| |
| NOTHING was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, | |
| Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, | |
| Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Cæsar. | |
| After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards, | |
| Heavily on the page: “A wonderful man was this Cæsar! | 5 |
| You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow | |
| Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful!” | |
| Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful: | |
| “Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. | |
| Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate | 10 |
| Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs.” | |
| “Truly,” continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, | |
| “Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Cæsar! | |
| Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, | |
| Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. | 15 |
| Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after; | |
| Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered; | |
| He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded; | |
| Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus! | |
| Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders, | 20 |
| When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too, | |
| And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together | |
| There was no room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier, | |
| Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains, | |
| Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns; | 25 |
| Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons; | |
| So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. | |
| That ’s what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well done, | |
| You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!” | |
| |
| All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. | 30 |
| Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling | |
| Writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower, | |
| Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla; | |
| Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, | |
| Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, | 35 |
| Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla! | |
| Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover, | |
| Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket, | |
| Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth: | |
| “When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you. | 40 |
| Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient!” | |
| Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, | |
| Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention: | |
| “Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen, | |
| Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish.” | 45 |
| Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases: | |
| “’T is not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. | |
| This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it; | |
| Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it. | |
| Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary; | 50 |
| Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship; | |
| Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. | |
| She is alone in the world; her father and mother and brother | |
| Died in the winter together; I saw her going and coming, | |
| Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying, | 55 |
| Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever | |
| There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, | |
| Two have I seen and known; and the angel whose name is Priscilla | |
| Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. | |
| Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, | 60 |
| Being a coward in this though valiant enough for the most part. | |
| Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, | |
| Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, | |
| Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. | |
| Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning; | 65 |
| I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. | |
| You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language, | |
| Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, | |
| Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden.” | |
| |
| When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling, | 70 |
| All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, | |
| Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness, | |
| Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom, | |
| Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, | |
| Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered: | 75 |
| “Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it; | |
| If you would have it well done,—I am only repeating your maxim,— | |
| You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!” | |
| But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose, | |
| Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth: | 80 |
| “Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it; | |
| But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. | |
| Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. | |
| I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, | |
| But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. | 85 |
| I ’m not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, | |
| But of a thundering ‘No!’ point-blank from the mouth of a woman, | |
| That I confess I ’m afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it! | |
| So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, | |
| Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases.” | 90 |
| Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful, | |
| Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added: | |
| “Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me; | |
| Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship!” | |
| Then made answer John Alden: “The name of friendship is sacred; | 95 |
| What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you!” | |
| So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler, | |
| Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. | |
| |
