A Journey to the New World Page 7
Love,
Mem
March 9, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Mam is back. It is so good. She still is terribly weak, but she seems most happy to be back. When she has the strength and the breath she keeps telling me all sorts of housewifery things. It is as if she wants to teach me all at once. I must grow rosemary in the garden and then put it around the house to clear the bad vapors. Also, I should grow thyme and if Blessing has nightmares give her an infusion of it.
This talk disturbs me. I say, “Why me? You shall be well, by spring. We shall plant together.” And then she laughs and says that she really means for when I grow up and have a household of my own. And that I must learn how to feel the weight of a measure in my hand for many a good housewife has been cheated thus by a shopkeeper. And I say, “Mam, we barely have houses here, let alone shops.” And she laughed at this and then began to cough. I must mind my tongue. But ’tis so good to have her back.
Love,
Mem
March 10, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Hummy is most worried about her father. It is hard to describe for it be not exactly a bodily sickness, but Master Sawyer has become increasingly slow in his movements and response. He seems withdrawn into another world. Hummy did confess to me when we were by the woods’ edge that she has heard him late at night talking to her dear dead mother. It reminds her so of Dorothy Bradford. He has ceased to go with the men to fell timber and he stays much of the day staring into his fireplace. He does help with the sick though. So at least he is doing that share.
Love,
Mem
March 11, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Hummy arrived most upset today. She said her father was working in the sick shed and was tending Mistress Winslow, who appears close to death. She heard him bend over and whisper something about his wife in Mistress Winslow’s ear. Then he began speaking a bit louder and she heard him very clearly say. “Tell dear Elinor that I shan’t be long coming. That all shall be well.” Poor Hummy! Does he not ever think of her? What shall happen to Hummy?
Love,
Mem
March 12, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Hummy is so embarrassed. They have asked her father not to work in the sick shed anymore. He is too much of a disturbance to them that are about to die and to their poor relatives as well. No one amongst the near dying is spared the chance to be a messenger for him to his beloved Elinor. It is most eerie and disconcerting. He was whispering into the ear of a dying child, and the child in her fever said, “But how shall I know her?” And then he said something. And the child said, “But I might get lost.” And the little one began to cry for fear of being lost in heaven. It is so terrible to even think about.
They have sent him with Peter Brown to hunt for thatch for the roofs. He is too distracted, Father says, to handle an ax. He might hurt himself.
I feel so awful for Hummy. I think her father is a very selfish man.
Love,
Mem
March 13, 1221
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
The sailors be talking a great deal now about returning to England. They hope to leave sometime in April. Of course, the holds will be empty. So the merchants who gave the money might not be pleased. But almost half our company has died and how could we do much more than keep ourselves alive? Father says that real efforts this spring and summer shall be made to begin some sort of trade in furs with the Indians and also fishing. He thinks that dried fish will even the balance sheets with the merchants, for it is very marketable. Again, I know nothing of these business affairs. Staying alive seems to be our major endeavor. It is unimaginable that there could be what Father calls a “profit” in all this someplace — at least one that can be calculated in terms of money.
Love,
Mem
March 16, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Oh joy! At last I have seen an Indian. I have not only seen him I have stood right beside him. I have touched his hand. I have filled my eyes with the amber gold of his skin!
’Twas this morning, and seeing as it was warm I had opened our door a crack while I did wrestle with the cooking pots and fix Mam a mug of tea. It was only the corner of my eye that did catch this sight. And when one thinks about it ’twas all the more miraculous because the door was only opened a small slice; so ’twas as if I did glimpse a sliver of that slice but such was the strangeness of this view that it did arrest me. For that sliver was like a colorful smear of the brightest paints. There was the amber gold, then a bold streak of black and white, and somewhere a bright red mark that all came together into something like a human configuration.
I raced to the door, and there walking straight up our narrow street between the two rows of our houses was a feathered man bold as anything. He be tall and straight and almost naked, save for a little scrap of leather about his waist with a bit of fringe no more than ten inches in width. Just enough to cover him. I blush as I write this. He carried a sheath with some arrows, and across his shoulder was the pelt of a dark orange fox. His hair was long in back and twisted into a knot with a braid hanging down his neck. But in front the hair had been shaved closely to show his whole forehead and a good part of the dome of his head. There were at least two feathers tucked into the braid!
