls were twined orange
flowers and buds, which drooping down were lost
upon the whiteness of her pearly neck and shoul-
ders ; besides the flowers, she wore no ornaments ex-
cept the lace that flowed as a veil behind her back,
and draped with its soft folds the round white arms
and little hands lying clasped upon her lap. She
was seated in a garden chair, and from the tree above
her head hung great festoons of gorgeous flowers,
which years after I recognized as passion flowers,
The eyes were downcast, but their darkness was vis-
ible through the transparent lids, and the black
lashes showed upon the pale, clear cheek. About the
little rosy mouth played a half smile of bashful
pleasure, and the skillful painter had thrown over .
the whole figure just the air of a pretty conscious-
ness suited to a young girl wearing her bridal dress
though not yet a bride.
The last picture hung over the bed, as if Miss
Betty did not care to look at it so much as the other,
and yet it was very pretty, representing a little
child, with merry blue eyes and golden hair, seated
upon the grass, the lap of her white frock filled
with bright flowers, among which her little fat
hands were plunged, while her eyes were raised to a
great orange held just beyond her reach by a black
woman, who laughed from every one of her white
teeth, and from every fold of her gay turban.
It may seem to some persons unnatural that I
should notice so many little particulars in these
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES. 201
five pictures, and be able to describe them so
minutely after these many years, but I was a quiet
and observant child, thoughtful beyond my age, and
was often storing up food for memory, while those
about me thought me engrossed in play, or too
young to understand what was going on. Besides,
this was not the only interview which I had with
Miss Betty's pictures.
I had just concluded this first examination, and
was turning to begin again, when the negro woman
(whose name I afterwards found to be Judith, or
as Miss Betty always called her, Maum Judy),
turned round from the bed where her mistress
was now sleeping, and coming toward the door
seized me by the arm and hurried me out before
her, nor did she pause to speak till she had put me
out the front door, and was closing it behind me ;
opening it a little way just as I thought it shut, she
put out a skinny hand, patting me gently on the
head, and muttered in her hoarse voice :
" Good pickaninny, Maum Judy tank picka-
ninny, but dontee ever come here again; make poor
lilly Missy cry, see de posies dat she use'a pick."
The door closed, and I hurried home, my heart
beating proudly with the consciousness of having
successfully achieved a perilous enterprise, and
come safely out of unknown dangers.
Although longing to see and know more of
Miss Betty and her pictures, I did not think of
again intruding after Maum Judy's injunction,
until one day, about a fortnight after my visit, as I
202 MISS BETTY'S PICTURES.
walked slowly by the house, looking eagerly up in,
hopes of seeing Miss Betty, which I had not done
for some days, the door slowly opened, and old
Judy's dark and withered face appeared in the
aperture. She silently beckoned to me, and with-
out hesitation I obeyed the summons. Once inside
the house, with the door locked, the negress
breathed more freely, and patting me again upon
the head, said sadly :
" Lily missy berry tic drefful weakly, chile,
'pec she won't nebber git ober dat ar fright ; wants
to see bucra pickaninny dat bring her posies.
Must n't talkee much, she so berry weak."
"No, ma'am," replied I timidly to this caution,
and we again climbed the dark and narrow stair-
case and, opening the door, Judith admitted me to
the chamber of the pictures, where Miss Betty lay
in bed. She looked paler and weaker than she
had done when I saw her before, but her eyes had
a softer and quieter look, and when she saw me
she smiled a little, which I had never seen her do
before.
" Come here, little girl ! " said she, putting out
her thin white hand, and taking mine ; " I thank
you very much for bringing me the flowers, they
have made a great change in my life. What is your
name, dear ? "
" Salome, ma'am," replied I, timidly.
" That is rather a sad name, but you do not look
like a very merry child ; perhaps it suits you as a
blither one would not do. Will you stay with me a
little while this morning ? "
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES. 203
" Thank you, ma'am, I should like to very much,''
said I, mentally resolving to risk the " tardy mark "
and the loss of my " nooning " for the sake of see-
ing a little more of Miss Betty.
" That is right," said she, smiling again. " It is
long since I spoke to any one but poor Maum, who
has been faithful to me through all, and I should
like to talk a little to-day."
" Would you please, then, ma'am, to tell me a
little about the pretty pictures here ? " asked I
quickly, forgetting, in my eagerness, not only my
own natural reserve, but the caution impressed upon
ine by Maum Judy, who had not entered the cham-
ber with me, being probably detained by some do-
mestic duty.
Miss Betty did not answer me for a moment or
two, but her eyes, wandering from my face, visited
each picture in succession, filling the while with
tears, and her hands, slowly folding together, began
the old motion, and her pale lips softly whispered :
" Oh dear ! Oh dear ! "
I was quite still and silent, fearing lest I had
been the means of making the poor lady worse in
body and mind, but after a little while she looked
at me again, wiped her eyes, and said kindly :
" Yes, Salome, I will tell you about them, for
I think about them always, and it will be no worse
to speak. That gentleman was my father, that
lady my mother, that my only sister, that my
brother, and the picture above my head which I
cannot see, is myself and Maum Judy, who was
then, as now, my kind and faithful nurse. '
204 MISS BETTTS PICTURES.
" I was born in one of the West India islands,
where my father had gone from here some years be-
fore. My first memories are of such flowers and
fruits as you see there, and of all the beauties of the
tropics. These pictures were painted by an artist
whom my father brought from one of the great
cities, on the occasion of my sister's marriage. I
remember her, just as she looked then. I remem-
ber the gay wedding, and how we all cried when she
went away. After that I remember nothing for
some time, I was but a little child, but I know
she was there the dreadful night, she and her baby.
I suppose she had come on a visit, or perhaps to live,
but she was there. That night, I was in bed,
and was wakened suddenly by my pale, beautiful
mamma, who snatched me up, and held me close to
her breast, while her hot tears rained down on my
head. She ran with me into her room, and crouched
down behind the bed, still sobbing, but warning
me to be quiet. Presently there was a great noise
outside, and a crowd of servants rushed into the
room: they were all field hands, and I did not
know any of them ; the house servants loved us all
and would not join. They soon found us, but when
they seized my mother she did not stir. I do not
know whether she had fainted or was dead ; I hope
she was dead. One man took her, and another
me, and carried us to the great saloon. There
was my father, pale and bloody, tied hand and foot
to a marble statue. He looked weak, but brave as
ever; if he had been free and had a weapon, he
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES. 205
Would have driven them all before him, even then.
My brother lay upon a couch, dreadfully wounded,
and breathing slow and hard ; my sister, with her
baby in her arms, stood between two fierce-looking
negroes. I think her wits were gone, for she smiled
as she looked about her, and cooed to little Lota
when she held up her hand.
" The slaves whispered together, and then one
he did not belong to our plantation, I am sure
stepped out from among them, and asked my father
something which made him very angry. I do not
know, but I suppose he offered to spare his life
on some disgraceful terms, for my father said very
loud and quickly :
" No, villain ! The only mercy I ask is that I
may see my wife and daughter dead before me."
"The great black made no answer, but, swing-
ing the hatchet which he held round his own head,
buried it in my father's forehead.
" I saw them all die ; oh, child, I saw it all ! The
little baby lay upon the hearth, her mother beside
her my brave, noble brother, my mother, all
murdered all ! They would have seized me, but
Maum Judy snatched me from the man who held
me, and hurried away. I was saved, but I suppose
the terrible shock had shattered my senses, for I
was a child then, and now my hair is turning gray,
but I remember nothing since, till the flowers that
you brought me ; my life ended there.
" Maum brought me to this country, she says, and
to some of my mother's friends ; finally we came
206 MISS BETTY'S PICTURES.
here. They recovered some of my father's property,
among the rest these pictures, and they have been
for many years my world, they and this old house
which was my mother's home."
Miss Betty paused, breathless and pale. I was
crying so much that I could not speak, but I kissed
the white hand which lay outside the bed, kissed
it again and again. Miss Betty did not cry or
speak, but I think it would have been better if she
had, she was so very white and still. So we sat,
motionless and silent in the solemn room, until
Maum Judy came softly in to look after her nurs-
ling. Stealing up to the bed she bent over, evi-
dently expecting to find Miss Betty asleep ; but as
soon as she saw the white face, and dim, languid
eyes, she turned to me almost fiercely :
" Go 'way, bad pickaninny go right 'way.
Did n't me tellee no talkee much, no let lilly Missy
talkee ? Now here she all gone clean tuckered
out. Go long wid you ! "
Frightened and unhappy, I crept to the door,
venturing only to pause and press one more kiss
on the beautiful pale hand, which did not move in
response ; then I opened very softly the door, and
stole down the dark stairs to the gloomy hall be-
neath. It was almost more than my little fingers
could accomplish to withdraw those ponderous bolts,
but I labored eagerly upon them, for there was some-
thing in the air of the old house which hung upon
me like a nightmare, and I felt so intense a longing
to escape into the fresh, free air, that I believe J
MISS BETTY'S PICTURES. 207
should have made my way through the Solid door
rather than to remain within it. This feeling, how-
ever, gradually wore away, and after a few days I
used to look up at the old house as longingly as ever,
but I never saw either Miss Betty or her pictures
again.
A month later, and one Sunday evening, the
church bell tolled solemnly and slow. My Aunt
listened quietly, and said :
" That 's for poor Miss Betty Thorndyke, her
troubles are over at last, thank God. "
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
A STORY OF COLONIAL BOSTON.
THE harvest moon shone full and bright upon
Deacon Elnathan Paddock's barn in Roxbury, some
three miles from Boston Common, and with her flood
of white splendor royally snubbed the red and smoky
flare of two or three dozen pitch-pine torches, set
here and there to light the interior of the great
sweet place, filled to overflowing with the new crop
of hay stacked in the mows, and the varied grain
piled upon scaffoldings in the fragrant glooms of
the roof.
High heaped in the centre of the barn- floor lay a
great pile of maize, or Indian corn, still in the husk,
and around it some twoscore merry lads and lasses,
divided into couples, were seated upon benches,
boxes, logs, or trusses of hay, all busy in stripping
the golden grain of its covering, chattering like a
flight of blackbirds, comparing the growth of the
little pile of gleaming ears rising between each
couple, jesting, laughing, shouting, or, when a red
ear was discovered in some girl's hands, watching
with decorous glee as the happy swain seated next
her claimed the forfeit of a kiss.
Do not, however, fancy that these young people
were rustics, or hoydens, or lacking in the proprie-
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE. 209
ties by which gentlefolk are supposed to be hemmed
about in all ages of the world. These were sons and
daughters of the very best among the townsfolk of
Boston and Roxbury and Newtown, or Cambridge
as it is now called, for Deacon Paddock, besides this
barn and farm, owned a fair brick house on Long
Acre Lane, now Tremont Street, in Boston, and it
was his son, Major Adino Paddock, who planted the
row of elms in front of the Granary Burying-ground,
so shamefully cut down by city step-fathers not long
since. Yes, these young people were both well-nur-
tured and well-moraled, but the fashion of their day
differed from ours ; the moon was just the same
that looked down upon you, my dear, on the night
you wot of, but the kiss which John most innocently
bestowed upon Rebecca and she most innocently
accepted was quite another thing from that which
So-and-so wanted to give you and you would not for
all the world have permitted.
Times change, and manners with them, and it
is to be hoped human nature adapts itself to the
change.
I mentioned Rebecca, and so reminded myself
that she is my heroine, and I have a story to tell
about her and John Mascarene, who sat next her,
and, as I hinted, took advantage of her husking
a red ear of corn to kiss the cheek next to him,
watching with satisfaction while it rapidly as-
sumed the same hue as the friendly ear of maize.
But the next moment Emily Parker, sitting oppo-
site, also husked a red ear, and Thomas Phillips
210 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCABENE.
hastened to follow Mascarene's example, so that
under cover of the fresh peals of laughter hailing
this event John could quietly say in Rebecca's
ear :
"You didn't want me to give you that kiss,
Ray ! "
" What makes you think so ? A husking kiss
does n't signify more than a Pope Joan or a for-
feit," replied Mistress Rawson, a little coldly, as
she picked two or three ears from the heap, and
slyly peeped to see that none of them were red.
" That 's just it," replied Mascareue, discontent-
edly. " You would n't let me give you a kiss in
earnest, although in sport you can't help it."
" You know so much, John Mascarene ! " ex-
claimed Ray, flashing a splendid glance upon him
out of great dark eyes now full of mocking light.
" Am I wrong ? Ray, do you mean that I am
over - timersome ? " And the young fellow bent
eagerly forward, trying to catch once more those
eyes, now glancing in every direction except his.
" Ray Rawson, did you ask my lord to grace our
poor festivities, as I bade you ? " demanded lively
Lois Paddock, across the heap of corn.
" Yes, Lois, I gave him your message," replied
Ray, her cheeks again blazing up with the superb
color John Mascarene was wont to watch for, al-
though now he did so with angry eyes and lower-
ing brow.
" And he will come at your bidding, I am well
assured, if not at mine," laughed Lois.
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE. 211
" He is coming. My brother Will and he prom-
ised to ride out together," replied Rebecca, briefly.
" Here they are now," muttered Mascarene.
" Rebecca, you '11 rue it yet, my word for it,
lass ! "
" Rue what, you simple fellow ? Bidding Sir
Thomas Hale to Lois Paddock's husking, pray ? "
" Setting your foot on an honest man's heart, to
climb up to a coronet."
" A baronet has no coronet, Johnny. 'T is a
bloody hand you mean."
" Ay, the bloody hand may well grasp yours, wet
with my life's blood."
" Pooh, John ! if it were midsummer I 'd say you
were sunsick, and as 't is, perhaps the moon is to
blame. Sure 't is something more than nature ails
you ! "
" Here they are. Come you with me and greet
them, Ray. Adino, come ! " And Lois, assuming
a pretty little air of dignity with her office of host-
ess, went forward, followed by her brother and Re-
becca Rawson, to meet the two young men waiting,
for a moment, upon the threshold, the glory of the
moonlight at their backs, the smoky flare of the
torches in their faces.
" Good-evening, Will. You are welcome, Sir
Thomas Hale. You do our poor merry-making too
much honor," said Lois, with sweet formality.
"When beauty that would embellish a throne
chooses scenes rustical for its setting, its humble
admirers can do no better than to follow."
212 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
And Sir Thomas Hale bent low, sweeping the
threshold with the plumes of the hat in his left
hand, while with the right he raised Lois's pretty
fingers to his lips. From which speech and action
it will be seen that this young gentleman was a very
fine gallant indeed, and quite superior to poor John
Mascarene, who was only skipper of a schooner
trading to the West Indies for fruit, and assumed
no other manners or language than nature and
respectable training had furnished him with. But
then, Sir Thomas Hale claimed the Lord Chief
Justice of England as his uncle, and had gained
his breeding at the court of Charles II., the
Merry Monarch, where, just now, Nell Gwynne,
the orange-girl, set the mode.
" And fair Mistress Rawson ! " exclaimed the
courtier, kissing her hand also, in a sort of polite
ecstasy. " Ever blooming, ever radiant ! Will your
majesty deign to allow me a seat at your side and
instruct me in this bucolic pastime at which you
are so gracefully engaged ? "
" With pleasure, Sir Thomas," replied Rebecca,
more flattered and pleased than she wished to show,
and Mascareue, whose eyes had never left her face
since Sir Thomas was announced, sprang from his
seat, saying, with what he meant for indifference :
" Here is a seat at your disposal, Mistress Rawson.
I have had enough of the bucolic pastime."
It was a mistake, and he felt it so, poor lad, but
it was not ten minutes ago that he had kissed her,
and she had been his sweetheart since they played
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCARENE. 21
together, two happy children, in the green, shady
foot-path known as Rawson's Lane, leading from
Long Acre to Marlborough Street. The names
of these places are changed, and to-day we say
that Bromfield Street, where never blade of grass
or even city tree is seen, connects Tremont and
Washington streets, but human nature has never
changed a whit in all the two centuries lying be-
tween that day and this, and although Rebecca
Rawson's flower-garden is now a row of glaring
shops, and although John Mascarene's home in
School Street, hard by, is now a fine City Hall,
and neither maid nor man dwells in either, I
doubt me not that at this moment the pavement
of both Bromfield and School streets is beaten by
the feet of lovers just as madly jealous, and sweet
girls just as foolish and as blind, as those who-
were alive on the evening when Rebecca came
home from Lois Paddock's husking, escorted by
Sir Thomas Hale, with careless Will riding on
ahead and poor John Mascarene following just in
sight, and wondering if he would go to-morrow
and volunteer on one of the king's ships, or if he
would marry Dorothy Alden and be happy, in spite
of And here he had to stop thinking, and set
his teeth hard, for he was but three-and-twenty, and
had a loving heart, albeit as brave a one as ever
faced a foe.
A few days more, and the town's talk was that
Rebecca Rawson was engaged, or, as they called it,
contracted, to Sir Thomas Hale, and her father was
214 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
something more than pleased, for being already
secretary of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, he was
naturally discontented with his position, and counted
to be governor ; a promotion which Sir Thomas air-
ily assured him could be managed by his uncle, the
chief justice, in less time than it took to speak of
it. Just how, Sir Thomas did not mention, and the
good secretary was too dazzled to inquire.
As for Rebecca, it is hard to say how she felt. A
crumb of her father's ambitious nature worked like
leaven in her sweet girl-nature, and the flowery
speeches and ornate manners of her titled admirer
made a deep impression upon her inexperienced
fancy. She liked the idea of being called My
Lady, and of going to court and vying with duch-
esses and marchionesses, every one of whom, as Sir
Thomas assured her, would wither with envy at
sight of her transcendent beauty and incomparable
toilets.
And then she should help her father to the po-
sition he so much craved ; and her brothers oh,
there was no vanishing-point to the glittering vista
opening before her eyes !
