December 22, 1620

I wake up suddenly and begin to write. I love writing. There aren’t many things that make me joyful anymore. It makes me feel as if I am escaping this world of despair, and just for a tiny second I don’t have to worry about my problems. My problems, where do I start? First off, I was dragged to a foreign wasteland by my parents. No, we couldn’t just stay in Holland. We had to travel all the way over here because they said I was becoming too Dutch, whatever that means. Secondly, my parents are Separatists so we had to leave the Church of England because of how “corrupt” it was becoming. Anyways, now we are here just because we can’t agree with what the Church of England says. I hope that religious freedom matters that much to them to drag the whole family over to the New World.

An unknown world surrounds me and there is no turning back. It’s only been about a day since we arrived at Plymouth, but it has felt much longer. My father and some men went ashore yesterday to survey the land. It looks like we are finally going to be able to settle in. They’re telling us that the boat will be our shelter until houses are built ashore. Well let’s just say it might take a while until then. We are in the middle of a very harsh winter. I am freezing cold. People are becoming very sick because of the lack of supplies. The exposure to bitter temperatures are causing much illness. Nobody has died yet, but that is probably soon to change.

December 28, 1620

My feet are numb as I stand up from the edge of my bed. It is cold. Many of the elderly people on board are becoming very weak, due to the extreme cold, and lack of food. Only several of us are well enough to care for them. The younger boys, Joseph and Solomon, and I are taking care of their needs and trying to help these bed-ridden passengers. My father and some twenty men, went ashore to continue building shelters for us. We are desperately in need of some shelter, more than just the ship we are on. The plan is that some of the men, will go and build shelters, while some guard. The women and children will be confined to the ship until later notice.

It has been really tough the last couple of days. Richard Britteridge, my father’s friend, died from scours and we had to bury him ashore. It was very difficult for my father to do such a thing, but who else would have done it? Things are beginning to move in a positive direction, at least I hope that continues. I don’t know how much more physical and emotional stress anyone can take.

We had an evening of prayer for all those who are not well on board. We fasted and worshipped God for all that he has done for us. Well for me, it wasn’t that big of a deal to fast as it felt like I had been fasting for weeks now. And worshipping God for all that he had “done” for us, I have to admit was really hard for me. I know I should agree with the will of God as my parents have taught me to do. But why would He let this happen to people that loved Him? We as religious people had a vigilant prayer for God to have mercy on us.

February 14, 1621

I am writing by candlelight. This is the only time I can have some peace and quiet, and not have to hear the moans and cries of agony from the people around me dying of scours, scurvy, and the cold. The situation continues to worsen, people are dying in multitudes, and there really isn’t anything we can do about it. Mother and I play cards and read, just to try and pass the time and get our minds off what reality is for us.

About a month ago, the roof of the first structure we built caught on fire and was destroyed. The same shelter caught on fire again this morning, but it was put out quick enough that no harm was done to the building, or anyone for that matter. I almost forgot! We did spot some Native people, some days ago. Father says that they acted quite queer. At that moment, we didn’t want to force the issue, so we are keeping our distance until more information is discovered.

March 16, 1621

I am one of them, one of the forty-five survivors out of over one hundred passengers. I was only ill for a short while, but I recovered. I guess my age, and God’s will had to do with my survival. Despite this, I wouldn’t consider myself fortunate. It was my birthday yesterday, but I couldn’t celebrate it. I had to bury my dad. He passed about six o’clock in the morning on the fifteenth. He was so close to making it out of the harsh winter, but he had no energy to fight back. I couldn’t do anything but just watch him die. Mother says that it was the will of God. How could she say that? Father was one of the only well people for a while, but he got really sick about a week ago. He began to bleed from the gums. I guess you could call me fortunate?

I don’t have much time to process what happened. I have to move on, and try to make a better life for my mother and sister. We encountered a Native today, and we were shocked to realize that he could speak English. He told us that his name was Samoset, and that he had learned English from an English fisherman when he had been working for him. He was very kind, and tried to help us learn what crops will grow the best in the climate here. He explained that he would do anything to try and help us as much as possible. Over the next coming weeks, we are going to begin planting some corn, so we can provide ourselves with a steady food supply. He also donated some supplies for us to use in the immediate future.

September 24, 1621

We held a feast today, for our bountiful harvest. We gave thanks to God, for giving us provision through all the struggles we faced. Even though we lost some people along the way, we can be joyful in what God provided for us. I am very thankful. I wasn’t sure about leaving and coming here, but I realized that my parent’s God, should also be my God. I understood that even though some things don’t turn out the way we want them to, He has a better overall plan for our lives.

I have the utmost respect for what the Indians gave us, and how they provided for our needs. They were a gift straight from God. They helped us when he had no one, they gave when we had nothing, and served when we disrupted their community. I believe I have become a better and stronger person through the situations I have faced. I also think that my father would be very proud of me.

I don’t think I would go back “home” if I could. I feel at home right here. If that same question was asked six months ago, I think my answer would have been different. Today is a day to remember, as we give thanks for all God has done and will do. I think today has been one of the better days I have had in a long time.