It was but an instant before the entire company of pilgrims were on their knees, sobbing, chanting, praising, each in his own way, the God who had brought their pilgrimage to this end.
That night they tacked southward, looking for Hudson's river, but the sea was so rough, the shoals around the promontories southward so dangerous, that they gave over the quest and turned back.
The next day the sun shone with the brilliant glory of winter upon the sea, and upon the low-lying coast, as the Mayflower came into her harbour.
"Father, it is the New World!" cried Constance, clasping her father's arm in spite of the tiny Mayflower baby which she held.
"The New World it is, friend Stephen. Now to conquer it!" said Myles Standish, clapping Mr. Hopkins on the shoulder and touching his sword hilt with the other hand.
[CHAPTER III]
Weary Waiting at the Gates
"Call Giles hither. I need help to strap these blankets to carry safely, Mr. Hopkins," said Dame Eliza Hopkins, bustling up to her husband two hours after the Mayflower had made anchorage.
"To carry whither, wife?" asked Mr. Hopkins, with the amused smile that always irritated his excitable wife by its detached calmness.
"Will you not need the blankets at night? Truth to tell this Cape Cod air seems to me well fit for blankets."