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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:03:06 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:03:06 -0700 |
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Thoreau. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pilgrim Trails, by Frances Lester Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pilgrim Trails + A Plymouth-to-Provincetown Sketchbook + +Author: Frances Lester Warner + +Illustrator: C. Scott White + +Release Date: January 31, 2011 [EBook #35136] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILGRIM TRAILS *** + + + + +Produced by Steve Mattern + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;"> +<img src="images/01cover.jpg" width="319" height="448" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 329px;"> +<a name="north" id="north"></a> +<img src="images/02northstreet.JPG" width="329" height="402" alt="North Street, Plymouth" title="" /> +<span class="caption">North Street, Plymouth</span> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1>PILGRIM TRAILS</h1> +<h2>A PLYMOUTH-TO-PROVINCETOWN SKETCHBOOK</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>FRANCES LESTER WARNER</h2> + +<h3><i>With Drawings</i></h3> + +<h3><i>By</i> E. SCOTT WHITE</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 239px;"> +<img src="images/03titlepage.jpg" width="239" height="177" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h4><i>The</i> ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS</h4> +<h4>BOSTON</h4> + +<h5>Copyright, 1921, by</h5> +<h5>The Atlantic Monthly Press</h5> + +<br /> + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I Plymouth Towne</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II Alden and Standish</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III Winslow's "Great Lot"</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV The Cape</a></span><br /> + + + + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#north">North Street, Plymouth</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#harbor">Plymouth Harbor</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#site">Site of First House, Leyden Street</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#nautical">"Nautical House"</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#doorway">Old Plymouth Doorway</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#burial">Burial Hill</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#john">John Alden's House, Duxbury (1653)</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#monument">The Myles Standish Monument</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#standish">The Standish House, Duxbury (1666)</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#winslow">The Winslow House, Marshfield (1699)</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#ark">"The Ark"</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#fish">Old Fish Wharf, Cape Cod</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><a href="#pilgrimm">The Pilgrim Monument, Provincetown</a></span><br /> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h3>PLYMOUTH TOWNE</h3> + +<p>"There!" said the artist, "isn't that a nautical-looking house?"</p> + +<p>When the artist says that a house is nautical, he means that it looks as +if it had been built by seafaring men; not by wealthy ship-owners, but +by generations of skippers and men before the mast. When you build a +nautical house, you should begin more than a hundred years ago with a +small cottage on the side-hill over the harbor, and add on a snug cabin +now and then, tucking in a shipshape companionway here and there, and +running a new section out along the slope. If you like to indulge your +taste in roofs, you make a different kind for every addition. One +section may be gable, another lean-to, and the one-story addition may +run out as long as you please, shaped on top something like the roof of +a barge. Simply fit your building to the ups and downs of the land and +the ways of the wind. A bit of faded blue paint somewhere on the blinds +or near the door, and all your roofing weathered by many hundred harbor +gales, and your house is nautical.</p> + +<p>There are not as many of these in Plymouth as in Gloucester, but there +are a few. In fact, at Plymouth you may find almost any kind of building +you look for, from Mansard roofs and bungalows, to the lobster-houses +down by Eel River, the shooting-boxes out on the sand-spit, and the dark +old structures beside Town Brook and around the region once known as +Clamshell Alley.</p> + +<p>We had left the car at the garage, and had walked along the upper +streets over the hill. The artist was going sketching, his brother +Alexander was meeting a business appointment, and Barbara and I had come +to see Plymouth.</p> + +<p>"I'm going in among those places on the other side of Town Brook," said +the artist. "The only way to find something good is to go everywhere +you're not supposed to."</p> + +<p>"But you and Barbara," said Alexander, as he prepared to escort us out +to the main street, "might as well go where you're supposed to."</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.</p> + +<p>"The best way," said Alexander, "is to follow your guide-book."</p> + +<p>"The best way," said the artist over his shoulder, "is to explore."</p> + +<p>Barbara receives advice from her two brothers with the air of a young +empress listening to the remarks of two prime ministers, but makes her +own decisions. I have acted as her confederate and chaperon on so many +occasions that I know enough to be quiet until the prime ministers have +gone.</p> + +<p>"The best way," said Barbara when this had happened, "is to ask a little +boy."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Doubtless any real expedition to Plymouth ought to begin with the Rock. +We found our way down along the water-front, to the place where the Rock +used to be, but it was nowhere in sight.</p> + +<p>"When I was here before," said I, "the Rock was exactly here, under its +canopy at the foot of Cole's Hill. You couldn't miss it."</p> + +<p>Barbara looked out along the wharves. Some children were playing at the +end of one of the piers.</p> + +<p>"We'll ask a little boy," said Barbara, leading the way.</p> + +<p>"They look like little foreigners," said I. "Do you think they would +know?"</p> + +<p>For answer, Barbara went out slowly to the edge of the pier, and stood +watching the white seagulls flying over the harbor. The boys gave her a +glance, made up their minds about her, and went on with their play.</p> + +<p>"<i>Where's</i> the Rock?" said Barbara casually, over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"They're moving it," said one.</p> + +<p>"It's all broke up," said another.</p> + +<p>"Want us to show it to you?" said a third.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Barbara. "Where are they moving it to?"</p> + +<p>"Down to the edge. When they get it there, we can swim right up to it," +said our guide with unction. "But now it's all broke up."</p> + +<p>He was leading us rapidly back to Water Street, to a great pile of +masonry by the roadside. "That's the rock," said he. "Here's some, and +here's some, and here's some more. All broke up."</p> + +<p>The boys were scrambling over the arches and hopping about among the +blocks of granite.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Barbara tactfully, "this is the old canopy that used to +be over the Rock, isn't it? And where's the real Rock?"</p> + +<p>Our guide looked puzzled. Then light dawned. "The little one with 1620 +on it? Down on the other side of the road." He waved a brown fist. +"See?"</p> + +<p>And there it was, the famous boulder, waiting to be taken to its new +position at the water's edge. Plymouth Rock is a very satisfactory +relic; just the shape of a Rock. Its prehistoric excursions with the +glacier and its historic pilgrimages since 1620 have combined to lead it +a roving life. In Revolutionary days it was on Town Square, with the +Liberty Pole; then it migrated to the lawn in front of Pilgrim Hall; +then it rested under its canopy at the foot of Cole's Hill—and in all +these positions it inspired tourists to remarks about the agility of the +Fathers in using it as a stepping-stone from the harbor to dry land. And +now, in 1921, it goes back to the original landing-place, where the high +tides will reach it again.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<a name="harbor" id="harbor"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 327px;"> +<img src="images/04plymouthharbor.jpg" width="327" height="342" alt="Plymouth Harbor" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Plymouth Harbor</span> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<p>Barbara and I congratulated ourselves on our luck in arriving at the +right time to catch it on the move. Probably its fourth century of fame +will bring it more visitors than ever before, including our friends, the +little delegates from Portugal and Italy, who hope to swim near by.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Barbara, "let's go up to Leyden Street and see if we can +imagine that it's First Street, with the first houses and all."</p> + +<p>Taking our imaginations well in hand, we found Leyden Street and the +site of the first house. Probably it is not necessary to be thrilled at +every inch of Plymouth. No matter how many times we visit it, I think we +expect to find it looking more gray and spectral than it does; just as +children, from much study of the map, half expect to see the land of +China look yellow. There are fishing-coves on the Maine coast that look +a good deal more like our childhood idea of Plymouth—weatherbeaten +houses, low roofs, and great dark cliffs with the surf pounding against +them. Mrs. Felicia Hemans is not entirely responsible for our +misconception. We know that we shall not see the original block-house, +but we still have a lingering feeling that Plymouth ought to look gray.</p> + +<p>And Leyden Street does not. It is old, but not decrepit. A very short +street, with close-set houses, some of them painted white or yellow; and +at the head of the street, on what used to be Elder Brewster's +Meerstead, the fine Post-Office building—it is hard to realize that +this is the place where the Mayflower settlers staked off their nineteen +plots of ground. Even in winter, there is no sweeping impression that +anything very grim or perilous ever happened here. But one impression we +do feel strongly. If we stand at the head of the street by Elder +Brewster's spring, and look down past the site of the first house, at +the blue harbor, and then turn and look up at Burial Hill, we find +ourselves thinking of the compactness of it all. Within a three-minute +walk, we have caught a glimpse of the landing-place, Cole's Hill +burying-ground, the site of the first house, the first street, and the +hill where, as Governor Bradford says, "they built a fort, both strong & +comly, made with a flate rofe & batllments, on which their ordnance were +mounted, and wher they kepte constante watch, espetially in time of +danger." The times of danger seem remote from Plymouth now, "espetially" +at the corner of Leyden Street.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<a name="site" id="site"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 318px;"> +<img src="images/05siteoffirst.jpg" width="318" height="376" alt="Site of First House, Leyden Street" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Site of First House, Leyden Street</span> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<p>In order to feel the true sense of history,—not a worked-up sentiment, +but the real thing,—you have to look at Plymouth, not in panorama but +in detail. You have to accept with philosophy such modern phenomena as +the Massasoit Shoe-Shine Parlors and the Plymouth Rock Garage, and keep +your eyes open for certain types of old houses scattered in unexpected +places everywhere.</p> + +<p>One of these is a neat old house in excellent repair, the ends of the +house of brick, the side toward the street of wood, plain gable roof, +stout chimney, the whole thing painted white, and all fascinating +within. This is Tabitha Plaskett's house, on Court Street, near Pilgrim +Hall. It is not so very old,—only two hundred years come 1922,—but it +is the one of its kind into which visitors are most naturally admitted, +for they sell antiques there now. But before the Revolution it was the +home of Mrs. Tabitha Plaskett, the first woman to keep a school in +Plymouth.</p> + +<p>Barbara and I went in, seeking gifts, and we stayed to look at the +doors. They are plain one-paneled doors, each made of a single piece of +wood, with old hand-made hinges,—some the H-hinge, some the H and +L,—with irregular hand-wrought nails, and on each door a polished +door-latch of slenderest design. The tiles around the fireplace are blue +and white, the central one showing a dog running very fast, with all +four feet off the ground, and all his legs held perfectly stiff like the +legs of a rocking-horse.</p> + +<p>We were shown the place where Tabitha Plaskett used to do her spinning +and her school-teaching at the same time. Every legend-lover recalls the +story of Tabitha's famous way of punishing children, by slipping a skein +of yarn underneath their arms and hanging them up on a peg on the wall, +much as Mrs. Peter Rabbit in the story hangs all her little rabbits on +the clothes-line. The soft yarn probably did not hurt the children, +though the position must have been, for the moment, embarrassing. We +wonder whether Tabitha really did this often. If we remember our own +schooldays, we know that the story of a punishment can take a fabulous +turn in less than two hundred years. But from her epitaph on Burial +Hill, we may be fairly sure that her relations with the public were not +without an occasional breeze. She is supposed to have composed the +epitaph herself, and it certainly sounds like the document of a vivid +personality. We may read it now, carefully chiseled on her grave-stone, +under an elaborate design of urn and weeping willow:—</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adieu, vain world, I've seen enough of thee</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I am careless what thou sayst of me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy smiles I wish not</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor thy frowns I fear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am now at rest, my head lies quiet here.</span> + +<p>Well, Tabitha's headstone now overlooks the place where the little +children go along to school. If you should go into the primary rooms +after school-hours, you would see the sand-tables and the little desks, +and, hanging around the walls, a series of paper cut-outs of the Three +Bears and the Little Red Hen. And if you should ask to be allowed to +look at the register, you would find there some names that would remind +you of the cabins of the Mayflower and the Fortune and the Ann, together +with some that came over in a later ship. Surely the boys and girls of +to-day will not object if we imagine Tabitha calling the roll of their +last names in alphabetical order? She stands beside her spinning-wheel +and begins: "Alden, Cook, Crane, Dante, Davenport, Deschamps, Donovan, +Kitchin, Kerrigan, Locatelli, Malaguto, Metz, Morgan—" And she goes on, +adjusting her voice to the musical variety of the names, until she ends +the alphabet with "Thornhill, Vacchino, Wood, and Worcester." It is like +a pleasant chant of the nations.</p> + +<p>It is a very pretty question whether Tabitha Plaskett could maintain the +quiet orderliness that we see now in these primary rooms, and make +headway with her spinning at the same time. Would she apply the skeins +of yarn internationally? And would she know just what to do with the +sand-tables? If she could keep school again in her old house now, +perhaps, instead of punishing the wicked, she would reward the just by +letting them go into the front room, when they were very good, to look +at the dog running like a rocking-horse on the blue tile.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<a name="nautical" id="nautical"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"> +<img src="images/06nauticalhouse.jpg" width="342" height="387" alt=""Nautical House"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Nautical House"</span> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<p>Another kind of house that stirs our "sense of the past" is the sort +that really does seem old on the outside. A little way down Sandwich +Street is the Howland House, built in 1666, recently repaired and opened +to visitors. If we are looking for a house that actually did come under +the eye of the Pilgrims, this is one. A plain gable cottage, now painted +the dull red that we associate with "little-red-schoolhouse" coloring, +it stands a little back from the busy street, and the visitor goes in +through a turnstile at the gate. Inside, all sorts of old furniture, +including spinning-wheel and carriage-top bed, make it look as much as +possible as if it were still inhabited. Other houses that were built in +the sixteen hundreds, especially the Holmes House, also repay the +trouble of searching them out. And when we find them, they look as if +they had been built in the spirit of Governor Bradford's specifications +about the colony's purpose in founding the Plymouth Plantation: "Not out +of any newfanglednes or other such like giddie humor, by which men are +oftentimes transported to their great hurt and danger, but for sundrie +weightie & solid reasons." There is not much "giddie humor" about the +old beams and rafters that have borne the solid weight of two hundred +and fifty years.