The young pilgrims

Front matter

^ *gj|y- r J|i^|/'Wy^ggHM|>MUSagC

Pf^

Htti -rfilBwH

Chapter I In Troubled Waters

“ /^O in and see what kind of weather it is indoors, Exy ! ”

And as John Wharton made this suggestion to his little sister, Experience, his face looked utterly troubled, as well it might ; and when Experience returned from a glance through the open door she shook her little head.

“ It is not safe for us to venture in, John, for I fear me much that the frown that is on her face has come to stop. And, alack. Father will be home soon.”

Sarah Wharton — their mother — who was the object of their trouble, was working away very hard at the hand spinning-wheel with which she was spinning woollen for her boy John’s jacket, but a dark cloud had settled on her face in the shape of a frown, and Exy and John had learned to read this sign with ease, for it generally meant that something or other had been said and done by “Father,” or said and done to “Father,” which had put her out.

THE YOUNG PILGRIMS.

Poor Father,” said Exy ; “ he never gets a quiet time. And he’ll be coming home tired and, now. Mother’s gone like that.”

“ It’s just as hard on Mother,” the boy murmured. “ Think of all the money Father might earn if he did not offend people. That’s what puts Mother out, remembering that ! She can’t hold up her head like our Aunt Emma and her husband can. And I really believe that apart from that she has never forgiven Father for having been sent to prison. Neither have I ! Think how the boys at the Grammar School took it out of me ! ” John was a strapping youth of fifteen years of age, and he spoke passionately.

“ Oh, John ! It isn’t as if he had been sent to prison for stealing or drinking. He. . . . Oh, there is Father coming over the Green ! ” she broke off quickly ; and John’s colour came with a rush, for it suddenly struck him that he had been thinking hard thoughts of this father of his.

I do not beheve for a minute that those hard thoughts would have been there but for the fact that the boy John loved his mother and hated to see her upset. Right or wrong — right or wrong, it did not matter.

Oh, yes, of course his father thought he was right, but if that were true, then every one else must be wrong. The King must be wrong ; the Queen must be wrong ; the nobles ^ust be wrong ; the gentry must be wrong ; the bishops must be wrong ; the parsons must be wrong ; and all the people that went to the Parish Church must be wrong ! And the only people in the world that were right must be his father and his few friends. That would have been all very well if Father had been a man who had power to get his own way. But unfortunately it was the others who had the power, and power enough to make Father feel what they thought of him, and it was not so long ago that they had made Stephen Wharton, his father, feel that, by imprisonment and by fines. Mrs. Wharton had had to borrow the money to pay them, and save what she could since, she had never been able to get on, never ! She saw her sister in the same town, honoured and respected, going on Sunday to church dressed in her satin gown, and laced stomacher ; while she had to hide her head in poverty and shabbiness. It was very hard ! It was very bitter ! And it seemed as if life had handed to her a cup full of acid. And it was thinking over these very things that made her frown this afternoon, and had kept her frowning for a good many afternoons.

Over the Green, skimming along like a little aeroplane about to start. Experience flew to meet her father ; and his face simply fit up as if the sun was shining from behind, when he caught sight of her, and he held out his arms lovingly. Then as they dipt and kissed in the good old-fashioned way, Master John strolled up in a very take-it-easy fashion.

Stephen Wharton’s face did qot light up in the same way as he looked at his son, and John’s certainly did not light up at the sight of him. The fact was the father was generally stern and the boy generally sullen. Stephen

THE TOUNG PlLOttlMB.

Wharton had a kind of instinct that the boy sat in judgment on him, just as his wife did, for what he had to make them pass through.

