On December 21, 1620, passengers who had been onboard the Mayflower for months could finally visit the future site of their colony. With a violent storm lashing the coastline, only a few determined souls took that chance. After years of praying and planning, they would wait no longer to see their new homesite.
The shallop’s sail struggled against the harbor winds, and the waves tossed them like driftwood. Once on land, it soon became clear that the squalls and angry waters would forbid them from going back to the ship. There was no choice; they were forced to endure through the night. A makeshift shelter would be crucial, but there was not enough time to construct one under the already darkened skies. This was the winter solstice – the darkest time of the year. A long, wet, and trembling night lay ahead for those who were brave enough to go ashore.
With hunger and illness crouching in every corner, the outlook for those who stayed on the ship was no better. On the day they had looked forward to for years, the coughing and crying was inescapable. And there was no sympathy from sailors who much preferred to haul wood and wine than a boatload of sickly immigrants.
As the storm battered outside the ship and sickness and stench filled the inside, one more passenger was lost. After five deaths already, Richard Britteridge was the first to slip away after they reached Plymouth Harbor, and the worst was yet to come.
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“God is our hope and strength, and help in troubles, ready to be found. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be moved, and though the mountains fall into the midst of the sea, though the waters thereof rage and be troubled, and the mountains shake at the surges of the same..”
(Psalms 46:1-3; 1599 Geneva Bible)
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