swordfighting"Saw the two young men close in combat."
"Saw the two young men close in combat."
At last the child was quieted. Placing her on the bed, he passed quickly out through the living room, and, running behind the house, snatched up the rapier from the grass. Still none saw or intercepted him; the men and boys were at work; the intense heat of the day kept the women within their cottages. But to Miles each doorway seemed full of faces, and, in a panic, he ran for the northern spur of the hill, at a pace that brought the heart strangling into his throat.
On the west side of Fort Hill was a little level space in the abrupt descent, where some pine trees stood wide apart, and the ground was brown and slippery with pine needles. There Lister and Dotey, both with their doublets and shoes cast off, were awaiting Miles; Dotey, with his stolid face grim, sat on the ground, turning a rapier in his hands, but Ned Lister was pacing slowly to and fro.
"I came—fast as I could run," panted Miles.
"You saw no one?" questioned Lister, as hetook Master Hopkins's rapier and measured it with the one Dotey held.
"No, no one."
"Francis Billington has been spying about here, though," Dotey spoke evenly. "'Twas while you were at the Captain's house. I sent him packing. But he may bring—"
"Ere any come, we'll be done with the work," Ned Lister interrupted. "Here, Miles, do you run up to the hilltop and lie you down in the grass. If you see any man coming upon us, whistle us a warning."
The grass, in the glare of the sun where the trees had been felled, was a dazzling green, and the slope was very steep. From the summit of the hill where he lay down half-hidden, as they bade, Miles could see the blue harbor and all the sunny street of the town, so deserted that he ventured a glance back over his shoulder. His eyes were fastened there, for he saw the two young men close in combat; he heard the click of steel, saw the quick thrust and recovery, the bending and swaying of the struggling bodies. Then a cry rose up in his throat and choked there, for he saw the dagger fly out of Dotey's hand, and saw him slip upon the pine needles.
A clatter of feet on hollow boards made him look suddenly toward the gun platform, and he had an instant's sight of Captain Standish, who, clappinghis hand to the railing of the platform, cleared it at a leap and ran headlong down into the pine thicket. Setting his fingers to his lips, Miles gave a shrill whistle, and right upon it heard the Captain cry, in a terrible voice, "What work is this?" Casting one frightened glance down the hill, Miles saw Ned lay on his side among the pine needles, and Dotey stood over him with one hand dripping blood.
The sky seemed to waver and the whole green world to stagger with the horror of what had happened. Miles crawled away through the long grass down the hillside, through the undergrowth, and never paused till he hid himself, terrified and sick, in the tangle by the pool in the hollow.
THE sun had dropped behind Fort Hill, and long shadows darkened the soft sand of the street, when Miles at last ventured into the settlement. All the hot day he had lain hidden by the pool and watched the shreds of cloud skim across the deep sky and harked to the shrilling of the locusts, while he tried not to think, yet all the time was conscious of the awful thing that had happened, in which he had had a hand.
Disjointedly, from time to time, he had planned how he would act a part, would feign to be quite ignorant of the duel, and be amazed when he learned of it; but when the test came, when he found himself actually in the street of the town, his head whirled, and he felt that his guilt could be read in his very face.
From a dooryard some one called his name, whereat Miles's heart fairly ceased to beat; but it was only his friend, Jack Cooke, who came running to hang over his father's gate and speak to him: "Ah, Miles, where ha' you been? Have youheard talk of what happened?" There was no time for Miles to stammer out a vague answer, before Jack ran on: "Ned Lister and Ned Dotey, they fought a duel, real cut and thrust, up behind the hill, and the Captain came upon them, and they've had them before the Governor and the Elder, and there's been such a to-do."
"Had them? Then neither was killed?" Miles cried, with a momentary feeling that nothing could matter, if both men still lived.
"Nay, but Dotey has a great gash across the palm of his hand, and Ned Lister was slashed in the thigh so he scarce could walk. I saw 'em when they were fetched down into the village, and they have locked Dotey up at Master Allerton's house, and Lister at Master Hopkins's."
"Wh—what are they going to do to them?" faltered Miles.
"Something terrible, to be sure," Jack answered happily; "the Captain and all are main angry. And Goodman Billington was for flogging Francis mightily out of hand, but the Elder said stay till to-morrow, when they would question all further."
"What has Francis done?"
"Why, he was with them; he kept watch while they fought. That is, one of the lads lay in the grass and whistled them; the Captain had the least glimpse of him; but they found Francis prowlingon the hill, so it must ha' been he. He says 'twasn't, but Francis is a deal of a liar, we all know."
Miles drew a long breath, and, turning from the gateway, went scuffing through the sand down the street. It was Francis, not he, whom they suspected, he repeated, but the next moment he told himself that it made no difference; since he was the culprit, he must come forward and take the blame. But when he saw Master Hopkins sitting by the house-door, his heart choked up into his throat, and his step faltered. After all, he would not speak to Master Hopkins yet; his share in the duel would be discovered soon enough.
With a feeling that he wished to propitiate every one, he trudged round the house to fetch an armful of wood, and there, by the pile, Giles was at work with an axe. "Well, Miles?" he said, pausing in his task, and then, as Miles came to his side, whispered him: "Look you, father thinks you were fishing with me all this day, that Ned sent you back to the house to be quit of you, and that you came home with me, but stopped at the spring. I told him naught; he just thought so and—I let him think so."
"Oh, Giles, you are right good," gulped Miles. "For I—"
"Hush now! I don't want to know aught." And Giles went back to his chopping.
No one would find him out, then; he was safe from the mighty beating he expected. Francis—well, since he was innocent, of course he would say so, and they would believe him and not punish him. Anyway, he had no thought of confessing, Miles assured himself hastily, as, on entering the living room, he met Master Hopkins's stern gaze.
