Miles Standish, the Puritan Captain

by John S. C. Abbott

Quite forgetting himself, John launched forth eloquently in the praise of his military friend,

“Spoke of his courage and skill, and all his battles in Flanders,
How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction,
How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of Plymouth.
He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly
Back to Hugh Standish, of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, England,
Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de Standish;
Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded,
Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent
Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon.
He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature;
Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew how, during the winter,
He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman’s.
Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong,
Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty and placable always;
Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature,
For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous;
Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England,
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish.”

As Priscilla listened to this glowing and eloquent eulogy, it only increased her admiration for the young and beautiful John Alden. She had long loved him. Maidenly instinct taught her that she also was beloved by him. Though this love had never been communicated to her in words, it had again and again been expressed in loud-speaking glances of the eye and in actions. With tremulous voice she ventured to reply, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?”

The tone, the look which accompanied the words, revealed at once, to the bashful youth, the love of Priscilla. A tempest of conflicting emotions rushed into his soul. How could the magnanimous youth plead his own cause, and thus apparently betray his friend. Perplexed, bewildered, he burst from the house, like an insane man; hurried to the sea shore, wandered along the sands, where the surf was breaking with loud roar; bared his head to the ocean breeze, and endeavored in vain to cool the fever, which seemed to burn in both body and soul. His tender conscience condemned him as being unfaithful to his friend.

He could not, without a sense of guilt, supplant his friend; and he could not live in Plymouth and refuse the hand of Priscilla, so delicately and yet so decidedly proffered. Heroically he resolved to return to England.

There was a vessel in the harbor which was to sail on the morrow. The poet speaks of it as the returning Mayflower. Chronology will hardly permit us to accept that representation. Rose Standish died on the 8th of February, N. S. The Mayflower sailed, on her return voyage, the 5th of April, but two months after the death of the wife Captain Standish so tenderly loved. As the frenzied youth gazed upon the vessel riding at anchor, and rising and falling upon the ocean swell, he exclaimed:

“Back will I go o’er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon,
Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended.
Better to be in my grave, in the green old churchyard in England,
Close by my mother’s side, and among the dust of my kindred;
Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor
Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber
With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers
Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness,
Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter.”

Thus resolving he hurried, in the gathering twilight, through the glooms of the forest to the “seven houses” of Plymouth. He entered the door of his home and found the Captain anxiously awaiting his return. He had been gone long and was rather severely reproached for his tardiness. He then gave a minute account of the interview. But when he came to her declaration, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” the Captain rose from his seat in a towering passion. As he was vehemently uttering his reproaches a messenger came, with the information that hostile Indians were approaching. Instantly the bold warrior forgot Priscilla, and all his displeasure at John Alden, in contemplation of his immense responsibilities as military protector of the colony. Hastily he girded on his armor and left the house. He found the leading men already assembled in the council room. Upon the table lay the skin of the rattlesnake, to which we have before alluded, filled with arrows, with the Indian who brought it, by its side. Captain Standish at once understood the significance of the mysterious gift. He said,

“‘Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth.
War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous
Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge.’
Then, from the rattlesnake’s skin, with a sudden contemptuous gesture,
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets,
Full to the very jaws and handed it back to the savage,
Saying in thundering tones, ‘Here, take it! this is your answer.’
Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage,
Bearing the serpent’s skin, and seeming himself like a serpent,
Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest.”

Early the next morning Captain Standish took eight men, well armed, and marched, under the guidance of Hobomak, to the point where he supposed the hostile Indians were gathering. The vessel was about to sail. The signal gun was fired. All the inhabitants of the little village flocked to the beach. The ship’s boat was at Plymouth rock, waiting to convey the captain of the vessel, who was on shore, to the ship. He was bidding his friends adieu and cramming the capacious pockets of his storm coat with letters and packages. John Alden, with others, was seen hurrying down to the sea shore. The captain stood with one foot on the rock and the other on the gunwale of the boat, speaking his last words and just ready to push off. Alden, in his despair, was about to enter the boat, without any words of adieu to his friends, thinking in absence and distance to find relief to his tortured feelings, when he saw Priscilla looking sadly upon him.