</p> + +<p>In Plymouth there are many houses made partly of brick, with iron +S-shaped anchors bolted through their brick-work to the beam inside. +There are some of these on the side of Leyden Street near LeBaron Alley. +And on North Street, there are great Santa Claus chimneys, with small +low houses built around them, the structure of the house looking +altogether too tiny to go with the generous flues.</p> + +<p>Best of all, perhaps, because they have plenty of space around them, are +the unpainted gambrel-roofed houses on the outskirts of the town. Now +and then you find one where the shingles that cover the house from top +to bottom have weathered a silver gray. Here and there the shingles have +curled a trifle, so that they look like the bark of a shagbark walnut +tree, in no danger of flying away with the wind, but making the house +look crusted, picturesque. And there are some gabled houses where the +long slope of the roof has sagged a little, just enough to make a place +for moss and shadows, but not enough to look fallen in.</p> + +<p>Barbara and I did not find all these the first day, or the next. We +spent a good deal of time scouting over the moors, among the bayberry +bushes and the pointed red cedars. Now and then we came upon a cranberry +bog, hidden away behind what one geologist calls the "tumbled hills of +Plymouth."</p> + +<p>It was Alexander who showed us the best Colonial mansion. The frame was +got out in England, and brought over in 1754, and, tradition says, was +put upside down. It belonged to the Winslows—not the Edward Winslow who +wrote "Good News From New England" in 1624, but a later branch of the +family. The Winslow family seems to have prospered steadily in the early +days—one of the cases where, in the elder Winslow's own words, +"religion and profit jump together, which is rare."</p> + +<p>"I want to show you the Winslow house," said Alexander; "the house where +Emerson was married."</p> + +<p>"I think we passed it on the corner of North and Winslow," said I. +"Isn't it the fine square one, painted yellow and white, with the +carving of fruit around the doorways?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," admitted Alexander placidly, "but you don't know that house +just by going past it on the street."</p> + +<p>He led us down North Street to Winslow, and found the point where we +could get the best view.</p> +<br /> +<br /> + +<a name="doorway" id="doorway"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 331px;"> +<img src="images/07oldplymouthdoorway.jpg" width="331" height="486" alt="Old Plymouth Doorway" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Old Plymouth Doorway</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> + +<p>"Now," said he when he had planted us to his satisfaction, "notice the +doorway, with those two immense linden-trees shading the path. The +original shoots of the Winslow linden-trees were brought to this country +in a raisin-box. Up on the front of the house, over the upstairs window, +you see the carving of the British Lion and Unicorn. This branch of the +Winslows in Revolutionary days remained Tories and were very loyal to +the King; and after the war their property went into other hands. But +their Lion and Unicorn are as good as ever."</p> + +<p>"Is it really true," asked Barbara, "that the house is upside down?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Alexander, "the legend is very old. And the second-story +rooms are a great deal higher-studded than the rooms downstairs. There's +one door upstairs that looks as if it had been made for a giant. But +they say that some of the English builders used to plan a house that +way."</p> + +<p>Whether the house is upside down or not, one thing is certain—that here +Miss Lydia Jackson was married to Emerson. Once in a while an event in +the world takes place in precisely the perfect setting. Emerson's +marriage was one. The huge English door, almost as broad as it is tall, +with its great brass knocker and deep paneling, knows how to swing wide +open in a stately way of its own; a proper door to welcome Mr. Emerson. +And the rooms inside, with their high white paneling and delicate +beading around the top, have dignity in every line. In every room there +is a fireplace, with tiles. In the room where Emerson was married, the +tiles around the fireplace illustrate Scripture stories—the drawings +exactly in the style of the pictures in the New England Primer. Jonah +emerges from his specially constructed fish; Elijah sits under his +juniper bush; Jacob awakens from his dream. Under each picture is a +reference to the Bible, with chapter and verse; so that, if you should +fail to recognize any Bible worthy from his picture, you could look him +up.</p> + +<p>In the hallway, the white staircase, with its mahogany rail, is deeply +paneled at the sides, and if you stand beneath the stairway where it +turns, you see still more careful paneling on the under side of each +stair. The spindles of the balustrade are white and delicately carved, +and the slender newel-post is twined with a perfectly proportioned white +spiral, like a smooth round stem of a vine, running round and round it, +and disappearing into the woodwork of the rail.</p> + +<p>This house, with its linden trees, its traditions, its Lion and Unicorn +rampant over the sea, was the best example of old-time royalist elegance +that we saw.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Are you going sketching this afternoon?" asked Barbara politely of the +artist.</p> + +<p>"Yes, on Burial Hill," said he. "Want to come?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you ever carry a camp-chair?" said I. For days I had been longing +to ask him that question, when I saw him starting out with no visible +sketching equipment except a leather affair, which looked like a +lawyer's brief-case, strapped over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I always take a chair," said he. "It folds. It's in the leather +case."</p> + +<p>I, who remember the days when people went sketching with an immense +French sketching-umbrella, a camp-chair, an easel, and a portfolio, +looked with respect upon the leather case.</p> + +<p>"Before we go up to the hill," said the artist, "don't you want me to +show you the most stunning subject for a painting that I've found?"</p> + +<p>Even Alexander rose to this. We followed our leader down past the old +Junk Shop, in among the old houses at the water-front, and as we picked +our way around the corner, the artist threw up his hands in despair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ye gods," we heard him say, "it's gone!"</p> + +<p>We followed his tragic gaze out toward the harbor, expecting to find +that an ancient landmark had been razed to the ground.</p> + +<p>"What was it?" said Barbara anxiously. "Have they moved it somewhere +else?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the artist bitterly, "they've moved it somewhere else. It +was the washing that was out on that line—the colors—all the +accents—Portuguese as you can imagine—and they've <i>taken it in!</i>"</p> + +<p>Alexander turned on his heel and left us to make our way back to Burial +Hill. He sympathizes with his brother's sorrows when fishermen go down +to their boats and change all the rigging the moment a marine sketch is +half done; but he is not quite advanced enough to grieve because +Portuguese laundry no longer flaps against the American blue.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said the artist when we reached the Hill, "the lettering +on these stones is something remarkably fine. Pemberton identifies it +with Caslon lettering, Caslon the Elder, English typefounder in the +sixteen hundreds. I '11 show you the article when we get home."</p> + +<p>Barbara was examining a very old stone. "Listen," said she,—</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"The spider's most attenuated thread</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is cord, is cable to man's tender tie."</span><br /> + +<p>As we made our way along the paths beside the family lots of the +Bradfords, Cottons, Harlows, LeBarons, and Howlands, we began to notice +how the wording varied with the relative age of the stones. For example, +"Edward Gray, Gent." is older style than "Josiah Cotton, Esq." And "That +Virtuous Woman, Mrs. Rebecca Turner" is of an earlier period than "Mary, +Relict of Deac. Lot Harlow."</p> + +<p>We found one very stately epitaph to a young wife, the simplest +expression of the language of bereavement: "By this event a husband was +deprived of his best friend."</p> + +<p>Far more elaborate is the tribute to Mrs. Lucy Hammatt, Relict of the +late Capt. Abraham Hammatt. Still clear and definite, the inscription, +deeply lettered on the face of the worn slab, records the ideals of an +exemplary life:—</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Composed in suffering, in joy sedate,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Good without show, for just discernment great.</span><br /> + +<p>But Barbara's favorite among the epitaphs was one on the stone of a +young Southern bride:--</p> + +<p class="center">Phebe J. Bramhall<br /> +a Native of Virginia<br /> +and Wife of Benj. Bramhall<br /> +Possess'd of an Amiable Disposition</p> + +<p>It suggests that our early ancestors were not impervious to Southern +charm.</p> + +<p>On our way down the Hill, we went around to see the harbor at sunset. +Clark's Island in the distance, Captain's Hill, Manomet—we had begun to +think of these as our own landmarks.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="burial" id="burial"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<img src="images/08burialhill.jpg" width="335" height="454" alt="Burial Hill" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Burial Hill</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>"Since this is our last night at Plymouth," said Alexander that evening, +"don't you want to see the country by moonlight?"</p> + +<p>"It's only a half-moon," said Barbara critically; but we went.</p> + +<p>On our way, we went up to look at the town from the site of the old +Watch-Tower, on the very top of Burial Hill. We climbed the Hill this +time by the path nearest the sea. The low branches of the twisted tree +over the flight of steps made strange patterns above us against the sky. +There is one place on the summit where you can look out into the +darkness of the country, not toward the lights of town. Here you can see +only the shadows of the elm branches and the outlines of the slanting +stones. And here, I think, we found the time for the spirit of place to +be abroad. We did not see the kindly ghosts of Adoniram Judson and +Bathsheba Bradford and Captain Jabez Harlow. But we were in the midst of +something very real. All the odd phrasings of the epitaphs—the relicts +and consorts and phyticians—were hidden now, translated by the shadows. +We saw only the silhouette of the past; and it was not grim or gloomy, +but only brave. The record of antique sorrow is a quieting thing. Every +thought on this hill was thought a long time ago. The poignancy is out +of it now. And as we stand on the spot where the Pilgrims once set watch +every night for danger, we cannot help being stirred by the gray dignity +of their thoughts about the continuity of life.</p> + +<p>We stayed only a moment. Then we went down again, pausing only to watch +the harbor lights.</p> + +<p>Plymouth harbor is a quiet place by moonlight, and Burial Hill is a very +quiet place. Yet it gave us the most direct message we had—of spacious +thought dramatized in narrow setting, of definite achievement with +inadequate equipment, of the resourceful valiance of those early people, +and of what Governor Bradford calls "their great patience and allacritie +of spirit" in the face of life, and death.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h3> +<h3>JOHN ALDEN AND MILES STANDISH</h3> +<h4>THEIR LAND</h4> + +<p>Duxbury, Duxberie, Duxborough, Ducksborrow: the early writers spelled it +as they pleased. But the Duxbury Light, Duxbury ships, and Duxbury +clam-flats have standardized the spelling for all time. This town, +across the harbor from Plymouth, where grants of land were settled by +Myles Standish, Elder Brewster, and John Alden, has been the home port +of notable ships and men. Merchant-ships, brigs, and schooners—the +Eliza Warwick and the Mary Chilton, the Oriole, the Lion, Boreas, and +Seadrift, the Triton, Mattakeeset, and the Hitty Tom,—these and +hundreds of sail besides were built here in the shipyards and manned by +Duxbury boys. Among the early men of Duxbury were Benjamin Church, who +captured Philip the Sachem; Major Judah Alden and Colonel Ichabod, +descendants of John Alden and Priscilla; Colonel Gamaliel Bradford and +Captain Gamaliel, his son; George Partridge, one of George Washington's +Congressmen; and Ezra Weston, the King Caesar of the shipyards.</p> + +<p>At one end of the town used to be the Ezra Weston ropewalk; and not too +far away was the famous Duxbury Ordinary, the tavern where, in 1678, Mr. +Seabury the landlord had license to "sell liquors unto such sober-minded +naighbors, as hee shall think meet, so as he sell not less than the +quantie of a gallon att a time to one prson and not in smaller +quantities to the occationing of drunkenes." Mr. Seabury was evidently +to use his own judgment as to which "naighbors" were sufficiently +sober-minded to sustain the gallon.</p> + +<p>But doubtless the oldest Duxbury settlers were the clams. The colonists +called them, first, "sandgapers," then clamps, then clambs, clambes, +slammes, and clammes. We surmise that the clam was not at first the +Pilgrims' favorite dish, when we read Mr. John Pory's account of his +visit to Plymouth in 1622. "Muskles and slammes they have all the yeare +long, which being the meanest of God's blessings here, and such as these +people fat their hogs with at low water, if ours upon any extremitie did +enjoy in the South Colonie, they would never complain of famine or want, +although they wanted bread." When we read this remark of Mr. Pory's, we +wonder how it happened that the Pilgrims were reduced at one time to +five grains of parched corn per meal per person. But suppose that you +yourself had never tasted a clamb at a clam-bake, and had never been +introduced to it in the right circumstances by the right people—would +it naturally occur to you to steam it, and discard its little neck, and +make a chowder of its straps? This would call for the strictly +pioneering spirit, especially if, in the words of an early explorer, +these clamps were ofttimes "as big as ye penny white loafe." In fact, +the only Pilgrim who at all adequately celebrates the clam is Edward +Winslow. "Indeed," says he, "had we not been in a place where divers +sort of shell-fish are, that may be taken with the hand, we must have +perished, unless God had raised up some unknown or extraordinary means +for our preservation." And to-day, in certain spots along the Duxbury +coast, from the Gurnet to the Nook, you may still find the descendants +of those early sandgapers drawing down their necks at your approach, +lest peradventure you take them with the hand.</p> + +<p>Barbara and I explored Duxbury, not for clams, but for another sort of +oldest inhabitant, the trailing arbutus. We did not explain to Alexander +the object of our quiet trips to the woods, for it was the middle of +winter, and we felt that he might not sympathize with our simple-minded +quest. Of course, we did not expect to find flowers, but we thought that +we might find a root or two of mayflower from John Alden's land, to +transplant on our hill at home. We know that it does grow in Duxbury, +but we must have looked in all the wrong places. Like many other great +explorers, we found all sorts of things other than the thing we sought: +charming patches of checkerberry and mosses; blueberry bushes growing +where blueberries ought not to grow and arbutus ought; many pleasant +views of Captain Standish's tall monument on the Hill, but not one stiff +rusty leaf of a mayflower. Finally we decided to go to the present Mr. +John Alden and inquire.</p> + +<p>We hail from a part of the country where you would no sooner ask a +person to direct you to his patch of trailing arbutus than you would ask +him the combination of his safe. We therefore planned to word our +question discreetly. "Do you know," we planned to say to Mr. John Alden, +"whether any mayflower, or trailing arbutus, ever used to grow in +Duxbury?"</p> + +<p>That ought to give him a chance to tell us about contemporary +mayflowers, if he cared to, at the same time giving him plenty of leeway +if he preferred to dwell upon the past.</p> + +<p>We were putting the finishing touches on our speech as we went up the +path to the old John Alden house, when a great touring-car, with an +Indiana number, went rocking past us up the uneven lane, and stopped.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell us," said a gentleman, leaning out of the car and calling +back to us, "whether this house is open to visitors?"</p> + +<p>"We don't know," said I, "but we know that Mr. John Alden lives here."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask him," said the gentleman from Indiana; and he went to the +door.</p> + +<p>"He says it's open to-day," reported our new guide in a moment, helping +his family out of the car, and giving the youngest child a big jump up +into his arms.