American Dream Page 8

  A thrill of fear went through Sarah. “Don’t let him do it,” she begged John.

  “He won’t. He just wants to give Francis the scare of a lifetime,” John whispered.

  “Unhand my son, you miserable lout!” John Billington Sr. ran forward. “How dare you lay hands on an innocent child?” He faced Klaus. His fists were doubled, and his face was black with anger.

  At his words, the watching crowd broke into cries of protest.

  “Innocent, indeed!” a woman’s voice rang out. “That ‘innocent’ child of yours shot off a musket next to the barrels of gunpowder and nearly sent us to the bottom of the sea!”

  Billington’s jaw dropped. “Is this true?” he demanded.

  Francis, who still dangled like a puppet from Klaus’s strong hand, couldn’t say a word.

  “He did, Papa! He did!” Young John Billington danced up and down in glee and clapped his hands over his brother’s prank. “He made the gun go boom, and everyone came.”

  “Wait till I get my hands on you,” Billington threatened Francis. “As for you, John Billington, get out of my sight, you sniveling talebearer!” He began to curse.

  “That is quite enough of that language. There are ladies present,” John Alden sternly reminded Mr. Billington. A murmur of agreement went through the crowd, and pretty Priscilla Mullins sent the young cooper a grateful look that made his eyes sparkle.

  “Put the boy down, Klaus,” Captain Jones ordered. “Not but what we’d all like to throw him overboard. It’s what he deserves. Sir,” he said, turning to Mr. Billington, “Never in all my sailing have I had the misfortune to have two such troublemakers on board as your sons. From now on, they are not to be on deck or anywhere else without you. I am holding you accountable for any further trouble,” he added for good measure. “Is that clear?”

  “There will be no more trouble,” Mr. Billington promised. He made a grab for Francis, who managed to stay out of reach for a few moments. Mr. Billington soon caught his son. He carried the kicking, screaming boy below. Loud wails soon showed that the culprit was being punished for the latest of his sins.

  “It is only by the grace and mercy of God that we have been saved this day,” the Pilgrims said. They knelt on deck and thanked their heavenly Father for protecting them from an event that could so easily have ended in tragedy.

  Sarah felt as limp as if she had fought a long, hard battle.

  “My goodness,” she breathed to John after the crew returned to their duties and most of the passengers broke into little groups to discuss the latest near-disaster. “I would have thought even Francis Billington would know better than to do something like that.”

  “And he thinks the Indians are stupid!” John rolled his eyes. “You were so brave, trying to stop him.” Sarah felt proud of her big brother.

  Instead of answering, John hung his head. His face turned white.

  “John, are you sick?” Sarah asked, concern puckering her forehead.

  He shook his head. After a moment, he said hoarsely, “Sarah, if I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it to Father or Mother or anyone?”

  “Do I ever repeat things you ask me not to tell?” she indignantly asked.

  “No. You’re a good secret-keeper.” He cleared his throat. “It could have been me today instead of Francis.” “What do you mean?”

  “I long to shoot a musket,” John confessed. “Sometimes my fingers itch to take Father’s out and try it.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Only the fear of Father’s anger has kept me from doing so. Besides, we will need the powder when we get to America.”

  Fear worse than what she had felt when the musket had been fired so close to those barrels of gunpowder dried Sarah’s throat to a crisp. “Will we really, truly have to fight Indians?” she croaked.

  John looked around to make sure no one could hear what he said. “I am afraid so. It all depends. Some Indians are friendly. Some are not.”

  “God says it is wrong to kill,” Sarah whispered. Visions of terrible battles rose in her mind.

  “I know.” John stared out at the ocean. Sarah had the feeling he wasn’t seeing water but instead was looking at a strange and unfriendly land peopled with natives who wanted no strangers among them.

  He went on. “I know we must defend ourselves, but I don’t think I could kill anyone.” He brightened up. “Maybe if we trade with the Indians and treat them fairly, they will become our friends. Then we won’t have to fight at all.”

