The Landing of the Pilgrims Page 3

  Each morning and evening the Pilgrims knelt together and fervently prayed, thanking God for his goodness and blessing. Devoutly they listened to the Bible reading of the Lord’s Providence for his people on perilous seas, of Israel’s crossing of the Red Sea, of Noah, of Jonah, and of Paul, and of how these passed safely through troubled waters.

  Each day they watched the ever-changing sky and the mysterious sea, always from the exact center of the great circle where the two met on the horizon. Alongside, the porpoises played in gay parades, and sometimes the glistening backs and misty spoutings of a school of sperm whales could be seen. The foam broke in white plumes from the bluff bows of the Mayflower as she dipped her blunt nose into the mid-Atlantic swells, ever pushing into the west. In her wake a lacy green foam track stretched back toward England. From her mainmast the jaunty British merchant flag, with its crosses of St. George and St. Andrew, flashed in the sunlight.

  Then the weather changed and worsened. The skies lowered and the wind rose into the wild autumn gales of the North Atlantic, blowing out of the west. The ship lifted like a cork riding the heavy seas and plunged down vast mountainsides of water. She staggered under the blows of waves that washed over her decks. Beneath her keel and pushing back against her bows flowed the current of the then unknown Gulf Stream, moving eastward through the ocean.

  The Leyden congregation was made up of devout Christians. If they prayed and often spoke the name of God, it was with deep reverence and gratitude. But the crew of the Mayflower were tough British sailors, hardened by the brutal seafaring life of the time. They delighted in cursing the pious, blaspheming the name of God, and shouting foul language in the presence of the passengers till the women held their hands to their ears and the Pilgrim Elders shuddered. The best and the worst companioned on the heaving decks of the little ship on a long, strange voyage.

  A proud and very profane young seaman, the bitterest against the Pilgrims of all the wild crew, had mockingly said he hoped to help cast half of them overboard before they reached land. Soon after, he was smitten with a grievous malady and shortly died. As they solemnly consigned his body to the sea, both passengers and crew stood awed, believing that this was none other than the just hand of God upon his wickedness.

  As the weather worsened, Master Jones ordered that in heavy seas all passengers must remain below decks. In spite of orders, young John Howland ventured out on the main deck in the midst of a violent gale. A great wave struck the ship and pitched him into the raging sea.

  “Man overboard!” The shout was lost in the roar of the storm as the yellow head of John Howland disappeared in the furious waters. And then the incredible happened. As Howland went down, his hand grasped the end of a rope that trailed over the ship’s side. When the ship rose on the next wave, Howland, clinging desperately, was swung against the ship’s side. In a moment a boat hook had been thrust through his leather jacket, and he was hauled over the rail to safety. It was the hand of God that reached out and saved him, said every Pilgrim on the Mayflower.

  Day after day the staunch little ship held on—a speck in the violence of wind and water.

  “The main beam has buckled, sir!” shouted the first mate to the skipper standing at the half-deck rail.

  Below decks they found where the cracked beam sagged under the weight of the main deck. A hurried council debated what to do. Another terrible blow from the seas might break the back of the ship.

  “Better turn back,” said the faint-hearted, “before she breaks up and goes to the bottom.”

  The passengers hauled out a great iron jack-screw which they had brought from Leyden, found a firm footing, and slowly turned the screw until it bit into the oaken beam and slowly lifted it back to its proper place. A strong post set firm on the lower deck was put under it, and the huge beam was as stout as ever. Master Jones knew that his ship was strong and firm below the waterline. The upper works could be caulked well enough to keep out any dangerous amount of water. “So they committed themselves to the will of God and resolved to procede.”

  In the lull of the wind a shrill small crying could be heard from the women’s cabin. A Pilgrim baby had been born in the fury of the storm.

  “We’ll call him Oceanus,” said the father, Stephen Hopkins. “He’s a drop of the ocean, a sea pearl, a water baby—the youngest Pilgrim.” Everyone thought it was a wonderful name.

