  IN the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing5 Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,— Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.10 Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion,15 Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, “Not Angles but Angels.” Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. “Look at these arms,” he said, “the warlike weapons that hang here Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection! This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,25 Well I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish; Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses.”30 Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: “Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet; He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!” Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling: “See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage; So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,40 Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, And, like CÆsar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!” This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:45 “Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose, Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible logic, Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians; Let them come, if they like, be it sagamore, sachem or pow-wow, Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon!” Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind, Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape, Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued with emotion, Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded: “Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish;60 Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside! She was the first to die of all who came in the May Flower! Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished!”65 Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding; Bariffe’s Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of CÆsar, Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Golding of London,70 Image unavailable: Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort. Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort. Image unavailable: THE DEPARTURE OF THE PILGRIMS FROM DELFT HAVEN. FROM AN EARLY PAINTING. THE DEPARTURE OF THE PILGRIMS FROM DELFT HAVEN. FROM AN EARLY PAINTING. And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans, Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians.75 Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence Turned o’er the well-worn leaves, where thumbmarks thick on the margin, Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling,80 Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May Flower, Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing! Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter, Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla, Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla!85 |
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