One Small Candle: The Pilgrim's First Year in America (The Thomas Fleming Library)

by Thomas Fleming

But the wind. Where was it? One moment the ship’s sails were full. The next they were limp, flapping in a weird calm. There was, Captain Jones estimated at a glance, a two-knot tide running in the water around them. God knows where it could shove the Mayflower, without wind enough to make headway. In all his years at sea, Christopher Jones had never been in a tighter box. The mates were taut with tension, the crew aghast. If this was Tucker’s Terror, now they knew why that old salt was scared.

  The passengers immediately sensed the crew’s fears. After all those agonizing weeks, were they going to smash here, within sight of the promised land? By now the light was fading from the autumn sky. Anchoring for the night was a possibility. But when the tide ran out, they had no idea how close the bottom might be. A sudden storm, or even a mild swell, could be enough to smash the ship to pieces on the sands.

  Once more all eyes turned to Christopher Jones. And once more he chose the bold decision. Run for the open sea, while there was still daylight to sail by. They might hit worse shoals before they were clear. But with luck, they would be safe before darkness fell. But only if they had wind. For some twenty minutes, none seemed to be forthcoming, and they wallowed helplessly in the breakers. Then, as if by conquering the Atlantic they had made her their slave, the ocean heaved an obedient sigh, and they were moving again. The helm was put over, and the ship came around through the crashing water. The leadsman went to work again, feeling his way through the breakers for the exit to the depths.

  Another twenty minutes of anxious listening to the calls of the sinking line and they began to hear the delightful numbers: “Forty fathoms at bottom, fifty fathoms at bottom.” Safe, in enough water to float six Mayflowers stacked on top of one another. The dying sun threw huge red-streaked shadows over the sea as the ship emerged from the shoals that later generations would call Pollock’s Rip. In a superb demonstration of seamanship, Captain Jones had conned her to safety without even a scratch on her hull.

  But now another conference was in order. If the uncharted coast contained any more water like Tucker’s Terror, they might be weeks reaching Hudson’s River. Their maps told them nothing. They could not even trust them for distance. What looked like ten leagues might be a hundred. Maybe it would be wiser to settle here, on the New England coast, and waste no more of these precious days on the edge of winter.

  Far into the night the leaders from Leyden and the leaders from London debated the situation, and finally decided to risk New England. In some ways the advantages, certain religious freedom and present proximity, outweighed the disadvantages, the lack of a patent and the supposedly severe winters. According to second mate Robert Coppin, who had sailed this coast in 1619, there was a fine harbor on the other side of Cape Cod, where they could safely anchor and explore the country.

  They communicated their decision to Captain Jones the next morning, and he promptly brought the Mayflower about once more and began beating back up the coast. For him, making a landfall was simple enough. But for his passengers, the choice suddenly presented an alarming threat.

  When the leaders announced that they had with due consideration decided to settle in New England rather than at Hudson’s River, a shiver of mutinous fever ran through the ship.

  The younger men - the bonded servants and those hired under contract - and some of the Londoners who, like Christopher Martin, felt they were being condemned to servitude by the changed terms of their contract with the London merchants, greeted the news of a New England landing as a call to revolution. These sober saints with their patent no longer had any right to control them. It was exactly the same situation Stephen Hopkins had experienced when shipwrecked in Bermuda in 1609. Landing on a shore where they had no right to go, the mutineers felt that they were automatically “freed from the government of any man.” Edward Dotey and Edward Leister, who had listened attentively to their master’s retelling of the Bermuda story on the voyage over, were among the loudest in their declarations of independence.

  This was a genuinely alarming development. They needed every able-bodied man if they were going to get shelter up before the snow began to fall. Moreover, the servants and single men who were most likely to be affected by such thinking outnumbered the responsible family men who were depending on their muscle. The possibility of an armed revolt, bloodshed, murder, was by no means remote. In Bermuda, three of the mutineers had been hanged, and similar dissensions had come close to destroying Jamestown more than once over the last years.

  All during the next day, November 10, the leaders of the little expedition discussed the problem in the Mayflower’s Great Cabin. Instinctively they shied away from any use of force - although Miles Standish may have growled that he was sure he could handle any resistance. Pastor Robinson had told them in his farewell letter that they were to become a “body politic.” Why not become one now, in a formal and definite way, and thus cut the ground from beneath the rebels’ arguments?

  They had a model in the covenant which all the members of the Church of Leyden had signed and lived by for over a decade. William Brewster, as the university man among them, and Stephen Hopkins, also well educated, were probably given the assignment to draw up a brief “compact.” While the Mayflower crept cautiously around the tip of Cape Cod, the two men went to work and soon had the wanted words on paper.

  IN THE NAME OF GOD, AMEN

  We whose names are underwritten, the loyal subjects of our dread Sovereign Lord King James by the Grace of God of Great Britain, France, Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, etc.