John ! Well, John was out of sight. He had
sailed a few days before the engagement was an-
nounced, and would not be back before the wed-
ding. Ah, well ! Those childish follies could not
last ! So Ray, alone in her own pretty bedroom,
took an ear of red corn tied up with a blue ribbon
out of a coffer upon her dressing-table, and went
toward the fireplace. But the hearth was cold and
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE. 215
empty, and the chambermaid would wonder at see-
ing such a matter lying there ; and after all
poor John Then with a little sigh, a little
smile, a little blush, the ear of red corn, with its
true-lover's knot of blue, went back into the coffer,
and stayed there for a great many years, as many
as Rebecca lived.
The colonial secretary was a widower, and a
very verjuice-tempered sister of the late wife kept
the house, and wintrily mothered Rebecca. She
was a gentlewoman, however, and a notable house-
keeper ; and the secretary, with his long purse in
hand, had bidden her furnish forth the future Lady
Hale with everything that would befit her high
estate and the position at court Chief Justice Hale
was to procure for the bride of his favorite nephew.
Aunt Becky, nothing loath, went about this com-
mission with zeal, and the two or three leading linen-
drapers of Boston town, and the India merchants who
had already begun to import silks and feathers and
goldsmith's work cunningly wrought into fabrics for
dresses, and certain French traders who ventured
upon buying small amounts of Parisian gauds to
sell to such dames as dared purchase and wear
them, all these good traders were roused up and
laid under contribution, and each produced his best,
and exerted himself to procure better from incom-
ing vessels, until finally Rebecca, tired, bewildered,
fascinated, and yet not quite content, saw a dray
driven up to the side door of the great wooden
house in the bowery lane, and watched while twelve
216 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
boxes and mails were piled upon it, all filled and
crammed with her own clothes and household
linen, the largest and most expensive outfit, as
Aunt Becky proudly declared, ever yet bestowed
upon a Boston bride.
" And so it should be," replied Secretary Raw-
son, loftily ; " for no Boston maid hath ever made
such a match as our maid hath."
And he was right, poor man, he was right !
The next morning dawned cold and stormy. An
east wind blew in the fog from sea, and moaned
and sighed around the gables of the great house,
and cried shrilly through the keyholes, and sobbed
in the wide chimneys with almost a human voice.
" Let us have a fire upon the hearth, at least
in the hall, Rebecca," suggested the master of the
house to his sister. " 'T is a shrewd and nipping
day for riding, and our friends will be chilled, al-
beit 't is called July."
So a fire was kindled upon the hall-hearth, and,
whether it was the wind, or the long dampness, or
the effect of the sudden heat, certain it is that, as
Ray stood before the mirror in her own room, and
Aunt Rebecca herself was pinning the bridal veil
around her head, while one maid held the little
satin slippers, and another the fan and handker-
chief and nosegay, a great crash sounded through
the house, drowning the wailing of the wind and
shaking the solid oaken frame.
" Good Heavens ! what is that ? " cried the
bride, sinking into a chair, her face as white as her
paduasoy gown.
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCARENE. 217
" Don't faint and rnuss your veil, child ! " cried
Aunt Becky, running out of the room, followed by
both the maids ; and Ray, presently gathering her
strength, followed, and looked over the balusters of
the great square staircase into the hall below, where
men and maids, and some early guests, and the sec-
retary himself, were gathered in dismay about a
confusion on the hearth.
" 'T is the great mirror fallen and shattered ! "
cried Aunt Becky.
" Ay, the shield above slipped down, and tore the
mirror from its holding," added the secretary, in a
somewhat annoyed tone ; for, although as practical
as most men of his generation, he would not have
chosen to break a mirror or throw down his ances-
tral shield upon his daughter's wedding-day.
" And oh, see here, father ! " cried ten-year-old
Grindall, grubbing in the smoking ruin. " The
shield is broken and burned, and only the head of
the raven in the crest is left ! Caw ! Caw ! "
" Oh, oh ! What an omen ! what a fearful
portent for a wedding-day ! " shrieked Aunt Becky,
after all as superstitious as a softer woman, and her
speech was echoed by a sobbing wail from above as
the bride sunk fainting upon the staircase.
Of course the secretary reproved everybody, and
Aunt Becky scolded Ray, and Parson. Richardson,
who had come all the way from Newbury to marry
the daughter of his old parishioner, clearly proved
to anybody who would listen, that omens and por-
tents were really not infallible, and that he himself
218 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCARENE.
by steadfast faith aiid prayer had averted all mis-
fortune from his own home, although the mirror
in his own state bedroom had fallen and splintered
into a thousand pieces.
" But you had not your escutcheon burned,
and only a raven's beak left to caw misfortune,"
expostulated Aunt Becky, tearfully ; and the minis-
ter replied, with a shrewd twist of his mouth :
" Nay, dame, that was I saved by the lowly
estate of my ancestors, who claimed no coat-armor."
So the wedding went on, and the feast was
spread, and bumpers of generous wine, not to men-
tion rummers of mighty punch, brewed of old Ja-
maica, with a dash of arrack, were drunk to the
health of the bride, and Sir Thomas, growing some-
what glorious himself, favored the company with a
description of his uncle Sir Matthew Hale's man-
sion in Grosvenor Square, and his country-seat at
Hampstead, and invited his friends then present,
one and all, to visit him at whichever of those
stately homes he might be residing when they
should arrive in England.
But in those days men did not pay much atten-
tion to after-supper talk, or invitations, and the
secretary soon led the attention of his guests away.
A few days later the Three Brothers sailed
proudly down the harbor and past the Outer Light,
already planned, and so to sea, bearing not only Sir
Thomas and Lady Hale, with two or three other
passengers, but those twelve solid boxes of plenish-
ing, and a thirteenth which Rebecca had packed for
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCARENE. 219
the voyage, throwing in at the last moment, half
shyly, half pettishly, the coffer holding that red
ear of corn with its blue ribbon which she had de-
termined to leave behind, and yet could not quite
destroy.
" Beshrew the thing, 't is bewitched ! " exclaimed
she, with an angry smile, and tossed it among her
shoes the very morning they were to sail.
The Three Brothers had a somewhat tempest-
uous passage, in spite of the summer season, and
when on the thirtieth day, at evening, she anchored
opposite the new Commercial Docks off Rotherhithe,
Ray was so weary with ship-life that she implored
her husband to take her ashore at once, and if it
were too late to seek her uncle Grindall Pirne's
house in the Strand, she vowed she would not com-
plain of the meanest tavern accommodations, so that
she had room to move around and a solid floor be-
neath her feet.
Sir Thomas, whose courtly manners had become
somewhat tarnished by the long sea-voyage, con-
sidered the petition for a few sullen minutes, and
then said : " As well soon as late, so it must be.
Get your night-rail and what gear is needed for a
night."
" Nay, but I must needs have the mail out of our
state-cabin," pleaded Rebecca. " I have naught at
hand else wherewith to present myself at Uncle
Pirne's in the morning. 'Tis but a little box,
Thomas."
" Well, well, have thy way, dame. Thou 'rt a
220 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
good lass and a comely, Ray. Give me a kiss, and
I '11 call for a boat, and the mail shall go in it."
My Lady Hale held up her sweet lips to the
proffered kiss, and her husband, taking her chin
between a thumb and finger, stood looking into her
face for a moment with strange, troubled eyes, then,
muttering something like an oath, turned hastily
away, and was seen no more until he sent down to
summon his wife to the boat, which presently landed
both passengers and box at the foot of one of the
innumerable flights of stairs serving the purposes
of wharves and quays to Old London.
"We'll sleep at the Mermaid, sweetheart," said
Sir Thomas, as they landed. " 'T is not so good as
the best, nor is it so bad as the worst, but 't is close
at hand from these stairs, and the waterman will
carry up the box on his shoulder."
" As you will, dear. Oh, what a huge town this
London looks to be ! " cried Rebecca, staring about
her.
" Ay, 't is a thought bigger than Boston, and a
man can find a quiet nook for his meditations now
and again, as he cannot in your village yonder."
My Lady made no reply to this enigmatical
remark, and presently the couple arrived at the
Mermaid, where Rebecca was shown at once to a
good-sized and comfortable bedroom, and, with her
box and a tub of water, spent a happy hour, com-
ing down to supper so sweet and smiling that Sir
Thomas revived some of the forgotten compliments
and courtesies, and his wife once more felt content.
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE. 221
The next morning at an early hour Sir Thomas
called a coach, and placing My Lady and her box
within it, directed the driver to Master Grindall
Pirne's house in the Strand, bidding the girl make
his compliments to her relatives, and look for him,
with two or three of the boxes, in time for both of
them to dress for dinner. Lest he should make
any error in selecting those mails needed for imme-
diate use, Sir Thomas took the keys of all, even of
that ark wherein, securely hidden among some win-
ter clothing, lay a bag containing two hundred
golden guineas, a parting present to his daughter
from the colonial secretary so soon to become
governor.
The lumbering coach, pitching and swaying
along the unpaved streets, was almost as bad as
the ship, and glad, indeed, was the wayworn trav-
eler when, stepping gingerly down its rickety steps,
she found herself standing at her kinsman's door,
and bade the serving-man tell his mistress that
Lady Hale had arrived.
" I am at hand, fair niece," responded a pleasant
voice, and down the broad stairway came a buxom
and cheery dame, who affectionately bade the weary
girl welcome, ordered the servant to pay the hack-
ney-coachman and bring in the box, and presently
led her young kinswoman into a fair chamber over-
looking the river, where breakfast still lay, in hopes
of her arrival.
For some hours Rebecca was well content, but
noon came, and dinner-time, and not till toward
222 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
night did the boxes arrive, and then it was the
whole twelve, instead of two or three, with a mes-
sage from the captain that nothing more belonging
to Lady Hale was on board.
" But where is Sir Thomas ? " demanded his
lady, who, getting no reply, at last insisted upon
herself seeing the drayman, who said his orders
came only from the mate of the Three Brothers,
and he knew naught of any Sir Thomas, not he,
but would be paid for his job, and that speedily.
Dame Pirne attended to this part of the busi-
ness, and so soon as it was over sent a messenger
to the counting-house, who presently returned with
the worshipful master of the house, who looked
grave enough at hearing the story, and prepared to
go himself at once to the Mermaid tavern and see
if news could there be found of the missing man.
"And I will go with you, uncle, for I saw the
landlady last night, and she looked hard at us
both, and she will know if she has seen my hus-
band since," said Ray ; and though both her uncle
and aunt demurred, the somewhat spoiled child
would not be denied, and it ended in all three tak-
ing boat at the Pirnes' private stairs, and landing
soon after sunset at the Mermaid.
The landlady was not hard to find, but no sooner
did Master Pirne begin to question her than she
cried :
" Marry, but I knew that was no wanton !
Poor lass, I pity her, I do, indeed, but there 's
no help for it, since the villain has already a wife
and three babes down in Canterbury."
THE LOVE ^OF JOHN MASCAEENE. 223
But here Kebecca interrupted her, with an air of
wounded dignity.
" Nay, dame, 't is of no villain that we speak, but
of Sir Thomas Hale, my husband, who was with us
in this house last night. You mistake the person."
" Nay, then, poor lamb, 't is you do mistake the
person. The gallant who was with you here last
night is but too well known to me and my good-
man, for many is the score he has run up in our
bar and never paid until we had the bailiffs after
him. He is indeed a sort of lackey and hanger-on
to Mr. Thomas Hale, nephew of Sir Matthew, the
Chief Justice, but his own name is Thomas Rumsey,
and five years ago he married, in this very room,
Betsey Martin, my man's cousin, who was serving
us then as bar-maid, and would have been in your
case to-day had we not looked out for her "
But before the last words were spoken Rebecca's
aunt had caught at her tottering form, and now
they laid her upon the floor, so cold and white and
still that for some time none knew if merciful
death had released her, or if she yet must suffer
more. Presently, however, she revived a little, and
her relatives had her home with as little delay as
possible, closing their doors upon the disgrace that
threatened their respectable house.
A long illness followed, and in the course of it,
needing some more linen for her patient, Dame
Pirne caused one of the twelve great boxes to be
broken open, and finding in it nothing but stones
and shavings, she went on to the other eleven, with
a like result.
224 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCARENE.
An inventory in the box Rebecca's persistence
had rescued told what a rich plunder Thomas
Rumsey had secured, even to the bag of guineas
ingeniously noted " C C Spades " in the schedule.
The worthy couple said nothing of this discovery
to their niece, but Master Pirne dispatched a sharp
fellow to Canterbury with instructions to trace
Thomas Rumsey's history in that place, and to
discover, if possible, where he might be found ; for,
as the worthy merchant argued, although his
niece's honor and happiness were hopelessly lost,
her guineas and napery might be recovered, and
would be a good deal better than nothing.
But Thomas Rumsey was much too practiced a
villain to be caught in this simple fashion, and in
the end it was concluded that he had escaped over-
seas with his plunder the very day of seizing it.
Months passed, and creeping back to life and
health, Rebecca Rawson meekly but persistently
insisted upon going down to her bachelor brother
Edward, rector of an obscure living in Horseman-
den, in Kent, where, as she gently said, she could
pass her days in such labors of charity and lowli-
ness as befitted her condition, besides comforting
the loneliness of her brother, who, knowing all her
story, urged her to come and work out her salvation
in his company and after his stern Calvinistic
methods.
And so she went, first tearfully writing a meek
refusal of her father's entreaties that she would
return to his roof and protection, for, as she said,
THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE. 225
" Penitent though I am for the headstrong folly
and pride that cast me into my present estate and
made me prefer a glozing villain to an honest man,
it were too hard a penance for me to come back
and stand, as it were, in the pillory of my native
town, a warning and a moral to my former play-
mates. So rest content, dear and honored father,
and let me abide for yet awhile with my brother
and his poor people."
The secretary, never to become governor, felt
the force of this reasoning, and mournfully waited,
going in and out of the t)ld house in Rawson's Lane
with a mien sadly shorn of its old confidence, until,
when years had passed, his son Will wrote to his
" sweet sister Ray," and bade her hasten home at
once, for the father was failing day by day, and
mourned for his favorite child.
To this appeal the daughter could not say nay,
nor would Edward have kept her back, although
in losing her, he said, he lost his right hand ; and
Uncle Pirne, being applied to, soon found a vessel
bound for Boston by way of the Barbadoes, a
trifling detour in those days, and in due course
Rebecca, with only the one box she had brought
ashore from the Three Brothers and another that
Aunt Pirne insisted upon furnishing, again set sail
to cross the Atlantic ; but oh, what a different
Ray ! what a different voyage !
Different, too, in that this voyage was short and
prosperous, and in no more than fifteen days from
leaving Rotherhithe, the Smiling Susan dropped
226 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAEENE.
anchor off Bridgetown, doomed capital of smiling
Barbadoes, and Rebecca, going ashore with the cap-
tain to spend the few days of the Susan's stay
here, was met upon the quay by a grave, bronzed
and comely gentleman who turned pale at the sight
of her, yet extended both eager hands, crying :
" My Lady nay, Ray, is it you ? "
"Yes, Rebecca Rawson in very deed, and glad,
indeed, to see John Mascarene once more," faltered
the poor girl.
" Ho, Captain Mascarene, and so we 're here to-
gether once more ! and I '11 warrant you 've secured
the best of the sugar and coffee, as you did last
time ! " cried Rebecca's companion, jovially ; and
Mascarene responded, with an effort at the same
tone : " Nay, Burton, you 're safe this trip, for I am
after indigo, and have sent my schooner round to
St. Lucia (only he called it Sent Loozee) to ship
a lot I have stored at Soufriere, and I shall only
take sugar enough to make out a cargo, that is, if
you leave me enough to sweeten my coffee on the
home voyage."
" Ho ! ho ! ho ! Your coffee, man ! Say grog
and shame the devil ! " roared Captain Burton.
" When may the Red Ear be at Barbadoes again ?"
But Ray did not hear the reply. The Red Ear !
Why had John Mascarene chosen so grotesque a
name for his schooner? It used to be the Morn-
ing Ray, and Rebecca smiled faintly and sadly,
remembering how, for old times' sake, she still
cherished that ear of red corn, with its true-lover's
knot of blue.
THE LOVE OF JOHN NASCAEENE. 227
It was some hours later, when the great tropic
moon stood high in heaven, and Rebecca lingered
yet a moment upon the veranda before bidding her
old friend good-night, that he gently, carefully, and
with many misgivings, told the poor stricken girl
that to all the rest of her grief was added orphan-
age. The secretary, never holding up his head
again after his terrible disappointment, had died
the very day that Mascarene sailed from Boston,
and it was sympathy, no less than undying love,
that so agitated the honest fellow in meeting her
. upon the quay.
" It is God's warning that I am unforgiven ! "
moaned Ray, her sweet faith tinged with Edward's
Calvinism.
A week later, the Smiling Susan was ready for
sea, and Rebecca bade farewell forever, as she said,
to her old playfellow, for she had resolved to tarry
only so long as the Susan did at Boston, and to
return in her to end her days in Horsemanden
with Edward.
But not yet had the Susan left Bridgetown
Harbor when a storm broke upon her, the like of
which she had never encountered before, nor could
now resist, for it was the harbinger of that terrible
earthquake which destroyed Port Royal, in Ja-
maica, and so vexed the neighboring seas that many
a stout craft was wrecked that day without ever
understanding how it came about. Of these was
the Smiling Susan, and as she parted amidships
and staggered to her ruin, brave Captain Burton's
last act was to lash his pallid charge to a stout spar
228 THE LOVE OF JOHN MASCAREXE.
and launch her overboard to avoid the vortex of
the sinking ship.
He soon lost his own hold, but the lashings held ;
and Mascarene, raging like a madman up and down
the beach, saw the spar tossed by the breakers
almost at his feet, dragged it ashore with a thou-
sand perils of his life, and bemoaning himself over
the dead body of his love, found it still held a sigh ;
and by such exertions as only heroes and lovers
make, he cultivated that sigh into a breath, and the
breath into a life, and was at last rewarded by a
sweet faint smile and a whispered word.
Well, we have not time to tell all the story, and
the rest is so easily imagined, except, perhaps, the
one incident of Rebecca's box coming ashore almost
unharmed, and her shyly producing from its depths
an ear of red corn tied about with a faded blue
ribbon. A shabby thing and a worthless, most
people would say, yet no gold that ever was counted
down, not his cargo of indigo and sugar happily
saved from the earthquake, would have bought that
ear of corn from John Mascarene.