The master of the house was in a gloomy temper that evening; a new sense of the gravity of that day's happenings came over Miles, as he looked on his harsh face. Mistress Hopkins, too, was silenced completely, and the young folk did not venture to speak while their elders did not address them, nor had they any wish to talk, with the two empty places at table confronting them. No word was uttered till the meal was nearly eaten, when Mistress Hopkins, after a swift glance at her husband, cut a thick end from the loaf of bread, and, setting it on a trencher, turned to Miles. "Fill a jug of water, and carry that and the bread to Edward Lister," she said sharply.
"Edward Lister may go fasting to-night," Master Hopkins spoke, in a grim voice.
Miles, who had slipped from his stool, stood shifting from one foot to the other, while he waited to see which he should obey.
"Do as I bid you, Miles," Mistress Hopkins repeated steadily, though one hand, which she restedon the edge of the table, clenched in nervous wise. "The man is hurt, and whatever he has done he shall not go hungry and thirsty. Either Miles shall take him food and drink, Stephen, or I shall do so myself." She rose, and, filling a jug from the water-pail, gave it to the dubious Miles. "Take it to him, there in the closet," she bade; so Miles, without waiting for Master Hopkins to prevent, stepped hastily into the little room and shut the door behind him.
The closet was very narrow, very hot, and very dusky, for the evening light came but sparsely through the little window. Just beneath the window, where whatever slight breeze entered the room could be felt, the old mattress was outspread, and on it Ned Lister lay. He had been resting his head upon his folded doublet, but at Miles's coming he drew himself up on his elbow; his face was white in the dimness, and he looked limp and sick and cowed.
"Here's bread and water, Ned," Miles began, as he crossed to him. "And—and I'm mighty sorry."
"I'm not," Ned answered, in a dogged tone. "I wish only that I'd killed him. Give me a drink." He took the jug from Miles and gulped down the water with audible swallowings; then, when he could drink no more, set it beside him. "They'd 'a' madelittle more tumult if I had killed him," he went on. "But I care not what they do to me."
"What—what do you think they will do to us, Ned?" Miles quavered; the young man's prisoned and unfriended state and desperate tone had dislodged him from his last stronghold of security.
"They spoke of flogging us," Ned answered hopelessly.
"A public flogging?"
"Yes."
It was only a birching Miles had looked for. A public flogging! The horror and fright were actual and overwhelming, for it never entered his head that in punishment a distinction would be made between the two principals in the duel and their wretched little second. "Flog us!" he repeated dazedly. "Or—or perhaps they will hang us?"
"I care not if they do," Ned retorted, and, taking up the jug, drained out the last of the water. "Fetch me another draught, Miley, that's a good lad," he begged. "My throat is all afire."
It was darker now in the living room, so none could note the expression of his face, and Miles was glad for that. When he filled the jug at the pail he slopped the water clumsily, so Mistress Hopkins chided him. He could not seem to think or even see, for, as he stumbled back into the closet, hebumped his forehead against the door. "Oh, Ned," he whispered, as he bent over the injured man again, "they—they have accused Francis in my place, but I—"
"Why, that's well," Ned spoke, as he set down the jug. "I'm glad for't; you'll not be punished along o' me. I'll tell no word of you, Miley, you may be sure, and if Dotey will but hold his blabbing tongue—"
"But—but they'll flog him; I ought to tell—"
"Let him be flogged, the imp!" Ned growled. "But you, Miley—"
There was no chance to finish, for Master Hopkins, appearing in the doorway, sternly ordered Miles to come forth, and, when he had quitted the closet, bolted the door.
By now it was too dark for a reading lesson, and, even if it had been light, the whole routine of the day seemed overturned. Miles wandered out into the house-yard, but he had no will to seek the other boys; they might talk to him of Francis. Somehow, too, he did not wish to see Dolly or Mistress Brewster, who had told him how his mother looked for him to be a good lad. He went and sat down alone on the woodpile, where he harked to the distant frogs that were piping, and watched the stars come out over the sea.
So he was still sitting when at last Constance stoleout to him, and, putting her hand on his shoulder, whispered him he mustn't go away and grieve so about poor Ned. He shook her off surlily; he was tired and sleepy, and didn't want to talk, he said, and so rose and slouched away to his bedroom. There it was stiflingly hot, so when he lay down he pushed aside the coverlet, and even then he thrashed restlessly.
Presently Giles came in and lay down in the other bed that Dotey and Lister had shared; he did not offer to talk, but, settling himself at once to sleep, was soon breathing regularly. Miles counted each indrawing of his breath, and tried, breathing with him, to cheat himself into sleeping; and tried too, with the bed beneath him scorching hot, to hold himself quiet in one position. His face was wet with perspiration, and his head ached. Somewhere in the room a mosquito sang piercingly, so he must strike about him with his hands, and still the creature sang and the air was breathless, and he could not sleep.
Then he ceased the effort to gain unconsciousness, and deliberately set himself to face it all, and reason it out. He had done a wicked thing, and he should be punished for it. Francis was accused, but Francis was innocent and must be declared so. It did not matter though his comrades bade him keep silent; it was one thing for Giles not to beartales of Miles, and another for Miles not to bear tales of himself; and for Ned Lister's way of thinking, it was not the way which Captain Standish would have counselled. What would the Captain think of him, when he knew him for a rascal who deserved whipping, Miles wondered miserably. Yet it was the Captain who had told him hard things must be done, not shirked aside; and by that ruling Miles realized that the only way for him was to let them know it was he himself, not Francis, who had borne a part in the duel.
