In social position and worldly comforts her life was pre-eminent among the colonists. Although Edward Winslow had renounced some of his English wealth, possibly, when he went to Holland and adopted the trade of printer, he “came into his own” again and was in high favor with English courts and statesmen. His services as agent and commissioner, both for the Plymouth colony and later for Cromwell, must have necessitated long absences from home, while his wife remained at Careswell, the estate at Green Harbor, Marshfield, caring for her younger children, Elizabeth and Josiah Winslow. By family tradition, Mistress Susanna was a woman of graceful, aristocratic bearing and of strong character. Sometimes called Anna, as in her marriage record to William White at Leyden, February 11, 1612,[[55]] she was the sister of Dr. Samuel Fuller. Two children by her first marriage died in 1615 and 1616; with her boy, Resolved, about five or six years old, she came with her husband on The Mayflower and, at the end of the voyage, bore her son, Peregrine White.

The tact, courtesy and practical sagacity of Edward Winslow fitted him for the many demands that were made upon his diplomacy. One of the most amusing stories of his experiences as agent for Plymouth colony has been related by himself[[56]] when, at the request of the Indians, he visited Massasoit, who was ill, and brought about the recovery of this chief by common sense methods of treatment and by a “savory broth” made from Indian corn, sassafras and strawberry leaves, “strained through his handkerchief.” The skill with which Winslow cooked the broth and the “relish” of ducks reflected credit upon the household methods of Mistress Winslow.

After 1646, Edward Winslow did not return to Plymouth for any long sojourn, for Cromwell and his advisers had recognized the worth of such a man as commissioner.[[57]] In 1655 he was sent as one of three commissioners against the Spaniards in the West Indies to attack St. Domingo. Because of lack of supplies and harmony among the troops, the attack was a failure. To atone for this the fleet started towards Jamaica, but on the way, near Hispaniola, Winslow was taken ill of fever and died, May 8, 1655; he was buried at sea with a military salute from forty-two guns. The salary paid to Winslow during these years was £1000, which was large for those times. On April 18, 1656, a “representation” from his widow, Susanna, and son was presented to the Lord Protector and council, asking that, although Winslow’s death occurred the previous May, the remaining £500 of his year’s salary might be paid to satisfy his creditors.

To his wife and family Winslow, doubtless, wrote letters as graceful and interesting as are the few business epistles that are preserved in the Winthrop Papers.[[58]] That he was anxious to return to his family is evident from a letter by President Steele of the Society for Propagating the Gospel in New England (in 1650), which Winslow was also serving;[[59]] “Winslow was unwilling to be longer kept from his family, but his great acquaintance and influence were of service to the cause so great that it was hoped he would remain for a time longer.” In his will, which is now in Somerset House, London, dated 1654, he left his estate at Marshfield to his son, Josiah, with the stipulation that his wife, Susanna, should be allowed a full third part thereof through her life.[[60]] She lived twenty-five years longer, dying in October, 1680, at the estate, Careswell. It is supposed that she was buried on the hillside cemetery of the Daniel Webster estate in Marshfield, where, amid tangles and flowers, may be located the grave-stones of her children and grandchildren.

Sharing with Mistress Susanna White Winslow the distinction of being mother of a child born on The Mayflower was Mistress Elizabeth Hopkins, whose son, Oceanus, was named for his birthplace. She was the second wife of Stephen Hopkins, who was one of the leaders with Winslow and Standish on early expeditions. With her stepchildren, Constance and Giles, and her little daughter, Damaris, she bore the rigors of those first years, bore other children,—Caleb, Ruth, Deborah and Elizabeth,—and cared for a large estate, including servants and many cattle. The inventory of the Hopkins estate revealed an abundance of beds and bedding, yellow and green rugs, curtains and spinning-wheels, and much wearing apparel. The home-life surely had incidents of excitement, as is shown by the accusations and fines against Stephen Hopkins for “suffering excessive drinking at his house, 1637, when William Reynolds was drunk and lay under the table,” and again for “suffering men to drink in his house on the Lord’s Day, both before and after the meeting—and allowing his servant and others to drink more than for ordinary refreshing and to play shovell board and such like misdemeanors.”[[61]] Such lapses in conduct at the Hopkins house were atoned for by the services which Stephen Hopkins rendered to the colony as explorer, assistant to the governor and other offices which suited his reliable and fearless disposition.

