A Journey to the New World Read online

  During this time that very proud and profanest of the sailors, the one who called us all “puke-stockings” began indeed himself to cast blood. Toward morning of this day he dies and the men take his body topside and slide him over the rails. Is it not

  odd that the man who threatened to throw half of us overboard is in fact the first to go?

  I wonder what they shall name the new babe?

  Good night.

  Love,

  Mem

  October 23, 1620

  Mayflower

  2160 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  Master and Mistress Hopkins have decided to name the baby Oceanus. I think it is a good name, but I am not sure that had I been born on board this ship I might not have preferred the name Atlanticus. Atlanticus has the sound of the storm waves that crash against the hull. And this infant was born not in a lull, but within the heart of a full Atlantic gale. And he be crying like fury as I write.

  Love,

  Mem

  October 24, 1620

  Mayflower

  2210 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  The storm is blowing itself out, but I am occupied with many unsettled feelings and worries about sundry things. Perhaps if I make a list it will help. I do not like the shadows of fears lurking about. I shall bring them into the light.

  1) I did not like the way Elder Brewster looked at Mam as she prepared our supper over the coals tonight. I believe he is still angry with her for telling him to mind his tongue.

  2) Hummy’s father, Master Sawyer, grows more melancholy by the day. This is very hard on Hummy. He never speaks to her and I am sure she be missing her mother as much as he.

  3) Dear Will B. is looking quite poorly and when I walked by him I found him sleeping at this unusual hour and looking quite feverish.

  There that be a list of my worries.

  Love,

  Mem

  October 27, 1620

  Mayflower

  2340 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  Will B. appears truly not well at all and Hummy and I cannot understand why Deacon Fuller does not give him more attention. We fetch him water and try to get a piece of biscuit or a bite of oatmeal down him. Sometimes he is near delirious and calling out for his Mam. Now think you not the Fullers could take a little more time with him as he is their servant? Not that Hummy or I mind. But we are doing all we can and it seems not enough. After all, the Deacon Fuller is a doctor and they are the upgrowns. I told Hummy that I am going to go to Deacon and ask for a draught for Will to ease his sleep and these terrible nightmare deliriums that seem to seize him.

  Love,

  Mem

  October 28, 1620

  Mayflower

  2400 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  I am so mad I could boil. I went to Deacon Fuller and asked for a draught for Will B. and he says he only has a bit left and cannot spare it save for an emergency. This is an emergency, I think, but I dare not say it for I know children must not back talk. So I just whisper, in a small little voice that I am not proud of, “Well, Will is fiercely sick and does have most awful visions in his fevers.”

  And guess what that horrid man says to me? “Profane visions are the result of a profane life. Hast nothing to do with the fever.” I be stunned. He had treated that terrible sailor who had died a few days before. Was he comparing our dear Will to that man who had called down curses upon all of us, threatening in fact to throw us overboard? I am silent, but I think to myself. Maybe this man who is a Deacon and a surgeon is really nothing more than a butcher. And I know this for certain: Will Butten is not a profane being and his deliriums ride on his fever and nought else.

  Love,

  Mem

  October 30, 1620

  Mayflower

  2530 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  This is the very darkest thing I have ever told you, only you I can trust. Hummy and I have decided that if Will has not improved by tonight we are going to steal the draught. It is the most awful thing watching Will. He hardly recognizes either Hummy or myself. He seems so alone in his terror.

  Love,

  Mem

  October 31, 1620

  Mayflower

  Dear Imp,

  Well, thank the Lord we did not have to steal the draught. There be another surgeon doctor on this ship, not a Saint, mind you, and one that we have not paid any heed to. His name is Giles Heale. But he, having passed by poor Will’s pallet many times, became increasingly concerned. I watched him. So at last I went up and asked if he indeed had some of the draught to ease Will’s feverish dreams. Hummy could hardly believe it, because she knew that we Saints seemed to avoid him and she told me later that indeed Elder Brewster did look oddly at me when he saw me speaking to Giles Heale. But the good physician said that he most certainly did and had thought that most naturally Deacon Fuller would have dosed him. When I told him nay, he immediately fetched his satchel.

