by Wendy Lawton
When the Speedwell finally sloshed into Southampton, Mary and Elizabeth were relieved to wring themselves out and step onto dry land. Once on England’s shores again, the small band of Pilgrims tried to stay out of sight as much as possible, boarding with other Separatists until time to embark for America.
The two friends spent much of their time watching the repairs to the Speedwell. They remained careful not to attract notice. Anti-Separatist sentiment still ran deep, and the girls knew better than to risk inflaming those feelings.
The Mayflower stood at anchor nearby. The brightly painted ship had a jutting beak, much like a seabird, and a high, elegant aftercastle. She was compact, but Mary liked the way she rode in the water. She had heard the sailors talking, and she now knew that the Mayflower was a 180-ton bark-rigged merchant ship. Mary even knew that the ship carried 525 square yards of canvas. When ’twas time to finally set sail, Mary happily discovered that her family had been assigned to the Mayflower.
“We sail on the Mayflower as well.” Elizabeth managed a wide smile as she struggled under bundles of supplies to be loaded onboard.
“What an adventure we shall have,” Mary said as she helped Elizabeth hoist the bundles into the longboat that would have to row them out to the Mayflower moored in the harbor. In spite of missing her sisters and Holland, and in spite of worrying about the ordeal ahead, Mary anticipated the bustle and tension of the adventure.
On board the ship, the Pilgrims spent a busy few days stringing canvas across the main deck for a little privacy. They arranged their goods and tried to get used to their cramped spaces. The sailors and cargo handlers packed the hold with food and supplies. Many of the Pilgrims’ stores for the New World—like seeds and implements and even livestock—were crammed in alongside the ship’s cargo.
Mary managed to squeeze down into the hold to take a look at it all. It seemed like such plenty—barrel after barrel of ale and water, more barrels of hardtack biscuit and flour, cases of dried meat, and even baskets of vegetables.
The Pilgrims also met the other passengers who joined the company in England. The Green Gate congregation’s small hoard of money had dwindled fast as they purchased supplies, bought and refurbished the Speedwell, and chartered the Mayflower. Financial investors offered to give them the money needed for their costly venture. In exchange, the Pilgrims signed an agreement that they would pay the businessmen—mainly with fish, lumber, and furs—within seven years.
The investors determined to fill the ships with passengers, so they also recruited people from England. These families sought a better life than England offered. They never even considered religious freedom in making their decision to travel to America. Before too long, the two groups of Pilgrims came to know each other, but Mary always heard the Leyden group referred to as the Saints, and the English group as the Strangers.
Even before they set sail, Elizabeth and Mary met one Stranger who became a friend almost immediately. Constance Hopkins and her family joined the Pilgrims at Southampton, but their family didn’t believe in strangers—they considered every person their friend or else their soon-to-be friend. Constance was but a few months older than Elizabeth and Mary, yet she laughed, teased, and made everything seem like fun—even lugging their things aboard ship.
At long last they settled in. The ship’s master, Captain Christopher Jones, grudgingly gave the Leyden congregation leave to pray for just a moment, then he nodded his head at the bosun and the adventure began.
The bosun sang out the orders, and the sailors moved with precision as they climbed the rigging to loose the sheets and unfurl the sails. With a loud flap-slap-slap sound the canvas filled with wind, and the stiff breeze carried the little ship out to sea.
Mary leaned over the rail to watch the froth whipped up by the bow cutting through the waves. The ship pitched, but not as badly as the Speedwell had on the voyage from Holland to England. Mary worried as she looked over to see the Speedwell’s strange limping gait. The newly repaired ship pitched and then rolled from side to side. Why would the Speedwell lurch like that when the Mayflower leapt gracefully through the waves?
Constance crept up behind Mary and put her hands over Mary’s eyes. “Guess who?” she sang out.
“Hmmm. Perchance ’tis the only person I know who still plays nursery games.” Mary could tell from the giggles that both Constance and Elizabeth had joined her on deck.
