“Nay, I’m sorry,” retorted the knight. “Fortune of war, comrade,” returned the Puritan captain not unkindly, “and there’s no very sharp measure laid up for you, as I take it. Our governor bade me have a care for your comfort, and the Plymouth governor hath writ a long letter to Master Winthrop, all in your favor, as I know from what he was saying to Alden.” “‘Have no fear,’ says he, ‘it shall do him no harm;’ and t’other returns, ‘We did but our duty, and yet would be right loath to hurt the man.’ Now what make you of that, man?” “Read the governor’s letter and you’ll know more than I do,” replied Sir Christopher gloomily. “Read it! Nay, that’s not my business. But ’tis a hugeous letter.” And from the pocket of his doublet Underwood drew forth a little packet carefully sealed and superscribed,-- _To_ MASTER JOHN WINTHROP, _Honourable Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony these:_ As he turned the package over and over in his hands, the knight, who at first had glanced at it in moody indifference, roused to intense attention, and finally, while a streak of dusky red animated his sallow cheek, extended his hand, saying as carelessly as he could,-- “Let me look at the governor’s seal, captain. Has it an heraldic device?” “Nay, I know naught of such follies,” returned Underhill, holding out the packet; but even as his fingers touched those of the knight, trembling with impatience, a glance at his face, or perhaps only the soldier’s instinct of peril at hand, suddenly diverted his attention, and snatching back the dispatch, he began to replace it in his doublet, saying gruffly,-- “Marry, ’tis no business of mine or thine what these governors say to one another.” “Nay, but I’m sick--make way, man, make way”--and throwing himself across Underhill, as if to reach the side of the boat, Sir Christopher, what with his long arms flying all abroad, and what with the great cloak that swept across Underhill’s face and breast, came very near knocking the packet out of his hand and sweeping it overboard. “Have a care, man! Have a care!” cried the captain angrily. “Though you’re squalmish all of a sudden, you needn’t fling yourself nor me overboard.” And thrusting the inclosure containing Sir Christopher’s notebook and the kind and gentle letter accompanying it deep into his pocket, the future slayer of “Pequods” recovered his equilibrium and made room for Sir Christopher, who, leaning his head upon the gunwale of the boat, effectually hid his face from view, and made no reply to further efforts at conversation. A week or so later another Boston boat came down to Plymouth, and brought John Alden’s cloak and a letter to Bradford from Governor Winthrop. It tells its own story in its own quaint phraseology:--