It was in April, when, because the weather had grown so warm it seemed
much as if we had been restored to the favor of God, that a great
calamity came upon us of Plymouth, and my father says it is impossible
for us to understand how sore a stroke it was to our people who count
on making a home in this new world.
Governor Carver had hoped to make such a garden as should be a model
for all in the village, and to that end he worked exceedingly hard,
so father says. He was planting and hoeing from early light until it
was no longer possible to see what he was about because of the coming
of night. Already many of the plants, concerning which Samoset and
Squanto had told us, were showing through the ground, until, as Captain
Standish said, "all the others should take pattern by him that we might
not taste again of the bitterness of famine."
The day had been very warm, and the governor was working exceeding
hard, when suddenly he complained of a pain in his head. He strove in
vain to continue the labor; but Mistress Carver insisted that he come
into the house and lie down on a bear skin, which Captain Standish had
made into a bed-cover, and this he did.
Master Bradford and my father were summoned in the hope that it might
be possible to give him some relief; but they could do no more than
pray for his recovery, and even while they were pleading most fervently
with God, the poor man lost all knowledge of himself, nor did he speak
again.
During three days every one prayed; no trees were hewn lest the noise
disturb him, and all the women in the village gathered in or around the
house that they might be ready in case their services were needed. It
was as if we were having three Sabbaths at once. Then he died, without
having come to know that he was ill, and we were more heartsick and
lonely even than when the _Mayflower_ sailed away.
It seemed to me as if then was the time, when our hearts were so sore,
that our people ought to have poured out their souls in prayer over the
lifeless body of him who had been so good a friend to us all; but that
was forbidden. Therefore Governor Carver was laid in the grave without
a word or sound, other than the sobs of the women and children, who
mourned so sorely.
Those who had muskets discharged them as a parting salute to him who
had been our governor, and we walked sorrowfully and in silence away,
little dreaming that within three short weeks Mistress Carver would be
buried near her husband's last resting place in this world.