Removal to Duxbury.—Intercourse with the Dutch.—Trading Posts on the Connecticut.—Legend of the courtship of Miles Standish.—Personal Appearance of the Captain.—Proposition to John Alden.—His Anguish and Fidelity.—Interview with Priscilla.—The Indian Alarm.—Departure of Captain Standish.—Report of his Death.—The Wedding.

Notwithstanding the removal of Captain Standish across the bay, to his beautiful and fertile farm there, he still took a very lively interest in everything relating to the welfare of the colony, and of the little village which he had been so instrumental in founding. Mr. Bradford had for twelve successive years been chosen Governor. He was anxious to be released from the cares of office. In the annual election of 1633, he importuned for release so earnestly that the people yielded to his request, and chose Edward Winslow as his successor. At the same time seven assistants were chosen, of whom Captain Miles Standish was the first.

The Dutch, from the mouth of the Hudson, had explored the Connecticut river. The natives were anxious to have a trading post established on that282 beautiful stream, which was lined with Indian tribes. They sent a delegation to Plymouth with this request. The Pilgrims were not prepared to commence a settlement there, but they sent a small vessel up the river, and had great success in their traffic. The Indians then applied to the Governor of the Massachusetts colony. But he was not inclined to embark in an enterprise so difficult, where the post could only be reached by a long and perilous voyage around Cape Cod, or by a journey of many days through a pathless forest.

Some however of the private members of both of these colonies foreseeing the danger that the Dutch might anticipate them there, held a conference at Boston with some of the prominent men of Plymouth, and tried to form a partnership to engage in the undertaking. They were however discouraged by the representations which were made to them. It was urged that the Indians were very numerous, that they could bring many thousand warriors into the field, that many of them were hostile, that the river was difficult of access in consequence of a bar, and that during seven months in the year it was closed by ice. Thus influenced, they abandoned the enterprise.

In the mean time, the Earl of Warwick had obtained a patent of all the land, extending west, one hundred and twenty miles from Narraganset Bay, to283 the Dutch settlements at the mouth of the Hudson. This included the whole of the present State of Connecticut. The Dutch heard of this, and prepared to anticipate the English, by making an immediate settlement on the Connecticut River. This roused Governor Winslow and ex-Governor Bradford, and they determined immediately to commence a settlement in that region. At the same time, they sent a courteous message to Governor Winthrop, expressing the hope that their brethren of Massachusetts would not be displeased with their adventure, since the Massachusetts colony had declined embarking in the enterprise.

In the mean time, the Dutch had dispatched an expedition, accompanied by quite an armed force, which ascended the river and, disembarking where Hartford now stands, erected a fort and commenced a settlement. Two pieces of ordnance were placed in position to sweep the river; and they loudly proclaimed that they should not allow any of the English to pass by.

The Plymouth colonists took a small vessel, which could easily cross the bar at the mouth of the river, and placed on board of it the frame of a house, with all the materials for putting it together. The expedition was commanded by Lieutenant Holmes. When they arrived opposite Hartford, the Dutch, standing284 by their guns with lighted matches, ordered them to stop, threatening to shoot if they did not immediately comply with the demand. But Holmes pushed boldly by, and the Dutch commander did not venture to proceed to those measures of violence, which would surely have brought down upon the Dutch colonies the vengeance of the British navy.

Lieutenant Holmes proceeded a short distance farther up the river, to a place called Nattawanute, now Windsor, where, near the mouth of a little stream, he put up his house, which was both fort and dwelling, surrounded it with palisades, and, unfurling the British flag, was ready to bid defiance to all foes, whether Dutch or Indians.

The Dutch commander at Hartford sent word to the authorities at the mouth of the Hudson of what had been done. Governor Van Twiller dispatched an armed band of seventy men, with orders to tear down the house at Windsor and drive away the occupants. He supposed that this could easily be done without any bloodshed, and thus without necessarily introducing war. But the intrepid Holmes was ready for battle against any odds. The leader of the Dutch party saw that a fierce conflict must take place, and one uncertain in its results. He therefore came to a parley and finally retired. An immense quantity of furs, beaver and otter skins, was this year sent to285 England, which enabled the company to meet all its obligations.