  “I pray that will happen,” Sarah softly told him. Her cold little hand touched his. “I don’t want you to ever have to fight Indians.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” John suggested. He got to his feet from where they’d been sitting on the deck. “We’ve had enough trouble for one day.”

  “All right.” Sarah stood. “I know. Let’s talk about the Hopkins family. I really like Constanta, Giles, and Damaris, don’t you?” She anxiously added, “I’m afraid Mistress Hopkins can’t wait until we reach America to have her new baby.”

  She laughed, and the joyous sound brought an answering smile to her brother’s lips. “Mistress Hopkins told Mother that her husband, Stephen, says if the baby should be a boy and born on the Mayflower, they will name him Oceanus. Isn’t that funny? Whoever heard of a baby named Oceanus?”

  John chuckled and walked faster. Sarah pattered along beside him. “What if it’s a girl?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sarah thought about it. “I suppose they could call her Oceana or maybe Atlanta for the sea. I still think they are funny names. Maybe they will change their minds.” She slowed her steps. “John, it’s been so hard on the women who are going to have babies. The storms, I mean. It’s bad enough when you’re feeling good, but Elizabeth Hopkins and Susanna White and Mary Collins must suffer so much more. They aren’t getting the proper food.”

  Her heart ached with sympathy for the courageous mothers who had taken the chance of having to give birth at sea. “I hope their babies will be all right.”

  “I do, too,” John mumbled. He scuffed his feet on the deck.

  Sarah suspected he was just as worried about the women as she was but wouldn’t say so.

  A few days later, long after everyone had been asleep one night, Sarah roused to hear Dr. Fuller say, “Abigail, I need your help. Elizabeth’s baby won’t wait any longer to be born.”

  Wide-eyed and anxious, Sarah waited and prayed during the long night hours, heart thumping with fear. Would Mistress Hopkins and her new baby be all right?

  CHAPTER 13

  A Sad Day at Sea

  Just before dawn, Sarah fell into a troubled sleep. In her dreams, it seemed she was back in Holland, running through the tulip fields with Gretchen. How bright and beautiful the flowers were: red and yellow, purple and white and pink. Thick green grass grew beneath a cloudless blue sky. Sarah’s heart sang. The long voyage on the Mayflower must have been only a nightmare. It was so wonderful to be surrounded with color after all the gray ocean and sky and air.

  The scene changed. “Hurry, Sarah,” John called. “The canals are frozen deeply. Father says we may skate.” The jingle of skates on his arm sang in her ears. She hastily put on heavy clothing, glad for the warmth. She had been cold for so long.

  Her dream again changed. A small group sat around a long table on the large main floor of their meetinghouse, the Green Gate. Great quantities of steaming hot food covered the table—enough for everyone to eat their fill and some left to carry home. Sarah’s mouth watered. Why had she never appreciated what she had? Pastor John Robinson offered a blessing for the meal.

  His wife, Bridget, and their three children sat next to him.

  “Come, daughter. We must go to America,” Father said. “Abigail. John. Come.” He rose from his place at the table.

  Sarah stared at him in horror. “America? Father, must we go? We haven’t eaten, and I am so hungry! The ocean is wide and stormy and cold.” She shivered and crossed her arms ov
er her chest. “Please let us stay long enough to eat.”

  “There is no food,” her father sadly told her.

  She turned her gaze from him to the table. The feast had vanished. All that remained were scraps of moldy bread and cheese. A bright-eyed mouse leaped to the table and began to nibble on the unappetizing food. Sarah’s stomach churned. She stood and backed away from the table.

  “Come, Sarah.” Mother gently shook her daughter’s shoulder. “There is good news.”

  Good news! How could there be anything good when she was so hungry and cold?

  “Sarah, open your eyes.” This time John spoke.

  She slowly obeyed. Father and Mother sat near her. John knelt beside her pallet on the damp floor. Understanding slowly dawned on her. Life on shipboard had not been the nightmare. She’d only dreamed of Holland with its tulips and skating, the feast that turned to crumbs. She was on the Mayflower and must have fallen asleep while praying for Elizabeth Hopkins.