</p> + +<p>Barbara and I, abandoning trailing arbutus, merged ourselves with the +family group, and went in at the front door.</p> + +<p>The little hallway is papered with the kind of paper you sometimes see +in houses where "George Washington spent the night"—gray, with +landscapes. But, in addition to the landscapes in this paper, there are +slender pillars in groups, a design that makes you think of a miniature +Alma Tadema picture, all in gray. This wall-paper is, of course, not as +old as the house, but it is old-fashioned enough to be interesting.</p> + +<p>We threaded our way in single file around the door, into the hallway, +and our host invited us first to go upstairs.</p> + +<p>The stairs go straight up beside the great chimney, very steep and +narrow, each stair twice as tall as a modern stair and half as deep. At +the top, we went around the slope of the chimney and into the rooms +above. Here, in these low square rooms, with the supporting beams still +showing the marks of the broad-axe, and the wide boards of the floor +attesting the size of timber-growth in the early days, we found a +perfect paradise of old-time furniture stored away. We were allowed to +stop and prowl among the old possessions. None of the things used by +Priscilla are here, of course; these are the accumulations of +generations that followed her.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="john" id="john"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 336px;"> +<img src="images/09johnaldenhouse.jpg" width="336" height="345" alt="John Alden's House, Duxbury, (1653)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">John Alden's House, Duxbury, (1653)</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>In the corner by the chimney, we saw a small wooden cradle, with its +wooden roof sloping in three sections over the top. On the wall hung an +old lantern made to hold a candle, the kind of "lanthorn" that might +have been used by Moon in "A Midsummer Night's Dream."</p> + +<p>We were looking at the churn and the yarn-winder, when one of the ladies +called us to look at the strap-hinges on the door. These hinges, +handmade of iron, long and narrow and pennant-shaped, run out almost a +third of the way across the door. The iron latch, also hand-wrought, is +worn where the bar slips into the hasp, and the downward curve of the +lift of the latch is bent into a thin twisted shape. One of the doors, a +curious, three-paneled affair, is supposed to have been saved from a +former house of John Alden's.</p> + +<p>The present house, built in 1653, was the place where John Alden spent +his later years. Here he lived to the age of eighty-nine, holding +important offices in Plymouth Colony up to the time of his death. He was +one of the eight Purchasers who bought from the Merchant Adventurers +their interest in the colony, after the expiration of seven years' +copartnership. And in paying the required sum of eighteen hundred +pounds, he, with Myles Standish and the other "Undertakers," must have +been very busy managing the Plymouth trade, and "fraighting the White +Angell, Frindship and others" with saxafrass, clapboards, and beaver. +They were a busy brood, those old-comers; and John Alden, whom Bradford +called "a hopfull young man," fulfilled the promise of his youth.</p> + +<p>Ever since his death, his house has been lived in by Aldens. The present +John Alden is a Grand Army veteran, son of a veteran of the Civil War, +grandson of veterans of the Revolution, and grandfather of a veteran of +the World War.</p> + +<p>He led us downstairs, and out to the large room where they used to do +their fireplace cooking. The fireplace is closed now, but the spirit of +the house is still one of comfort and hospitable good cheer. From its +windows you cannot quite see the place where Myles Standish lived; it is +too far away. But it is pleasant to know that the Captain and John Alden +were near neighbors, and that one of Myles Standish's sons married one +of the daughters of Priscilla. All of Priscilla's eleven children turned +out well; many of them were later called to "act in publick stations;" +and the old house has been the homestead of her descendants all these +years.</p> + +<p>When we had signed our names in the big register, and turned to go, +Barbara said, "Do you know why the Aldens and Standishes left Plymouth +and came over here so far?"</p> + +<p>"Why, they came over to settle it," said Mr. John Alden kindly; "to open +it up."</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="monument" id="monument"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;"> +<img src="images/10mylesstandishmonument.jpg" width="436" height="336" alt="The Myles Standish Monument" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Myles Standish Monument</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>As we went out down the lane, we turned to take one more look at John +Alden's land. There, in the middle foreground, we saw the artist, +sketching busily.</p> + +<p>"How did <i>you</i> get here?" we asked in a breath.</p> + +<p>"In the car. How did <i>you</i> get here?"</p> + +<p>"We walked," said Barbara with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Like to go the rest of the way by stage?" inquired the artist affably, +hoisting his sketching kit over his shoulder and pointing to the car at +the foot of the lane. "I'm going over to the Standish house next."</p> + +<p>"Did you know," said Barbara dreamily to the artist, as she seated +herself in the car, "that the four most famous descendants of John Alden +and Priscilla were John Quincy Adams, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, +William Cullen Bryant, and Tom Thumb?"</p> + +<p>"Barbara," said the artist gravely, "did you make that up?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Barbara, clutching the seat as we went around the corner on +one wheel, "I looked it up."</p> + +<p>Country over which you have just been prowling on foot looks very +different when viewed from a car. The blackberry tangles and wild +rose-bushes, through which we had waded on our way to the woods, were +now simply part of the scenery. And the Myles Standish monument, which +had been our mariner's needle, one of the necessities of life, was now +only a forsaken watch-tower, with a solitary figure on top of it against +the sky. We went careening up the side-road to the Standish house, which +was built in 1666, not by the captain himself, but by one of his sons.</p> + +<p>It was closed. An old house, locked, with an open field around it and +the sea below; a perfect place for sketching, and the rising wind from +the sea. Barbara went softly up to the doorway and touched the rusty +latch. On one side of the doorstep was a lilac bush, and on the other a +wild birch.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="standish" id="standish"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 388px;"> +<img src="images/11standishhouse.jpg" width="388" height="336" alt="The Standish House, Duxbury, (1666)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Standish House, Duxbury, (1666)</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>This is probably the oldest of the gambrel-roofed houses on the harbor. +There is something very strong and homely about the pitch of the roof—a +balanced, firm old line, in splendid proportions with the huge chimney +and low walls. A weathered gambrel has a way of looking at home in the +fields, a sort of boulder-shape firmly settled. And the Standish house, +with its flat field-rock for a doorstep, looks like a very old settler +indeed.</p> + +<p>For a long time we sat on the doorstep and watched the outline of +Plymouth Town across the harbor, and the white gulls flying, and the +crows. The son of Standish of Standish knew where to pitch a house.</p> + +<p>Thoreau criticizes the Pilgrims for lacking the explorer's instinct. +They were not woodsmen, he says, nor, except spiritually, pioneers at +heart. He calls attention to the fact that it was long after the landing +before they explored the woods and ponds back of Plymouth, territory +"within the compass of an afternoon's ramble." "A party of emigrants to +California or Oregon," says he, "with no less work on their hands and +more hostile Indians, would do as much exploring the first afternoon, +and the Sieur de Champlain would have sought an interview with the +savages, and examined the country as far as the Connecticut, and made a +map of it, before Billington had climbed his tree."</p> + +<p>Well, the Sieur de Champlain had not with him such little travelers as +Oceanus Hopkins and Peregrine White. After the deaths of the first +winter, every one of the few grown men left in the colony was needed for +immediate affairs. They could not afford to go exploring overmuch. With +the exception of the madcap Billingtons and one boy Crackston, they ran +very little risk of losing themselves in the woods. They went, as much +as possible by sea, to Kennebeck, to Boston, to all parts of Cape Cod. +But as to wandering through the woods on foot, that was done only for +good and warrantable reasons, not to see what they could see.</p> + +<p>Yet even here we find a paradox. They were so thinned in numbers that +they had to be cautious, but in an emergency they knew how to be +perfectly reckless and perfectly adequate to the occasion. In March, +1623, when news came that their friend Massasoit was "like to die," they +knew that, if they were to be accounted loyal friends, they must follow +the Indian custom of paying a visit to the chief in his last days. +Therefore, Edward Winslow, with one Master John Hampden of London, and +the Indian Hobbomock for guide, set out on foot around across the Cape, +through what is now Eastham, to Mattapoisett, and thence to "Sowams," +now the town of Warren, Rhode Island, the home of Massasoit. In spite of +the protests of Hobbomock, part of the journey through the woods was +made after nightfall, so eager were they to arrive before "Massassowat" +died. And the accurate Winslow records and translates for us a sentence +in Massasoit's own language, the very words of the great friendly +sachem: "Matta neen wonckanet namen, Winsnow!" that is to say, 'O +Winslow, I shall never see thee again.' Winslow tells us how he revived +Massasoit by giving him a "confection of comfortable conserves on the +point of my knife," and by performing other helpful offices, "which he +took marvelous kindly"; and how he then set out on his homeward journey, +after learning from the convalescent Massasoit of the plans of other +tribes to destroy the paleface colony. On Winslow's return trip through +the woods, the Indians themselves, he says, "demanded further how we +durst, being but two, come so far into the country. I answered, where +was true love, there was no fear."</p> + +<p>They did explore. But their exploring was always for community purpose, +whether for "true love," or for parleys with the French and Dutch, or +for trade with Squanto's friends at Chatham, or for pasturage for their +"katle," or for fish.</p> + +<p>We do not know how La Salle and De Soto and the Sieur de Champlain would +have looked upon the woods around Plymouth and the Cape. They would +probably have thought of them as suburbs of the Mississippi. But as we +sit on the Standish doorstep and glance out toward Plymouth, with the +harbor between us and the Duxbury woods behind, we realize that the +first settlers here were quite completely cut off from the shelter of +that comely fort on Burial Hill. There was something very hardy and +permanent about their pioneering, though there was always a reasonable +explanation for the risks they undertook. There were no heroics about +it. Their chronicler says simply, "now they must of necessitie goe to +their great lots; they could not other wise keep their katle." They did +not come over out of restlessness, or for adventure, or primarily for +exploring the new continent, at all. Mr. John Alden spoke in the +authentic colonial spirit. They came over to settle it—to open it up.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h3> +<h3>WINSLOW'S "GREAT LOT"</h3> + +<p>From John Alden's land, in early days, a footpath led out along the +shore, over Stony Brook, by Duck's Hill, to Careswell, the "great lot" +granted to Edward Winslow. The lot is now the town of Marshfield, made +famous by Daniel Webster and by generations of notable Winslows.</p> + +<p>The Pilgrim Winslow was Plymouth's favorite representative in foreign +affairs, whether in dealings with the Dutch, or with the Indians, or +with the English in London. His friendships were curiously varied and +fortunate; he was admired and trusted by such forceful men as Roger +Williams, Massasoit, and Oliver Cromwell—a vigorous trio. When he went +plying back and forth on his diplomatic voyages between Plymouth and +England, his duties varied from the responsibility of convoying twenty +hogsheads of beaver to the old country and bringing back three heifers +and a bull to the new, to defending the judicial policy of his friends +in Boston, and writing such sprightly tracts as "Hypocrisie Unmasked" +and "New England's Salamander Discovered." Oliver Cromwell appointed him +Commissioner to go to Hispaniola and Jamaica, and to confer at +Goldsmiths' Hall, London, on a question involving Denmark's seizure of +English ships after the treaty of peace. The Commissioners were given a +certain time to come to a decision; and if they could not agree by the +day appointed, they were to be "shut up in a chamber, without fire, +candles, meat, or drink, or any other refreshment, until they should +agree." Cromwell believed in international agreements speedily arrived +at.</p> + +<p>On Winslow's land to-day stands the Winslow house, built on the old +foundation by Isaac Winslow in 1699. This famous homestead, which a few +years ago was going to wrack and ruin through sheer old age, has been +restored as nearly as possible to its original state of comfort and +dignity by the Winslow Associates, furnished throughout with a rare +collection of antique furniture, and opened to the many visitors who +come that way on their route to Plymouth. As you wander through the +rooms, you find the place a perfect study in early building; every +detail has been carefully preserved, from the "spatter-painted beams" in +the kitchen and the old fire-back in the parlor, to the fine wood finish +of the "Parlor Bedroom." You gain a notion of the interesting way in +which the restoration was managed, when you learn that thirty-four coats +of paint had to be removed from the woodwork of the entrance hallway, +and that four fireplaces had to be taken out of the huge dining-room +fireplace to bring it back to its original condition.</p> + +<p>It is very fitting that this house, on the land of the most +internationally minded man of the early colony, should be cordial to +visitors now. Old houses make friends easily. They are like people who +have known our grandfathers—able on that account to make us feel at +home. And when an ancient house bears the name of one of the Pilgrim +Forefathers, it plays homestead to the whole United States.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="winslow" id="winslow"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 383px;"> +<img src="images/12winslow.jpg" width="383" height="301" alt="The Winslow House, Marshfield, (1699)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Winslow House, Marshfield, (1699)</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>The Winslow mansion, with its great trees and its own broad hearths, has +not grown bleak in its old age, or even austere. There is an Indian word +preserved for us by Governor Winslow's friend, Roger Williams, that +might serve as a motto for this house. <i>"Nickquenum</i>" says Roger +Williams, "<i>I am going home</i>, is a solemn word with them; and no man +will offer any hinderance to him, who after some absence is going to +visit his family, and useth this word Nickquenum." As we go up the +flagstone pathway and lift the Marshfield knocker, we can easily imagine +that generations of famous Winslows, returning to their ancestral +estate, must have approached this house somewhat in the spirit of that +word used by their grandfather's friends the Indians: "Nickquenum, +Winsnow!" which is to say, "O Winslow—I am going home."</p> + +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> +<h3>THE CAPE</h3> + +<p>If you come from the Firelands in the Middle West, if you discover Cape +Cod, if you fall in love with a little empty ninety-five-year-old house +there and buy it, with its three acres of pines and locust trees and +arbutus and rose bushes—then you long to go to see it after the deed is +filed. It may be the dead of winter, but you want to go. You do not want +to be merely a "summer person." The sea is rocking with a February gale, +and the rain drives over the dunes in slanting gusts. But you go +cruising down the Cape in the evening train, disembark two or three +stations short of Provincetown, make your way up your lane, unlock your +door, light a fire in your stove, set a lamp in your window, and feel +that the house has been waiting there all its ninety-five years, for +you.</p> + +<p>If you are generous with your share of the world, you invite your +friends.</p> + +<p>In just this way, our friend from the West filed her deed, built her +fire with driftwood and pine cones, set her teakettle on the stove, and +sent for Barbara and me to come.</p> + +<p>We had known Cape Cod in summer, with its blueberries and its +sailing-craft, its wharves and artist-colonies and ocean breezes. But we +had never seen it in winter, with snow on the sand-dunes and the wind +flying over with sleet and rain.