THE FIRST STREET.THE FIRST STREET.
THE FIRST STREET.
The first street of Plymouth, the first street of New England, was in the making. From the decks of theMayflowerthe women looked longingly toward the land, whither the men went daily, hearing the sounds of hammering and sawing which came across the harbor, for as yet none of them had been permitted to go ashore in these new surroundings. The hill which arose at the water’s edge, behind the rock, was snow-crowned; around and beside it a path had been cut and worn by the men as they went to the work of making houses for their families.
By the maps and charts of the company, it was found that this situation, which they had all approved for their permanent residence, was the place visited and named by an earlier explorer of whom they had heard, and some had seen, Captain John Smith. The appellation he gave to it suited them well—Plymouth; if they had had the selection of a name as well as the site for their New World home, it could not have been better chosen, in view of the fact that Plymouth was the last place their feet had trod and their eyes seen in their Old World home, and the inhabitants of that town had been kind to them.
Nevertheless it was of Leyden that they thought when building. The larger hill at the end of thestreet, which they at first saw in the mind’s eye, even as we do now, reminded them of the eminence crowned by the fort at Leyden, and upon it they would build their fort and it would be a constant reminder of the Burg.
But first must be built the store-house to hold all their belongings moved from the ship, and then the few houses necessary to shelter themselves. Of these plans they talked at night when the men returned to the ship or on the days when the weather was so inclement that no trip could be made ashore; these delays were a constant strain upon the nerves of all, as the need for haste was so evident, with winter’s storms increasing and the impatience of the crew growing therewith, to say nothing of the failing health and strength of so many of themselves.
The fortitude and patience of the women who had braved all the dangers, shared all the trials, and now, in spite of courage and cheerfulness seemed fading before their eyes was enough to urge every man to use his own last reserves of energy and strength to provide better conditions for them. They well realized the important asset to their venture, of the women. Without them not even the magnetism and charm of Brewster, the indomitableness and courage of Myles Standish, the business ability of Allerton, the experience of Hopkins, the worldly wisdom of Winslow, the youth and strength of John Howland and John Alden or the zeal and fervor of Bradford and Carver could have assured the stability and success of this colony. Previous settlementsin this region and others further south bore witness to a lack of something making for continued interest and permanence on the part of the men, who were not wanting in necessary personal qualities. The abandonment of such ventures in Maine and Virginia, where no women had accompanied the men, is proof that a common larder and fireside are not the things for which men struggle against hardship, disaster and death. But the street of Plymouth, albeit made in the face of every trial of circumstance, was made by men for the women they loved, and Plymouth has never been abandoned nor its street untrod by the families and descendants of these men and women.
The weeks of January drag by, spent by the men ashore, many not returning to the ship at night when the roof of the store-house was finished, both to save the time of the trip back and forth and to guard their belongings already there; so lights gleamed at night from Plymouth, seen by the weary watchers on the ship and the ship lights shone in the sight of the builders, signals to one another yet seeming to make the gloom of their situation more visible.
The violent storm which ushered in the month caused theMayflowerto madly roll and tug at three anchors necessary to hold her; in the midst of this discomfort, the third birth occurred on the ship, but the son of Isaac and Mary Allerton never knew the world to which he came. One of the young men,Richard Britteridge, also died about this time, and so the burials began on the snow-covered hill.
The women had more to do, however, than look towards the shore and long to land, for the life on the ship was not an idle one for any of them while health and strength lasted. As, one by one, illness attacked them, those remaining well had many added cares. Assisting Doctor Fuller, attending to the wants of the families of those mothers who were ill, preparing the food for the sick and for the men who went daily ashore to work, keeping the children safe and amused, and, above all, keeping their own faith and hope alive went on as unendingly as the swell of the sea beneath them.
By the end of the month, the house built to store their belongings and to shelter some of them while the others were being erected, was finished and was also a hospital in its capacity of general or common house, for numbers of the workers had to occupy the beds as fast as they could be brought from the ship, their brave fight against the odds overwhelming many. The women had an hour of frightful suspense when, suddenly, before the eyes of some looking towards the land, flames leapt out and shouts were heard. They were sure the dreaded event had happened—that the Indians had attacked and vanquished all ashore. But the later knowledge that no Indians had appeared and no one was hurt, reconciled them to the loss of the roof of the common house from too great a fire in the chimney; it had to be relaid—and then the joyful decision was madethat all who were able should come from the ship on the next Sunday for a service in the common house, which was to serve also as church and barracks for a time.