  Samuel Fuller, their surgeon from Leyden, had brought with him as a servant a lad named William Butten. As the journey drew toward its end the boy sickened and, in spite of his master’s profession, died. He was the only one of the passengers to do so on the crossing.

  Land could not be far off. Master Jones had followed the forty-second parallel scrupulously. It was not possible to miss a whole continent. They must soon sight land after nine weeks at sea, he figured. Among the passengers there was a sense of excitement and anticipation. This was not an ordinary landing after a long voyage. There was a deep and strong feeling among them of something immense and heroic and biblical, beyond the personal happenings of their individual lives. They did not know what the ordeal might be ahead, only that they would never turn back. Something was being left behind forever. Something new and bright and glorious was beginning. They were ready to face untold hardship. They were confident of wide new freedom. Vague, deep thoughts that could find no words drew them together in purpose and high resolve.

  Christopher Jones was a shipmaster who ruled his crew with an iron hand, but he knew a man when he saw one, and he had learned to respect his strange passengers and their faith. A master craftsman of the sea, he had hunted whales in the Baltic, and had for years taken his ship across the Bay of Biscay laden deep with fragrant casks of Spanish wine. This was his first trip across the Atlantic, but with his compass and cross staff he could take his ship to any known destination across the seven seas. He had brought his ship safely across the vast North Atlantic, and he was relieved to think that he would soon disembark his hundred English passengers on the American continent and, he hoped, soon be on his way home to merry England.

  Landfall

  (November 1620)

  The sun rose red over the rim of the eastern horizon and tinted the sails of the Mayflower a delicate gold. Captain Jones sniffed the westward breeze, smelling the sweet fragrance of the land. Overside, the blue-black of deep water had turned to emerald green. After nine weeks of the wild Atlantic, land was overdue. The leadsman had found bottom at eighty fathoms, and now from the lookout at the maintop came the cry, “Land ho! Land ho-o-o-o-o!” The Mayflower had made a sixty-seven-day crossing, covering about three thousand miles at an average speed of two miles an hour.

  At once the whole ship came alive and into action. The passengers piled out of their bunks, hastily pulled on their clothing, rushed on deck, and crowded to the rail. Yes—there it was—a dark streak, with flecks of white cliff, running north and south as far as the eye could reach.

  At the long-awaited sight of land, the women’s faces became wet with tears, and the men stood silent with hearts too full for words. Kneeling on the deck for morning prayer, they thanked God and sang Old Hundredth with a fervor they had never known before. Their eyes had seen the Promised Land.

  In the ship’s cabin, Captain Jones explained that the land was not Virginia, but Cape Cod, many leagues to the north—a long bent finger that ran out into the Atlantic and beckoned toward Europe, calling to the Old World from the New.

  But, said the Elders, their patent said Virginia. They had contracted with the company to take them to Virginia, and they insisted that the Captain carry out the company’s part of the bargain.

  And so, the Mayflower tacked about and ran due south. All day the passengers at the rail gazed curiously at the low-lying coast of Cape Cod.

  As twilight came on, the wind died down. The ship had suddenly come in among shoals and breakers. They were in the perilous waters of a ships’ graveyard, the broken part of Pollack’s Rip, one of the most dangerous stretches of water
on the New England coast. At any moment the treacherous currents might carry the ship upon the deadly shoals.

  “Pray as you never prayed before,” said Captain Jones to the Pilgrim Elders. Mercifully the wind sprang up from the south and filled the Mayflower’s sails, slowly pulling her out of the shoals into deep water. She was safe.

  As darkness fell, the Captain hove her to for the night. In the morning, the Pilgrims held a council in the cabin with the Captain. It seemed best to take advantage of the good south wind that had saved them and run north to anchor in Cape Cod Bay.

  Next day, with a fair wind continuing from the south, the Mayflower ran up the coast. By nightfall they were off Race Point, the northernmost point of Cape Cod. Tomorrow, by God’s grace, their ship would find anchorage.