  Having undertaken, for the Glory of God and advancement of the Christian Faith and Honour of our King and Country, a voyage to plant the First Colony in the Northern Parts of Virginia, do by these presents solemnly and mutually in the presence of God and one of another, covenant and Combine ourselves together into a Civil Body Politic, for our better ordering and preservation and furtherance of the ends aforesaid, and by virtue hereof to enact, constitute and frame such just and equal laws, ordinances, Acts, Constitutions and Offices from time to time, as shall be thought most meet and convenient for the general good of the Colony, unto which we promise all due submission and obedience. In witness whereof we have hereunder subscribed our names at Cape Cod, the 11th of November, in the year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord King James of England, France and Ireland the eighteenth, and of Scotland the fifty-fourth. Anno Domini 1620

  The compact drawn, the leaders spent a restless night while the Mayflower “reached” back and forth off the tip of the Cape waiting for daylight. As dawn broke on the eleventh, they saw before them the wide harbor, now called Provincetown, almost encircled by the long, sandy fingers of the Cape. The leadsman chanted the fathoms, and the ship began the tricky business of entering. Meanwhile below deck, the passengers were assembled, and the leaders told them about the agreement they had drawn up. They wanted it signed before the anchor went down and any of the would-be mutineers openly revolted.

  First came those who were entitled to the term Master. One by one they stepped up to an improvised table and signed. John Carver was first. He was followed by William Bradford, Edward Winslow, William Brewster, Isaac Allerton, Miles Standish, Samuel Fuller, William White. Then the leaders of the London group - Christopher Martin, William Mullins, Richard Warren, Stephen Hopkins.

  Then the goodmen were invited to sign. This was the next social rank below master. Twenty-seven did so. Finally, four servants, including the obstreperous Edward Dotey and Edward Leister, signed on stern orders from their masters. A total of forty-one of the sixty-five males aboard signed. Thirteen of those who did not sign were sons of signers; their fathers’ signatures covered their allegiance. Only nine servants and two of the hired sailors were omitted, probably because they were ill.

  There was no consciousness of an historic occasion. They were not aware that they were signing a document in which historians would find foreshadowings of such sonorous phrases as “all men are created equal” and “government by the consent of the governed.�
� On deck, while they signed, there came the chant of the leadsman, the bellowed orders of boatswain and mates as the ship advanced into the harbor. In a few hours they would be marching into a wilderness. This “compact” was simply another precaution against disaster.

  One more piece of business remained - the election of a governor. John Carver was chosen to serve for one year. There was no opposition. The compact had been a masterful solution to the threatened revolt. Cowed and quiet, the speechmakers of the day before trooped above for a look at the New World.

  From the crowded decks, the passengers gazed out at long, white sand hills that reminded them of the dunes of Holland, and on the other side, bristling forests that marched to the water’s edge. “Instinctively many fell upon their knees, William Bradford says, “and blessed the God of Heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof, to set their feet on the firm and stable earth, their proper element.”

  At ten o’clock, after circling the harbor and finding numerous sandbars, Captain Jones prudently dropped his anchor about a mile from shore. The crew still had work to do. But Christopher Jones retired to his cabin for some much needed rest. Since the lead had touched bottom at eighty fathoms, fifty-two hours earlier, he had not closed his eyes. Now he had his reward. The mates and boatswain took over, cursing the men aloft to furl the sails and secure the ship for port.

  The passengers roamed from port to starboard, from stern to stem, studying the land before them. The longer they looked, the less elated they became. William Bradford, in a moment of deep feeling, explained why: “I cannot but stand half amazed at this poor people’s present condition. Being thus past the vast ocean, and a sea of troubles before in their preparation . . . they had now no friends to welcome them nor inns to entertain or refresh their weather-beaten bodies, no houses or much less towns to repair to, to seek for succour. . . .

  ”Summer being done, all things stand upon them with a weatherbeaten face, and the whole country, full of woods and thickets, represented a wild and savage hue. If they looked behind them, there was the mighty ocean which they had passed and was now as a main bar and gulf to separate them from all the civil parts of the world. . . . Let it also be considered what weak hopes of supply and succour they left behind them. What could now sustain them but the Spirit of God and His grace?”

  The young men, less daunted by the look of the wintry land, were frantic to go ashore. The ship’s firewood was exhausted, and this was another reason for a combination work and exploring party. Sixteen men, armed with muskets and axes, piled into the Mayflower’s longboat. Sandbars prevented them from landing on the beach. They had to wade ashore through three feet of water, not the most pleasant experience in early November. But the exultation of touching the solid earth once more was so great that no one minded a temporary chill.

  Marching inland, they found that this tip of Cape Cod was a small neck of land, with the bay on one side and the ocean on the other. Beneath the sand was “excellent black earth.” In the woods the countrymen among them spotted oaks, pines, sassafras, juniper, birch, holly, some ash and walnut. The forest was for the most part open, with few thickets or other underbrush except vines. But they found no fresh water, which discouraged thoughts of founding a colony here. Nor was there a sign of any “savage barbarians,” as they called the Indians.

  The explorers spent the afternoon cutting juniper, and at nightfall returned to the ship with a handsome load of this sweet-smelling wood. Soon the Mayflower’s lower decks were rich with wilderness incense, and they all enjoyed their first hot meal in weeks.

