John Alden had been taken on as cooper from Southampton when the _Mayflower_ first sailed. It was not certain that the pilgrims could keep him with them. Already they had learned to value him, and many a glance was now exchanged that told the hope that sunny little Priscilla might help to hold the young man on this hard expedition. The crew of the _Mayflower_ pulled up her sails, but without the usual sailor songs. Silently they pulled, working in unison to the sharp words of command uttered by their officers, till every shred of canvas, under which they were to set forth under a favouring wind, was strained into place and set. On the shore was gathered a crowd gazing, wondering, at this departure. Some there were who were to have been of the company in the lesser ship, the _Speedwell_, which had been remanded from the voyage as unfit for it. These lingered to see the setting forth for the New World which was not to be their world, after all. There were many who gazed, pityingly, awe-struck, but bewildered by the spirit that led these severe-looking people away from England first, and then from Holland, to try their fortunes where no fortune promised. Others there were who laughed merrily over the absurdity of the quest, and these called all sorts of jests and quips to the pilgrims on the ship, inviting to a contest of wit which the pilgrims utterly disdained. And then the by-standers on wharf and sands of old Plymouth became silent, for, as the _Mayflower_ began to move out from her dock, there arose the solemn chant of a psalm. The air was wailing, lugubrious, unmusical, but the words were awesome. "When Israel went out from Egypt, from the land of a strange people," they were singing. "A strange people!" And these pilgrims were of English blood, and this was England which they were thus renouncing! What curious folk these were! But this psalm was followed by another: "The Lord is my shepherd." Ah, that was another matter! No one who heard them, however slight the sympathy felt for this unsympathetic band, but hoped that the Lord would shepherd them, "lead them beside still waters," for the sea might well be unquiet. "Oh, poor creatures, poor creatures," said a buxom woman, snuggling her baby's head into her deep shoulder, and wiping her own eyes with her apron. "I fain must pity 'em, that I must, though I'm none too lovin' myself toward their queer dourness. But I hope the Lord will shepherd 'em; sore will they need it, I'm thinkin', yonder where there's no shepherds nor flocks, but only wild men to cut them down like we do haw for the church, as they all thinks is wicked!" she mourned, motherly yearning toward the people going out the harbour like babes in the wood, into no one would dare say what awful fate. The pilgrims stood with their faces set toward England, with England tugging at their heart strings, as the strong southeasterly wind filled the _Mayflower's_ canvas and pulled at her shrouds.