VI

The dungeons which remain to witness of their hardships in Boston are of

thick-walled, iron-grated stone, and the captives were fed on bread

and water within smell of the roasting and broiling of the Guildhall

kitchens immediately beside them. I will not conjecture with “R. N.”

that they were put there “by a refinement of cruelty,” so that they

might suffer the more in that vicinage. “The magistrates” who had “used

them courteously and shewed them what favour they could,” would not have

willed that; but perhaps “the Counsell-table” did; and it was certainly

a hardship that the dungeons and the kitchens were so close together, as

any man may see at this day. Neither the dungeons nor the kitchens are

any longer used; the spits and grates are rusted where the fires blazed,

and the cells where the Pilgrims suffered are now full of large earthen

jars. For no other or better reason, the large open spaces of the

basement outside of them were scattered about with agricultural

implements, ploughs, harrows, and the like. It was the belief of my

companion, founded on I know not what fact, that the hall in which the

Pilgrims were tried was a large upper chamber which we found occupied by

a boys’ school. The door stood partly ajar, and we could see the master

within walking up and down before some twenty boys, as if waiting for

one of them to answer some question he had put them. Perhaps it was a

question of local history, for none of them seemed able to answer it;

presently when a boy came out on some errand, and we stopped him, and

asked him where it was the Pilgrims had been tried, he did not know,

and apparently he had never heard of the Pilgrims. He was a very

nice-looking boy, and otherwise not unintelligent; certainly he was

well-mannered, as nice-looking English boys are apt to be with their

elders; perhaps he had heard too much of the Pilgrims, and had purposely

forgotten them. This might very well have happened in a place like

Boston where such hordes of Americans are coming every year, and asking

so many hard questions concerning an incident of local history not

wholly creditable to the place. He could justly have said that the same

or worse might have happened to the Pilgrims anywhere else in England,

under the dread lord there then was, and in fact something of the same

hardship did befall them afterward at the place a little northeast of

Boston, which we were now to visit for their piteous sake.

“The nexte spring after,” as Bradford continues the narrative of their

sorrows, “ther was another attempte made by some of these & others, to

get over at an other place. And so it fell out, that they light of a

Dutchman at Hull, having a ship of his owne belonging to Zealand; they

made agreements with him, and acquainted him with their condition,

hoping to find more faithfullnes in him, then in the former of their

owne nation. He bad them not fear, for he would doe well enough. He

was by appointment to take them in betweene Grimsbe & Hull, where was

a large comone a good way distante from any towne. Now against the

prefixed time, the women & children, with the goods, were sent to the

place in a small barke, which they had hired for that end; and the men

were to meete them by land. But it so fell out, that they were ther a

day before the shipe came, and the sea being rough, and the women very

sicke, prevailed with the seamen to put into a creeke hardby, wher they

lay on ground at lowwater. The nexte morning the shipe came, but they

were fast, & could not stir till about noone. In the mean time, the

shipe maister, perceiveing how the matter was, sente his boate to be

getting the men abord whom he saw ready, walking aboute the shore. But

after the first boat full was gott abord, & she was ready to goe for

more, the Mr. espied a greate company, both horse & foote, with bills,

& gunes, & other weapons; for the countrie was raised to take them. The

Dutchman seeing this swore his countries oath, ‘sacremente,’ and having

the wind faire, waiged his Ancor, hoysed sayles, & away. But the poore

men which were gott abord, were in great distress for their wives and

children, which they saw thus to be taken, and were left destitute of

their helps; and them selves also, not having a cloath to shifte them

with, more then they had on their baks, & some scarce a peney aboute

them, all they had being abord the barke. It drew tears from their

eyes, and any thing they had they would have given to have been a shore

againe; but all in vaine, ther was no remedy, they must thus sadly part.

The rest of the men there were in greatest danger, made shift to escape

away before the troope could surprise them: those only staying that best

might, to be assistante unto the women. But pitifull it was to see the

heavie case of these poore women in this distress: what weeping & crying

on every side, some for their husbands, that were carried away in the

ship as is before related; others not knowing what should become of

them, & their little ones; others again melted in teares, seeing their

poore little ones hanging aboute them, crying for feare, and quaking

with could. Being thus aprehanded, they hurried from one place to

another, and from one justice to another, till in the ende they knew not

what to doe with them; for to imprison so many women & innocent children

for no other cause (many of them) but that they must goo with their

husbands, seemed to be unreasonable and all would crie out of them;

and to send them home againe was as difficult, for they aleged, as the

trueth was, they had no homes to goe to, for they had either sould, or

otherwise disposed of their houses & livings. To be shorte, after they

had been thus turmoyled a good while, and conveyed from one constable to

another, they were glad to be ridd of them in the end upon any termes:

for all were wearied & tired with them. Though in the mean time they

(poore soules) indured miserie enough; and thus in the end necessitie

forste a way for them.”