The little ship of the Pilgrims, called only “the shallop,” and already proven staunch and true to their needs, leaves the side of theMayfloweron this wintry Sunday, with the women as passengers for the first time, and sails over the mile or so of water towards the landing. Some are using their greatest efforts; some are too weak to come at all, and even those still well are vastly different in looks and manner from their appearance at leaving old Plymouth or even on that first Monday of enthusiasm at Cape Cod. But all feel that a new era is dawning and again the need calls out the latent spirit of sacrifice inherent in every woman, on this occasion once more requiring the putting aside of personal feelings of sorrow or illness for the common good. From the day when these women gave up their early associations and left their English homes to live in a strange country among people with different customs and language, striving to preserve their own during the twelve years of their sojourn, through the time of their embarking at Delfshaven and later sailing from Plymouth, when they saw cherished possessions and loved members of their families left behind, during the famous voyage with its heart-rending conditions for them of wet, cold, poor food, overcrowding, storms, anxiety, to the day theylanded, worn and exhausted with no homes to go to, new hardships and dangers awaiting them, self-sacrifice was in a continually ascending scale and, for many, could go no further.
Some of the men are standing on the rock, watching the progress of the boat, some are grouped at the Common House on guard, as ever, against a surprise from the unknown Indians. The governor, the elder, several of the other men whose wives are in the boat, two or three of the younger men we may see in the grave group at the landing, but the light of expectancy and contentment for this one hour at least, glows in their faces. With costumes so similar it is hard to distinguish where each woman is placed in the shallop and to single out a special one for whom a man may be looking. At the bow two or three are grouped, waving to their welcomers, their alertness seeming to be an urge to the little craft. The eager children are held from crowding forward as they near the shore. An instant of excitement, the sailors making ready to fasten the boat, it touches, is beside the rock; the woman who stood foremost at the bow on the way over, has poised herself a second and sprung from the boat, catching at the outstretched hands of the nearest man, to steady her foothold on the slippery stone; the keen wind and spray have dashed color in her cheeks, the brilliancy of sun on snow is reflected in her eyes—a flashing triumph at being the first—it is Mary Chilton. Someone has said that Plymouth Rock began with her its fame, but for her and for theother women, quickly following her to clasp the hands of the men,—as it had been for those men—it became for them the threshold into Plymouth Colony. Some of the women of theMayflowerhave not gotten so far, and some of these scarce pass the threshold.
The service is held, as planned; once more they listen to the uplifting and strengthening words of their Elder. Afterwards some return to theMayflower, but others remain with their husbands on shore.
The work on the other houses goes forward as rapidly as possible. All were built of squared logs, the crevices filled with clay, the roofs a thatch of the swamp grass, resembling their English cottages in this. The few windows have only oiled paper to resist the winter’s storms. Each house is set on a plot of ground of its own on either side of the street—the location for each family being decided by lot. Yet building by men cramped with rheumatism and sciatica, or falling down from weakness as a prelude to illness and death is not a rapid business, and, for all that they planned at first to live as compactly as possible, without being crowded, the unattached young men to be part of the families—as they had been in Leyden—it soon became evident that many houses would not be needed.
In less than a week after the first visit of the women ashore, not all the prowess of Myles Standish, hero of war in Flanders, not all his own unending strength and endurance, could defend his Rose fromthe blight of illness nor shield his heart from the sharp stab of sorrow. She had dreamed of the new home in a land of fair skies, sunshine and flowers, not this region of snows; she knew how thin and white she was growing, but she knew that her husband had not ventured on any vain purpose, and willed to be brave for his sake. Her high resolves were not long tested however, ere she gained the reward of her faith.
Others soon followed her, and, having but crossed the threshold, Ann Tilly, Mrs. Martin, little Ellen More and Mary Chilton’s mother were gone from the colony; another month and Mary Allerton, John Tilly’s wife, Sarah Eaton and the sister-in-law of Doctor Fuller (Mrs. Edward Fuller), were numbered with them. Meanwhile, Susanna White had become a widow, and Elizabeth Tilly an orphan, with Mary Chilton, and soon Priscilla Mullins was added to these girls’ forlorn state. Alice Rigdale and her husband; Thomas Tinker, his wife and child, needed not houses nor land in Plymouth. Two of the More boys and a number of the young men fell victims in the great mortality, and Sarah Priest, in Leyden, was a widow, though nearly a year passed before she knew it. A little later and Elizabeth Winslow slipped from the gentle hand clasp of Katherine Carver, to join her other dear friend, Rose Standish.
Thus twelve wives were swept away by this fatal epidemic, some from theMayflower, some from the land. Even the comfort of graves bearing theirnames which should tell those who loved them, and others, that they had been with them, was denied them. But their monument is the hill by the seashore, on which their graves were made, and their remembrance shall last as long as mayflowers blossom.
