“Once,” says Cotton Mather, “in preaching to a congregation there, one of the Pilgrims urged these settlers to approve themselves a _religious_ community, as otherwise they would contradict the main end of planting this wilderness; whereupon a well-known individual, then in the assembly, cried out, ‘Sir, you are mistaken; you think you are preaching to the people at Plymouth bay: our _main end_ was _to catch fish_.’”[399] The scoffers were soon to learn, under the bitter tuition of experience, that fish are a slippery foundation for a colony to build on—not so firm and sure as open Bibles and common schools. The loose morality and vicious courses of their mischievous neighbor-colonists caused the Pilgrims infinite trouble and unfeigned grief. And now, in the midst of their anxiety on this account, a report gave voice to the dangerous sickness of Massasoit;[400] it was said that the great sagamore, who had been their faithful friend, could not survive.[401] The Plymouth settlers were profoundly sad; they were also somewhat alarmed, for Corbitant, their former open foe, would, so they were told, clutch Massasoit’s sceptre and wear his mantle on the chieftain’s death.[402] The Pilgrims at once decided to send ambassadors to visit Massasoit, see if haply something might not be done for him, and, in case of his decease, to negotiate a new peace with the succeeding sachem.[403] For this service Winslow and Habbamak were selected; and a gentleman who had wintered in Plymouth, and who was desirous of seeing the Indians in their wigwam-homes, Mr. John Hampden,[404] was, at his urgent solicitation, permitted to bear them company.[405] They set out at once, but had not gone very deep into the forest ere some Indians, whom they met at a river-ford, told them that Massasoit was dead. The envoys were shocked; and Habbamak began to wail forth his chief’s death-song: “Oh, great sachem, Oh, great heart, with many have I been acquainted, but none ever equalled thee.” Then turning to his pale-face friend, he said, “Oh, Master Winslow, his like you will never see again. He was not like other Indians, false and bloody and implacable; but kind, easily appeased when angry, and reasonable in his requirements. He was a wise sachem, not ashamed to ask advice, governing better with mild, than other chiefs did with severe measures. I fear you have not now one faithful friend left in the wigwams of the red men.”[406] He would then break forth again in loud lamentations, “enough,” says Winslow, “to have made the hardest heart sob and wail.”[407]