In the fall of 1620 the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth during a
disagreeable storm, and, noting the excellent opportunity for future
misery, began to erect a number of rude cabins. This party consisted
of one hundred and two people of a resolute character who wished to
worship God in a more extemporaneous manner than had been the custom in
the Church of England.
They found that the Indians of Cape Cod were not ritualistic, and that
they were willing to dispose of inside lots at Plymouth on reasonable
terms, retaining, however, the right to use the lands for massacre
purposes from time to time.
The Pilgrims were honest, and gave the Indians something for their land
in almost every instance, but they put a price upon it which has made
the Indian ever since a comparatively poor man.
Half of this devoted band died before spring, and yet the idea of
returning to England did not occur to them. “No,” they exclaimed, “we
will not go back to London until we can go first-class, if we have to
stay here two hundred years.”
During the winter they discovered why the lands had been sold to them
so low. The Indians of one tribe had died there of a pestilence the
year before, and so when the Pilgrims began to talk trade they did not
haggle over prices.
In the early spring, however, they were surprised to hear the word
“Welcome” proceeding from the door-mat of Samoset, an Indian whose
chief was named Massasoit. A treaty was then made for fifty years,
Massasoit taking “the same.”
Canonicus once sent to Governor Bradford a bundle of arrows tied up in
a rattlesnake’s skin. The Governor put them away in the pantry with his
other curios, and sent Canonicus a few bright new bullets and a little
dose of powder. That closed the correspondence. In those days there
were no newspapers, and most of the fighting was done without guarantee
or side bets.
Money matters, however, were rather panicky at the time, and the people
were kept busy digging clams to sustain life in order to raise Indian
corn enough to give them sufficient strength to pull clams enough the
following winter to get them through till the next corn crop should
give them strength to dig for clams again. Thus a trip to London and
the Isle of Wight looked farther and farther away.
After four years they numbered only one hundred and eighty-four,
counting immigration and all. The colony only needed, however, more
people and Eastern capital.
It would be well to pause here and remember the annoyances connected
with life as a forefather. Possibly the reader has considered the
matter already. Imagine how nervous one may be waiting in the hall and
watching with a keen glance for the approach of the physician who is
to announce that one is a forefather. The amateur forefather of 1620
must have felt proud yet anxious about the clam yield also, as each new
mouth opened on the prospect.
Speaking of clams, it is said by some of the forefathers that the Cape
Cod menu did not go beyond codfish croquettes until the beginning of
the eighteenth century, when pie was added by act of legislature.
Clams are not so restless if eaten without the brisket, which is said
to lie hard on the stomach.
Salem and Charlestown were started by Governor Endicott, and Boston was
founded in 1630. To these various towns the Puritans flocked, and even
now one may be seen in ghostly garments on Thanksgiving Eve flitting
here and there turning off the gas in the parlor while the family are
at tea, in order to cut down expenses.
Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay Colonies were united in 1692.
Roger Williams, a bright young divine, was the first to interfere with
the belief that magistrates had the right to punish Sabbath breakers,
blasphemers, etc. He also was the first to utter the idea that a man’s
own conscience must be his own guide and not that of another.
Among the Puritans there were several who had enlarged consciences, and
who desired to take in extra work for others who had no consciences and
were busy in the fields. They were always ready to give sixteen ounces
to the pound, and were honest, but they got very little rest on Sunday,
because they had to watch the Sabbath breaker all the time.
It is said that the Puritans knocked what fun there was out of the
Indian. Did any one ever see an Indian smile since the landing of the
Pilgrims?
Roger Williams was too liberal to be kindly received by the clergy, and
so he was driven out of the settlement. Finding that the Indians were
less rigid and kept open on Sundays, he took refuge among them (1636),
and before spring had gained eighteen pounds and converted Canonicus,
one of the hardest cases in New England and the first man to sit up
until after ten o’clock at night. Canonicus gave Roger the tract of
land on which Providence now stands.
Mrs. Anne Hutchinson gave the Pilgrims trouble also. Having claimed
some special revelations and attempted to make a few remarks regarding
them, she was banished.
Banishment, which meant a homeless life in a wild land, with no one but
the Indians to associate with, in those days, was especially annoying
to a good Christian woman, and yet it had its good points. It offered
a little religious freedom, which could not be had among those who
wanted it so much that they braved the billow and the wild beast, the
savage, the drouth, the flood, and the potato bug, to obtain it before
anybody else got a chance at it. Freedom is a good thing.
Twenty years later the Quakers shocked every one by thinking a few
religious thoughts on their own hooks. The colonists executed four of
them, and before that tortured them at a great rate.
During dull times and on rainy days it was a question among the
Puritans whether they would banish an old lady, bore holes with a
red-hot iron through a Quaker’s tongue, or pitch horseshoes.