Specious objections came, and he crushed them down; and there came, more stubborn, the promptings of fear. A public flogging, Ned had hinted; and Miles recalled a dull day in the market town, whither his father had taken him, a jeering crowd of motley folk, a cart with a fellow laughing on the driver's seat, and tied by the wrists to the cart's tail, stripped to the waist, a man who kept his head bent down and never winced, for all the great blows the constable was laying across his shoulders. Even now Miles turned sick at the remembrance of the red gashes the whip had made. But Francis had not earned such punishment, and he had earned it.
Miles rose from his restless bed, and stood by the window to catch a breath of air. The moon was up now, and a pale, hot glow lay on the fields to northward, but not a whiff of a breeze was astir. Theharbor, as he saw it from the window, lay glassy smooth beneath the moon. He put his weary head down on his arms, and for a moment did not think, only wished it were last night, when the duel was yet unfought.
Then he lay down in bed, and turned and tossed, and went his round of courage and fears again. He was not conscious that there had been a period of sleep; he had no sense of restfulness just ending, only of bitter dreams, but he found the room alight and a faint, early-morning freshness in the air, so he knew some time had passed and it was day.
He did not remember in detail the thoughts of the night, but the conclusion was the same, and still clearer for him to see in the glare of morning. Rising quickly, he dressed himself so hurriedly that he was done before sleepy Giles had pulled on his shirt; then went out into the living room. Mistress Hopkins was lighting her fire with flint and steel, and Constance was stirring up porridge for the breakfast; but he gave them no heed, for outside the door he caught a glimpse of Master Hopkins.
"Why, Miles, are you ill?" Constance asked, as she looked up at him.
Miles shook his head, and stepped out upon the doorstone. At the bench alongside the door Master Hopkins, in his shirt-sleeves, was washing hisface in a basin of water; he did not look up, but Miles, without waiting for his notice, plunged into the confession while his courage held. "Master Hopkins, I want to tell you—"
"What is it, Miles?" Hopkins asked curtly, as he began wiping his face on the big, coarse towel.
"It was not Francis, sir, it was I. The duel, you understand—" Miles's voice was faint and quavering,—"it was not Francis."
"What do you mean?" said Stephen Hopkins then, and lowered the towel from his face; the water-drops clung to his forehead, and his hair was all on end, but the very grotesqueness of his look made it the more formidable to Miles.
"It was not Francis," he repeated shakily, while his trembling fingers picked at a splinter in the door-frame. "I took the rapier out o' your bedchamber; I was in the grass and whistled to them." He stopped there, with his eyes on the toes of his shoes; he did not want to look at Master Hopkins's face, and he held his body tense against the grasp which he expected would hale him into confinement along with Ned Lister.
But instead there was a sickening silence that seemed to last for minutes; then Master Hopkins said slowly: "I marvel why that you, the son of a godly man, should have a hand in all the evil doings of the settlement. You must go tell thisunto the Governor, so soon as breakfast is ended. And I shall myself speak more of it to you."
Mechanically Miles stood aside to let Master Hopkins pass into the house, and then he still stood a time, gazing at the gray doorstone beneath his feet. Presently he stepped down on the turf and slouched round to the corner of the house, where Trug was tied at night; though every one thought him evil, and they were going to flog him, Trug would still lick his hands lovingly. He untied the dog, and, holding to one end of his strap, went back through the yard; Constance, from the doorway, called to him to come in to breakfast, but, shaking his head, he walked on.
Outside the yard the street was quite empty, for the colonists were all at their morning meal. Miles trudged slowly through the sand up the hillside, and then turned down the path to the spring, which he judged at that hour would be deserted. Sure enough, the only moving things beneath the high bluff were the leaping waters of the living well, and the sunbeams that sifted through the branches of the encroaching alders, and sprinkled the trodden turf.
Casting himself down on the margin, Miles took a long drink of the water, that might have been brackish and hot for any good taste he had of it, then sat up and leaned against Trug, with one armabout the dog's neck. He had thought, so soon as he was thus by himself, he would cry, but he felt all choked inside; his wickedness was too deep even for tears.
Suddenly two hands were clapped over his face. "Guess who 'tis," piped a treble voice, and, uncovering his eyes, Miles thrust up one hand and dragged Dolly down beside him,—a very brave Dolly, in a clean apron, with her scarlet poppet hugged under one arm. "I ran to the spring for Mistress Brewster," she explained, "but I cast away my jug when I saw you. Why are you here, Miles?"
"Oh, Dolly," Miles burst out, "I have been uncommon wicked and helped fight a duel, and they are going to flog me through the streets, and maybe they'll hang me, and I would my mother were here." He mastered the inclination to screw his knuckles into his eyes, and, as he sat scowling at the hill across the brook, and blinking bravely, to keep a good showing before the little girl, a mighty new idea popped into his head and made him happy again. "But I shan't let them flog me," he said, grandly as Ned Lister himself. "You tell it to no one, Dolly, but I have it in mind to run away."
"Whither, Miles?" the damsel asked, with interest, but no great amazement.
"I shall go into the woods and live with theIndians," Miles said slowly, forming his plan as he spoke. "They're good, pleasant folk; and I'll build me a house of branches, and eat raspberries, and maybe kill birds with a sling, and I'll have Trug at night." It occurred to him that Trug would not be the liveliest of company. "Why, Dolly, say you come too," he cried. "We'll keep the house together, as I thought they'd let us when father died."
