Read Ebook: The Wisdom of Fools by Deland Margaret Wade Campbell

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Bradford says that before entering the harbor, they drew up a compact as "y^e first foundation of their governments in this place," to which he and all the men of the incipient Colony affixed their signatures. This classic document of essential democracy was a swift and prudent precaution against insubordination, which a few ultra-independent souls had threatened to show, declaring that on landing they would do as they pleased, since in New England they were not under the authority of their patent for Virginia. It was English territory, however, and in the beginning of the statement they professed themselves "loyal subjects" of King James. Better to have the protection of an unsympathetic sovereign than to become the prey of a lawless and irresponsible anarchy. Thus "before they came ashore," they secured themselves against despotism's opposite extreme. It was a timely act, done on the day of debarkation.

The Mayflower boxed the compass, rounding the tip of the Cape and feeling her way in the circular harbor there. The inner beaches are shallow, and it seems even the longboat, though launched three-quarters of a mile off, could not be brought near the strand. The men were obliged to wade a bow-shot or two, landing at the insular Long Point, toward the sea, and carrying back to the boat swamp-cedar, as fire-wood aboard was gone. The exposure caused illness at this season, which with later aggravations proved fatal to some. Bradford escaped the "lung woe," but contracted an acute and critical form of rheumatism, or confirmed it after the chilly discomforts of the bunks and the sweeping gales of the voyage.

Yet despite this prolonged cold foot-bath in American brine, he records that "being thus arrived in a good harbor, and brought safe to land; they fell upon their knees and blessed y^e God of heaven; who had brought them over y^e vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all y^e periles and miseries thereof; againe to set their feete on y^e firm and stable earth, theire proper element."

Though the Mayflower must have anchored before noon on Saturday, the first full day after arrival was Sunday, and these Pilgrims strangers had an opportunity to refresh themselves and prepare their souls for the strenuous business ahead. Also throughout that initial week of life in America, the weather was mellow and open. Several weeks were required for repairing the colonists' shallop, which was a means of more delay in the already very late season. But meanwhile, on the last Wednesday of November an exploring party started out with Capt. Jones and some seamen; and in the afternoon sixteen intending settlers followed, armed and under command of Myles Standish, Masters Bradford, Hopkins and Edward Tilley "being joined to him for council." They saw Indians, whom they followed for several miles, but could not come up with them. Finding much corn buried, they brought some of it to the ship and later paid the natives for it, after using it for seed. But in this and another trip on the narrow part of the Cape, they discovered no locality which suited them for settlement.

As December came in, the protracted mildness changed to a sudden and intense cold, the ground freezing to a foot's depth, wind and snow also impeding their operations, while in the boats the congealed spray on their coats looked like a covering of glass. To add to the awkwardness of the situation, Capt. Jones threatened to put ashore the whole company with their families and scanty possessions, and return to England at once because of the late season and his diminishing food supply, unless they succeeded in finding a place for habitation. At this juncture Second Mate Coppin suggested that they look for a harbor somewhere around in Cape Cod Bay, which he remembered visiting on a fishing vessel. Accordingly, when December was now half through, ten of the Pilgrims, including Bradford, went in their repaired shallop with eight mariners, in search of that location, skirting the inner shores.

They camped the first night on the south of the Bay, building a barricade of logs and boughs, as a shelter also against the wind, open on one side with a fire in the centre. Their defense was useful, for unawares they had come close to a settlement of Nauset Indians, a tribe which had suffered cruelty at the hands of infamous Capt. Hunt who kidnapped some of them and sold them abroad as slaves. Intent on revenge, they approached within hearing of the English sentry, about midnight; but on his raising the alarm, they made no attack then, and the voyagers returned to their needed sleep, not being sure whether the noise was caused by man or beast.

On awakening Friday morning, December 18, they united in prayer for heavenly leading and protection, and encouraged one another. While breakfast was preparing, some of them went down to put their muskets in the shallop, but on the remonstrance of a few who retained their arms, the rest were laid on the bank above the boat. They had no sooner returned to their camp than they were startled by the ringing war-whoop, and one of their own number came running from the woods, calling to them, "Men, men! Indians, Indians!" A shower of arrows sought the barricade, transfixing some of the hanging coats. Fortunately the prudent four who had kept their weapons made good use of them, and some who had armor donned it and with their swords accompanied their comrades in a rush to the bank for the muskets, the Indians racing to intercept them but in vain. The weapons carelessly left were now discharged with a quieting effect, the savages soon retreating, without losses on either side. To increase their fear, the colonists pursued them a little way, shouting and firing. Then, thanking God for their deliverance, they embarked and went up the west shore northward.

It was an uninviting coast. But Robert Coppin encouraged them in the hope of reaching before dark that harbor he had visited, though these were the shortest days of the year and thick weather was setting in fast, followed by snow and rain in the afternoon, a south-east storm rising. Their rudder broke under the strain, and two men were required to steer with oars the heavy shallop, which someone has considered as about thirty feet in length. It was shelterless, without deck or house.

