_The Landing._
The Voyage Resumed.--Enter an Unknown Harbor.--Aspect of the
Land.--Choose it for their Settlement.--The Mayflower Enters
the Harbor.--Sabbath on Shipboard.--Exploring the Region.--
The Storm and Exposure.--The Landing.--View from the Hill.--
Arduous Labors.--The Alarm.--Arrangement of the Village.--
The Evident Hostility of the Indians.--Gloomy Prospects.--
Expedition of Captain Standish.--Billington’s Sea.--Lost in the
Woods.--Adventures of the Lost Men.--The Alarm of Fire.
The Pilgrims, having passed the Sabbath in rest and devotion upon
the island, early the next morning repaired their shattered boat and
spreading their sails again to the wintry winds continued their tour.
Soon a large bay opened before them, partially protected by a long sand
bar from the gales and the billows of the ocean. It was but a poor
harbor at the best. The low and dreary sand bar broke the fury of the
waves, but afforded no protection against the fierce gales which swept
the seas.
Cautiously our adventurers sailed around the point of sand, every few
moments dropping the lead that they might find a channel of sufficient
depth of water to allow their vessel to enter the bay. Having found
this passage, they steered for the shore and landed. They found
here one or two streams of pure water, several corn fields which
had evidently, in former times been cultivated by the Indians, in
their rude style of agriculture, but which, for some reason they had
abandoned. Eagerly they looked for some navigable river, but could
find none. The soil, though not so rich as they could wish, seemed
promising. The landscape was pleasingly diversified with hills and
valleys, while the forest, in its mysterious gloom, spread far away to
unknown regions in the west.
The location was by no means such as they had hoped to find. But it was
far superior to any other which had as yet presented itself. As winter
was approaching and time pressed they decided to look no further. A
party of them, well armed, marched along the shore for a distance of
eight miles, in search of a suitable spot for their village. They
selected a spot, but saw no natives, no wigwams, and no signs that the
region had recently been inhabited.
Having, in their own minds, settled the important question they spread
their sails and, instead of returning by the long circuit of the shore,
which they had traversed, pushed boldly across the bay, and in a few
hours reached the ship with their report. Without loss of time the
Mayflower weighed anchor on the 15th of December, and crossing the bay
anchored on the 16th in the shallow water of the harbor about a mile
and a half from the shore. The next day was the Sabbath. Strong as was
the temptation to land, they all remained on board the vessel, and
their hymns of thankfulness blended with the moan of the wintry gale as
it swept through the icy shrouds.
Early Monday morning Miles Standish set out with a small but well armed
party to explore that part of the country which immediately surrounded
the harbor, to decide upon the spot where they should rear their
little village of log huts. They traversed the coast for a distance
of several miles. Several brooks of crystal water were found, but to
their disappointment no navigable river rolling down its flood from the
unknown interior. They scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that
they found no Indians and no indications that the Indians then occupied
the region. Several quite extended fields were found, where the heavily
timbered forest had disappeared and where it was evident that the
Indians, in former years, had raised their harvests of corn. At night
the party returned to the ship not having fixed upon any spot for their
settlement.
The next day, the 19th, another exploring party set out moving in an
opposite direction. They divided into two companies, one to sail along
the coast in the shallop, hoping to find the mouth of some large river.
The other party landed and marched along the shore, examining the lay
of the land, the streams, the soil, and the timber of the forests. At
night they returned to the ship, still somewhat undecided. They had
however found one spot where there was a small stream of very clear,
sweet water, which seemed to be well stocked with fish, and a high
hill, a little back from the shore, which could be easily fortified,
and which commanded a very extensive view of the surrounding country
and the ocean. “It had clay, sand and shells,” writes Bradford, “for
bricks, mortar and pottery, and stone for wells and chimneys. The sea
and beach promised abundance of fish and fowl, and four or five small
running brooks brought a supply of very sweet, fresh water.”
The next morning, after earnest and united prayer for divine guidance,
a still larger party of twenty was sent on shore, more carefully to
examine the spot which had been suggested for their village. Though it
was not all they could desire, it still presented many attractions. It
was a cold December day. They climbed the hill, and gazed with pleasure
upon a prospect which was sublime and beautiful even on that bleak
and windy day, when the boughs of the trees were naked and when the
withered leaves were borne like snow flakes on the wintry air. They
tried to imagine its loveliness in the luxuriance and bloom of a June
morning.