</p> + +<p>An old house with seafaring memories knows how to behave in a storm. At +high tide, our house sits up not so very far above the level of the sea. +A little Ark on a little Ararat, it was built nearly a century ago by +Jonah Atkins for Noah Smith; Noah and Jonah—surely names of men +equipped to go a voyage. The lumber for the house had to be brought by +ship from Maine, thrown overboard off shore, rafted up to the land in +time of high-course tide, spread out on the hill to dry, and then set +solidly together, and pegged. Jonah Atkins made his wooden pegs to stay. +The gale while we were there blew great ships far out of their course at +sea, but there was not a shiver in the timbers of our roof.</p> + +<p>We took the first stormy day to explore the house. To an inlander there +is something magical about discovering seafaring implements and deep-sea +fishing-gear of any kind about a house. You expect to find such things +on ships and wharves; but when you find them high and dry, stowed away +under rafters, they rouse your anchored spirit like a ship-ahoy. The +corners under our roof were as full of treasures as a ship-chandler's +loft: all sorts of stowaways that had been hidden for years in +out-of-the-way nooks; a clam-fork under the eaves, for instance, and a +net-shuttle on the sill. Up in the porch-attic, we found a wooden cradle +becalmed under the rafters, left there probably when the last little +Noah Smith grew too old to voyage in such small craft. Something +glittered in the shadows under the hood of the cradle, and Barbara +reached in to explore. She brought out a large globe of heavy glass—not +a fish-globe, with an opening, but a perfect sphere. We all ventured +guesses. It could not be a receptacle or lamp-accessory of any kind, for +there was no entrance or exit to it, except a tiny pin-hole clogged up, +at one point. Was it an ornament, or a toy, or a great lens of some +kind, or perhaps a globe used by some old-time crystal-gazer? We found +out later that it was a net-float—a glass buoy to bob on top of the +waves, holding up a corner of the net at sea. You find them sometimes on +the beach after a storm. An old glass net-float dry-docked under the +hood of a cradle—we put it back where we found it.</p> + +<p>One of our fence-posts was made of a piece of a mast, our clothes-horse +of teakwood washed ashore after the wreck of the Portland, our stool of +wreckage from the frigate Jason; and on the end of the string to which +our back-door key was fastened, there hung a large snail-shell, like a +seal on a fob.</p> + +<p>But the most nautical of our possessions was the carpet on the floor of +our kitchen; a carpet made of an old sail cut square and spread smoothly +and painted gray—an old sail with all the wind taken out of it, spread, +not this time for Java Head or Lisbon, but for our kitchen floor!</p> + +<p>"Now," said our hostess, calling us to the window, "perhaps you can +understand why they call this place The Point."</p> + +<p>We looked out. The whole ocean was crowding up the valley,—foam and +gulls and driftwood and all,—flooding the bed of the Pamet River. The +marsh-grass and the bottom-lands, which had been solid ground two hours +before, were the floor of the ocean now; the familiar winding channel of +the Pamet, with its fish-weirs, eel-traps, and boundaries all submerged.</p> + +<p>"Isn't this a sea-going promontory?" inquired our proud freeholder, as +we watched a sea-gull flap its way up against the rain, alight on the +water, and swim toward our territory over the gusty brine. "This, you +see, is high-course tide," our friend went on, with that double vanity +that comes from being the possessor of a new estate and a new +vocabulary. "But it never makes in beyond this Point. The Indians used +to have their wigwam here before the house was built."</p> + +<p>Barbara and I instantly adopted for our own permanent possession the +sea-going promontory, the gulls and the high tide sailing up around our +premises, and the house itself.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="ark" id="ark"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"> +<img src="images/13theark.jpg" width="394" height="310" alt=""The Ark"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"The Ark"</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>During our sojourn on the Cape, we learned just one thing that we can be +sure of: You should never make any general statement whatever about Cape +Cod. If you do, you will find your statement disproved by the next turn +of the tide, or turn of the road. You mention the fact that Bartholomew +Gosnold discovered it in 1602, naming it Cape Cod because there his boat +was so "pestered" with codfish. And a well-informed friend will set you +right by explaining how the Vikings discovered it some six hundred years +earlier. Or perhaps you are interested in weather-vanes. After +inspecting them on all the barns down the Cape, you say that all +weather-vanes here are codfish; some flat codfish, some solid, but all +cod. Instantly you look up and see a beautiful swordfish afloat over the +roof of your neighbor's barn. Perhaps you see Barnstable in midwinter, +with its marshlands and shores packed with cakes of ice, pink and +lavender in the sunset, with sea-gulls sitting upright on the edges, +like so many penguins on an Arctic floe. You decide that the Cape +harbors are full of ice. But if you inspect the harbor of Provincetown +on that same day, you are likely to find not a scrap of ice on the +premises.</p> + +<p>You might as well confine yourself to particulars, and avoid large +sayings of any sort. Thoreau is properly cautious about this. Even when +he speaks of so simple a matter as the rarity of dogs and cats on the +Atlantic side of the Cape, he guards his speech. "Still less," says he, +"could you think of a cat bending her steps that way and shaking her wet +foot over the Atlantic; <i>yet even this happens sometimes, they tell +me.</i>" They told him the truth. A fine, enormous, distinguished-looking +white cat, sitting on your doorstep at the foot of the pilaster of your +doorway, is as common on some parts of the Cape as the pointed +Christmas-trees in green tubs on the doorsteps of old houses in certain +cities inland. Remarkable cats, brindle or yellow or tiger or snowball +or gray, they are loved while they live, lamented when they die. "If I +could look out of the window," said a little boy whose favorite cat had +died, "and see my Bobbie coming down the road, wouldn't I wun to let him +in?" The Cape Cod cats are not confined to doorsteps. They catch the +Cape Cod mice. And at least one elegant pure-white cat of our +acquaintance goes stepping down the Cape with her master, shaking her +wet foot over the Atlantic, perhaps, but waiting until it is time to go +back, and then escorting him home.</p> + +<p>Therefore, since it is so unsafe to generalize, we are resolved to make +no sweeping statements about the Cape Cod house. You cannot be too sure +even about your own. You discover this when you take its measurements +for curtains and wall-paper; no two apertures and no two surfaces are +alike.</p> + +<p>But, with due reservations, there is one sort of old house that was most +nearly standardized by the early builders: the low-studded, +story-and-a-half house, with its long gable roof, its many little +windows tucked up under the point of the gable, its front to the south, +its "West Entry" at one side, and its six-panel door, with a row of +little square glass panes above it—-sometimes a row of four lights, +sometimes five. More rarely there is a fan-light over the door, curving +out to the pilasters at each side.</p> + +<p>All this varies a little, and most of the houses have been altered more +or less by subsequent generations. But whenever you come upon the +regulation, unspoiled Cape Cod house, there is a general plan that you +recognize at once.</p> + +<p>For example: the term "West Entry" is no idle phrase. West Entry means +west entry, regardless of your angle to the road. Your house faces the +south, and your side entry faces west, though the road may run at random +on a wild slant, and though your west entry open on the midst of the +sea. It does not matter whether you face the highway or not, does it? A +road is a perishable and human thing at best; but the points of the +compass mean business on the Cape.</p> + +<p>Our own house is a perfect illustration of the results of this theory: +if you should ever wish to reach our West Entry, you would have to +circumnavigate our Point, and scale an all-but-inaccessible bank to the +unused door. Because of this inconvenience of our "entry," we always +expect callers to come in at the door of our kitchen—our porch. For the +benefit of the uninstructed it may be well to say that when we speak of +our "porch" on our part of the Cape, we mean the same thing as an ell. +Our porch is an ell with an attic over it, a kitchen chimney, our stove, +and our pump and major equipment for the industries of the day. It opens +into the "winter kitchen," where they did their fireplace cooking years +ago, before there was a stove in the porch.</p> + +<p>The outside piazza arrangement, unroofed, we call our platform, or walk. +Ours is very neatly made of matched planks, with one part at the end +cleverly arranged to slide, so that you can draw out the planks a little +and get down into the manhole that incloses the pipes from pump to +drilled well. On cold winter nights, you let yourself down on the ladder +twelve feet underground, to turn off the water in the pump, if you are +afraid that the pipes are going to freeze. I shall never forget the +sensation of usefulness that filled my beating heart when I disappeared +down that hatchway one clear cold night and opened the little faucet far +below. When you go down that neat, perfectly smooth tube, with the +winter stars shining solemnly down on the top of your head, you feel +like a more slender Saint Nicholas making his way down a sootless +chimney.</p> + +<p>The Cape Cod cellar is also interesting to a newcomer. It is a small +circular dungeon-keep, solidly built of masonry, usually under the "east +room." You go into it down a short flight of steps on the outside of the +house, through a small entry which has the outer aspect of a tall +dog-kennel, and the inner aspect of a Dutch interior, perfectly +spotless. Some authorities say that the Cape cellars were made circular +to prevent the heavy sand from breaking through by undue pressure on any +one wall, as would happen in a four-cornered cellar. Others imagine that +seafaring men made their cellars circular on the principle of the +half-barrel in the sand. An old stone-mason says that they did it +because firm corners of field-rock are so hard to make. But when you +stand in these spick-and-span circles of solid masonry,—an interior +like the inside of a bowl,—you suspect that the tidy housewives planned +the rounded walls so as to leave no odd corners for spiders and cobwebs.</p> + +<p>There may be square cellars on the Cape, and there certainly are some +west entries that point the wrong way. But in general, when you enter a +Cape Cod "three-quarters" house, you go in through the porch-door, you +sit and visit in the winter kitchen, and you have your wedding in The +Room. Porch, winter kitchen, pantry, east bedroom, The Room, the west +bedroom near the west entry—it is a charming and compact arrangement +for a little house, with regard for space and views and corners. Unless +your "sight" from the windows is cut off by trees or hills, you have +views of ocean dawns and sunsets framed in delicate white moulding, and +seen through small square panes. The world outside appears like a series +of pictures seen through an artist's finder. If your house tops a dune +on the narrow part of the Cape, you may see the sails on the horizon of +the Atlantic on the east, and the sails on the horizon of the Bay on the +west; a clear view of the salt water straight across the Cape in both +directions.</p> + +<p>As you go down from Barnstable to Provincetown, in automobile or by +train, you notice that there are more windows than you expect to see in +the triangle under the slope of the roofs. Commonly, you see two large +windows in the middle of the upper half-story, and on each side of +these, under the slope of the roof, two much smaller windows in the +corners. Perhaps there is even a fifth window, sometimes triangular, +sometimes elongated, under the very peak of the roof. Thoreau was +mightily pleased with these. He said that it looked as if every member +of the family had punched a hole through the upper half-story, the +better to see the view—large windows for Father and Mother, small +windows for children, on the principle of large door for the cat and +small door for the kitten. The two large windows light the one square +room finished off under the peak of the roof. The other smaller windows +are to ventilate the "open chambers"—the slope-roofed spaces left on +either side of the finished room, under the rafters. In large families, +in the early days, some of the children had to sleep out in these open +chambers, under the slope of the roof. There is at least one noted man +of affairs in the United States to-day who affirms that there is one +rafter in the open chamber of a certain house on Cape Cod that has a +slight but clearly defined hollow worn in it, where he used to collide +with the roof when he got aboard his trundle-bed in the dark.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="fish" id="fish"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 340px;"> +<img src="images/14oldfishwharf.jpg" width="340" height="336" alt="Old Fish Wharf, Cape Cod" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Old Fish Wharf, Cape Cod</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>The Double House is different; the two-story house is different; the +steep-roofed house is different; and so are the houses built by summer +people. There are even a few houses made of old windmills, with three +stories: living-room on the ground floor, little bedroom on the second +floor, tiny bedroom up aloft, and a look-out that is almost level with +the windmill sails.</p> + +<p>But let us stick to our own experience. In our own house, and in those +of the neighbors around us, you see delicate white paneling around the +fireplace up to the ceiling; an antique china closet with its old +copper-lustre and sprigged ware; white wainscoting around the room up to +the level of the window-sills; exquisite moulding all around the windows +and doors; in short, it is the simplest little house in the world, in +plan, with unexpected beauty of detail. Braided mats on the floor, a +fire in the stove, and a breeze from the Azores scudding over our +roof—there certainly is good comfort even in dead of winter on the +Cape.</p> + +<p>We are glad that the Pilgrims were "joyfull" at the sight of "Cap-Codd." +They decided not to pause there, but to "stande for ye southward to +finde some place aboute Hudsons river for their habitation." But they +were turned back by the "deangerous shoulds and roring breakers," and +were thankful to bear up again along the Atlantic side of the Cape until +they got into harbor, "wher they ridd in safetie."</p> + +<p>In our intervals of fair weather, we visited the places where they +stopped: Chatham where they were turned back, Provincetown where they +waded ashore, Truro where they camped for the night and explored the +Pamet River, and Corn Hill where they found "diverce faire Indean +baskets filled with corne." All this country was as wintry as the +Pilgrims found it, with long streaks of snow caught in the beach-grass +on the tops of the camel-back dunes. From the crest of one dune, we +watched the sun dropping over the harbor until it rested on the water, +like a great luminous net-float drifting off to sea.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="pilgrimm" id="pilgrimm"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 326px;"> +<img src="images/15pilgrimmonument.jpg" width="326" height="448" alt="The Pilgrim Monument, Provincetown" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Pilgrim Monument, Provincetown</span> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>Provincetown we saw in a flying snow-squall, all the marine colors so +loved by the artists softened in the snowy light, even the strange blue +of a guineaboat by the fish-wharf. Hollyhock Lane was only a narrow +passageway of frosty stubble, and the seagulls winging over looked +ghostly against the pale sky. The wharves, the monument, the lighthouse, +and the sails in the harbor were blurred by the fine flakes that filled +the air.</p> + +<p>But the snow soon changed to rain, the squall turned into a northeast +wind, the wind rose to a gale, and Barbara and I decided to see the +Atlantic in a real storm. We went home first for rubber coats, and then +set off down the road to the ocean side of the Cape. The wind from the +Atlantic goes over the Pamet valley in one great rush of invisible +swiftness. As you lean forward against it, you feel that you must run to +hold your own. If we had been going the other way, we could have spread +our cloaks and gone flying home like witches, over the dunes. As it was, +beating our way against it, we had to stop in the lee of the bayberry +slopes to catch our breath. Ahead of us we saw only the wave-like crests +of the dunes, one after another, with their patches of ruddy wild +cranberry, and their streaks of sand and snow. And then, as we went +battling over the top of the last rise in the road, we saw between two +sand-dunes ahead of us a darker hill beyond, its peculiar heavy gray +coloring dull and threatening; its crest lay straight against the sky, +and all the snowy white streaks along it were in motion. It was the sea.