CHAPTER II
A SHARP PAIR OF SCISSORS.
Two men stood upon Cole’s Hill, half sheltering themselves behind the ragged growth of scrub oaks and poplars sprung from those graves of the first winter, sown by the survivors to wheat lest the savages should perceive that half the company were dead. That pathetic crop of grain had perished on the ground and never been renewed; but Nature, tender mother, soon replaced it with a robe of her own symbolism, green as her favorite clothing ever is, and embroidered with the starry flowers of the succory, blue as heaven.
From the grave of John Carver and Katharine his wife had sprung a graceful clump of birches, and it was behind these that the two men finally took up their post of observation. One of them was John Lyford, a smooth and white faced man, whose semi-clerical garb only accented his cunning eyes and sensual mouth. A double renegade this, for, flying to the New World to escape the punishment of his sins in England, he proffered himself to the Pilgrims as a convert to their creed, renouncing with oaths and tears his Episcopal ordination, although assured by those liberal-minded men that such recantation was not required or desired; then, having joined the Church of the Separation entirely of his own free will, he turned viperwise upon the hand that fed him, and began plotting against the peace, nay the very life, of his generous hosts, and leading away those weak and disaffected souls to be found in every community.
John Oldhame, his companion, was a very different sort of person. Big, loud-voiced, and dogmatic, he was the sailor who would see the ship driven to destruction on the rocks unless he could be captain and give orders to every one else.
The motives of these two conspirators were as diverse as their antecedents, although both came out under the auspices of the London Adventurers, of whom a word must be said. These gentlemen, knowing a good deal less of New England than we do of the sources of the Nile, had adventured certain moneys in fitting out the Pilgrims, and in sustaining them until they should be able to repay the sums thus advanced “with interest thereto.” When the Mayflower made her first return, leaving fifty of the Pilgrims in their graves and the other fifty just struggling back to life and feebly beginning their plantation and house building, the Adventurers were exceedingly wroth that she did not come freighted with lumber, furs, and especially salted fish enough to nearly pay for her voyage. Their bitter reproaches written to Carver were answered with manly dignity by Bradford, but a really cordial feeling was never reëstablished, and when the Pilgrims requested that either Robinson or some other minister should be sent out to them, the Adventurers imposed Lyford upon them, some of them giving him secret instructions to act as a spy in their behalf.
John Oldhame, a man of means and position, came out upon a different footing, paying his own expenses, and being, as the Pilgrims phrased it, “on his own particular” instead of “on the general” or joint stock account. But events soon made it plain that a very good understanding existed between Oldhame and the Adventurers, and that if he should be enabled to detect his hosts in defrauding the Adventurers, whose greedy maws never were fully satisfied, they would transfer their protection and countenance to him, sustaining him as a rival or even supplanter of the interests of the men they had undertaken to befriend.
The Pilgrims had the faults of their virtues in very marked degree, and carried patience, meekness, long-suffering, and credulity to a point most irritating to their historians and very subversive of their worldly interests. Doubtless, however, they found their account in the final reckoning, and one must try to be patient with their goodness. All which means that if this growing treason in their midst was at all suspected it was not noticed, and both Oldhame and Lyford were admitted to the full privileges of townsmen, including a seat at the Council and full knowledge of the colony’s concerns. Lyford, in virtue of the ordination, so scornfully abjured by himself, was requested to act as minister in association with Elder Brewster, although some quiet doubts still prevented his admission to the position of pastor.
With this necessary explanation of the position of affairs we return to the hiding-place behind the birches, whence the conspirators watched a boat manned by four sailors which lay uneasily tossing on the flood tide, rubbing its nose against the Rock, while, in the offing, a ship ready for sea lay awaiting it.
“Bradford is certainly going aboard the Charity. They’re waiting for him, and there he comes down The Street,” growled Oldhame at length.
“Perhaps only to see Winslow off. He, he! the Adventurers will show Master Envoy Winslow but a sour face when they’ve read our letters,” sniggered Lyford.
“I wish he might be clapt up in jail for the rest of his life, confound him!”
“There’s Standish along of Bradford! Think he’s going aboard, too?” And Lyford’s face showed such craven terror that Oldhame laughed aloud.
“Afraid of Captain Shrimp, as Tom Morton calls him?” demanded he. “I’ve put a spoke in his wheel, at any rate. You writ down what I advised about another commander, didn’t you?”