While they stood upon the hill, the clouds, which all the morning had
been darkening the sky, began to increase in density and gather in
blackness. The wind rose to a gale, and the windows of heaven seemed
to be opened, as the rain fell upon them in torrents. All unsheltered
they found themselves exposed to the fury of a New England northeast
storm. Huge billows from the ocean swept the poorly protected harbor
and broke in such surges upon the beach that it was impossible for
them to return to the ship. They were totally unprepared for an
emergency so unexpected. Night came, a long, dark, cold, stormy night.
They sought shelter in the forest, constructed a rude camp which but
poorly sheltered them from wind and rain, and building a large fire,
found such comfort as they could in the imperfect warmth which it
afforded. All the night of Wednesday and all day Thursday the northeast
storm raged with fury unabated. Towards the evening of Thursday the
21st there was a lull in the tempest, so that the weary adventurers
succeeded in working their way back to the ship.
The next day was the ever-memorable Friday, December 22d. A wintry
storm, with its angry billows, still swept the bay. The day opened
upon the Pilgrims cold, cloudy and dreary. The long and anxiously
looked for hour had now come, when the Mayflower, the only material
tie which bound them to the Old World, was to be abandoned, and these
bold men were to be left three thousand miles from their native shores,
to struggle with all the known and unknown perils and hardships of
the wilderness. Familiar as are the graphic words of Mrs. Hemans, the
first verse of her memorable hymn so truthfully describes the scene
which that morning was presented to the Pilgrims, as to be worthy of
transcript here:
“The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky,
Their giant branches toss’d.”
At an early hour all the passengers of the Mayflower were assembled
upon the deck of their little ship, bowed down by emotions not easily
described. Men, women and children, all were there, oppressed by
thoughts too deep for utterance. Elder Brewster conducted their morning
devotions as the wintry gale breathed forth its requiem through the icy
shrouds. Sublime as was the hour, not one of those men of martyr spirit
could have had any true conception of its grandeur. They could not have
been conscious that then and there they were laying the foundations of
one of the mightiest empires upon which the sun has ever shone.
Their devotions being ended, boat load after boat load left the ship
which, in consequence of the shallowness of the water, was anchored at
the distance of a mile and a half from the shore. There was a large
and jagged rock projecting into the sea, upon which a landing was with
difficulty effected. Those who first were placed upon shore marked out
a street from their point of landing directly westward to the hill,
upon each side of which street their log huts were to be reared.
One of the first things, however, to be done, was to erect a log
store-house, about twenty feet square, where they could deposit their
effects, which were immediately to be landed from the ship, and where
the women and the children could find a temporary shelter from wind and
rain.
In the old style of computing time, the day of their landing was the
11th of December. For many years the 22d day of September, new style,
has been observed as “Forefather’s Day.” It is said, however, that
December 11th, O. S., corresponds with December 21st, N. S. But when
the anniversary was instituted at Plymouth, in 1769, _eleven_ days were
added for difference of style, instead of _ten_, the true difference.
The common house, to which we have alluded, it is supposed was erected
on the south side of what is now called Leyden street, near the
declivity of the hill. All hands working energetically, this building
was speedily put up, with a thatched roof.
Though the situation for their colony was not everything they could
desire, yet, as they prosecuted their labors, they became better and
better satisfied with the choice which they had made. One of their
number wrote,
“There are here cleared lands, delicate springs, and a sweet brook
running under the hill side, with fish in their season, where we may
harbor our shallops and boats. On the further side is much corn ground.
There is a high hill on which to plant our ordnance. Thence we may see
into the bay, and far out at sea, and have a glimpse of the distant
cape. Our greatest labor will be the bringing of wood. What people
inhabit here we know not, as we have yet seen none.”
All the day of Saturday every able-bodied man of the Pilgrims was on
the shore laboring with all possible diligence, felling trees, hewing
them, and dragging them with their own hands to the building lots, for
they had no horses or oxen. The women also were diligently at work
cooking at camp fires and helping to stow away their goods as they were
brought on shore.
The whole company was divided into nineteen families, each family
to build its own log hut. For protection against the Indians it was
needful that these huts should be clustered near together. The captain
of the Mayflower brought all the energies of his crew into requisition
in transporting the luggage to the shore, for his provisions were fast
disappearing, and he was exceedingly anxious to set out on his return.
The distance of the ship from the land caused much time to be lost
in going and coming. For several days a portion of the Pilgrim band
remained to lodge in the ship, while others were on the shore. The
labors of all were rendered painful and much impeded by cold and stormy
weather. Often the bay, swept by the wintry gale, was so rough that no
boat could leave the ship, and there could be no communication between
the two parties.
