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

by Thomas Fleming

  Well satisfied with their diplomatic progress, the colonists gave the Indians a guard of honor back to where they had left their bows and arrows. Unfortunately, this disturbed the red men more than it pleased them. They suspected they were going to be murdered when they reached a certain distance from the plantation, and two began to “slink away.” But the others called them back, and they reached their weapons without further incident. Both sides parted with smiles and kind words, and the Indians again promised they would return soon.

  Samoset declined to go back with his friends. He said he was sick, but something in his manner made the colonists suspect he was faking. Whatever the real reason, the Algonkian chief remained with them until Wednesday morning, while the white men waited anxiously for the return of his friends. They finally persuaded Samoset to go to the Wampanoags and renew communications. They gave him a hat, a pair of stockings and shoes, a shirt, and a loin cloth, which was the only thing he deigned to wear.

  More than contented, Samoset departed, and the colonists settled down once more to work out their Military Orders, which had been twice interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Indians. This conference seemed to have a magic ability to produce red men. After little more than an hour of conferring, three warriors appeared on the top of the hill across the brook. They were wearing their most brilliant war paint, and they leaped about the hilltop sharpening and rubbing their arrows together in what seemed to the white man a show of defiance. Captain Standish and William Bradford took their muskets, donned armor, and crossed the Town Brook to confer with them. Two mates from the Mayflower followed, without armor but carrying muskets. Once again as the white men drew near, the Indians scampered into the woods.

  Considerably irritated, the colonists went back to their military conference and this time finished it. Later in the day they completed another task on which they had long been toiling. Their carpenter, who had been down with the General Sickness, made some much needed repairs to the shallop, and they sailed it out to the Mayflower and brought back the last of those who had been living aboard for almost six long months . The day was March 21.

  That same day, William Bradford made another mournful entry in his Pocket Book: “March 21. Dies Elizabeth, the wife of Mr. Edward Winslow. N.B. This month, thirteen of our number die.” The sickness continued to rage, though its virulence was diminishing. The survivors were slow to regain their strength, but they could at last begin to think in terms of survival and estimate the ghastly effects of the plague on their prospects.

  The long death toll included thirteen of eighteen wives. Several families were totally wiped out, including Christopher Martin, his wife, and stepson Solomon Prower, and Edward and John Tilley, courageous volunteers for the third exploration and their wives. Priscilla Mullins lost father, mother, and brother. Among the single men, hired hands, and servants, the mortality was terrible. Nineteen of twenty-nine died, including the young wanderer and bridegroom John Goodman. The children proved sturdier than the adults. Of seven girls, none died, and of thirteen boys, only three. One of the few families that escaped unscathed was the Billingtons - the most irreligious members of the little colony. After such remarkably good health on the long voyage, death had now reduced their numbers by half. The unmarked graves on the seaside hill had swelled to almost fifty.

  March 22 was fair and warm, carrying on its breezes more promises of early spring. Even more hopeful was the return of Samoset from his diplomatic mission, bringing with him another Indian who had an even more fascinating personal story to tell. His name was Tisquantum, but he was called Squanto. He was the only living member of the Patuxet tribe, having survived, ironically, through the treachery of Captain Hunt, who had carried him and the other braves away to Spain to be sold into slavery.

  Years before, in 1605, Squanto had already made a trip to England with another early visitor to Plymouth harbor, Captain George Weymouth. He had returned to the New World with Captain John Smith when that doughty explorer had mapped the coast of New England. Squanto was thus prepared to shift for himself, and when he was sold as a slave in Malaga, he quickly talked his way into the hands of the local friars, who decided he was an excellent prospect for conversion.

  Somehow, in the course of a year or two, Squanto managed to attach himself to an Englishman traveling in Spain, and he arrived in England, where he was well received by many people, including the powerful Sir Ferdinando Gorges, head of the Council for New England. Thanks to Gorges, Squanto had been sent back to his native land with Captain Dermer in 1619, but had arrived to discover that his family and entire tribe had been wiped out by the plague that Samoset had already described.

  Squanto spoke more English than Samoset, and he informed the white men that the great Sagamore Massasoit was nearby in the woods along with his brother Quadequina and all their braves - some sixty in number. But the ambassador had trouble explaining just what the great chief wanted. Finally, he retired for further consultation, and in about an hour an awesome sight appeared on the hill beyond the brook.

  The chief himself strode out of the woods, wearing about his neck his badge of office, a great chain of white bone beads. His face was dyed a deep mulberry, and he was oiled from head to foot so that his body gleamed in the sun. Behind him came sixty tall, grim-looking warriors, all painted on the face and body, some black, some red, some yellow, some white, and some with crosses and others with grotesque loops and squares. A few wore skins. Many were naked. All were tall muscular-looking men. Did they know that they outnumbered the white men three or four to one? The colonists could only grip their muskets and hope for the best.

  The ambassador, Squanto, reported that the great chief wished them to send someone to “parley” with him. The colonists had a hurried conference and decided it would be unwise to send Governor Carver. But Edward Winslow, only twenty-five, volunteered to make the risky trip across the brook. It would be the first of his many diplomatic achievements on behalf of Plymouth.

