CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE PLOWSHARE.
It was summer in the year 1647, and over all the colony of Virginiathere was peace. Fortunate were its settlers to be cut apart fromtheir brethren in the isle of strife, where the deceitful king wasimprisoned in his palace of Hampton Court, and the London citizensfilled their streets with cries of "Parliament" and "Privilege." NewEngland remained untouched by this wave of feeling, of which indeed itknew nothing, and its people went on planting their crops and gatheringthe increase, happy to be removed from the oppression of a king and thepersecution of the Church.
Upon the south side of the Potomac, at no great distance from the sea,stood a two-storey house overhung with wild vines, and approached by aladder-like flight of steps which rose between two borders of flowers.Behind a plantation stretched in a straight mile, fringed on eitherside by sweet-smelling bush, where purple butterflies played throughthe long day and a silver stream laughed on its way to the sea.
The Grove, as this homestead was named, had quickly identified itselfamong the successful colonial ventures. The day of small things wasrapidly nearing its close. Not only were the joint owners of theplantation able to supply the neighbouring village with wheatmeal andcheeses, but their export business to the Old World was growing moreprofitable each season. The Virginian exporters, Viner and Woodfield,were well-known to import merchants of Bristol, and faded invoices ofthat firm were to be seen in more than one dusty counting-house acentury later, when change and chance demanded a winding-up of thebusiness of certain old-time traders across the seas.
This success was due not altogether to the energy of the partners whogave their names to the undertaking. It was commonly reported that theLady of The Grove was in the main responsible for much of her husband'sprosperity. According to rumour, Mistress Woodfield was an excellenthousewife, clever at her needle, and with a better knowledge of simplesthan any woman in the New World, if methinks somewhat over-inclined toplay the grand dame and careful against soiling her hands. WithMistress Viner it was otherwise. She was never to be found taking herease in idleness, or retailing gossip concerning neighbours. Sloth, asonce she said when rebuking the governor--for she feared no man--is anepidemic which claims more victims than the plague. Early in themorning she walked her garden, inhaling the sweet air, noting whatprogress had taken place during the night, ordering and arranging allthings; and should her husband long delay joining her, howreproachfully she would call: "Geoffrey! Oh, slug! You are losing anhour of life." At fall of evening she would walk in the plantationbeside her fair-haired lad, as she loved to call her lord and master,planning fresh improvements, and never failing to note the beauty ofthe life which slept around. Seldom did she speak of the past; neverdid she trouble her mind concerning the future. All would be well sheknew. There could be no time so good as the present. "What do we wantwith past or future?" she would exclaim, when she caught her Geoffreyin retrospective or anticipatory mood. "Cold mirrors in which we seeour silent selves like blocks of wood or stone. It is this minutewhich is our own glorious life." The cruellest, and falsest, thingthat any woman could say concerning Madeleine Viner was that the fairmistress of The Grove had been seen wearing a sorrowful face.
The simple inscription, "An American Woman," was carved by her owndesire over Mistress Viner's burying-place at the dawn of theeighteenth century;' and at a later date an unauthorised and unknownhand cut upon the shaft of the wooden column which stood upon herresting-place, and was destroyed by fire before Canada was wrested fromthe French, the not unsuitable motto, "Ride, si sapis."
Over the fireplace of the principal room in The Grove a ring was set inthe hard oak woodwork. This ring contained a sigil engraved with thearms of the Iden family, a chevron between three close helmets, and wasgiven a place of honour in the home because through its power Geoffreyobtained a letter of recommendation and a subsequent patent of landfrom that liberal-minded papist, Lord Baltimore, to whom the ring hadbeen delivered upon the safe arrival of the _Dartmouth_ in the Bay ofChesapeake.
"Better men never bled for England than the men of Kent," said thepeer, when he had listened to Geoffrey's story. "Braver men ne'er fledfrom her shores to save their loyal lives. The owner of this ring wasonce my honoured friend. His name has for long been most famous fordevotion to the crown." The lord sighed and sadly added: "This Charlesshall learn to rue the day when he first cast aside the help of his oldloyalist families, and by oppression and persecution most intolerabledrove them from their homes. But now, with God's help, we purpose tobuild up upon this continent a new people, greater and moreclear-sighted than the old, and the motto of that people shall be,'Liberty of thought and freedom in religion.' Tell me now, how shall Iserve you?"
"I would settle, either in Maryland or in Virginia, and help to buildup that new American people of whom you speak," the young man answered.
So Geoffrey Viner obtained favour in the eyes of Lord Baltimore by thepower of the ring; and when the patent for the land issued, he andWoodfield forgot their former dreams of power, and, exchanging swordfor axe, felled the big trees and cleared away the bush, that theymight plough the virgin soil and plant their seed. As for stern Hough,he remained in Boston, to fight Satan, since he might no longer fightthe French, and to preach the gloomy doctrine that he loved; and therehe lived to a great age, and there suddenly died one winter morning ina bitterly cold church--for the religious feeling of the communitywould allow no physical comfort to the worshipper--with a Bible betweenhis hands and a strained smile upon his face, as the preacher dilatedupon a psalm-singing Heaven reserved for the elect, and a burning fieryfurnace for all else. Hough had been a good man, according to thelight which he had received, and doubtless the psalm-singing Heaven washis.
