The Finding of Plymouth

"Land O!"

Hob-nailed shoes, top-boots and clogs went clattering up on deck in a hurry. The long, low shoreline could just be made out between gray sky and gray sea. The Mayflower  was off the American coast.

As the ship stood in toward the land every one who was able to be afoot at all crowded to her rail. Women with babies in their arms, bundled in all the wraps they had to keep out the keen sea wind, men already planning the future, and a dozen eager boys and girls peered across the wintry sea looking for the mighty forests and rivers and the cone-shaped wigwams of the wilderness. But they saw only some stunted pines and scrubby undergrowth, on an endless reach of wind-heaped sand.

"Mother," said twelve-year-old Constance Hopkins, "this is the very first land our Oceanus ever saw. If we'd gone on sailing and never found it, he would never know what land was like."

"I know," chirped small Damaris. "Mammy, when are we goin' to Lun'on?"

"Dear heart!" her mother answered, trying to smile, though the tears came at the thought of the old home. "Maybe when thou'rt grown tall, my moppet, and wed to a great merchant."

The baby, Oceanus, kept his thumb in his mouth and said nothing. For a baby born in mid-ocean and rocked in tempests he was remarkably good.

"I want to see the Injuns!" piped up Resolved White, who was five years old and proud of it. The little girls laughed in a half-scared way. The boys all stood up as straight and looked as brave as they could.

"I don't want to see 'em," quavered Mary Allerton. "Will they come in the ship, Remember?"

"No, surely not," said Remember, putting a protecting arm around her little sister. "Cap'n Jones would never let'em."

"Cap'n Standish 'ull make 'em hyper," asserted brother Bartholomew. "His sword's as tall as Mary, and it's got some heathen writing on it, that he can't read himself."

"Ho!" scoffed Giles Hopkins, "the savages wouldn't be a-scared of that. But his gun's made on purpose to fight Injuns. It's a snaphance."

"What's that? It sounds spry," said Remember.

" 'Tis. You can fire twice with it, 'thout stopping to reload. It's got a spring lock, and it strikes a spark to light the powder. That's the kind of a gun I'd have."

But never a birch canoe or a painted face was in sight. William Bradford suggested demurely that perhaps the Indians had heard that Captain Standish was here, with his gun and were hiding away.

"The first spring o' clean water the men find, us'll go ashore and do our wash," said Goodwife Tilley. "If I be skelped by the savages I'll die clean anyways."

"But father says there be no cruel heathen near the South River, Aunt Ann," said thirteen-year-old Elizabeth timidly.

"Never thee fear, Betsey," said her mother, coming up just then with a warm cloak. "The good Lord will take care of us."

Elizabeth, somewhat reassured, shared her cloak with Humility Cooper and stood watching the waterfowl wheeling and dipping above the shallows. The boys were excitedly pointing out the varieties they knew.

The fathers of the company were talking with Captain Jones, and the mothers, anxiously watching their faces, felt sure that something was wrong. Soon they heard what it was. Before leaving England, the leaders had secured a patent, or letter of permission, from King James I., allowing them to settle in Virginia under the London Company. That is, they might take up any unclaimed land they found south of latitude 38°, which was as far north as the London Company's grant extended. The fur-traders of the Dutch West India Company on Manhattan Island claimed everything between 38° and 41°. Still further north and east, from 41° to 45°, the Plymouth Company, made up of west-country English merchants, had another grant of territory, but it was so bleak and dangerous that all attempts to colonize it had failed. There were frightful stories of men starved, frozen, murdered by fierce natives, in that inhospitable land. And in this desolate region, five hundred miles from the nearest English house, in a place where they had no legal right to be, the captain had decided to land them.

"But, man, it is getting on for winter, and the women and the little ones cannot be left shelterless," pleaded good Elder Brewster. "Only for the delays in sailing we'd ha' been here months ago. 'T is none of our doing."

"Nor none of mine neither," growled the captain, uncomfortably; he was not really a cruel man. He knew better than they did how long was a voyage from cape to cape on this Atlantic coast-line; but he finally consented to turn southward on the chance of reaching the Dutch settlement. Brewster and Bradford thought that, having a good knowledge of Dutch and many friends in Holland, they might be allowed to remain in that colony until spring.

Half a day's sail, however, brought the ship into the perilous shoal waters known to French explorers as "Mallebarre" and to English seamen as "Tucker's Terror." The captain refused to beat southward further against an evil wind. Master Coppin, the mate, who had been hereabouts on a fishing voyage, said there was a bay somewhere to the northward where the Indians stole a harpoon from him. On the map of Captain John Smith such a harbor appeared under the name New Plymouth. As for the lack of a patent, that was the least of their troubles. The Plymouth Company would doubtless be only too glad to give them one.