From the time of the first anchoring of the ship (at Cape Cod) of the total of the twenty-five women and young girls, thirteen were released from their labors. It is indeed remarkable that even twelve should have survived. Into the hearts of those recovering from their own illness, the spirit of desolation must have entered for a time, as they struggled to their feet again, to grieve for those who were laid to rest under the snow and to take up the burdens of life once more. Many of the men had gone, too, but few of the children.
For the five elder women, life, even under the circumstances, still was worth while. The governor’s wife had the loving care and interest of all but two of her household’s original numbers; her husband, her young ward, her maid and John Howland; two of the other young men, as well as the little boy she cared for on the voyage, Jasper More, had gone. But deepest grief was not, as yet, her portion. Mary Brewster, too, was strengthened by the sight of her husband untouched by illness and apparently not weakened by the terrific work and strain he had been under, and her own two boys, soon helping as ably as before, and even Richard More, the sole survivor of his family, was already one of her’s. For ElizabethHopkins and Eleanor Billington not one of their own particular groups were gone. But Susanna White had left only her own two children, her nephew and her brother—and he, of course, seemed to belong to each one as much as to her.
Humility Cooper and Elizabeth Tilly, Priscilla Mullins and Mary Chilton were indeed the most truly alone, each one being the sole representative of her family.
On the five women the care and responsibility fell heaviest, though the girls and even the children had their share in the general division of labor. Each served while there was nursing to be done. Cooking was not only a duty but a serious problem in finding the wherewithal to tempt failing appetites or keep up the strength of the men and children. Who can doubt that these women often went hungry that others might have more? Scarce wonderful that Mary Brewster and Katherine Carver never regained their full health again. The former took to her home and mother love the homeless and motherless girls, sadly missing her own daughters, so far away.
Gradually came a lessening of the strain of apprehension of unknown evils; the problem of the Indians had been solved on the day that they heard the word “welcome” from a strange voice, and, from then on, mutual fear diminished between their immediate neighbors in the forest and themselves, and visits from these strange people became frequent and helpful as well.
The day of the making of another covenant wasone marked by color and animation in the doleful monotony of those early months, for the women with strength enough for interest. Their governor, with all the formalities of his office, met and entertained the sovereign of the savages, and the lively music of the drum and trumpet, the firm footsteps of the military guard quickened their spirits and brought a sense of assurance. The green rug, on which royalty sat, in one of the unfinished houses, must always have brought back, to the woman who owned it, that scene and its results—the lasting treaty of mutual friendship and benefit. That other rug of modern times, on which the Liberty Bell rested at the Panama-Pacific Exposition, in 1915, afterwards used at celebrations connected with the great generals of the World War, is interesting but not more important in the historical part it has played than the rug which we now see in fancy.
Also their defense from their fort was accomplished, the cannon being landed and dragged up the greater hill, to the summit, and a strong building erected there. Military preparedness began as soon as the men were able to drill, under command of Myles Standish, their chosen Captain.
Gradually, also, Spring came, the children found arbutus and other early flowers, and were happy, though their search might not take them far from sound of the home voices, as the fearsome sound of the wolves was a constant warning. Remember and Mary Allerton and Damaris Hopkins played on the beach with Constance, Elizabeth and Humility, andgathered the bright shells in the warm sunshine till the pink of the shells and arbutus was reflected in their checks. The sailors, now that the connection between them and their erstwhile passengers was soon to end and their roughness softened by the common ills of the winter, were glad to tell tales to amuse the children, when lingering ashore.
And, so, with the April mildness on land and sea, came the last night when the lights of theMayflowershone to them out of the darkness. On the morning of its departure, how visible the scene is to us. The women watch from places of vantage, in groups or singly, in company with some men or with the children clinging to them, from the hill beside the street, their wistful eyes following the battered sails out of the harbor, while the guns from the Fort ring out in parting salute the farewell to their ever-ready shelter, to the only connecting link between them and the rest of their race. Each one has been asked a question all have had plenty of time to consider well, if it were needed to repeat, “shall we, shall I go back?” Away with theMayflowerto a once familiar life from unfamiliar trials, from haunting memories to friends or relatives left on the other side of the sea? Each woman for herself has answered “No.” The venture made in faith by those loved and gone from their sight, should not have been made in vain; the standard formed of high hope and courage should not go down while they were able in the light of that faith and remembrance to carry it forward.
Now only as a mirage can their ship be seen on the far horizon.
Susanna White, clasping her baby closer, stands near the place on the hill where the body of William, her husband, had been laid; not far away near the grave of Elizabeth, his wife, is Edward Winslow. Their eyes, though seeing each other, are viewing things far away. (Could a breath from the lindens of Leyden be wafted to them?) In that moment arose a consciousness of an unfelt emotion—hitherto drowned by selfishness in sorrow—pity.
