Old Times in the Colonies. Charles Carleton Coffin
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is to tear things up by the roots — to leave home, friends, things we love, around which our affections are entwined! It was not a hard thing for the scapegraces of London to cross the Atlantic in search of adventure in Virginia. They pulled nothing up by the roots; they had no roots. Gamblers, spendthrifts, vagabonds, who do nothing for the world, who give nothing to society, never can have any roots.
The Pilgrims were exiles. England was no longer their home; but their friends were still living in the dear old land. While they were in Holland, they could hear from them often; but now they were going far away, to make their homes in the wilderness. Never more would they gaze upon the green fields, or meet face to face those most dear; but, in obedience to their convictions of what was true, just and right — of what they owed to God rather than man — calmly and unflinchingly they could pull all up, and make their homes in the wilderness.
Thomas Weston was at Southampton. He was a grasping, avaricious man, and wanted to change the agreement, making it still harder for the Pilgrims. But they would not change, whereupon he refused to pay one hundred pounds, which, according to agreement, he ought to pay.
“I’ll let you stand on your own legs!” he said, and left them.
The Pilgrims would not leave England with a debt hanging over them, and to pay it sold eighty firkins of butter, resolving to do without butter on their bread rather than to be beholden to Weston, or in debt to any man.
They were men who loved order. They knew it was necessary to have some one in authority on shipboard. They cast their votes for a governor, electing John Carver. Let us not forget that they elected him. He was not appointed by the king, but chosen. It was the beginning of a new order of things.
The ship sailed from Southampton; but almost before they were out of the harbor the Speedwell was found to be leaking, and they put into Dartmouth for repairs. Two weeks passed, and they sailed again; but the captain of the Speedwell declared that the vessel was not sea-worthy, and they put into Plymouth. Some of the Pilgrims were discouraged, but others were not. They had no money to obtain another vessel, and all who were anxious to go crowded into the Mayflower — one hundred in all.
Again, on the 16th of September, they bade farewell to friends — to the land that gave them birth, from which they had been exiled.
“No home for them! too well they knew
The mitred king behind the throne;
The sails were set, the pennon flew.
And westward ho! for worlds unknown.”
On the 21st of November, 1620, the Mayflower dropped anchor in the calm waters of Provincetown harbor, Cape Cod. While on the voyage, Mrs. White gave birth to a babe, whom they named Peregrine.
Among the men sent out by the merchants was John Billington; he was not one of the Pilgrims, but a servant, who gave out word that he should do as he pleased when he reached land; that no one should have any authority over him, for John Carver had no commission, nor had the Pilgrims any charter from the king.
The Pilgrims had ruled themselves as a church, but had been subject to the laws of Holland; they saw that they must organize themselves into a State, make their own laws, and execute them. They met in the cabin of the Mayflower, signed their names to a paper, organizing as a body politic, agreeing to obey the laws which they might make, and the governor whom they might elect.
The world never before had seen such a paper. It was a constitution formed by the people — the beginning of popular government.
It was Saturday, and the women went on shore, kindled fires, and washed their clothes. At night they returned on shipboard, and on Sunday prayed and sung as they had done through the voyage.
During the following week, Captain Miles Standish and sixteen men marched along the shores, and came upon some Indians, who quickly fled. They found some corn, which they took, intending to pay the Indians if they ever saw them.
On the 16th of December, Captain Standish and a party, with Thomas Clark, the mate of the vessel, started in a boat to find a suitable place to make a settlement, camping at night on shore. While they were cooking their breakfast the next morning, they heard a strange cry, and arrows fell around them; but a volley from the muskets of the Pilgrims put the Indians to flight. They came near losing their lives in a cold storm, but landed, kindled a fire, and saved themselves from freezing. In the morning they discovered that they were on an island, which they named Clark’s Island, for the mate. The next day was Sunday, but they regarded it as holy, and remained where they were. On Monday they pulled to the main-land, climbed a high hill, and beheld a charming prospect. Under the brow of the hill was a brook and a spring of fresh water. It was so delightful that they decided to recommend it to those on the ship as the place for the building of their town. They returned to the vessel, and on Sunday, William Brewster, whom they had chosen to be their minister, preached his last sermon on shipboard. The next morning the Mayflower sailed across the bay and came to anchor. The men went on shore and examined the place once more, and, after praying God to direct them wisely, took a vote as to where they should build their houses. It was the first town meeting ever held in America. The majority decided affairs, and the new State, the new order of things — self-government — had begun.
On the morning of the 22d the long-boat of the ship, filled with men, women, and children, glided over the still waters to a rock that made a convenient landing. They stepped from the boat upon the rock, and the new State was in possession of its future home.
There were no idlers in the party. All hands knew how to work, and labor was a duty which they owed to one another and to God. They cut down the trees, split them into planks, and built a house for the storing of their goods, making the roof flat, and mounting their cannon upon it. They laid out a street at the foot of the hill and built their houses, covering them with thatch, for they had not learned to peel the bark from the oak-trees or split the pines into shingles. Death came. Degory Priest was the first to be laid beneath the earth, January 1st, 1621. On Sunday, January 14th, the thatch on their common house, in which was stored all their goods, caught fire, and they had hard work to put it out; if that had been consumed, quite likely they would have been compelled to return to England, or else would have perished. On the 29th of January a great grief came to Captain Standish. His beautiful young wife, Rose, had been fading day by day; the hardships were too great for her. Possibly she pined for the green fields and pleasant home far away. She had never been in Holland, but joined the Pilgrims at Southampton. But heaven was nearer than her old home. With tearful eyes and swelling hearts they carried her to the burying-place upon the hill, and made this entry in their journal, mournful in its briefness: “Jan. 29, Died, Rose, wife of Captain Standish.”
The Pilgrims were greatly surprised, one day, at seeing an Indian march boldly into their settlement and hear him say, “Welcome, Englishmen!” His name was Samoset. He had been to Pemmaquid, to Sir Fernando Gorges’s colony. The Pilgrims treated him kindly, and he soon brought another Indian, Squanto, who had been kidnapped by the villain Hunt. He had been in London, and could speak English. Samoset informed them that four years before a terrible disease had destroyed nearly all the Indians in that region. Massasoit, the chief of the Indians, came with sixty warriors. Governor Carver sent Edward Winslow to meet him, and assure him of the friendship of the Pilgrims. Captain Standish, with six men carrying their guns, escorted the chief into one of the houses, and spread out a yellow rug and cushion for a seat. The governor came in state, the drummer beating his drum, the trumpeter blowing a trumpet, attended by all the soldiers with their muskets. The governor and chief kissed each other’s hands, then they ate and drank together, and agreed to be friends forever. Massasoit never broke his pledge, neither did the Pilgrims violate theirs; but so long as he lived they were true friends.
Spring came, with its smiling sun; but of the one hundred and one who had landed in December, forty-six were at rest beneath the ground on Burial Hill, with the earth smoothed over them, that the Indians might not count the graves and discover how many had died. They had drooped, one by one, through the hardships of the long passage and want of food.
The Pilgrims caught fish and lobsters, and, when the tide was out, gathered clams along the sandy beach. From the mud-flats they obtained eels. Now and then