I was so excited that I raced out of the house with Mam’s mug of tea still in my hand. Everyone was pouring out of the seven houses that now line the street and he strides boldly on. Masters Bradford and Brewster and Governor Carver intercepted him. By this time I am standing very close to the Indian. And now the most startling thing of all. This feathered man opens his mouth and what comes out, but English. And here is what he said exactly: “Welcome. My name is Samoset. I come not from here, but from Monhegan to the north, by sail with a strong wind a day, by land five.”
I have never seen men more stunned in my life than Elder Brewster, Master Bradford, and Governor Carver. Samoset asked for beer and biscuits, but they gave him strong water instead and little Wrestling Brewster was sent to fetch the liquor bottle. Samoset was then taken to the Common House as others fetched the biscuits and I made it my business to fetch him something more. So I brought him a good hefty slab of pudding that I had just turned out, and Hummy getting the same idea brought a slice of mallard they had not yet eaten, and Love brought some cheese. Had it been left to the upgrowns he would have only eaten hardtack and whiskey.
I do not think that the upgrowns were on purpose unfriendly, but they did appear fearful whereas we children were more fascinated than fearful and wanted to do anything to make Samoset stay and like us.
He loved all the food we brought him. The men then began to question him. Samoset told them that the region where we be is called Patuxet, which means Little Bay or Little Falls. Four years ago there was a great and terrible plague here killing every single person. Therefore there is no one now to lay claim to the land, but it is why we find many of the fields cleared. Samoset has been in this place eight months. He learned his English from Englishmen who came to fish in the waters off Monhegan. In
Monhegan he was a sagamore, or a lord of his tribe. His tribe be called the Wabdnaki, or the People of the Dawn. He knew well the entire region here on Cape Cod and all the provinces and the various tribes and their leaders.
The people who we are nearest to are called the Wampanoag, which means People of the Breaking Day. But there also are the Narragansett and others. He says that the biggest chief of this region, the sachem as they call him here, is Ousamequin, or Yellow Feather. He also be called Massasoit.
Samoset talked a long time and when he was finished he showed no sign of leaving. He could have stayed forever as far as I was concerned. He is in fact spending the night at Stephen Hopkins’ house. And I heard Governor
Carver whisper as they walked out, to “watch him,” as if he might steal something. I felt this was not quite proper in attitude.
So good night and love,
Remember Patience Whipple
March 23, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
I do not think I shall ever be bored or find life dull and tedious again — as long as the Indians keep coming. On Samoset’s second visit he brought five other men with him. These wore leggings and were generally more covered. They also carried with them little pouches filled with powder. I saw Captain Standish start as he saw one pour some into his hand, undoubtedly thinking it was for a musket.
But he then took some water from a bowl which we had set before them with other victuals and rolled the powder into a paste and began eating it. Samoset explained that it was corn powder.
I walked right beside Samoset. When he was leaving, he smiled at me and said he liked the pudding I had first brought him. So I quick as could ran back and got him the last bit we had. He thanked me. That be a few days ago.
Now today he comes again and in accompaniment is an Indian called Squanto, who also speaks English. I know this right away for, as soon as Samoset sees me he turns to Squanto and says in English, “That is the pudding girl!” So now I have a new name—The Pudding Girl. I like it. And I did make some more. This pudding is an odd one for it has none of the normal things because there be none of those normal things here, like milk and eggs and butter. I make it with fat from the geese drippings or whatever fowl we can get, dried peas soaked in beer, and some of the flour we brought from Leyden, and the dried currants and the dried fruits of which we still have a goodly supply.
Squanto and Samoset talked with us for maybe an hour and then they mentioned that the great sachem Massasoit and his brother be nearby, in fact, just behind the ridge with sixty or more of his people. Captain Standish jumped up quite alarmed. But Samoset said there was no need for that, they came to parley. So Captain Standish and the Governor met Massasoit and his brother. A treaty was worked out. This treaty is one of peace and we pledge that we shall not injure each others’ people, nor steal from them, and if there be an unjustly war against the Indians we shall help them.
Good night and Peace!
Love,
Mem — or “The Pudding Girl”
P.S. I gave Squanto some of the pudding. I pray that he likes it as much as Samoset.
March 25, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Hummy’s father has not come out of their house for two days! Hummy is worried to death. She knows not what to do with the man. And I am no help.
If Hummy’s father has not come out, Mistress Billington certainly has — and at odd times. She be abroad two nights in a row now, “up to no good,” says people. Why would someone go out at night in the vapors especially when a south wind is blowing? There is talk that she keeps a sieve and scissors for the practice of what is called the small sorceries — fortune-telling and the like. Lark says she knows not about such things. She only does know that Mistress and Master Billington fight loudly all the time, for she lives closer to them. And that one day Governor Carver reprimanded Master Billington for talking so coarsely to his wife outdoors where everyone can hear. I myself do not think it matters — outdoors, indoors, upside down, or right side up — it is still poor to talk that way to any woman.