  Then, would you believe it, Imp? The old Deacon comes up and says, “What are you doing to the boy? That is my patient.” And Giles Heale just as calm as anything says, “I am doing what should have been done two days ago, Sir. I am giving this boy a draught before his fever burns a hole into his brain.” For all the Deacon’s pious ways and all his pompous views, this simple Stranger knew the true path better. I love the notion that the good man’s name is what he tries to do — Heale.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 4, 1620

  Mayflower

  Dear Imp,

  I am not so sure about Will. He only squeezed my hand once today and not at all for Hummy. I can think of nothing except poor Will. This voyage goes on too long, but if it would mean his life would be spared, it could go on forever.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 5, 1620

  Mayflower

  Dear Imp,

  It has been days since either Hummy or I have been topside, so I have no idea of the progress we make. Our world has shrunk totally to the circumference of Will’s pallet. We eat beside him, what little we care to eat; we sleep beside him. I know his face so well. I know every thin little blue vein in his fluttering eyelids. I know how his dark blond hair sweeps in a reverse S shape back from his temples.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 6, 1620

  Mayflower

  2800 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  Will died a few minutes past midnight this night.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 6, 1620. Written at dawn

  Mayflower

  2835 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  43 North, and 2,835 miles from England. I shall never forget those numbers. That is where Will is. That is where they slipped his poor body over the side. Had we flowers, Hummy and I would have tossed them over to mark the spot. But we had none so we took a knife to the hems of each one of our extra dresses, mine be red and Hummy’s be blue. We cut strips from them and then when Lark saw what we were doing, she right there and then sat down and took the knife to her own dress, the very one that she was wearing. With these strips we braided a colorful braid with some white from our most under petticoats. And so when they took Will topside to slip him over, as the prayers were being spoken, Hummy and I together tossed the braid into the sea just as the water closed over dear Will Butten’s head.

  Hummy and I did not want to go below. We could not face that rank dark space anymore, not with its close air and then the constant fighting of the Billingtons; and the very presence of Deacon Fuller will forever unnerve me. But most of all we felt that we had to stand our watch over Will. We had to watch that ocean to which he now belonged. We had to see him through his first night of eternity on this vast and endless sea.

  That is all, dear Imp. I feel a great desolation. I must fight for my faith now; my faith that although Will Butten seemed in this world so alone that he be in another n
ow joined forever with something of comfort and love.

  Mam came up with biscuits and salt beef for me and Hummy. Salt beef! And it not being a flesh day. You see how discomposed we all are! But Mam seems to understand our need to be up here and she touched each of our faces—her hand lingering a bit on Hummy’s as if she felt perhaps she needed a bit extra since her father is so melancholy. She said to us that we might sleep from now on in the longboat topside as long as the weather holds and there are no storms. That she will fix us a bed warmer with live coals wrapped in a tinderbox and give us extra coverings. That is some solace. But even better solace would be the sight of land. It has been so long. We must be getting near. At least that is what the sailors say.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 7, 1620

  Mayflower

  2850 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  The Bilgewater boys are in real trouble now. They tried to drown the ship’s cat in a barrel of water. They claimed that they were just giving it a bath or some nonsense about teaching it to swim. Master Jones thrashed them! He said that cat is worth the two of them together and if we don’t have a good cat aboard rats will take us over. So he is making the boys each catch a rat a day until the end of the voyage. He says that he believes that the punishment should fit the crime. It does disturb me, however, to think of those boys stalking rats, because I have a feeling in my bones that they will do some sort of mischief with them.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 8, 1620

  Mayflower

  2900 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  Hummy and I love sleeping in the longboat on deck. It is so much fresher than below, and all the sounds are different. The first night after Will died and we slept here, we just huddled together, holding on to each other, and cried. I kept thinking of all those little faces he drew so cunningly on his hands. I wondered how long would they last in the seawater and if a fish might come up and find a story in Will Butten’s fingers. So silly but it made me feel good thinking about Will cajoling the fish as he once had the babies.

  I feel that I have entered an entirely new world up here in the longboat, and oddly enough I feel much closer to Will B., for this is where he slept and now I know how he knew so much about the ship and its sailing.

  The longboat is stowed just behind the forecastle under the crow’s nest, where the lookout stands watch. But we have a good view of all. It is on the upper deck that the crew lives and where their cook has his own galley. It is on the poop deck that the sailing master’s stateroom is, but he has kindly shared this cabin and the ship’s officers’ cabins in steerage with some of the more important people such as Elder Brewster and his wife and the Bradfords.

  But the very most important people at that end of the ship are the helmsman and the officer on deck. ’Tis the helmsman who steers the ship. The helmsman, however, cannot see where he is going from his position. ’Tis the officer on deck who keeps a sharp eye on the compass and sings out the directions to the helmsman. So all through the night the darkness is laced with these lovely words, that are orders — “starboard a little,” “full-and-by,” “luff her a little,” “steady now.”

  And now in addition to these wonderful words Hummy and I can clearly hear the ring of the bells, signaling the change of watches.

  The best part, however, about sleeping out is the dawn. That first morning after Will died it came up pink and gray with a touch of blue. Indeed it seemed almost as if those strips of cloth we braided for Will had floated up yonder into the sky and braided together the clouds.

