Such was the book, the delight of the Pilgrim women, for in that country of few books, not only did its pages afford their only music, but the annotations formed both a dictionary and encyclopedia of useful knowledge; things temporal and things spiritual were explained, scientific, historical and religious information was dispensed therein. Truly a library in a single volume.
Spring again, and the day of Edward Winslow’s return found the town in excitement and the women decidedly disturbed. John Oldham had come suddenly amongst them, for no other purpose than to revile and insult the authorities. They had imprisoned him and were later getting rid of him in a chastened mood, when Winslow and the captain of the ship, which had brought him unnoticed into the harbor, walked up the street. John Oldham surprised them yet again, at a later day, but then returned to make amends and apologies, and to offer services, which the authorities were able to accept. And this man, with the upsetting propensities, met a violent death at the hands of Indians in Massachusetts bay—his boat was rescued and his death avenged by Captain John Gallup, Senior, of Boston. This event has been called the first naval engagement of American history, and in it were the seeds of the Pequot war.
As John Oldham’s boat put out from the harbor, and the boats from the Jacob landed the colony’s supplies and Winslow’s belongings, the unpleasantness was soon forgotten in welcoming him and the popular captain, William Pierce, now an old friend, by his frequent visits to Plymouth with various ships. One special parcel Edward Winslow delivered with care to the governor’s wife. It was a gift to her of a package of spices from her old friend, Robert Cushman, in London.
The bountiful summer was enjoyed in “peace and health and contented minds.” We may think of the women in their gardens tending lovingly the plants grown from seeds carefully brought from other gardens, far away, where memories must have been tended as well as flowers. Those who would, might join the children and dogs in walks on the sea shore and in the woods, bringing to their homes decorations in the form of flowers and shells. One writer has said, “The first ornaments of the houses were probably the periwinkle shells, their memory deserves to be cherished like the arbutus flower among the things that awaken Pilgrim memories.”
The first quickly built dwellings were now solidified into comfortable houses, various rooms being added from time to time, with furniture colony-made or imported; the ground plots around them were kept attractively, some of them being washed by the bubbling waters of Town Brook, as it flowed past, and most of them enclosed with palings or wooden walls, against which fruit trees and vines were trained, as in kitchen gardens of the old country. Sometimes at day’s close, it was possible to watch or partake in the old English game of stool-ball, a distant cousin of croquet.
An evening in late summer beautifies the landscape with its serene light. Through the garden behind the house, Mary Brewster walks with her daughters. They come toward the brook and pause to enjoy their surroundings. From the woodland across the stream the purple and golden flowers of the season bend toward them in the lightest of airs; the robins fly from bush to tree, preparing to rest. We seem to feel with them the remembrance of another scene of a summer evening long passed, when these three walked down through the grounds of Scrooby Manor to Ryton Stream to say farewell. But Town Brook does not see the same expression of sadness and uncertainty among them as Ryton saw; the long shafts of illuminating light reveal countenances where only satisfaction and tranquility dwell.
The kitchen at the Winslow’s presents a lively scene this autumn morning. The Mistress and Mary Becket are in the depths of preparations for a feast and not an ordinary one. Susanna is registering great cheerfulness and Mary decided efficiency. Two important causes may be found both for the feast and good spirits. First, the master of the house returned yesterday from a somewhat hazardous but extremely successful trading trip far up the coast. The principal men of the old set were with him, so several other wives were also rejoicing at the return. The great quantity of beaver would make who would, a fur coat for the coming winter, like those the Indian women wore so comfortably. And as for Mary—why George Soule had told her last evening that she was the only woman for him, and indeed she would not be as long making up her mind on that subject as Mary Chilton had been in making up hers on a like matter. All of which shows that an elaborate cooking program was a small matter this morning. And the feast? Why, it is to be a supper party in compliment to Mary Chilton and John Winslow who have recently become engaged. The date hinged on Edward Winslow’s return, but it had been thoroughly planned when he left. George Soule had been shooting one day and brought home a number of plump birds and a pair of wild turkeys.
These two are not the sole occupants of the kitchen, for others come and go. George Soule keeps up the noble fire by adding great oak sticks to the andirons in the mammoth fire-place and adjusting the multitude of hooks and chains and cooking utensils as they are needed. From the crane, big iron kettles exhale delicious odors, while numerous skillets hold different important positions, the contents of each cooking at its appointed degree of heat, while on the high mantle shelf above, the hour glass is watched and turned. As the great oven door is opened, what fragrance! Simmels, buns, biscuits and pastry and what besides! Enter an Indian with a bag of oysters specially ordered, since none are in Plymouth waters; they are to be baked in individual scallop shells, in the old, yet familiar way, with breadcrumbs and butter. Mrs. Hopkins comes with the kindly object of showing just how she manufactures on rare occasions her wonderful dish called “Hennes in Brette.” The hens must be scalded and cut in pieces, fried lightly with pork, spice and crumbs, basted with ale, and colored gold with saffron. The turkeys are stuffed with beechnuts and will be roasted on the spit. A plum pudding is bubbling in one of the kettles, and dumplings of flour in another, to garnish the chicken dish; pumpkin pies are made and standing aside, so too, loaves of brown and white bread. Vegetables await their turn—samp, onions, parsnips, turnips, peas; the succotash is mixed, composed of corn, beans and meat. A ham is boiling, likewise clam chowder. Mary pulls a pan out of the oven—the nokake is done to a turn!
Edward and John Winslow have thoughtfully been asked for dinner by Mrs. Bradford—there could hardly be much chance for them at home, this day. Afternoon comes on apace and there is much for the last part for Susanna and the last moments for Mary and Hobomok’s wife, who will help in the evening. The leg of mutton, rarest treat, with cucumber sauce, or couch, for the mutton to rest on is certainly perfection; the cucumbers, sliced and parboiled have drained, then butter fried, now, with condiments, onion, mutton gravy and lemon juice they are simmering gently, occasionally tossed about. A poloc, or stew of small birds, smothered with rice, onion and herbs, adds another to the wonderful combination of fragrance. And now come the partridges—a broth of boiled marrow bones, strained and put in an earthen dish with wine and spices is the delectable fluid in which they are cooked, the birds having been stuffed with whole peppers and marrow. Salad, cranberry tarts, grape jelly, pudding with strawberry sauce, and a marvelous sufflet, rich, frothing and crisp, (a pound roll of butter enlarged to half a dozen times its original size, from being turned on a long rod resting on the fire hooks, continuously dredged with flour and eaten as soon as possible.) Late in the day, Mrs. Warren comes in to direct the making of her special dish, another of the rarities, called cheese cake; boiled milk with beaten eggs has been cooling and curdling since last evening, it is now strained and to it added butter, mace, rose-water and wine, currants and syrup. Pastry forms are waiting to hold this combination for a few seconds in the oven. Elderblow wine (made by the old French receipt the women had learned on the Continent, of sugar, fruit, blossoms and yeast), cider, spiced ale and some of the excellent wine which Edward Winslow brought on his return from England, are to help digest this marvelous menu—and of great interest are the first apples from the Winslow’s new orchard, likewise honey from Plymouth bees, a recent industry.