Mutual shock and endurance was to continue for them all on this same day. To shake from them any idle reflections, the men worked steadily and vigorously for the remaining hours, on the new fields and planting of seeds, the elder, the doctor, the governor, each exerting every energy, as well as the other men and boys. The day proved unusually hot and the governor seemed to feel it greatly. Reaching his home, he lay down to rest, but while his family waited upon him in deep concern, he lost consciousness. Thus not only was the harbor dark that night, but a cloud hung over Plymouth and common anxiety on their governor’s account caused the departure of theMayflowerto be almost forgotten. But the governor was worn out, not with that day’s labor but by his labors, as has been said, “in three countries and on the sea, as counselor, agent, nurse, farmer, magistrate and man of God,” and, in spite of their efforts and distress, consciousness did notreturn ere he passed from them. In the pathetic description, by his successor, “he was buried in the best manner they could, with some vollies of shot by all that bore arms,” and his grave left smooth and unmarked, as the others on the hill, that it might not appear to any enemy that their numbers were lessened. Though the office of governor was filled, the first lady of the colony had no successor, since the widower, William Bradford, was chosen. Her anguish of grief was so intense, and her frailness grew so perceptably, that it became evident her stay with them was but transitory.
And again, as in Leyden, the doctor’s sister kept the home for him; but there were more members in the family than in those by-gone days, for Susanna had three little lads to care for now, and the doctor three small nephews to play with. Let us follow the bright rays of the sunset into their cottage on a May evening. Supper is over, and now is little Peregrine’s bedtime. His mother is gently rocking the cradle, as she mends his brother’s stockings, glancing now and then at the smiling but sleepy baby and urging him in softest baby language to accompany the “sandman” without further delay; but Peregrine’s ambition seems to be to stay awake on this bright particular evening and he coos and laughs in response to his mother’s admonitions. His brother and cousin are romping just outside the front door and Resolved runs in to get the cane that had been his father’s, to play horse with. Susannasits on a bench beneath the little square window, which swings open with its paper pane, and the breeze which enters plays with the soft, curly tendrils of her hair; beside her on the bench stands the little chest of drawers which has ever held her sewing articles and trinkets since William White gave it to her when they were married. A shadow falls across the light and men’s voices come to her as her brother passes with a friend, returning from a stroll to enjoy a smoke by the cottage door. Twilight is fast failing now; the baby is at last asleep; Susanna softly puts away her sewing and goes into the living-room, adjoining, to light a candle at the fire-place; she then stands in the doorway to call in Resolved and Samuel, as she does each evening; she sees her brother and his friend on the doorstep bench, also quite a regular occurrence about this hour, and Edward Winslow rises in his courtly manner to receive her smile of greeting. In the few weeks since the sailing of theMayflower, her pity and sympathy have unconsciously awakened an interest which is now slowly dawning in some wonderment upon her, while for Winslow he had already questioned himself if she would be willing to let him take William White’s place, and if, on the other hand, she could fill the vacancy left at his hearth-stone by Elizabeth? He thought he knew the answer to the second question, but for the first sought her reply. That Edward Winslow, talented, aristocratic, of good family and of some wealth, should admire her, pictures Susanna for us almost as plainly as hispainted portrait represents him. We have not the slight details of her features, but in fancying her with the light brown hair, blue eyes and pink and white skin of a young English mother in her twenties, we cannot be far wrong; and for character, the reflections of her life and times show us that which certified the regard of all who knew her and gives her to ours. Her good sense ever caused her acceptance of facts and prompt adjustment of her life to the conditions imposed upon it by circumstances. By her intelligence and resourcefulness she was saved from the dissipation of despondency, devoting her physical and mental energies to making the best of the situation in which she found herself. With courage she contemplated the present and took thought of and measured the possibilities of the future. Her cheerfulness and adaptibility to the inevitable in meeting her serious problems won her a victory over them and greatly increased her own pleasure in living and unquestionably added to the pleasure of others. She had had advantages of comfortable circumstances always—more than some and as much as few of the pilgrim women had; her brother, her husband, were men of education and breeding, such also the men of the families of her nearest friends.
Edward Winslow, doing always the unexpected, but always pleasing himself, soon found the opportunity of settling the question in his thoughts. Shortly thereafter Mary Brewster again played confident to a neighbor. When the bans were publishedat the next Sunday service, announcing such an item of interest in the lonely, quiet existence of the community, any surprise was soon dissolved for most, by their regard for the principals. Before May was over, the simple ceremony took place, performed by the governor, as magistrate, as he himself has recorded, “after the fashion of the Low Countries,” and the first bride of the colony appears before us. Anna Fuller whom we first knew in Leyden, there becoming Susanna White, now changes, as far as name goes, into the second Mistress Winslow of Plymouth and before her stretch long years of prosperity. And contentment and happiness? Yes, such as a woman like her will always seek and find.