The three of them walked on to the house, and ere Stephen entered, Exy saw her father close his eyes and move his lips as if he were praying, and then they went in. Stephen stood on the threshold, but his wife never so much as raised her eyes. No, she went on tapping the pedal with her foot, and the wheel whirled in maddening fashion, and there was that in the very sound of it that seemed to say : “ I’m- very-angry ! I'm- very-angry ! ” Stephen’s lips set in grim curves — he knew the signs only too well, then he said, gently :

“ Had not Exy better lay the platters, mistress ; for you seem to be Dusy ? ”

“ Ah, it’s more than seeming, my man ! Some one must earn a bit ! We can’t pay fines from nought ! Exy, set the table ! Put the kettle on ! ”

It was a miserable evening that they spent after their evening meal. John, with a kind of “ I’m-sick-of-it-all ” gesture, got out some of the lessons that he had to do for the morrow ; Exy got to work on a pile of plain stitching, and Mistress Wharton went back to her wheel ; but Stephen took his Bible and began to turn over the leaves, till at last he found a place that he read intently. And all the time the loud-voiced clock ticked out the moments as they flew — tick-tock, tick-tock ; and the bell chimed the quarters and the hours. Seven ! Eight I And then the summer evening began to grow dull, and the shadows crept on apace ; work grew difficult, and reading impossible, and Stephen Wharton, closing the Bible, said ;

“ We will have the candles, and when we have had the bread and milk then we’ll have prayers.”

It was the usual thing every morning and every night, but somehow there was a ring in the voice of Stephen Wharton and an earnestness in his praying to-night that made his wife open her eyes and scan his face narrowly. There was something afoot to make her man pray like this — some fresh trouble, and that she felt certain. As if they had not already had trouble sufficient !

Then when his prayer was over he rose, and taking their candles, the boy and the girl went to their little rooms.

Then Mistress Wharton faced her husband :

“ There is something troubling you, Stephen. What is it ? ”

For answer he unfolded a letter that had come from a minister, who had used to live in Lincolnshire, but had found it better for safety’s sake to fly to Holland, and had been there for some years, where there had gathered around him a small crowd of people who had left the old town of Boston, where Stephen Wharton lived, to join him.

“ Master Brewer,” said Stephen, “ has arrived in London from Holland, and he has brought this letter from Pastor Robinson, begging any of us, who may wish to go from Lincolnshire, or Kent, or Essex, or London, to join a i

THE YOU NO PILGRIMS.

band of their friends and ours who are going to sail across the sea to found a new country in New England, where there shall be no churches, no priests, and every man shall be free to worship God according to his own will.”

Then he leaned across the table towards his wife, who sat there with two thin red spots upon her cheeks, guessing pretty well what was coming, and he said :

“ Sarah, it has been laid upon me that I ought to be one of them.” Here he raised his hand, as though to silence anything that she might say. ” Wait ! ” he continued. “ I have been thinking it out ever since I received this letter, and I have looked at it from all sides. Wait ! ” — seeing she was about to speak — “ I have tried to imagine what will happen if I stay in England still. Less and less work will come my way ” ; she nodded as though she agreed ; ” more and more people will grow offended ; I shall probably be cast into prison ; I am certain to be fined ; it will prove a drag on you and John and Experience. But if I go I know exactly what the risks are then ! Dangers from the sea, dangers from the climate, and dangers from any wild ungodly savages who may be yonder. But methinks even they would be less cruel than the godly savages over here — ^these parsons, and magistrates, and rulers who will let a man rot his days in prison because he will not obey them and share in their pretence of a worship. As for the dangers by sea, there we shall be in the hands of God.” And opening the Bible he read from the good old Psalm :

“ They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths : their soul is melted because of trouble. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they are quiet ; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.”

Reverently he read the words, and then, more reverently still, and as if he found a wonderful satisfaction in repeating them, he read once more the last words: “So He bringeth them unto their desired haven.” Then he closed the book.

“ There,” he said, “ that is my faith, and if He brings us to ‘ our desired haven ’ we shall find over the seas a harbour of refuge and safety and Freedom ! "

The last word rang through the little room, and as it died away, Mistress Wharton leaned forward towards him and said cuttingly :

“ That may be your faith, Stephen, but it is not mine.”

Silence !

Then into the silence there glided a woman’s voice, pouring out in querulous tones her sense of the wrongs she was receiving at the hands of this man.

“ Think you that I will leave all my relatives in Boston, and go out to

THE TOUNO PILGRUfS.

a people that I do not know ? Think you that I will leave Old England with its ways that I know so well, and go out to a land that will be a strange land, to be scorched by its heat, drenched with its damps, poisoned with its fevers ! Think you that I will trust my body, and the bodies of our John and httle Exy on to the planks of a frail ship to face wind and waves and tempest and possibly to drown. Is it not enough, Stephen Wharton, that we have suffered as we have, and that even our children are called after as they are, and that you should be branded with the shame of prison, that you should add this, above all, to bring this thing upon us ? " Then, rising, she exclaimed, haughtily and angrily : “I tell you, Stephen Wharton, I will not GO 1 I tell you I will NOT go ! " And she paused, breathless.

