Explorations were at once commenced. “They sent parties along the coast, and into the forests.” “About ten o’clock one morning,” says a member of the band, “we came into a deep valley, full of brush, woodgaile, and tiny grass, through which we found little paths or tracks, and then we saw a deer, and found springs of fresh water, of which we were heartily glad, and sat us down and drank our first New England water.”[139] Continuing their march, they were perplexed by the frequent forest cross-paths. Once they struck a track “well nigh ten feet broad,” which they thought might lead to some human habitation; but eventually they concluded that it was “only a path made to drive deer in when the Indians hunted.”
Still they found no natives; and wearying of that path they took another, when, lo, they saw a mound “which looked like a grave, but was larger.” “Musing what it might be,” they finally determined to examine. “We found,” says the old chronicler, “first a mat, and under that a fair bow, and then another mat, and under that a board about three feet long, finely carved and painted; also between the mats we found bowls, trays, dishes, and such like trinkets. At length we came to a fair new mat, and under that two bundles—one bigger the other less. We opened the greater, and found in it a great quantity of fine and perfect red powder, and the bones and skull of a man. We opened the less bundle, and found the same powder in it, and the bones and head of a little child.
“Once, when examining one of these grave mounds, we found a little old basket full of fair Indian corn, and on digging farther, found a fine, great basket full of very fair corn of this year, with some thirty-six goodly ears of corn, which was a goodly sight; the basket was round and narrow at the top; it held about three or four bushels, which was as much as we could lift from the ground, and it was very handsomely and cunningly made.”[140]
This corn was carefully preserved for seed. “We took it,” says the conscientious narrator, “proposing, as soon as we could meet with any of the inhabitants of that place, to make them large satisfaction.”[141] And afterwards this corn was mentioned to Massasoit, the Indian king, when the exiles proffered it back to the owners, and on their refusal of it, paid them in “whatsoever they might rather choose.”[142]
This exploration was unsuccessful; as was also the first expedition in the shallop, which had been at length repaired. “Some of the people that died that winter took the origin of their death” in this second enterprise; “for it snowed and did blow all the day and night, and froze withal.” The men who were from time to time set on shore “were tired with marching up and down the steep hills and deep valleys, which lay half a foot thick with snow.”[143]
Checkered by these adventures, the days passed away, and meantime the winter deepened. Nothing had yet been done, the captain was impatient to be gone, and he threatened to set his passengers ashore at hap-hazard under the cheerless skies and bitter winds of drear December.[144]
Pushed to renewed exertion by these considerations, the dauntless Pilgrims once more launched their shallop, and quitting their loved ones in the ship, again essayed to find some proper site for a settlement. This time Carver, Bradford, Winslow, and Standish, accompanied by eight sailors, made the coasting voyage.[145] Infinite were the hardships which this little band, sailing in December, in an open boat, were compelled to undergo. “Some of them were like to have swooned with cold.” “The water, dashing in spray upon their clothes, froze, and made them like coats of iron.” For fifteen leagues they held on their cheerless course upon the winter sea. They had quitted the “Mayflower” on the 6th of December; two days later they landed. “Whereupon,” says the old chronicler, “we espied some Indians, very busy about some black thing; what it was we could not tell, till, afterwards, they saw us, and ran to and fro as if they had been carrying away something.” “It was the body of a grampus. Ere long a great cry was heard, and one of the company came running in, shouting ‘Indians! Indians!’ This was followed by a flight of arrows; but Captain Standish was ready, and quickly discharged his musket; and then another, and another, so that the Indians retreated, and, except for the fright, no harm was done.” “The cry of our enemies,” remarks the narrator, “was frightful. Their note was after this manner: ‘Woath wach haha hach woach,’ sounds which we may now utter with safety—if we can.”[146] This spot was afterwards known as “First Encounter.”[147]
No convenient harbor had yet been found. But “the pilot of the boat, who had been in these regions before, gave assurance of a good one which might be reached before night; and they followed his guidance. After some hours’ sailing, a storm of snow and rain began; the sea was swollen; the rudder broke; the boat had to be steered with oars. Every moment the storm increased; night was at hand; to reach harbor before dark, as much sail as possible was crowded on: then the mast broke into three pieces; the sail fell overboard. The pilot, in dismay, would have run the shallop on shore in a cove full of breakers. ‘About with her,’ shouted a sailor, ‘or we are cast away!’ They got her about immediately, and, in passing over the surf, they entered a fair sound, and found shelter under the lee of a small rise of land. It was dark, and the rain beat furiously; yet the men were so wet, and cold, and weak, that they slighted the danger to be apprehended from the savages, and going ashore, after great difficulty kindled a fire. Morning, as it dawned, showed the place to be a small island without the entrance of a harbor. Time was precious; the season advancing; their companions were left off Cape Cod in suspense. Yet the day was required for rest and preparation. It was so spent. The following day was the ‘Christian Sabbath.’ Nothing marks the character of the Pilgrims more fully than that they kept it sacredly though every consideration demanded haste.”[148]
On Monday, the 11th[149] of December, 1620, the exploring shallop quitted the island Patmos, and, proceeding up the harbor, landed the Pilgrim scouting party, on that same immortal day, at Plymouth Rock. There, in one sense, New England was born; and, as the Forefathers stepped upon the rock-ribbed shore, it uttered its first baby-cry, a prayer and a thanksgiving to the Lord—an echo of the old Chaldean shepherds’ song, “Glory to God in the highest; on earth peace, good-will to men.”