To these were added two

appointed by common consent. of the seamen who had been employed to remain in the colony, and six of the Mayflower's officers and crew. Eighteen in all-ten of them, at least, heavily armed-embarked in the frail shallop, laden with as much provision as could be afforded for their voyage, to encounter the perils of that last and most unseasonable exploration. Should they be lost, all would be lost.1

Wednesday of another week-the fourth since the arrival at Cape Cod-had come (Dec. 6-16), before the final expedition could be sent forth, the weather on Tuesday having been "too foul." In their shallop, and under that "very cold and hard weather," they could not venture to sail directly across the bay toward the "navigable river and good harbor," which their pilot had undertaken to find, and beyond which their instructions forbade them to go. After clearing, with much difficulty, the sandy point behind which their ship was anchored, they sailed southward along the eastern shore of the bay, where they had smoother water. But so severe was the cold that their clothes, wet with the spray, were frozen, and became "like coats of iron." As night came on, they went on shore, built a slight defense, gathered firewood, posted their sentinels, and took what rest was possible under such conditions. The next day (Dec. 7=17) they divided their force, eight of them marching through the woods, while the shallop with the rest was creeping along the coast; and at night they encamped again as before. Long before dawn they "began to be stirring;" and, though they had been roused in the night by what they supposed to be a pack of wolves howling around their camp, and repulsed by firing a couple of muskets, they suspected no danger. "After prayer," while they were preparing, in the twilight, for breakfast and for their journey, they were alarmed by "a great and strange cry," and a shower of Indian arrows.

A

The story of these expeditions is given by Bradford, p. 80-88, and by Bradford and Winslow, in Young, p. 117-162.

short engagement followed-the shooting of arrows on one side and of bullets on the other; but the Indians fled as soon as one of them, who seemed to be their leader, had been wounded. The victors, after pursuing the enemy far enough to show that they were "not afraid nor any way discouraged, gave solemn thanks to God for their deliverance," and gathered up a bundle of arrows that might help to show in England what manner of entering in they had among the wild natives.

Such was the beginning of their third day on this expedition. It was almost the shortest day of the year (Dec. 8=18), and the hours of light were precious. With a wind which favored them at first, they ran westward along the curving shore, then turning northward, and finding no place that seemed to invite their attention, they hastened toward the harbor of which Coppin had told them. After an hour or two of sailing, that northeast wind brought rain and snow, and later in the day it grew violent. The shore, trending northward, had become a lee shore, and "the seas began to be very rough." In that storm their rudder broke, and two men with oars were hardly able to steer the crippled boat. "Be of good cheer," said the pilot, "I see the harbor." The storm was increasing; night was coming on; they raised all the sail they could carry, rowing at the same time for their lives, "to get in while they could see." Just then, the darkness every moment thickening, their mast was splintered in the gale, and the sail fell overboard. "Yet, by God's mercy, they recovered themselves;" and the floodtide, coming in from the east, carried them into the harbor. But they were not yet safe. "The Lord be merciful to us!" cried the pilot, Coppin; "my eyes never saw this place before." They had doubled the point now called Gurnet Head, and were in a cove full of breakers, the white foam just visible in that fading light. Coppin and Clark (the two master's mates of the Mayflower) would have run the boat ashore, when a stout sailor, one of the steersmen, shouted to

the rowers, "About with her! or we are cast away," and she was saved from the breakers. Peering through the darkness, "he bade them be of good cheer and row lustily, for there was a fair sound before them, and he doubted not they would find a place where they might ride in safety." He was right. The rowers did their part, and, in the darkness and the pouring rain, they found themselves "under the lee of a small island," in smooth water, where there was "sandy ground." There they waited for the morning. Some of them, remembering how that day begun, would have remained in the boat, deeming it better to brave the elements than to stumble upon a nest of savages. Others were so exhausted with fatigue and cold that they ventured ashore, and having succeeded in kindling a fire, they were followed by the rest; "for after midnight the wind shifted to the northwest, and it froze hard."

A day full of labor and peril had ended in a night without rest. "Yet God gave them a morning of comfort and refreshing; . . . for the next day [Dec. 9=19] was a fair sunshining day, and they found themselves to be on an island secure from the Indians, where they might dry their stuff, fix their pieces, and rest themselves; and [they] gave God thanks for his mercies in their manifold deliverances." That was

the last day of the week, and by recruiting their strength, drying their clothes and equipments, and refitting their firearms, "they prepared there to keep the Sabbath." Precious as time was to them and to their companions at Cape Cod, they were sure that no time would be gained, even in that emergency, by not keeping religiously the day of holy rest. (Dec. 10-20).

On Monday, they first sounded the harbor, and were satisfied with its capabilities (Dec. 11-21). Then they "marched also into the land, and found divers corn-fields, a place very good for situation." At least, it was the best they could find; and the season, and their present necessity, made them glad to accept it. So they returned to their ship again