Love,
Mem
March 27, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
More excitement. Samoset brought to our house some dried pumpkin, which he showed us how to string along with some Indian corn. We hang it up in the rafters and it makes for a colorful decoration. Mam loves it and, as she is feeling weak, has spent much time on her pallet looking up at the bright orange and yellow. She says it is like a garden growing in the ceiling.
Hummy’s father seems much improved. In fact, he looked at Hummy yesterday when I was there and smiled as if he had seen her for the first time in months. This makes Hummy’s and my hearts both swell.
Father has returned this afternoon from treading for eels with Samoset. They caught so many — big fat ones that we shall make into a stew.
Love,
Mem
April 1, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
The month hath turned and, although it be rainy, Squanto says it is the beginning of the time for corn planting. He calls these days Seequanakee’wush. I cannot believe it but perhaps spring and gardens are truly coming.
Squanto promises we shall see the corn shoots by June! We spend the whole day planting corn. The rain stops and the sun comes out and I start to laugh, for Hummy has not minded her hat and her face has grown so many freckles. I say I hope we have as much corn as she has freckles on her face.
Love,
Mem
April 2, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
’Tis the worst imaginable. When I return home I find Blessing crying uncontrollably and Mam coughing blood. Oh Imp, I am so ashamed. All these days I have been so taken with the Indians I have neglected my own dear Mam. I mean not neglected her in duty. I have helped her and brought her tea and carried her to the privy, but I have been blind. So full have my eyes been with the color and the feathers of the Indians that I have not seen my mother fade before me. I should have known that she was growing weaker.
She be so weak now she can hardly talk. She does look at the pumpkins we have strung on the ceiling and the corn. I explained to Samoset and Squanto how she loves that color and the dear souls bring more for me to string, along with some golden tansy that is dried. Father puts it up. Mam watches. It is silly, I know, but I have this notion that if she keeps watching the yellow she loves that floats above her head, that somehow this will stay death. That she will not need to go to heaven. That is if we can string these yellow beauties just so …
I can write no more. I am too fearful.
Love,
Mem
April 3, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Mam died this morning. She died with her eyes locked on the yellow of the pumpkins and the tansy. She died with two words on her parched lips: “I love.” There was not time for the rest but we knew her meaning all the same. I be feeling so strange. I have no mother now. I have no mother. I keep repeating that to myself. But I cannot believe she is gone.
Love,
Mem
April 4, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
I have yet a new grief. Hummy sails tomorrow with her father on the Mayflower. That is when the ship is to leave. He must go back to England to be near the grave of his dear Elinor, he says. I am simply numb.
This morning we buried Mam. Father made the casket last night. We wrapped her in a wool shroud and I put in thyme to ward off nightmares and rosemary for remembrance. We had brought these herbs from Leyden. And, of course, I put in the brightest of the tansy.
Love,
Mem
April 5, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
I watched from the hillock until the Mayflower was but a speck on the horizon. Hummy and I decided not to say good-bye on the beach in front of the others, but early in the morning by the rim of the forest. She cried, but it is as if I still be too numb. She promises to come back some day—even if it must be as an indentured servant. She tried to give me every hope. She even said that if her father soon died, she would offer her service to another family for there is supposedly another ship coming next autumn. So we hugged by the edge of the forest and that was it. I watched the rest from here where I now still sit with you, Imp, my sole companion.
Oh Imp, I have lost so much. And to think a few short days ago I dared believe in spring again, but I was right the first time. It shall always be a winter in my head. I am black in my heart and full of wrath
. I shall write no more for a long time.
Love and good-bye,
Mem
June 5, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
It has been a long time, has it not? How be you? Do you remember me? I must write these odd, short sentences. The words creak rusty in my head. My fingers are stiff. The pen lays heavy in my hand. I will try tomorrow.
Love,
Mem
June 6, 1621
Plimoth Settlement
Dear Imp,
Here I be again. I live, Imp, that is all. I concentrate very hard on small things. I get up in the morning. I put on my stockings, my garters, my three petticoats, my waistcoat — an old moss-green one of Mam’s, my apron, my pocket I tie round my waist, my coif, my shoes. I now have pegs for all these things. Father made them for me. I am not sure when. I have lost track of time.
My fingers feel less stiff. Perhaps I shall write more tomorrow.
Love,
Mem
June 7, 1621
Plimoth Settlement