Natural curiosity ever alert at a time of a wedding is sadly checked for us, by dearth of description or detail of this one, so full of an unusual interest. The old friend Mary Brewster, was surely witness for the bride, and her brother, the doctor; while the elder, as properly, was witness for the groom, and Isaac Allerton, doubtless, as assistant. But what repast Mary Chilton, Priscilla Mullins and Elizabeth Tilly, reinforced by the culinary skill of Mistress Hopkins, prepared for the newly married couple, or who were of the wedding guests who partook, or whether at her house or his, we have no record. We know simplicity was the keynote, as complying both with the Pilgrim opinion and the necessity caused by conditions. It was an important day for the bride and for the young girls, who were gladly stirred by the event into a remembrance ofromance and a brighter side of life, forgotten for many a day. It even aroused Katherine Carver from her lethargy of grief into a wondering attention when Elizabeth Tilly gave to Desire Minter all the details in her possession, which we gladly would glean also, if we could. However, the date appears upon the page of Plymouth history like an illuminated initial letter, for it marks the beginning of a more normal life. The dark days since their arrival which seemed emphasized only by sickness and death and hunger and cold, had passed.
The summer thus ushered in, brought its herbs for salad and medicine, its wild fruits and berries of many varieties, its fish and game, also roses to gladden their eyes, fragrant and colorful, and, owing to the friendliness and good understanding with the Indians, the colonists might walk in the woods round about their homes as in the highways of England. The two Indians called Squanto and Hobomok, who attached themselves permanently to the colony, showed them many things of advantage in the way of agriculture and home crafts which the women were as glad to learn as the men.
About six weeks after their marriage, Susanna Winslow bade her husband the first of the many farewells she would experience in the coming days, because of his frequent journeys in the cause of the colony. He was now to seek the great Indian chief, Massasoit, with whom the treaty had been made, a few months before, and the governor had selected him and Stephen Hopkins for this necessary visit.The walk through the woods was long and tiresome and consumed more than a week, but the object of their journey was accomplished. Susanna Winslow and Elizabeth Hopkins, awaiting in some natural anxiety at home for their return, or news of them, must have been somewhat startled the day the governor sent them the message he had just received by an Indian runner, that their husbands were nearly starving and struggling homeward, exhausted. These two wives hastily despatched food by the Indian, to meet them at a certain place, and had an abundant supper in readiness on the rainy evening of their return.
Soon after this, the upsetting occurrence of a lost child came upon them, and Eleanor Billington had the sympathy of the mothers because one of her boys had been too venturesome in the woods and strayed away. He was found by the Indians miles from Plymouth and word being brought of this, the governor sent a boat to the place of the Indian encampment which brought the boy back, no worse for his adventure, so this excitement passed. Expeditions among the Indians became necessary, both of forceful and peaceful intent, which made recurring anxiety for the women, until the men had safely returned.
At the close of the summer, once again sorrow filled their hearts, as one more of their number went from the friends who loved her. It was the only happiness left for Katherine Carver to follow her husband out of this world, which no longer containedanything of interest to her and the future no hope strong enough to relieve her broken heart. So, lovely and lamented, she was laid to rest on the hill by the shore, where so many others of their brave and fair were sleeping. This left but two of the married women who had left Leyden together: Mary Brewster and Susanna Winslow. But the number of the girls remained complete.
The first anniversary of their sailing from old Plymouth, came and went. The survivors of that day’s company on the ship must have observed it with many thoughts. These September days were busy ones, indeed, as preparations to meet the coming winter began. Their Spring planting had been successful in all except peas, and their harvest of corn was abundant. The wild grapes were made into wine, the corn pounded into meal, each household a veritable hive of workers; while the wear and tear on their clothes must be repaired and new garments made, or purchased when strictly necessary, from the supply stored in the Common House.