They did not go back to Boston, nor yet to Eng-
land, nor does tradition tell where they set up their
home, but they were married, and sailed away from
Barbadoes some weeks later ; nor although Captain
Mascarene often made that port in later days, did
he ever bring his wife with him, or say where she
abode. Let us trust, however, let us believe, that
the latter days were better than the first with her,
even as clear shining after rain is purer and fairer
than the cloudless day can be.
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFERS.
FAR back in the old colonial days of Boston
there stood, upon what was then its most aristo-
cratic street, a large four-square family mansion,
substantially built of the small dark bricks im-
ported from Holland, relieved and enriched by
freestone copings and ornaments.
This house belonged to a family prominent
enough in their day, although now forgotten, a
family whom all men respected, and some loved,
and who had gained by their leading characteristic
the title, almost universal among both those who
feared and those who loved them, of the Proud Pul-
sifers. However this title may have been deserved,
or however it may have been gained by his ances-
tors, it belonged to Major Plantagenet Pulsifer, as
his stern dark eyes and gray hair and stately figure
did, by the right of birth, necessity, and the eter-
nal fitness of things. It was a common saying
among the common people that Major Pulsifer
tiod the earth as if it were not worthy of such
honor, and certain it is that he found its ordinary
level too low to serve as his dwelling-place ; and
when the street whereon his building-lots lay was
graded and lowered, he refused to have a single
shovelful of earth removed from his own premises,
230 THE LAST OF THE PEOUD PULSIFEES.
so that after the work of street-making was accom-
plished the Pulsifer estate remained high and dry
above the leveling flood, like Ararat above the
waters ; and upon this pinnacle of pride did Major
Plantagenet Pulsifer build his house, laboriously
gaining access to it by four long flights of sand-
stone steps reaching from the pavement to the
front door.
To this elevated position Major Pulsifer one day
brought home a bride, daughter of a family as old
and well-nigh as proud as his own ; and yet despite
birth, marriage, and elevated position, Death, that
terrible democrat and leveler, found out the poor
lady while yet in her earliest bloom, and summoned
her away from husband, house, and her little
daughter Margaret, not yet old enough to know
her loss.
Major Pulsifer did not marry again, and he and
the little girl remained alone with four servants in
the aristocratic seclusion of the great house at the
top of its four flights of steps. The child grew to
girlhood, to womanhood, and upon her twentieth
birthday her father, Major Pulsifer, announced to
her:
" I have settled an alliance for you, Margaret ;
you are to become the wife of my friend Morgan's
son."
" John Morgan ? " asked Miss Pulsifer coldly ;
but her father saw the sudden light which kindled
in her eyes, the swift blush that rose to her cheek
At the name, and he smiled almost like other men,
as he said :
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFERS. 231
" Yes. You have seen the young gentleman. He
is not disagreeable to you, I trust." .
" He is not disagreeable to me, sir," replied Miss
Pulsifer, and there the conversation ended. That
evening the Morgans, father and son, climbed the
four flights of sandstone steps, and in the grim old
library, with its oak wainscoting, and its shelves
filled with books, each one of which was a sentinel
set to defend the domain of the past from the en-
croachments of the future, the marriage contract
was agreed upon, the formal consent of the parents
given, and finally the two young people were left to
express their own opinions upon this matter, so
thoroughly their own, and yet in which they had
been allowed, hitherto, so little voice. John Mor-
gan was, as befitted his sex, the first to speak, and
he found nothing better to say than
" Margaret ! "
And Margaret said nothing, but suffered her
hand to lie in that which had clasped it so tenderly,
and laid her head upon the breast to which it was
so closely drawn, and in very truth behaved not
like a daughter of the Proud Pulsifer at all, but
like the veriest village-maid who ever confessed
herself both loving and beloved.
There is a picture painted by one of Copley's
predecessors, and already in his stately style, rep-
resenting Margaret Pulsifer in the early days of
her betrothal ; it shows her tall and slender, and
queenly of figure, wearing her brocade and point-
lace and smouldering rubies as if they were as
232 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
much part of herself as the form they clothe ; it
shows her with the dark hair and hazel eyes of her
race, with a clear brunette complexion, and proud
sweet lips on which a smile of triumphant love
seems forever dawning, a smile so subtle and so
full of an inner joy knowing not its own revelation,
that no observer has looked long upon that pictured
face without turning from it to its proud possessor,
and asking in some form, " What made her so
happy? What is her story ?"
The rubies were John Morgan's betrothal gift,
and from the necklace depends a single gem, heart-
shaped, and of surprising size and beauty, whose
shifting fire has been so cunningly caught and im-
prisoned by the artist that one seems to see it
flicker and change with every breath of the proud
bosom that bears it; and he turns again to the
morsel of yellow paper in his hand, remnant of the
letter in which well-nigh two hundred years ago
John Morgan wrote, in the crabbed Saxon script,
of his day :
" And this ruby hearte I send you, trew love,
that bye it you may see how firm of constancie is
the hearte that I long agoe gave you, and as the
ruby is bright and warm of color, so burns my love
within that other hearte, and as the stone is cold
and sad of itself, so is that other hearte cold and
sad wanting warmth from you, and as I humbly
pray you, mistresse, to hange the jewel about your
neck, and warm its coldness with the warmth of
your own bosom, so would I, did I dare, beseech of
THE LAST OF THE PEOUD PULSIFERS. 233
you to grant my lowly and despairing love some
hope of return, some warmth of life, some promise
of shelter within the sanctuary of that same gentle
bosom."
It was the fashion of the day to thus profess
despair and lowliness of mind, but the promise that
the wily lover asks was his already, as who can
doubt that reads the eyes and lips of that fair
lady's pictured face and marks the glow in the
dusky core of the ruby heart.
The picture was but just finished, so says the
story, and the splendid preparations for the bri-
dal were but just begun, when Death once more
mounted the stately steps, ringing his scythe against
each one as he advanced, and grimly holding above
the solid sandstone the shifting sands of his glass,
in which so few grains yet remained for him whom
Death had come to seek.
" Major Plantagenet Pulsifer ! " rang out the
summons.
" Here ! " replied the soldier, too proud to dis^
obey, even had the power of disobedience been his,
and forth from the mansion upon its scornful em-
inence was borne the body of its master ; and of
all the Proud Pulsifers only that weeping girl re-
mained, heiress and sole representative of her line.
All thoughts of marriage and merrymaking were
laid aside at once, and a short time after the funeral
John Morgan, in the interests of his betrothed,
took passage for Virginia to settle there some mat-
ters connected with the estates Major Pulsifer had
234 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS..
possessed in that country before coming to the
Massachusetts colony.
A voyage to Virginia was in that day something
more of an affair than the tour of Europe is to-day,
and when Margaret Pulsifer bade her lover good-
by, it was with the feeling that she was risking all
that life had left to her, and her farewells partook
of the solemnity of a renunciation. The lover, man-
like, laughed at her fears, and failed to comprehend
the vital importance to her of what to him was but
an event in the ordinary course, and rather a pleas-
ing excitement than a danger.
" I know not what it is that you dread so much,
sweetheart," said he in their final interview.
*' Certes it is not the time, for it will be but a few
months at most ; and not my health, for I am a
stout fellow, not to be upset by changes of climate
or the discomfort of travel. Nor do you fear that
I should forget you, my Margaret ; surely not
that?"
" I should be loth to offer myself such slight,
even if I could so insult you as to suppose you
false," replied proud Miss Pulsifer, with a faint
light breaking through the tears in her hazel eyes,
a light which John Morgan was well pleased to
see, and kissing the heavy eyes, laughed a little as
he said :
" Nay, Margaret, I should be afraid to play thee
false were I so inclined, for thy father's daughter
would slay me with a look."
But Margaret at this looked pained, and re-
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS. 235
mained silent, and John Morgan, still in his light
way, filliped at the ruby heart at her throat, and
said :
" And moreover, lady mine, do not I leave my
heart always with you, and its visible emblem
always before your eyes ? Look at the ruby day
by day, Margaret, and remember all that I wrote
when I gave it you."
" I will remember, John, and you, too, remem-
ber," sighed Margaret ; and then came the parting,
which left one so lonely, so sad, so objectless in the
seclusion of her mourning home, while the other,
thrown at once into the excitement of a new life,
new scenes, new companions, his attention and his
resources constantly called into action, soon felt
the pain of separation become intermittent, and
very tolerable to be borne, even in its most serious
attacks.
Eight months from the day when John Morgan
sailed out of Boston for the Virginia colony, he set
foot again in his native city, and hastened at once
to the house upon the hill, where Margaret Pulsi-
fer, her heavy mourning a little lightened, lest it
should too much dampen the joy of her lover's re-
turn, and her own face as bright as if mourning,
loss, and sorrow were words stricken once and for
all out of the language, waited for him.
But spite of the brightness and the joy, John
Morgan saw at the first glance that all was not
well with his betrothed. Her slender figure had
become fragile, her rich color came and went with
236 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
hectic brilliancy and haste, her eyes were over-
bright, her thin hand parched and hot, and an
ominous low cough disturbed her speech.
" Why, Margaret ! why, darling ! you are not
well ; you are ill, and I never heard of it ! " ex-
claimed the lover, holding both the fevered hands,
and looking anxiously into the delighted eyes that
devoured his face.
" Oh, no, John, not ill, never fear ! A little ailing
just now, perhaps, and not quite so strong as when
we used to ride our ten miles before breakfast ; but
now you have come, I shall be well anon. I have
fretted too much after you, though shame on me
for confessing it."
But John Morgan remembered the beautiful
young mother, object of his boyish admiration, who
had faded and died in her earliest bloom in spite
of all that love and wealth and the Pulsifer will
and pride could do to keep her. So busy was he
with these thoughts that when, some time later,
Miss Pulsifer asked playfully :
"And where is the little cousin you promised
me ?" he started and stared aghast, then struck his
hands together in comic despair, exclaiming :
" What, Ruby ? What will she say to me when
she knows that I altogether forgot her ; for when
the ship touched the wharf I bounded off, meaning
but to speak to you, and look upon your sweet face,
and then be back before she missed me. And here
I have been with you these two hours, and might
have stayed two more, but for your reminder."
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS. 237
" Is her name Euby ? " asked Miss Pulsifer with
a smile. " Do you know, John, that you never
told it in your letter ? You only said, ' The child
of your mother's cousin, Pynsent, is left an orphan
and penniless, and what will you do for her ? ' '
" And you replied like your own noble self, my
Margaret, ' Bring her to me, and I will be her
mother, and her fortune ; ' I showed her that letter,
Margaret. "
" Showed it to her ! She is old enough to un-
derstand such matters, then ? "
" Old enough ? why, she is a woman grown,
eighteen years old, at least," replied John, laughing
at the great eyes Margaret fixed upon him, and
laughing a little nervously, too.
" A woman grown ! Why do not you call her
Mistress Pynsent, then ? " asked Margaret, a little
haughtily.
" What, when she is your cousin, and so soon to
be mine as well ? " replied John, tenderly, and the
proud head sank to the resting-place he offered,
and the warm blood flowed again into the dusky
cheek, but now so pale.
" There, then ! Go and fetch my cousin, and
see that you take the blame of your neglect upon
your own shoulders, truant ! " said Margaret at
last ; and when her lover was gone, she rang the
bell, and bade Judith, her grim-visaged old house-
keeper, prepare a separate apartment for the guest,
whom, fancying her a child, she had intended to
take into her own bedroom.
238 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS.
" For she is a young lady, Judith, and not a
baby, as I fancied," continued the mistress, ab-
sently, "a woman grown, and her name is
Ruby."
"Ruby? That was a great name among the
Pynsents always," replied the old servant, and
Miss Pulsifer, vaguely echoing the name, " Ruby ! "
put up her fingers, as was her habit twenty times
an hour, to feel the ruby heart hanging at her neck,
that heart which was to typify the constancy, the
warmth, the truth of her lover's heart.
An exclamation, almost a scream, arrested Ju-
dith on the threshold and brought her to the side
of her mistress as she stood, tottering and pale, one
hand grasping at her throat, her wild eyes search-
ing the floor in every direction.
" It is gone, Judith ! Oh, Judith, find it, find
it!"
" What is gone, dear mistress ? What shall I
find ? " asked the old woman, half believing that
her nursling had suddenly gone mad.
" My heart, my ruby heart ! It is gone, and I
can find it nowhere! Oh, what will he think,
when he bade me keep it so safely ! "
" Nay, it is no fault of yours, dearie. Sure you
did keep it like the apple of your eye. Sit you
there and rest, while I look for it ; it will not be
far away, for I saw it the moment before Master
Morgan came up the steps. We will have it anon,
just a little patience, Mistress Meg; we will
have it, we will have it."
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES. 239
And murmuring her phrases of encouragement
over and over, the old woman, upon her hands and
knees, began groping beneath the chairs and tables,
turning up the edges of the heavy Turkey carpet
which covered the middle of the room, peering into
the dark corners, poking away the ashes in the
wide fireplace, searching, in fact, in every place
likely and unlikely of which she could think, and
in one as vainly as in another. The ruby heart
was lost, and Margaret, who had alternately aided
in the search and returned exhausted to her chair,
was repeating for the thousandth time, " It is gone,
it is gone forever; and what will he think of me? "
when a carriage drove to the door, and old Judith,
who was just then shaking the folds of the moreen
curtains, already thoroughly searched three times,
glanced through the window, and exclaimed :
" Here is your cousin, Mistress Margaret, and
your eyes red, and your dress in disorder ! "
" Take her to her own room at once, Judith, and
leave some one to wait upon her ; then come back
to me, and make me ready to receive her," ordered
Miss Pulsifer, struggling back to the needs of
daily life, chief among which she had been bred to
consider the preservation of her own dignity. But
when Judith returned to her mistress, she found her
prostrate upon her bed, and gasping under an at-
tack of the pain at her heart which so often of late
tormented her. The best alleviation for this was
perfect rest and darkness, and thus it chanced that
neither John Morgan nor his charge, Ruby Pyn-
240 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS.
sent, saw Miss Pulsifer again until, in the early
twilight, she glided ghost-like into the great draw-
ing-rooin, where he sat sad and silent beside the
fire, while restless Ruby flitted about the room,
glancing at everything, asking questions, making
exclamations, standing on tiptoe to look at her-
self in the concave and convex mirrors hung upon
opposite piers, spinning round and round in a dizzy
dance, trying the notes of the neglected harpsi-
chord, behaving herself, in fact, like the very spirit
of youth and mirth and gay unrest.
As Miss Pulsifer entered the room, John Mor-
gan sprang to his feet, and hastening to meet
her, detained her a few moments near the door
to hear his whispers of sympathy and trouble at
her illness, and joy at once more seeing her ; for
indeed he had been very sad and lonely in the last
hour.
This over, he led her toward an arm-chair by the
fire, and smiling at the fairy who stood watching
them, he said :
" And this, dear Margaret, is your cousin Ruby,
as she allows me to call her. She has like me been
waiting most impatiently for your appearance and
better health."
" You are welcome, cousin," said Miss Pulsifer,
with more, perhaps, of stately courtesy than hearty
cordiality in her tone ; but it was an age of cere-
mony, and this was one of the Proud Pulsifers,
remember. However, she held out her hand as she
ipoke, and drawing the girl toward her, kissed her
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS. 241
upon the forehead, then stood looking smilingly
down upon her, for this little Ruby was in the mi~
gnonne style, with floating golden curls, childish
blue eyes, skin of rose and pearl, and the tiniest
stature, as pretty and as charming altogether as
can be imagined ; and so her stately cousin seemed
to think, for as she looked down upon the little
thing, her eyes grew softer and the smile upon her
lips sweeter, until Ruby suddenly raised her face
for another kiss, exclaiming :
" I 'm so glad I came, dear cousin Margaret ! "
Miss Pulsifer stooped to meet the lips so con'
fidingly raised to hers, but as she did so a sudden
and startling change swept over her own face, and
she paused as if stiffened to stone in that bending
attitude, her eyes fixed in absolute horror upon the
white throat of the girl before her. And well
might she pause, for hung about that slender throat
by a fine gold chain was a ruby heart, her own ruby
heart, as she knew the moment her eyes fell upon
it, the ruby heart which her lover had so mean-
ingly given to her as a pledge of his own heart, and
which she had worn that morning, and lost when
he departed ; even as she fixed her swimming eyes
upon the token, the flickering fire shot up in bril-
liant flame, lighting the inmost centre of the jewel
with a vivid glow, like the eye of a merry demon
exulting over her dismay. For one wild moment
heaven and earth seemed mingling in the mad con-
fusion of Margaret Pulsifer's brain, but in the next
the pride of her proud race rose up like armor and
242 THE LAST OF THE PEOUD PULSIFEBS.
shield and staff; and standing upright, she said
some words of courtesy, dropped the hand of the
young girl, and returned to her chair unaided.
As she did so, John Morgan, with a lover's privi-
lege, drew a stool to the side of the easy-chair and
seated himself close beside her, with a whispered
phrase which should have called the blush to her
cheek and smile to her lip, but Margaret, neither
blushing nor smiling, answered the love-whisper
with a few calm words of little meaning, and led
the talk to other matters.
Presently, when once more quite sure of her
own strength, she spoke the words that pride had
silenced in their first wild outburst, and which now
came almost carelessly from her lips :
" That is a pretty jewel at your throat, cousin.
I suppose you chose it for its name."
" Yes, it is a ruby, to be sure, and I am Ruby,"
replied the girl, laughing and dimpling, and withal
casting so conscious and so mischievous a glance
toward John Morgan, that Margaret felt a cold,
sick faintness creeping over her, and feared that
she should swoon before their eyes ; a rushing as of
many waters filled her ears, but through it came her
lover's laughing voice :
" Ask her where she got it, Meg, and see if she
dare tell you."
