“You shall be both heard and answered anon, friend,” replied Bradford patiently. “First, however, we will ask the Elder to lead us in prayer for guidance and for wisdom.”
Fervently and strongly did the Elder respond to this summons, nor did he at all forget the whispered petition Bradford had made in the moment of his weakness; and once again the prayer of faith became effectual, even in the moment of its utterance, so that when William Bradford said Amen it was in more calmness, more conscious strength, and more security of divine guidance, than he had been able to feel for days.
Standing before his people in all the simple dignity of his character and his position, he addressed them as friends, as associates, as freemen, taking for granted that each was as eager as himself to retain in all its completeness the great treasure of freedom and of self-government they had attained. “For,” said he, turning his eyes for a moment upon the traitors, and then reverting to his friends, “both ye and all the world know we came hither to enjoy the liberty of our conscience and the free use of God’s ordinances, and for that end have ventured our lives, and passed through much hardship hitherto; and we and our friends have borne the charge of these beginnings, which has not been small”—
“Spare us the preamble, I beseech you, Master Governor, and come to the root of the matter. Who has disturbed this somewhat sour-faced liberty and peace ye came here to seek?”
The insolence of the tone as well as of the words stirred even Bradford’s chastened temper, and turning upon the traitor he angrily exclaimed,—
“Who?—who but you, John Oldhame, you and your followers! As Nathan said to David, so say I now to you, Thou art the man!”
The stinging contempt of the tone pierced like an arrow, and fairly stammering with rage the rebel sprang to his feet and made for the governor, but Standish quietly interposed with voice and presence,—
“Best be seated, Master Oldhame! The matter has not yet come to a passage at arms. Sit down man, sit down!”
“Yes, Master Oldhame,” added the governor, resuming his usual self-restraint and manner of voice, “this is matter for sober discussion and not for heated wrangling.” Then turning to the people he continued calmly:
“It is well known not only to these but to you all, that when the Charity arrived here some weeks gone by she brought letters from the gentlemen Adventurers, upon whom we depend for aid and comfort, demanding account of certain ill stories that had traveled home by the Anne, partly on the tongues of those who, daunted by the hardness of the life here, went back as soon as they might, and partly in letters writ by those Laodiceans who remained with us but are not of us. These tales were for the most part idle, such as that we have no grass for cattle; no wholesome water; that salt will not cure fish here; that neither fish nor wild fowl are to be found, and alas, alas! that moskeetos are to be found both in our fields and housen, which, indeed, is a plaint we may not deny.