CHAPTER XXXVI.
SETTLEMENT.
It has now been shown how the golden lilies prospered in the north, andhow the red lion, who should in time tear those gay lilies down, waslaughed at and despised. The paths of ambition, of treachery, ofvengeance, have brought direct to the same terminus, where that "fellsergeant death" stood forth to cry "Halt" to soldier and to priest.The name of La Salle has ever been held in honour, but chiefly tomemorise Robert the explorer, not the ambitious priest his uncle. Thename of Iden is still revered by Kentish folk; but that respect is won,not by Sir Thomas, who--if the tradition in his family be true--marriedan Indian wife and flung away his life to avenge his son, but to SirAlexander, who slew the rebel Cade in a Sussex orchard. The name ofOnawa is held in memory by none, though for many generations the woodwherein she died of the poisoned draught administered by her sister wasshunned by the Iroquois, because there sounded amid the pines at nightthe howling of a werewolf.
The old chronicles mention two Englishmen who escaped from the French,and Jesse Woodfield and Jeremiah Hough are the names recorded. Whenthe Acadians swept down the defile to secure Upcliff and his men, thePuritan was ignored, and the yeoman, who had made so startling anappearance, was left for dead. So soon as they had gone Hough made forhis companion, and discovered that he was indeed material and alive,though sorely wounded. Presently Woodfield revived, and when he wasable to stand the Puritan led him away up the white hills to find aplace of shelter. The hut in the pine-wood being too far away, theyproceeded by slow stages towards the home of the knight, knowingnothing of what had occurred, and scarce guessing it when they gainedthe bush-filled hollow, which was stirred to its depths by the wailingof a death-song.
"A fitting welcome for broken-hearted men," said the Puritan. "By thewaters of Babylon we sat down and wept. The children of Edom havesmitten us full sore. Happy shall he be that rewardeth them as theyhave served us. Take courage, old lad. We are even now at home."
"Home without friends," broke from the pale lips of the man within hisarms.
"Where the graves of comrades are, there is the brave man's home. InEngland we are gone out of mind, and broken like a potter's vessel.Here amid the snows old Simon and old George lie sleeping well."
The song stopped when they entered the hut and stood between the livingand the dead. Immediately Woodfield sank down in unconsciousness, andafter one glance upon the sad scene and a few bitter words, Hough kneltat his comrade's side and searched for his wounds.
"Let a woman perform a woman's work," said the pale watcher, risingfrom her husband's side. "For him"--she inclined her head to thesilent figure--"the light is gone. He sees no longer the sparklingair. His eyes shall not burn again. The great God knows how well helived and how he died."
Seeing the question on the Puritan's lips, she went on:
"The hand that smote our son smote him. I saw the man go, and deathwith him like a cloud above his head. Give me the water that standsyonder that I may wash these wounds."
"Who brought him hither?" the Puritan asked.
"These arms carried him. While he lived he would have me bear noburden. The wood for the fire he took from me, saying, 'This is nowoman's work. A woman shall smile for her husband, prepare him food,and keep a home for his return.' These arms carried my son to hisgrave. My husband was not there, or surely he would have said, 'Thisis no work for you.' These arms carried my husband from the placewhere he fell. His eyes looked up to mine, as though again he wouldsay, 'This is no work for you.' Once more they shall carry him.Afterwards I will wait for the coming of the south wind, which carriesthe souls of the dead."
She applied her skill in healing to the restoration of the white man.She cleansed his wounds and cooled his fever, leaving him at lengthsleeping with a wan smile of triumph on his face. By then Hough alsowas asleep, his face terrible in its mutilation and sternness.
When he revived, Woodfield told his comrade how he had been captured bythe Algonquins and how they had sought to put him to death.
"I awoke from unconsciousness," he said, "to find myself within a cave,attended by the maid who had loosed my body from the tree. An old manwatched the entry and brought me food. These two had saved my life,the maid because she loved my white skin, the man because he wasChristian and had lost a son who would have been of my age had helived. I remained in that cave many days, gaining vigour, and on acertain evening, when left alone, ran out into the shadows and hidmyself in the forest, covering my tracks as best I could.
"The maid pursued and besought me in her own manner to return. Manytimes I escaped from her. Often she brought me food, or I must haveperished of hunger during my long wanderings through the forest. Iwould hear her calling after me in the still night. I would from somehill-top see her following my track, and when she found me she wouldhold me by the feet and strive to move my heart. But resisting thewiles of Satan, who would have me to forget my own country and myfather's house, I ran from her again."
"We thought you dead these many months."
"It was the will of God that I should seek for you in vain," went onWoodfield. "Once I lay in a swamp to hide myself from a band of Frenchexplorers. Once I was attacked by six men. One I killed, and theremainder fled, frightened by lightning which struck down a treebetween us. Another time I concealed myself in a hemlock while thesoldiers made their camp beneath its branches. So I fought my way ontowards the east with an Englishman's longing for the sea, and whenwinter drew on I made me a shelter in the pine woods on the westwardside of Acadie, and there mourned for you and for Simon Penfold as forcomrades who had fallen in the battle."
"How came you so suddenly to our aid?"
"In the darkness of the falling snow I ventured to approach thesettlement. Nay more, I entered at the open gate, careless of my life,and followed the soldiers out, my heart rejoicing when I learnt fromtheir shouts that countrymen of mine were near at hand. I climbedamong the cliffs, and, looking down, beheld old Simon fighting in thedefile. I was descending to give him help when he fell."
"The Lord gives and the Lord has taken away," said the Puritan solemnly.