Dolly's face dimpled at the prospect, then grew sober. "But if we live in the woods, Miles, we cannot go to meeting of a Sunday, and that would never do. Let's build our house just over the brook—"
"Pshaw!" said Miles, contemptuously, "I might as well go back and let them whip me now. I'm going away into the forest. Will you come?" He rose and walked manfully toward the stepping-stones, but Dolly still sat hugging her poppet in her arms. "If you've no wish to—" Miles said, feeling brave and important, no longer a poor, trembling, little culprit. Then he turned his back on her, and gave his attention to leading Trug safely from stone to stone across the brook.
But, as he gained the opposite bank, he heard a cry behind him: "Wait, oh, wait, Miles!" Dolly, with the poppet in her arms, came slipping and scrambling across the stepping-stones and caughthis hand. "Love Brewster says he does not like girls and went away to play with Harry Samson," she panted. "And you are the only brother I have, Miles, and I love you, and methinks I'd liefer go with you and be an Indian."
ACROSS the brook the woods spread away to westward and to southward,—majestic oak trees, lulling pines, pale birches, besides the walnut and beech trees, and a host of others, the names of which Miles did not know. Thick though they stood in the forest, all were soundless now, and well-nigh motionless in the still air of morning. In all the wood the only active thing seemed the sunshine, which came sliding through the branches to mottle the turf or make the pine needles shiny.
An ardent sun it was too, even where it fell sparsely among the trees, and beyond the thickets, where the path led over unprotected hilltops, it beat fiercely through the breathless air till the heat fairly stifled the travellers. "Shall you go far before you build your house, Miles?" panted Dolly, when the roofs of the settlement were barely sunk from sight.
Miles explained that he held it best to push on to the river where he had gone eeling, so he might have plenty of fish in his dooryard. He thought to make his way directly to the place, but the journeythrough the heat seemed longer than when he tramped it in the springtime, and he could not find an easy path so adroitly as Squanto had found one. He had to bear away inland too, lest on the seacoast he come upon some of the colonists gathering shellfish; and inland, not only was the going through the undergrowth difficult, but the hills shut off the least whiff of coolness from the sea.
Soon Dolly gasped for breath, Trug lolled out his tongue, and even Miles found many pretexts to rest. Here amid the moss bubbled a spring, where the children delayed to drink and cool their hands; there lay a muddy pond, covered with white lilies, which Miles, though he wet his feet, strove to get with a long stick; and again and yet again they came on tangles of luscious raspberries, where they paused to eat their fill.
Miles had in his pocket a fourpenny whittle, his dearest possession, with which he stripped a great piece of bark from a birch tree, and, cleaving two sticks, shaped it into a basket, in which to carry away some of the berries "against dinner-time." But the basket proved an incumbrance to the wayfarers, so, before they had wandered another mile, the two children sat down in a pine grove, and ate the berries they had gathered. They tied Trug carefully, a needless precaution, for the old dog, with as burdening a sense of responsibility as Mileshimself, had no thought of trotting home and leaving those two foolish little bodies to their own protection.
By the position of the sun Miles judged it past noon, when they came at last to a brook, which he thought might be the upper waters of the stream he was seeking. He waded in first to try its depth; then, in gallant fashion, would have carried Dolly over, but little mistress wished the fun of paddling too. The alders, coming low to the brookside, cast a rippling shadow on the water, and the sandy bottom was firm and cool; so when both children once had waded in, they spent some time in splashing to and fro, while Miles set forth to Dolly how he had caught eels.
The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they climbed out on the farther side of the brook, and passed slowly up the next hillslope. Dolly now found she was tired, so Miles said they might as well build their house there as anywhere. Indeed, halfway up the slope they found a capital spot, where the hill, drawing back on itself, left a little level space, with sparse undergrowth and tall trees, the vanguard of the forest higher up, that cast a good shade.
To be sure, the exposure was northern, but that would make the place cool in summer, Miles set forth its advantages, and when winter came, theycould move round and pitch their camp on the other side of the hill, to southward. "But I shouldn't like to dwell in the wood when it snows," protested Dolly. "Let us go back and stay at Plymouth, come winter."
But Miles, in his new independence, laughed at the idea of return, and assured Dolly that he knew how to make her a snug enough house for all weathers. He would drive four forked stakes into the ground; and then, from fork to fork, he would lay four sticks; and across those, other great sticks; and thatch all over with moss. He would drive stakes into the ground to form the sides of the cabin, and wattle them with elder twigs; and it would be just the trimmest little house she ever saw. Yes, he could drive stakes inside and divide the space into rooms, and he would cut windows; the only thing that troubled him was how to build the fireplace, but he guessed he would think that out presently.
About the time that the red rays of the sun slipped under the lower branches of the trees, Miles laid off his doublet and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, ready for work. First, with his heel, he scored in the dirt the lines of his house; they might as well have a big one, he replied to Dolly's delighted exclamations.
The little girl ran about within the four lines andscored for herself the rooms which they would make. "'Twill be such sport, Miles," she chattered. "A keeping room we'll have, and a parlor, and a great hall." Down she set herself on the grass, between the wavering lines that marked the hall, and waited for her brother to build the house over her.
But, though Miles strode jauntily down into the bushes and stayed a great time, when he came back, he bore, not an armful of stakes, but two forked sticks, very gnarled and crooked, and another stick, some five feet long, without a fork. "What have you been doing, Miles?" Dolly greeted him, in a disappointed tone.
"Why, the wood is hard, and my knife is not very big," the boy answered sheepishly, "so perhaps to-night, as 'tis drawing late, I'd best put up just a little shelter. But I'll build the house to-morrow, Dolly."
Then, because the little girl's face fell so grievously, he made haste to amuse her by turning to such work as he could do that evening. With a stone for a hammer, he drove his forked sticks into the ground, and laid the other stick across them; that was the ridgepole, he told Dolly, and now, leaning other boughs against it, he would make a shelter that would be quite sufficient on so hot a night.