But an interval occurred in this routine and it may be introduced to us by a picture of the living-room in the Brewster house, by candle light, which contains all the women of the colony in earnest discussion. This conclave is caused by the recent suggestion of the governor that in view of the fact of their successful harvest, and renewed health, a period of recreation should be planned and enjoyed by all; games, feasting, mirth and frolic, a combinationof festivities of both England and Holland with which they were familiar, and not only were preparations to be for themselves but for guests—Chief Massasoit and many of his warriors were to be invited, with no doubt at all of their acceptance. Many of the men had been hunting that day to provide the game, and the results were enough to last a week. It was not questions of what to provide, but how much of everything would be needed, and which of them would prepare and roast the wild turkeys, who boil the fish, who make sauces and side dishes or cook vegetables, who bake, who make the salads, and all the other necessary plans for cooks who are hostesses, and hostesses who are cooks. The problem has a familiar appearance to many of us in our own day. Favorite receipts were compared, and whoever excelled in a certain thing was to have charge of that supply. All were good cooks so it was a case of friendly emulation and rivalry in this novel experience, with which each housekeeper retired that night, after they had talked and planned to their satisfaction. More than a hundred to be provided for over a three day period, and eleven women and young girls to see it through; even the littlest girls, Remember and Mary Allerton and Damaris Hopkins had to help, and of course the men did their share in keeping the great fires burning and dressing the game, and the boys in carrying water from the brook. Every iron kettle, every long and short legged pot and pan, every wooden bowl and leathern bottle, every pewter dish, with hooks,spits and trivets were in use; wooden cups or gourds to drink from, and knives and napkins. The only forks were the long-handled iron ones for cooking purposes, their use for the table was not known, their service was supplied by napkins and spoons.
The Indians arrived and encamped around the street, thoughtfully bringing a large supply of venison to add to the bill of fare. The cooks and waitresses in whitest of linen caps, kerchiefs and aprons, with short woolen skirts and buckled shoes, had many steps to take to serve the banqueters seated at the great tables erected in front of the houses; and when the men were having their contests of shooting or games, they cleared away or looked on at the entertainment as they could. They and the children, in sampling the products of their cooking or taking a mouthful, now and then, were kept from being hungry in the midst of plenty by being too busy to eat.
The long shadows of the third day saw the end of the event. And was the first American “block party” a success? We may say that it was. And were the women tired? We will agree to that also. But the men were pleased, the children happy, and one recovers quickly from the fatigue of gratifying achievement. Thus was their public thanksgiving celebrated, by order of the governor.
On a November day some weeks later, household tasks were going as usual; many of the men were gathering the last of the harvest, others getting in the winter’s supply of wood. We may see MistressBrewster in her kitchen distilling herbs and witch-hazel for domestic medicines, as was the custom of each housewife, thatDr.Fuller’s supply might not be too freely drained. She has the help and company of Mary Chilton this afternoon—both unconscious of any special interest that the day may bring to them especially, before its close, yet the unexpected was as often happening then as now. Priscilla and Elizabeth had taken Desire Minter on a search for more sassafras, hoping to entertain and amuse the listless girl, who, since Mrs. Carver’s death, seemed to grow each day more unhappy. The two Marys are talking of the return voyage of theMayflower—how long it might have been or how short—and if their friends in England and Holland had received the many letters and messages taken back by the Captain. Suddenly they are startled by the sound of the gun from the fort! Another shot! They are in the street now and likewise every woman and child—it is the signal for assembly—and the men may be seen hurrying from the woods and fields. The Governor accompanied by the Captain and an Indian runner are rapidly descending the hill from the fort, both looking especially determined. The news is soon in possession of all. A ship has entered Cape Cod harbor—seen by the Indians and word brought at once to Plymouth! Surprise and suspense were but some of the feelings this news aroused. They had been seven months without sight or sound of the world beyond their little settlement and its woodland neighbors.It would have to be Spring before a friendly ship could be expected to find them (for newcomers could not live in comfort or be of use till then) and as England and France were on far from friendly terms, this might be a ship of the latter nationality, seeking them with hostile intent. But preparedness was ever their daily thought and ability to cope with any emergency. Thus the Captain’s little army of defense, twenty men, was soon marshalled and ready—none without a gun in hand—to protect their women, children and homes to the last man.
Mary Brewster sees her husband in the front rank, of course. He can fight as ardently as pray, if necessary, and while wishing that an enemy might be converted and enjoy life, if that were impossible, then no question of who should fire first. The Captain had no weaklings in his command, even the boys and younger men were heroes with such leaders. Their eyes sharpened by expectancy and uncertainty, soon discern the stranger’s sails, even as the lookout from the fort calls out the fact that it is in view. Intently they wait and watch, when, behold, before their astonished eyes, the flag of England is flung out in greeting! Relief and amazement run a race in their minds. The ship is smaller than theSpeedwell. The first boat puts out, making straight for the men drawn up on the seashore. In their incredulity they can scarce recognize, can scarce believe, what they see: Robert Cushman grasping the hands of Brewster and Bradford; John Winslow seizing his brother Gilbert’s shoulders: JonathanBrewster being sprung upon by his brothers, from the ranks, and then Thomas Prence just behind him.
Such confusion and laughter, such embraces and tears of joy as the women, realizing the situation, come running down the street to meet the crowd coming from the water’s edge.
