THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST
CHRISTMAS

THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST
CHRISTMAS

BY
JOSEPHINE PITTMAN SCRIBNER

THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO

COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY LUTHER H. CARY

THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A

∵

IT was a bleak December day in the year 1620. All day long, the Mayflower struggled along the coast amidst the rain and snow, her rudder broken, her masts split in three pieces, and heavy seas dashing over her bow. The men had been called to man the oars and all were filled with anxiety and grief and apprehension of unknown perils to be faced. It was as if the Almighty would try them, as he tried Abraham. What could now sustain them but the spirit of God and his grace? If they looked behind them there was the mighty ocean, which they had passed and [8] which was now as a main bar and gulf to separate them from all the civil parts of the world. If they looked forward, what could feed their hopes; what could they see but the weather-beaten face of the wilderness, the summer gone and the whole country full of wild beasts and wild men? And what multitudes there might be of them, they knew not. Locked in the airless cabins, with the hatches battened down, were the women and children. Twenty little children to amuse and keep quiet, while mother hearts were heavy with fear and terror. Moving among them was an English maid, divinely fair in her beauty. No need for her to paint her cheeks of damask and rose. In her strength and beauty she was as an angel of light to the homesick [9] Pilgrim women. The day had been long and dreary to Mary Chilton. All night she had dreamed and all day she had thought of dear and mighty England; of the lanes and the fields and the songs of the birds, the faces of the neighbors going about, and the church at the end of the village street with the ivy on the tower. The tears started to her eyes. She turned away to hide them; but they did not escape the notice of John Winslow, who was bending over the oars. His brave Mary! He set his face firmly. Surely she must not falter now; she, who, in her own splendid health had nursed the sick, amused the children, restless at the prolonged confinement, kept the Billington boy from serious mischief, a task at which strong men quailed, [10] and instilled courage and hope in the hearts of the weak. Even as he watched her, her tears vanished and her smile beamed down on the Billington boy, who spoke to her.

“Tell me, Mistress Mary, what am I going to find in my shoe on Santa Claus morning?”

She shook her head gaily—“Ah, that is a secret we must wait to find out upon the blessed Christmas morning.”

“It will not be hay, will it?”

“No,—only naughty boys get hay in their shoes, on St. Nicholas day, and you’ve promised me, Francis, you know, to keep out of mischief.”

“But will there be something?” he insisted.

“I cannot promise, Francis; we must hope and wait.”

[11] Between the beat of the oars, John Winslow called out softly, “Mary!”

She moved nearer him. “What ails you? Are you sad?”

“My heart is sore, John. I know it is wrong. I love my people and my religion is dear to me, but I wish I were back in England! Just think, John, it is the blessed Christmas week. They are making merry, all over England, in holly-decked halls, with great fires roaring up the chimneys. Feasts are being prepared and families are drawing together in love and communion. And look at our position; tossed on a strange coast, with no harbor to enter, no friends to welcome us, no inns to entertain us and refresh our weather-beaten bodies, no place to seek for succor.”

“Anon,” said John, “but Robert [12] Coppin, our pilot, bids us be of good cheer, that there is sure to be a creek or river to enter and escape this angry sea. And, Mary, I pray you do not plague your heart about that young scapegrace Billington. I cannot comprehend how such a profane wretch as his father came to be shuffled in with the company of Pilgrims. He was not of the Leyden church, ’tis sure. And that boy, it is providential that the whole ship was not blown up when he fired that fowling-piece almost within four feet of the gunpowder barrel.”

Mary shook her head. “He did not know the danger. He has been cooped up and it is hard to keep so many little boys out of mischief. With such a father, I grieve for him; and for all these little children on [13] board, that any joy should be cut out of their lives.”

“I pray you, Mary, go to your rest, and I promise you, on my honor, that the morning light will bring comfort and joy. Already the sea is abating and Robert Coppin, our pilot, says all will be well. Your example has been a star of hope. Do not yield to despondency now.”

“I will not, John. It was the storm and thinking of Christmas at home. And you, John, promise me that when you go ashore I may go too. I am like the young man in the Bible; I want to go out to see what I can see. Goodnight until to-morrow and may the Lord keep you.”

When the morning broke bright and clear, the Mayflower lay inside [14] a good harbor wherein a hundred sail of ships might anchor.