Chapter II The First Steps Of The Way

I TELL you I will not go ! ”

Stephen Wharton's wife had said ; and then it was that Stephen looked the seemingly angry woman in the face and said :

“ Then that means I must go without thee ! It will be hard, but there were times, harder than these, when a man, because he was a Christian, had to send his wife and children, as well as himself, to the lions. I, at least, can leave thee in safety, and you will all be with your old friends, and in the old

?•/ UU you, SUp^ftt Wharton, / will not gof”

THE YOUNG PILGRIMS.

town. I shall think of you, I shall long for you ; I cannot quite tell how I shall do without you, but a soldier has to go to the war, and a sailor has to go to sea, and leave his wife and children behind ; and, as what I have to do is a far higher thing, I must not draw back from the venture, just because you will not go."

“ What ! You will go and leave us, then ? "

And Stephen nodded his head three times, dehberately, and Mistress Wharton saw that his mind was made up.

Then she sprang to her feet, crying :

“ And do you think that I will be left here, for my sister Emma and her proud husband to point their finger of scorn at me, as a woman whose own husband wouldn’t stay at her side ? Do I not remember well — how can I forget ? — how when the wives and children of those unhappy men who fled to Holland tried to join their husbands and fathers, and were hindered by the soldiers, that they were looked upon in the town as though they were the scum of the earth ? No, bad as it will be to be with thee, it seems to me it will be worse to be without thee. Besides, think you that I should rest and sleep quietly in my bed, when I knew that all the time my man was on the deep, or away from me in the far-off land ? No, you would be in my thoughts by day, and you would haunt my dreams at night. And, there is this to be said, Stephen Wharton, that though I cannot see eye to eye with you in many of your strange, new-fangled notions — yet, you have been a good husband unto me, and a good father unto mine. Never have we seen thee come home the worse for liquor, never has a blow from thee hurt me — perhaps thou hast been a trifle stern with John. But apart from that thou hast kept all the things thou didst promise at our marriage, and as thou hast kept thy vows so will I keep mine.’’

Stephen Wharton had risen to his feet during her sudden speech and listened, as she spoke, as though he could scarcely believe her words ; and now, with his face all strained with earnestness, he cried :

“ Well, then, my wife . . . ? ’’

“Well, then,’’ she retorted. “ I mean just this, that when you go, I go — we go. I wish I could do it with a better heart, but I can’t see things as you see them, Steve ; but this I will say, that what you have to bear, I will bear, and what you have to dare, I will dare, and what you have to share, I will share. It can’t be worse than staying here amongst my own people and hearing them talk of my man as though he were a gaol-bird, when I know that he is a hero.’’

“ The Lord be praised for thy words, Sarah ! And, though the road to our new liberties may be rough, yet as far as Heth in the power of a mortal man, I wiU smooth them for thee and for thine. And think, woman, think ! Our John, over yonder, will have fields of his own and a free and a happy life.

THE YOUNG PILGRIMS.

without magistrate, or squire, or parson to make him afraid. And little Exy, if the good Lord spares her, will grow up to find in some decent. God-fearing man, a husband of her own. And I shall lie no more in prison ; and thou wilt be amongst others who will be proud to know thee, as one who, like themselves, has left behind the things that hindered and dared to be free ! ” *****

Then there followed a time which you children can easily imagine, if ever you have removed with your parents from the place in which you used to live to another far distant. You know what happened ! Why, what would have happened to you ? Once the secret, the great secret that you were going away had been told you, how long would it be before you told every boy and girl you knew ? You would have been glad of it, proud of it, bursting with the news ; and so would John and little Exy.

At first they would say, “We are going presently!” But the “presently ” would quickly change into “ soon ” ; and as the days flew by, there came at last a day when they had to call round and say, “ We have come to say good-bye, for we are going away to-morrow.”