“Thou art no fun. Truth be told, thou art an old stick.” Constance poked fun at the way many of the Pilgrims talked. She removed her hands and gave Mary an excited hug. “Dost thou think thou shouldst put on a hat, Maid Mary? Any more freckles on that fair face of thine and wilt rival John Goodman’s spaniel.”
“Constance!” Elizabeth burst into laughter. “You told me you admire Mary’s freckles and ginger-colored hair.”
“Aye, Mistress Constance. You but wish you were dappled as nicely as me,” teased Mary as she pinched her new friend.
The movement of the ship, the singsong orders shouted to the sailors, and the frenzied cry of seabirds added to their exuberance.
“Just think,” said Elizabeth in a mock-serious voice. “It’s a beautiful August morning in the year of our Lord 1620 …”
“Oh fiddle,” interrupted Constance. “Now who sets about to be big, Deacon Elizabeth?”
The morning was too fair to tussle, and the friends ended up in a gale of giggles. Most of the Pilgrims climbed below deck as soon as the Southampton shore disappeared into the morning sun. Mary knew the English farewells were hard on those who left family and friends on shore. There had been tears enough in Delft for Mary. Her heart was just scabbing over. She lief not poke at the raw wound. Better to trade joy for tears, even if one had to work at it. She may have had to say farewell to her grown sisters, but she still had Mother and Father. Even if you didn’t belong to a place, you belonged to your parents.
Turning their backs toward the bow, the three girls took the wind full in the face. It knocked their coifs right off their heads, and, like the whipping of the ship’s sails, the linen caps flapped against their necks, held only by the tie at the back of their necks.
Mary’s friends pulled up their coifs and turned toward the bow. Not Mary; she took hers off. The wind full on her face, the spray of the sea misting around her, and the rhythmic slicing of the ocean exhilarated her. Strands of hair whipped across her cheeks, catching in her mouth, but she didn’t care. Please, Almighty Father, she prayed silently, let this be my journey home. That word home rang in her heart. Perchance this journey would carry the Chiltons out of trouble and finally give them a safe home. The shrieking gulls, the snapping ropes, and the percussion of the sails seemed to say, “Mary, you are almost home.”
“You!” It was the furious voice of a sailor. “Aye, I’m talking to you, ye little puke-stockings.”
Mary looked up in the rigging to see who hurled angry words. The sailor had a foothold in the rigging and an arm wrapped around the mizzenmast as he leaned out and yelled across the length of the ship at them.
Elizabeth shrank in toward Mary, “Is he talking to us?”
“Aye,” said Constance. “Let us go down below before he becomes profane.”
As Mary opened the hatch and grabbed the ladder, she heard him laugh a swaggering bellow of a laugh.
“Ho! That took the wind out of their prissy little sails,” he boasted to the sailors on the decks.
“Aye, Stubbs. Now to make sure them puke-stockings keep their brats locked in the ’tween decks,” another said.
Father frowned as the girls settled in between a sea chest and a crate. He must have overheard the taunt. Mary and her friends no longer felt like talking much. The sailors disliked the Pilgrims on sight. If their torment kept up, chances were it would be a long journey.
“When Elder Brewster … er … when he comes aboard, we will speak to Master Jones about the actions of his crew.”
“Elder Brewster? Aboard?” Mary looked at her father, who suddenly seem
ed to be busy with something. How did someone board a ship once you were already at sea?
“Mary … nay!” Father whispered. He raised his head to look her directly in the eye. Mary recognized the quirk of his eyebrow.
She understood what that “nay” meant. It meant “No questions asked;” it meant “bide your time;” it even meant “hide any curiosity.” Mary had not lived a life of danger without learning how to read unspoken warnings. And this was definitely a warning.
Mary could not believe she had forgotten Elder Brewster and her friend Fear—even for a time. I’m sorry, Fear, she thought. Will I ever be able to get your message to your father?