  The next day was Sunday, but anxious as they were to get on with the business of landing, the voyagers refused to violate their Sabbath. They spent the day in prayer and meditation, singing psalms and listening to a heartening sermon by William Brewster. For them, the presence of God was as important in this wilderness as the farms and houses they must create.

  Captain Jones and his crew were less impressed with divinity, and this loss of a full day’s work put some of them in a very bad temper. Jones urgently pointed out that supplies were running low and that he had a responsibility to his mates and crew as well as to his passengers. It was a long voyage home, and the longer they dawdled here, the less there would be to eat for everyone. He had no intention of landing in London with a crew of skeletons, and was going to keep enough food aboard to feed his men well on the way back, no matter how little this left the settlers on shore. There is no evidence that Jones was nasty about the need for haste - but some of his sailors were heard to mutter that they ought to dump these psalmsingers and their furniture and food on shore and haul sail on the spot.

  The next day, Monday, November 13, everyone was up early, and the divided shallop was hoisted out of the Mayflower’s hold and lowered into the longboat. Sailors and servants lugged her four parts through the shallow water to the beach, and the ship’s carpenter looked her over. He did not like what he saw. The boat’s seams had been opened by people sleeping in her on the gun deck, and it would take several days, perhaps two weeks, to put her back together and caulk her until she was watertight.

  This was disheartening news. They were depending on the twenty-three-foot boat with her sail and oars to explore the coast quickly. While the men brooded over this problem, the women and children who had followed them ashore went to work on the accumulated laundry of their ten-week voyage. It was a long day’s washing, and when it was finished, and the clothes hung on the Mayflower’s rails and rigging to dry, the old ship must have looked like something out of fairyland.

  For the children, the day ashore was a superb adventure. They raced wildly after the tremendous flocks of gulls feeding along the shore, dug clams and mussels out of the sand-flats as the tide ran out, and screamed with excitement when a school of whales surfaced in the bay, spouting and lolling in the sunny water.

  Captain Jones and his sailors were as goggle-eyed by the whales as everyone else. They groaned with frustration at not having brought along any equipment to catch them. The master and his mates told the passengers that they could have made fifteen to twenty thousand dollars in a week without moving out of the harbor, and vowed it was better whale fishing than Greenland. One leviathan eased his mighty bulk to within half a musket shot of the Mayflower, and lay there, dozing in the noon sunshine. Two of the sailors decided to give him a broadside and send him on his way. Hastily charging their muskets, they took aim, but when the first man pulled the trigger, his cranky gun blew up in his face. Miraculously, neither he nor those who were standing around him on deck watching the show were hurt by the flying fragments. As for the whale, he did not even stir. Finally, when he had his nap and was ready to leave on his own terms, he “gave a snuff, and away!”

  Those who went ashore that day brought back baskets full of mussels, and many of the passengers and crew, willing to eat anything after their weeks of salt meat and biscuits, gulped them down greedily. Later that night, and most of the next day, they regretted it. As many another would-be gourmet has since discovered, the internal reaction was violent, and a good half the ship’s company was laid low. But it was only a temporary fright and by Wednesday everyone was well again.

  By this time the more adventurous among the men were for exploring the country on foot. It would be madness to wait for the shallop when there was a good chance of finding a site within walking distance. As they came into the harbor on Saturday morning, several keen-eyed observers had noticed what seemed to be a river running into the sea five or six miles down the shore. Since a navigable river was considered an essential part of the colony - ships could use it for loading and unloading - this might well be the place they wanted. Governor Carver, however, was hesitant to risk precious manpower in such an exploration. To his eyes, the wintry forest had a hostile, implacable look. Without the shallop, a small party could be cut off and decimated by attacking savages. There was considerable argument back and forth, and finally C
arver was persuaded.

  “The willingness of the persons was liked,” William Bradford says, “but the time itself, in regard of the danger, was rather permitted than approved.” With a vast amount of cautious instructions and directions, Carver assigned sixteen men to go ashore under the command of Miles Standish. For “council and advice” to the hot-blooded soldier, Carver assigned William Bradford, Stephen Hopkins, and Edward Tilley, another dependable member of the London group. Each man was equipped with helmet, musket, sword, and steel “corslet” or breastplate. Except for Standish, not a man had had any professional military experience. But the days that the captain had spent drilling them on board ship had not been wasted. They handled their long, clumsy guns with a fair degree of confidence.

  The sailors rowed the explorers ashore, and they set out down the beach in single file, with Standish at their head. After they had marched about a mile, they saw five or six people with a dog coming toward them. At first they thought it was Captain Jones and his sailors who had gone ashore to do some hunting a few hours earlier. But the little clump of figures suddenly did an abrupt turn and vanished into the woods. Indians! The dog gamboled around the beach a while longer, while Standish urged his file to double time. But as they drew closer, a sharp whistle came from the woods, and the dog raced obediently after his savage masters.

  Standish immediately demonstrated his pugnacity by ordering a vigorous pursuit of the savages. If there were more Indians in the woods, it would be fatal to let them get between them and the ship. But the red men ran away “with might and main.” Foolishly now, the white men followed them. If the Indians were planning an ambush, they had made-to-order victims in these sixteen amateur woodsmen.