Sunday was again with them all a day of rest and devotion, though they
were divided, some being still on board the ship, while others were in
their frail shelters on the land. Those on shore assembled, for their
devotions, in their partially finished store-house. Their harps must
have been hung upon the willows, and pensive must have been the strains
which were breathed from their lips as they endeavored to sing the
Lord’s songs in a strange land. As with firm but saddened voices they
sang, they were startled by the war-whoop of the Indians in the forest.
They knew those fearful cries too well which many of them had heard at
the First Encounter.
Their efficient military commander, Miles Standish, had everything
arranged for such an emergency. Instantly every man seized his musket
and was at his post. Behind their barricade of logs, they could, with
their deadly fire arms, repel almost any number of savages approaching
over the open fields with only bows and arrows. The Indians, who
had been already taught to dread these weapons, after carefully
reconnoitering the position of the Pilgrims, vented their rage in a
few impotent yells, and, without any exposure of their persons to the
bullet, retreated into the wilderness.
The next day was Christmas. With renewed diligence the Pilgrims plied
their labors. “We went on shore,” writes Mourt, “some to fell timber,
some to saw, some to rive, and some to carry. So no man rested all that
day.”
As we have mentioned, there were nineteen families, but they differed
considerably in size. The single men joined themselves to some of
these families. The lots of land assigned to these families differed
in size, according to the number of the household. To each individual
person there was allotted about eight feet in breadth by fifty in
length. This would make but about four hundred square feet for each
one. Thus, a family of six persons would have a lot but forty-eight
feet wide by fifty deep. This seems an incredibly small amount of
land for each homestead, when the Pilgrims had the whole continent of
North America before them. The explanation is probably to be found in
the fact that it was necessary for them to place their houses as near
together as possible; that, with neither horses, oxen, or any other
beasts of burden, it was but a small portion of land which any one man
could cultivate; and, again, if any one wished for more land, there
were fields all around him, entirely free, and no one would dispute his
title deed. The homestead lots were so arranged as to make the little
cluster of huts a fortress, protected by their cannon, where their
whole force could be instantly rallied for the public defense. Towards
night of Christmas day, the yells of evidently unfriendly savages were
heard in the depths of the forest. This caused every man to seize his
musket and place himself in the attitude of defense. The wary savages,
however, while uttering these impotent menaces, still kept themselves
carefully concealed.
Tuesday, the 26th of December, ushered in such a storm of rain that
those on shore could do no work, and the gale so roughened the bay that
those on board the ship could not venture an attempt to land. The next
day the storm abated, and every available man was at work. As it seemed
very evident that the savages were hostile, and it was apprehended that
they might be gathering for a general assault, it was deemed necessary,
notwithstanding the pressing need of dwellings, that all should go to
work upon the hill, in the construction of a rude fort and platform for
their ordnance. The vestiges of this fortification are still visible
on the Burial Hill, where the guns could sweep with grape shot the
approaches to their village. It was hoped that the thunders of these
formidable weapons of war, followed by the carnage they could inflict,
should the savages approach in great numbers, would overwhelm them with
terror.
The weather, during the remainder of the week, continued very
unfavorable, it being cold, wet and stormy. Still the works on the land
slowly advanced. The savages, without showing themselves, continued to
hover around, and the smokes of great fires were seen, apparently at
the distance of about six or seven miles, indicating that the Indians,
in large numbers, were gathering around them.
The last day of the year 1620 came, sombre and sad. It was the Sabbath.
Many were sick. All were dejected. Wintry dreariness frowned over
earth and sea. Howling savages filled the forest. The provisions of
the Pilgrims were very scanty. The Mayflower was soon to leave them,
to contend, a feeble band, against apparently hostile elements, and
against the far more formidable hostility of savage men. To meet
these perils the Pilgrims could number but forty-one men. Sickness
had already commenced its ravages, and of these men, within three
months, twenty-one died. The chances that such a colony could long be
preserved from extinction, must have seemed almost infinitely small.
As usual, the Pilgrims rested from labor, and devoted the day, some on
shore, some in the ship, to prayer and praise. On this day the Pilgrims
solemnly named their little village Plymouth, in grateful remembrance
of the kindness which they had received from the people of Plymouth, in
England.
