When the shallop was made ready, sixteen armed men, some of the women with the linen and clothing to wash on shore, Mary Chilton and John Winslow, entered it and, it being flood-tide, made a safe landing on the shallow beach.
Mary Chilton stepped from the little shallop on to a large boulder, and the history of women in America, and the fame of Plymouth Rock, began with her.
“The others are so busy with their linens,” she whispered to John, “they have not noticed that I am the first woman to step foot on the new land.”
“And you are the first woman to step into the kingdom of my heart,” said John, softly. And thus, under the fragrant boughs of the pines, their troth was plighted.
The other women exclaimed over the fresh pure water which they found and the excellent clay which washed like soap. It had not been possible to wash on board ship and it can be imagined they had plenty to do on this first American “Washday Monday.”
Mary and John walked down the dim aisles of the forest. They found many pure little brooks and drank the fresh water with delight. They built a fire to signal to the Mayflower that all was right. Mary ran from one tree to another, recognizing them as old friends. “Look, John, it is holly, like our own and yet not like it; and cedar and, oh, John, here is the ground-pine, our own ground-pine, trailing its garlands over the ground! And walnut trees, full of nuts, and great store of strawberry and grape vines.” Mary’s face glowed with a sudden thought. “John, we will celebrate Christmas, here in this new land! It is true we have no stately halls to deck with greenery, no great chimneys for the roaring fires, no old bells to ring out the glad tidings on the Holy morning, but we can trim the cabin of the Mayflower with holly and cedar. Look, here is wood. We can have a sparkling fire on the hearth-box. We will have carols, for you know that we Pilgrims can sing, John. And we can have the communion of friends, and we can show our love like Christians indeed, one to another.”
But John shook his head gravely. “No, Mary, there will be those who will protest and mutter against the observance of the pagan festival. It savors of Rome, and you know well that we have set our faces against anything that is used in Popery. These are the things from which we have fled.”
“Do not be so strait-laced, John. Are we not required to keep in pious memory such holy days as the Birth, Death, and Resurrection? It is meet that we should commemorate our landing upon these shores. Do you know, John, that I am deeply moved by the thought that all these first days here are holy days. Although the glory and the sunlight is hidden from us by distress, privation, and sickness, yet I prophesy that long, long years from now, when our graves are leveled and all has vanished, men will stand with bared heads upon this sacred spot. What we do now will all be noted. Let it not be said that we forgot the examples of oppression and intolerance which have always been before us: forgot the bitter lessons we have learned and failed to be kind and charitable and yielding in little and indifferent things.”
“Those are old thoughts for such a young head, Mary, and in some way you twist the words to suit yourself, but go to our dear and loving friend, Elder Brewster, and see if he deems it fitting.”
“He is so affectionate and tender-hearted,” said Mary, “that I am sure he will wish to take part in our joys as he has partaken of our distresses.”