And when “ to-morrow ” came, there was a last look to be taken at the old cottage by the village green, and the nods and hand-shakes to be given to the villagers and townsfolk as they passed through the well-known lanes and streets of Boston ; knowing all the time that each step they took was the last they would take in that spot, and that every step led them further from the place that had counted to them as “ home ” for so many years.

It was a great adventure 1 Afterwards — well, afterwards they had taken the steps, and whatever faced them they would be too proud to go back. But I fancy that the steps that cost most were these last steps out of Boston, and the first steps towards their unknown future.

Then began the troubles of the journey. Ah, it was a journey I It had to be taken over those rough roads, those rough country roads of England, full of ruts and holes ; and as they had to go on foot even to the place where they took the barge that was to carry them to London, they began to wonder what it would have meant if they had to walk the whole way.

Then this little family, which had never been on the sea in their lives, put out through the waters called The Wash, and hugging as close as they dared the Norfolk shores, they made slowly past Yarmouth, and from thence they crept along making the same voyage that you could make on any Bank Holiday, so swiftly by steamer from London, and at last, to the children’s great delight, their barge sailed up past Tilbury to Greenwich, and up by the Thames to London itself. There at London they found a number of people who were waiting to take the voyage with them. There was Stephen Hopkins and his wife, and four of his family ; there was Christopher Martin and his

THE YOUNG PILGRIMS.

wife, and two of his family ; there was Richard Warren, there was John Billington and his wife, and a boy, John, to whom John Wharton instantly felt attracted, he looked such a mischievous young scamp ; there was Edward Dotey, and Edward Liester, both of them men servants of Stephen Hopkins ; and, they were all waiting to take their passage in the Mayflower.

I do not think that among the many people who sail from England to America now, there would be many who would care to have tried the voyage in a sailing vessel of the size of the Mayflower, but then as she was considered a fairly big ship, although now we should nr+ call her a very big yacht. And on this vessel they were actually going to aare to sail these unknown seas. Talk about pluck ! If ever it found a home, it found it in the hearts of those men and women who stepped for the first time on to the deck and into the tiny cabins of that good ship the Mayflower.

Meanwhile, during the time that they were waiting in London another smaller vessel was bringing another party from Holland to join them, and as soon as the London party heard that the Hollanders had really set sail they sailed too to meet them at Southampton.

There, much to John’s disgust, they had to wait for seven days, kicking their heels in that little port ; and he watched his father’s face, as it grew grave and worried with anxiety, for who could tell in those uncertain days whether some unforeseen enemy had not managed to put a stop to the journey after all. But at length on the seventh day, as they were lingering on the quay at Southampton, the little vessel, called the Speedwell, hove in sight, and the Holland men and the British men joined hands and prayers with one another. Then the purchases for the ships had to be made ; and John and his sister heard with wonder that they had spent £yco in the port. But you must remember that they were not going to a place where they could buy anything, and everything that would be absolutely needed had to be carried with them. Shoes and stockings, shirts, doublets and breeches ; kerseys and jerseys ; waistcoats and leather aprons and girdles ; caps and hats ; hooks and eyes ; gloves and linen for handkerchiefs ; mats and rugs and blankets and sheets and bedding; all this for their own use. And more important than all of these there were the seeds to be sown in their future fields and orchards ; and there were the tools that they would have to be used. There were arms and gunpowder, and bigger guns and small cannon, and strange to relate, there was also carried — what do you think ? — an ensign. The flag that they intended should wave to the breeze in New England, when they reached it.

All this took a great deal of labour in getting on board, but every one even the youngest tried to lend a hand ; but there was one young imp who managed to get into everybody’s way — it was that unruly youngster John Billington.

At last, however, they were off ! The word was given, and the two ships, the Speedwell and the Mayflower, set sail on August 5, 1620, and for some

The littie vessel, called the Speedwell, hove in sight.

few days — about a week — they sailed slowly along the Devonshire coast.

John Wharton was enjo5dng himself. This was a real voyage, and the only drawback to it was that he knew he would never be able to tell the lads in Boston — ^who had given him such a rough time while he was there — all about it ; and another drawback was that they were so crowded on board. What with the cargo and the cattle and the fowls, and the arms and the people, there was scarcely room to move. Men and women and children — they were all thrown closely together, and they grew to know one another very well.

