A Journey to the New World Read online

  Love,

  Mem

  January 4, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  It is reported that Captain Standish be taking some men to try and meet with any Indians that might be in the place where they had spied the fires.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 5, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  This is a very special day for me. I am taking you ashore at Plimoth for the first time. I am sitting near the construction of the Common House as I write this. Hummy and I be hoping the weather blows up and we will get to stay overnight in this little lean-to Father has fixed, which seems quite cozy. Yesterday, when Captain Standish went in search of the Indians, he shot an eagle and today for our noonday meal we had several pieces. It tastes just like mutton. Quite delicious. The sun broke out for scattered minutes through the morning. Whenever that happens I feel, maybe ’tis not so bad that we came now.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 8, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  I wager that you never thought you would hear me say that I admire or be envious of anything to do with a Bilgewater. But I am! For today Francis Billington has discovered a great new water beyond the highest hill. This water be divided into two great lakes. They say that the bigger of the two lakes is at least five miles around and in the middle is an island that may be close to six hundred feet in length. What a fine thing to discover. Hummy and I are consumed with envy, but Mam says envy be the worst of all sins. So I am trying hard to forget about it. But it is difficult, when people are already referring to it as the Billington Sea. Oh, can you imagine a Whipple Sea with a little island in the middle called Remember?

  Love,

  Mem

  January 9, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  Weather still holds so Hummy and I take Blessing ashore. We must keep her on her lead ribbons for fear she will run off to where they are felling timber and get smacked by a falling tree. Mam is not well at all, but she does not seem to have what they call the General Sickness like the others. She coughs and she is extremely fatigued, but thank heavens no fever.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 11, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  Master Bradford, who has been staying on shore along with Father and some of the others who work on the building, has fallen ill. He is quite sick.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 12, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  Master Bradford still quite ill. Governor Carver also has fallen ill. And now more to add to this grim news. Two young men have been lost today. They went out to gather thatch and are not back. ’Tis a miserable night, too. Lord knows how they will survive. We all pray for them.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 13, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  The two men still are lost. I think it will be a miracle if they live.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 15, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  Two miracles in one day, and the Sabbath day at that. Yesterday was Sunday and the first miracle is that the lost men have returned. They are in excellent health, but spent miserable, cold nights. The second is that the roof of the Common House caught fire early on the Sabbath morning from a spark that flew into the thatch. It only burned the roof but the real miracle here was that Master Bradford and Master Carver lay sick inside with their muskets beside them. Had they not risen quickly, despite their illness, the sparks from the roof could have caught the gun powder from their muskets and they would have been blown up. But through God’s mercy they and all abed in the Common House escaped.

  We had our first Sabbath service on land this day also. I did so enjoy it and even though we be Saints, whose church resides in our hearts, ’twas very good at last to have firm ground under our feet for this church in our hearts.

  Love,

  Mem

  January 29, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  It has been almost two weeks since I last wrote. And today I should write with great joy as finally we are moved into our own house at last. But it is a day of sorrow. Rose Standish died in the middle of the night. I have never seen a face so carved with grief as that of Myles Standish as he held his wife in his arms when she breathed her last, and this be a man that hast been on many a battlefield and seen his comrades slew in most brutal ways. But this is his life’s comrade and this small shed in which the sick now lie is his cruelest battleground, I do believe.

  He sat there cradling the dear sweet woman for more than an hour after she passed on. Then John Goodman and my father carried Rose out of the shed to soon be buried.

  There has of late been nothing but sickness and death. This is why I have not written. It is, however, amazing that several houses have been built and this new shed for the sick.

  Mam herself has rallied some and helps when she can in the sick house, but Father and I both worry about her. She does not look well and she still coughs. But I think she is very happy to have a house now and some place of her own to sleep at night. Tomorrow … pray no more die.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 4, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  ’Tis near dawn and I am spelling Lark in the sick shed. Her own mother is now quite ill and her father as well. They have also brought in Edward Potts. His poor wife Hannah is large with child and she is trying to cradle his head in his feverish deliriums. It be too much for her or anyone. Hummy offered to help but she said no, she would do his nursing.

  Anyhow, our house is tight and cozy. The proof was last night when the wind did damage to some of the other roofs of houses but not ours. Our house is probably the tightest in the settlement as Father is the best man with an adze and a drawknife. And it is all in the shaping of the logs that makes a tight house. He and I worked like beings possessed to get the wattle in the walls. But I do believe this to be my specialty. ’Tis surprising because I am not so good with stitchery, and with wattle one must weave small twigs in between the studs and framing, something like stitchery. Then over that we put the plaster mixed from sand, clay, water, and grass. We have all but one wall plastered now.