It would be hardly warrantable, in a Life of Captain Miles Standish, to omit reference to a remarkable legend with which his name has ever been associated, though some have expressed the opinion that it was not very clearly verified by authentic documents. A literary gentleman who has investigated the subject more thoroughly probably than any other person, writes in reference to these doubts: “The anecdote is in all the histories. Why should it not be true? I am inclined to think it is; and am willing to back it against most historic facts that are two hundred years old.” The story, as it has drifted down to our times, is in brief as follows. We give it as presented by Mr. Longfellow, in his exquisite poem entitled “The Courtship of Miles Standish.” It is very evident that Mr. Longfellow had minutely studied our early colonial history, as the reader will perceive that he is very accurate in his historical allusions. The poem opens with a description of Captain Standish, in his lonely and humble log hut. His beautiful wife, Rose, was one of the first who had died, and the place of her burial, like that of others, was carefully concealed, that the Indians might not perceive how the colony had become weakened:

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“In the old colonial days, in Plymouth, the land of the Pilgrims, To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, Clad in doublet and hose and boots of Cordovan leather, Strode with a martial air Miles Standish, the Puritan Captain. Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, While underneath in a corner were fowling piece, musket and matchlock. Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, Broad in the shoulders, deep chested, with muscles and sinews of iron, Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.”

A very handsome young man, by the name of John Alden, shared with Captain Standish the comforts and discomforts of the widower’s home. He had fair hair, azure eyes and a Saxon complexion, and was sufficiently unlike the Captain for them to be very warm friends. There could be no rivalry between the gentle young man of books and romance, and the stern veteran of facts and the sword. John Alden was deeply in love with Priscilla, the most beautiful maiden in Plymouth. Death had robbed her of both father and mother, and she was equally in love with John. But the bashful student had not yet summoned courage to declare his love. But it so happened that Captain Standish, without any knowledge of his friend’s state of mind, had also turned his eyes to Priscilla, as the successor of Rose. Conscious of his own imperfections as a lady’s man, and fearful that he287 could not woo the beautiful maiden in fitting phrase, he applied to his scholarly friend to speak in his behalf. In the following melodious strains the poet gives utterance to the Captain’s speech:
“’Tis not good for 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, 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, now to the bed of the dying, 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, Being a coward in this, but 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. 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.”

Poor John Alden, the fair-haired, timid youth, was aghast, overwhelmed with anguish. He tried to smile, but the nerves of his face twitched with painful convulsions. He endeavored to excuse himself, but his impetuous friend, whose commanding mind overawed him, would listen to no excuse. To all John’s remonstrances he replied:

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“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. I am 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.”

John Alden, anguish-stricken as he was, could not refuse. The strong mind dominated over the weaker one. Agitated, almost convulsed with contending emotions, he entered the paths of the forest, crossed the brook which ran south of the village, and gathering a handful of wild flowers, almost in delirium, approached the lonely dwelling of Priscilla. As he drew near, he heard her sweet voice singing a hymn as she walked to and fro beside the spinning-wheel. Priscilla met him on the threshold, with a cordial greeting, hoping that he had come to declare his love. He was greatly embarrassed, and after a long parley, very awkwardly blurted out the words, that he had come with an offer of marriage from Captain Miles Standish. Priscilla was amazed, grieved, wounded. With eyes dilated with sadness and wonder, she looked into John’s face and said, after a few moments of ominous silence:
“If the great Captain of Plymouth is so eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning.”

John, exceedingly embarrassed, said, in unfortutunate289 phrase, that the captain was very busy, and had no time for such things. The offended maiden replied:
“Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married; Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding?”

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 beloved290 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 died291 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:<............