While the words were on his lips the wattle door was shaken and a softvoice called. Another moment a white figure entered with a rush ofsmoky air, and Madeleine stood before them, wrapped in a sail which shehad assumed to render her progress across the snow invisible. Shethrew away the covering and laughed triumphantly.
"Say not that the ship is taken?" cried Hough. Then he muttered: "Aman may tell nothing from the maid's manner. Sorrow or joy--'tis thesame to her. She laughs through it all."
"The ship is safe," said Madeleine. "We were attacked by theman-of-war, but when we drew clear of the ice we soon left herlumbering astern, until she gave up the chase and sailed for shore. Wehave not lost a man."
"Then what do you here?"
"Think you that Silas Upcliff would desert friends?" cried Madeleineindignantly. "So soon as he knew himself to be safe, he changed hiscourse and beat up the coast eastward until darkness fell. Then hedropped down, and now has sent a boat to bring you off. I have comefor you, and must take no refusal, else I am sure they shall hang meupon my return. I would bear the message myself. The master at firstcrossed me, but, being a wise man, he gave way to a woman's whim.Come! The boat waits, and liberty lies beyond."
She moved across the earth floor and grasped the Puritan's arm.
"What maid is this?" asked Woodfield, as he gazed at the vision ofbeauty; and when Hough had told him the good soldier's heart swelled,and he raised his stiff body that he might take her hand, while shesmiled at him through a mist of pity.
"I want you, wounded man," she said. "There are none sick aboard, andI must have one to care for, or my hands will hang idle all the day. Ihave thrown in my lot with your people, because mine own have driven meforth. You shall call me sister if you will, and you shall be brotherto me, because he who is to be my husband is your true comrade, and'tis friendshi
p that makes brotherhood rather than blood. Rise,brother, and lean on me."
"Girl," said Hough, with his stern smile, "this spell you cast over usis more potent than witchcraft."
"We come," cried Woodfield, drawing himself upright. "Say, comrade,let us flee to Virginia, and settle among our own, that we may hear theblessed English tongue again."
"We go," answered Hough gloomily. "Here is no English colony, but weseek one in the south."
"Go," said Mary Iden, now again Tuschota, daughter of Shuswap, to thethree. "Take what you desire for your journey, and go forth. Here arefurs, and here strong medicines. Take all. The great God guard youupon the seas and upon the land whither you go to dwell."
So the two Englishmen and the French girl went forth under the wintersky, where a shy moon peeped through laced clouds like a fair maidlooking between the curtains of her bed. A dull glow of firelightshowed when they looked back into the hollow; and once, when theypaused for breath, their ears became filled with the wild sound ofsinging for the dead.
Morning dawned, and the brigantine was well away, running with a freshbreeze from the colony of France, all hearts aboard as light as thefrosty waves which kissed her sides. Through fog and snow she went,like a bird flying to the warmth. Little wonder that the men sang attheir tasks; that Upcliff repeated his old stories of the main with afresh delight, none grudging him a laugh; that Woodfield gatheredhealth at every hour; that Madeleine laughed from morn to night. Theywere as children released from school, playing on the happy home-going.
So the _Dartmouth_ drew down to Boston quay, after one delay on theunfrequented shore to make repairs, the men clanking at the pumps tokeep the leaking barque above the line of danger. The citizens flockeddown to meet her, and Hough's approving gaze fell upon Puritan facesamong whom he could feel himself indeed at home.
Winthrop himself was called to give the sailors welcome to New England.He stepped aboard, and grasped the master's hand; but not a word couldhe utter before Madeleine came between them, her beauty all insplendour, her mouth quivering, as she cried:
"Tell me, sir--tell me quickly, where is my Geoffrey?"
She had forgotten that other men bearing her lover's name walked theearth. Winthrop stared in some bewilderment, and the more stern of hisfollowing frowned at so much glorious life and impetuous loveliness.The majority repeated the name with ominous shakings of bearded chins.
"'Tis our comrade, young Geoffrey Viner, of whom the maid speaks," saidWoodfield in explanation.
"Yea," exclaimed Madeleine. "Let me off the ship."
"Stay," said Winthrop. "The young man is here indeed." He turned toHough with the demand: "Is he beyond doubt a true Englishman?"
"True!" exclaimed Madeleine, her violet eyes two angry flashes. "Yoususpect him? Oh, you false man!"
It was the first time that John Winthrop had been accused of falseness;and the novelty of the accusation brought a smile to his face.
"The boy is loyal to the faith, and as true an Englishman as yourself,brother Winthrop," broke in the voice of Hough.
"Let justice prevail where I rule," said the pious governor when heheard this. "I thank God that you have come in time. It has beenproved to our satisfaction against this boy that he has conspired withthe Dutch for the capture of our town, and as I speak he lies undersentence of death. Thus the wisest judges err, and the humble of usask Heaven to amend our faults."
Madeleine had paled very slightly while Winthrop spoke. Then she drewher small dignified self upright, and said very confidently: "I knewthat we should arrive in time."
"Methinks we shall scarcely find any swifter messenger to bear the goodnews to the young man----" commenced the quiet voice of Roger Williams,who had joined his friend and governor upon the quay.
The end of the pastor's sentence became drowned in a shout of heartylaughter such as had never been heard before in Boston; for immediatelyhe began to speak Madeleine picked up her skirt, and was alreadyrunning like Atalanta, breathlessly demanding from those who stood bywhether her feet were carrying her in the right way.
"Send a cheer after her, men of Somerset," shouted Silas Upcliff."For, by my soul, a braver lass ne'er loved an Englishman!"