You must know that in this land everything is different from what you
see in England. Of course the trees are the same; but oh, so many of
them! We are living now, even after our homes have been made, in the
very midst of the wilderness, and in that winter time when Squanto and
Samoset came to us, bringing the corn we needed so sorely, we were much
like prisoners, for the snow was piled everywhere in great drifts.
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The trees, growing thickly over the ground, save where they had been
cut down to build our homes and to provide us with wood for the fires,
prevented all, except such of the men as were well enough to go out
with their guns in the hope of shooting animals that could be eaten as
food, from going abroad, save from one house to the other.
And little heart had we for leaving the shelter of our homes. In nearly
every house throughout the village was there sickness or death; the
cold was piercing, and, however industriously we had worked filling
the cracks between the logs with clay, the wind came through in many
places, so that for the greater part of the time we needed to hug
closely to the fire lest we freeze to death.
There were days when it seemed indeed as if the Lord had forgotten us;
when, with the hunger, and the cold, and the sickness on every hand, it
was as if we had been abandoned by our Maker.