  There had been some glib talk that day among the “strangers” who came aboard at London and were not of the Congregation. These people had said that when the ship landed at Cape Cod, they would not be bound by the Virginia patent, and so would take orders from none, but would be their own masters.

  This, thought Elder Brewster that night, is none other than the voice of Satan seeking to sow discord, trouble and mutiny among the Lord’s people. He cast about in his mind for the wording of a compact. If the Mayflower passengers were not under the laws of Virginia, then they would make their own law, and agree to abide strictly by it.

  Next morning the ship nosed into Provincetown harbor around the Long Point. After morning prayer, the passengers assembled between decks to hear their Pastor’s message. They stood silent and hushed in a solemn pause between two worlds: the Old World behind them and the New World on which they had not set foot.

  Mr. Brewster stood up and said,

  “It was thought good there should be an Association or Agreement, that we should combine together in one body; and to submit to such Government and Governors as we should, by common consent, agree to make and choose: and set our hands to this that follows, word for word.”

  In ye name of God, amen.

  We whose names are underwriten,

  the loyall subjects of our

  dread soveraigne lord, King James,

  by ye grace of God, of Great Britaine,

  France, & Ireland king,

  defender of ye faith, &c.,

  Haveing undertaken, for ye glorie of God,

  and advancemente of ye Christian faith

  and honour of our king & countrie,

  a voyage to plant ye first colonie

  in ye Northerne parts of Virginia

  Doe by these presents solemnly & mutualy

  in ye presence of God, and one of another;

  covenant, & combine ourselves togeather

  into a civill body politick; for our

  better ordering, & preservation & furtherance

  of ye ends aforesaid; and by vertue hearof

  to enacte, constitute, and frame

  such just & equall lawes, ordinances, Acts,

  constitutions, & offices, from time to time,

  as shall be thought most meete & convinient

  for ye generall good of ye colonie:

  unto which we promise all due submission

  and obedience.

  In witnes whereof we have hereunder

  subscribed our names at Cap-Codd

  ye 11 of November in ye year of ye raigne

  of our soveraigne lord King James

  of England, France, & Ireland

  ye eighteenth and of Scotland ye fiftie fourth.

  Ano. Dom. 1620.

  How the Mayflower Came to Anchor at Cape Cod and of How the Pilgrims Assayed a Voyage of Discovery and Found Goodly Stores of Indian Corn

  (November 1620)

  The Mayflower had put her anchor down in Provincetown Harbor during mid-morning on a Saturday in November 1620. White gulls screamed about the ship, and vast flocks of birds took wing along the shores. Inland the low hills were covered with goodly trees and the white beach stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Because of shallow water, the ship could not come near shore by three-quarters of an English mile. “It is a harbor wherein a thousand sail of ships may ride!” wrote Mr. Winslow with delight.

  Already that morning the forty-one had put their names to the compact. Every passenger was ready for action after nine weeks of idleness at sea.

  At noon, sixteen men went ashore in the longboat for wood and water and to explore what the land was. They had to wade the distance of a bow shot or two in the shallow water before they could beach the boat. Ashore they found springs of sweet water and filled their kegs. From the woods men brought back a boatload of fragrant juniper for the cook’s fire.

  The shallop brought from England would have been useful in traveling between ship and shore, but when she was examined she was found badly in need of repairs, a job for the ship’s carpenter. Monday morning she was brought ashore and work on her started at once, but it was sixteen days before she could be made seaworthy.

  In spite of this difficulty, the passengers were eager to feel the good earth underfoot again. On Monday morning, the women loaded the longboat with soiled linen and went ashore to do their washing in fresh water.

  “Be sure the Indians don’t carry you off,” said a sailor laughingly, as he helped a plump matron down the ship’s ladder. “Though I’m thinking you would be making a toothsome dish for a cannibal chief,” he added with a guffaw.

