But the condition of the colonists was for the most part pitiful, and food was so scarce that shell-fish served for meat and acorns for bread. Winthrop had foreseen this and had engaged Captain William Pierce, of the ship Lion, to go in all haste to the nearest port in Ireland for provisions. Food-stuffs were nearly as scarce there as in America, and Pierce was forced to go on to London, where he was again delayed. A fast was appointed throughout the settlements for February 22, 1631, to implore divine succor. On the 21st, as Winthrop "was distributing the last handful of meal in the barrel unto a poor man distressed by the wolf at the door, at that instant they spied a ship arrived at the harbour's mouth, laden with provisions for them all." The ship was the Lion, and the fast day was changed into a day of feasting and thanksgiving. THE FIRST THANKSGIVING [February 22, 1631] It was Captain Pierce of the Lion who strode the streets of London, Who stalked the streets in the blear of morn and growled in his grisly beard; _By Neptune!_ quoth this grim sea-dog, _I fear that my master's undone! 'Tis a bitter thing if all for naught through the drench of the deep I've steered_! He had come from out of the ultimate West through the spinning drift and the smother, Come for a guerdon of golden grain for a hungry land afar; And he thought of many a wasting maid, and of many a sad-eyed mother, And how their gaze would turn and turn for a sail at the harbor bar. But famine lay on the English isle, and grain was a hoarded treasure, So ruddy the coin must gleam to loose the lock of the store-house door; And under his breath the Captain groaned because of his meagre measure, And the grasping souls of those that held the keys to the precious store. But he flung a laugh and a fleer at doubt, and braving the roaring city He faced them out--those moiling men whose greed had grown to a curse-- Till at last he found in the strenuous press a heart that was moved to pity, And he gave the Governor's bond and word for what he lacked in his purse. So the Lion put her prow to the West in the wild and windy weather, Her sails all set, though her decks were wet with the driving scud and the foam; Never an hour would the Captain hold his staunch little craft in tether, For the haunting thought of hungry eyes was the lure that called him home. Sooth, in the streets of Boston-town was the heavy sound of sorrow, For an iron frost had bound the wold, and the sky hung bleak and dread; Despair sat dark on the face of him who dared to think of the morrow, When not a crust could the goodwife give if the children moaned for bread.