Here are the sisters-in-law, wives of John and Edward Tilly, each with a young girl to mother—not her own—for Humility Cooper is cousin to Ann Tilly, and Elizabeth is a step-child to John Tilly’s wife.
Mrs. Edward Fuller, sister-in-law of the doctor and Anna White, is one of those sailing for another haven than some of the others, though knowing it not.
From London has come Mrs. John Billington, so different in style and manner from her women companions as to be quite noticeable, yet not lacking in desirable qualities to say the least; and little Ellen More, now in Mrs. Winslow’s care.
Mrs. William Bradford—standing in the shadow of tragedy—and Mrs. Isaac Allerton with her two little girls, Remember and Mary, complete the count. Mary Allerton’s namesake daughter stands nearest to us, of all that company, between that day and this.
“How slow yon tiny vessel plows the main!
Amid the heavy billows now she seems
A toiling atom—then from wave to wave
Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed,—or reels,
Half wrecked, through gulfs profound.
Moons wax and wane,
But still that lonely traveller treads the deep.”
What words can better picture the Mayflower at sea than these of Mrs. Sigourney? The monotony, the discomfort, the terrors day after day. Since the waning of the September moon, under which the voyage began, the weather had become cold and stormy; the sea dangerous—whose roughness affected many and made the labors and duties of those able to withstand it, increase.
The ship’s cook was of slight service to the passengers, since his work was for the benefit of the officers and crew only, therefore the preparing of their meals fell to the different individuals whose health and abilities so enabled them. With slight cooking facilities, it was necessary to rely chiefly upon such fare as did not require to be prepared by fire; gin and brandy were relied upon for warmth, and beer a tonic.
To this tossing ship, on one of these stormy days, there comes a stranger, promptly and appropriately called Oceanus, and the Hopkins family becomes one of especial interest, with its new baby for all the women and children to delight in.
Another day’s excitement is provided by one of the young men, who chafing under the restraint of staying below decks, imposed by the storm, ventures above and is no sooner out than over the side of the ship, in the grip of a wave. His presence of mind to grasp a rope, which trailed from the rigging in the water and his grit in holding on, making his rescue possible by the sailors, make a topic of conversation with sufficient thrill. One wonders if John Howland became invested with a new interest for Elizabeth Tilly from that day, or the few subsequent ones, when the great, hearty fellow was somewhat the worse for his adventure.
The shock of death enters when a particularly rough sailor, who had terrorized the women and children and annoyed the men by his language and manners, is stricken suddenly, buried at sea, and so one of their trials is removed.