But it was wearisome work, haggling off tough boughs with his small whittle, and he was tired withwalking, and perhaps, he reasoned, as it was drawing on to sunset, he were best not leave Dolly alone by herself and go down into the dim thickets. So, after he had cut enough branches to go a third along one side of his ridgepole, he said vaguely that maybe he would get some more before dark, and so sat down close by Dolly.
In the west the sun had already sunk, and little pink clouds were drifting through the sky; the afterglow still lingered on the open land of the valley along the stream; but in the woods, as Miles glanced over his shoulder, the grim shadows lurked. It was awesomely silent too, till, on a sudden, a bird began warbling, and presently, fluttering near, perched on a branch above the children, where he trilled lustily.
Miles had some pebbles in his pocket, and, slipping off his garter, he improvised a sling; he would kill the bird for their supper, he told his sister, but Dolly protested; she would rather the pretty bird lived and sang than that she should eat him. So the songster finished his tune and flashed away into the darkening sky, and Miles felt as warm a glow of self-gratulation at giving in to his sister as if he had been quite certain of fetching down the bird with his sling.
"But we've naught for our supper now, Dolly," he sighed presently. "To-morrow, though, I'llfind my way to the shore and take us some clams, and, in any case, we'll gather plenty of berries when it's daylight. And you do not mind going supperless now?"
"N—no," Dolly assented faintly; since the twilight came on them, she had grown very quiet.
"I wish Ned Lister could 'a' slipped away with us," Miles resumed. "If he were here with his fowling piece and his fishing line, he'd take us all the victuals we'd want. And he'd be good company, too."
Then they sat in silence a time, very close to each other, with the dog at their feet. Over in the west the bright stars twinkled through the last waning flecks of the sunset glow, and somewhere in the dark the frogs were piping. "Miles," whispered Dolly, "aren't you lonely?"
"To be sure not," he answered stoutly.
"Do you not think—perhaps we could walk back home? I'm not weary now."
"I've come hither to stay," Miles said crossly; "you can run back if you will; no one will flog you."
"You know I cannot go alone," whimpered Dolly. "And maybe there are Indians and lions will get us. Hark!"
Miles sat erect and listened, every nerve tense, but he heard only the snap of a branch, yonderamong the black trees. "It was naught, Dolly," he said more kindly, "and you needn't fear; I can take care of you. Come, let's lie down in our shelter, and to-morrow in the daylight we'll build our house."
They crept in behind the screen of branches slowly, for Dolly had hold on Miles's hand and would not let go; but at last they were settled, side by side, Dolly next the leaning roof, and Trug close against Miles. "The leaves tickle my nose," protested the little girl, "and there are humps in the ground, and I'm sure that bugs will crawl into my ears." With a movement that quite disarranged her companions, she sat up and tied her apron over her head; then all three lay down once more. "It's—it's fearsome still," Dolly whispered once, and then no further words passed between them.
But, although he was silent, Miles lay long awake; his body might be weary, but his brain was very busy with what had befallen him in the last two days, and with the unknown happenings that were yet before him. When he forgot the strangeness of the place and fell asleep at last, he dreamed of berry patches and ponds full of lilies, and the fine, great house he meant to build next day.
Somewhere sounded a bewildering crash, as if a thousand cartloads of stone were emptied right beside him. Miles sat up, wondering at the sound,wondering where he was, why his face felt wet, why Dolly clung sobbing to him. A blinding light for an instant tore across the sky, and showed the trees about him twisting in an awesome manner; then darkness closed in again, and, through it, deafened the appalling crash of thunder.
"Don't be frightened, Dolly, don't be frightened," stammered Miles, clutching his sister; he could feel Trug, with his whole great body a-tremble, crowding against his knee, and, through Dolly's terrified sobs, heard the beast whine.
A second flash, that seemed to rip the sky, lit up the black woods, and, upon the roar that followed, sounded the rush of downpouring rain. As if in bucketsful, the water broke through the frail little shelter; the ground beneath the children grew sodden, and their faces tingled under the smiting of the raindrops. "Come away, in among the trees," cried Miles, through the sough of the rain, and dragged Dolly to her feet.
"Back to Plymouth, oh, let us go back to Plymouth," she wailed.
Without reply, Miles gripped her wrist and stumbled up the hillside, where he remembered the thicker growth of trees began. Bushes tore his clothes and buffeted his dripping face; rain blinded him; the flash of the lightning dazzled out just long enough to show how unfriendly trunks besethim, then flared away and left him, half stunned by the thunder that followed, to bruise himself against their harsh bark.
Still, blinded and beaten and breathless, he fought his way onward and at his side haled Dolly, dumb with the bewilderment of the storm. He had forgotten whither he hoped to go; he knew only that there was about him a lurid darkness of overpowering rain and rattling thunder through which he fled away.
It had been several moments since the last clap of thunder, he realized suddenly, and the rain that yet pattered noisily among the leaves did not beat upon him with the old fury. When the thunder growled again, it was from far in the distance, and the space between the flash and the crash was wider. "'Tis near over, Dolly," he spoke subduedly.
The little girl fetched a tremulous, weary sob and made a movement to drop down on the wet turf, but Miles held her arm more firmly. "Nay, we must keep walking till we be dry," he said, in what he tried to make a brave voice. "Maybe we'll come on some warm, sheltered spot," he added, for his poor little companion's comfort.