  Fear washed away her disappointment. She sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Is Mistress Hopkins all right?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “Did the baby come? Is it well?”

  John interrupted her flow of questions. “That’s the good news,” he cried. “Mistress Hopkins and her brand new baby son are just fine!” Mischief danced in his eyes. He dropped his voice so others outside the family wouldn’t hear. “They did name him Oceanus.”

  Sarah giggled. “He will probably be the only person in the whole world who is named that. I’m glad they are all right.” A lump came to her throat. “I was afraid for them, so I prayed.”

  “As did we all,” Father told her. His kind eyes smiled. “There will be a great deal of celebrating today.”

  Father was right. The baby’s arrival renewed hope in the weary travelers with hungry stomachs and misery in their bones from the damp and cold.

  “Just as Jesus was born in troublesome times, so has this baby been sent to us,” Elder Brewster said. His thin, worn face glowed with happiness. “Oceanus Hopkins is a symbol of the new life we shall find in America. He will grow up in a land far from religious persecution. He shall be taught to worship God and read the Bible according to God’s commands, not man’s. No king shall dictate and demand obedience to what the child’s conscience says is wrong.”

  Brewster’s eyes glistened. Sarah felt mist rise to her own eyes. Her heart thrilled to the picture the elder painted.

  Elder Brewster continued. “This child shall be free of fear. Think of it!” His voice rang with the old fire. “Oceanus will never be haunted by shadows of the dungeon and gallows. Praise God, he shall be free, even as we, who fled from England then sailed from Holland, are free!”

  “Hurrah for Oceanus Hopkins!” John burst out, unable to keep still any longer.

  “Hurrah!” Many took up the cry. For the first time in weeks, the fire that had filled hearts and souls before the Pilgrims left Holland spread over the faces of the weary Pilgrims. They burst into a spontaneous song of praise, thanking God for bringing them this far and asking His help for the rest of the voyage.

  Yet just as the Mayflower itself went up and down with the force of the waves, so life on the ship had its ups and downs. One young sailor persecuted the Pilgrims. He never missed an opportunity to make fun of the sick people. He used as much bad language as possible, even in front of the women and children. Strong and conceited, he strode the deck, prancing over and around the sick and miserable Pilgrims.

  “Fine lot ye are,” he taunted. “Half of ye’ll never make it.” He grinned an evil grin. “Soon as yer bodies’re heaved into the sea, I’ll help meself to all ye brung with ye. I’d as soon throw half of ye in now.”

  When a few of the Pilgrims tried to reason with him, the sailor only bragged and blew, cursed and ridiculed them more. His ugly grinning face haunted the sick and made everyone feel worse. Only by the grace of God did the Pilgrims resist the temptation to throw their tormentor overboard.

  Sarah knew how hard it was for John to hold his tongue. “He is no Klaus, grouchy outside and caring in his heart,” she told her brother. “If you answer him back, that sailor might fling you into the sea.” She shuddered at the thought. “Promise me you will stay away from him.”

  “I promise.” John smiled at her. “I believe he’s nothing but a dirty-mouthed braggart, but I wouldn’t put it past him to carry out his threat—if he thought he could get away with it and hide what he did.”

  About halfway through the voyage, the sailor fell ill and died. William Bradford said, “Thus his curses light on his own head, and it is an astonishment to all his fellows for they note it to be the just hand of God upon him.”

  Other passengers agreed, and the superstitious crew wondered if such a fate might come to them if they persecuted the Pilgrims! The sailors kept as far away from the Pilgrims as possible for the rest of the journey, so the tired travelers didn’t have to put up with as many insults.

  “Do you really believe God made the sailor die because of what he did?” Sarah asked John. “What Mr. Bradford said makes me feel funny in here.” She put her hand over her heart. “All of us do bad things. That’s why Jesus came, so we could be forgiven for our sins. I don’t like to think the God we pray to would kill someone just for being mean.”