</p> + +<p>We made for the top of the nearest dune ahead. It rose up steep as a +breaker itself, with a jagged edge at the top where the wind had scooped +out sharp hollows at the roots of the beach-grass. We each made straight +for one of these hollows, in one last determined dash up the sheer +slope. All this time, the noise of tumult had been growing louder and +louder, and when we reached the crest, there it was before us, the whole +Atlantic ocean rearing toward our frail strip of sandy shore. We had the +horrible impression that the whole roaring thing was one gray hill of +water, coming in. The breakers were plunging along from sky to shore +with no regard for order. You could not have watched for the ninth wave, +for they were breaking in masses, three great thunderheads at a time +crashing into each other from different directions and coming up the +beach with a shout, still struggling together in foam. Before they were +half-way in, another surge was almost on top of them, with a huge +white-horse breaker rearing at one side—everywhere one rush of +confusion and terrible tossing with white crests of spray. There was not +a sail in sight, or a human being, or an island, or a bird; only a world +of furious water and a ragged horizon of mist and trailing cloud as far +as we could see in three directions.</p> + +<p>It is hard to believe that the Mayflower came cruising over the Atlantic +through just such winds. "In sundrie of these stormes," says Bradford, +"the winds were so feirce & ye seas so high, as they could not beare a +knote of sail, but were forced to hull, for diverce days togither." When +we think how the sea can growl around an ocean-liner now, and then think +how the little Mayflower went hulling for diverce days in "mighty +storme," we wonder how it ever got here at all. And indeed, we are told +that at one time in mid-ocean, when the main beam of the little craft +buckled, there was nothing between the passengers and shipwreck except a +certain "great iron scrue ye passengers brought from Holland which would +raise ye beam to his place." They screwed up the scrue and calked the +deck; and though they knew that "with the working of ye ship they would +not long keep stanch," they hoped that she might weather the rest of the +voyage if they did not overpress her with sails.</p> + +<p>"So," remarks the Governor with fine simplicity, "they comited them +selves to ye will of God, & resolved to proseede."</p> + +<p>The whole story of that voyage has in it the vitality of the wind at +sea. It has also the nobility always found when the human will goes +somewhere and does something with the minimum of material equipment, +alone, against odds, for the sake of a true conviction. Materially, the +Pilgrims had the narrowest possible margin. A great iron screw to prop +their beam; a great iron purpose to prop their souls.</p> + +<p>We do well to hold in honor those who voyage alone through "crosse winds +and feirce stormes into desperat and inevitable perill," in the power of +a noble thought. We erect our monuments to those who, with +discouragement and danger and threatened shipwreck all around them, +valiantly prop up their beam, calk their decks, commit themselves to the +will of God—and "resolve to proseede."</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<h4>McGrath-Sherrill Press Boston</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pilgrim Trails, by Frances Lester Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILGRIM TRAILS *** + +***** This file should be named 35136-h.htm or 35136-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/3/35136/ + +Produced by Steve Mattern + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pilgrim Trails + A Plymouth-to-Provincetown Sketchbook + +Author: Frances Lester Warner + +Illustrator: C. Scott White + +Release Date: January 31, 2011 [EBook #35136] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILGRIM TRAILS *** + + + + +Produced by Steve Mattern + + + + +[Illustration: North Street, Plymouth] + +PILGRIM TRAILS +A PLYMOUTH-TO-PROVINCETOWN SKETCHBOOK + +BY FRANCES LESTER WARNER + +With Drawings By E. SCOTT WHITE + +The ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS +BOSTON + +Copyright, 1921, by +The Atlantic Monthly Press + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I Plymouth Towne + II Alden and Standish + III Winslow's "Great Lot" + IV The Cape + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + North Street, Plymouth + Plymouth Harbor + Site of First House, Leyden Street + "Nautical House" + Old Plymouth Doorway + Burial Hill + John Alden's House, Duxbury (1653) + The Myles Standish Monument + The Standish House, Duxbury (1666) + The Winslow House, Marshfield (1699) + "The Ark" + Old Fish Wharf, Cape Cod + The Pilgrim Monument, Provincetown + + + +CHAPTER I + +PLYMOUTH TOWNE + +"There!" said the artist, "isn't that a nautical-looking house?" + +When the artist says that a house is nautical, he means that it looks as +if it had been built by seafaring men; not by wealthy ship-owners, but +by generations of skippers and men before the mast. When you build a +nautical house, you should begin more than a hundred years ago with a +small cottage on the side-hill over the harbor, and add on a snug cabin +now and then, tucking in a shipshape companionway here and there, and +running a new section out along the slope. If you like to indulge your +taste in roofs, you make a different kind for every addition. One +section may be gable, another lean-to, and the one-story addition may +run out as long as you please, shaped on top something like the roof of +a barge. Simply fit your building to the ups and downs of the land and +the ways of the wind. A bit of faded blue paint somewhere on the blinds +or near the door, and all your roofing weathered by many hundred harbor +gales, and your house is nautical. + +There are not as many of these in Plymouth as in Gloucester, but there +are a few. In fact, at Plymouth you may find almost any kind of building +you look for, from Mansard roofs and bungalows, to the lobster-houses +down by Eel River, the shooting-boxes out on the sand-spit, and the dark +old structures beside Town Brook and around the region once known as +Clamshell Alley. + +We had left the car at the garage, and had walked along the upper +streets over the hill. The artist was going sketching, his brother +Alexander was meeting a business appointment, and Barbara and I had come +to see Plymouth. + +"I'm going in among those places on the other side of Town Brook," said +the artist. "The only way to find something good is to go everywhere +you're not supposed to." + +"But you and Barbara," said Alexander, as he prepared to escort us out +to the main street, "might as well go where you're supposed to." + +He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. + +"The best way," said Alexander, "is to follow your guide-book." + +"The best way," said the artist over his shoulder, "is to explore." + +Barbara receives advice from her two brothers with the air of a young +empress listening to the remarks of two prime ministers, but makes her +own decisions. I have acted as her confederate and chaperon on so many +occasions that I know enough to be quiet until the prime ministers have +gone. + +"The best way," said Barbara when this had happened, "is to ask a little +boy." + + * * * * * + +Doubtless any real expedition to Plymouth ought to begin with the Rock. +We found our way down along the water-front, to the place where the Rock +used to be, but it was nowhere in sight. + +"When I was here before," said I, "the Rock was exactly here, under its +canopy at the foot of Cole's Hill. You couldn't miss it." + +Barbara looked out along the wharves. Some children were playing at the +end of one of the piers. + +"We'll ask a little boy," said Barbara, leading the way. + +"They look like little foreigners," said I. "Do you think they would +know?" + +For answer, Barbara went out slowly to the edge of the pier, and stood +watching the white seagulls flying over the harbor. The boys gave her a +glance, made up their minds about her, and went on with their play. + +"_Where's_ the Rock?" said Barbara casually, over her shoulder. + +"They're moving it," said one. + +"It's all broke up," said another. + +"Want us to show it to you?" said a third. + +"Yes," said Barbara. "Where are they moving it to?" + +"Down to the edge. When they get it there, we can swim right up to it," +said our guide with unction. "But now it's all broke up." + +He was leading us rapidly back to Water Street, to a great pile of +masonry by the roadside. "That's the rock," said he. "Here's some, and +here's some, and here's some more. All broke up." + +The boys were scrambling over the arches and hopping about among the +blocks of granite. + +"Oh, yes," said Barbara tactfully, "this is the old canopy that used to +be over the Rock, isn't it? And where's the real Rock?" + +Our guide looked puzzled. Then light dawned. "The little one with 1620 +on it? Down on the other side of the road." He waved a brown fist. +"See?" + +And there it was, the famous boulder, waiting to be taken to its new +position at the water's edge. Plymouth Rock is a very satisfactory +relic; just the shape of a Rock. Its prehistoric excursions with the +glacier and its historic pilgrimages since 1620 have combined to lead it +a roving life. In Revolutionary days it was on Town Square, with the +Liberty Pole; then it migrated to the lawn in front of Pilgrim Hall; +then it rested under its canopy at the foot of Cole's Hill--and in all +these positions it inspired tourists to remarks about the agility of the +Fathers in using it as a stepping-stone from the harbor to dry land. And +now, in 1921, it goes back to the original landing-place, where the high +tides will reach it again. + +[Illustration: Plymouth Harbor] + +Barbara and I congratulated ourselves on our luck in arriving at the +right time to catch it on the move. Probably its fourth century of fame +will bring it more visitors than ever before, including our friends, the +little delegates from Portugal and Italy, who hope to swim near by. + +"Now," said Barbara, "let's go up to Leyden Street and see if we can +imagine that it's First Street, with the first houses and all." + +Taking our imaginations well in hand, we found Leyden Street and the +site of the first house. Probably it is not necessary to be thrilled at +every inch of Plymouth. No matter how many times we visit it, I think we +expect to find it looking more gray and spectral than it does; just as +children, from much study of the map, half expect to see the land of +China look yellow. There are fishing-coves on the Maine coast that look +a good deal more like our childhood idea of Plymouth--weatherbeaten +houses, low roofs, and great dark cliffs with the surf pounding against +them. Mrs. Felicia Hemans is not entirely responsible for our +misconception. We know that we shall not see the original block-house, +but we still have a lingering feeling that Plymouth ought to look gray. + +And Leyden Street does not. It is old, but not decrepit. A very short +street, with close-set houses, some of them painted white or yellow; and +at the head of the street, on what used to be Elder Brewster's +Meerstead, the fine Post-Office building--it is hard to realize that +this is the place where the Mayflower settlers staked off their nineteen +plots of ground. Even in winter, there is no sweeping impression that +anything very grim or perilous ever happened here. But one impression we +do feel strongly. If we stand at the head of the street by Elder +Brewster's spring, and look down past the site of the first house, at +the blue harbor, and then turn and look up at Burial Hill, we find +ourselves thinking of the compactness of it all. Within a three-minute +walk, we have caught a glimpse of the landing-place, Cole's Hill +burying-ground, the site of the first house, the first street, and the +hill where, as Governor Bradford says, "they built a fort, both strong & +comly, made with a flate rofe & batllments, on which their ordnance were +mounted, and wher they kepte constante watch, espetially in time of +danger." The times of danger seem remote from Plymouth now, "espetially" +at the corner of Leyden Street. + +[Illustration: Site of First House, Leyden Street] + +In order to feel the true sense of history,--not a worked-up sentiment, +but the real thing,--you have to look at Plymouth, not in panorama but +in detail. You have to accept with philosophy such modern phenomena as +the Massasoit Shoe-Shine Parlors and the Plymouth Rock Garage, and keep +your eyes open for certain types of old houses scattered in unexpected +places everywhere. + +One of these is a neat old house in excellent repair, the ends of the +house of brick, the side toward the street of wood, plain gable roof, +stout chimney, the whole thing painted white, and all fascinating +within. This is Tabitha Plaskett's house, on Court Street, near Pilgrim +Hall. It is not so very old,--only two hundred years come 1922,--but it +is the one of its kind into which visitors are most naturally admitted, +for they sell antiques there now. But before the Revolution it was the +home of Mrs. Tabitha Plaskett, the first woman to keep a school in +Plymouth. + +Barbara and I went in, seeking gifts, and we stayed to look at the +doors. They are plain one-paneled doors, each made of a single piece of +wood, with old hand-made hinges,--some the H-hinge, some the H and +L,--with irregular hand-wrought nails, and on each door a polished +door-latch of slenderest design. The tiles around the fireplace are blue +and white, the central one showing a dog running very fast, with all +four feet off the ground, and all his legs held perfectly stiff like the +legs of a rocking-horse. + +We were shown the place where Tabitha Plaskett used to do her spinning +and her school-teaching at the same time. Every legend-lover recalls the +story of Tabitha's famous way of punishing children, by slipping a skein +of yarn underneath their arms and hanging them up on a peg on the wall, +much as Mrs. Peter Rabbit in the story hangs all her little rabbits on +the clothes-line. The soft yarn probably did not hurt the children, +though the position must have been, for the moment, embarrassing. We +wonder whether Tabitha really did this often. If we remember our own +schooldays, we know that the story of a punishment can take a fabulous +turn in less than two hundred years. But from her epitaph on Burial +Hill, we may be fairly sure that her relations with the public were not +without an occasional breeze. She is supposed to have composed the +epitaph herself, and it certainly sounds like the document of a vivid +personality. We may read it now, carefully chiseled on her grave-stone, +under an elaborate design of urn and weeping willow:-- + + Adieu, vain world, I've seen enough of thee + And I am careless what thou sayst of me + Thy smiles I wish not + Nor thy frowns I fear + I am now at rest, my head lies quiet here. + +Well, Tabitha's headstone now overlooks the place where the little +children go along to school. If you should go into the primary rooms +after school-hours, you would see the sand-tables and the little desks, +and, hanging around the walls, a series of paper cut-outs of the Three +Bears and the Little Red Hen. And if you should ask to be allowed to +look at the register, you would find there some names that would remind +you of the cabins of the Mayflower and the Fortune and the Ann, together +with some that came over in a later ship. Surely the boys and girls of +to-day will not object if we imagine Tabitha calling the roll of their +last names in alphabetical order? She stands beside her spinning-wheel +and begins: "Alden, Cook, Crane, Dante, Davenport, Deschamps, Donovan, +Kitchin, Kerrigan, Locatelli, Malaguto, Metz, Morgan--" And she goes on, +adjusting her voice to the musical variety of the names, until she ends +the alphabet with "Thornhill, Vacchino, Wood, and Worcester." It is like +a pleasant chant of the nations. + +It is a very pretty question whether Tabitha Plaskett could maintain the +quiet orderliness that we see now in these primary rooms, and make +headway with her spinning at the same time. Would she apply the skeins +of yarn internationally? And would she know just what to do with the +sand-tables? If she could keep school again in her old house now, +perhaps, instead of punishing the wicked, she would reward the just by +letting them go into the front room, when they were very good, to look +at the dog running like a rocking-horse on the blue tile. + +[Illustration: "Nautical House"] + +Another kind of house that stirs our "sense of the past" is the sort +that really does seem old on the outside. A little way down Sandwich +Street is the Howland House, built in 1666, recently repaired and opened +to visitors. If we are looking for a house that actually did come under +the eye of the Pilgrims, this is one. A plain gable cottage, now painted +the dull red that we associate with "little-red-schoolhouse" coloring, +it stands a little back from the busy street, and the visitor goes in +through a turnstile at the gate. Inside, all sorts of old furniture, +including spinning-wheel and carriage-top bed, make it look as much as +possible as if it were still inhabited. Other houses that were built in +the sixteen hundreds, especially the Holmes House, also repay the +trouble of searching them