American Dream

by Colleen L. Reece

  John amused himself by learning as much as he could about his fellow travelers and passing his new knowledge on to his family. “Myles Standish is going to be our captain when we reach America,” he reported. “He is to lead us in defending ourselves against unfriendly Indians.”

  “Why him?” Sarah wanted to know. She gave a little shiver. “I know it’s wrong not to like people, but he looks so mean! I wonder if his wife, Rose, is happy.”

  “Would you be if you were married to him?” John teased.

  “No, sir!” Sarah shook her head. “Why can’t Mr. Alden be our captain? I like him a lot. He’s always so polite and calls me Mistress Smythe.” She held both sides of her skirt wide and curtsied.

  “John Alden is a cooper, not a soldier,” Father reminded the children. “He will be kept busy making and repairing barrels, as he has done here on the Mayflower.”

  “We must be fair,” Mother put in. “I’ve heard Mr. Standish is brave and fearless. If there is trouble with the Indians—and I pray to God there will be none—we will need an experienced soldier.”

  John laughed. “Do you want to hear something funny? I heard a man say of him, ‘A little chimney is soon fired.’ “

  “What does that mean?” Sarah eagerly leaned forward.

  “Whoever made the unkind remark means Myles Standish is not only short but has a bad temper that flares up quickly,” Father said. “I hope, son, you will repeat it to no one else.”

  “I won’t,” John promised.

  Another day he announced, “I think John Alden admires Priscilla Mullins.”

  “I knew that before we left England,” Sarah boasted. “I can see why, too. She is friendly and nice.”

  “Miss Mullins is indeed a good girl,” Mother agreed. “Although she is only eighteen, she has proved to be a hard worker. She helps the mothers who have small children and also does more than her share of the cooking.” A smile tipped her lips upward. “That is, when we are allowed to cook. It is so discouraging to have rain and waves splash water into our living space! Hard biscuits and salted beef or pork are not proper food.”

  “The sailors call the biscuits hardtack and the salted meat salt horse,” John said. “I like hot food better.”

  “I hate picking bugs out of my food worst of all,” Sarah complained.

  “Better than leaving them in and eating them!” John laughed at the expression on his sister’s face.

  Sometimes even John found the wide Atlantic Ocean a lonely place. Questions raced through his busy mind. It was dangerous for a ship to make the crossing by herself. Suppose they were shipwrecked. No one would ever know. What if they ran out of food? They could starve, just as others had done before them.

  So far, there had been no sign of pirates. John felt thankful. He hadn’t repeated to Sarah the bloodcurdling stories he had teased Klaus into telling him when the sailor was off duty and not sleeping. Names like buccaneers, freebooters, and sea rovers danced in John’s head. He suspected Klaus stretched his stories. Still, the wicked-looking scar on the sailor’s shoulder supported his tales.

  Klaus still scowled, but John knew the rough sailor liked him. “All because I didn’t tell the captain of the Speedwell what happened that day,” John muttered to himself. “I’m glad I didn’t.” He shivered, thinking of the dreaded cat-o’-nine-tails. Just thinking of those cords lashing a man’s back made John feel sick.

  Fortunately, there had been no whippings aboard the Mayflower, at least so far.

  John prayed there never would be.

  CHAPTER 9

  Storm at Sea

  Raging winds moaned and howled like screaming, hungry beasts. Day and night the roaring sea battered the Mayflower without letting up. She rolled and pitched. Her timbers creaked and groaned like someone in pain. With each new attack, it seemed the gallant ship must burst apart at the seams. Captain Jones and his crew fought the storm with all their might, as they had fought many others. Yet in spite of their best efforts, they could barely keep the ship from going down with all her passengers.

  Mothers hugged their small children, trying to protect them from the wind and waves. People clung to whatever was fastened down in order to keep from being swept into the sea.

  John was greatly disappointed that Father would not allow him to go topside during the worst of the storm.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Father said. “If someone doesn’t fall overboard before this storm ends, it will only be by the grace of God.”