And in another boat come two women, friends from Leyden, the widow Ford and her children and Mistress Basset. The relief of the newcomers was quite equal to that of the Plymouth people, but for a different reason. Not finding any signs of habitation in the first harbor of their search, they feared that all survivors had died or been killed by Indians, and as in their long voyage of four months they had consumed about all of their provisions, they feared starvation for themselves. All were in good health, with good appetites and spirits and as soon as their apprehension was dispelled, at sight of their friends and their plentiful supply of food, gaiety reigned. The problem of housing for these thirty-five newcomers was finally settled by nightfall, each housekeeper putting up with some crowding to take in several, and the Common House once more giving shelter. What welcome of friends and relatives, what interest at news from others, the ensuing hours saw; what joyful supper parties that evening!
Thus the isolation of Plymouth was broken. The sails of theFortunehad brought them once again the touch of the outside world.
By daylight, another young lady had joined the colony, and Martha Ford opened her eyes, on thefirst morning of her life, in Plymouth. Just why her mother should have come across the ocean at this time is not clear to us. She was a widow and evidently of some means to be able to bring all her children with her. We may suppose, without stretching the bounds of probability, that her husband had been preparing to bring his family to the new colony, and that, after his sudden death, she carried out the plans.
TheFortuneremained two weeks, and lively weeks to get her well laden with the first exports of the colony, furs, lumber and sassafras making a rich invoice. Letters were written—letters of enthusiastic description; letters of encouragement to join the life of the New World; letters of advice, and letters replying to those received, for many words of sympathy had been sent in response to the dreary news brought back by theMayflower. There was a particular letter from the governor (one of sympathy, also) to Mistress Alice Southworth, in London, since Robert Cushman brought the news of her recent widowhood.
Robert Cushman had come especially as emissary from the merchants who had underwritten the Pilgrims, and to see for himself in what condition they were, for report at home. He was so pleased with what he experienced, however, that he planned a permanent stay at a future day, and left his young son, who had accompanied him, with the governor.
So theFortunewas ready to sail, and by her departure, was to make one more break in the ranksof the women, since Desire Minter chose to go back in her, to her friends in England, under charge of Robert Cushman. Her health and spirits had so failed that it was considered the best thing for her; thus another blank was made in the life of Elizabeth Tilly, who had found in Desire a dear friend—and in whose heart she was never forgotten. Perhaps Desire already forsaw that her place would soon be taken and knew that she would leave little Elizabeth in good hands. As theFortunesailed out of the harbor, we may see John Howland near Elizabeth with his protective look and ready, encouraging smile.
This little ship did not receive benefit from her name, for fortune proved unkind. A French man-of-war, lying near the coast of England, captured her and took all on board prisoners to a French island, where for more than a fortnight they were detained. However the ship and passengers were then released and reached England—but the valuable cargo and letters were spoils of war. So Alice Southworth never received the governor’s letter, but the fact of its having been sent was reported to her by her friend, Robert Cushman. Indeed the various items of news he brought were of interest to many.
But Desire, if she had only written of her experiences, or caused them to be written! Her experiences as a woman of theMayflower, as a woman of Plymouth Colony, her experiences in leaving the latter for an English home—with her war adventure asan extra detail. What material she had and of what value for the world to read. She would have been a rival historian of Bradford and Winslow, for posterity. But of course such a thought never occurred to her. She was a woman—and a woman could not be independent in the society of that day, which was an exclusively masculine society and with a system by which feminine conduct was judged from a masculine point of view. About two hundred and fifty years elapsed before any other point of view was deemed possible. And Desire Minter was far from being the first of her sex to question. In due time word was brought to Plymouth that she had reached her friends, and, later on, that her brief, but not uneventful life was over. Somewhere English roses bloom o’er her grave; an interesting pilgrimage, if its location were known, as a remembrance of the first woman of theMayflowerand of Plymouth Colony to return to her early home.
Meanwhile, before Plymouth knew aught of what had happened to theFortune, much happened there. While pleasure in the company of the newcomers lasted, supplies did not, and their bubble of joy was soon broken. TheFortunebrought no food, and thirty-odd extra people, mostly men, to provide for, was a serious problem. So their second winter was a hard one to get through, with little to eat—half rations only—and resultant weakness (though fortunately no sickness) scarce enabled them to improve their condition. Nevertheless, owing to the threatening attitude of some of the distant Indians,a protecting wall of lumber was built around the town. The street ran from the rock to the battlement on the greater hill, but some houses were erected at a different angle which indicated another street for the near future—to be called the Highway—and the square came into view.
In Spring, the women, in addition to household duties, helped plant, the children also—though for them more of a pleasure than for their mothers, struggling with the problems of supply and demand in food and clothes.