Monday morning, the first day of the new year, dawned propitiously
upon these bold-hearted exiles. A cloudless sky and genial atmosphere
invited them to labor. It was still necessary to be ever prepared for
an attack from their unseen foes. With no little solicitude, while
urging forward their work, they watched the moving columns of smoke,
which day by day rose from the distant wilderness, and the gleam of the
fires, which by night illumined the horizon, indicating the movement
and position of the Indians. During Tuesday and Wednesday these fires
seemed to increase in numbers. They were thus led to infer that the
savages were collecting in large numbers from distant parts, and were
making careful preparation for a general and simultaneous assault upon
the feeble colony.
On Thursday morning, the 4th of January, Captain Miles Standish, who
might be truly called the “bravest of the brave,” took with him four
men, well armed, and boldly plunged into the forest, intending to find
the Indians at their rendezvous, and if possible, to open friendly
relations with them. Adopting every precaution to avoid falling into an
ambuscade, he rapidly pushed forward several miles into the pathless
wilderness, threading gloomy ravines, crossing rivulets, and traversing
sublime forests. The wary Indians had undoubtedly their scouts
stationed to give warning of any approach of the white men; for Captain
Standish could not catch sight of a single one of the savages, though
he found several of their deserted wigwams, and even the still glowing
embers of their camp fires. The adventurers were also disappointed in
finding that the woods seemed destitute of game. Upon their return, at
the close of the afternoon, they shot one solitary eagle, whose flesh
the Pilgrims, in their half famished state, pronounced to be “excellent
meat, hardly to be discerned from mutton.”
Friday and Saturday passed away without any event of importance
occurring, while all hands were diligently at work. Another Sabbath
of rest, the 7th of January, dawned upon these toil-worn men and
women. The sun, of Monday, the 8th, rose in a cloudless sky. All bent
themselves eagerly to work. By some unaccountable oversight no small
fishhooks had been brought with them. Thus, though the harbor and the
brook apparently abounded with fishes, they could not be taken. The
shallop, however, was sent out to explore the coast, ascertain where
fishes could be found, and supplied with apparatus for taking seals,
which were seen in large numbers. In the evening the boat returned,
a gale having in the mean time arisen which greatly endangered its
safety. The crew had taken three large seals, and in some way, perhaps
by spearing, had got an excellent codfish.
One of their number, Francis Billington, had, a few days before,
climbed a tree upon the top of a hill, whence he saw, about two miles
southwest from the town, a large body of water, which was either a
lake or an arm of the sea, he could not tell which. He started to-day,
with a companion, to visit it, and found two large lakes of crystal
water, nearly connected together. One was about six miles in circuit,
embellished with a small, luxuriantly wooded island. The other they
estimated to be about three miles in circumference. They both abounded
with fish and water fowl, and apparently an unfailing stream of
water, which is now called Town Brook, issued from one of the lakes
and emptied into the harbor a little south of the rock upon which the
Pilgrims landed. Several Indian houses, but all uninhabited, were found
upon the margin of these sheets of water, which were essentially one
lake.
“This beautiful pond, so accurately described, bears the appropriate
name of Billington Sea. In the first century it was called Fresh Lake.
It is about two miles southwest from the town, and in it are two small
islands. It is now, as at first, embosomed in a wilderness of woods.
The eagle still sails over it, and builds in the branches of the
surrounding forest. Here the loon cries, and leaves her eggs on the
shore of the smaller island. Here too, the beautiful wood-duck finds
a sequestered retreat; and the fallow deer, mindful of their ancient
haunts, still resort to it to drink and to browse on its margin.”[8]
On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday all hands were busy in their
out-door work. The store-house, or, as they called it, the Common
House, was nearly finished and thatched. The cold, damp weather
hindered them very much, so that they could seldom work more than half
of the time. Friday morning dawned pleasantly, but about noon the
clouds gathered, and the chill rain began to fall, and an increasing
gale moaned through the tree tops. Four men had gone out into the
woods in the morning to gather tall dry grass for thatching. In the
afternoon two of them returned, and said that in some way they had
lost sight of their companions. They had searched for them in vain;
and though they had hallooed and shouted as loud as they could, they
could hear nothing from them. Intense solicitude was felt for them,
and a party of four or five men were immediately dispatched to search
in the direction in which they were last seen. After an absence of a
few hours they returned, at the close of the day, not having been able
to discover any traces of the lost, though they found many indications
that the Indians were lurking around. The long, stormy wintry night
passed slowly away, and still there were no tidings of the wanderers.