  His words planted a seed of fear in John’s heart. It was bad enough being cooped up with so many people. What must it be like on deck? “What about Klaus and the other sailors?” he anxiously asked.

  “They have sailed stormy seas many times,” Father reassured him. “They know what to do and how to protect themselves.”

  That made John feel better. Surely a seaman such as his rough friend who had faced pirates and escaped with only a badly cut shoulder could beat a storm.

  John swallowed his fear and tried to comfort Sarah, pale-faced and sick from the heaving ship. “Don’t worry. The ballast in the bottom of the Mayflower will keep her upright when the strong winds hit the sails. So will the cargo below the passenger deck.”

  A wild cry arose, loud enough to be heard even above the storm. “The seams! The winds have forced open the deck seams!” The next moment, a wave of icy seawater poured down onto the sick and frightened travelers, drenching them from head to foot. It soaked blankets and food. The terrified little band huddled together, seeking comfort as much as warmth.

  Just when everyone felt they would surely die in the storm, William Brewster’s voice rolled out. “Brethren, be of good cheer! Have we not been told the same God we worship and for whom we have abandoned our homes is the God of the sea? Remember the words of the Psalmist: ‘The Lord said, I will bring my people again from the depths of the sea.’ Did God not part the waters of the Red Sea long ago and bring His children safely through?”

  Dripping wet, teeth chattering from his freezing bath, Elder Brewster stood among his flock and offered encouragement in the very face of death!

  Elder Brewster went on. “Let us pray. Almighty Father, God of land and sea and sky, have mercy on us. If it be Thy will for us to reach America, build a colony, and worship Thee, deliver us from this raging storm. If it be Thy will to take us even unto Thyself, so be it. We are Thy children, and Thou art our Father. We are in Thy hands. Forgive our trespasses and make us—”

  C-r-a-c-k. The sound of something breaking cut off Elder Brewster’s prayer.

  “What was that?” Sarah cried.

  “I don’t know.” Father staggered to his feet, hung onto whatever he could, and prepared to investigate. John sprang up. “May I come?”

  “No!” Father’s voice sharpened with fear. “Stay with Mother and Sarah!”

  John dropped back to the pile of soaked blankets, wishing Father would realize he was man enough to go along at such times. Perhaps he would, if you didn’t get into mischief and acted more like a man, a little voice inside reminded him.

  Father returned in a very few minutes. “I have bad news. The main beam has cracked. The deck is in splinters.”

  “How could such a huge beam crack?” John demanded, not believing what his ears had just heard.

  “A beam can stand only so much strain,” Father replied.

  “Is the Mayflower going to sink?” Sarah whispered. She scooted closer to her mother.

  “We hope not.” Father’s calm voice made his daughter feel better. “We are in God’s hands, as Elder Brewster said.”

  A cold, wet hand crept into John’s. Sarah’s lips trembled.

  Her face was so white freckles stood out like thick stars on a cloudless night.

  If only he could do something to make her feel better! John quickly thought how his sister cheered up when he said something funny. He shook his head. Nothing was funny about either the storm or having the main beam of their ship cracked.

  Maybe a ver
se of Scripture would help. John frantically ran through some of those he’d learned in meeting until he came to one that brought a grin to his cold, blue lips. “Sarah, remember how Elder Brewster is always saying all things work together for good to them that love God?”

  A spark of interest crept into her frightened eyes. “Yes, but I don’t see any good now.”

  “There is, though. You know our clothes are dirty from all this time we’ve worn them. Well, the sea just washed them for us, didn’t it?” John knew how weak his joke was, but he couldn’t think of anything else, and he couldn’t bear to see Sarah so miserable. He felt warmth steal into his chilled body when Father sent him a grateful look.

  “That’s right, John! Thank you for reminding us,” Father said.

  “Can they fix the beam?” Mother asked anxiously.

  “I’m not sure. It may mean we will have to turn back to England.” Father sounded sad.

  “Turn back! When we’re already halfway there?” John felt his old spirit return. “There must be a way to fix the beam.” He raised his head. “Listen. The howl of the storm is not quite so strong.”