The Mayflower  had been badly overcrowded from the start, having taken on some of the passengers of the disabled Speedwell. She carried more than a hundred persons besides her crew—eighteen married women, fifty-one men and youths, the rest boys and girls and babies. The four small cabins with their four berths each, off the main cabin, were given up to women who had little children and young daughters. The men and boys found quarters where they could, some in the unventilated cubby-holes between decks, a few of the young men in the forecastle with the sailors. No cooking could be done except when the sea was smoothest. Then salt meat or fish could be made into stew with vegetables, and kettlefuls of porridge cooked, to be eaten cold afterward if necessary. In rough weather, hard biscuit, cheese, and beer were all they could have. The ordinary sea fare was salt beef, pork and cod, beans and pease, meal, beer, and strong waters. By the advice of Dutch skippers the provident Pilgrim fathers laid in pickled eggs in tubs, butter, spiced meats, dried fruits, parsnips, cabbage, onions, sausages, smoked herrings, and vinegar. The delays in sailing and the expense caused thereby had forced them to sell some of these stores at Plymouth or they would have fared much better than they did.

At best, little could be done for the comfort of the sick. The close, foul air they must breathe, cooped up under battened-down hatches, the unaccustomed food and the unhealthy inaction brought on something worse than seasickness—a form of typhus often called "ship-fever." This was one reason for the captain's desire to get rid of them and sail for home. If his own men caught the fever he might have to winter on the coast.

"If this be the wholesome climate we heard tell of," grumbled John Billington, trying to find shelter from the piercing wind, "we'd better ha' gone to Guiana as they talked on once."

"Not me," said Stephen Hopkins. "That's too near the Spanishers wi' their Inquisition."

"Is't true," queried John Howland, "that we can all do as we like since the King's law don't hold here?"

Hopkins turned quickly. "Who said that?"

"Some are saying so," said John cautiously. "They say that sin' we're not to be landed where we agreed for to go, we should divide our stores and go where we likes."

"Sitha here, lad," said Hopkins, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder, "that's silly talk. We're in a muddle, and if we don't stand together and hold together we'll belike all be dead before spring. God He knows what the Injuns will be like. Aside from that, we need every hand we've got, to build housen and raise corn. King's law or common law, some law must be. Don't ye see that, John?"

John saw. He had never taken to the notion of deserting the company in this extremity, even if it had been to his own interest.

No one was really surprised when, as soon as the ship was anchored inside the crooked finger-tip of Cape Cod, word was passed for all the men to meet in the large cabin. It was the morning of November 16, 1620. Forty-one men of all degrees, from merchants and elders to laborers and serving-men, gathered to settle upon a plan for the government of the colony. The document which was ready for them to sign was read aloud, and was brief and simple enough for all to understand.

Those who signed it bound themselves to elect such officers and enact such laws as were needed for the general good and to obey them. It was laid fiat on the lid of Elder Brewster's great chest, where each man as he came forward might read it over, if he could read, before he signed his name. Some could only make their mark, but nobody raised any objection to signing, and John Carver was elected governor for the first year without a word said against him. The Pilgrims were making law for themselves.

After that, the men set about getting the shallop out of the hold for an exploring expedition. This took time, for it was wedged in where some of the men had slept in it during the voyage. Monday was fair, and the sailors had found a stream of good water, so that some of the women and older children were rowed ashore in the ship's boats for a grand washing-day. The children brought driftwood and helped to fill the wooden tubs and brass kettles, men patrolled the beach in case of lurking Indians, and mothers and maids, tucking up their skirts and sleeves, attacked the piled-up laundry of three long months. When they returned to the Mayflower  that night with linen rough-dried and blossom-white from wind and sun, they were ready, as Elder Brewster's wife said, to thank the Lord for His mercies.

The carpenter reported, with a long face, that it would take sixteen or seventeen days to make the shallop seaworthy. Myles Standish and William Bradford urged that in the meantime a party might go out afoot. "There's been some big talk of adventuring in the wilderness," the little Captain said with a twinkle in his eye, for he was an old campaigner. "Give 'em a taste of it."

On Wednesday, therefore, seventeen volunteers set out under the command of the Captain. They had rations of hard biscuit, Dutch cheese, and a small allowance of strong waters. But they found no springs or streams in their travels until the second day, and when they did come upon a spring the water tasted like the nectar of the gods.

Through deep and heavy sand, up and down steep hills they plodded, each man in steel helmet, corselet, and back-piece, and carrying besides his sword or dagger a matchlock weighing at least twenty pounds. This gun was designed to be fired from a "rest" or stand, and was about seven and a half feet long, including the stock. It was not a handy weapon for a long march.

