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

by Beulah Marie Dix

But that was the last happening of the week which Miles remembered with enjoyment, for the first excitement had now gone out of the labor, yet the work dragged heavily on. All through the weary day he felt the weight of the basket pulling at his arm and the heat of the steady sun scorching upon his bare head; and at night, when he lay on his pallet, with his feet throbbing and his back aching, he dreamed of tugging fish up the breathless pitch of a never-ending bluff.

A little respite came on the Sabbath, when, of course, no work could be done, but with Monday's light all were in the fields once more. It was a day of sweltering heat; the rays of the sun seemed beaten upward again by the steaming earth, and the languid air was heavy and sick. Toward the fiercest hour, about noon, as Miles was panting through the fields on a return trip to the brook, Master Carver called to him.

The Governor had knelt to set the corn at the head of one of the rows; his doublet was off and his hands were grimy, but, for all the heat, Miles saw that his high, bald forehead was quite dry of perspiration. "Here, lad," he said, as Miles ran to him, "can you fetch us a pail of water hither to drink?"

"Ay, Governor," Miles piped in a respectful treble, and, much impressed by the importance of his errand, trotted off briskly. At the spring he longed to dally a moment, to drink of the water and to stir up the great green frog who lived in the cool sand of the bottom, but, so soon as his bucket was filled, he resolutely turned back through the glaring heat to the fields.

Short as the time had been, a change had taken place. At first he thought it a mere trick of the dazzling light, but, as he looked again, he saw that indeed most of the men had risen from labor and, drawn together, were gazing in his direction. Nearer at hand, he beheld two coming toward the settlement; the one was John Howland, a member of the Governor's household, and the other, who leaned heavily upon his arm, was the Governor himself. They passed within arm's length of the boy, and Miles took note how the Governor's down-bent face was now of a dull reddish hue, and he noted, also, how the grime of his homely toil still clung to his limp hands.

Surprised and a little awed, though he scarcely could tell why, Miles tugged on into the fields, and, finding Goodman Cooke among those who stood gazing after the Governor, asked him eagerly what was wrong. "Why, naught," spoke Cooke, "only Master Carver complains of his head; 'tis along o' the heat, so the Doctor ordered him back to his house to rest. He'll be well again by eventide."

But with eventide the word went among the colonists that Governor Carver lay unconscious, and at those tidings faces grew grave. Miles, in his youthfulness, gave little thought to it all; he was more concerned with his own half-flayed hands and aching legs than with Master Carver's illness, and each day these physical pangs grew keener.

The height of misery came on a sultry afternoon toward the close of the week, a breathless, stifling time, when, for sheer weariness and hopelessness, Miles sat down in the hot dirt in the middle of the field and thought he never could rise again. Yet he scrambled up briskly, when he saw his guardian approach, though Master Hopkins, whose face was very grave, did not scold the boy, but, after a first sharp look, bade him go rest in the shade till the day was out. "The hot sun is deadly," he said, as to himself; but Miles realized only that he was bidden to cease from labor.