They were made of sterner stuff than
that, and they put all their trust in God.
"May not and ought not the children of those fathers rightly say,"
writes William Bradford, who was their Governor for thirty-one years,
"our fathers were Englishmen which came over this great ocean and
were ready to perish in the wilderness? But they cried unto the
Lord and He heard their voice." The winter was an unusually severe
one. And so, having no homes to shelter them or comfort of any kind,
many of the Pilgrims died. Many more became seriously ill. Indeed
at one time there were not more than six or seven out of a hundred
and more who were well and able to work. And had it not been for
the wonderful devotion and loving kindness of these few the whole
colony might have perished miserably. But these few worked with a
will, felling trees, cooking meals, caring for the sick both day
and night.
The first winter the Pilgrim Fathers, it was said, "endured
a wonderful deal of misery with infinite patience." But at length
spring came, and with the coming of warmth and sunshine the sickness
disappeared. The sun seemed to put new life into every one. So
when in April the Mayflower, which had been in harbour all winter,
sailed homeward not one of the Pilgrims sailed with her.
The little white-winged ship was the last link with home. They had
but to step on board to be wafted back to the green hedgerows and
meadows gay with daisies and buttercups in dear old England.
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