To the weary Pilgrims the first view of their new home was delightful. All around were the “trees of the Lord,” the mighty cedars, down to the very edge of the waters. There were oaks, pines, junipers, sassafras, and other sweet woods they knew not; so the first odors that greeted them were not from burning hearth fires but the balsamic odors of the forest.

When the shallop was made ready, sixteen armed men, some of the women with the linen and clothing to wash on shore, Mary Chilton and John Winslow, entered it and, it being flood-tide, made a safe landing on the shallow beach.

Mary Chilton stepped from the [15] little shallop on to a large boulder, and the history of women in America, and the fame of Plymouth Rock, began with her.

“The others are so busy with their linens,” she whispered to John, “they have not noticed that I am the first woman to step foot on the new land.”

“And you are the first woman to step into the kingdom of my heart,” said John, softly. And thus, under the fragrant boughs of the pines, their troth was plighted.

The other women exclaimed over the fresh pure water which they found and the excellent clay which washed like soap. It had not been possible to wash on board ship and it can be imagined they had plenty to do on this first American “Washday Monday.”

[16] Mary and John walked down the dim aisles of the forest. They found many pure little brooks and drank the fresh water with delight. They built a fire to signal to the Mayflower that all was right. Mary ran from one tree to another, recognizing them as old friends. “Look, John, it is holly, like our own and yet not like it; and cedar and, oh, John, here is the ground-pine, our own ground-pine, trailing its garlands over the ground! And walnut trees, full of nuts, and great store of strawberry and grape vines.” Mary’s face glowed with a sudden thought. “John, we will celebrate Christmas, here in this new land! It is true we have no stately halls to deck with greenery, no great chimneys for the roaring fires, no old bells to ring out the glad [17] tidings on the Holy morning, but we can trim the cabin of the Mayflower with holly and cedar. Look, here is wood. We can have a sparkling fire on the hearth-box. We will have carols, for you know that we Pilgrims can sing, John. And we can have the communion of friends, and we can show our love like Christians indeed, one to another.”

But John shook his head gravely. “No, Mary, there will be those who will protest and mutter against the observance of the pagan festival. It savors of Rome, and you know well that we have set our faces against anything that is used in Popery. These are the things from which we have fled.”

“Do not be so strait-laced, John. Are we not required to keep in pious [18] memory such holy days as the Birth, Death, and Resurrection? It is meet that we should commemorate our landing upon these shores. Do you know, John, that I am deeply moved by the thought that all these first days here are holy days. Although the glory and the sunlight is hidden from us by distress, privation, and sickness, yet I prophesy that long, long years from now, when our graves are leveled and all has vanished, men will stand with bared heads upon this sacred spot. What we do now will all be noted. Let it not be said that we forgot the examples of oppression and intolerance which have always been before us: forgot the bitter lessons we have learned and failed to be kind and charitable and yielding in little and indifferent things.”

[19] “Those are old thoughts for such a young head, Mary, and in some way you twist the words to suit yourself, but go to our dear and loving friend, Elder Brewster, and see if he deems it fitting.”

“He is so affectionate and tender-hearted,” said Mary, “that I am sure he will wish to take part in our joys as he has partaken of our distresses.”

“I know what I would do if I were he,” said John, smiling down at her happy face, “I would let you do it.”

But John must not shirk the burden of the work, which was to procure firewood and water for use on the ship, and when the little shallop returned to the Mayflower it was laden with casks of fresh water, boughs of cedar and juniper wood, [20] garlands of ground-pine, walnuts, a great store, branches of the red holly berries, and the waxen sprays of the bayberries. And Mary Chilton kept her plan in her heart. Upon the counsel of Elder Brewster she went straightway to Master Jones, the Captain of the ship, and unfolded it to him.

The Captain was a rough sea-dog, but capable of goodly feeling and kindly impulses. He was fair-minded and friendly and listened to her with respectful attention, and when she had done, promised to lend his aid to make their first Christmas in the new land as nearly like an English holiday as their means and circumstances would permit.

On the 25th of December the little company assembled at night, in the [21] cabin of the Mayflower. Garlands of ground-pine decked the walls and holly boughs graced the posts. The cedar wood burning on the sand hearth smelled very sweet and strong.