  Buckling on his armor and sword, Winslow crossed the brook and marched bravely up the hill. Solemnly he presented to Massasoit a pair of knives and a copper chain with a jewel in it. To Quadequina he gave a knife and a jewel to hang in his ear. Next came a pot of brandy and some biscuits and butter. The chief accepted the gifts in silence but with great dignity. Winslow then made a brief speech in which he told Massasoit that King James saluted him with words of love and peace and wished him for a friend and ally. He also said that Governor Carver wished to parley with him in Plymouth and to arrange a treaty of trade and peace.

  Squanto and Samoset interpreted the speech as best they could and the chief seemed to approve, although Winslow was somewhat dismayed by their brief translation. The chief then sampled the food and drink and passed most of it on to his warriors. He next expressed great admiration for Winslow’s sword and armor as well as a desire to buy it, but Winslow was able politely to decline without giving offense.

  Finally Massasoit decided to leave Winslow in the custody of Quadequina and forty of his braves. He ordered the other twenty warriors to leave their bows and arrows behind them and accompany him into Plymouth. Captain Standish and William Brewster met the chief at the Town Brook with a half dozen musketeers as a guard of honor. They exchanged salutes and marched together down the little main street to an unfinished house. There they had spread a green rug and three or four cushions. The chief and his most important warriors sat down on these, and then Governor Carver appeared, preceded by a drum and a trumpet and another guard of honor. Miles Standish was the stage manager for this performance. He was determined to impress the Indians with all the military pomp and bravado that his handful of soldiers could muster.

  Governor Carver kissed Massasoit’s hand on entering, and he chief returned the compliment. They then sat down, and Carver offered the chief a drink of brandy. He took a great swallow, enough to scald his insides, but his grave expression remained unchanged. The white men noticed, however, that it made him sweat considerably. Nex
t they served some fresh meat, which the chief sampled and passed on to his followers. The chief now drew some tobacco from a bag that he wore around his neck. He lit a pipe and took some puffs and passed it to the white men. Then, through their interpreters, Squanto and Samoset, they began to discuss a treaty of peace.

  With no difficulty, they worked out a mutual-assistance pact that remains a model of its kind. There were seven clauses.

  That neither he nor any of his should injure or do hurt to any of our people.

  And if any of his did hurt to any of ours; he should send the offender to us that we might punish him.

  That if any of our tools were taken away when our people were at work; he should cause them to be restored: and if ours did any harm to any of his we would do the like to them.

  If any did unjustly war against him; we would aid him. If any did war against us, he should aid us.

  He should send to his neighboring confederates to certify them of this, that they might not wrong us; but might be likewise compromised in the conditions of peace.

  That when their men came to us, they should leave their bows and arrows behind them; as we should do our pieces when we came to them.

  Lastly, that doing this King James would esteem of him as his friend and ally.

  Massasoit accepted all these clauses and repeated them to his followers who were equally pleased by them. The parley over, Governor Carver conducted Massasoit to the brook. There they embraced each other, but the colonists detained six or seven braves as hostages until Edward Winslow was returned by the Indians. After a short wait, however, Squanto returned, informing them that not Winslow but Quadequina was coming. Apparently the brother of the great chief wished to be entertained in equally royal fashion.

  Miles Standish marched another guard of honor to meet Quadequina, and he was greeted by Governor Carver in the half-finished house. He was, however, extremely leery of the white men’s muskets and made sounds of dislike, asking that they be taken away. Standish, showing himself diplomat as well as soldier, quickly complied. So they entertained Quadequina with brandy and fresh meat and such conversation as was possible in spite of the language barrier. “He was a very proper, tall young man,” William Bradford says, “of a very modest and seemly countenance.” He seemed to appreciate the entertainment and left them at the Town Brook with great expressions of friendship.

  Two of his friends were so delighted by the reception that they were inclined to stay behind for the night, but the colonists made it clear that they would not permit this. They allowed Samoset and Squanto to stay, however, and from them they learned that Massasoit and all his men, as well as their women and children, were spending the night in the woods not half a mile from Plymouth.

  Standish promptly posted extra guards. The captain was still worried about a surprise attack. But the darkness passed into dawn without a sign of trouble, and in the morning many braves came over the Town Brook in a most friendly manner in search of food. They let the white men know that the chief wished someone to visit him for a further parley. Miles Standish and Isaac Allerton made the trip alone and were graciously welcomed and given three or four ground nuts and some tobacco. Of serious parleying there was none. Apparently Massasoit merely wished the white men to come to him as he had come to them.

  From the talkative Squanto they also learned that Massasoit needed them as much as they needed him. He was frequently at war with the powerful Narragansetts and hoped that the white men with their guns of thunder would be strong allies. In the next few weeks, as Indians and white men met in the woods, singly and in pairs, without the least sign of hostility, the spirit of mutual trust and confidence between the two peoples grew steadily.

