“You’re right, Pris, and I’m gone.”
But the bannocks were not to be eaten for another hour or so, during which time Master Lyford was closeted with his associate in the strong-room, and Alden kept ward without.
That evening the ex-minister sought the governor’s presence, and with many protestations of regret at the late unfortunate misunderstanding, as he phrased it, offered Oldhame’s submission and willingness to comply with the military requirements of the government, adding craftily,—
“If our worthy governor were also our captain there could never be any of these troubles.”
“That would be to burn down the house because the chimney smokes now and again,” replied Bradford good-humoredly. “It is largely due to Captain Standish’s courage and skill, not to mention his loyalty, his steadfastness, and his wisdom, that this colony is other than a handful of ashes and a field of graves. When you new-comers have learned to know him, you will value our captain as we do.”
The next morning Master Oldhame was released, and the next night stood his watch, nor, jealously as he watched and listened for them, was there a look or a tone from the captain or any of his adherents to remind the conquered rebel of his discomfiture, or the triumph of authority.
The next Sunday, or as it was universally called, the Lord’s Day, the plot laid in the strong-room of the Fort developed most unexpectedly.
When at ten o’clock Bartholomew Allerton, now promoted to the post of band-master to the colony’s army, beat the “assembly” in the Town Square as a summons to the church-goers to meet and form in their usual procession up the hill, he was confronted by Peter Oldhame, a lad somewhat younger than himself, who swung a cow bell almost in the drummer’s face, shouting,—
“To church! To church! Englishmen hearken to the English Church! To church! To church!”