THURSDAY, Sept. 7/Sept. 17
Comes in with wind E.N.E. Light gale
continues. Made all sail on ship.
FRIDAY, Sept. 8/Sept. 18
Comes in with wind E.N.E. Gale continues.
All sails full.
SATURDAY, Sept. 9/Sept. 19
Comes in with wind E.N E. Gale holds.
Ship well off the land.
SUNDAY, Sept. 10/Sept. 20
Comes in with wind E.N.E. Gale holds.
Distance lost, when ship bore up for
Plymouth, more than regained.
MONDAY, Sept. 11/Sept. 21
Same; and so without material change, the
daily record of wind, weather, and the
ship’s general course—the repetition of
which would be both useless and wearisome
—continued through the month and until the
vessel was near half the seas over. Fine
warm weather and the “harvest-moon.” The
usual equinoctial weather deferred.
SATURDAY, Sept. 23/Oct. 3
One of the seamen, some time sick with a
grievous disease, died in a desperate manner.
The first death and burial at sea of the
voyage.
[We can readily imagine this first burial at sea on the MAY FLOWER,
and its impressiveness. Doubtless the good Elder “committed the
body to the deep” with fitting ceremonial, for though the young man
was of the crew, and not of the Pilgrim company, his reverence for
death and the last rites of Christian burial would as surely impel
him to offer such services, as the rough, buccaneering Master (Jones
would surely be glad to evade them).
Dr. Griffis (The Pilgrims in their Three Homes, p. 176) says “The
Puritans [does this mean Pilgrims ?] cared next to nothing about
ceremonies over a corpse, whether at wave or grave.” This will
hardly bear examination, though Bradford’s phraseology in this case
would seem to support it, as he speaks of the body as “thrown
overboard;” yet it is not to be supposed that it was treated quite
so indecorously as the words would imply. It was but a few years
after, certainly, that we find both Pilgrim and Puritan making much
ceremony at burials. We find considerable ceremony at Carver’s
burial only a few months later. Choate, in his masterly oration at
New York, December 22, 1863, pictures Brewster’s service at the open
grave of one of the Pilgrims in March, 1621.]
A sharp change. Equinoctial weather,
followed by stormy westerly gales;
encountered cross winds and continued
fierce storms. Ship shrewdly shaken and
her upper works made very leaky. One of
the main beams in the midships was bowed
and cracked. Some fear that the ship could
not be able to perform the voyage. The
chief of the company perceiving the
mariners to fear the sufficiency of the
ship (as appeared by their mutterings) they
entered into serious consultation with the
Master and other officers of the ship, to
consider, in time, of the danger, and
rather to return than to cast themselves
into a desperate and inevitable peril.
There was great distraction and difference
of opinion amongst the mariners themselves.
Fain would they do what would be done for
their wages’ sake, being now near half the
seas over; on the other hand, they were
loath to hazard their lives too
desperately. In examining of all opinions,
the Master and others affirmed they knew
the ship to be strong and firm under water,
and for the buckling bending or bowing of
the main beam, there was a great iron scrue
the passengers brought out of Holland which
would raise the beam into its place. The
which being done, the carpenter and Master
affirmed that a post put under it, set firm
in the lower deck, and otherwise bound,
would make it sufficient. As for the decks
and upper works, they would caulk them as
well as they could; and though with the
working of the ship they would not long
keep staunch, yet there would otherwise be
no great danger if they did not overpress
her with sails. So they resolved to
proceed.
In sundry of these stormes, the winds were
so fierce and the seas so high, as the ship
could not bear a knot of sail, but was
forced to hull drift under bare poles for
divers days together. A succession of
strong westerly gales. In one of the
heaviest storms, while lying at hull, [hove
to D.W.] a lusty young man, one of the
passengers, John Howland by name, coming
upon some occasion above the gratings
latticed covers to the hatches, was with
the seel [roll] of the ship thrown into the
sea, but caught hold of the topsail
halliards, which hung overboard and ran out
at length; yet he held his hold, though he
was sundry fathoms under water, till he was
hauled up by the same rope to the brim of
the water, and then with a boathook and
other means got into the ship again and his
life saved. He was something ill with it.
The equinoctial disturbances over and the
strong October gales, the milder, warmer
weather of late October followed.
Mistress Elizabeth Hopkins, wife of Master
Stephen Hopkins, of Billericay, in Essex,
was delivered of a son, who, on account of
the circumstances of his birth, was named
Oceanus, the first birth aboard the ship
during the voyage.
A succession of fine days, with favoring
winds.
MONDAY Nov. 6/16
William Butten; a youth, servant to Doctor
Samuel Fuller, died. The first of the
passengers to die on this voyage.
MONDAY Nov. 7/17
The body of William Butten committed to the
deep. The first burial at sea of a
passenger, on this voyage.
MONDAY Nov. 8/18
Signs of land.
MONDAY Nov. 9/19
Closing in with the land at nightfall.
Sighted land at daybreak. The landfall
made out to be Cape Cod the bluffs [in what
is now the town of Truro, Mass.]. After a
conference between the Master of the ship
and the chief colonists, tacked about and
stood for the southward. Wind and weather
fair. Made our course S.S.W., continued
proposing to go to a river ten leagues
south of the Cape Hudson’s River. After
had sailed that course about half the day
fell amongst dangerous shoals and foaming
breakers [the shoals off Monomoy] got out of
them before night and the wind being
contrary put round again for the Bay of
Cape Cod. Abandoned efforts to go further
south and so announced to passengers.
[Bradford (Historie, Mass. ed. p. 93) says: “They resolved to bear
up again for the Cape.” No one will question that Jones’s assertion
of inability to proceed, and his announced determination to return
to Cape Cod harbor, fell upon many acquiescent ears, for, as Winslow
says: “Winter was come; the seas were dangerous; the season was
cold; the winds were high, and the region being well furnished for a
plantation, we entered upon discovery.” Tossed for sixty-seven days
on the north Atlantic at that season of the year, their food and
firing well spent, cold, homesick, and ill, the bare thought of once
again setting foot on any land, wherever it might be, must have been
an allurement that lent Jones potential aid in his high-handed
course.]