With a mighty effort Miss Pulsifer opened her
swimming eyes and fixed them upon the face of
the girl, still set in that look of merry defiance,
still turned toward John Morgan. Commanding a
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES. 243
voice which seemed to herself to sound from some
far-off icy depth, she spoke :
" It was a true-love token, I suppose, and young
maids are not so fond of confessing such."
" Why, yes, cousin, I have already told Master
Morgan that this was a token from a dear friend
unknown to him, and I take it ill that he should
insist upon talking on it, especially before another."
" I only insisted because, as I said this morning,
it is so like a jewel that I wot of. You know the
one I mean, Margaret."
" It is very like one that I have sometimes worn,"
replied Miss Pulsifer, coldly.
" That was my meaning. You do not wear it to-
night," and John Morgan looked almost reproach-
fully at the stately white neck of his betrothed.
" No, I have lost it, I believe," replied she, care-
lessly.
" Lost it ! Oh, Margaret, lost my ruby heart ! "
" Lost it or had it stolen, which I think more
likely ; but had I known I was to be thus shrewdly
called to account for your gift, Master Morgan, I
had never taken it."
"Margaret!" whispered the lover; but Margaret
met his pleading eyes with a look so full of proud
contempt that his own fell in angry confusion.
Turning to Ruby, who, during the half-whispered
conversation between the lovers had been frolicking
with the cat upon the rug, he asked almost sternly :
"Will you let me take that ruby heart, Miss
Pynsent?"
244 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
" Marry, no, not when you ask in that tone, my
master. Do you mean to play highwayman and
rob me outright ? "
" No, but here is some strange coil, and it is you
only who can explain it. Miss Pulsifer has lost a
jewel so like to that upon your neck that "
" It is of no consequence, none at all," interposed
Miss Pulsifer, very coldly. " I certainly have lost
a ruby heart, but my cousin has already declared
that this upon her neck was a love-gift from some
one unknown to us, and I would not insult her by
asking proof or explanations of her word. Let the
matter rest, it is of no consequence."
" Surely not of consequence to any one if not
so to you, madam," replied John Morgan, now
seriously offended, but still staring impatiently
at Ruby, who suddenly grew grave and much con-
fused, glanced from one to the other, while her
trembling fingers fumbled at the clasp of the little
chain. Undoing it at last, she slipped off the heart,
and holding it toward Miss Pulsifer, softly said :
" Take it, cousin, if it is yours, I never knew that."
" Mine, girl ! How should it be, if your tale is
true ? " asked Miss Pulsifer, coldly, and never ex-
tending her hand for the jewel, although her hun-
gry eyes devoured it greedily.
"I did not know I was wrong I thought
that Master Morgan was jesting when he asked
where I got it ; he knows, if he would but speak,"
stammered Ruby, helplessly.
"/ know ! What in Heaven's name does this
THE LAST OF THE PEOUD PULSIFERS. 245
mean ? What snare is laid here to catch me trip-
ping?"
And John Morgan, springing to his feet, glared
from one to the other of the young women in angry
bewilderment. Miss Pulsifer met his look with
one of superb disdain.
" Big words and loud tones are but a coward's
refuge," said she, icily. "Ruby Pynsent, if you
choose to explain this matter, do it now, and
briefly. If you do not choose, or if you do not
dare, it shall rest forever, and we shall wish Master
Morgan good-night and good-by."
" He he gave it to me this morning," sobbed
Ruby, crouched in a heap upon the rug, her golden
hair tossed across the blue brocade of her dress as
she hid her face upon her knees, while the mocking
firelight played over her lissome figure and the
ivory of her arms and the golden curls, and centred
at last in one blinding spark deepset in the heart
of the ruby lying upon the floor beside her.
Miss Pulsifer rose to her stately height, and
pointing down at the lovely picture, turned her
eyes upon John Morgan's bewildered face.
"Have you never a word or a kiss to comfort
her ? " asked she, " or are you already false to her
too?"
Then, while he stood reeling beneath the con-
tempt she had hurled at him from lip and eye, and
every line of her majestic figure, she drew her dress
aside and swept past him and out of the room with
never another word or look. As she neared the
246 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFERS.
door, John Morgan sprang after her, stopped
abruptly, and striding back seized up the weeping
child, and standing her before him, both her hands
in his, looked with stern imploring into her face.
"Kuby! What is this all? Have you gone
mad, or have I ? How could you say that I gave
you this accursed bauble ? Why, it was my
betrothal gift to Margaret, and she thinks I stole
it to give again to you."
" And so you did ! At least, I knew not whence
you had it ; but this I do know, that when you
came again to the ship, and found me crying
because that you had gone and left me, forgetting
me so soon, when we had been such friends, and
seeing me crying, you felt sorry, and perhaps per-
haps, my tears they told you "
" But the heart, Ruby, the heart ! "
" Why, when you saw me crying, you came to me
and put your arms about me and and kissed
me twice, nay, why will you make me tell it over ?
and then you slipped the ruby heart into my bosom
and ran away out of the cabin, and I, thinking you
gave it in loving jest, and would not that I should
speak of it, hung it about my neck, and when
after we were here you asked me where I got it, I
thought again that it was jest, and I told you a
story, thinking to make you laugh ; and when you
asked me before my cousin I did not want to say
out that you gave it to me, and I did not know
what you meant "
" I see it now, I see it all ! " exclaimed John
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS. 247
Morgan, dropping the hands he held, and gloomily
staring into the fire. "When I came here this
morning I embraced Margaret, as I had a right to
do, and the ruby heart fell off and lodged in my
clothes; and when I went back to the ship and
embraced you, as I had no right to do, it fell out
into your bosom, and I, stung by remorse to think
that even by one kiss I had been faithless to my
love, rushed away before I could see what had
befallen, and you understood it all wrong, and
all is over between Margaret and me."
" No ; why do you say that ? I will go and tell
her how it was ! "
" What ! tell her that I took you in my arms
and kissed you within the hour after rejoining
her ! " exclaimed John Morgan, bitterly. " Good
sooth, I fancy that tale would not mend matters
much with a woman like Margaret Pulsifer. Nay,
Ruby, the kiss was a sweet one, and I say not that
it was so much amiss to have given it, but it is like
to cost me dear enough, dear enough."
And with the jewel in his pocket John Morgan
left the house right sadly, yet trusting more than
he would own to Margaret's love, his own honest
purpose, and the cooler judgment of the morrow.
But on the morrow Miss Pulsifer was too ill to
see any one, and poor little Ruby went creeping
about the house with a weight of vague remorse at
her heart, and a fluttering of guilty terror when-
ever upon the stairs or in the passages she encoun-
tered Judith with her stern eyes and cold white face.
248 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEBS.
Judith, knowing a little and guessing more of
the ill-fortune that had befallen her mistress' love-
affair, visited all that ill-fortune in her own mind
upon the golden head of Ruby, whom, with woman's
justice to woman, she chose to consider as the
temptress who had seduced John Morgan into
unfaithfulness to his liege lady, and perhaps
induced him to steal the ruby heart whose loss was
the beginning of all this sorrow and disturbance.
Early in the morning and several times through
the day Morgan mounted the sandstone steps, at
first confidently demanding admittance, afterward
sadly asking news of his betrothed, who was, as
Judith curtly informed him, when at last he insisted
upon her being summoned to answer his inquiries,
" too sick to see strangers."
" But I am no stranger, good Judith," pleaded
the lover, trying to slip a gold piece into her hand.
"Better, perhaps, if you had been, Master
Morgan. Thank you, sir, I have no occasion for
your money," replied the old nurse, and as he still
stood upon the threshold she quietly shut the door
in his face, and went back to the darkened chamber
where Margaret Pulsif er lay between life and death,
the terrible physical pain at her heart deadening
the still sharper mental pain that had preceded it.
" Will she get over it, think you, sir ? " asked
Judith, eagerly following the grave physician to the
stairhead, and looking up in his face with the dumb
beseeching of an animal who believes in the limit-
less power of his master, man.
THE LAST OF THE PEOUD PULSIFEBS. 249
" She may, indeed, nurse, I think it pretty cer-
tain that she will get over this attack, .but the
next ! "
Then sadly shaking his head, the old man who
had seen Margaret's mother die, and who had
closed her father's eyes, dashed a sparkling drop
from his sleeve, and went slowly down the stairs.
A week later, as Judith watched the thin, sad face
And listless figure of her mistress, who had now for
two days sat up for a while, and always chose to sit
m a chair drawn close to the front window of her
room, she said :
" Master Morgan has been here twice to-day ask-
ing for your health, Miss Margaret."
" Has he ? When he comes again I will see
him, Judith," replied Miss Pulsifer, gently, and the
jealous eyes of the old servant marked well the
color which came and went, and the fluttering
pulsation which almost choked the sick girl's
breath. She saw, and scowled bitterly even while
she said with forced serenity :
" So you shall, if you will, Miss Margaret ; but
Doctor Eustis says that we must be more than
careful about excitement of any sort."
" When Master Morgan calls, show him into the
dressing-room, and I will see him there," replied
Miss Pulsifer ; and Judith had been too long a
servant in that house to remonstrate further. She
revenged herself, however, by muttering in John
Morgan's ear, as she led him up the stairs an hour
later :
250 THE. LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
" The doctor says it is over - excitement that
made her sick, and more of it will kill her. So
have a care, young man."
" I will be careful, Judith," replied the lover,
meekly ; and indeed his white face and weary eyes
showed that sorrow, and it may be a fiercer tor-
mentor, had been busy with him since last the old
nurse saw him.
" What a coil this love-making brings," thought
she, eying him keenly, yet not so angrily; and
opening the door into the little dressing-room, she
motioned him to enter, and softly closed it behind
him. Mindful of her caution, the lover advanced
with a smile upon his face, and as little emotion in
his manner as he could contrive, toward the wan
figure in the great easy-chair beside the fire, and
obeyed without remonstrance the feeble gesture
which bade him seat himself at a little distance,
without even touching the hand that made the
gesture.
" I am very sad at seeing you so ill, Margaret,"
said he, choking down the torrent of passionate
sorrow and love and terror that rose to his lips.
" Thank you, John, and I do not doubt it,"
replied Miss Pulsifer, gently, and then after a little
pause went on :
" I sent for you as soon as I could be allowed to
see you, John, to say how sorry I am for speaking
so that night. It was a bitter insult to your honor,
John, my fancy that you had played me false ; I
should have trusted you more, and honored you
THE LAST OF THE PBOUD PULSIFEES. 251
better. If ever you came to loving another woman,
you would tell it to me before ever you did to her,
I am sure of it. So now, if you like to tell me
how all this matter came about, and why that poor
child fancied you had given my ruby heart to her,
tell me ; and if you do not wish to, why say
so, and either way I am content, and believe with-
out another word that you have done naught, said
naught, thought naught unbecoming a man of honor,
and mine own promised husband."
But in hearing those noble and gentle words
John Morgan lost all control of his own emotion,
and throwing himself upon his -knees, hid his face
upon her lap, as he sobbed out :
"Oh, Margaret, Margaret, slay me with your
scorn, despise me, hate me if you will, but do not
speak to me like that, for I am not worthy of such
trust."
" Not worthy of my trust ! " echoed Margaret,
pressing her hand upon her tumultuous heart, and
sighing wearily. " Oh, John, if I had died before I
heard you say that ! "
"Hear me, Margaret, then judge me, and I
swear to abide by your judgment, be it what it
may." And rising from his knees and standing
with an arm upon her chair, but out of sight of
those steady, truth-compelling eyes, John Morgan
told the story through, not hiding that during the
long voyage he had been tempted by Ruby's inno-
cent fondness and childish unreserve to treat her in
a familiar, almost caressing manner, which might
252 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
perhaps have led her to believe that he meant more
than he ever did, and to allow her thoughts to rest
upon him in a way he had never intended.
" I did but think of her as a child until that
morning when I found her crying, and reproaching
me that I had forgotten her in seeing you," stam-
mered the lover, feeling all the humiliation of his
confession, yet glad that it was made, and only
anxious now to hear Margaret's reply.
" And so she loves you, and you went well-nigh
to loving her, and the ruby heart that pledged you
to me dropped away from me and gave itself to
her, and you carried it to her, although you knew
it not?"
" Oh, Margaret, noble Margaret, priceless Mar-
garet, you do not mean, you do not believe, that I
loved her, or could love any woman but you ! "
and John Morgan, half-crazed with grief and ter-
ror and remorseful love, threw himself again upon
his knees, and seizing her hands, bathed them with
tears and kisses. Margaret looked down upon him,
serene and still, as saints may look at men still
struggling with the sin and sorrow they have left
behind. At last she said :
" Dear John, let us say no more, now, perhaps
ever. If I had been as I was once, I think it
might be that I could not forgive that you, having
had my promise and my kisses, should have forgot-
ten them even for a moment ; but, dearest, I stand
to-day where I can see that pride is but mortal, and
love is immortal. While I live, John, you are mine
THE LAST OF THE PBOUD PULSIFEES. 253
own betrothed, and none shall come between us;
no, not until I am laid in my grave shall any other
have a right to say, ' I took him from you,' after
that John, John, help ! "
So crying, in her anguish, she rose stiffly upon
her feet, her whole frame rigid and shaken, one
hand clenched upon her heart, and one pressed to
her lips, through which gushed a stream of bright
blood.
Morgan, horror-stricken, clasped her in his arms
and carried her into the next room, at whose door
stood Judith, white with terror and rage.
" Go, go ! you have killed her ! Leave her now
to me ! " cried she, pushing him from the room, and
bolting the door upon him.
But Margaret was not dead, nor did she die for
weeks, although she and all about her knew that
each moment might be her last. White and still
and smiling, she lay upon her death-bed, cautious
lest by a breath, a word too much, she should snap
the attenuated thread still linking her with life and
love. Hour by hour, day and night and day and
night again, John Morgan watched beside her,
hardly leaving her for an instant, grudging every
act of ministration offered by another, absorbing
every look, every word, every sigh that escaped her.
" He will die too," whispered Ruby to Judith,
with whom she had made her peace, and gained
permission to spend much of her time in the sick-
room.
"Very like he may, and why should he not?
254 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
When she is gone, what has he to live for ? " asked
the old nurse ; and Ruby, whose bright eyes were
always in these days heavy with tears, stole a look
at the bed, saw John Morgan's white face set so
steadily, so yearningly, so full of passionate and
despairing love toward that other face scarce whiter,
but more transparent, and so showing yet more
plainly the eternal love lighting it from within,
until whispering to her own heart, " They do not
need you; they do not even know that you are
here," she stole away to cry herself sick in the
dark vastness of her own bedroom.
At last there came a day when the pale lips of
the dying girl silently shaped " Good-by ! " and
with their last consciousness pressed a faint kiss
upon the trembling lips that feared to press them
too closely in return lest that last breath, cold
as the air from the door of a newly-opened tomb,
should be rudely shaken and cease an instant sooner.
It ceased, the dark eyes closed with the love light not
yet faded out of them, a faint sigh fluttered past
the lover's cheek, and all was over ; over for both
of them, as old Judith thought at first, for John
Morgan, utterly exhausted and overborne, fell for-
ward from his knees to his face as that last sigh
stole past his cheek, and lay with his head upon
her hand, to all appearance lifeless as herself.
But Judith knew no love save for her nursling,
and so soon as she found that the young man had
only swooned, she ordered him carried away, and
sternly turning to Ruby, said :
THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFERS. 255
" And go you after, and nurse him. There are
two of you, and here are two of us."
The dead body of Margaret Pulsifer lay in state
for a week, as was the regal fashion of her race,
and the third day, as she had ordained, her last will
was opened and read in the presence of her en-
shrouded form. This will, carefully drawn by the
family solicitor, was somewhat lengthy, and was
expressed in all the formal phraseology of such
documents, excepting a few clauses inserted at the
end, and in the faint and uncertain characters of a
woman's dying hand. These we will transcribe :
" And it is my request that my betrothed husband,
John Morgan, be at my funeral, all over mourning, and
follow next after me.
" And to my cousin, Ruby Pynsent, I leave, besides
the estates which are in some sort hers of right, my kind
love and best wishes ; and if this same John Morgan and
Ruby Pynsent do find it in their hearts to marry when I
shall have been a full year in my grave, they have my
consent and my approval and my prayers both now and
then.
" And all my jewels and clothes I leave to Ruby Pyn-
sent, excepting the necklace of rubies and the heart be-
longing to it, which will be about my neck when I die,
and these I desire shall be buried with me.
" And if there is any creature in this world who fan-
cies himself or herself in need of my forgiveness, I do
now, in the presence of the God to whom I haste, most
fully, freely, and solemnly forgive them.
" And so, good-by, world."
256 THE LAST OF THE PROUD PULSIFEES.
The body of the instrument bequeathed nearly
the whole of the great Pulsif er property to Ruby
Pynsent, with careful provision for all the old ser-
vants and dependents of the house, and in especial
a handsome annuity to Judith, who enjoyed it for
barely two years.
To John Morgan was bequeathed the portrait al-
ready described, and the furniture of Margaret's
bed-chamber, with the request that he would him-
self use it " so long as he shall live a bachelor."
So Margaret, last of the Proud Pulsifers, was
borne to the grave, and John Morgan, "all over
mourning," followed next after her who thus clung
to her right in him, even while bestowing him and
all her riches upon another woman ; but from the
grave he turned away to wander to and fro through
the earth for another year, and when it was over he
came home, and we all knew that he would do
it, did we not ? married Ruby Pynsent, who had
patiently waited, sure, with the wisdom of even the
weakest woman, that he would come at last.
Yes, they married, and Margaret's bedroom fur-
niture was with remorseful care stowed away in a
little locked chamber at the top of the house, where
moth and rust and mould and rats soon made an
end of nearly all except a few of the love-let-
ters in her ebony writing-desk, one of which love-
letters is already quoted. The portrait was better
used, for it hung in the state drawing-room, the
room where Miss Pulsifer's last will was read in
THE LAST OF THE PEOUD PULSIFEBS. 257
presence of her dead body, and Ruby never en-
tered the place without glancing first at the picture
and then at the centre of the room ; and though
the hearth might be heaped with logs and the sun-
shine stream in at the great south window, that
room had always a chill for her, and perhaps for
her husband also.