On an April day, after the planting, an episode occurred which brings before us for the first time, a woman not hitherto distinctly in the picture. The Indian squaws occasionally came to Plymouth and were a help or a bother, according to their personality, to the women of the colony. One, however, had such agreeable characteristics that she was considered a desirable member of the community. Her husband, Hobomok, was the colony’s trusted interpreter and permanent resident. On this day, we see the mothers of the smallest children, Susanna Winslow, Martha Ford and Elizabeth Hopkins, assembled in Mistress Hopkins’ big kitchen, learning from Hobomok’s wife the craft of moccasin making; the soft foot-coverings were both comfortable and warm for the babies. But the lesson is interrupted and Hobomok takes his wife away, saying that the governor wants her. The surprise of the women is lessened only by apprehension when they later learn that she had been sent on a mission which none ofthem could have performed, nor was a man of theirs able to cope with its delicacy, not even Hobomok. This peculiar circumstance was caused by Squanto, their other trusted interpreter and friend. He had stated that all was not well with their Indian allies and that Massasoit was treacherously planning with the Narragansetts to exterminate them. The qualifications of Hobomok’s wife were at once apparent to the men in consultation over this news, which Hobomok insistently declared could not be true. She was instructed, therefore, under guise of a casual visitor, to go to Massasoit’s camp and learn what she could. Her return was anxiously awaited. She accomplished her errand in a most satisfactory and creditable manner, and her information relieved them of alarm.
Another year passed, with a not very succesful harvest; uncertain Indian affairs, and the arrival of boats bringing letters, even visitors but no supplies or friends or families—the Merchants and even Robert Cushman seemed to fail them.
Some of the boats brought men whom they supported for a time from their scanty supply, who had come out to establish another colony on the coast and who requited their kindness by ingratitude and scorn for a settlement having women. Another boat, however, was more acceptable as proving they had friends in need, though unknown, for by it word was brought of a massacre of Virginia colonists by the Indians. From this same kind-hearted ship captain, John Huddleston, Edward Winslow—who visitedhim to extend the colony’s thanks for the warning—was able to procure some provisions, of which they were greatly in need, and thereby increased their bread allowance to a quarter of a pound a day. From this warning also they proceeded to build a stronger and larger fort, one part being planned for a place of worship.
A trading ship coming in, made them pay exorbitantly for their needs seeing how greatly they lacked them. On this ship, however, was a gentleman who was returning to England from Virginia. He made the acquaintance of the Plymouth people while the ship was in the harbor, and that he was a welcome visitor to the Brewster household is told by a letter he later sent to Governor Bradford saying how he had enjoyedMr.Brewster’s books. A man of like tastes, evidently, and his passing acquaintance a pleasant incident to them.
The autumn and winter were punctuated by trips taken by the governor and some of the other men, with Squanto, in search of camps where the Indians would sell corn, as their own harvest was far from being enough to keep them until the next. On one of these expeditions, Squanto died.
As planting time approached, in view of the fact that the next harvest must produce a much greater amount, to avoid the dangers of starvation which they were then enduring, the governor, in consultation, decided to divide the land into personal holdings, instead of all lands being worked for and held by the community. This new plan quickly grewincreased enthusiasm for planting and culture, since emulation and friendly contests for success began. Mary Chilton and Humility Cooper were each given an acre, and the attention those acres received was not less than any other. To work in one’s very own soil was pleasure as well as profit, discounting the fatigue.
At this time, also, the women had a particularly choice bit of satisfaction. No less than the total disestablishment and wreck of the colony which the men had come to plant who had accepted hospitality from the Plymouth people, when they arrived, and so discourteously returned it by ridiculing a settlement which contained women. Appeals for help from them were received, and with usual generosity were granted, to enable them to keep their lives from starvation and the Indians, and to leave that country.
Plymouth had but six matrons; and the young woman who had been maid to Mrs. Carver, and four young girls, Priscilla, Mary, Elizabeth and Humility, with Remember Allerton and Constance Hopkins fast leaving childhood in the responsibilities of this difficult life. With so many single men the widow and the girls could have a half dozen at command in an instant, while Mary Brewster had four strong right arms to rely on, her husband and three sons; Susanna Winslow the hands of her husband, brother and brothers-in-law, Gilbert and John, at need. Remember and Constance had each a brother to call upon and the other two married women, husbandsand sons. Nevertheless, no one would care to deny that the twenty-four hours of the day of these loyal and efficient members of the company were not as heavily laden as those of the men, nor that their efforts in sustaining the struggling community were not as valuable in the final results.
“They made the home and kept the hearth fires burning;They spun and wove and tilled the barren soil;They met each day’s return with patient trustingAnd murmured not through all the weary toil.”