  Captain Jones, who was leaning on the half-deck rail, found it hard not to smile at this, so he looked away. Lifting his eyes seaward, he saw a thin spout of vapor rising in the air.

  “Thar she blows!” he called, as the black backs of a school of whales rose about the ship.

  “Thar floats a good four-thousand-pounds’ worth of sperm oil, if only we had the harpoons and tackle to take it,” replied the mate wistfully.

  The passengers crowded to the rail, marveling at the strange sea monsters, as one whale, longer than the ship itself, came almost alongside. A young man hastily loaded a musket and aimed at the whale. There was a sudden explosion. The bursting gun barrel flew into splinters, knocking the man flat on the deck. The whale, with a sweep of his mighty tail, dove for the bottom of Cape Cod Bay.

  When they picked up the dazed whale hunter, it was found that miraculously neither he nor anyone else had been injured by the explosion of the overcharged musket.

  But there were more important things than shooting whales to be done. In order that no time be lost, on November 25th a party of sixteen goodly men volunteered under Captain Miles Standish to explore the coast for a place of settlement. Each man was given a sword, a musket, and a steel corselet to protect his ribs against Indian arrows. The captain put on the steel helmet with nose and cheek guards that he had worn in the wars in Flanders.

  In single file the company marched down the endless strip of beach toward the Unknown. Under his visor, the blue eyes of the Captain ranged the distance, alert and ready for danger, adventure, and the unexpected in the mysterious land that lay before them.

  Far ahead he saw a little group of figures advancing toward them on the beach. At first he thought they must be Master Jones and his men, who had gone ashore for wood. But as they came nearer there was no mistaking them. The figures were five naked Indians and a dog. The strangers now saw them and stood still. As the Captain waved and shouted, the Indians turned and ran at top speed back down the beach.

  The Englishmen followed on the run, but because of their heavy guns and armor, they were soon outdistanced by the racing Indians. For ten miles the Englishmen followed their footprints until they turned off into the woods.

  At last darkness overtook them, so they built a barricade of logs and brush, and ate their biscuits and cheese by a roaring fire. It was their first night in the wilderness, so the Captain posted three sentinels, and the rest of the men lay down by their muskets. Soon the weary men were all asleep.

  In the dawn they kneeled and prayed, breakfasted, and marched on into the woods. For ho
urs the discoverers struggled on through the thick brush that tore at their clothes and armor, but they found no trace of Indians. Exhausted and thirsty, they followed deer paths down a steep valley. There they threw themselves down by a cool spring of fresh water. “And drank our first New England water with as much delight as ever we drank drink in all our lives.”

  Farther on they came upon a clear pond of fresh water (Pond Village in Truro) where the deer came to drink, and along the banks were flocks of water fowl.

  In an open field they found new stubble where the Indians had grown corn. Nearby were some old boards where an Indian lodge had been and by it an iron ship’s kettle. Each find hinted of a strange story about the mysterious people of the forest. Nearby was a newly made mound of sand marked with the print of hands. Under it they found a little old basket of gleaming Indian corn.

  Perhaps even now, they thought, the unseen people were watching them from the forests. Sentinels stood watch as the discoverers began to dig about the Indian mounds. They uncovered a large new basket beautifully woven and took out thirty-six ears of red and golden corn. The basket held three or four bushels of corn. This was a treasure more precious than gold to men who would have to get their food from this very soil. The men filled the iron kettle and their pockets with corn and buried the rest till they would come again.

  Marching on, they came to a river (Pamet Harbor) where they found two Indian canoes cleverly made of bark. As it was time to return, they followed their trail back to the Fresh Water Ponds and made their barricaded camp. They slept from weariness in the cold rain, while three sentinels kept watch through the night.

  The next morning, after fighting their way through the entangling underbrush, they became aware that they were lost in the forest. In the woods ahead, Stephen Hopkins was calling. When the party came up, he pointed to a bent sapling with a cord and noose cunningly made and set in a deer path about a bait of acorns.