  During April the weather continued to improve and so did their relations with the Wampanoags. In fact, relations became almost too good. Although Massasoit, the great chief, returned home to his headquarters at Sowams, some forty miles away, many of his warriors and their families lingered in the vicinity of Plymouth and began appearing at the town gates with monotonous regularity in search of food and trinkets. The colonists were loath to offend them and entertained them as best they could, but their supply of food and gifts was meager, and it soon became apparent that somehow this constant visiting would have to stop.

  One red man, however, did not wear out his welcome. This was Squanto, who in his two trips to England seemed to have acquired a considerable fondness for the ways of the white man. He showed no desire to return to Sowams with Massasoit, and he soon made himself invaluable in Plymouth. His first performance came on March 23. It was a sunny day, and at noon Squanto announced that he was going to fish for eels. He went down to a nearby river at low tide and came back at nightfall with all the eels he could carry. The colonists found them delightful eating – “fat and sweet.” They begged Squanto to tell how he caught them, and he readily demonstrated how he squashed them out of the mud with his feet and caught them with his hands.

  This was only the beginning of Squanto’s good offices. It soon became apparent to the colonists that he was, in Bradford’s words, “a special instrument of God for their good.” Early in April when the colonists began to prepare for spring planting, Squanto gave them the crucial warning that unless they fertilized their corn ground with fish the whole crop would come to nothing. This caused vast consternation. The white men were depending solely on their corn crop to get them through the following winter, but they had as yet caught only one lonely cod. Where were they going to get the fish to do the fertilizing?

  Calmly Squanto assured them that in the middle of April the Town Brook would be swarming with alewives coming to spawn. They could be caught by the hundreds, and they made excellent manure. Exactly on schedule the fish came and were caught under Squanto’s expert direction. Next he showed them how to set the fish in the ground, three to each hill of five corn kernels with the fish heads close to the seeds. He also warned his new friends that unless they set a guard over the cornfields for the next fourteen nights - until the fish became rotten in the ground - the wolves would creep out of the forest and dig them up. So the guard was set and the wolves were frustrated and the corn crop began to prosper.

  According to the old Julian calendar, which the colonists followed, March 25 was the first day of the year. On this day they had re-elected John Carver as governor for a full year. Eleven days later Governor Carver made the first major decision of his new term: He let the Mayflower sail for home. As William Bradford explained, the governor “seeing so many die and fall down sick daily thought it no wisdom to send away the ship, their condition considered and their danger from the Indians, till they could procure some shelter and therefore thought it better to draw some more charge on themselves and friends than to hazard all.”

  For his part Jones had no inclination to chance a winter voyage with half his crew sick. Even now he was leaving ten of his best men in the shallow graves on the hill above the harbor. But he could not afford to stay any longer without risking a starvation voyage home. One thing is certain: Christopher Jones sailed with the best wishes of these men and women whom he had carried to America, wishes that he wholeheartedly reciprocated. The longer he knew them, the better he liked them, and the history of their friendship was a continuous growth of mutual respect. Only a few writers have appreciated the vital part that the personality and courage of the master of the Mayflower played in the founding of Plymouth; fewer still have discerned the friendship that gradually grew between colonists and captain in spite of the differences in their backgrounds, the hostility of the crew, and the frustrations of the long voyage.

  Sailing at a better season, the Mayflower would be home in four weeks. Within the year Christopher Jones would be dead, weakened, many think, by the exposure and hardship he endured while exploring the shores of Cape Cod and Plymouth harbor. Within another year the Mayflower herself would be a moldering wreck in a nautical bone yard, sold for little more than the value of her sails and rigging.

  But on April
5, 1621, as she sailed out of Plymouth harbor, the old freighter meant only one thing to the colonists who watched her. Their last link with home, their last refuge was going. Many men and women wept unashamedly, but not a single person demanded passage home aboard the Mayflower. Seldom in the previous history of English colonization had a ship sailed for home without a scramble among the fainthearted for passage aboard her. But these men and women were lifted up by a purpose larger than themselves, larger than their individual gains or losses. Strangers and saintly brethren from Leyden were now bound by common suffering, common courage, into a unique solidarity,

  What made the commitment of these people even more remarkable was the awful gaps that had been torn in their ranks by the General Sickness. There were widows like Susanna White and widowers like Edward Winslow who had special motives for giving up in despair. The plague had left intact only four couples - the Billingtons, the Hopkinses, the Brewsters, and the Carvers. The man who had perhaps the strongest motive to return was William Bradford. His son was waiting for him in Holland. His wife lay beneath the cold waters off Cape Cod. But the idea does not seem to have occurred to him. His heart and soul were consumed now in the larger vision, the struggle of a whole people; he had seen its birth in the worst days of the sickness, when distinctions between leaders and led, Londoners and Leydeners, had vanished, and they had fought with all their strength, not for individual but for common survival. “Whilst they had health - yea or any strength continuing,” Bradford wrote later, “they were not wanting to any that had need of them. And I doubt not but their recompense is with the Lord.’ Who could desert such people?