CHAPTER XII
THE SOWING OF THE FIELDS
"TO be sure, though, I was not weeping," Miles declared to Constance, who came out from the house to see why he tarried so long at the woodpile, "for I never even thought on going back to England."
He little guessed that, at one time, the leaders of the colony had spoken seriously of returning Dolly and himself to the home-country. But Master Hopkins had urged that, in such case, the children might be drawn back into the faith of the Church of England, from which their father had sought to snatch them; and Elder Brewster had added that it was a weary journey for such little folk, and no prospect at the end save of hard fare among grudging kindred.
John Rigdale left no near relatives; and his distant cousins, to whom the children would have to go, were poor tenant-farmers, just as he had been, who would find it burdensome to feed two more mouths. For Miles and Dolly, not only would childhood prove hard and laborious, but there would be nothing better to look forward to; as the boy grew to manhood, he could hope only to toil for daily hire on some farmer's land. "Unless he fling away his soul's welfare by going as a mercenary in some iniquitous foreign war," said Master Isaac Allerton; whereat Captain Standish smiled a little behind his beard, but made no answer.
But here in New Plymouth, though Miles would have plenty of work to do, he would have, as his inheritance from his father, a claim to a share of land and of whatever cattle or other property the settlers should hereafter hold in common. By the time he was a man, there would be enough for him to have a small farm of his own, where he could live in more comfort than he would have known in England; and, till he was grown, Master Hopkins was willing to feed and shelter him, in return for what labor he could do.
As for Dolly, her case was simple enough, for if Miles stayed, she stayed; and Mistress Brewster was quite determined that the little girl should stay in no house but hers. So the Mayflower sailed away, and Miles Rigdale, with his little household, remained behind; and he never dreamed that people had thought of continuing the colony without his aid.
The boy had some cause to rate his services highly, for, in the weakened condition of the settlement, every atom of strength had to be used, and tasks were set for him as seriously as for burly Edward Dotey. The full working-force of New Plymouth mustered but twenty-two men,—counting in the venerable Elder, the Governor, and the Doctor, who all labored with their hands as readily as the rest,—and nine boys—some half-grown fellows, like Giles and Bart Allerton, who, at a pinch, could bear a musket and do almost a man's work, and some small rascals, like Miles himself, who, with the best intentions, did not always, for lack of strength or of wisdom, accomplish what was bidden them.
But, old or young, laggard or brisk, every male member of the colony was expected to turn out now and bear a hand, for the mid-April season approached, and the precious corn, that was to feed the settlement, must be planted. To the elders, it looked like a stretch of hard work, but Miles hailed it joyously, as a dignified, manly labor.
It began excitingly, with the coming of the alewives up the river, just as Squanto had foretold; and straightway some of the men set to taking them with seines, while others with hoes scored up the rough soil of the cleared fields to the north, that once had been the planting land of the Indians of Patuxet. Still others got out the corn, a precious supply of seed which they had found buried in an Indian basket under the sand of Cape Cod, and had made bold to take against this sowing time.
For the present, Miles's part was only to splash about at the river brink, where he fancied he was hauling at the seines, or to carry a bucket of water to the workers in the field, or bring a stouter hoe from the storehouse. Planting was no labor, just sport, he went to assure Dolly, at the end of the first twelve hours.