But there ! Margaret Pulsifer forgave them, and
blessed them, even after she knew herself dying to
leave them alive and together ; and if she could do
it, why should not we ?
THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
IT was the last December of the eighteenth cen-
tury. All night a fierce northeast snowstorm had
been hissing and drifting through the frozen air,
pelting angrily at the shuttered and curtained
windows of the rich, and shrieking with scornful
laughter as he forced his way through the ill-fitting
casements and loose doors of the unfortunates who
could not keep him out, clutching at them with icy
fingers as they cowered over their poor fires, and
spreading over the garret-beds in which they sought
to hide from him a premature shroud of pitiless
white snow.
But with morning the storm ceased, and a little
before noon the sun, peering from behind his clouds,
seemed to wink with astonishment at seeing how
much had been done in his absence.
Not only the sun, but Mr. Phineas Coffin, guard-
ian of the " town's poor," in a town of the Old
Colony, was astir, and, standing at the door of the
"poor- 'us," bent a contemplative eye upon the
progress made by two stout youths who were clear-
ing the snow from the sidewalks and paths upon
his premises, and soon perceived that a trial of
skill and speed was going on between his own pi-
oneer and a lad similarly engaged on behalf of the
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 259
next estate. About half way between the rapidly
approaching competitors stood a rough-hewn block
of stone, marking the boundaries of the two fields
of labor.
To first reach this, the winning-post, was evidently
the emulous desire of each. As they approached
near and nearer, the snow flew from their shovels
with a force and velocity which would certainly
have reminded Mr. Coffin of a steam snow-plough,
had he ever seen or heard of such a thing, which
he most assuredly never had.
Each boy performed prodigies of skill and valor.
The " poor-'us " lad evidently gained, and his patron
did not conceal a wide smile of satisfaction ; the
rival looked up, saw it, was stung with generous
rage, threw himself with fury upon his shovel, and
in three enormous plunges laid bare his own side
of the post, before " poor-'us " had come within a
foot of it.
Then, clapping his numb fingers upon his thighs,
the successful champion uttered a melodious crow,
which so disgusted the spectator that he was about
to retire within doors, when his eyes fell upon a
thinly-clad, timid-looking woman, who was advan-
cing along the newly-opened path, casting deprecat-
ing glances at the two boys, who from peaceful
rivalry were now proceeding to open warfare, car-
ried on with the ammunition so plentifully spread
before them.
Nor was the alarm of the poor woman ground-
less ; for, as she advanced into the battlefield, she
260 THE FIEST AND THE LAST.
found herself saluted upon the breast with an
immense snowball, which, being of loose construc-
tion, adhered persistently to the folds of her red
broadcloth cloak, forming a conspicuous and re-
markable ornament to that garment.
" Come, stop that, you young limbs, or I '11 "
shouted the chivalric Phineas, hastily gathering, as
he spoke, material for a formidable missile, which,
being completed before the sentence, was used by
him as a ready means of rounding his period, being
at once more forcible and easier to come at than
the words which most men would have chosen.
Besides, Nathaniel, the poor-house lad, turning
round at sound of his master's voice, presented so
fair a mark, with his gaping mouth, that, half invol-
untarily, the snowball left Mr. Coffin's hand, and
the next instant formed the contents of Nathaniel's
open mouth, leaving, however, a liberal surplusage
to ornament his cheeks, chin, and nose. The recip-
ient of this bulletin choked, spluttered, and pawed
at his face after the manner of a cat who has tried
to eat a wasp.
His rival did not seek to conceal the expression
of his triumph and derision, the consequence of
which was, that, as soon as " poor-us " could see, he
fell upon his antagonist, and both immediately dis-
appeared from view in the bosom of an enormous
drift.
" Come right along, ma'am," called Mr. Coffin
to the horror-stricken woman, who stood contem-
plating the spot where a convulsive floundering and
THE FIEST AND THE LAST. 261
heaving beneath the snow showed that the frozen
element had not yet extinguished the fire of passion
in the breasts of the buried heroes, " come right
along, and don't be scaart of them young uns.
They 're drefful rude, I know ; but then, boys will
be boys."
The woman returned no answer to this time-hon-
ored defense of youthful enormities, but, hurrying
on, reached the door, saying :
" How 's your health this morning, Mr. Coffin ? "
" Waal, ma'am, I 'm pooty middlin' well, thank
ye," replied Phineas, slowly, and with an evident
effort at recollection ; then suddenly added, with
more vivacity :
" Why, it 's Widder Janes, ain't it ? Declare
to goodness I did n't know ye, with yer hood over
yer face. Walk in, Mis' Janes, and see my wo-
man, won't ye ? "
" Waal, I dunno as I can stop," replied the widow,
beginning, nevertheless, to shake the snow from her
scanty skirts, and to stamp her numb feet, which
were protected from the biting cold by a pair of old
yarn socks, drawn over the shoes.
" I was wan tin' to see ye, a minit," continued she ;
" but Mis' Coffin allers keeps cleaned up so slick, I
don't hardly darst come in."
" Oh, waal," replied Phineas, with a chuckle of
&atisf action at the compliment to his wife. " Ye
look nice enough for anybody's folks. Come right
in, this way."
"I dunno how 'tis," continued the visitor, as she
262 THE FIEST AND THE LAST.
followed her host through the long entry, "that
Mis' Coffin can allers be so forehanded with her
work, an' do sich a master sight on 't, too. She
don't never seeui to be in the suds, Monday nor no
time."
Mr. Coffin had reached the door of the " keeping-
room " as the widow concluded her last remark ;
but pausing, with his thumb upon the latch, he
turned, and, looking over his shoulder, whispered,
with an emphatic nod :
" Fact is, Mis' Janes, there ain't sich a great
many women jest like Mis' Coffin."
" There ain't no two ways about that," murmured
Mrs. Janes, assentingly, as the door was thrown
open.
"Walk right in. Here, Marthy, the Widder
Janes has called to see you this morning."
A quiet, middle-aged woman turned round from
the table, where she was fitting patches to a pair
of pauper trousers. Her face was sweet, her voice
low, and, though she was of middle age, every one
agreed that " Mis' Coffin was a real pooty woman,
an' a harnsome woman, too."
" How does thee do, Keziah Janes ? I am glad
to see thee. Take a seat by the fire, and warm thee
after thy cold walk."
" I can't stop a minit ; but it 's as cheap settin'
as stannin', I do suppose," replied the widow, with,
a nervous little laugh, as she seated herself in the
proffered chair upon the clean red hearth, and
opened her business by saying :
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 263
" I was wautin' to speak with you, Mr. Coffin,
about poor Mr. Widdrinton."
" Widdrinton, who 's he ? " inquired Phineas.
" Waal," commenced the widow, settling herself
in her chair, and assuming the air of one who has
a story to narrate, "you know I have my thirds
in the house my poor husband left. It wa'n't
sold, as it had ought to ben, for Samooel (that 's
his brother) never 's ben easy that I should have
the rooms I have ; but they 're what was set off for
me, an' so he can't help himself ; on'y he 's allers
a-thornin' when he gits a chance.
" But that ain't nyther here nor there. What I
was a-comin' to was this. Ruther better 'n a year
ago, a man come to me and wanted to know ef I
used all my rooms. I told him I had n't no use for
the garrit, 'cept to dry my yarbs in (for I think
yarbs are drefful good in case o' sickness, Mis' Cof-
fin, don't you ?). An' then he said he wanted a
place to sleep in, an' his breakfast an' supper, an'
wanted to know if I would take him so.
"Waal, I thought about it a spell, an' I con-
cluded I was too old to mind the speech o' people,
and I had n't no other objection, so I said he might
come, an' he did, that very day.
" Waal, at fust he had some kind o' work to do
writin', an' he seemed to git along very comf'table,
at least, fur 's I know, for I was out tailorin'
all day mostly, same as I be now ; but last fall the
writin' seemed to gin out all to oncet, an' he begun
to kerry off his furnitoor an' books to sell, an'
264 THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
finally he paid up all he was owin' of me, an' told
me he did n't want no more meals, but would find
himself.
"Waal, I told him, that, seein' things wuz as
they wuz with him, I should n't take no rent for the
garrit, an' I could dry my yarbs there jest as well
as ef he wa'n't there ; an' he looked kind o' red,
and held his head up a minit, an' then he thanked
me, an' said, * God bless you ! ' an' said he 'd pay
me, ef he got any more work.
" Waal, he did n't git no more ; an' after the
furnitoor an' the books, his cloze begun to go.
"Then I begun to be afeard he didn't have
nothin' to eat, an' oncet in a while I 'd kerry him
up a mess o' vittles ; but it allers seemed drefful
hard for him to take 'em, an' fiu'ly he told me
not to do so no more, an' said suthin' to himself
about devourin' widders. So I did n't darst to go
up agin, he looked so kind o' f urce an' sharp, till,
last night, I reck'n'd the snow would sift in through
the old ruff, an' I went up to offer him a comf 'table
for his bed. I knocked ; but he did n't make no
answer, so I pushed the door open an' went in. It
was a good while sence I 'd seen the inside o' the
room, for when he heerd me comin' up, he 'd open
the door a crack an' peek out while he spoke to
me ; so when I got inside the room and looked
about, I was all took aback, an' gawped round like
a fool, an' no wunder nyther ; for of all the good
furnitoor and things he 'd brought, there wa'n't
the fust thing to be seen, save and 'cept a kind o'
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 265
frame covered with cloth staunin' aginst the wall,
an' an old straw-bed on the floor, with him on it, an*
a mis'able old comf'table kivered over him."
"And this bitter weather, too! Oh, Keziah,
what did thee do ? " asked Mrs. Coffin, in a tearful
voice.
" Why, I went up to the bedside (ef you may call
it so), an' said, sez I, ' Why, Lor' sakes, Mr. Wid-
drinton,' an' then I hild up, for I ketched a sight
of his face, an' I thought he wuz gone for sartin.
He wuz as cold an' as white as that 'ere snow, an' it
wa'n't till I 'd felt of his heart an' foun' that it
beat a little that I thought of sich a thing as his
comin' to. But as soon as I found he 'd got a
breath o' life in him, I didn't waste much time
till I 'd got him wropped up in a hot blanket with
a jug o' water to his feet, an' some hot tea inside
on him. Then he come to a little, an' said he had n't
eat nor drank for two days and nights."
"O Keziah!" sobbed Mrs. Coffin; while her
husband, plunging his hands deep into his breeches
pockets, and elevating his eyebrows till they were
lost in his shaggy hair, exclaimed :
" Good Je-hoshaphat ! " which was the nearest
approach to an oath in which he ever indulged.
" An' so," pursued the widow, after enjoying for
a moment the consternation of her audience,
" an' so I thought I had better come an' see ef he
could n't be took in here ; not that I would n't do
for him, an' be glad to, fur as I could, but he ain't
in a state to be left alone, an' you know my trade
266 THE FIEST AND THE LAST.
takes me away consid'able from home, an' which,
if I don't foller it, why, when I git a little older, I
shall have to come here myself, an' be a burden on
your hands an' the town's."
" We would take good care of thee, if thee did
come, Keziah," said Mrs. Coffin, in whom the habit-
ual equanimity of the " Friend " had conquered the
emotion of the woman. " Though I do not deny
that it is pleasanter and better for thee to support
thyself, as thee always has done."
" I don't doubt you would be good to me, Mis'
Coffin, an' thank ye, ma'am, kindly for a-sayin' of
it ; but you know innerpendunce is sweet to all
on us."
" Surely, surely, Keziah ; and now, Phineas, I
suppose thee will see at once about this poor man,
won't thee?"
" Yes, Marthy, yes. I '11 go right off and see one
of the selectmen ; and I reckon by the time you git
a bed ready for him we shall be along."
Phineas accordingly bustled out of the room ; and
Mrs. Janes, after lingering a few moments, took her
leave and returned to her charge, inwardly congrat-
ulating herself on having so new and interesting a
piece of intelligence with which to lighten her next
day's "tailoring."
Mrs. Coffin, left alone, stood for a moment
considering, and then, opening a door, called
gently :
"Faith!"
" Yes, mother," replied a voice whose soft tones
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 267
seemed the echo of her own. A moment after, a
slender, dark-eyed girl, about twenty years of age,
entered the room, and said cheerfully :
" What is it, mother ? "
" I have somewhat to tell thee, Faith."
And the Quakeress repeated, in calm, unemphatic
language, the story narrated by Mrs. Janes.
" The poor man will soon be here, Faith," con-
tinued she, " and I wanted to ask what thee thinks
should be done with him. Thee knows there is no
room that can have a fire in it, except the one
where Polly and Susan sleep, and they are both
too sick to be moved into the cold "
" He shall have my room, mother," said Faith,
without hesitation.
"Thy room, child?"
" Yes, mother ; and I will sleep here on the couch.
I should like it very much indeed ; for you know I
never have been able to be quite the orderly and
regular girl you have tried to make me."
" Thee is a good girl," said the mother, quietly.
" Not half so good a girl as I ought to be, with
so good a mother," replied Faith, throwing her
arms about her mother's neck and kissing her
fondly.
The elder woman returned the caress with an in-
voluntary warmth, which, pure and natural though
it might be, was yet at variance with the strict rule
of her sect, that taught her to avoid everything like
compliment or caress, as savoring of the manners
of the " world's people."
268 THE FIEST AND THE LAST.
So, after one kiss, she gently repelled the girl,
saying :
" Nay, Faith, but it sufficeth. Go, then, if thee
will, and make ready thy chamber for this sick man,
while I prepare him some broth."
An hour later, a pung or box-sleigh drew up at
the poor-house door, and from it was lifted a long,
gaunt figure, carefully enveloped in blankets and
cloaks. As he was taken from the sleigh, he feebly
murmured a few words, to which Phineas Coffin
replied kindly :
" Don't be scaart, it 's all safe, and Nathaniel
will fetch it right in after us."
"What! this 'ere?" queried the youth called
Nathaniel, while he lifted from the sleigh, some-
what contemptuously, a long flat something, care-
fully enveloped in a cotton case.
" Yes. Fetch it along this way," replied Phineas ;
and Nathaniel followed the chair, in which the sick
man was carried, into the pretty little maiden cham-
ber that Faith had so quietly relinquished to one
who, as she thought, needed it more than herself.
Mother and daughter stood ready to receive their
new charge, and see him comfortable in the warm,
soft bed which they had prepared for him.
" Thee will soon get rested now, friend, and go
to sleep, won't thee ? " said Mrs. Coffin, in her
gentle voice, as she turned down the sheet a litfle
more evenly.
" Where is it ? " panted the exhausted sufferer,
trying to look beyond his kind nurse into the room.
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 269
" What does thee mean, friend ? "
" It is this thing, mother," said Faith, bringing
it forward, and leaning it against the wall at
the foot of the bed. " He brought it with him,"
continued she, in a low voice ; " and father says, he
did n't seem to care half so much about his own
comfort as to have that safe."
"It is my property, all I have left. I
won't be parted from it. You sha'n't take it
away," gasped the sick man, in an excited tone.
"Thee shall not be parted from it, friend," said
Mrs. Coffin, soothingly. " Surely we would not
deprive thee of what is thine own, and what thee
seems to value so much. Now if thee will try to
go to sleep, I will stay with thee the while, and
when thee wakes thee shall have some broth to
strengthen thy poor body."
"Let let her stay. Go away, the rest of
you," whispered the feeble voice, while the weary
eyes rested upon Faith's grave, sweet face.
" Thee means my daughter ? Faith, does thee
wish to stay ? or had thee rather I should ? "
" I will stay, mother, if he wishes it."
, "Very well, daughter. When thee is weary,
come down, and I, or one of the women, will take
thy place."
Mrs. Coffin left the room, and Faith, her sewing
in her hand, was about seating herself by the fire,
when the voice of the stranger summoned her to
the bedside.
Turning, she found his hollow and gleaming eyes
270 THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
fixed sternly upon her, while a long, lean finger was
pointed alternately at her and the frame leaning
against the wall.
"Girl!"
" Can I do something for you ? " asked Faith,
kindly.
" Don't you look at it or let any one else,
while I'm asleep."
"I certainly will not."
" Promise ! "
" I do promise."
"Swear!"
" Nay, friend, that would be wrong," replied the
girl, unconsciously adopting the phraseology of the
Quakers, while expressing a sentiment learned from
them ; for though Faith had been brought up out-
wardly in the creed of her father, she had, without
being aware of it, adopted many of the tenets to
which her mother held.
" I will promise you very solemnly, however,"
continued she, " that I will neither look at yonder
thing nor allow any one else to do so ; and you will
be wrong to doubt my word."
" I don't. What is your name ? "
"Faith."
" A good omen. Mine is Ichabod.'*
"IchabodWiddrinton?"
" Ichabod. Call me so, all of you."
" Very well, if it is your name, we will. Now
you must go to sleep."
" Sit there, where I can see you."
THE FIEST AND THE LAST. 271
Faith complied with this request, although un-
certain whether it was not prompted by a distrust
of her promise. The stranger soon slept, and his
young nurse then made a more attentive survey of
his features than she had yet done. He seemed
not over forty years of age, and would, in health,
have been considered a handsome man, although
the fine silky hair, thin beard, sensitive nostril, and
delicate mouth could never have expressed much
of strength or resolution.
The traces of disease and starvation were pain-
fully apparent; but it seemed to the thoughtful
Faith that behind these she could perceive in the
sorrowful, downward curve of the lips, in the lines
of the hollow, throbbing temples, in the gloomy
light of the dark eyes, symptoms of a long corroding
care, which, though secretly, had done its work of
devastation more surely and more ruthlessly than
the more apparent foes.
" How he must have suffered ! " murmured she.
It seemed as if the tone of gentle pity had pene-
trated the light slumber, and reached the heart of
the sick man, for, opening his eyes, he looked
at the girl with a wan smile, whose sadness held
both an assent and a benison.
From that moment, until the welcome end of his
broken life, Ichabod would patiently endure no
tendance but Faith's ; and she, with the calm and
silent self-abnegation of her order (for Florence
Nightingale is but a type, and there are those all
about us who lack but her opportunities), devoted
herself to him.