  “William Bradford didn’t say for sure that God killed the sailor,” John explained. “He just said the man brought curses on his own head and that the rest of the crew believed God made it happen.” He squirmed and admitted, “It makes me feel funny, too. Let’s go ask Father and Mother.”

  Father considered their questions carefully. “It is not for us to know God’s ways. Some see the tragedy as God’s punishment. Others say the sailor would have become sick anyway.” He looked deep into his children’s troubled eyes. “The important thing is to live every day in a way that is pleasing to our Master. That way, we will be ready to meet God when we die.”

  “You have to be sorry before your sins can be forgiven, don’t you, Father?” Sarah asked. She leaned her head against his shoulder and looked into his face. John stood nearby.

  “Yes, child.” His hand smoothed her tangled braids and rested on her head for a moment. Shadows darkened Father’s dark eyes.

  “Do you think perhaps when the sailor got sick, he was sorry and asked God to forgive him?” John put in.

  Father sadly shook his head. “I pray that he did. Sometimes people do call on God and ask for mercy just before they die. I fear the young sailor may not have been one of them, but only God knows for sure.”

  “I wish Klaus knew Jesus.” John sighed. “I’ve tried to tell him, but he just says a God as great as ours wouldn’t care about poor, miserable sailors.”

  To the children’s surprise, Mother laughed. Her whole face lit up. “Son, the next time you have the chance to speak of the Lord to Klaus, ask him if he’s ever heard of Peter, Andrew, James, and John.”

  “From the Bible?” Sarah wrinkled her forehead.

  “That’s it!” John shouted. “They were fishermen, too. Why didn’t I think of that?” He disgustedly flopped down on the floor beside Sarah. “Jesus loved those men like brothers. He called them away from their fishing nets and made them His disciples. Wait till I tell Klaus!”

  “Be careful that you don’t rush at your sailor friend, sounding as if you know everything and he knows nothing,” Father warned. “Pray for God to give you a chance to speak of His Son. In the meantime, Klaus will be watching to see if knowing Jesus has made any difference in your lives.”

  “How can we show that?” Sarah wanted to know.

  “Be honest. Stay out of trouble. Keep the Sabbath holy.” Father stopped to take a breath.

  John’s face turned red. He glanced at his sister, as if asking whether Father knew he had played games with John and Francis Billington in a corner on a recent Sabbath when there was nothing to do between the long meetings. Sarah shrugged. She certainly hadn’t told, but Father and Mother had a way of knowi
ng things without being told!

  “I know God rested on the seventh day,” John said. “But Jesus said if a man’s sheep falls into a pit on the Sabbath, there is no sin in getting it out.”

  “This is true.” Father’s eyes twinkled. “Remember this, though. If the sheep falls into the pit every Sabbath, you should either sell the sheep or fill up the pit!”

  Sarah and her family laughed at Father’s joke. A short while later, their laughter stopped. William Butten, a young manservant to Dr. Fuller, died. The passengers gathered on deck for a short service. Sarah huddled between her parents, with John on Father’s other side.

  This second burial at sea was far different than the first. Few people had mourned the loss of the sailor who had been an enemy of the Pilgrims. Most watched with dry eyes when the man’s body was committed to the watery depths. Now a pleasant young man’s dream of one day living in the New World had been cut short.

  Sarah took a deep breath and listened to Elder Brewster. “It is so sad,” she whispered to John after the service. “We don’t know if he has any family. William Bradford said he didn’t think so.” Her voice trembled.

  “I know.” John looked solemn. Sarah had the feeling he was remembering, as she did, what Father had told them about being ready to die by living right.

  The very next day, pieces of driftwood appeared on the water. Birds slowly circled above the ship. Captain Jones cautiously announced, “Smell the change in the air? Notice how the wind has lessened? We must be getting close to land!”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Land, Ho!”

  With the change in the weather, hope again returned to the travelers. All day Wednesday and Thursday the winds decreased. The ship inched forward. Weary passengers slept uneasily, waking now and then to wonder if the storms would come again. So many times when they thought the wind moved on, even worse gales had attacked the Mayflower. Would it happen once more?