“Ay. To send him over at all odds, and to arrest this fellow for high treason.”
“Ah! He’s not going aboard after all,” ejaculated Oldhame venomously. “Feels he must stay ashore and watch you and me and Hicks and Billington and some of the rest. Set him up for a sneaking, prying little watch-dog! But let him undertake to order me about as he did t’other day, and I’ll cram his square teeth down his bull’s throat for him, damn him!”
“He, he, he! There’s no love lost between you and Captain Standish, is there, Master Oldhame? There, they’re off,—Winslow and Bradford only; and Captain Shrimp returns up the hill with the rest. I sore mistrust me the governor has got scent of those letters, Oldhame.”
“Pho, pho, man! Don’t be so timorous. Pierce won’t give up the letters, and if he did, Bradford would think twice before opening them. Let him dare put a finger to one of mine, and I’ll bring the whole house about his ears! I’d like to catch him at it. I’d—why, I’d give him a taste of my fists,—one for himself, and one to pass on to his neighbor, and after that”—
“M-o-o-o!” broke in a voice close behind, and, with a start, the conspirators faced round to meet “the great red cow,” recently arrived in the Charity, and, with her, the comely but scoffing face of Priscilla Alden.
“I cry your pardon, gentlemen, if I have disturbed a secret conclave, but as my babes have a share of this cow’s milk, I like her not to feed among the graves. All sorts of unclean creatures lurk here, and I fear lest the poor beast find contamination.”
“A saucy wench, and one that would well grace the ducking-stool,” growled Oldhame as Priscilla drove her cow away; while Lyford, remembering that she had that morning brought his wife a delicate breakfast, laughed uneasily and made no reply.
The governor’s boat meanwhile, merrily driven by the “white-ash breeze” of four stalwart oars, had reached the ship’s side, signaling, as she passed, the colony’s pinnace, which, under easy sail, lay off and on the anchorage of the Charity.
“Good-morrow, Governor. You are welcome aboard, Master Winslow,” cried the hearty voice of William Pierce, master of the Charity, and friend of the Pilgrims, as the passengers came aboard; and then, as if their errand were one needing no explanation, he led the way at once to his own cabin, fastened the door, and from a small locker at the foot of the bed-place took a packet of letters enveloped in oilskin. Laying these upon the little table and still resting his hand upon them, the honest mariner looked steadily in the faces of his visitors.
“Master Bradford, you are the governor of this colony and its chief authority. Do you, in the presence of Master Edward Winslow, your agent to the home government and one of your principal assistants, demand the surrender of these letters confided to my care by persons under your government?”
“I do, Master Pierce,” replied Bradford distinctly, “and I call Edward Winslow to witness that the responsibility is mine and that of my Board of Assistants, and that you are guiltless in the matter. Nevertheless, I will not pretend that Master Oldhame and his party are directly under my government, since they came to Plymouth on their own account, and are not ranked as of the general company, but rather on their own particular.”
“Still they are bound by the laws we all have subscribed to for our mutual safety and advantage,” suggested Winslow, and would have said more had not Pierce bluffly interposed,—
“Well, well, all these niceties are out of my line. Some colonists have confided certain letters to me; the governor of the colony makes requisition upon me before a competent witness for these letters, suspecting treason therein; I surrender them to his keeping, and there ends my responsibility. And now I will go and make sail upon my ship. Governor, your pinnace shall be summoned whenever you give the signal.” And Captain Pierce turned toward the companion-way, but presently returned, a genial smile replacing the slight annoyance darkening his face, and going to the “ditty bag” suspended near the porthole, he fumbled for a moment, then threw what he had found upon the table, adding merrily, “And if you want to make a neat job of it, Bradford, here’s a sharp little pair of scissors. We sailors hate to see a trick of work bungled, if it’s nothing better than ferreting out treason.”
And with a smart westerly breeze the Charity set her nose toward England, and plunged bravely out into the Atlantic. Before she sighted the scene of the Pilgrim Mothers’ first washing-day, however, she lay to, while the governor’s pinnace was brought alongside, and he and Winslow came on deck and stood for a moment hand in hand.
“God be with you, brother,” said Bradford in a voice of restrained emotion. “Remember that until you return we are as a man half whose limbs are palsied; nay, Carver in that prophetic moment called you our brain. Remember it, Winslow.”