I was so thankful to get here. Now I am beginning to wish we
had never left Holland. I know Father had a hard life there, because
of his being English and a Separatist. But it couldn’t have
been as hard as this.
We arrived at the onset of winter. It is bitter cold here. Mister
Goodman — the one with the dogs — is deathly ill.
He was out cutting thatch and his dogs chased a wild deer into
the woods. He chased after them and got lost. He wandered into
camp after several days, his feet so swollen with frostbite we
had to cut his shoes off him. Others have died already, including
Mary’s parents. I cannot imagine how lost I would feel in
this strange place without Mother and Father. Every day I pray
they will not succumb to this growing sickness.
God has blessed us with a new home, after much searching. There
is a fair brook running under a high hill that Father says will
offer us protection. Until the men finish building houses, the
women and children continue to live on the ship. I never thought
I would still be aboard the Mayflower so long after we
arrived! I wanted to explore our new home and see Indians, but
that is out of the question now. The first Indians we saw attacked
us with arrows. The men turned them back with gunfire, but we
are on our guard now.
I do not mean to sound so gloomy, Aunt Constance, but I fear things could get worse. We are scraping the bottoms of our barrels for food now. We have some rice and peas and a few biscuits left. The men found a few bags of Indian corn buried on a hill. But there are no crops to speak of, and the men have had little luck hunting game.
