The women of the Mayflower and women of Plymouth colony

by Ethel J. R. C. Noyes

Others soon followed her, and, having but crossed the threshold, Ann Tilly, Mrs. Martin, little Ellen More and Mary Chilton’s mother were gone from the colony; another month and Mary Allerton, John Tilly’s wife, Sarah Eaton and the sister-in-law of Doctor Fuller (Mrs. Edward Fuller), were numbered with them. Meanwhile, Susanna White had become a widow, and Elizabeth Tilly an orphan, with Mary Chilton, and soon Priscilla Mullins was added to these girls’ forlorn state. Alice Rigdale and her husband; Thomas Tinker, his wife and child, needed not houses nor land in Plymouth. Two of the More boys and a number of the young men fell victims in the great mortality, and Sarah Priest, in Leyden, was a widow, though nearly a year passed before she knew it. A little later and Elizabeth Winslow slipped from the gentle hand clasp of Katherine Carver, to join her other dear friend, Rose Standish.

Thus twelve wives were swept away by this fatal epidemic, some from the Mayflower, some from the land. Even the comfort of graves bearing their names which should tell those who loved them, and others, that they had been with them, was denied them. But their monument is the hill by the seashore, on which their graves were made, and their remembrance shall last as long as mayflowers blossom.

From the time of the first anchoring of the ship (at Cape Cod) of the total of the twenty-five women and young girls, thirteen were released from their labors. It is indeed remarkable that even twelve should have survived. Into the hearts of those recovering from their own illness, the spirit of desolation must have entered for a time, as they struggled to their feet again, to grieve for those who were laid to rest under the snow and to take up the burdens of life once more. Many of the men had gone, too, but few of the children.

For the five elder women, life, even under the circumstances, still was worth while. The governor’s wife had the loving care and interest of all but two of her household’s original numbers; her husband, her young ward, her maid and John Howland; two of the other young men, as well as the little boy she cared for on the voyage, Jasper More, had gone. But deepest grief was not, as yet, her portion. Mary Brewster, too, was strengthened by the sight of her husband untouched by illness and apparently not weakened by the terrific work and strain he had been under, and her own two boys, soon helping as ably as before, and even Richard More, the sole survivor of his family, was already one of her’s. For Elizabeth Hopkins and Eleanor Billington not one of their own particular groups were gone. But Susanna White had left only her own two children, her nephew and her brother—and he, of course, seemed to belong to each one as much as to her.

Humility Cooper and Elizabeth Tilly, Priscilla Mullins and Mary Chilton were indeed the most truly alone, each one being the sole representative of her family.

On the five women the care and responsibility fell heaviest, though the girls and even the children had their share in the general division of labor. Each served while there was nursing to be done. Cooking was not only a duty but a serious problem in finding the wherewithal to tempt failing appetites or keep up the strength of the men and children. Who can doubt that these women often went hungry that others might have more? Scarce wonderful that Mary Brewster and Katherine Carver never regained their full health again. The former took to her home and mother love the homeless and motherless girls, sadly missing her own daughters, so far away.

Gradually came a lessening of the strain of apprehension of unknown evils; the problem of the Indians had been solved on the day that they heard the word “welcome” from a strange voice, and, from then on, mutual fear diminished between their immediate neighbors in the forest and themselves, and visits from these strange people became frequent and helpful as well.

The day of the making of another covenant was one marked by color and animation in the doleful monotony of those early months, for the women with strength enough for interest. Their governor, with all the formalities of his office, met and entertained the sovereign of the savages, and the lively music of the drum and trumpet, the firm footsteps of the military guard quickened their spirits and brought a sense of assurance. The green rug, on which royalty sat, in one of the unfinished houses, must always have brought back, to the woman who owned it, that scene and its results—the lasting treaty of mutual friendship and benefit. That other rug of modern times, on which the Liberty Bell rested at the Panama-Pacific Exposition, in 1915, afterwards used at celebrations connected with the great generals of the World War, is interesting but not more important in the historical part it has played than the rug which we now see in fancy.

Also their defense from their fort was accomplished, the cannon being landed and dragged up the greater hill, to the summit, and a strong building erected there. Military preparedness began as soon as the men were able to drill, under command of Myles Standish, their chosen Captain.

Gradually, also, Spring came, the children found arbutus and other early flowers, and were happy, though their search might not take them far from sound of the home voices, as the fearsome sound of the wolves was a constant warning. Remember and Mary Allerton and Damaris Hopkins played on the beach with Constance, Elizabeth and Humility, and gathered the bright shells in the warm sunshine till the pink of the shells and arbutus was reflected in their checks. The sailors, now that the connection between them and their erstwhile passengers was soon to end and their roughness softened by the common ills of the winter, were glad to tell tales to amuse the children, when lingering ashore.