  What with so many getting sick it hath taken me away from the work. But Blessing is actually quite good at helping Father with the mixing of the plaster and he has given her some small places to squash it into. And she does not try to eat it! That be the amazing part. Remember how I told you she be so mouthy? She thinks this plastering is playing. She loves doing it. The Lord does work in mysterious and beautiful ways and I think one of them is through Blessing—that she can think that building this house is a game and do it well is wondrous. It keeps her busy and gives Mam a rest.

  We have of course no chairs, no beds, just pallets, no tables—but tomorrow Father says he shall put up some pegs so we might hang our clothes. The fireplace is good and draws well and the chimney does not leak. We have one kettle and some pots we brought with us as well as a lug pole from which to hang the pots and such. Father has not had time to fix them into the fireplace yet. Although we do have a spit in place. Now if we could only get some meat to roast on it. But game has been scarce. We do have our one window in place in the west wall. Mam will not permit one in the south wall as she believes the vapors be poor coming from the south and that they cause illness.

  I am so glad Mam brought the large bolts of linen, for we have soaked them in linseed oil and put them in one square window that Father cut. It brings in a little light on the brighter days. Father plans that there be an outdoor cooking oven, too, for summer and there is space for a garden. But the notion of summer and gardens seems as far off as the moon. Oh, I
must go, dear Imp, Mistress Mullins is beginning to thrash and when she does that a coughing fit is soon coming.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 5, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  Mistress Mullins now be coughing blood. Master Potts is worse and still his wife refuses to take a rest. I have not the heart to write more now.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 8, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  Master William White now joins the sick in the shed as do Mary Allerton, mother of the dead-born son, and Elizabeth Winslow, wife of Edward Winslow. I spend most of my time, however, with the More children, the little orphans from London who came as servants to the Winslows and the Carvers and Brewsters. One has already died and I fear another might follow shortly. They do not call ever for their mother but only for one and another. John keeps calling for Jasper and I have not the heart to tell him that Jasper has gone on to the Lord.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 9, 1621

  Plimoth Harbor

  Dear Imp,

  We had a near terrible disaster today. The roof of the sick shed caught fire. I was terrified. At the time I was sitting by little Ellen More trying my best to engage her attention with a finger game, my heart quickening every time her swollen eyes opened and she gave a little smile. Then suddenly without warning the flames burst out with a blast of heat. I picked her right up, bedclothes and all, and ran. You know she hardly weighed a thing. Then Mistress Potts tried to pick up her husband all by herself and run. Would you believe she nearly did it? But luckily, Elder Brewster came and John Goodman.

  God was merciful, however, and there was no serious damage done to the shed and soon Ellen was tucked back in. She now be calling for Jasper. What am I to do? These poor little orphans.

  The best news today is that five geese were killed and distributed amongst us. So our spit turns something for the first time since we be here. I write by the light of the fire this evening and smell the dripping fat. We place a pipkin below the bird to catch it; for the fat be so good in stews and pottages and if we ever do grow anything in our garden it is good for frying up vegetables. But as I say the garden and summer seem so far off as not to be true and ever coming. I should not think this way. I am so blessed compared to those poor orphan children. If I think a garden and an outdoor oven be far off that is nothing compared to a mother and a father in heaven.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 15, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement

  Dear Imp,

  It has been over a month since we have been living continuously on the land, and I realize that all these days I be putting the word Harbor at the top each time right under the date. I think it is time to call us a settlement. Perhaps it is wishful thinking as so many of us are sick and moving on to that next world. The houses of our settlement are built in two facing rows and we are more than half way up toward the fort on what they are calling the pasture land. The other side will be where the crops will be planted.

  There is a meeting tomorrow called for by Captain Standish. The purpose of the meeting is to organize a militia. For, in fact, today, a party of twelve Indians were seen nearby. I still have yet to see any feathered man. I hope they do not shoot them all before I get my chance. I pray to God that the Indians be good and do nothing intemperate to provoke Captain Standish.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 16, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement

  Dear Imp,

  Strange and mysterious is the passage of some into the arms of death. Death, however, is becoming ordinary around here and has found yet a new way to disturb and transfix us with its power. Early this morning as I was working in the shed it became clear that soon Edward Potts would depart this earth. His wife, who had cradled him in her arms these long last days, lay herself down right beside him on the pallet.

