Soldier Rigdale: How He Sailed in the Mayflower and How He Served Miles Standish

by Beulah Marie Dix

Francis fled howling home, and Miles, with his shoulders well back, swung away to the corn-field. "I had to beat Francis," he assured himself, "but now I'll not fight nor run from labor any more, but bear me well, because I am to go live with the Captain soon."

But Miles's "soon" proved, after all, a long, and, in some ways, a cheerless time. There were many days still to spend in his guardian's house, where Mistress Hopkins scolded at his carelessness, where Master Hopkins bade him work when he had thought to win an hour's playtime, and where more than once, sorry to tell, Master Miles himself strayed wantonly into mischief and was sternly but justly punished therefor.

Nevertheless, now that he had a big, pleasant hope to live forward to, he found it easier to bear what was not to his liking in the present. After all, when he tried, it was not so difficult as he had thought to do Master Hopkins's bidding, Miles told himself, and never realized how much easier it was for him to perform his tasks, while Ned Lister, still sulky and subdued from his public punishment, was working fiercely and would not pause to idle with him.

Thus in little, dull labors and the large pleasure of looking forward, the muggy August days panted out their course and the September twilights shortened. A long, secure time of peace it was for the settlement, in which there fell but one incident,—an expedition which ten of the Plymouth men undertook far up the coast to the Bay of the Massachusetts, where they traded for skins and made a league with the Indians. Ned, who was one of the company,—because, Giles Hopkins told Miles, laughingly, he was held too much of a firebrand to be left behind,—came home with something of his old braggart manner, and told big stories that set young Rigdale wild with envy. Why could not he be a man at once, a full-sized man with a musket, and go with the Captain to trade or fight with the savages?

But presently there was manly work in which Miles shared, for with the rare October days came the time of harvesting, when, as in the weeks of planting, every man and boy in the colony must bear a part. It was good weather to work, though, with nothing of the sickly heat of the April days, but a bracing air nerved every muscle, and the sky was deep and clear.

Miles liked the stir and freshness of trudging to the fields, one of the whole company, in the awakening cool hours of the morning. His task at first was to follow after the reapers in the barley field and gather the heavy stalks of the bearded grain into sheaves. Then after the barley, as the days grew shorter, they harvested the corn, a toilsome labor, that soon became irksome to Miles, whose part was to sit all day under cover, amidst the stiff stalks and rustling leaves, and husk the ears till his arms ached and his fingers were sore. By and by, when the corn was dried, he foresaw he should have to help shell the kernels from all those ears, and he sighed a little, as he watched the pile rise high.

Yet at heart he knew that, like all the others in the settlement, he was glad for the great heap of yellow ears. It had been a fruitful harvest; the pease, to be sure, had withered in the blossom, but the increase of corn and barley was so great that there was no fear lest the colony go hungry that winter. Men's faces were soberly elate, and even Master Hopkins relaxed his customary sternness.

But Mistress Hopkins had a mighty grievance, for Governor Bradford, after the harvest all was garnered, set apart a week as a time of special rejoicing. "That means in a community of men, even of the most godly, a week of feasting," she lamented. "And who is it shall prepare the food but we ten poor women and maids of the colony?"

To Miles, however, a week of feasting sounded pleasant; he only wished he were Ned Lister, for the Governor sent him and three of the other men fowling to get provisions for the merrymaking. In a day the four killed near enough to last the company a week,—a great, feathery heap of woodcocks, pigeons, quails, and plump wild turkeys. Miles shared in the work of plucking the birds, and, for the rest, he fetched wood, armful by armful, for the great fires that blazed out-of-doors, and he ran dares with the other boys, who should go farthest in among the blazing brands, till Goodwife Billington bore down upon them, and, chancing to collar her own son, cuffed him mercilessly.

He tugged buckets of water, too, for the endless boilings and stewings, till his back ached, but he minded it little, for this was holiday time. The October air was crisp; there was plenty to eat,—meat, and bread of the fresh corn meal; and, all the time, the zest of strangeness was added to the jubilation by the coming of hordes of Indians to share the English cheer.