out. And when we find them, they look as if +they had been built in the spirit of Governor Bradford's specifications +about the colony's purpose in founding the Plymouth Plantation: "Not out +of any newfanglednes or other such like giddie humor, by which men are +oftentimes transported to their great hurt and danger, but for sundrie +weightie & solid reasons." There is not much "giddie humor" about the +old beams and rafters that have borne the solid weight of two hundred +and fifty years. + +In Plymouth there are many houses made partly of brick, with iron +S-shaped anchors bolted through their brick-work to the beam inside. +There are some of these on the side of Leyden Street near LeBaron Alley. +And on North Street, there are great Santa Claus chimneys, with small +low houses built around them, the structure of the house looking +altogether too tiny to go with the generous flues. + +Best of all, perhaps, because they have plenty of space around them, are +the unpainted gambrel-roofed houses on the outskirts of the town. Now +and then you find one where the shingles that cover the house from top +to bottom have weathered a silver gray. Here and there the shingles have +curled a trifle, so that they look like the bark of a shagbark walnut +tree, in no danger of flying away with the wind, but making the house +look crusted, picturesque. And there are some gabled houses where the +long slope of the roof has sagged a little, just enough to make a place +for moss and shadows, but not enough to look fallen in. + +Barbara and I did not find all these the first day, or the next. We +spent a good deal of time scouting over the moors, among the bayberry +bushes and the pointed red cedars. Now and then we came upon a cranberry +bog, hidden away behind what one geologist calls the "tumbled hills of +Plymouth." + +It was Alexander who showed us the best Colonial mansion. The frame was +got out in England, and brought over in 1754, and, tradition says, was +put upside down. It belonged to the Winslows--not the Edward Winslow who +wrote "Good News From New England" in 1624, but a later branch of the +family. The Winslow family seems to have prospered steadily in the early +days--one of the cases where, in the elder Winslow's own words, +"religion and profit jump together, which is rare." + +"I want to show you the Winslow house," said Alexander; "the house where +Emerson was married." + +"I think we passed it on the corner of North and Winslow," said I. +"Isn't it the fine square one, painted yellow and white, with the +carving of fruit around the doorways?" + +"That's it," admitted Alexander placidly, "but you don't know that house +just by going past it on the street." + +He led us down North Street to Winslow, and found the point where we +could get the best view. + +[Illustration: Old Plymouth Doorway] + +"Now," said he when he had planted us to his satisfaction, "notice the +doorway, with those two immense linden-trees shading the path. The +original shoots of the Winslow linden-trees were brought to this country +in a raisin-box. Up on the front of the house, over the upstairs window, +you see the carving of the British Lion and Unicorn. This branch of the +Winslows in Revolutionary days remained Tories and were very loyal to +the King; and after the war their property went into other hands. But +their Lion and Unicorn are as good as ever." + +"Is it really true," asked Barbara, "that the house is upside down?" + +"Well," said Alexander, "the legend is very old. And the second-story +rooms are a great deal higher-studded than the rooms downstairs. There's +one door upstairs that looks as if it had been made for a giant. But +they say that some of the English builders used to plan a house that +way." + +Whether the house is upside down or not, one thing is certain--that here +Miss Lydia Jackson was married to Emerson. Once in a while an event in +the world takes place in precisely the perfect setting. Emerson's +marriage was one. The huge English door, almost as broad as it is tall, +with its great brass knocker and deep paneling, knows how to swing wide +open in a stately way of its own; a proper door to welcome Mr. Emerson. +And the rooms inside, with their high white paneling and delicate +beading around the top, have dignity in every line. In every room there +is a fireplace, with tiles. In the room where Emerson was married, the +tiles around the fireplace illustrate Scripture stories--the drawings +exactly in the style of the pictures in the New England Primer. Jonah +emerges from his specially constructed fish; Elijah sits under his +juniper bush; Jacob awakens from his dream. Under each picture is a +reference to the Bible, with chapter and verse; so that, if you should +fail to recognize any Bible worthy from his picture, you could look him +up. + +In the hallway, the white staircase, with its mahogany rail, is deeply +paneled at the sides, and if you stand beneath the stairway where it +turns, you see still more careful paneling on the under side of each +stair. The spindles of the balustrade are white and delicately carved, +and the slender newel-post is twined with a perfectly proportioned white +spiral, like a smooth round stem of a vine, running round and round it, +and disappearing into the woodwork of the rail. + +This house, with its linden trees, its traditions, its Lion and Unicorn +rampant over the sea, was the best example of old-time royalist elegance +that we saw. + + * * * * * + +"Are you going sketching this afternoon?" asked Barbara politely of the +artist. + +"Yes, on Burial Hill," said he. "Want to come?" + +"Don't you ever carry a camp-chair?" said I. For days I had been longing +to ask him that question, when I saw him starting out with no visible +sketching equipment except a leather affair, which looked like a +lawyer's brief-case, strapped over his shoulder. + +"Yes, I always take a chair," said he. "It folds. It's in the leather +case." + +I, who remember the days when people went sketching with an immense +French sketching-umbrella, a camp-chair, an easel, and a portfolio, +looked with respect upon the leather case. + +"Before we go up to the hill," said the artist, "don't you want me to +show you the most stunning subject for a painting that I've found?" + +Even Alexander rose to this. We followed our leader down past the old +Junk Shop, in among the old houses at the water-front, and as we picked +our way around the corner, the artist threw up his hands in despair. + +"Oh, ye gods," we heard him say, "it's gone!" + +We followed his tragic gaze out toward the harbor, expecting to find +that an ancient landmark had been razed to the ground. + +"What was it?" said Barbara anxiously. "Have they moved it somewhere +else?" + +"Yes," said the artist bitterly, "they've moved it somewhere else. It +was the washing that was out on that line--the colors--all the +accents--Portuguese as you can imagine--and they've _taken it in!_" + +Alexander turned on his heel and left us to make our way back to Burial +Hill. He sympathizes with his brother's sorrows when fishermen go down +to their boats and change all the rigging the moment a marine sketch is +half done; but he is not quite advanced enough to grieve because +Portuguese laundry no longer flaps against the American blue. + +"By the way," said the artist when we reached the Hill, "the lettering +on these stones is something remarkably fine. Pemberton identifies it +with Caslon lettering, Caslon the Elder, English typefounder in the +sixteen hundreds. I '11 show you the article when we get home." + +Barbara was examining a very old stone. "Listen," said she,-- + + "The spider's most attenuated thread + Is cord, is cable to man's tender tie." + +As we made our way along the paths beside the family lots of the +Bradfords, Cottons, Harlows, LeBarons, and Howlands, we began to notice +how the wording varied with the relative age of the stones. For example, +"Edward Gray, Gent." is older style than "Josiah Cotton, Esq." And "That +Virtuous Woman, Mrs. Rebecca Turner" is of an earlier period than "Mary, +Relict of Deac. Lot Harlow." + +We found one very stately epitaph to a young wife, the simplest +expression of the language of bereavement: "By this event a husband was +deprived of his best friend." + +Far more elaborate is the tribute to Mrs. Lucy Hammatt, Relict of the +late Capt. Abraham Hammatt. Still clear and definite, the inscription, +deeply lettered on the face of the worn slab, records the ideals of an +exemplary life:-- + + Composed in suffering, in joy sedate, + Good without show, for just discernment great. + +But Barbara's favorite among the epitaphs was one on the stone of a +young Southern bride:-- + + Phebe J. Bramhall + a Native of Virginia + and Wife of Benj. Bramhall + Possess'd of an Amiable Disposition + +It suggests that our early ancestors were not impervious to Southern +charm. + +On our way down the Hill, we went around to see the harbor at sunset. +Clark's Island in the distance, Captain's Hill, Manomet--we had begun to +think of these as our own landmarks. + +[Illustration: Burial Hill] + +"Since this is our last night at Plymouth," said Alexander that evening, +"don't you want to see the country by moonlight?" + +"It's only a half-moon," said Barbara critically; but we went. + +On our way, we went up to look at the town from the site of the old +Watch-Tower, on the very top of Burial Hill. We climbed the Hill this +time by the path nearest the sea. The low branches of the twisted tree +over the flight of steps made strange patterns above us against the sky. +There is one place on the summit where you can look out into the +darkness of the country, not toward the lights of town. Here you can see +only the shadows of the elm branches and the outlines of the slanting +stones. And here, I think, we found the time for the spirit of place to +be abroad. We did not see the kindly ghosts of Adoniram Judson and +Bathsheba Bradford and Captain Jabez Harlow. But we were in the midst of +something very real. All the odd phrasings of the epitaphs--the relicts +and consorts and phyticians--were hidden now, translated by the shadows. +We saw only the silhouette of the past; and it was not grim or gloomy, +but only brave. The record of antique sorrow is a quieting thing. Every +thought on this hill was thought a long time ago. The poignancy is out +of it now. And as we stand on the spot where the Pilgrims once set watch +every night for danger, we cannot help being stirred by the gray dignity +of their thoughts about the continuity of life. + +We stayed only a moment. Then we went down again, pausing only to watch +the harbor lights. + +Plymouth harbor is a quiet place by moonlight, and Burial Hill is a very +quiet place. Yet it gave us the most direct message we had--of spacious +thought dramatized in narrow setting, of definite achievement with +inadequate equipment, of the resourceful valiance of those early people, +and of what Governor Bradford calls "their great patience and allacritie +of spirit" in the face of life, and death. + + + +CHAPTER II + +JOHN ALDEN AND MILES STANDISH + +THEIR LAND + +Duxbury, Duxberie, Duxborough, Ducksborrow: the early writers spelled it +as they pleased. But the Duxbury Light, Duxbury ships, and Duxbury +clam-flats have standardized the spelling for all time. This town, +across the harbor from Plymouth, where grants of land were settled by +Myles Standish, Elder Brewster, and John Alden, has been the home port +of notable ships and men. Merchant-ships, brigs, and schooners--the +Eliza Warwick and the Mary Chilton, the Oriole, the Lion, Boreas, and +Seadrift, the Triton, Mattakeeset, and the Hitty Tom,--these and +hundreds of sail besides were built here in the shipyards and manned by +Duxbury boys. Among the early men of Duxbury were Benjamin Church, who +captured Philip the Sachem; Major Judah Alden and Colonel Ichabod, +descendants of John Alden and Priscilla; Colonel Gamaliel Bradford and +Captain Gamaliel, his son; George Partridge, one of George Washington's +Congressmen; and Ezra Weston, the King Caesar of the shipyards. + +At one end of the town used to be the Ezra Weston ropewalk; and not too +far away was the famous Duxbury Ordinary, the tavern where, in 1678, Mr. +Seabury the landlord had license to "sell liquors unto such sober-minded +naighbors, as hee shall think meet, so as he sell not less than the +quantie of a gallon att a time to one prson and not in smaller +quantities to the occationing of drunkenes." Mr. Seabury was evidently +to use his own judgment as to which "naighbors" were sufficiently +sober-minded to sustain the gallon. + +But doubtless the oldest Duxbury settlers were the clams. The colonists +called them, first, "sandgapers," then clamps, then clambs, clambes, +slammes, and clammes. We surmise that the clam was not at first the +Pilgrims' favorite dish, when we read Mr. John Pory's account of his +visit to Plymouth in 1622. "Muskles and slammes they have all the yeare +long, which being the meanest of God's blessings here, and such as these +people fat their hogs with at low water, if ours upon any extremitie did +enjoy in the South Colonie, they would never complain of famine or want, +although they wanted bread." When we read this remark of Mr. Pory's, we +wonder how it happened that the Pilgrims were reduced at one time to +five grains of parched corn per meal per person. But suppose that you +yourself had never tasted a clamb at a clam-bake, and had never been +introduced to it in the right circumstances by the right people--would +it naturally occur to you to steam it, and discard its little neck, and +make a chowder of its straps? This would call for the strictly +pioneering spirit, especially if, in the words of an early explorer, +these clamps were ofttimes "as big as ye penny white loafe." In fact, +the only Pilgrim who at all adequately celebrates the clam is Edward +Winslow. "Indeed," says he, "had we not been in a place where divers +sort of shell-fish are, that may be taken with the hand, we must have +perished, unless God had raised up some unknown or extraordinary means +for our preservation." And to-day, in certain spots along the Duxbury +coast, from the Gurnet to the Nook, you may still find the descendants +of those early sandgapers drawing down their necks at your approach, +lest peradventure you take them with the hand. + +Barbara and I explored Duxbury, not for clams, but for another sort of +oldest inhabitant, the trailing arbutus. We did not explain to Alexander +the object of our quiet trips to the woods, for it was the middle of +winter, and we felt that he might not sympathize with our simple-minded +quest. Of course, we did not expect to find flowers, but we thought that +we might find a root or two of mayflower from John Alden's land, to +transplant on our hill at home. We know that it does grow in Duxbury, +but we must have looked in all the wrong places. Like many other great +explorers, we found all sorts of things other than the thing we sought: +charming patches of checkerberry and mosses; blueberry bushes growing +where blueberries ought not to grow and arbutus ought; many pleasant +views of Captain Standish's tall monument on the Hill, but not one stiff +rusty leaf of a mayflower. Finally we decided to go to the present Mr. +John Alden and inquire. + +We hail from a part of the country where you would no sooner ask a +person to direct you to his patch of trailing arbutus than you would ask +him the combination of his safe. We therefore planned to word our +question discreetly. "Do you know," we planned to say to Mr. John Alden, +"whether any mayflower, or trailing arbutus, ever used to grow in +Duxbury?" + +That ought to give him a chance to tell us about contemporary +mayflowers, if he cared to, at the same time giving him plenty of leeway +if he preferred to dwell upon the past. + +We were putting the finishing touches on our speech as we went up the +path to the old John Alden house, when a great touring-car, with an +Indiana number, went rocking past us up the uneven lane, and stopped. + +"Can you tell us," said a gentleman, leaning out of the car and calling +back to us, "whether this house is open to visitors?" + +"We don't know," said I, "but we know that Mr. John Alden lives here." + +"I'll ask him," said the gentleman from Indiana; and he went to the +door. + +"He says it's open to-day," reported our new guide in a moment, helping +his family out of the car, and giving the youngest child a big jump up +into his arms. + +Barbara and I, abandoning trailing arbutus, merged ourselves with the +family group, and went in at the front door. + +The little hallway is papered with the kind of paper you sometimes see +in houses where "George Washington spent the night"--gray, with +landscapes. But, in addition to the landscapes in this paper, there are +slender pillars in groups, a design that makes you think of a miniature +Alma Tadema picture, all in gray. This wall-paper is, of course, not as +old as the house, but it is old-fashioned enough to be interesting. + +We threaded our way in single file around the door, into the hallway, +and our host invited us first to go upstairs. + +The stairs go straight up beside the great chimney, very steep and +narrow, each stair twice as tall as a modern stair and half as deep. At +the top, we went around the slope of the chimney and into the rooms +above. Here, in these low square rooms, with the supporting beams still +showing the marks of the broad-axe, and the wide boards of the floor +attesting the size of timber-growth in the early days, we found a +perfect paradise of old-time furniture stored away. We were allowed to +stop and prowl among the old possessions. None of the things