  When he died, she continued to lie beside him for some time. We let her be. But imagine our surprise when we begin to notice that Mistress Potts was in the midst of labor! But she had hardly moaned. ’Tis very difficult to write what happened next. The women did wrap up the baby and give it to Mistress Potts, who looked upon it and a smile broke over her face like sunshine scattering across clouds. She then held the baby to her breast and showed its sweet visage to her dead husband.

  It was an eerie configuration, but still we gathered round, just as if Edward Potts were alive. And for the moment we were all as happy as could be in these peculiar circumstances because for one blessed hour it seemed as if death had been defied. But then suddenly the baby seemed to grow weak and within minutes it, too, had joined its father.

  They gave Hannah a very strong sleeping draught, for they were fearful that they would not be able to take her dead child and her dead husband away from her. Now she will wake up and she might think that she has merely dreamed a horrible dream. I don’t know but it does not seem like a good way to finish the business of Hannah Potts and her husband and baby son. ’Tis a very terrible thing when people try to make real parts of your life unreal.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 17, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement

  Dear Imp,

  Mam has indeed fallen ill. They have brought her to the sick shed. I resisted for several days, hoping against hope that she had not indeed sunk to the terrible level of those in the sick shed. But Father and I realized last night that we only be fooling ourselves. ’Tis better she move to the sick shed where me and Hummy and Lark and the other dear people who care for them are. And most important I can always be there for her now. Blessing can go with Mistress Brewster and her lot. She seems happy enough there. Love and Wrestling are quite good with her. Oh Imp, I’m so frightened I can barely think. But I just pray and try not think. Pray for my dear Mam.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 18, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement

  Dear Imp

  Little Ellen More, one of the orphans from the More family, died this morning. All night long Hummy and I held her hand and all night long she called for her brothers, who both lay sick. But John did seem stronger, so Hummy and I did move his pallet closer to his sister. Then just before dawn, her breathing came easier and she opened her eyes and she looked right over at John and what did she say—“Mother!” And then she died. ’Tis very mysterious to me, but Hummy does believe that she was already at the Gates of Heaven and did, indeed, see her long-dead mother there.

  After someone dies, if there be a chance Hummy and I usually walk outside a bit. We walk to the edge of the woods and we hardly talk at all. I’m not sure what my thoughts are. But after all the gasping and the coughing of the sick and the dying in the shed there is an astonishing silence at the woods edge. I just empty my mind and think about the designs of the ice-sheathed branches against the sky. Sometimes after a freezing rain the branches catch the sun in such a way that they flare against the sky like a silver embroidery. I can only try and think of these things — there is so much blood and bile and the dark noisy gurgling of death in the shed.

  Love,

  Mem

  February 25, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement

  Dear Imp,

  Over the past week fourteen people have died. Poor Lark now has lost everyone in her family. Thank God she has John Alden always by her side.

  I have come out to the edge of the woods with you, Imp, to be away from it all. You see, I know too much of death for a child, for anyone who be not a doctor or a soldier. I know the slag of the mouth in the last hours. I know the peculiar manner in which the fingers do pick at the sheets. Why do they do that, Imp? So many of them do this odd picking. Is it that they are trying to pluck a bit of earth to take with them to the next kingdom?

  Love,

  Mem

  March 3, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement


  Dear Imp,

  There is a teasing of spring in the air. I hate it. Seventeen people died last month and the birds are chirping. We are mocked. I want the birds to shut their beaks. I want the sun to blink once and then roll its bright yellow eye into the skull of the sky like the dead man’s eyes do roll up. I want the soft, warm breeze to sputter out. I dare a dandelion to show its face!

  Love,

  Mem

  March 7, 1621

  Plimoth Settlement

  Dear Imp,

  The weather turns cold again. The wind is from the full east. But I have some hope. Father and I decided to move Mam back to our house. The very thought of returning to it seems to have helped her. Father will take my place in the sick shed and I will stay with Mam and Blessing. Also, today we have planted seed for the first time. We sowed some in our garden as did other people. There is something that I have not mentioned before, Imp. For a long time on my saunterings to the rim of the woods, to break from the illness and death of the sick shed, I have felt when I sit there that eyes are watching from the shadowed edges of the woods. I said nothing to Hummy about it until today, but she, too, agrees. We both think that the Indians be much closer and more constant in their vigil of us then anyone has previously thought.