Holding each other fast by the hand, and with the dog close at their heels, they trudged forward into the black woods. Though lessened in force, the rain still descended in a steady drizzle, and eachbush against which they brushed drenched them with an added shower. The ground was so slippery and thick with mud that Miles began to fear they had strayed into a swamp, and, when they stumbled at last upon a thicket of close-growing evergreen, he thought it safest to shelter there till daylight.
Crawling in beneath the low branches that half protected them from the slackening rain, they cuddled close to the dog and to each other. "I'm glad I remembered to save my poppet," Dolly sought to find some comfort. "She'd have been frightened, had we left her alone."
So Dolly dropped off to sleep in Miles's arms, and, lulled by the drip of the rain, he, too, dozed a time, and awoke very chilly and stiff. The branches above him stirred in a gusty wind, and in the mottled sky he could see some faint stars. He crawled out from the thicket and, as he stood up in the freer air, caught the smell of brine in the breeze, and saw that, in the quarter of the heavens whence it came, the night was paling. "'Tis eastward yonder and the sea," he cried, delighted to find, for all his wanderings, he was not hopelessly lost. "Come, Dolly, we'll walk to the shore."
Over hills and through thickets they trudged bravely, in the exhilaration of knowing whither they were headed, and that the dreadful night was past. Slowly the darkness was waning; the sky faded fromblack to gray, and in the wet woods a bird piped dolefully. Presently a still more welcome sound reached the ears of the travellers,—a long, mournful sough as of breaking waters. "It's waves; we're near the shore," cried Miles, and added a feeble hurrah, whereat Trug, judging all well, leaped and barked.
There was yet a wide stretch of bare uplands to cross, and the morning had broken in earnest before the children clambered down the low bluff to the sandy beach. The tide was out, and the brown rocks, like dead sea beasts, lay uncovered; but Miles and Dolly gave them little heed, for just then, right in their eyes, the sun burst forth in the east, and made a path of yellow ripples on the water.
Forgetting her weariness, Dolly almost ran down the hard sand to the water's edge. "I thought maybe I could see Plymouth round that point on our left," she told Miles disappointedly. "We can walk thither, can we not, along the shore?"
"We'll eat breakfast first," said Miles, who had found a great shell upon the sand. "I'll wade out and dig clams, while you fetch seaweed for the fire."
He had not yet made up his mind about the return to the settlement; to be sure, he was very wet and hungry, but it did not rain every night, and with the thought of Plymouth came the dreadful vision of the public flogging. Besides, now it was daylight,it was good to be his own man and get his own breakfast; so he paddled about bravely, and did not complain, for all the mud and water were cold and the clams few, and his back ached with stooping to dig them. A dozen were enough for two, he concluded, so when he had that number disposed securely in his doublet, which he had twisted into a bag, he splashed shoreward.
little girl holding on to her brother, Indian in the distance"'Oh, Miles, 'tis the savages come for us!'"
"'Oh, Miles, 'tis the savages come for us!'"
Dolly had patiently fetched a mass of slippery seaweed, and, while he drew on his shoes and stockings, she arranged stones with the clams on top, and the seaweed all about them.
"And now I'll light the fire," Miles said soberly, as he rose up and stamped his feet in his wet shoes. Taking a smooth stone, he knelt over the seaweed, and, striking the stone with his whittle, sought to get a spark. But it seemed not a proper flint, for though he struck and struck, no spark came, and Dolly, cold and hungry, grew impatient, whereat Miles rebuked her sternly: "'Tis like a girl. I'm doing the best I can. Hush, will you, Dolly?"
Then he forgot his petty wrangling, for, at a growl from Trug, he looked to the bluff, and there, between him and the safe inland forest, he saw a little group of people coming toward him. The look on his face made Dolly, who knelt opposite him, glance back over her shoulder. "Oh, Miles," she gasped, "'tis the savages come for us!"
Miles stood up and held Dolly close to him with one arm, while he grasped Trug's collar with the other hand. "They're all friendly, Dolly, all friendly," he repeated, and wondered that his voice was so dry and faint.
A little up the sand the Indians stopped; several who kept to the rear were squaws, with hoes of clam-shell and baskets, but at the front were two warriors, who now came noiselessly down the beach. "Quiet, Trug," Miles said, stoutly as he could, and, as the savages drew near, greeted them boldly with the Indian salutation he had learnt of Squanto: "Cowompaum sin; good morrow to you."
They halted close to him, though evidently a bit uncertain as to the snarling Trug; they spoke, but he could make out no word of their rapid utterance. "I'm a friend," he repeated, hopeless of getting any good of his little store of Indian words, almost too alarmed even to recall them. "I come from Plymouth,—" he pointed up the shore where the settlement lay,—"and I want to go back thither."
He made a movement as if to start up the shore, when one of the Indians laid a hand on his arm and pointed southward. Miles shook his head, while dumb terror griped his heart; these were none of King Massasoit's friendly Indians, but people from the Cape, such as had fought the Englishmen in the winter. "Let me go home," he repeated unsteadily.
But without heeding him one loosed his arm from about Dolly's waist. Thereat Trug, with his hair a-bristle, gathered himself to spring, and the other warrior gripped the club he carried in his hand. "You shan't kill my dog!" screamed Miles, seizing Trug's collar to hold him back; and at that the savage, taking Dolly from beside him, lifted her in his arms.
The other Indian would have picked up Miles, but he dodged his hand, and, dragging Trug with him, ran up alongside the warrior who held Dolly. The little girl lay perfectly quiet, her eyes round with terror, and her lips trembling. "Don't be afraid, Dolly," quavered Miles, in what he tried to make a stout voice, "no matter where they take us. They shan't hurt you; Trug and I won't let them hurt you."