“ D'ye like our new friends, Exy ? " he said to his sister after a day oi

two.

Some of them," she nodded. “ I like that Mary Chilton, and Mother thinks a lot of her mother. But Mother says that of all the women she prefers Mistress Carver. Do you know that these Carvers were once very well set up people, John. And they put all their money into buying things for New England."

“ Um," growled John, “ so it would look that Father is not the only one who is mad enough to do these things."

Exy looked at him angrily, but John went on :

“Oh, it is no good your looking at me like that ! You know very well that I don't understand, as yet, what it is all about. Do you ? Come now^ do you ? "

THE YOUNG PILGRIMS.

“It is enough for me that our father thinks it right ! "

Suddenly John’s attention seemed to wander, for he saw that the Speedwell was making signs to the Mayflower, and he rushed to be near the men, who at once gathered in a group discussing what was wrong. Then a boat put out from the Speedwell and Master Reynolds, its captain, came on board, and though John did his best to hsten he was soon driven away by his father, who with the rest looked very upset.

But it was not long before they all knew the news, and unwelcome news they were.

John saw his mother approach his father, and saw his father murmur something in answer, and as a result his mother flung up her hands in sheer dismay. Exy was looking on and her brother whispered to her — for he had enough of being snubbed by his father — “ Go and ask her what is wrong ! ” And when she came back she said :

“ We have to put into Dartmouth to repair the other ship. She’s leaking oadly and the captain is afraid that she will sink unless she is repaired.”

John whistled and hurried away to tell his newly -found friend John Bilhngton the news ; but when he reached him he saw that he was talking with Mr. John Billington, his father, and if there was one man that John Wharton thoroughly disliked it was that man ; so he returned to Exy, who was nesthng up to her mother amongst some of the other women, and he stood and hste ned.

One of them suggested that it seemed as if Providence were purposely hindering them and saying plainly, “ Don’t go ! Don’t go ! ” But to John’s utter astonishment his mother broke in :

“ More likely far that it is trying what stuff we are made of ! Why, one might as well say that Providence had no intention of our holding a washing-day because the tubs happened to spring a leak, or that Providence intended that we should do without a fire because the wood was damp and wouldn’t bum.” There was a general laugh all round and the Faint-hearts took courage.

But none the less into Dartmouth they had to go, and there the leaky ship was, so they said, thoroughly repaired ; and after wasting eight precious days, in which they were all spending money and eating food and yet getting not a yard nearer their New England home, they set sail again.

Only a few hours had gone by, during which they had got off the coast of Cornwall, and sighted the Land’s End, when the Speedwell again made signals that it was in distress. This time it became clear that only by constant working of the pumps could the water be kept under, and after a meeting that was held on the Mayflower they all decided to put into Plymouth, which was the nearest port, and have her examined. So back again they went, and this time the timid ones on board made their voices heard once more ; and when those that understood these things said that the leakiness of the vessel

THE YOUNG PILGRIMS.

was simply owing to her general weakness, they felt that it was madness to go on in the Speedwell.

Mr. Carver, who had been appointed their leader, gathered them all together and he suggested that, as some would have to stay behind, that those who were beginning to feel nervous or who fancied that Providence was fighting against them should go back. And when Stephen Wharton heard the advice, it seemed to him as if an icy finger touched his heart and made it shrink with fear ; for he was at once afraid that his wife would take the opportunity only too willingly to urge him to go back themselves. He looked across at her nervously and saw that she appeared very excited, with two little crimson spots on each cheek ; yes, he knew the signs. She was about to blurt something out and she did.

“ Do I hear right, Master Carver ? ” she cried. “ Are you advising those of us who have sold our homes and left our friends to go back to them? If so, to what shall we go back ? Shall we stay here in Plymouth ; do we know enough of the people to be sure of a living ? Are friends made in a day or two ? Some of us are better off than others, like Master and Mistress Cushman — they can go back to London and their fine friends ; but what becomes of all the talk about the Land of Liberty ? Have their preachments meant nothing ? Is the England that they are going to stay in a freer, happier place than it was at the beginning of August ? Or is the real truth that some of us as we have come face to face with the sea and its moods have grown afraid ?