272 THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
Her mother sometimes remonstrated, and begged
her to yield her place in the sick-chamber to her
or to one of the pauper women ; but Faith, whose
grave sweetness concealed more determination than
a stranger would have guessed, simply answered :
" Dear mother, what is a little fatigue to one as
well as I am, compared with the pleasure of making
this poor stranger's death-bed happy and quiet ?
which it certainly would not be, if he was crossed
in his fancy for seeing me about him." And the
conscientious mind of the mother was forced to yield
assent to this simple logic.
A few weeks thus passed, and then the sick man
became a dying man. The pauper inmates of the
house were all willing and anxious to watch beside
him through the long nights, but Ichabod received
their attentions very ungraciously ; nor was it till
Faith told him, in her kind, decided way, that she
could not stay with him at night, that he consented
to allow the others to do so.
At last there came the evening when the physi-
cian said to Mrs. Coffin, as he entered the room
where she sat with her husband :
" He won't last till morning, 't is impossible."
" Then thee had better watch beside him,
Phineas. It is not fitting that Faith should do
so."
" Certain. I '11 go right up and send her down,"
replied Phineas, readily.
But when the arrangements for the night were
made known to Ichabod, he caught hold of Faith's
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 273
dress, as she stood at his bedside bidding him good-
night, and gasped out,
" No, no ! you ! I must have you ! I shall
die die to-night ! And and I want to tell
to tell you something. Stay, stay, Faith ! it 's
the last last time, and I I shall never trouble
any one any more."
" Let me stay, mother ; father, do ! " pleaded
Faith, looking from one to the other. " I should be
very unhappy, always, if I was obliged to deny him
this last request. I shall not be afraid, mother;
and Betty can sleep in the chair by the fire, if you
wish it, so as to be at hand, if "
" Well, child, if thee feels a caU to do so, and it
will make thee unhappy to be denied, I will hold
my peace. But thee must certainly have Betty
here, and promise to send her to call me, if Ichabod
should be worse, won't thee ? "
Faith gave the required promise, and in a short
time the chamber was prepared for night. The old
woman (whose skill in the last awful rites which
man pays to man caused her always to be selected
for such occasions) slept soundly beside the glow-
ing fire, the dying man dozed uneasily, and Faith,
shading the light from his eyes, opened the large-
print Bible which her mother, careful both for the
well-being of her daughter's immortal soul and tem-
poral eyesight, had recommended for her night's
perusal.
The hours passed slowly on, unmarked by change,
until as Faith counted three solemn strokes from
274 THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
the old clock in the passage, the sick man suddenly
awoke.
Coming at once to offer him the draught for
which he always asked on awakening, Faith was
struck with a change in the face of her patient.
The eyes were at once calmer and brighter, the
look of uneasy pain had disappeared, and the thin
lips wore almost a smile.
" Dear Faith," said he, in a gentle voice, which
yet was stronger and more unbroken than any she
had heard from him before, " how good you have
been to me ! I am dying ; but do not call any one
yet. I want to talk to you a little, first. Put an-
other pillow under my head, and raise me, so.
Now light your other candle, urge the fire to a
brighter blaze, and then uncover it."
The girl, very pale and quiet, stirred the fire till
its ruddy glow brightened every nook of the little
whitewashed chamber, and made the old crone be-
side it wince and mutter in her sleep. Having
shielded her from its fierce light, she then, with
trembling fingers, opened a little penknife which
lay upon the table, and cut the twine with which
the cover was sewed at the back. The last stitch
severed, the cloth fell with a solemn rustle at her
feet, and disclosed a picture.
Faith examined it with much attention and some
curiosity. It was the full-length figure of a man,
dressed in rich robes of office, his powdered hair
put back from his forehead, his left hand resting
on the pommel of his sword, his right clasping a
THE FIEST AND THE LAST. 275
roll of parchment. The expression of the face was
grave, majestic, and noble ; and yet between those
handsome features and the attenuated features of
the dying pauper Faith soon perceived one of those
resemblances, strong, yet indefinable, which are so
apparent to some persons, so undiscoverable by
others.
"A noble gentleman, Faith, was he not?"
said Ichabod, at length. " And they say his pic-
ture does not do him justice. He was an English
gentleman of property and station, the heir of a
good fortune and honorable name *, but he left all
to come here and help found this new country,
this glorious land of freedom and conscience,
where every man has perfect liberty to starve in
his own fashion.
" He came, and was a great man among them.
He built the finest house in the village of Boston,
and then came hither, where they made him gov-
ernor and named a bay after him.
" He went home for a visit to England, and there
he had this picture painted by the court - painter
of those days, and brought it back with him, as
a present to his wife.
" He was father of many children, mostly girls,
and finally died in a very dignified and respectable
manner, full of years and honors, as they say in
story-books.
" His handsome property, being divided so often,
made but rather small portions for the children,
and several of the daughters died unmarried.
276 THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
" Then the family began to decay, and each suc-
ceeding head found it a harder struggle to keep up
the old hospitalities and the traditional style of liv-
ing. They died out, too. The lateral branches
of the family-tree never flourished, and one after
another came to an end, till about forty years ago
the remnant of the family blood and the family
name was centred in two cousins, a young man and
a girl. They met at the funeral of the girl's mother,
and found in a short conversation that they were
the sole living representatives of the old name.
" They married, gloomily helping on the Fate who
pursued them by uniting their two threads of life
in one, that thus she might sever it more easily. I
was their only child, and they named me Ichabod,
which means, as perhaps you know, the glory has
departed.
*' It is a sad proof of how deeply the bitterness of
life had entered their souls that, even in the su-
preme moment when they clasped their first-born in
their arms, the name which rose from heart to lip,
and which they bestowed upon him, was in itself a
cry of anguish and despair.
" The husband soon died. Man breaks, woman
bends, beneath the crushing weight of such a life.
My mother lived, a dark and silent woman, till
five years ago. Then she died, too, and I inherited
my ancestor's portrait and the curse of the With-
ringtons.
" I tried to work, to earn my bread, as men all
about me were doing. But no, the fate was
THE FIRST AND THE LAST. 277
npon me, the curse pursued me. Everything
failed which I attempted. I sunk lower and lower,
until the name and the picture, which had been
my pride, became a shame and a reproach to me.
I abandoned the one and concealed the other, re-
solved to reveal neither until the moment arrived
when death should wipe out the squalor of life,
conquer fate, and expiate the curse.
" Quick, Faith, quick ! The hour has come.
Take the knife you just held, cut the canvas
from its frame, cut it in fragments, lay it on
the blazing fire. We will perish together, the
First and the Last."
" Nay, Ichabod, give it to me," said Faith, shrink-
ing from the proposed holocaust. " I will always
keep it, and value it."
" Would you see me fall dead at your feet, while
attempting to do for myself what you refuse to
do forme?" asked the dying man, with feverish
ardor, and half rising, as if to leave his bed.
" No, no, I will do it, since it must be so,"
exclaimed Faith, eagerly. "Lie down again and
watch me."
Ichabod sunk back upon his pillows, and gazed
with eyes of fitful light, as the girl, opening the
keen knife, cut slowly and laboriously round the
margin of the stout canvas, which shrieked beneath
the blade, as if the spirit of the effigy which it
bore were resisting the fearful doom which threat-
ened it.
At last the picture was entirely released, and
278 THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
Faith silently held it up before the eyes of the
dying man, upon whose face had come a dull,
leaden blankness, and whose eyes were painful to
watch as they struggled to pierce the film which
was gathering over them.
"Burn," he hoarsely murmured.
With a sigh, Faith cut the picture into strips,
and laid them gently, reverently, upon the coals
heaped in the large fireplace.
The greedy flames leaped up to grasp their prey,
and Faith turned sick and faint as she watched
them fasten upon that noble face, which seemed to
contract and shrivel in its anguish as they seized
upon it.
She gazed a moment, painfully fascinated, then
turned toward the bed, but as her eyes fell upon
Ichabod's face, she started back, and, rousing the
old woman from her slumber, sent to summon her
mother.
Mrs. Coffin came immediately, but when she
entered the chamber, the last fragment of the can-
vas was shriveling in the flames, the last sigh of
the dying man was parting from his white lips.
They had perished together, the First and
the Last.
NOTE. It may add to the interest of this story to know that it
is literally true. The great-grandson of one of our early New
England governors died in a poorhouse, with the portrait of his
ancestor as his only possession.
WRECKED AND RESCUED.
IT was a dark night of December, 1790, and the
clock in the study of Rev. Isaac Hepworth, the
clergyman of a New England seacoast town, had
already struck the hour of twelve, when that divine
finished and laid within his desk the sermon on
which he had been too busily engaged to note the
lapse of time.
Late as was the hour, the Rev. Isaac did not
immediately retire to sleep, choosing rather to rest
his weary brain and relax his constrained muscles
by an idle half hour beside the cheerful fire. So,
throwing on another log, he wheeled round his
study chair, settled himself comfortably therein,
and placed his slippered feet upon the fender.
" A-h ! This is comfort ! " murmured the Rev.
Isaac Hepworth, neatly folding the skirts of his
dressing-gown across his knees.
Some fifteen minutes of intense quiet passed,
and the clergyman, succumbing to the united temp-
tations of fire, chair, and weariness, was dropping
into a luxurious doze when he was suddenly and
thoroughly aroused by a low tap upon his study
window.
Springing to his feet a little nervously, Mr.
Hepworth drew aside the curtain and peered out.
280 WRECKED AND EESCUED.
A man's face, dimly visible in the darkness, was
pressed close to the glass, and met the clergyman's
astonished gaze with a reassuring nod.
"Oh, Jarvis, is it you? Wait, and I'll let
you in."
Jarvis nodded again, and, falling back into the
gloom, went round to the door, which Mr. Hep-
worth had opened very quietly, that he might not
disturb his sleeping household.
"Well, Jarvis, what's the matter?" asked he,
anxiously, when the two were shut into the snug
little study.
" Why, something very queer 's the matter, sir,
and I 'm right glad I found you up, for, according
to my reckoning, the fewer that 's let into it the
better ; and as soon as I see the lights in these
winders, I said to myself, ' There, there won't be
no need for Mis' Hodson's knowing nothing about
it.' "
"About what, Jarvis?" asked Mr. Hepworth,
mildly, as his sexton paused to enjoy the satisfac-
tion of a vulgar man who possesses a secret which
he intends and yet grudges to impart.
" Well, sir, it wa'n't more than half an hour
ago, and I was snug in bed sleeping as sound as
any babe, when my wife she nudges me, and says
she:
" * John,' says she, ' there 's some one a-knocking
at our door.'
" ' Pho ! go to sleep, woman, and don't be dis-
turbing me with your silly dreams,' says I ; for I
WEECKED AND EESCUED. 281
did n't like to be woke up, sir ; and I was just a
going off agin, when sure enough I heard a kind
of softly knock on my front door, sounding just as
if some one wanted to wake us up, and yet hated
to make a noise.
" Well, I jumped up and h'isted the window.
"'Who's there?' says I.
" ' A friend,' says a man's voice, though I could n't
see no one 'cause of the dark.
" ' Hain't you got no name? ' asks I, kind of sharp,
for it 's a main cold night, sir, and I wa'n't overly
comfortable.
" ' That 's of no consequence. I want to speak
with you, if you 're the sexton of Mr. Hepworth's
church, and you shall be paid handsomely for the
trouble of dressing and coming down,' says the
voice.
"Well, sir, I considered that it wa'n't noways
Christianly not to hear what a feller-creter had to
say, ef he wanted to say it bad enough to come out
sech a night ; and so says I :
" * Hold on, and I *11 come down soon 's I 've put
on my trousers.'
" So I shet the winder, and though my wife she
wa'n't noways willing, and took on consid'able for
fear 'twas a plan to rob and murder, or else a
ghost, I bade her hold her tongue, and down I
went, and jest stopping in the entry to say over
a prayer and a verse, I ondid the door and held
up my candle to the face of the man that stood
outside.
282 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
"He was young and noways frightful to look
upon, and he says right off :
" ' That 's right, my friend,' and he put this 'ere
piece of money in my hand [showing a golden
guinea] ; and says he :
" ' Now, I want you to come right along to the
church, and open the door for me and my compan-
ion to go in, and. then you must summon the clergy-
man to perform a marriage ceremony.'
" ' Why, sir,' says I, ' ef so be 's you want to be
married, why can't you go to the tavern and wait
till morning ; or ef suckumstances is sech as you
can't wait, go to the minister's own house and be
married in his study. Folks here don't never go
to the meeting-house sech times, and more 'n all,
it 's as cold and colder there than 't is outer doors.'
" Upon that, sir, the man he got kind of impa-
tient, and says he :
" * Friend, it ain't advice I want of you but sar-
vice.' And with that he put inter my hand this
other piece of money."
And the sexton complacently displayed a second
guinea.
" Well, sir, upon that I considered, as I did n't
know anything onlawful in a man's being married
in a meeting-house at twelve o'clock at night, ef so
be as lie was a mind to, and the minister was a
mind to marry him, so says I :
" ' Well, Mister, you wait outside till I get my
lantern, and I '11 show you the way to the meeting-
house and let you in, and then I '11 go and tell the
WBECKED AND RESCUED. 283
minister about it, and ef so be as he 's a mind to
come, why he will ; and ef he ain't a mind to, why
he won't.'
" * Has he a wife ? ' says the man next.
" * No, he hain't,' says I.
" * Have you a wife, then, goodman ? ' says he.
" * Yes, I have,' says I. ' And a good wife, too.
It 's she that was the Widder Jones, and darter to
old Samwel Rubbles of this town.'
"I was a-going on, when the man he broke
right in.
" * Can you persuade her to rise and accompany
us to the church ? ' says he.
"'Lord, sirs,' says I, right out (for which I
hope I '11 be forgiven), * what upon earth ken you
want o' her ? '
" ' My companion, the young lady that is to be
my wife, should have the support of a woman's
presence at such a time ; and besides that, it is
necessary to have two witnesses to the marriage,'
says the man.
" ' Wa'al, I don't know jest what to say,' says I,
kind o' considering, and, sir, that man he slips this
other piece o' money inter my hand." And from
his dexter pocket the venal sexton extracted a third
guinea, and added it, with a humorous air of in-
nocent astonishment, to the two already in his right
hand.
"And then you went and called your wife?"
suggested Mr. Hepworth, dryly.
" Why, yes, sir. I considered that it was hard
284 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
for a young woman to go and be married in a
meeting-house at twelve o'clock at night and no
womenfolks about ; and I consaited that Marthy
like enough would take a notion to go, and be kind
of riley ef I did n't give her the chance ; and
more 'n all, I heerd her jest then call my name
mighty softly over the balusters. So says I,
* Wa'al, I '11 go see,' says I ; and I shet to the door
and went upstairs, and there was Marthy dressing
herself faster 'n ever I see her before, and all fer
hurrying me off to get you."
"And were the strangers all this time out in the
biting cold ? " asked Mr. Hepworth, reprovingly.
" Why, yes, sir. I thought 't was safest so, for
we never know what shape Satan may come in to
destroy us, and I felt more kind o' easy to keep 'em
outside. Marthy, when she got dressed, she went
down and asked 'em in, but it wa'n't no wish of
mine, nor she did n't stop to ask my leave. Women-
folks is dreadful kind o' headstrong sometimes, sir,
though I s'pose you hain't never had no call to find
it out," said the sexton, sighing.
" And these strangers, where are they now ? "
asked the clergyman, who, already cloaked and
hatted, stood with the door in his hand waiting for
his companion to precede him.
" In the meeting-house," said Mr. Jarvis, taking
the hint, and passing out. " They would n't come
in, noways ; but when I went out, the man he told
us both to get inter a kerridge he had out in the
road, and there was the young woman all curled
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 285
away in one corner a-crying ; and the driver he
druv right straight to the nieeting-house as ef he 'd
been there afore. So I onlocked the door and lit a
candle, and left 'em all there while I came to tell
you, sir."
" You would have done better, friend, in putting
the end of your story nearer to the beginning," said
the clergyman, a little indignantly. "We might
have relieved the discomfort and anxiety of these
poor people half an hour ago, if you had been less
diffuse in your narrative."
To this reproof John Jarvis listened in respect-
ful though puzzled silence, a silence lasting until
the two approached a bare, bleak, uncomely edi-
fice, the universal type of the New England meet-
ing-house of a hundred years ago. A feeble light
shone through the uncovered windows, and, pushing
open the door, Mr. Hepworth stepped inside, not
without a shiver at the deadly cold far more insup-
portable than the keen but living air without.
The bridal party (strange misnomer) were seated
in a pew near the upper end of the church, and ris-
ing, as the quick step of the clergyman sounded
hollowly up the uncarpeted aisle, they stood ready
to receive him.
Foremost was a man about thirty years of age,
tall, handsome, and of gentlemanly bearing. Be-
hind him followed the sturdy helpmate of John
Jarvis, tenderly supporting a girlish figure with
veiled face, whose stifled sobs attested her agitation.
" Mr. Hepworth, I believe," said the stranger, in
a voice harmonizing well with his appearance.
286 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
" That is my name," said the clergyman, mildly.
" Can I render you any service consistent with my
duty, sir ? "
" The greatest. I wish to be married at once to
this young lady. We are to sail for Europe on the
morning tide. A boat now waits to convey us on
board, and our passage is taken as man and wife.
Our right to that position rests now with you."
" But you will surely tell me, sir, the cause of
this very unusual manner of proceeding ? Are the
young lady's parents aware of the step she has
taken?"
" They are not, sir," returned the stranger,
firmly. " Her only parent, a father, is, on the con-
trary, bitterly opposed to my claims, and would
force his daughter into another marriage as abhor-
rent to her feelings as to humanity. She is of age
to decide for herself, but has not the courage to
openly maintain her rights in presence of her
father. She has chosen me, and no power on earth
shall prevent her from becoming my wife. If you
refuse to perform the ceremony, we must embark
unwedded, to the scandal of all who may hereafter
hear the tale, and trust to have our marriage sol-
emnized upon the other side of the water." (
" That were, indeed, a scandal ! " ejaculated the
clergyman, with horror.