  “Thank God for that.” Father started back topside. Before John could ask permission, Father said, “You may come along,

  son, but hang on to me at all times. The storm still rages.”

  When they reached the deck, John’s mouth fell open. Shivers chased up and down his spine—and not just from his wet clothing. The deck had been splintered. A great crack in the main beam clearly showed how badly it had been damaged.

  Captain Jones stood nearby, talking with a few men, including John Howland. The Smythes liked the hearty young man, a servant to John Carver.

  “Recaulking the seams is no problem,” Captain Jones stated. “But we must repair the buckled main beam.”

  “We cannot do that unless we go back to England,” a man said. Jones crossed his arms over his chest and stubbornly replied, “My ship is strong and firm beneath the water line. Once we get the main beam fixed, there is no need to turn back.”

  The arguing went on. Suddenly a great gust of wind rocked the Mayflower. Father wrapped his arms around John, braced himself, and shouted in John’s ear, “We must go below again!” Before they could move, a great wave swept John Howland across the deck, over the rail, and into the churning sea! “Man overboard!” The cry burst from a dozen throats. John’s heart missed a beat then pounded with the same fury as the increasing storm. No one could live in those waves! A great cheer rose above the roaring of the storm. “What is it?” John yelled.

  “The lad’s grabbed ahold o’ a topsail halyard!” Klaus bellowed. Carrying a boat hook, the sailor headed toward the ship’s rail at a dead run. He leaped obstacles and swept aside two of his fellow seamen when the pitch of the ship threw them into his path.

  “It’s a miracle!” a Pilgrim shouted.

  “A miracle?” John cried, gazing on the line that hung overboard and ran out at length. There was no sign of John Howland. “He must be deep under the water!”

  “He’s holding on,” Klaus bellowed. A few moments later, the big sailor used his boat hook and hauled Howland to safety, brawny arms straining. For the second time the seaman had cheated the angry waters of a victim.

  Scared and soaked, Howland wordlessly gripped his rescuer’s hand. Another cheer rose.

  The winds died down a little. Or perhaps they were only gathering for another assault on the shaken, leaky Mayflower. The near-tragedy had taken attention away from the crippled ship, but now discussions began again.

  “A great iron screw was loaded wi’ the Pilgrims’ goods,” a sailor volunteered.

  “Why would they be taking an iron screw to America?” Captain Jones barked. “It ain’t a normal piece of baggage!”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Mebbe that God o’ their’n knew we’d need it.” The sailor slapped his leg and laughed. Others joined in.

  “Silence!” Jones roared. “Klaus, get that screw, if there is such a thing. With a post under it, the job can be done.”

  At Father’s insistence, John unwillingly went below again. He wanted to see the crew raise the great screw and mend the beam. He wanted to tell Klaus how proud he was of him. Instead he had to content himself with reporting the excitement to Mother and Sarah.

  “Klaus could have been washed into the sea, just like John Howland,” he said breathlessly. “He is so brave. Klaus hauled John in the same way he’d haul in a huge fish. The sea tugged and pulled, as if it didn’t want to give Howland up. I saw it with my own eyes, Sarah!”

  Once the main beam was repaired, the Mayflower sailed on. John’s curiosity burned brighter than ever. One day he asked William Bradford, “Did God really cause us to bring the great iron screw? Did He know the beam would crack? And that if there hadn’t been a screw, we would have had to go back?”

  Bradford shook his head. “Perhaps.” Deep trouble showed in his eyes. John knew why and felt sorry for him. William’s frail wife, Dorothy, had not been able to bear the miserable living conditions on shipboard as well as the others. She grew paler and sadder each day. The Smythes feared she would never live to reach the New World. Would the grieving woman die at sea, without ever seeing her little son, John, who had been left behind?