IT does not become an Englishman to make a weak showing before unclad savages; so presently Miles swallowed the sob that was fighting a way up his throat, mastered the other shaky signs of his terror, and put his whole attention to keeping pace with his captors. They were now well in among the trees, where the undergrowth, after the Indian custom, had been thinned by fire, so between the great blackened trunks opened wide vistas, as in an English park.
To Miles each open glade looked like every other one, but the Indians found amid the trees a distinct trail along which they hastened, single file, with the tall warrior who bore Dolly in the lead. Miles kept persistently at his heels, though the breath was short in his throat, and his whole body reeked with perspiration. The sun, all unobscured and yellow, was climbing steadily upward, and, by the fact that it shone on the left hand, he knew that they were going southward ever, southward into the hostile country.
About mid-morning they descended a sandyslope, where pine trees grew, to a brook with a white bottom. Miles gathered his strength, and, making a little spurt ahead, flung himself down by the stream to drink; he felt cooler for the draught, but, when he dragged himself to his feet, he found that, after his little rest, his tired legs ached the more unbearably, so he made no objection when the Indian with the club, lifting him unceremoniously to his back, carried him dry-shod through the brook.
Even on the other side, Miles made no struggle to get down; it would be useless, he judged, and then he was too worn out to tramp farther at such speed. He settled himself comfortably against his bearer's naked shoulders, and offered not half so much protest as Trug, who, trotting at the Indian's side, now and again looked to his master and whined anxiously.
As soon as he was a bit rested, Miles began to take closer note of the country through which they were passing,—a country of spicy pine thickets and of white dust, that powdered beneath the feet of the Indians. From his lofty perch he could pluck tufts of glossy pine needles as they brushed under the lower branches of the trees, and, hungry as he was, he did not find them ill to chew. Presently he tried to converse with his Indian. "Tonokete naum?" he questioned. "Whither go you?"
The savage answered in a pithy phrase, of whichMiles made out only the word Ma-no-met. That, he had a vague remembrance of hearing the men say, was a place somewhere to the southward; but, at least, it was not Nauset, where the Indians who had fought the English lived. In quite a cheerful tone, Miles called out to Dolly their destination, and, with something of his former confidence, set himself to watch for the town; he could not help imagining it would be a row of log cabins in a clearing, just like Plymouth.
But, for what to him seemed long hours, he saw no sign of a house, just the monotonous sheen of the pine trees where the sun struck upon them, and the dust that burst whitely through its sprinkling of pine needles. Now and again, through the branches, he caught the glimmer of sunny water, where some little pond lay; and once, when the trail led down into a hollow, sand gave place to the clogging mire of a bog, and the scrub pines yielded to cedars.
The slope beyond, with its pines thickening in again, was like all the rest of the wood, so like that Miles had suffered his eyes to close against the weary glare and the hot dust, when a sudden note of shrill calling made him fling up his head. They were just breasting the ridge that had been before them, and the trees, dwindling down, gave a sight of what lay at the farther side.
Unbroken sunlight, Miles was first aware of,—sunlight dazzling from the hot sky, beating upward from blue water, glaring on green pines that spread away beyond; and then, as the dissonant calls that made his whole body quiver drew his eyes to the right, he saw in the stretch of meadow-land between the creek and the ridge a squalid group of unkempt bark wigwams. The smoke that curled upward from their cone-like summits seemed to waver in the heat, and for an instant Miles blinked stupidly at the smoke, because he dared not look lower where he must see the varied company of coppery people who were flocking noisily forth from their shelters.
Of a sudden, as if starting from a bad dream, he writhed out of his captor's hold and dropped to his feet in the sand. The Indian's grasp tightened instantly on his arm; but in any case, whatever they meant to do to him, even to kill him, it was better to walk into Manomet than to be carried thither like a little child. Where there might be other lads, too, it went through Miles's head, even in the midst of his sick fear.
Other boys there were, certainly, squaws and warriors too, all thronging jabbering round him, so that, with a poor hope that he at least might prove friendly, Miles clung tight to the hand of the Indian who had carried him. Wolfish yelp of dogs, shrill,frightened cries of children, clatter of the curious squaws,—all deafened and bewildered him. Close about him he beheld crowding figures,—bare bodies that gleamed in the sunlight, swarthy, grim faces, eyes alert with curiosity,—and, overarching them all, the hot, blue sky that blinded him.
Along with their Indian masters ran dogs, prick-eared, fox-like curs, one of which suddenly darted upon Trug. Above the chatter of the curious folk Miles heard the currish yelp, the answering snarl; but ere he could cry out or move, the old civilized mastiff caught the savage cur by the scruff, and, shaking the life out of his mangy body, flung him on the sand.
Miles let go the Indian's hand, and cast himself upon his dog, while his mind rushed back to a dreadful day in England, when Trug had slain a farmer's tike, whose owner had threatened to brain "the curst brute"; people did not like to have your dog kill their dog, Miles remembered with terror; so, catching Trug by the collar, he buffeted his head, a punishment which the old fellow, with his tushes still gleaming, endured meekly.
The Indians, who had been pressing round him, had shrunk back a little, Miles perceived, as he paused for breath; they could not be used to big mastiffs. "The dog will not worry you," he addressed the company in a propitiating voice. "Thatis, he won't worry you unless you harm Dolly and me."
They could not understand his words, he realized, but they could understand gestures, so with a bold front he gripped Trug's collar, and urged the old dog, still grumbling, along with him. He walked bravely too, with his chin high and his neck stiff, for all there was a fluttering sensation up and down his legs. He was not afraid, he assured himself, while he pressed his hand upon Trug's warm neck for comfort, and fixed his eyes on the tall warrior striding before him who still bore Dolly.