Now and then they caught a glimpse of Indians at a distance, but never very near. A curious mound which they discovered was found, when they dug into it, to contain mats and wooden bowls, weapons, and skeletons wrapped up with fine red powder. It was no part of Captain Standish's plan to violate graves and he ordered all this put back and the surface carefully smoothed. In another and much larger mound they came first on a small ornamental basket full of grain, and then a big one, round, and narrow at the top, full of more grain—three dozen ears of maize of the last harvest, yellow, deep red, and dark blue. Most of them had seen Indian corn, brought as a curiosity to England, although it would not grow there. The Captain began to wonder whether the Indians might not have abandoned this part of the country. He decided that they would keep this corn for planting. If the owners could be found it should be paid for or returned. The grain they had brought from England might not thrive here, and if it would not they must have the kind of seed-corn that would grow in the country. So far, there had been no chance to buy any.

They followed a broad lane for some distance through the woods, hoping that it might lead to a town, but saw only one or two startled deer. When they came to a sapling bent over and fastened down with withes, and acorns scattered about which certainly had not fallen from any oak there, Hopkins warned them to walk wide, as this looked like a deer-trap. William Bradford, the last of the party, did not hear. He went up to examine the curious device and a hidden noose caught him round the ankle, hoisting the grave young student head downward in the air.

When at last the shallop had been repaired, Captain Jones volunteered to go with the first party, in his longboat, with his own crew. The shores were so flat that in order to land at all at any point which looked promising, they must wade for long distances through the icy water. The Captain shot some ducks and geese and, getting tired of plowing through deep snow, wading pools, and floundering in icy bogs, took his sailors and some others who had given out, and went back to the ship.

In the second expedition Governor Carver himself went. The others were William Bradford, Edward Winslow, Captain Standish, John and Edward Tilley, and John Howland of the Leyden Pilgrims; Stephen Hopkins, Richard Warren, and Edward Doten of the London party, and John Allerton and Thomas English, who had come over in the forecastle. Captain Jones lent them three sailors, and the two mates, Mr. Clarke and Mr. Coppin; and the master gunner from the ship came of his own accord. For fifteen leagues they sailed along the shore of the great bay, where it seemed as if a thousand ships might anchor. In the bitter wind the spray froze upon them till their clothes were like plate armor of ice. At evening they landed in a small bay, and built a rough barricade in horseshoe shape, to keep the wind off. During the night the sentinel roused them, hearing a strange noise, but they heard nothing more just then. It was still at least two hours to daylight when they arose, to be in time to embark when the tide turned. Some even took their guns down to the shore before breakfast, though Myles Standish and three others kept theirs within reach. While they were eating there was an alarm from the sentinel, and they heard a weird ferocious war-cry.

"Woach! woach! ha-ha-ha-teach-woach!"

Arrows came pattering like hail. The Captain's snaphance barked twice, promptly. The four at the barricade then went on firing, in alternate couples, while the others raced down to the boat for their guns. In the darkness neither party knew what happened to the other. Great was the rejoicing when the savages were driven off, and the Mayflower  men found that, though the coats hung on the barricade were riddled, no one was so much as wounded by the enemy. They picked up eighteen arrows among the dry leaves to send home, headed not with flint, but with bone, or with bits of brass that might have come from a wrecked ship.

When they were safe on board the shallop and it was light, Master Coppin recognized a tall headland, rising nearly four hundred feet above the sandy levels, as a landmark of sailors. But before they reached it a storm of wind, snow, and rain came up, growing fiercer every hour. The hinges of the rudder broke, and they had to steer with oars. When they crowded on sail, the mast broke into three pieces.

"God be merciful to us!" cried the bewildered mate, "this is no place that ever I saw!"

In his distraction he would have run them ashore in a cove full of breakers if Thomas English, who manned one of the steering-oars, had not called sharply to the rowers to put about. Under a bank they found shelter, got their breath, and made ready to spend the night, for by this time it was black dark. The rain was beating furiously, but some of the party went ashore and managed to get a fire going; the others refused to leave the boat for fear of another Indian attack. When the wind veered about midnight, however, it turned so cold that, frozen out, they came limping up to the fire to sleep with their friends.

Morning was fair and sunshiny. They found themselves on a little island covered with cedar trees, and named it "Clarke's Island" after the mate. When they had finished drying their clothes and mending their boat it was nearly sunset, and the next day was Sunday. They kept it as usual, with prayer, quiet talk, and the singing of hymns, and not an arrow, war-whoop, or prowling enemy disturbed the peace of the day.

Early next morning, December 22nd, they set sail, and found Plymouth Bay close at hand. It seemed to have been made for them. It was shaped like a sickle or a fish-hook, with two wooded islands, Clarke's Island being the larger. There were hills that could easily be defended, a rich black soil for grain and plenty of sand, gravel, and clay good for pottery or cleaning. They found many useful herbs and plants and, best of all, streams of delicious water. Well content, they took the news back to the ship, and she was soon anchored in the bay.

Every one was eager to see the new home. A great rock made a natural landing-place for the boat-loads coming ashore, and Mary Chilton, a merry lass of fourteen who had found a place in the first company, said that she would be first to step on that rock. In her haste she wet her feet, and might have got a ducking but for John Alden, who leaped ashore almost at the same moment. In fact it is not quite certain who really landed first, even to-day.