  John wished he hadn’t bothered William Bradford. He slipped away by himself, needing time to think. Why was life so hard? Why did God allow terrible storms to come, when the Pilgrims only wanted to get to America where they could serve Him? John looked out across the water, peaceful for a change. “You treacherous sea,” he cried. “You look so smooth, but all the time you’re getting ready to beat against us again and again. Well, you’re not going to win! You hear? God’s going to help us get to America, in spite of you.”

  John shook his fist at the calm ocean, but shivered. What would happen next?

  CHAPTER 10

  Where Did Everyone Go?

  One of the children’s favorite things to do when weather permitted them to be on the top deck was to watch the barefoot crew at work. John would have given anything to be able to climb up and down the rigging like monkeys scrambling up and down trees in a forest. Time after time he considered it, but the threatening looks he got from the sailors dampened his enthusiasm. Besides, after his experiences during the storm, John was trying harder than ever to stay out of trouble.

  “I don’t have to worry about you so much now,” Sarah observed one day. “I’m glad.” She sighed. “John, everyone talks about whether we should go on or turn back.” “What do you want to do?” he asked her. She stared at him from dark-circled eyes. “I’m too tired to care. I just wish we’d get somewhere. Anywhere. I’m so tired of the winds. Tired of the ship rising and falling and making so many people ill. Most of all, I’m tired of helping Mother care for the sick. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but all I want to do is drop down in a heap and sleep.”

  “Poor Sarah.” John gently pulled one of her braids. “Lie down and rest for a little while. I’ll take your place.”

  “You can’t help the women, and more of them are sick than the men.”

  “If you don’t rest, you’ll be sick yourself,” he argued.

  Sarah gave in and curled up on the damp deck. John heaped blankets around her until only her green eyes and the top of her head showed. “There. Rest now.”

  “John, I feel so strange. It’s like we left Holland years ago—not just a few weeks. Sometimes I can’t even remember what it was like there. All I can think of is the ocean and the storms.” Tears came. “I wonder if Gretchen ever thinks of me. I wonder if—” Her voice trailed off.

  John stayed with Sarah until she drifted into a restless sleep. “I’m glad I’m not a girl,” he whispered to himself. “It is so much harder for her.” He searched his brain for a way to make his sister feel better. At last he came up with a plan and put it into action a few days later.

  The pitching ship had steadied, at least for a time. People began to feel better. They gathered in the weak, late
autumn sunshine, well wrapped against the cold air. The Pilgrims prayed, sang hymns, and talked about America.

  “Tell us more about the New World,” John begged a weathered traveler known for his interesting stories. All the children on board liked hearing them whenever time allowed them to gather around the old man.

  “Shall I tell you about the Lost Colony?” the old man asked.

  “Yes! Yes!” the children cried.

  Sarah perked up enough to ask, “How could a colony get lost?” A bit of color came to her thin cheeks and spread beneath her freckles. Her eyes sparkled.

  John gave a sigh of relief. His plan was working!

  “It’s a curious story, and it happened way back in 1585,” the storyteller began in a mysterious voice. “Sir Walter Raleigh, you all know who he is?”

  “Oh, yes,” they chorused. John added, “A soldier, writer, and explorer.”

  Priscilla Mullins, who stood a little way from the children, called, “There’s a story about him meeting Queen Elizabeth. It may not be true, but people say she was out walking and stopped by a huge mud puddle. According to the story, Sir Walter Raleigh took off his coat, threw it in the mud puddle, and made a dry place for her to walk across.”

  “That’s funny!” the children shouted.

  “It’s silly,” eight-year-old Francis Billington announced. He and his brother, sons of Strangers John and Eleanor Billington, were troublemakers. Any mischief on board the Mayflower found them in the middle of it, and the Smythe children tried to stay as far away from them as possible.

  “I wouldn’t put my coat in the mud, even for the queen,” John Billington said.

  “It may never have happened,” the old man laughed. “What did happen was that Raleigh became Queen Elizabeth’s favorite. She gave him a twelve-thousand-acre estate in Ireland, where he planted the first potatoes. British explorers brought potatoes to England and Ireland from South America.”

  “What about the Lost Colony?” Francis demanded.