They kneeled and gave thanks to God for the completion of their perilous journey.

Then Elder Brewster said: “Friends, we are far from home, with unknown dangers facing us, but let us forget, this night, all that may be in store for us and remember that the whole civil world is celebrating the birth of Christ. Let it be understood that in no way are we departing from the principles for which we suffered in England, fled to Holland, crossed the ocean, and landed here in this distant, savage, and even dangerous land. God has not revealed [22] His whole will to us, but He has made to burn within us a desire for English laws, English manners, and an English home and education for our children. It is no priestly rite which we are celebrating here, it is the manifestation of the ‘Pilgrim spirit,’ this gathering together, in one, as the children of God, into Christ’s own liberty. It is the season of peace and good-will, when disaffections are forgotten and friendships are cemented more closely, and all people, as the wise men of old, come bearing gifts. The first Christmas gift, which is ours from this new land, is this,” and he held aloft in his hand a goblet of sparkling water, fresh and clear and pure. “This comes from a sweet brook that runs under a hillside and many delicate springs, and [23] is as good water as can be drunk.” He pointed silently to the water-casks.

The famished thirsty ones, who for an hundred days had not tasted any but stored water, crowded around the casks and drank their first New England water with as much delight as ever they drank drink in their lives.

Then Elder Brewster pointed to a large basket of corn or maize, some red, some yellow, and some marked with blue, a goodly sight. “This, my friends, is a gift of Providence, without which I do not know what we would do. We will not eat it but will guard it as precious seed with which to make the plantation.”

They could not admire it enough, never having seen anything like it [24] except in the museum at Leyden. Scant as their food had been and still bid fair to be for a space, they all agreed that this seed was a gift of God and must be guarded as such.

Elder Brewster went on: “To-day no man has rested. Some have felled timber, some have sawed, some rived and some carried, but all have worked without ceasing to lay the foundations of our first homes in this wilderness. We receive them reverently, these free homes, and promise to guard their hallowed walls within which our children may first learn to love their country and their God.

“And the great gift, my friends, the gift that is more than wealth, is the freedom to worship God after our own wills, to plant the first colony [25] for the glory of God and the advancement of the Christian faith. God not only sifted three kingdoms to get the seed for this enterprise, but sifted that seed over again. Every person whom He would not have go at this time to plant the first colony of England, He sent back, even from mid-ocean, in the Speedwell.

“It is given us to establish the principles of self-government and freedom of worship and to deepen and expand the faith. And now, friends, thanks to our hunters, we have a feast prepared of roast goose and fowls, which will make a pleasant change from the dried neat’s tongue and Holland cheese and biscuits of the ship’s diet. We had like to have some deer,”—and here he smiled knowingly. “The men saw some [26] and shot at them but missed them. Thomas Bradford said that one buck over the shoulder was worth three in the bush.”

There was a shout of laughter at the discomfited hunters and then they bowed their heads to say grace and then fell to with many expressions of good-will. It was sweet and comfortable to see such lively and true expressions of dear and unfeigned love.

While they were feasting, Mary Chilton slipped away. Down in a lowly bed lay a mother and a young babe, even as that other mother of old; low and mean and poor the surroundings, but holding the hope, almost divine, of a people.

Mary bent over the brooding mother and in her face was an adoration not of earth but of heaven.

[27] “Susanna, are you asleep?” she said softly.

“No,” said the mother; “I but lie here, wondering what this new land has to give my babe. I am heart-sick with fear.”

Mary put a sprig of bayberries in her slender hand and replied, “Rather, Susanna, ask what your babe will give to the new land. He will give his strength and his faith and his youth. Give him to me a moment.”

And she bore him up to the company.

“Friends,” she said, “I bring to you another Christmas gift. I bring to you a new citizen, born in the land of the free with no heritage of oppression and cruelty.”

“A citizen! A citizen! It is an omen!” they cried, and little Peregrine [28] White was handed around and admired while the Pilgrims sang, with lusty voices, the good old English carol, “Unto us a child is born.”

Susanna White, lying there in her lowly bed, heard and marveled and was content.

But the greatest gift of all is the mighty nation that has sprung from their loins. They have multiplied as [30] the stars of the heavens and as the sand which is on the seashore.

As the children of peace, they have received peace, and the divine blessing rests upon them.