Suddenly Miles perceived the press about him to give way a little, and out from amidst the people an old man came gravely toward him. He was a tall old man, with a wrinkly face, and his dress was squalid and scanty as that of the others, but by the many beads of white bone that hung on his bare breast, Miles judged him to be the chief of Manomet, Canacum. So he made his most civil bow, though he could not keep his knees from trembling a bit; but he looked up courageously into the old Indian's face, and, as he did not speak first, at length politely bade him "Cowompaum sin."
He could not understand—indeed, apprehensive as he was, he scarcely had the wit to try to understand—what was said to him in reply, but he knew the old man took him by the hand, soin tremulous obedience he went whither he was led.
The blue sky was all blurred out, as he passed through the opening of one of the black wigwams; an intolerable smoky odor half choked him; and his eyes were blinded with the dimness all about him. But out of the dusk he heard Dolly call his name, and, stumbling toward the sound, he put his arms about his sister.
As he grew more accustomed to the dim light, he saw the old Chief, squatting on a mat at the back of the wigwam, and saw the shadowy gesture that bade him sit beside him. Almost cheerfully, since he held Dolly's hand in his, Miles obeyed; and for the moment, as Trug stretched himself at his feet, and Dolly snuggled close to his side, felt secure and whispered his sister not to fear.
There was no time to say more, for, amidst the confusion of folk that crowded the dusky wigwam, he now made out two squaws, who drew near, and, with their curious eyes fixed on him, set before him food—a kind of bread of the pounded maize and ears of young corn roasted.
It did not need the Chief's gesture to bid Miles fall to; he might be more than a little frightened, but he was also very hungry, for it was near eight-and-forty hours since he had tasted heartier food than raspberries. He now ate with such good willthat nothing was left of the victuals but the corn-cobs, and he persuaded Dolly to eat too, though it was hard work to coax the child to lift her head from his shoulder. "I do not like to look on the Indians," she murmured tearfully, between two hungry mouthfuls of corn. "I would they did not so stare at us."
They were not over-civil, Miles thought, though, after all, they scarcely stared at their white guests more rudely than Miles himself had gazed at Massasoit, when the latter visited Plymouth. He might not have minded their staring, if there had not been so many of them,—squatting and lying all through the wigwam, on the floor, or on the mats, or on a broad, shelf-like couch which ran all about the lodge,—and if the bolder ones had not been curious to feel of his shirt,—his doublet was left behind on the beach where he had taken the clams,—and of his shoes, and of Dolly's gown, though no one cared to put a hand upon the bristling and growling Trug.
They chattered a wearisome deal too, till Miles's head ached with the clamor, the squaws very shrilly, and the men in guttural tones; the old Chief seemed to be questioning the Indians who had found the children on the beach, but presently he turned and addressed Miles.
The boy fixed his eyes on the speaker's face andtried to understand, but, while all things about him were so strange and ominous, it was hard to keep his thoughts on the hasty sounds. He did make out that the Chief asked him whence he came, and, answering "Patuxet," he pointed whither he judged the Plymouth plantation lay. "I should like to go back thither," he suggested, and endeavored, with signs and his few poor words of the Indian language, to explain that, if they took Dolly to the settlement, the people would give them knives and beads. He started to make the same arrangement for himself, but he judged it useless; he doubted if Master Hopkins would think him worth buying back.
But, even in Dolly's case, no one made a movement to grant Miles's request, and though the old Chief spoke, for an Indian, at some length and in a civil tone, he did not mention Patuxet nor a return thither. Miles swallowed down a lump in his throat, and said bravely to Dolly that he guessed they'd have to spend the night with the savages, but they seemed kindly intentioned.
Through the low opening that formed the door of the wigwam he could see now that a long, gray shadow from the pine ridge lay upon the trodden sand; the afternoon must be wearing to a close. Moment by moment he watched the shadow stretch itself out, till all was shadow and a thicker dimnessfilled the wigwam, and on the bit of sky, which he could see through the smoke-hole in the roof, brooded a purplish shade. It was evening in earnest, and it should be supper time, Miles told Dolly; but Dolly, resting half-asleep against his arm, made no answer.
Miles himself, for all his apprehensions, was heavy with the weariness of the last two days, so, whatever the morrow might have in store, he was glad when, one by one, the Indians slipped away like shadows, and he judged it bedtime. He and his sister were to sleep on the couch-like structure by the wall, he interpreted the Chief's gestures, so willingly he bade Dolly and Trug lie down; then stretched himself beside them. A comfortable resting place it was, very springy and soft with skins; but, ere Miles could reassure Dolly and settle himself for the night, Trug began to growl, and the great couch to groan, as what seemed an endless family of Indians cast themselves down alongside them.
"I—I wish I were home in my own bed," Dolly protested, with a stifled sob.
Miles hushed her, in some alarm lest the savages might not approve of people who cried; but his Indian bedfellows never heeded Dolly's tears, for they were lulling themselves to sleep by singing in a high, monotonous strain that drowned everyother noise. After the little girl was quieted, they still droned on, and, when they were at last silent, there sounded the notes of swarms of mosquitoes that tortured Miles, for all he was so tired, into semi-wakefulness.
A snatch of feverish slumber once and again, and then, of a sudden, he was aware of the round moon peering in at him through the smoke-hole. That same light would now be whitening the quiet fields of Plymouth, and slipping through the little windows across the clean floor of Master Hopkins's living room; Miles remembered just how the patch of light rested on the wall of his own chamber.
He sat up on his comfortless bed and hid his face against his knee. "I wish I hadn't run away; I wish I were home—were home," he groaned aloud. But, save for the heavy snoring of the Chief of Manomet and his warriors, he got no answer.