" And yet to that extremity shall we be driven
unless you will at once make us man and wife,"
said the stranger, coolly, as he drew out his watch
and held it in the dim light of the candles. " It is
WRECKED AND EESCUED. 287
now hard upon half past one. At two we are to
take boat."
Mr. Hepworth turned to the bride.
" Daughter," said he, softly, " have you consid-
ered what you do ? "
" Yes, sir. I hope I shall be forgiven," sobbed
the girl.
" And is it your resolve, should I decline to sol-
emnize so strange a marriage, to follow this man
across the sea unwedded, at the imminent peril of
your fair fame here, and eternal happiness here-
after? " asked the minister, solemnly.
The sobs became convulsive in their strength,
but presently the timid voice again whispered :
" Yes, sir. But you will not refuse oh, will
you?"
Mr. Hepworth walked nervously up and down
the open space before the pulpit, and then return-
ing to the group said impressively :
" I will not refuse my ministration here ; for if
your avowals are an earnest of your intentions, I
shall, by refusal, tempt you to a deeper sin than
disobedience ; but I warn you both, and especially
you," turning to the bridegroom, " who, as the
stronger and more responsible party, should bear
the greater blame, that God's blessing rests not on
those who seek it while openly violating his com-
mands ; and of these, obedience to parents ranks
next to obedience to himself."
" Enough, sir. We are not to be dissuaded from
our purpose," replied the bridegroom, haughtily;
288 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
adding more persuasively after a momentary pause :
"and even by your own precept we are justified;
for in choosing each other, and in resisting those
who would separate us, we feel to be obeying the
voice of God, even in opposition to that of a parent."
Mr. Hepworth to this argument opposed only a
gesture of deprecation, and after a fervent but
silent prayer, took his appropriate place, and mo-
tioned the others to range themselves before him.
" Will you uncover your face, daughter ? " asked
the clergyman, kindly, as the bride showed no
inclination to raise the veil behind which she had
hitherto sheltered. Now, however, she immediately
removed it, and the eyes of all her companions
centred upon her face, those of Mr. Hepworth
with benevolent scrutiny, of the Jarvises with broad
curiosity, of her bridegroom with tender and sym-
pathizing love.
It was a lovely face, pale now and disfigured
by weeping, but undeniably beautiful, and not
wanting in a latent strength such as the trials in
the new path on which she now was entering might
speedily render needfuL
"Your name, my child?" asked the minister,
after a moment's attentive observation.
"Hope Murray," said the girl, faintly, a soft
color stealing into her cheek beneath the gaze of all
those eyes.
" And yours, sir ? "
" Miles Tresethen," replied the stranger, meeting
with unblenching gaze the look of severest scrutiny
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 289
with which Mr. Hepworth turned from that fair
childish face to that of the man who, as he had inly
decided, had tempted her to her present rebellious
disobedience. And yet Mr. Hepworth's growing
anger paused, and even retrograded, as he met those
clear and fearless eyes, noted the noble if proud
bearing of the handsome head, came, though
unconsciously, under the powerful influence of that
presence.
"Judge not that ye be not judged," flashed
through the clergyman's mind, and with a little
sigh, he said, quietly :
"Take each other by the right hand." Then
followed the brief words of the Puritan service,
and the minister gravely kissed the bride, saying,
" May you be as happy, my dear, as an old man's
wish can make you ; and may your fault be for-
given you as freely as I would forgive, did it rest
with me to do so ! "
For an instant the girl clung to his kindly hand
as if he had been indeed her father, and then turned
to her husband.
" We could not help it," said she, simply. " We
loved each other so, and we were so unhappy."
" Good-by, sir," said Tresejhen, extending his
hand, and grasping warmly that of the clergyman.
" Accept my thanks our thanks, for the sacrifice
you have made to-night of prejudice to necessity.
Never doubt that, on sober second thought, con-
science will acquit you of all wrong."
" Can you speak as boldly for yourself ? " asked
Mr. Hepworth, dryly.
290 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
The bridegroom paused. The bride uplifted to
his her tear-stained face.
" Before God I believe that I have done right,"
said Tresethen, solemnly ; and the clergyman
added nothing more except, " God bless you ! " as
he parted at the church-door with the new-married
couple.
" And here 's another piece of money he give me
as we came down the aisle behind you and the
young woman," said John Jarvis, while the minis-
ter and he stood upon the steep steps of the meet-
ing-house, listening to the quick rattle of the wheels
whirling down the stony road toward the water ;
" and he said I was to come right along, and take
the kerridge and bosses when they left 'em (that 's
his servant a-driving, sir), and fetch 'em to you,
and put 'em at your disposal, he said, sir."
" At my disposal, Jarvis ! "
" Yes, sir. Give 'em to you, you know, sir."
" But I do not wish for them, Jarvis. I cannot
take them, indeed I will not. Go at once to the
landing, and tell Mr. Tresethen that it is out of the
question for me to accept his present, and ask what
other disposal shall be made of the property."
Sexton Jarvis sped away, while his dame turned
silently homeward, as did Mr. Hepworth, his brain
whirling with the excitement of the last two hours.
As he reached the house he paused, and waited
some moments without, although the rich red fire-
light streamed invitingly from the study window,
and the night was bitterly cold. The rattle of dis-
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 291
tant wheels had reached his ear, however, and he
stood patiently waiting until John Jarvis carefully
checked the span of fine horses close beside their
reluctant owner.
" He won't take No for an answer," said the
sexton, importantly; " And when I says, says I,
4 'T ain't no use. The minister says he can't nor he
sha'n't take 'em ; ' he says, says he, ' Tell him they
are his. He may use them himself, or sell them
and give their price to the poor, but I have no
more control over them.' "
"And is he gone?" asked Mr. Hep worth,
anxiously.
"Yes, sir. There was a boat waiting at the
wharf (though the ship she belongs to must have
run in sence dark; there wa'n't none in the
harbor at dayli't down), and they was aboard when
I come, that is, the man and his wife. The one
that druv stood holding the horses till I got there,
and then he chucked the reins inter my hand and
jumped inter the boat. The sailors pushed off, and
in a minute more I could n't hev told that there 'd
ever ben sech doin's ef it had n't ben for the
hosses and kerridge. What 's to be done with 'em,
sir ? "
" Why, we must put them in my little stable for
to-night," said Mr. Hepworth, reluctantly. " And
if there is really no owner for them but myself, I
shall follow the suggestion of this strange young
man, and sell them for the benefit of the poor of
this parish. God knows they need relief."
292 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
Two days elapsed, and again Mr. Hepworth sat
alone beside his study fire, this time in the daylight,
thinking of the strange event so lately transpired,
and anxiously pondering his own share therein,
when a loud knock at the front door attracted his
attention, and presently a stranger was ushered into
the study.
This was a tall, stout man of middle life, with
scowling brows, sanguine complexion, and a choleric
expression, whether habitual or temporary Mr.
Hepworth found it impossible to determine.
"You're Mr. Hepworth?" began the stranger,
as soon as the door had closed behind him.
"Yes, sir. Will you sit down?" said the cler-
gyman, mildly.
" No, I won't. I want to know if you married
my girl to that d d scoundrel of an Englishman,
who 's carried her off."
" Sir, I shall answer no questions until you re-
member the decent respect you owe to my cloth,
if you choose to lay aside higher obligations," said
the clergyman, severely.
"Well, well, beg your pardon, sir, and all that;
but it 's enough to make a man swear. You have
not told me yet whether you married them."
" I married Miles Tresethen and Hope Murray
two nights ago, in the parish meeting-house of this
town," said the minister, quietly.
" And by Well, I 'm not going to swear, but
what right had you to do so ? "
" I did so because both parties assured me that
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 293
Miss Murray was of age, that she chose to marry
Mr. Tresethen in preference to any one else, and
that they should certainly embark within half an
hour in a vessel then awaiting them, married or
unmarried. Should you have preferred so equiv-
ocal a position as that for your daughter, Mr.
Murray?"
" What was the name of that vessel ? " asked
the angry man, waiving reply to the clergyman's
question with an impatient gesture.
" I do not know, sir."
" Perdition take them ! I '11 have 'em yet. I '11
sail to-night, I know a ship. I '11 be in England
as soon as they, and I '11 have her back if I kill
that villain first. Disobedient jade, worthless
trollop "
" Mr. Murray, I must request you to leave my
study and my house," exclaimed the mild Hepworth,
with unwonted energy, as the pure and lovely face
of Hope Murray rose to his memory from amidst
this sea of angry words and epithets.
" But I tell you, sir, that my life was bound up
in that girl, and now she 's gone. I should die
if I could n't swear ! " exclaimed the father, with
vehement simplicity. " I had such plans for her,
I had such a match in view. She 'd have been
the first lady in the States in time. And now to
go off with that miserable fellow, an Englishman
too ! "
" What are your objections to Mr. Tresethen, may
I ask? I judged him very favorably in our brief
294 WRECKED AND EESCUED.
interview," said Mr. Hepworth, pitying the genuine
sorrow visible through all the offensive manner of
the man.
" Why, sir, his father was a Tory and a refugee.
He came here a young man and made a fortune ;
then, when our troubles broke out, and I and others
left all our own concerns and took up arms to fight
for our freedom and our liberty, this miserable
Englishman quietly transferred his ill-gotten gains
to his own country, and skulked off after them.
Then, with the devil's own luck (your pardon once
more, sir), he inherited a fine estate and lived in
luxury, while our brave fellows, sir, were eating
their own shoes at Valley Forge, and tracking the
snow with their bloody feet as they marched on
without 'em. Then, when the war 's all over, and
matters settled down again, back comes this fellow,
this Miles, who had been left in England for his
education while his father was living here, to in-
quire after some landed property that the old fel-
low could n't carry with him when he ran away,
and was afraid to sell. My girl met him, sir, fell
head over heels in love with him, and forgot her
duty, her home, and her old father to run after
him to the ends of the earth. But he sha'n't have
her, he sha'n't keep her. I told 'em both, when
they came asking my consent and all that, I never
would consent, never, to my dying day, nor I
won't."
" But if Mr. Miles Tresethen was educated in
England, and never lived in this country at all,
WEECKED AND RESCUED. 295
surely he need not share the odium of his father's
desertion," suggested Mr. Hepworth.
"Well, perhaps not, but at any rate he's an
Englishman, and we 've had enough of Englishmen.
I hate 'em, from the king upon his throne down to
the meanest soldier in his army. We 've all given
our strength, and our hearts, and some of us our
lives to getting rid of 'em, and clearing 'em out of
the country, and now do you think I 'm going to
give niy only child to one of 'em ? Not I, sir. I '11
have her back. I '11 get her divorced. I '11 undo
the knot you were so foolish as to tie, sir. I '11
have justice, and I '11 have my girl."
And his anger having regained its full heat, tem-
porarily checked by the calm presence of the clergy-
man, Mr. Murray was rushing indignantly from the
room when he was stopped by his host, who, recount-
ing briefly the incidents connected with the carriage
and horses, requested that he would take them and
dispose of them as he would.
But at this request the ire of the injured father
reached its height ; and with vehement protestations
that horses, carriage, Englishman, and all, should
go to a very unpleasant place before he meddled
with them, he slammed out of the house, leaving
Mr. Hepworth to recover at his leisure from the hor-
rified consternation into which he had been thrown.
Out on the wild Atlantic a hunted ship flew be-
fore the storm that rushed madly after. All day
and all night and all another day the trembling
296 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
quarry had sped on, and now at sunset of the sec-
ond day the storm seemed gathering fresh strength,
as if resolved at once to end the conflict by one
overpowering effort.
It was the Roebuck, the ship on which James
Murray had hastily embarked in pursuit of his
daughter and her English husband ; and as he now
at nightfall came on deck and looked anxiously
about, marking the fiercer gloom of sea and sky,
the disordered ship and sullen crew, he remembered,
not for the first time, the warning he had received
just before sailing, against trusting himself at sea
with such a captain and such a crew ; and, after the
fashion of angry men, he cursed anew the cause of
his present peril.
" If it had n't been for that d d Englishman,"
said he, "I should not have been here. And where
is Hope poor child ! and if she is lost, who
will be her murderer ? Who but that villain that
tempted her away ? I '11 have his heart's-blood yet,
trust me but I will ! "
" Well, Mr. Murray, what did you see on deck ? "
asked a husky voice, as that gentleman painfully
descended the companion-ladder into the cabin.
" I saw everything except the captain," returned
Murray, gruffly, casting a scowling glance at the
bottle and tumbler sliding about upon the table.
" Ha, ha ! that 's meant for me, eh ? Well, I 'm
just going up, though I don't know what in thunder
to do when I get there, except what 's been done
already. Won't ye have a glass, Mr. Murray ? "
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 297
" No, sir ! " returned the passenger, sternly.
" If we are all to be swept into eternity before
morning, as I expect, I for one will go like a man,
and not like a brute."
" H-m ! Surly devil ! Go on deck to get rid
of you, if nothing else," muttered the captain, as
he climbed the steep steps with more than usual
difficulty.
Mr. Murray, after watching his clumsy move-
ments with an expression of angry disgust until he
had disappeared on deck, entered his own state-
room, changed his dress, put his papers and money
into an oilskin belt girt about his body, tied on his
excellent life-preserver, and wrapping himself in a
heavy cloak, ascended in his turn to the deck.
The hour that had elapsed since his previous
visit had wrought no material change. Perhaps
through the intense blackness of the night the mo-
notonous sweep of the wind sounded more fearfully ;
perhaps the leaping waves snatched more hungrily
at their prey in the sheltering darkness ; perhaps
the doomed ship groaned more audibly and intelli-
gibly ; at least, these things seemed so to the passen-
ger, who now clung to the main shrouds and threw
piercing glances hither and thither through the
night. Sheltered beneath the windward bulwark
crouched the captain with his chief mate, their
position only to be determined by their voices as
they shouted an occasional order to the men, who
sometimes sullenly obeyed, sometimes in the dark-
ness contented themselves with muttering that it
298 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
was impossible. At last a man came staggering aft
with the request, or rather demand, from his com-
rades for the key of the spirit-room. It was re-
ceived with an oath of denial, and the man sullenly
withdrew ; but the demand had aroused the officers
to a sense of their imminent peril, as the storm had
failed to do.
The captain, rising with difficulty to his feet,
began to make his. way toward the hatch, intend-
ing to descend and broach the casks, well know-
ing, drunkard as he was, that if once the men
gained access to the liquor his shadow of control
over them was lost, and with it all hope for the ship
and those in it. As he passed Murray, the latter
said indignantly :
" Why don't you have lanterns placed in the rig-
ging, and send that lookout man back to his duty ?
He has left it to plot mutiny with his comrades
there on the forecastle. We shall all be murdered
next, if you don't show some authority."
To this perhaps unwise but very natural re-
proof the angry skipper retorted with a string of
oaths and coarse abuse, bidding his passenger at-
tend to his own concerns, and expressing a hope
that, in case of mutiny, he might become the first
victim.
Mr. Murray turned contemptuously from him,
and again fixed his eyes and his attention upon the
dense mass of blackness ahead, into which the ship
was wildly plunging, trembling at every leap.
Listening with ears preternaturally sharpened by
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 299
the extremity, he was aware of a new sound added
to the wild swirl of winds and waves. A heavy
rushing sound, a hissing of the waters as they
parted perforce before some swift-advancing ob-
ject, a shrieking of the wind as it tore through
the shrouds, not only above his head but beyond
in the black unknown. Murray fixed his strain-
ing eyes upon the point whence these sounds ap-
proached. Yes, a great black mass, shapeless and
ominous as terror itself, bore down upon them, the
seething waves and shrieking wind singing jubilee
over the destruction in its path. On it came,
there was no more doubt.
" Ship ahoy ! " shouted Murray. " Helmsman !
mate ! bestir yourselves ! Ahoy ! ahoy there ! "
The wind snatched the words from his lips, rent
them to fragments, and flung them scoffingly back
upon him. It was barely that those in his own ship
heard him, and then the mate, staggering to his feet,
gazed blankly at the doom impending so closely
over them a full minute before he shouted to the
helmsman through his trumpet :
" Port there ! port, you villain ! port, you dog ! "
It was too late. Before the man could obey the
order fully, before the leaping ship could be put off
her course, before one tenth of that ship's crew knew
that Death had laid his hand upon their garments,
and claimed them for his own, the blow had fallen.
The unknown ship, swerving slightly, as those on
board her discovered too late the obstacle in their
path and vainly strove to evade it, came crashing
300 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
down upon the Roebuck, amidst a wild confusion
of sea and wind, of human shrieks and cries and
oaths, of splintering wood and falling masts. Then,
carried on by her fearful impetus, the stranger, cut-
ting through the doomed vessel, passed on into the
blackness, with no power, had she the inclination,
to render assistance to her victims.
Seizing a spar that mercifully would have dealt
him a death-blow, James Murray found himself
floating in the water, surrounded on every side by
drowning men and fragments of the shattered ves-
sel. Clinging to his spar, he struggled to maintain
his head above the blinding waves that sought to
bury him while yet quick, in the grave beneath his
feet, and he succeeded.
The storm soon scattered the few survivors of the
wreck who had not at once been drowned ; and
when at last the morning broke, and Murray, rais-
ing himself as well as he was able upon the spar,
looked despairingly about him, no trace remained
of ship or company, nothing but the wild waste
of waters, stretching far away to where on the ho-
rizon line the great waves reared their crests upon
the sullen sky.
" Worse than death, worse a thousand times ! "
groaned the desolate survivor ; and for a moment
he was tempted to release himself from spar and
life-preserver, and sink at once, escaping thus the
torturing hours lying between him and the almost
inevitable end. But in the powerful organization
of the man vitality was strong and deeply seated ;
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 301
and after the first pang of terror at the gloomy
prospect, James Murray summoned his strength,
and resolved to die, if die he must, when no further
efforts of his own could sustain him.
Hunger and thirst were now his greatest foes.