These occasional “misdemeanors” in the Hopkins household were slight compared with the records against “the black sheep” of the colony, the family of Billingtons from London. The mother, Helen or Ellen, did not seem to redeem the reputation of husband and sons; traditionally she was called “the scold.” After her husband had been executed in 1630, for the first murder in the colony, for he had waylaid and killed John Newcomen, she married Gregory Armstrong. She had various controversies in court with her son and others. In 1636, she was accused of slander by “Deacon” John Doane,—she had charged him with unfairness in mowing her pasture lot,—and she was sentenced to a fine of five pounds and “to sit in the stocks and be publickly whipt.”[[62]] Her second husband died in 1650 and she lived several years longer, occupying a “tenement” granted to her in her son’s house at North Plymouth. Apparently her son, John, after his fractious youth, died; Francis married Christian Penn, the widow of Francis Eaton. Their children seem to have “been bound out” for service while the parents were convicted of trying to entice the children away from their work and, consequently, they were punished by sitting in the stocks on “lecture days.”[[63]] In his later life, Francis Billington became more stable in character and served on committees. His last offense was the mild one “of drinking tobacco on the highway.” Apparently, Helen Billington had many troubles and little sympathy in the Plymouth colony.

As companions to these matrons of the pioneer days were four maidens who must have been valuable as assistants in housework and care of the children,—Priscilla Mullins, Mary Chilton, Elizabeth Tilley and Constance Hopkins. The first three had been orphaned during that first winter; probably, they became members of the households of Elder Brewster and Governor Carver. All have left names that are most honorably cherished by their many descendants. Priscilla Mullins has been celebrated in romance and poetry. Very little real knowledge exists about her and many of the surmises would be more interesting if they could be proved. She was well-born, for her father, at his death, was mentioned with regret[[64]] as “a man pious and well-deserving, endowed also with considerable outward estate; and had it been the will of God that he had survived, might have proved an useful instrument in his place.” There was a family tradition of a castle, Molyneux or Molines, in Normandy. The title of Mr. indicated that he was a man of standing and he was a counsellor in state and church. Perhaps he died on shipboard at Plymouth, because his will, dated April 2, 1621, was witnessed by John Carver, Christopher Jones and Giles Heald, probably the captain and surgeon of the ship, Mayflower.

This will, which has been recently found in Dorking, Surrey, England, has had important influence upon research. We learn that an older sister, Sarah Blunden, living in Surrey, was named as administratrix, and that a son, William (who came to Plymouth before 1637) was to have money, bonds and stocks in England. Goods in Virginia and more money,—ten pounds each,—were bequeathed equally to his wife Alice, his daughter Priscilla and the younger son, Joseph. Interesting also is the item of “xxj dozen shoes and thirteene paire of boots wch I give unto the Companie’s hands for forty pounds at seaven yeares.” If the Company would not accept the rate, these shoes and boots were to be for the equal benefit of his wife and son, William. To his friend, John Carver, he commits his wife and children and also asks for a “special eye to my man Robert wch hath not so approved himself as I would he should have done.”[[65]] Before this will was probated, July 23, 1621, John Carver, Mistress Alice Mullins, the son, Joseph, and the man, Robert Carter (or Cartier) were all dead, leaving Priscilla to carry on the work to which they had pledged their lives. Perhaps the brother and sister in England were children of an earlier marriage,[[66]] as Alice Mullins has been spoken of as a second wife.

Priscilla was about twenty years old when she came to Plymouth. By tradition she was handsome, witty, deft and skilful as spinner and cook. Into her life came John Alden, a cooper of unknown family, who joined the Pilgrims at Southampton, under promise to stay a year. Probably he was not the first suitor for Priscilla’s hand, for tradition affirmed that she had been sought in Leyden. The single sentence by Bradford tells the story of their romance: “being a hop[e]full yong man was much desired, but left to his owne liking to go or stay when he came here; but he stayed, and maryed here.” With him he brought a Bible, printed 1620,[[67]] probably a farewell gift or purchase as he left England. When the grant of land and cattle was made in 1627, he was twenty-eight years old, and had in his family, Priscilla, his wife, a daughter, Elizabeth, aged three, and a son, John, aged one.[[68]]

The poet, Longfellow, was a descendant of Priscilla Alden, and he had often heard the story of the courtship of Priscilla by Miles Standish, through John Alden as his proxy. It was said to date back to a poem, “Courtship,” by Moses Mullins, 1672. In detail it was given by Timothy Alden in “American Epitaphs,” 1814,[[69]] but there are here some deflections from facts as later research has revealed them. The magic words of romance, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” are found in this early narrative.