used by +Priscilla are here, of course; these are the accumulations of +generations that followed her. + +[Illustration: John Alden's House, Duxbury, (1653)] + +In the corner by the chimney, we saw a small wooden cradle, with its +wooden roof sloping in three sections over the top. On the wall hung an +old lantern made to hold a candle, the kind of "lanthorn" that might +have been used by Moon in "A Midsummer Night's Dream." + +We were looking at the churn and the yarn-winder, when one of the ladies +called us to look at the strap-hinges on the door. These hinges, +handmade of iron, long and narrow and pennant-shaped, run out almost a +third of the way across the door. The iron latch, also hand-wrought, is +worn where the bar slips into the hasp, and the downward curve of the +lift of the latch is bent into a thin twisted shape. One of the doors, a +curious, three-paneled affair, is supposed to have been saved from a +former house of John Alden's. + +The present house, built in 1653, was the place where John Alden spent +his later years. Here he lived to the age of eighty-nine, holding +important offices in Plymouth Colony up to the time of his death. He was +one of the eight Purchasers who bought from the Merchant Adventurers +their interest in the colony, after the expiration of seven years' +copartnership. And in paying the required sum of eighteen hundred +pounds, he, with Myles Standish and the other "Undertakers," must have +been very busy managing the Plymouth trade, and "fraighting the White +Angell, Frindship and others" with saxafrass, clapboards, and beaver. +They were a busy brood, those old-comers; and John Alden, whom Bradford +called "a hopfull young man," fulfilled the promise of his youth. + +Ever since his death, his house has been lived in by Aldens. The present +John Alden is a Grand Army veteran, son of a veteran of the Civil War, +grandson of veterans of the Revolution, and grandfather of a veteran of +the World War. + +He led us downstairs, and out to the large room where they used to do +their fireplace cooking. The fireplace is closed now, but the spirit of +the house is still one of comfort and hospitable good cheer. From its +windows you cannot quite see the place where Myles Standish lived; it is +too far away. But it is pleasant to know that the Captain and John Alden +were near neighbors, and that one of Myles Standish's sons married one +of the daughters of Priscilla. All of Priscilla's eleven children turned +out well; many of them were later called to "act in publick stations;" +and the old house has been the homestead of her descendants all these +years. + +When we had signed our names in the big register, and turned to go, +Barbara said, "Do you know why the Aldens and Standishes left Plymouth +and came over here so far?" + +"Why, they came over to settle it," said Mr. John Alden kindly; "to open +it up." + +[Illustration: The Myles Standish Monument] + +As we went out down the lane, we turned to take one more look at John +Alden's land. There, in the middle foreground, we saw the artist, +sketching busily. + +"How did _you_ get here?" we asked in a breath. + +"In the car. How did _you_ get here?" + +"We walked," said Barbara with emphasis. + +"Like to go the rest of the way by stage?" inquired the artist affably, +hoisting his sketching kit over his shoulder and pointing to the car at +the foot of the lane. "I'm going over to the Standish house next." + +"Did you know," said Barbara dreamily to the artist, as she seated +herself in the car, "that the four most famous descendants of John Alden +and Priscilla were John Quincy Adams, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, +William Cullen Bryant, and Tom Thumb?" + +"Barbara," said the artist gravely, "did you make that up?" + +"No," said Barbara, clutching the seat as we went around the corner on +one wheel, "I looked it up." + +Country over which you have just been prowling on foot looks very +different when viewed from a car. The blackberry tangles and wild +rose-bushes, through which we had waded on our way to the woods, were +now simply part of the scenery. And the Myles Standish monument, which +had been our mariner's needle, one of the necessities of life, was now +only a forsaken watch-tower, with a solitary figure on top of it against +the sky. We went careening up the side-road to the Standish house, which +was built in 1666, not by the captain himself, but by one of his sons. + +It was closed. An old house, locked, with an open field around it and +the sea below; a perfect place for sketching, and the rising wind from +the sea. Barbara went softly up to the doorway and touched the rusty +latch. On one side of the doorstep was a lilac bush, and on the other a +wild birch. + +[Illustration: The Standish House, Duxbury, (1666)] + +This is probably the oldest of the gambrel-roofed houses on the harbor. +There is something very strong and homely about the pitch of the roof--a +balanced, firm old line, in splendid proportions with the huge chimney +and low walls. A weathered gambrel has a way of looking at home in the +fields, a sort of boulder-shape firmly settled. And the Standish house, +with its flat field-rock for a doorstep, looks like a very old settler +indeed. + +For a long time we sat on the doorstep and watched the outline of +Plymouth Town across the harbor, and the white gulls flying, and the +crows. The son of Standish of Standish knew where to pitch a house. + +Thoreau criticizes the Pilgrims for lacking the explorer's instinct. +They were not woodsmen, he says, nor, except spiritually, pioneers at +heart. He calls attention to the fact that it was long after the landing +before they explored the woods and ponds back of Plymouth, territory +"within the compass of an afternoon's ramble." "A party of emigrants to +California or Oregon," says he, "with no less work on their hands and +more hostile Indians, would do as much exploring the first afternoon, +and the Sieur de Champlain would have sought an interview with the +savages, and examined the country as far as the Connecticut, and made a +map of it, before Billington had climbed his tree." + +Well, the Sieur de Champlain had not with him such little travelers as +Oceanus Hopkins and Peregrine White. After the deaths of the first +winter, every one of the few grown men left in the colony was needed for +immediate affairs. They could not afford to go exploring overmuch. With +the exception of the madcap Billingtons and one boy Crackston, they ran +very little risk of losing themselves in the woods. They went, as much +as possible by sea, to Kennebeck, to Boston, to all parts of Cape Cod. +But as to wandering through the woods on foot, that was done only for +good and warrantable reasons, not to see what they could see. + +Yet even here we find a paradox. They were so thinned in numbers that +they had to be cautious, but in an emergency they knew how to be +perfectly reckless and perfectly adequate to the occasion. In March, +1623, when news came that their friend Massasoit was "like to die," they +knew that, if they were to be accounted loyal friends, they must follow +the Indian custom of paying a visit to the chief in his last days. +Therefore, Edward Winslow, with one Master John Hampden of London, and +the Indian Hobbomock for guide, set out on foot around across the Cape, +through what is now Eastham, to Mattapoisett, and thence to "Sowams," +now the town of Warren, Rhode Island, the home of Massasoit. In spite of +the protests of Hobbomock, part of the journey through the woods was +made after nightfall, so eager were they to arrive before "Massassowat" +died. And the accurate Winslow records and translates for us a sentence +in Massasoit's own language, the very words of the great friendly +sachem: "Matta neen wonckanet namen, Winsnow!" that is to say, 'O +Winslow, I shall never see thee again.' Winslow tells us how he revived +Massasoit by giving him a "confection of comfortable conserves on the +point of my knife," and by performing other helpful offices, "which he +took marvelous kindly"; and how he then set out on his homeward journey, +after learning from the convalescent Massasoit of the plans of other +tribes to destroy the paleface colony. On Winslow's return trip through +the woods, the Indians themselves, he says, "demanded further how we +durst, being but two, come so far into the country. I answered, where +was true love, there was no fear." + +They did explore. But their exploring was always for community purpose, +whether for "true love," or for parleys with the French and Dutch, or +for trade with Squanto's friends at Chatham, or for pasturage for their +"katle," or for fish. + +We do not know how La Salle and De Soto and the Sieur de Champlain would +have looked upon the woods around Plymouth and the Cape. They would +probably have thought of them as suburbs of the Mississippi. But as we +sit on the Standish doorstep and glance out toward Plymouth, with the +harbor between us and the Duxbury woods behind, we realize that the +first settlers here were quite completely cut off from the shelter of +that comely fort on Burial Hill. There was something very hardy and +permanent about their pioneering, though there was always a reasonable +explanation for the risks they undertook. There were no heroics about +it. Their chronicler says simply, "now they must of necessitie goe to +their great lots; they could not other wise keep their katle." They did +not come over out of restlessness, or for adventure, or primarily for +exploring the new continent, at all. Mr. John Alden spoke in the +authentic colonial spirit. They came over to settle it--to open it up. + + + +CHAPTER III + +WINSLOW'S "GREAT LOT" + +From John Alden's land, in early days, a footpath led out along the +shore, over Stony Brook, by Duck's Hill, to Careswell, the "great lot" +granted to Edward Winslow. The lot is now the town of Marshfield, made +famous by Daniel Webster and by generations of notable Winslows. + +The Pilgrim Winslow was Plymouth's favorite representative in foreign +affairs, whether in dealings with the Dutch, or with the Indians, or +with the English in London. His friendships were curiously varied and +fortunate; he was admired and trusted by such forceful men as Roger +Williams, Massasoit, and Oliver Cromwell--a vigorous trio. When he went +plying back and forth on his diplomatic voyages between Plymouth and +England, his duties varied from the responsibility of convoying twenty +hogsheads of beaver to the old country and bringing back three heifers +and a bull to the new, to defending the judicial policy of his friends +in Boston, and writing such sprightly tracts as "Hypocrisie Unmasked" +and "New England's Salamander Discovered." Oliver Cromwell appointed him +Commissioner to go to Hispaniola and Jamaica, and to confer at +Goldsmiths' Hall, London, on a question involving Denmark's seizure of +English ships after the treaty of peace. The Commissioners were given a +certain time to come to a decision; and if they could not agree by the +day appointed, they were to be "shut up in a chamber, without fire, +candles, meat, or drink, or any other refreshment, until they should +agree." Cromwell believed in international agreements speedily arrived +at. + +On Winslow's land to-day stands the Winslow house, built on the old +foundation by Isaac Winslow in 1699. This famous homestead, which a few +years ago was going to wrack and ruin through sheer old age, has been +restored as nearly as possible to its original state of comfort and +dignity by the Winslow Associates, furnished throughout with a rare +collection of antique furniture, and opened to the many visitors who +come that way on their route to Plymouth. As you wander through the +rooms, you find the place a perfect study in early building; every +detail has been carefully preserved, from the "spatter-painted beams" in +the kitchen and the old fire-back in the parlor, to the fine wood finish +of the "Parlor Bedroom." You gain a notion of the interesting way in +which the restoration was managed, when you learn that thirty-four coats +of paint had to be removed from the woodwork of the entrance hallway, +and that four fireplaces had to be taken out of the huge dining-room +fireplace to bring it back to its original condition. + +It is very fitting that this house, on the land of the most +internationally minded man of the early colony, should be cordial to +visitors now. Old houses make friends easily. They are like people who +have known our grandfathers--able on that account to make us feel at +home. And when an ancient house bears the name of one of the Pilgrim +Forefathers, it plays homestead to the whole United States. + +[Illustration: The Winslow House, Marshfield, (1699)] + +The Winslow mansion, with its great trees and its own broad hearths, has +not grown bleak in its old age, or even austere. There is an Indian word +preserved for us by Governor Winslow's friend, Roger Williams, that +might serve as a motto for this house. "_Nickquenum_" says Roger +Williams, "_I am going home_, is a solemn word with them; and no man +will offer any hinderance to him, who after some absence is going to +visit his family, and useth this word Nickquenum." As we go up the +flagstone pathway and lift the Marshfield knocker, we can easily imagine +that generations of famous Winslows, returning to their ancestral +estate, must have approached this house somewhat in the spirit of that +word used by their grandfather's friends the Indians: "Nickquenum, +Winsnow!" which is to say, "O Winslow--I am going home." + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE CAPE + +If you come from the Firelands in the Middle West, if you discover Cape +Cod, if you fall in love with a little empty ninety-five-year-old house +there and buy it, with its three acres of pines and locust trees and +arbutus and rose bushes--then you long to go to see it after the deed is +filed. It may be the dead of winter, but you want to go. You do not want +to be merely a "summer person." The sea is rocking with a February gale, +and the rain drives over the dunes in slanting gusts. But you go +cruising down the Cape in the evening train, disembark two or three +stations short of Provincetown, make your way up your lane, unlock your +door, light a fire in your stove, set a lamp in your window, and feel +that the house has been waiting there all its ninety-five years, for +you. + +If you are generous with your share of the world, you invite your +friends. + +In just this way, our friend from the West filed her deed, built her +fire with driftwood and pine cones, set her teakettle on the stove, and +sent for Barbara and me to come. + +We had known Cape Cod in summer, with its blueberries and its +sailing-craft, its wharves and artist-colonies and ocean breezes. But we +had never seen it in winter, with snow on the sand-dunes and the wind +flying over with sleet and rain. + +An old house with seafaring memories knows how to behave in a storm. At +high tide, our house sits up not so very far above the level of the sea. +A little Ark on a little Ararat, it was built nearly a century ago by +Jonah Atkins for Noah Smith; Noah and Jonah--surely names of men +equipped to go a voyage. The lumber for the house had to be brought by +ship from Maine, thrown overboard off shore, rafted up to the land in +time of high-course tide, spread out on the hill to dry, and then set +solidly together, and pegged. Jonah Atkins made his wooden pegs to stay. +The gale while we were there blew great ships far out of their course at +sea, but there was not a shiver in the timbers of our roof. + +We took the first stormy day to explore the house. To an inlander there +is something magical about discovering seafaring implements and deep-sea +fishing-gear of any kind about a house. You expect to find such things +on ships and wharves; but when you find them high and dry, stowed away +under rafters, they rouse your anchored spirit like a ship-ahoy. The +corners under our roof were as full of treasures as a ship-chandler's +loft: all sorts of stowaways that had been hidden for years in +out-of-the-way nooks; a clam-fork under the eaves, for instance, and a +net-shuttle on the sill. Up in the porch-attic, we found a wooden cradle +becalmed under the rafters, left there probably when the last little +Noah Smith grew too old to voyage in such small craft. Something +glittered in the shadows under the hood of the cradle, and Barbara +reached in to explore. She brought out a large globe of heavy glass--not +a fish-globe, with an opening, but a perfect sphere. We all ventured +guesses. It could not be a receptacle or lamp-accessory of any kind, for +there was no entrance or exit to it, except a tiny pin-hole clogged up, +at one point. Was it an ornament, or a toy, or a great lens of some +kind, or perhaps a globe used by some old-time crystal-gazer? We found +out later that it was a net-float--a glass buoy to bob on top of the +waves, holding up a corner of the net at sea. You find them sometimes on +the beach after a storm. An old glass net-float dry-docked under the +hood of a cradle--we put it back where we found it. + +One of our fence-posts was made of a piece of a mast, our clothes-horse +of teakwood washed ashore after the wreck of the Portland, our stool of +wreckage from the frigate Jason; and on the end of the string to which +our back-door key was fastened, there hung a large snail-shell, like a +seal on a fob. + +But the most nautical of our possessions was the carpet on the floor of +our kitchen; a carpet made of an old sail cut square and spread smoothly +and painted gray--an old sail with all the wind taken out of it, spread, +not this time for Java