Against the former he was fortified for a while by
some bread and meat which he had placed in his
pocket before coming on deck, thinking it possible
that the crew might suddenly take to the boats
without adequate preparation, and determining in
such a case neither to be left behind, nor to die of
starvation should the winds and waves allow a boat
to live. But this food, saturated as it was with salt
water, would only increase the fearful 'thirst already
tormenting him, a surer and a crueler foe to life
than any hunger, and so Murray reflected with a
shudder. Still he resolved to neglect no means of
preserving life, even though it must be in torture,
and tying together his cravat and handkerchief, he
passed them about his body, and firmly secured
himself to the spar. This left both his hands at
liberty, and gave him greater ease of position.
Extracting from his water-filled pocket a bit of
the meat, he ate it hungrily, and could have cried at
finding the bread a mere mass of saline pulp, en-
tirely inedible. Somewhat refreshed by this slight
nourishment, the lonely man looked once more
about him, scanning the horizon with anxious scru-
tiny, if haply a white-winged vessel might be on its
way to rescue him. But the only comfort that could
be gathered from all the untold miles of sea and
302 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
sky around and above him was the hope that the
storm was over. Surely the clouds were thinner
and more broken ; the rain had ceased ; the fitful
wind did not so incessantly lash the waves into more
furious sweeps. Toward noon a watery sun shone
for a moment through rifts of sullen cloud, was
overwhelmed, but struggled out again with fuller
rays, and from that gained steadily upon the clouds,
until at setting he flashed out a broad banner of
victorious rays far across the unquiet sea, still
throbbing fiercely with its late emotion.
Still no hope, no rescue for James Murray.
Every hour of that December day had stolen some-
what from the vigor that upheld him. His limbs
were numb, although he tried to keep the blood
alive in them by active motion. His teeth chat-
tered, his eyes grew dim, a sick dizziness at his
brain made sea and sky swim before his sight ; in
his ears grew a drowsy song as of the sirens call-
ing to him from beneath the waves.
" I cannot live till morning ; and oh, my child "
No anger now, only yearning love and bitterest sor-
row. In that dreary trial the heart of the worldly
man was learning the lessons that prosperity had
never taught. Again he said :
" I hope she will never know how her poor father
died ; I hope she will be happy all her life. I wish
she knew that I forgave her before I died. Poor
dear, I said hard things to her that night before she
left me. I would give all my slender chance of life
to take them back. Why should she not choose for
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 303
hertself , as I did in my youth ? Cruel and tyran-
nical ! She did not say it, though. That poor little
note she left for me had no such words as those in it.
I tore it, and stamped upon the pieces before I
burned them. God forgive me ! Did her mother
see me do that, I wonder ? Fifteen years ago since
Mary died, and she bade me to be father and mo-
ther both to that poor child. Have I done it ? O
God, let me live ! Save me from this death, that
I may make amends for the wrong I had sworn
to do!"
He raised himself from the water as far as he
might, and gazed once more on all around with a
piteous earnestness such as no care for mere life
had brought into that hard face.
Nothing but sea and sky, cloud and wave. Only
there, on the horizon line, what is that ? A wave
leaping higher than its fellows ? No, for it does
not sink and rise as the waves do. It cannot be a
ship, it is so low in the water ; there are no masts
to be traced on that golden background of the
sunset clouds. A boat, perhaps ; if so, are there
men in it ? Will it cross his path ? Can he at-
tract their notice ?
A wild flutter of hope and desire thrills through
the soul and body of the man, struggling so ve-
hemently for life, and he begins with all the little
strength at his command to swim toward the dis-
tant haven of his hope. But before he has made
the least perceptible progress, before he has re-
solved one of all those doubts as to the nature of
304 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
the object he so wildly strives to gain, heavy dark-
ness shuts down upon him and it. It is no longer
possible to distinguish the least trace of the boat,
if such it was, and with a bitter groan James Mur-
ray ceases his efforts and sinks down upon the spar
in listless inaction.
" It will be gone by morning," said he, " or I
shall be dead."
But morning dawned, and he was not dead. Very
weak and exhausted, indeed, unable to swim or to
make any other motion, but still alive, still con-
scious of that little link holding him to this lower
world, still anxious for the sunrise, that he might
with his dying eyes sweep the wide horizon line
before he closed them forever.
So faint and weak he was, he could not bring him-
self at once to make the exertion of rising on the
spar that he might take that last look. It was not
till the warm sunlight fell upon his face that he
gathered his energies and feebly rose.
Oh, God is good ! It is close upon him, drifting
slowly down across his very path. No boat, indeed,
but the dismasted hulk of a vessel, its bows shat-
tered and sunk, but its stern high and safe above
the water, and human figures looking down from it
curiously upon him.
He raised his arm and feebly waved it ; as feebly
shouted a reply to the hail that met his dull ears,
and then the song of the siren shut out all other
sound, a thick darkness closed his eyes, and he had
fainted.
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 305
An hour after, when James Murray unclosed
those heavy eyes, he stared incredulously into the
face bending so tenderly over him, and moved un-
easily within the arms that folded themselves about
him. But he could not shake off the dream.
" Hope ? " whispered he.
" Yes, dear, dearest father, it is indeed your own
wicked child, to whom God has kindly given time
and space to ask your forgiveness."
The father feebly closed his eyes without reply,
- it was all so strange. It was so little while
since he had longed to live that he might ask her
forgiveness.
A man's voice spoke next :
" Let me pour some more of this brandy between
his lips, dearest. You should not have spoken yet
of such matters."
" I could not help it, Miles. I have so longed to
say it. But see, he is getting better surely ; see the
color in his lips. O father dear, open your eyes
once more ! "
James Murray did not resist that appeal, but
opening his eyes, fixed them more lovingly upon his
daughter's face than she remembered him ever to
have done before.
Tears rushed into her own, but she restrained
them at a look from her husband, and only stooped
to kiss her father's cheek.
"It was Miles who saved you," whispered she,
after a moment. " He leaped in and drew you to
the vessel."
306 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
" Where is he now, Miles ? " asked Mr. Mur-
ray, feebly.
" Here. O darling father, you forgive us bdth,
I see that you do ! " And then the tears would
come, and did.
" And now, sir, if you are strong enough, I will
take you down to the cabin and put you in a berth,"
said Tresethen, presently. " We have the after-
part of the ship at our command, and may be very
comfortable here for a long time if the fair weather
holds."
" Wait a while and I '11 go down myself. I 'm
too heavy for any one to carry."
" I think not, sir, if I may try." And the broad-
shouldered young Englishman, raising his reluctant
burden from the deck, carried him carefully down
the steep steps, and after stripping off his wet and
almost frozen clothes, placed him carefully in a
berth and covered him deep with blankets.
" Now, if you will take a good long sleep, sir,"
said he, cheerily, " I think you '11 wake up all
right, and Hope will have some hot tea ready for
you."
Mr. Murray did not answer, but went to sleep
with a queer smile upon his lips. To think that
this should be the end of all the threats and curses
he had heaped upon the head of that young man !
Hope was ready with the tea, and before night
her father was nearer to being " all right " than
could have been expected after the severe exposure
he had undergone.
WRECKED AND EESCUED. 307
The next day he was able to sit up and hear the
story of the Tresethens' voyage and present posi-
tion. He was not surprised at learning that this
very hulk on which they now found themselves was
the remains of the destroyer of the Roebuck. That
shock, so fatal to the smaller vessel, was not harm-
less to the larger. Her bows were badly stove, and
shortly after the collision a cry was raised that the
ship was sinking, and must immediately be deserted.
With the selfishness of terror, the crew seized upon
the boats and refused to allow the passengers a
place. The captain, after exerting alike uselessly
his authority and his powers of persuasion, declared
finally that unless the passengers were taken he
himself would remain behind.
" So much the better ! " cried the brutal boat-
swain as he pushed off the overloaded boat, which
was immediately hidden by the darkness. The
three, thus abandoned, sat down quietly upon the
quarter-deck and waited for their death. It did
not come, and in the morning they perceived that,
having settled to a certain depth, the ship would
sink no further, at least toward the stern. The
cabin and cabin stores were thus saved to them, in-
suring shelter and subsistence so long as the hulk
should float in its present position. A quantity of
charcoal stored in an empty stateroom promised the
comfort of fire, and in all, except the uncertainty
of permanent safety, their situation might be as
agreeable and comfortable as it had been during
the first days of their voyage. But a few more hours
308 WEECKED AND EESCUED.
brought yet another shock to convince them that
no man may calculate in what form his last hour
shall meet him.
The captain, whose great weakness was a love of
gain, had mentioned several times that a great deal
of money might be collected from the seamen's
chests in the forecastle, if they could be reached,
as the sailors had, according to custom, received
their wages for the outward voyage upon the day
of sailing.
The next morning after the shipwreck he had
been heard to quietly leave the cabin at an early
hour and ascend the companion-way. Some time
after, Tresethen, going up to join him, was startled
at finding only his coat lying upon the deck. The
captain was never seen again ; and the two survi-
vors could only surmise that he (being a bold and
skillful swimmer) had dived into the forecastle to
try to recover the treasure hidden there, and had
either become entangled in the wreck, or struck his
head in the descent so as to stun himself. At any
rate, the sea never gave up this one of its many
secrets, and Tresethen and his bride remained
alone, until, by almost a miracle, James Murray
was brought to join them.
A week passed away, and, spite of all the perils
of their position, spite of their uncertain future,
Hope thought and said that it was the happiest
week of her life. Her father, having once made up
his mind to forgive and like her husband, did it so
heartily that his daughter sometimes smiled merrily
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 309
at finding her own opinions and arguments peremp-
torily set aside in favor of Tresethen's, and in
noticing the honest admiration in the face of the
older man, when his new son argued eloquently and
firmly, although respectfully, with Murray's unrea-
soning prejudice against England and Englishmen.
Tresethen, too, beginning in a mere feeling of
compassion and forbearance, grew to feel a real
affection for Hope's father, to regard him with
that complacent fondness one always feels for a
person he has won over from opposition to amity.
These pleasant days were, however, drawing to
a close. Hope, awaking one night from uneasy
dreams, was startled by hearing the plash of water
close to the edge of her berth, and putting out her
hand, dipped it into the ice-cold element stealing
so treacherously upon her sleep. Rousing hastily
her husband and father, and procuring a light,
her terrible suspicions were soon confirmed. The
wreck was settling. They must at once abandon
the cabins, and trust themselves to the shelterless
deck. Hastily gathering what food was at hand,
and snatching some clothing from the beds, the
fugitives fled from the cruel foe, steadily if slowly
pursuing them.
The first effort of both men was to shelter as
much as possible the delicate girl so dear to them ;
but when Hope was wrapped closely in shawls and
blankets, and seated between them upon the deck,
there seemed nothing more to do except to wait
resignedly, till that creeping, sliding water, whose
310 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
warning plash sounded every moment nearer,
should at last reach and overwhelm them.
" What should be the cause of this sudden
change?" asked Mr. Murray, breaking with an
effort the painful silence.
" Captain Jones told me," said Tresethen, " the
reason the vessel did not sink at once was, that he
had caused a bulkhead, as nearly air-tight as he
could get it, to be placed across some portion of the
hold, thinking that, in case of just such a disaster
as befell us, this confined body of air would, as it
actually did, buoy up the stern and prevent the
wreck from sulking. In the first moments after
the collision he supposed that his experiment had
failed, and did not mention it to us until several
hours of safety had reassured him. I suppose this
partition must now have given way at some point,
so as slowly to admit the water. Probably it was
just beneath our feet last night, while we sat so
cheerfully talking over our future plans before
separating for the night."
" Dreadful! " murmured Hope, hiding her face
upon her husband's breast.
" Well, I don't know, daughter and son," said
James Murray, after a little pause. " It does not
strike me that we 've been very hardly dealt with,
after all. It would have been worse if I had died
floating on that spar, and you had gone down when
your shipmates did, and neither of us had ever said
the words we have said since. It would have been
worse, even ii you had got safely to England and
WEECKED AND RESCUED. 311
lived out your lives, with the weight on your con-
sciences of having started wrong ; while I, a poor,
miserable, lonely old man, had stayed in America
cursing and swearing at my disobedient children."
"O father!"
" Well, I did, girl, and so that Mr. Hepworth
will tell you, would have told you, I may as well
say. No, children, I think, on the whole, Almighty
God has done full as much for us as we anyway
deserve, considering we none of us have kept
straight to the mark ; and I for one have wandered
off far enough. Now, son and daughter, don't you
agree with me that we shall all go off into eter-
nity the happier and the better for this last week
we 've spent together ? "
" Indeed I do, sir," said Miles, solemnly ; and
Hope, sobbing on her father's neck, answered him
with quivering kisses.
" I know I have n't lived what the ministers call
a godly life," said James Murray again, after a
little thought. " But I hope I 've been sorry first
or last for all the wrong I've done; and I've
heard it read that such as repented were to be for-
given. I don't know yet. We all shall soon. Hope,
child, can't you say over one of those prayers I
used to hear your mother teaching you in the old
times ? "
Controlling her own emotion with a woman's
quiet strength, Hope, after a little pause, repeated
in her clear, low voice the simplest and greatest of
all petitions, the Lord's own prayer.
312 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
When she had done, and the men had muttered
Amen, no more was said for a long while. Each
one took counsel with his own heart, and silently
set his house in order for the mighty visitor who
stood close without the door. At last Tresethen
said, quietly :
" The day is dawning."
All eyes turned eastward and silently watched
while the sun rose through a glory of purple and
golden clouds and came to look at them. Presently
his light and warmth revivified their chilled frames,
and, creeping closer together, they divided the food
they had brought with them in their hasty flight.
It was not much, not more than would last one
day ; but as all thought, though none said, it was
very unlikely that another sunrise should find them
in need of earthly food.
The bright winter day passed on. The air,
though keen, was not insupportably cold, and the
little party were well provided with wrappings of
various sorts, and exerted themselves, from time to
time, to take such exercise as the limits of the deck,
now very nearly level with the water, would allow.
But here again the waters stayed. For what reason
they could not tell, but from an hour before sunset
the settling of the wreck was suspended, and faint
human hopes and longings came creeping back to
the three hearts that thought to have done with
them forever.
Darkness fell, and the father slept, his head
upon his daughter's lap. She, gathered to her
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 313
husband's breast, neither spoke nor moved, and,
though her blue eyes did not close, her spirit
seemed far away. Tresethen, strong and manful,
warded off as yet the subtle attacks of cold and
hunger, watching sleeplessly the starry horizon,
hoping against hope to see there the dim outline
of a sail.
The long night passed, the morning broke.
Hope, quietly arousing herself, drew forth the
remnant of her yesterday's food and tried to slip
a portion into her father's mouth that he might
unconsciously swallow it. But Murray, awaking
suddenly, detected the pious fraud, and smiling
feebly, said :
* No, no, child ; life is young and full of prom-
ise for you, keep it while you may. My race is
run."
* Will you not take it, father ? Indeed I do not
want it."
u No, Hope ; positively no."
Then you must, Miles. You are the strongest
of us all. Eat, and you may yet be saved."
" Do you think, my wife, that I would live so ? "
asked Tresethen, reproachfully. "What charm
remains on earth for me, that I should take the
morsel from your lips and watch you die of hunger
in my arms ? Eat this morsel yourself, my darling,
if you love me I "
" No, Miles, I cannot, I will not. Indeed, I
think it would choke me were I to attempt it."
* Then we will divide it in three parts, and each
314 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
agree to eat his own share for the sake of the
others."
" I will try," said Hope, faintly ; and James
Murray, sitting upright, could not restrain the
hungry glare of his hollow eyes as he seized the
portion offered him by Tresethen. Hope her
husband's eye upon her swallowed with diffi-
culty her own morsel, watching in her turn
Tresethen, who, making a very good pretense at
eating, quietly hid his untasted food, reserving it
for Hope.
Again the sun rose and looked pityingly down
upon the forlorn group clinging to that sinking
wreck.
The three watched it steadily.
" Hope ! Mr. Murray ! What is that ? There,
close under the sun you can hardly see it for
the light ! Is it can it be ? it is, a sail ! "
" You 're right, boy ; it is surely a sail ! " cried
the father, rising excitedly to his feet.
Hope did not speak, but her dim eyes turned to
Miles with a look of unspeakable thankfulness.
It was indeed a sail, a homeward-bound mer-
chantman, sweeping gayly on before a strong east
wind, directly in the path of the sinking hulk.
Every moment as it passed brought her nearer,
and brought back life and hope to those three, so
lately resigned to die.
Nearer and nearer, till the fluttering ensign of
distress held aloft by Tresethen was acknowledged
from her decks ; nearer and nearer, till she grace-
WRECKED AND RESCUED. 315
fully rounded to, and a boat was manned and
lowered. Then, as it came leaping on across the
waters, how those hungry eyes watched lest it
should suddenly be swallowed up ; lest it should
not, after all, be meant for them ; lest they should
die some sudden death before it reached them.
And then, when it was come, when rough hands,
but tender hearts, helped them aboard with many
a word of pity and of wonder, then how the truth
of their safety in very deed came crowding in upon
their hearts, till even Tresethen turned away his
face, while Hope and Murray sobbed aloud.
All honor to that captain and that crew, English-
men every one ! All honor to the underlying good
of human nature in its roughest form ! How many
ways it found to prove itself in the days before
that merchantman dropped her anchor in Boston
Harbor ! How affectionately Tresethen and Mur-
ray and Hope herself grasped the hard hands of those
sailors as they parted from them at the wharf ! How
tenderly they ever recalled their faces and their
names ; and how gladly, years after, they ministered
to the wants of one of them who, sick and poor,
sent to ask their charity !
And so Miles and Hope came home to the roof
whence they had stolen awhile before ; and that
angry father, who had pursued them with such
threats of vengeance, welcomed them there as one
welcomes all that makes life dear ; and when the
year came round, and there was a baby to be
christened, none but Mr. Hepworth should bestow
316 WRECKED AND RESCUED.
that benediction on its little head, and sanction
with his presence the merry dinner afterward
which Mr. Murray gave, as he told every one, in
honor of " My grandson, sir, Miles Tresethen,
Junior ! "
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