Title: The Pilgrims' First Christmas
Author: Scribner, Josephine Pittman
Language: English
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CHRISTMAS ***



THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS

[Illustration]


[Illustration]



  THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST
  CHRISTMAS

  BY

  JOSEPHINE PITTMAN SCRIBNER

  [Illustration]

  THE PILGRIM PRESS
  BOSTON  NEW YORK  CHICAGO



  COPYRIGHT, 1913
  BY LUTHER H. CARY

  THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
  NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A



THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS



THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS

[Illustration]


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 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 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, 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.”

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 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 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 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 little shallop on to a large boulder,
and the history of women in America, and the fame of Plymouth Rock,
began with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“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, 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 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 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 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
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 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
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.

“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 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.



And so the gifts were passed, that first Christmas in 1620. They
reveled in things of the soul rather than the body. They counted their
tale of gifts and they were good. The clear, sparkling water; the seed
corn, precious as jewels; the beginning of the free, fair homes; the
new citizen, the little pilgrim; and the great gift of self-government
and the freedom to worship according to the dictates of their
consciences and to deepen and expand the living faith.

But the greatest gift of all is the mighty nation that has sprung from
their loins. They have multiplied as 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.



TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.



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