Constance and Elizabeth had been talking together and missed the conversation with her father, but Mary could not stop thinking about it. In the excitement of leaving, she had not remembered that Elder Brewster planned to slip on board when the officials turned their backs.
But the officials watched the ship and the docks like vultures. They boarded several times before the ship cast off, demanding that Master Jones open the passenger log. One time they even questioned Mistress Brewster.
Mary watched the scene with frustration. They so frightened Mistress Brewster that she could not utter a single word. At their badgering questions, her eyes widened, and she could only shake her head back and forth. The boys, Love and Wrestling, hung on her, one on each leg. Mary noticed that Love started to say something and instead, burst into howls. At the time, Mary thought he was as anxious as his mother was.
Now she was not so sure. She remembered Master Martin, the ship’s governor, making a joke later about a “pinch, well placed.” Did someone pinch Love? Why would someone pinch him? What was going on?
Constance stood up. “I must help Mother with Damaris,” she said, stretching. “Mother has yet to figure out how to prepare a meal using the brazier. Besides, I worry that the motion of the ship may leave her queasy.”
Constance had confided to Mary and Elizabeth that her real mother died many years ago. Mistress Hopkins was her stepmother and Damaris her half-sister. In their family they worked hard at accepting one another. Constance said it felt better to just call her “Mother” and leave the “step” off.
“Is your mother tired?” asked Elizabeth. Mistress Hopkins’s pregnancy was far advanced. She could end up giving birth at sea.
“Aye,” said Constance. “Father had hoped for a timely departure. He wanted to be safely installed in America before the birth of the baby, but …” She tried to shrug her shoulders, but she hunched them instead and her teeth clenched, making her jaw look tight.
“If you plan to mind Damaris,” Mary said, “shall I offer to care for Remember and Mary Allerton?” Mistress Allerton’s baby would probably come somewhere near the time of Mrs. Hopkins’s confinement.
“Perchance I should offer to amuse Resolved for Mistress White. She must be just as tired,” Elizabeth said.
There could be three births in the cramped quarters of the Mayflower. Mary prayed that God would grant them well.
“That’s what we can do, then,” Mary said, jumping up and pushing the mystery of Elder Brewster out of her mind for now. “We’ll be the Mayflower nannies, minding the little ones for their mothers.”
The small group of Pilgrims settled into their temporary home on board the Mayflower. The mothers learned to prepare meals on tiny coal braziers when the sea was calm, and they learned to serve cold meals when the ocean got choppy and it became too dangerous to have a fire.
The men managed the foodstuffs and supplies. The scarcity of funds for buying provisions in England meant that they needed to ration the supplies. They might very well run short of food and drink for the journey. Much prayer took place over the stores in the hold—prayers for daily bread and prayers that God would somehow multiply their meager rations.
The big boys worked with the men. With the work in the hold finished, they would all go topside to practice their skill with firearms. The man hired to provide their military defense, Captain Myles Standish, grew increasingly worried about their lack of skill and set about drilling them hour after hour. At first some of the travelers balked, but even those first days were long, and the drills provided something to do.
They’d only been to sea a day or two when Mary heard the ropes creak that tethered the longboat to the deck. Why would they be lowering the longboat into the ocean?
“The Speedwell is sinkin’!” The rough London boy, John Billington, came thudding down the ladder, shouting the news.
“John, hold your tongue,” Master Martin said. His face turned a pasty white, and he followed the men up the ladder.
All conversation hushed below deck until all you heard was the slap of the water against the side of the ship and the gentle creaking of the timbers. Mary thought about their friends aboard the Speedwell, such as Master Cushman. Father, keep them safe. She remembered the drenching wet of the Speedwell and felt guilty that they had been enjoying the more comfortable Mayflower.
The sounds topside grew more frenzied—orders yelled from the bosun to the crew, sails being furled, footsteps slamming across the deck. After what seemed like hours, Mary felt a funny movement. A barrel tipped over and rolled across the deck.
’Tis turning around. I can feel it—the ship is turning around. She looked at the silent women huddled in their family groups, and she saw the same stricken look mirrored on each face.
