The Pilgrims of New England: A Tale of the Early American SettlersWebb, J. B., Mrs. (Annie)
History
The Pilgrims of New England: A Tale of the Early American Settlers
Webb, J. B., Mrs. (Annie)
Pilgrims (New Plymouth Colony) -- Fiction
We will rot follow them, day by day, in their fatiguing journey; but
merely state that its length and difficulty exceeded even the
expectations of Edith and her companion; but never damped the
persevering courage of the former, or drew from her a complaint, or a
wish to return. She only felt that every step, however rough and
toilsome, carried her nearer to the object that was dearest to her on
earth; and this conviction supported her when otherwise her strength
must have failed.
Sometimes an Indian wigwam afforded her rest and shelter; but,
frequently, a bed of dry leaves, and a roof of boughs, were the best
lodging that Winslow and the Indians could provide for her and her
little infant. Happily the weather was calm and mild, and the season
sufficiently advanced to enable the Indians to find a quantity of
nutritious roots, which, with the meal, or nokake, that they carried
with them--or procured from the natives by the way--formed the chief
subsistence of the party. Occasionally, their fare was improved by a
wild turkey, or wood duck; or, perhaps, a squirrel or hare, that Winslow
brought down with his gun; but often the day's journey was performed
with no other refreshment than a few spoonsful of dry meal, and a
draught of cold water, until something more nourishing could be procured
at their place of repose for the right.
Roger Williams was standing one evening on the bank of the river, or
rather, arm of the sea, called Seacock, near the spot where he had
first landed, and to which he had given the name of 'What Cheer?' He
was examining the landing-place, and contriving some means of turning
it into a sort of harbor for canoes that belonged to the settlers in
his new village, when his attention was attracted to the other side of
the river, by hearing his own name loudly called by native voices. He
looked to the spot, and saw two Indians plunge into the water, and swim
rapidly towards him: and, as they did so, he also observed two other
figures emerge from a grove of trees that reached nearly to the eastern
brink of the inlet.
The distance was considerable, but Roger's keen eye could discern that
one of them was a female form; and, as they approached nearer to the
water's edge, and the rays of the evening sun fell brightly upon them,
he also saw that the arms of that graceful and familiar form carried an
infant.
‘Surely it is an illusion!' he exclaimed. I have so long pictured to
my mind that blessed sight, that at length my fancy seems realized. It
cannot be!'
But again his name was called--not now with an Indian accent, but in
the manly English tones of Edward Winslow 'Bring down a canoe, Roger!'
he shouted across the Water. 'Edith and your child cannot swim this,
arm of the sea.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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