  Love,

  Mem

  November 9, 1620

  Mayflower

  2950 miles sailed

  Dear Imp,

  “Land ahoy!” The call from the crow’s nest cracked the dawn. Hummy’s and my eyes flew open. I sat up so quick I banged my head and have an egg agrowing on my brow. But we all hurried out. Unable to believe the words, our eyes wide in the half light of dawn. Several of us crowded along the rail. The sailors saw it first, the faint dark line against the horizon. Their eyes be trained to pick out such features from the unending plainness of the sea and sky. But within minutes of searching the horizon with our eyes, Hummy and I began to see the same.

  We held each other’s hands so tightly and almost dared not breathe, but minute by minute the line became firmer and began to thicken. ’Twas not a wisp of a dream but real. It had taken us all of 65 days but finally we are here. This be the New World and it doth fill my eyes for the first time. My eyes did blur with tears, and Hummy and I turned and hugged each other so hard and both thought of our dear Will, lying at the bottom of this sea. But

  Hummy did whisper to me, “Mem, he now be in heaven and his eyes doth reflect the glory of the Lord, and he sits with his mother once again.”

  And these words of Hummy did help us both and we turned to look once more on this New World at the far edge of this vast and terrible sea.

  Love,

  Mem

  The New World

  November 9, 1620. Evening

  Cape Cod Bay

  Dear Imp,

  I begin now this second part of our diary, even though it is the same day. I consider the voyage finished and this be the New World part. Though I must tell you we have been well surprised here. This is not northern Virginia, and the Hudson River is nowhere near. Master Jones felt it might be no more than ten leagues or more to the south of this latitude. No, we seemed to have missed northern Virginia and have sailed to a place known as Cape Cod. The sailing master but a few hours before, when he was still set on heading south, brought Mayflower perilously close to some dangerous shoal water. The tides ripped fiercely across the shallows and the current was against us. The wind was dying and darkness coming on. We could hear the roar of the breakers and it was most frightening. The sailing master and John Carver, Master Bradford, and my father and the first mate were called in to discuss what should be done. It was decided that the danger of becoming trapped in the shoals and the breaking waves was indeed too great and that we must forget notions of the Hudson River. So we turned around, sailed back to Cape Cod Bay, and dropped anchor.

  Father took me and Hummy to the Round House, which is where all the sea charts are kept and the courses are plotted. First Mate Clark showed us a map of this part of the New World coastline that was drawn by Captain John Smith on his voyage six years before in 1614. At that time Smith had made a voyage up the coast from northern Virginia and called this region New England. Cape Cod had been named by sailors because of all the fish that abound in these waters. It hangs out into the waters embracing the bay like a very long skinny arm. Now we are in the crook of the elbow, it feels most cozy and we ride easy on our anchor and the moonlight falls through the clouds like streams of silver. And all through the night Hummy and I whisper in heated voices: “We are in the New World. This be the New World!”

  Good night, Imp.

  Love from the New World,

  Mem

  November 10, 1620

  Cape Cod Bay

  Dear Imp,

  I am writing this just as I watch—a pod of whales! They frolic gently around our ship. They are not the large ones that we have heard about, but are considered rather small, no more than twenty feet in length. They blow through their spout holes, they dive, they roll over sometimes as if to cock an eye at us and get a better look. One came especially close to us, rolled, and looked right at me. I peered back closely and found the eye, in its deep folds of skin, to possess an intelligence, to in fact have a remarkably humanlike aspect to it and be not at all fishlike.

  The weather is clear and cold. We have nestled further into the crook of the elbow and can see white sand dunes and then gentle hills rising behind them. There is, of course, much talk of feathered men. Myles Standish and Elder Brewster spend a considerable amount of time planning for defenses against them. The tales can grow quite wild. But the notion of the feathered men does n
ot bother me as much as some of the squabbling below. Hummy just went below to fetch something and came back to report a furious row going on between the Saints from Leyden and some of the Strangers.

  Later the same day …

  Mam just came up from below with Blessing, saying she could not stand the “growling.” She spoke of a mutiny! How could we have gotten this far to have fights break out now? But it seems that since our sailing master’s rather large navigational error, which put us here instead of northern Virginia, we are outside the region governed by the patent that was granted us. This, according to Mam, means we are outside the law in some sense as soon as we disembark. And there are those amongst the Strangers who no longer want to be part of our community, but to have free license. These rebel Strangers were saying that here in New England none has power to command them.

  But this, Mam says, would be a most dreadful consequence. For in such a wild and savage land we must work together for the good of all. She says that William Bradford is presently below making a most impassioned speech and scribbling on papers some sort of letter or statement of agreement that might please all parties in some way. She says it appears to her a very difficult, nearly impossible, task but she trusts Master Bradford.

  I want desperately to go ashore, but Mam says I can wager that there will be no going ashore until this is thrashed out and settled.