It was evening. Geoffrey and Madeleine walked hand in hand throughtheir plantation, inhaling fragrance from the dewy blooms. Rain hadfallen during the afternoon, but when the sun broke out, to bid thesettlers good e'en, the country became a fairy-land. A sleepy birdpiped on a distant branch. A pale evening star rose in the east wherewarm vapours were swimming in a silent sea. The peace was perfect inthat true Arcadia. Wars were yet to horrify the province, but theshadow was not yet. For the present the sword was buried, and theearth brought forth fruit plenteously.
"If only I might have my wish!" exclaimed Madeleine, breaking a longsilence.
Her husband looked at her, pressing her fingers within his, butanswered nothing.
"I would have the whole world like this," she went on. "Geoffrey, wewould not, if we could, seek to conceive a world more beautiful thanours. Yet how we spoil it by not knowing how to live! Were it myworld I would banish all hypocrisy, all disputings over religion, alllust for power, and try to teach my people how to love--how to love,and nothing else."
"Making us perfect before our time," said Geoffrey, watching tenderlythe evening lights playing across her hair.
"No, husband. We shall not attain perfection here. But it is fromthis country that a light shall proceed to spread throughout the world.Are we not already showing others how to live? What people before ushave ever dared to permit independence in thought and freedom inreligion? We have already stripped the Church of its mysteries. Webelieve that a man may rise to God without a priest. We are going togrow very great on this side of the seas, and fly very high, and ourmotto shall always be Peace. Then we shall destroy all weapons of war,and break up armies, and settle down in brotherly love, each man uponhis own plot of ground----"
"Envying that of his neighbour," broke in her husband gently.
"Ah, Geoffrey! Scoffer! But mayhap 'tis a foolish dream. Could webut live in love, it might follow that the wolf would be ashamed tohunt the lamb, and would feed upon grass, and thus it might happen thatour kine would lack. It is best as God ordains. The panther mustremain fierce, the bind-weed choke the flower, the rose grow its thorn,and the berry retain its poison. But would you walk in my garden,husband?"
"And see th
e devil changed into a monk?" asked Geoffrey, with a smile.
"There is no devil in my garden," cried Madeleine joyously. "The snakehas no bite, and the devil is dead of idleness. The angels showthemselves among my roses."
"They are here," said Geoffrey simply. "Madeleine, sweet wife, beforewe met I followed the promptings of the body; but through your eyes Ihave seen the soul. It is not the soldier who wins life with hissword. He does but strive in a vain shadow, until that happy day--illfor him if it comes not--when there dawns upon his heart the light oflove, and his mind is inspired, and his ears hear the stirring ofwings, and his eyes are opened."
"What does he see, husband?" she asked caressingly.
"The sweet spirit of the woman who is sent to be his star."
They returned to their home in the sunset, and Madeleine was singingsoftly as she swung her husband's arm. The young matron ran forward,to be entranced and transfigured by the last sunrays, and kissed herfingers to the departing orb with a blithesome cry:
"Wake us before the morning bell, bright sun, and come not in clouds asyou came to-day."
Upon entering the flower garden a resonant voice, alternating withtremendous bursts of glee, destroyed the stillness of the evening.Husband and wife looked at each other in complete understanding, andMadeleine held a finger to her lips, and motioned Geoffrey to advanceon tip-toe. They pressed through a bower of roses, beneath a tangle ofcreepers, through tall rye-grass, and as they advanced the great voicecame more strongly to their ears. At length they stood unseen withinsight of their house front, and, drawing close together, laughedrestrainedly.
Upon the topmost step, in a line with the entrance, sat a man ofimmense bulk, holding a pretty fair-haired child upon his mighty knee;and this child he was dancing up and down, shouting a quaintaccompaniment meantime. Around his head trailed the luxuriant vines,covered with their fluffy white blooms, and the dainty humming-birdswent whirring by, chasing in sport the hivebound bees.
Leaning back, and heaving his knee up and down, the big man continuedto serenely bellow his nursery refrain:
"Ha! Pieter von Donck! Pieter von Donck! 'Tis as cunning an oldrogue as ever wore shoe-leather!"
"Funny man! Do it again," chirruped Geoffrey Viner the younger.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
VALEDICTORY.
And now in the days when the world is small, and ships of iron rush toand fro upon the seas, and the sword has become a burden, and themightier plowshare ripples the plain, gone are the golden lilies, gonethe power of the soutane rouge, gone the House of Bourbon; and twosmall islands of the gulf, St. Pierre and Miquelon, bound by theirrocks and beaten by the waves, gather the harvest of the sea under thelion's protection, and mourn in their loneliness over that proudsupremacy which has passed away for ever.
PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.
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