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Standish of Standish, a novel by Jane Goodwin Austin |
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Chapter 32. The Sunset Gun |
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_ CHAPTER XXXII. THE SUNSET GUN The town meeting was over, and its decisions if important were unanimous, even Elder Brewster, converted perhaps by Standish's Biblical references, giving his voice for the stringent measures rendered necessary by the growth and magnitude of the conspiracy. Captain Standish with what force he might select was to take the pinnace, and under cover of a trading expedition make a landing at Weymouth, and first of all discover from the colonists themselves the truth of their condition. If it should prove as represented he was to at once attack whatever leaders of the conspiracy might be found, and in especial he was to slay Wituwamat, of whom Massasoit had spoken as the heart of the conspiracy, and to bring his head to Plymouth to be set over the gate of the Fort as a proof and a warning to their neighbors on the east, whom they would not now punish, but hoped rather to persuade. "And now, Captain Standish, it were well that you should select those whom you will have of your company, while we are all gathered together here," said the governor when the primary question had been finally decided. Standish rose and looked thoughtfully from face to face. "'T is a hard matter," said he at last with a gleam of pride in his eye. "Here be fifty good men and true, and I need no more than half a dozen." "The Neponsets number forty warriors," suggested Winslow. "Yes, but they will not be gathered together, having no knowledge of our purpose, and if the shallop is watched from shore, as belike it will be, a large force of armed men would bewray our intent, and runners would gather the braves in a few hours and so bring down a great slaughter upon the tribe," replied the captain in confident simplicity. "But if we go no more in number than ordinary, no more than in our late voyage to Nauset for corn, they will suspect nothing, and the matter may be well concluded with no more than five or six examples, Wituwamat being the principal." "And glad am I, brother, to see a certain tenderness of human life in your counsels," said the elder approvingly. "Nay, elder, I am not all out a cannibal and ogre," replied the captain. "So now I will choose me Hopkins and Howland and Billington, and Eaton and Browne and Cooke and Soule, seven hearts of oak and arms of steel: it is enough." "And not one of us Fortune men, Captain?" demanded Robert Hicks, a stalwart fellow who afterward became almost a rebel to the colony's authority. "Nay, Master Hicks," replied the captain gravely. "I mean no discredit to the courage or the good will of the new-comers, of whom you are a principal; but this service is one of strategy as well as daring, and so soon as the pinnace leaves yon Rock, there must be but one mind and one will in her, and that is mine. The men whom I have chosen, my comrades of the Mayflower, I know as I know mine own sword, and I can trust them as I do him. There's no offense Master Hicks, but a stricken field is no place to learn to handle a new sword or a new comrade." "And not me, Master," said a low voice as the captain stepped out of the Common house and turned his face homeward. "Nay, Jack, I've a text for thee too. 'I have married a wife and cannot come.'" And with a somewhat bitter laugh he strode on up the hill, leaving John Alden looking sadly after him. That night as Standish slowly entered the Fort to fire his sunset gun, he was startled at seeing a muffled figure seated upon an empty powder keg in an angle of the works. As he appeared she rose, and pushing back her hood showed the beautiful face of Priscilla Molines, now strangely pale and distraught. "You here, Mistress Molines," exclaimed the captain somewhat sternly. "Alden is not coming." "It is not Alden but Captain Standish I fain would speak withal, and I hope he will pardon my forwardness in seeking him here." The captain briefly waved the apology aside. "Your commands, madam?" inquired he. "Nay, nay sir, my father's dear loved friend, my brother's tender nurse,--mine--oh what shall I say, how shall I plead for a little kindness. Have pity on a froward maid's distress"-- "What Priscilla, thou canst weep!" "And why not when my heart is sorrowful unto death." "But--there then, child, wipe thine eyes and look up and let me see thee smile as thou art wont. What is it, maid? What is thy sorrow?" "That you will not forgive me, sir." "Forgive thee for what?" But the captain dropped the hand he had seized in his sympathy, and the dark look crept back to his face. "Thou 'rt going to a terrible danger--my friend--and it may be to thy death." "Well girl, 't is not worth crying for if I am. Life is not so sweet to me that I should over much dread to lay it down with honor." "Oh, oh, and it is my fault!"--sobbed Priscilla. The captain strode up and down the narrow space pulling at his red beard and frowning thoughtfully; then stopping before the girl who stood as he had left her, he quietly said,-- "Priscilla, I was indeed thy father's friend, and I am thine, and I fain would have wed thee, and thou didst refuse, preferring John Alden, who also is my friend, even as my younger brother, whose honor and well being are dear to me as mine own. What then is the meaning of thy grief, and what is thy request?" "My grief is that since the day I gave John Alden my promise, you, sir, have been no more my friend, but ever looked upon me with coldness and disdain; and now that you go, it may be to your death, it breaketh my heart to have it so, and I fain would beg your forgiveness for aught I have done to offend you, though I know not what it may be." "Know not--well, well, let it pass--'t is but one more traverse. Yes child, I forgive thee for what to me seemed like something of scorn and slight, something of double dealing and treachery--nay, we'll say no more on 't. Here is my hand, Priscilla--and surely thy father's friend may for once taste thy cheek. Now child, we're friends and dear friends, and if yon savage sheathes his knife in my heart perhaps thou 'lt shed a tear or two, and say a prayer for the soul of--thy father's friend. And now thy petition, for time presses." "That thou wilt take John Alden with thee." "What then! Who shall read a woman's will aright! I left him at home for thy sake, Priscilla." "So I guessed and I thank you--nay, I thank you not for so misjudging me." And the fire in the hazel eyes upraised to his, dried the tears sharply. "Why, what now! Dost want thy troth-plight lover slain?" "No in truth, nor do I want my troth-plight friend, for thou art that now, slain; but neither do I want the one nor the other to lurk safely at home when his brothers are at the war. There's no coward's blood in my heart more than in yours, Captain Standish, and I care not to shelter any man behind my petticoats. I have not wed John Alden all this long year and more, because I would not wed with your frown black upon my heart, and I will not wed him now until he hath showed himself a man upon that same field whence you do not greatly care to come alive." "Nay, Priscilla, I care more now for life than I did an hour since, for I have a friend." "And you will take John, and if he comes home alive you'll smile upon our marriage?" "Yes girl, yes to both. God bless you, Priscilla, for a brave and true woman. And now--good-night." A moment later as the dark clad figure flitted down the hill Standish stood with bared head and fixed eyes silent for a little space, and then the boom of the sunset gun sounded in solemn Amen to the soldier's silent prayer. _ |
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