Head or Lisbon, but for our kitchen floor! + +"Now," said our hostess, calling us to the window, "perhaps you can +understand why they call this place The Point." + +We looked out. The whole ocean was crowding up the valley,--foam and +gulls and driftwood and all,--flooding the bed of the Pamet River. The +marsh-grass and the bottom-lands, which had been solid ground two hours +before, were the floor of the ocean now; the familiar winding channel of +the Pamet, with its fish-weirs, eel-traps, and boundaries all submerged. + +"Isn't this a sea-going promontory?" inquired our proud freeholder, as +we watched a sea-gull flap its way up against the rain, alight on the +water, and swim toward our territory over the gusty brine. "This, you +see, is high-course tide," our friend went on, with that double vanity +that comes from being the possessor of a new estate and a new +vocabulary. "But it never makes in beyond this Point. The Indians used +to have their wigwam here before the house was built." + +Barbara and I instantly adopted for our own permanent possession the +sea-going promontory, the gulls and the high tide sailing up around our +premises, and the house itself. + +[Illustration: "The Ark"] + +During our sojourn on the Cape, we learned just one thing that we can be +sure of: You should never make any general statement whatever about Cape +Cod. If you do, you will find your statement disproved by the next turn +of the tide, or turn of the road. You mention the fact that Bartholomew +Gosnold discovered it in 1602, naming it Cape Cod because there his boat +was so "pestered" with codfish. And a well-informed friend will set you +right by explaining how the Vikings discovered it some six hundred years +earlier. Or perhaps you are interested in weather-vanes. After +inspecting them on all the barns down the Cape, you say that all +weather-vanes here are codfish; some flat codfish, some solid, but all +cod. Instantly you look up and see a beautiful swordfish afloat over the +roof of your neighbor's barn. Perhaps you see Barnstable in midwinter, +with its marshlands and shores packed with cakes of ice, pink and +lavender in the sunset, with sea-gulls sitting upright on the edges, +like so many penguins on an Arctic floe. You decide that the Cape +harbors are full of ice. But if you inspect the harbor of Provincetown +on that same day, you are likely to find not a scrap of ice on the +premises. + +You might as well confine yourself to particulars, and avoid large +sayings of any sort. Thoreau is properly cautious about this. Even when +he speaks of so simple a matter as the rarity of dogs and cats on the +Atlantic side of the Cape, he guards his speech. "Still less," says he, +"could you think of a cat bending her steps that way and shaking her wet +foot over the Atlantic; _yet even this happens sometimes, they tell +me._" They told him the truth. A fine, enormous, distinguished-looking +white cat, sitting on your doorstep at the foot of the pilaster of your +doorway, is as common on some parts of the Cape as the pointed +Christmas-trees in green tubs on the doorsteps of old houses in certain +cities inland. Remarkable cats, brindle or yellow or tiger or snowball +or gray, they are loved while they live, lamented when they die. "If I +could look out of the window," said a little boy whose favorite cat had +died, "and see my Bobbie coming down the road, wouldn't I wun to let him +in?" The Cape Cod cats are not confined to doorsteps. They catch the +Cape Cod mice. And at least one elegant pure-white cat of our +acquaintance goes stepping down the Cape with her master, shaking her +wet foot over the Atlantic, perhaps, but waiting until it is time to go +back, and then escorting him home. + +Therefore, since it is so unsafe to generalize, we are resolved to make +no sweeping statements about the Cape Cod house. You cannot be too sure +even about your own. You discover this when you take its measurements +for curtains and wall-paper; no two apertures and no two surfaces are +alike. + +But, with due reservations, there is one sort of old house that was most +nearly standardized by the early builders: the low-studded, +story-and-a-half house, with its long gable roof, its many little +windows tucked up under the point of the gable, its front to the south, +its "West Entry" at one side, and its six-panel door, with a row of +little square glass panes above it---sometimes a row of four lights, +sometimes five. More rarely there is a fan-light over the door, curving +out to the pilasters at each side. + +All this varies a little, and most of the houses have been altered more +or less by subsequent generations. But whenever you come upon the +regulation, unspoiled Cape Cod house, there is a general plan that you +recognize at once. + +For example: the term "West Entry" is no idle phrase. West Entry means +west entry, regardless of your angle to the road. Your house faces the +south, and your side entry faces west, though the road may run at random +on a wild slant, and though your west entry open on the midst of the +sea. It does not matter whether you face the highway or not, does it? A +road is a perishable and human thing at best; but the points of the +compass mean business on the Cape. + +Our own house is a perfect illustration of the results of this theory: +if you should ever wish to reach our West Entry, you would have to +circumnavigate our Point, and scale an all-but-inaccessible bank to the +unused door. Because of this inconvenience of our "entry," we always +expect callers to come in at the door of our kitchen--our porch. For the +benefit of the uninstructed it may be well to say that when we speak of +our "porch" on our part of the Cape, we mean the same thing as an ell. +Our porch is an ell with an attic over it, a kitchen chimney, our stove, +and our pump and major equipment for the industries of the day. It opens +into the "winter kitchen," where they did their fireplace cooking years +ago, before there was a stove in the porch. + +The outside piazza arrangement, unroofed, we call our platform, or walk. +Ours is very neatly made of matched planks, with one part at the end +cleverly arranged to slide, so that you can draw out the planks a little +and get down into the manhole that incloses the pipes from pump to +drilled well. On cold winter nights, you let yourself down on the ladder +twelve feet underground, to turn off the water in the pump, if you are +afraid that the pipes are going to freeze. I shall never forget the +sensation of usefulness that filled my beating heart when I disappeared +down that hatchway one clear cold night and opened the little faucet far +below. When you go down that neat, perfectly smooth tube, with the +winter stars shining solemnly down on the top of your head, you feel +like a more slender Saint Nicholas making his way down a sootless +chimney. + +The Cape Cod cellar is also interesting to a newcomer. It is a small +circular dungeon-keep, solidly built of masonry, usually under the "east +room." You go into it down a short flight of steps on the outside of the +house, through a small entry which has the outer aspect of a tall +dog-kennel, and the inner aspect of a Dutch interior, perfectly +spotless. Some authorities say that the Cape cellars were made circular +to prevent the heavy sand from breaking through by undue pressure on any +one wall, as would happen in a four-cornered cellar. Others imagine that +seafaring men made their cellars circular on the principle of the +half-barrel in the sand. An old stone-mason says that they did it +because firm corners of field-rock are so hard to make. But when you +stand in these spick-and-span circles of solid masonry,--an interior +like the inside of a bowl,--you suspect that the tidy housewives planned +the rounded walls so as to leave no odd corners for spiders and cobwebs. + +There may be square cellars on the Cape, and there certainly are some +west entries that point the wrong way. But in general, when you enter a +Cape Cod "three-quarters" house, you go in through the porch-door, you +sit and visit in the winter kitchen, and you have your wedding in The +Room. Porch, winter kitchen, pantry, east bedroom, The Room, the west +bedroom near the west entry--it is a charming and compact arrangement +for a little house, with regard for space and views and corners. Unless +your "sight" from the windows is cut off by trees or hills, you have +views of ocean dawns and sunsets framed in delicate white moulding, and +seen through small square panes. The world outside appears like a series +of pictures seen through an artist's finder. If your house tops a dune +on the narrow part of the Cape, you may see the sails on the horizon of +the Atlantic on the east, and the sails on the horizon of the Bay on the +west; a clear view of the salt water straight across the Cape in both +directions. + +As you go down from Barnstable to Provincetown, in automobile or by +train, you notice that there are more windows than you expect to see in +the triangle under the slope of the roofs. Commonly, you see two large +windows in the middle of the upper half-story, and on each side of +these, under the slope of the roof, two much smaller windows in the +corners. Perhaps there is even a fifth window, sometimes triangular, +sometimes elongated, under the very peak of the roof. Thoreau was +mightily pleased with these. He said that it looked as if every member +of the family had punched a hole through the upper half-story, the +better to see the view--large windows for Father and Mother, small +windows for children, on the principle of large door for the cat and +small door for the kitten. The two large windows light the one square +room finished off under the peak of the roof. The other smaller windows +are to ventilate the "open chambers"--the slope-roofed spaces left on +either side of the finished room, under the rafters. In large families, +in the early days, some of the children had to sleep out in these open +chambers, under the slope of the roof. There is at least one noted man +of affairs in the United States to-day who affirms that there is one +rafter in the open chamber of a certain house on Cape Cod that has a +slight but clearly defined hollow worn in it, where he used to collide +with the roof when he got aboard his trundle-bed in the dark. + +[Illustration: Old Fish Wharf, Cape Cod] + +The Double House is different; the two-story house is different; the +steep-roofed house is different; and so are the houses built by summer +people. There are even a few houses made of old windmills, with three +stories: living-room on the ground floor, little bedroom on the second +floor, tiny bedroom up aloft, and a look-out that is almost level with +the windmill sails. + +But let us stick to our own experience. In our own house, and in those +of the neighbors around us, you see delicate white paneling around the +fireplace up to the ceiling; an antique china closet with its old +copper-lustre and sprigged ware; white wainscoting around the room up to +the level of the window-sills; exquisite moulding all around the windows +and doors; in short, it is the simplest little house in the world, in +plan, with unexpected beauty of detail. Braided mats on the floor, a +fire in the stove, and a breeze from the Azores scudding over our +roof--there certainly is good comfort even in dead of winter on the +Cape. + +We are glad that the Pilgrims were "joyfull" at the sight of "Cap-Codd." +They decided not to pause there, but to "stande for ye southward to +finde some place aboute Hudsons river for their habitation." But they +were turned back by the "deangerous shoulds and roring breakers," and +were thankful to bear up again along the Atlantic side of the Cape until +they got into harbor, "wher they ridd in safetie." + +In our intervals of fair weather, we visited the places where they +stopped: Chatham where they were turned back, Provincetown where they +waded ashore, Truro where they camped for the night and explored the +Pamet River, and Corn Hill where they found "diverce faire Indean +baskets filled with corne." All this country was as wintry as the +Pilgrims found it, with long streaks of snow caught in the beach-grass +on the tops of the camel-back dunes. From the crest of one dune, we +watched the sun dropping over the harbor until it rested on the water, +like a great luminous net-float drifting off to sea. + +[Illustration: The Pilgrim Monument, Provincetown] + +Provincetown we saw in a flying snow-squall, all the marine colors so +loved by the artists softened in the snowy light, even the strange blue +of a guineaboat by the fish-wharf. Hollyhock Lane was only a narrow +passageway of frosty stubble, and the seagulls winging over looked +ghostly against the pale sky. The wharves, the monument, the lighthouse, +and the sails in the harbor were blurred by the fine flakes that filled +the air. + +But the snow soon changed to rain, the squall turned into a northeast +wind, the wind rose to a gale, and Barbara and I decided to see the +Atlantic in a real storm. We went home first for rubber coats, and then +set off down the road to the ocean side of the Cape. The wind from the +Atlantic goes over the Pamet valley in one great rush of invisible +swiftness. As you lean forward against it, you feel that you must run to +hold your own. If we had been going the other way, we could have spread +our cloaks and gone flying home like witches, over the dunes. As it was, +beating our way against it, we had to stop in the lee of the bayberry +slopes to catch our breath. Ahead of us we saw only the wave-like crests +of the dunes, one after another, with their patches of ruddy wild +cranberry, and their streaks of sand and snow. And then, as we went +battling over the top of the last rise in the road, we saw between two +sand-dunes ahead of us a darker hill beyond, its peculiar heavy gray +coloring dull and threatening; its crest lay straight against the sky, +and all the snowy white streaks along it were in motion. It was the sea. + +We made for the top of the nearest dune ahead. It rose up steep as a +breaker itself, with a jagged edge at the top where the wind had scooped +out sharp hollows at the roots of the beach-grass. We each made straight +for one of these hollows, in one last determined dash up the sheer +slope. All this time, the noise of tumult had been growing louder and +louder, and when we reached the crest, there it was before us, the whole +Atlantic ocean rearing toward our frail strip of sandy shore. We had the +horrible impression that the whole roaring thing was one gray hill of +water, coming in. The breakers were plunging along from sky to shore +with no regard for order. You could not have watched for the ninth wave, +for they were breaking in masses, three great thunderheads at a time +crashing into each other from different directions and coming up the +beach with a shout, still struggling together in foam. Before they were +half-way in, another surge was almost on top of them, with a huge +white-horse breaker rearing at one side--everywhere one rush of +confusion and terrible tossing with white crests of spray. There was not +a sail in sight, or a human being, or an island, or a bird; only a world +of furious water and a ragged horizon of mist and trailing cloud as far +as we could see in three directions. + +It is hard to believe that the Mayflower came cruising over the Atlantic +through just such winds. "In sundrie of these stormes," says Bradford, +"the winds were so feirce & ye seas so high, as they could not beare a +knote of sail, but were forced to hull, for diverce days togither." When +we think how the sea can growl around an ocean-liner now, and then think +how the little Mayflower went hulling for diverce days in "mighty +storme," we wonder how it ever got here at all. And indeed, we are told +that at one time in mid-ocean, when the main beam of the little craft +buckled, there was nothing between the passengers and shipwreck except a +certain "great iron scrue ye passengers brought from Holland which would +raise ye beam to his place." They screwed up the scrue and calked the +deck; and though they knew that "with the working of ye ship they would +not long keep stanch," they hoped that she might weather the rest of the +voyage if they did not overpress her with sails. + +"So," remarks the Governor with fine simplicity, "they comited them +selves to ye will of God, & resolved to proseede." + +The whole story of that voyage has in it the vitality of the wind at +sea. It has also the nobility always found when the human will goes +somewhere and does something with the minimum of material equipment, +alone, against odds, for the sake of a true conviction. Materially, the +Pilgrims had the narrowest possible margin. A great iron screw to prop +their beam; a great iron purpose to prop their souls. + +We do well to hold in honor those who voyage alone through "crosse winds +and feirce stormes into desperat and inevitable perill," in the power of +a noble thought. We erect our monuments to those who, with +discouragement and danger and threatened shipwreck all around them, +valiantly prop up their beam, calk their decks, commit themselves to the +will of God--and "resolve to proseede." + +THE END + +McGrath-Sherrill Press Boston + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pilgrim Trails, by Frances Lester Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILGRIM TRAILS *** + +***** This file should be named 35136.txt or 35136.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/3/35136/ + +Produced by Steve Mattern + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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