Finally their pilot gave the cheering news that he could discern the harbor. As the daylight was lessening and the tempest increasing, they risked too much sail with the intention of clearing the rocks at the entrance while they could see. Suddenly the overburdened mast snapped in three pieces and the sail went overboard, nearly capsizing the little vessel. Righting her quickly, and riding in by the oars with the tide aiding, their guide, however, failed to recognize the place in the deepening twilight. Trying to run ashore in the cove of Saquish, the breakers were so huge and thunderous there, that a seaman, wisely foreseeing disaster, protested and they turned away. But soon was heard a gentler wash against some protected beach, to which the oarsmen pulled. Grounding the keel, some of them gladly leaped out, feeling with inexpressible relief the solid strand beneath their feet. The others, remembering the encounter of early morning, remained in the shallop till after midnight, when a bitter clearing wind drove them ashore to the fire which their fellows had managed to kindle. There they all awaited the dawn.

With the welcome day the north-west wind went down, and the sun added its warmth to the fire. They were pleased to find themselves upon an island, and they used that Saturday to dry out their soaked belongings and prepare their muskets, while taking a good look at the harbor. On a rock upon this Clarke's Island, are the words inscribed from their record, "On the Sabboth day wee rested." And with grateful joy they held their customary service, in the shelter of the boulder.

Monday they sounded the harbor, as Bradford relates, and found it fit for shipping. Then they landed, bringing the boat by a large rock, whence they could more conveniently step ashore. The place proved uninhabited, but with desirable clearings, showing signs of rather recent occupancy. Marching about, they discovered the various natural advantages, including a number of brooks. They were satisfied that the location would be suitable for settlement. So passed December 21, our Forefathers' Day.

It was good news which this advance party brought back to the Mayflower, and they all prepared to come to Plymouth, as they called it, because it had already been so named by Captain John Smith a few years before; and thus they also remembered the old Plymouth where they last beheld England, and were kindly entertained.

Sad intelligence, however, awaited William Bradford. His wife Dorothy May, doubtless oppressed with loneliness in his absence, perhaps pensively and by herself looking for his return at the high stern's rail near the ladies' cabins, in weariness and weakness might easily have fallen asleep as in a rolling cradle, especially if seeking the relief of the salt ozone after nausea. In such case losing her balance, she fell overboard and was drowned, probably the stern's height making the water's concussion sufficient to produce instantaneous unconsciousness.

On Christmas Day in our reckoning, the fifteenth in theirs, the Mayflower set sail for Plymouth, but contrary winds beat her back to her old anchorage. Next day, Saturday, the attempt was successful, barely; for within half an hour after arrival an adverse gale sprang up outside. But the sickle-shaped harbor held them safely. The long voyage was ended at last, a few days before the second decade of the seventeenth century closed.

It went out in a cold rain-storm, with the life of another Pilgrim, for mortality had already commenced. Furious winds and driving rain, again deep snow followed by bitter cold, with consequent increase of sickness, hindered the colonists in their efforts to build log houses there in the dead of winter.

New Year's Day, 1621, a tempestuous Friday, beheld a new-born babe, but unbreathing; and the first Sabbath ashore witnessed the seventh death in America, a toll of the dread Harvester which continued through all that winter, until seven times seven and two more expired, or almost half their whole company, while the Mayflower crew lost in the same proportion of fifty per cent. The vessel was retained till April, not only because adequate habitations could not be constructed soon enough under such fearful circumstances, but because there were not enough sailors in health to man the ship.

Only four of the eighteen wives were spared. Five of the children died, yet fifteen survived. Bradford records concerning the survivors of this perilous enterprise, in uncertain exile compelled by persecution, "of these in the time of most distress, there was but six or seven sound persons who, to their great commendations be it spoken, spared no pains, night or day, but with abundance of toil and hazard of their own health, fetched them wood, made their fires, dressed their meat, made their beds, washed their loathsome clothes, clothed and unclothed them; in a word did all the homely and necessary offices for them; and all this willingly and cheerfully, without any grudging in the least, showing herein their true love unto their friends and brethren."

This first month of the year and of the Colony brought Bradford himself a severe illness, in which an accident also threatened his life. A month from the original Forefathers' Day "the common house" was completed, where the workers slept and supplies from the ship were deposited. In this building, small like the seven dwellings that followed, lay in weakness Masters Carver and Bradford, one the Pilgrims' first Governor, even from sea-faring days, the other soon to be his successor. Early one Sunday morning the thatch roof caught fire and burned, though the house underneath was saved. The occupants escaped, though not without grave danger from explosion because of powder stored there.

The plan of the little village was laid out Januuary seventh. Its main thoroughfare was simply called the Street, then, successively, First, Great, and Broad Street; but as late as 1823 it took the name of Leyden. On either side of it, less than a score of plots were set off for the various families. The distribution was by lot, though larger households received larger areas, according to the number of their members. The whole tract was enclosed next year within a stout palisade, about a mile in circuit, after signs of native hostility had made them more watchful than ever. On the hill at the head of the street a wooden fort was built, with which Bradford was said to be much pleased, as it was comparatively large and imposing. On its flat roof ordnance was installed, commanding the whole port. The interior was used for Sabbath congregations, and was the most commodious place for any public assembly.

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