In the morning twelve men, well armed, probably under the leadership
of Captain Miles Standish, set out for a more extended exploration. It
was well known that Captain Standish would fail in nothing which mortal
energy or courage could accomplish. The prayers of the sorrowing band
accompanied them as they plunged into the forest. After a long and
careful search, in which they could find no trace whatever of the lost
men, they returned at night in deep dejection to their companions. All
the Pilgrims gathered around them, men, women and children, to hear the
account of their unsuccessful search.
While thus assembled they were startled by a shout in the distance,
and looking up, to their inexpressible joy, saw the two men emerging
from the forest. They ran to meet the wanderers, John Goodman and Peter
Brown, whose apparition was as life from the dead. Their tattered
garments and emaciate cheeks testified to the hardships which they
had endured. The following was the account which they gave of their
adventure:
As they were gathering some long grass, for thatching, about a mile
from the village, probably on the banks of Town Brook, they saw a pond
in the distance, perhaps Murdock’s Pond, and repaired to it. Upon the
margin of the pond they found a deer drinking. Two dogs they had with
them sprang after the deer, and pursued it eagerly into the forest. The
men followed, hoping that the dogs would seize the deer, and that thus
they might be able to capture so rich a prize. As, led by the baying
of the hounds, they followed the deer in its windings and turnings,
they became bewildered and lost in the pathless wilds which they had
penetrated. All the afternoon they wandered in vain seeking some clew
to lead them back to their home.
Night, dismal night, lowered over them with clouds, a rising gale,
and snow mingled with rain. They had no axes with which to construct
a shelter. They could find no cave or hollow tree in which to take
refuge. Weary, footsore and starving, and with no weapon but a small
sickle with which they had been cutting thatch, they heard the howling
of wolves around them, and other strange cries from wild beasts, of
they knew not what ferocity. Their only protection seemed to be to
climb into a tree. They tried it. The keen wintry blast so pierced
their thin clothing that they could not endure the cold. Death by
freezing would be inevitable.
The blackness of Egyptian darkness was now around them. They also heard
a fearful roaring of wild beasts, which was undoubtedly the howling of
wolves, but which they supposed to be the roar of lions. They stood at
the root of the trees all the night long, exercising as they could to
keep themselves warm, ever ready to spring into the branches should
danger approach. They were compelled to hold one of their dogs by the
neck, he was so eager to rush in pursuit of the beasts whose cries
excited him.
The long winter night at length gave way to the gloom of a stormy
morning. Half frozen and starving, and expecting to perish in the
wilderness, these lost men resumed their search for home. They waded
through swamps, forded streams, encountered ponds, struggled through
thickets which tore clothing and skin. At last they came to a hill.
Climbing one of the tallest trees, they saw the ocean in the distance,
and, to their inexpressible joy, recognized the harbor of Plymouth, by
two little islands which dotted its surface. The sight reanimated their
drooping minds and bodies. All day long, in the extreme of exhaustion,
they tottered on their way, until just before nightfall they reached
their home. The feet of one of these men, John Goodman, were so swollen
that they were compelled to cut off his shoes.
The work of building had advanced slowly. The days were short, cold and
stormy. Nearly all were enfeebled by toil and exposure, while some were
seriously sick. Both Governor Carver and Mr. Bradford, his successor
in office, were prostrate with fevers. They were on beds in the Common
House, where cots had been arranged on the floor for the sick, as near
one to another as they could be placed. Though many of the Pilgrims
were still in the Mayflower, the majority lodged on shore.
The Common House was so far finished, nearly all of its roof being
thatched, that it afforded protection from the snow and rain, while its
thick walls of logs shut off the piercing wind, and a cheerful fire
blazed upon the stone hearth.
On Sunday morning, January 14th, about six o’clock, the wind blowing
almost a gale, they were appalled by the cry of “fire.” The thatch
of grass, dry as tinder, touched by a spark, was in a blaze. All
the ammunition and most of the arms had been brought on shore and
deposited in the store-house. Its loss would expose them, defenceless,
to the tomahawk of the Indian. Nearly all of their scanty supply of
food was there. Without it starvation was inevitable. The people in
the ship saw the smoke and the flame, but the tide was out, and they
could not reach the shore. Soon, however, the tide came in, the gale
abated, and a boat load cautiously advanced to the land, where they
had all proposed to pass the Sabbath together, the majority of the
company being then on shore. Upon landing they were cheered with the
tidings that the lost men were found, and that the fire, which had been
extinguished, was accidental.