BENEATH THE PINES OF PLYMOUTH.
The Anne, laden with lumber, furs and mail, sailed in September, carrying also an important passenger; Susanna Winslow had to spare her husband for a time, while he went to England on the colony’s business and his own affairs. However, her cares now were somewhat lessened by the coming in the Anne of a young women, named Mary Becket, to assist in her household labors. Since his other aunt had come, by the Anne, to live in Plymouth, little Samuel Fuller went back to the doctor’s house to grow up. Bridget Fuller came with the baby, who was too delicate to make the voyage in the Mayflower, now three years old, and the doctor’s sunny gentle spirit rejoiced.
Following the Anne came a small ship called Little James, which was to remain for the colony’s use. It proved of little use and great expense, after all, but it brought other Leyden friends, as well as strangers from England. Thus Plymouth grew, and this autumn saw about a hundred and eighty persons instead of the handful who had struggled for life and a home in the wilderness for the past three years.
The new plan of individual division of the land with its planting and care proved its wisdom; the crops ripening rapidly, foretold an abundant harvest; the lightening of hearts and the promising outlook caused the governor to proclaim a day of public thanksgiving. It was not after the manner of that of two years previously, as conditions were different, but more in remembrance of the day of supplication held in July. The dreaded visitor famine, was gone, never to return to the firesides of Plymouth—although for some awful hours it seemed possible. On a wintry night, too great a fire on the hearth of one of the new houses, caused that house, and those nearest, to be consumed by flames and to threaten the Common House where their trading supplies and harvest were stored. Well that the Captain had prepared his original company to fight possible fire as well as possible hostile attack, for by those men was that tragedy averted, as, in the excitement and confusion, the majority of the new-comers were more of a hindrance than help. The women must have felt that if cares and labors were somewhat decreased, responsibility and uncertainty were increased through the added numbers to the town.
That winter was the gayest Plymouth had ever known. Families had been so lately reunited that the satisfaction and joy of the occasion still caused effervescence of spirits, and, too, there were many more young people who never had to live through the hard and perilous times which the first group experienced. These all had either homes to go to or loving friends to shelter them until homes were built; no sickness to contend with and plenty to eat. Where the comforts of all the men had depended more or less on a few women, now the hands of many women made all tasks lighter, and there was time for more social intercourse, which though in simplest form was sufficient then for relaxation and pleasure. No wonder happy voices were carried on the winter winds and light footsteps echoed on the street. Neighborliness being ever a characteristic of the Pilgrims, there was a constant exchange of goodwill and kindly attentions between the households. They had not needed Robert Cushman’s admonition in his discourse to them, before returning in the Fortune, “There is no grief so tedious as a churlish companion and nothing makes sorrows easy more than cheerful associates. Bear ye therefore one another’s burdens and be not a burden one to another,” but they did not ignore it.
We may glance in the houses, on a frosty evening, and see who are sheltered within their cosy brightness and warmth. The governor’s house has a large and merry party to hold, for he and his wife are entertaining for the winter, her sister, Juliana, with husband, George Morton and all the little Mortons: Patience, Nathaniel, John, Sarah, Ephraim and baby George; also a regular member of the family, Thomas Cushman. No wonder Christian Penn was in demand.
In the Brewster home, across the way, the Elder and his wife have also lively company, with three sons, the dear daughters, and Mary Chilton and Humility Cooper and Richard More. Thomas Prence, John Winslow, Philip de la Noye and half a dozen more of the young men drop in of an evening, with four attractive girls and charming hostess to welcome them, and even an older man occasionally, as when Isaac Allerton brings his daughter over to join in the fun; though he appears only to talk to the Elder he glances at one of the girls, sometimes. Patience has her little flax wheel at one side of the room under a candle bracket and the whir of the wheel makes a background for the voices. Thomas Prence is beside her mightily interested in the spinning, as the product is for his sweetheart’s hope chest. The Brewster girls have brought a supply of new linens to their mother, from Holland, and indeed all the housekeepers are well supplied with this necessity, but constant usage wears out the best made and so more must be in readiness, therefore spinning is a regular occupation, especially for those with a wedding in mind.
Susanna Winslow has company, also, this evening, for her brother, the cheerful doctor, and his young wife have been having supper with her and her young brothers-in-law. John has gone over to the Brewster’s, but Gilbert, his handsome, rather discontented face lit by the fire, sits near the hearth, smoking, with the doctor and another man, for Sarah Cuthbertson has come in for an evening’s gossip with her old friend, Anna, bringing her new husband. The three women have much to talk of—matters both grave and gay—and the new-comers from Leyden are doing most of the chatter, Susanna well pleased to listen, commenting occasionally on the narration of who had married or moved away and such items of interest as would accumulate in three years, with infrequent opportunities of communication.