After just a few days at sea, the discouraged band of Pilgrims turned back toward England. The Speedwell leaked like a sieve, and, truth be told, they worried ’twas not seaworthy enough to make it back to shore. The ship limped into the port of Dartmouth with the Mayflower running escort.
Most of the Leyden congregation waited aboard the Mayflower, praying and singing psalms as they battled anxiety and worry. They trusted God to care for them, but as the days ticked away and the repairs on the weakened Speedwell dragged on, faces got longer and longer. The cost of repairs on the ship mounted as well.
Mary kept hearing the word “winter” in every conversation.
“We’re bound to run into winter storms at sea.”
“When we land in America, winter will be in full force, and we’ll have no shelter.”
“If we arrive mid-winter, how will we plant? We’ll have to wait almost three seasons to harvest food.”
The worried whispers continued to grow as the days ticked by. After a fortnight, they were talking about abandoning the journey. The men gathered in little groups, but privacy was not to be found. The conversations continued both above deck and below as the ship rocked and the gulls screamed and the sailors grumbled.
“But we cannot abandon the journey now. If we use up the stores of food and provisions needed to keep us until spring, however will we replace them?” asked Master Hopkins.
“How indeed,” Deacon Carver said. “We must go, and we must trust our fate into the hands of God.” Deacon Carver spoke the words, but it was the conviction of every man. You could see it in the set of their jaws. Mary knew then that the adventure would continue.
When the ships finally set sail weeks later on the morning tide, frustration and anxiety had replaced the jubilation of the first departure. To Mary, it seemed as if both ships groaned and creaked their way out of the English Channel toward the open sea.
“At last!” Mary said to Constance and Elizabeth. “I am fair weary with waiting.”
“I started wondering if we should ever get off this ship,” said Constance.
“And I, as well,” said Elizabeth.
Waiting was always hard, but this setback wore them down. The girls stood firmly planted at the rail for this departure, no matter what the sailors might say. In the weeks since their first departure, they had observed that the crew heartily disliked them, and nothing the Pilgrims did seemed to matter. Twas like the reaction of the rock-throwing boys in Leyden. The Pilgrims’ very presence inflamed the sailors’ anger.
When they had been at sea just over a day, the wi
nds picked up, and the girls’ spirits lifted ever so slightly. Once again the girls had come topside. Constance bounced Damaris on her hip as she stood at the rail and looked toward the west and America. Mary stood at her side enjoying the prosperous breeze. Elizabeth leaned back against a huge coil of rope and looked past them as she watched the foamy wake left by the ship.
“No!” Elizabeth screamed, as she shook her head in disbelief.
“Elizabeth?” Mary had looked up in time to see Elizabeth’s eyes widen and her face drain of all color.
“Mary, Constance … look!” Elizabeth pointed toward the Speedwell.
They turned around in time to see the Speedwell heel so far over that the people on deck grabbed ropes and railings to keep from being washed overboard.
The bosun of the Mayflower blew the ship’s whistle and, without consultation, furled the sails and headed back to England for the second time, running escort for the fatally flawed Speedwell.
The Mayflower departed from Plymouth, England, by herself this time. ’Twas mid-September—far too late to be starting across the Atlantic Ocean, though the Pilgrims pushed on in spite of the delays. The Speedwell and some twenty people stayed behind. The rest jammed into the main cabin on the Mayflower. Whatever provisions could be squeezed into the hold had been loaded.
Crossing the ocean unaccompanied would mean certain tragedy if anything should happen to the Mayflower, but the Pilgrims trusted God to see them across. Even more worrisome to Mary was that once the Mayflower delivered them, they were on their own in a foreign land until friends in England and Holland could charter another ship.
The Mayflower had been at sea for several days—long enough that the passengers settled into a routine to pass the time.
Mother sat on the folded featherbed with Mary as she read aloud from Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. Mother felt it important to continue Mary’s studies, even if she couldn’t go to school.
