T A PLYMOUTH PILGRIMAGE. By Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz. HE Old and the New, divided, united, commingled, contrasted, surely no other spot has power to so inthrall and perplex the stranger. He lingers among the relics which give sacredness to Pilgrim Hall, studies the quaint costumes of its pictured forms, imbibes the spirit of the place, then walks forth in reverential mood to face but the usual display of modern gimcracks in store windows, and the heaped-up and running-over abundance of modern groceries. Revered Pilgrim names salute his ear, but their owners, not anciently apparelled, ride in electric cars. He has read of the simple and united faith of the forefathers, of all they suffered for its sake, and the most conspicuous object which greets him on stepping from the train is a Roman Catholic church. Near by stands the Episcopal church, while on Sundays congregations go in company or cross each other's paths according to the varied summons of the Baptist bell, the Unitarian bell, the Methodist, Universalist, Congregationalist bells; and the crowds let forth upon the town from Sunday trains and steamers, and the continuous roll of carriages, remind one almost regretfully of the ancient laws imposing fines for non-attendance at meeting and for Sabbath-day travelling. Presumably other fines are now remitted- as those for refusing to stand candidate for governor and the lesser offices; for selling goods at undue profit; for smoking in the highways. The law which put liars and slanderers in the stocks is doubtless obsolete, and the varied styles of dress indicate more liberty of private judgment than was allowed by the old laws regulating the cut of women's garments. The influx of summer company is probably responsible for much of this modern latitude. From the table-talk at my boarding-house I learn that up to a period within the memory of by no means the oldest inhabitant, Plymouth "had itself to itself," and that a quite primitive simplicity obtained among the then sole possessors of the land - the aboriginals, so to speak, of the modern Pilgrims who have since landed. The earliest of these adventurers, so far as history has recorded, were certain wandering tribes of "the better sort," - clergymen and others, who discovered afar, on the high shores of Manomet Bluff, the dwelling-house and farm of one Nathan Holmes and Mis' Ruth, his wife. The spot promising all that could be desired, an alliance was formed whereby they entered at once upon the delights of the place, one of these being what proved a lasting acquaintance with the family. The Holmes house, amplified, still receives wanderers down at the "Pint"—in modern parlance, Point- the home of the Holmeses. Other early adventurers, exploring in a different direction, discovered Clark's Island, the property of the Watsons and long since known to me by report as hallowed by Pilgrim associations, also as an ideal summering place, the resort of a class of ideal boarders, representatives of the learning of Harvard and the culture of Boston city, — and the humbler culture of other cities. It still offers unique attractions; but for many its glory departed with the genius of the place, uncle Edward Watson, familiarly and lovingly called "Uncle Ed," endeared to the hearts of numbers privileged to know him as genial host, poet, philosopher, boatCopyright, 1889, by New England Magazine Company, Boston. All rights reserved. them known as permanents plant their summer abodes on high places commanding the best views, or in low places along shore, to "White Horse," beach, or penetrating miles and miles into the woods, by unfrequented roads, settle on distant pond shores once sacred to the pensive fisherman or the lover of Nature in her seclusion, while the transients crowd private dwellings and swarm in hotels they alone have made necessary. Even Plymouth Beach, that slender strip which pushes its very peculiar self three miles into the sea, like a long, protecting arm, as if to guard the town from knowing too well what the wild waves are saying, Plymouth Beach, seemingly secure in its isolation and its lack of vegetation, and long time visited only by wild fowl and the domestic clam-digger, or an occasional sportsman taking advantage of an easterly storm, or a quiet pleasure party seeking seclusion and the charms of solitude by the open sea; even that unsheltered strip has been bereft of its loneliness, and now has its Pavilion to interrupt the "do" the town. These swiftly swarm the streets. Making up in activity what is lacking in time, they are everywhere at once-at the Hall among the relics; in the Court House poring over ancient deeds and records; away up at the National Pilgrim Monument, criticising, perhaps even maligning it; on Burial Hill, vainly essaying a hasty making out of its timeworn epitaphs; purchasing mementos at Burbank's. Marching in force down Leyden Street, pausing at the sites of the "first dwellings," they pass along Waterside to the Rock, or, diverging, spread out on the plateau of Cole's Hill at the foot of Middle Street, thence down by long flights of steps, and high flights of imagination, to the same Rock, very likely partaking of an irreverent meal of fish and clams under the very shadow of-not the Rock itselfthat cannot cast a shadow, being incapacitated therefor by situation and the size of what has been left above the ground; but its canopy can, for this possesses in an eminent degree all the requisite qualifica tions. A pleasant story is told of an enthusiastic couple who, inspired either by sentiment or a desire to found their wedded life on a solid basis, journeyed hither from afar, and planting their feet upon "Forefathers' Rock," were there united in the bonds of matrimony. Thus much, and more, from certain sprightly and jocose aboriginals, who enliven the dinner table, and from whom I gather that, although the new settlers have not exterminated the natives, they have civilized them to the extent of causing some departure from the sensible ways and characteristic simplicity of the olden time, and have effectually introduced the art and science of turning everything into money, so that various little services and neighborly kindnesses, once prompted only lusses,' no matter if we were on the very point of hop-skip-and-jumping. The elders had to lay aside their work, or if drowsy, to bestir themselves; the chairs were set back against the wall, the fire raked over, and the fire shovel laid on top, candles were taken and the 'keeping room' deserted. Meetings closed seasonably, and on the streets people caught out of doors would be seen skurrying home. A light burning as late as ten implied sickness. or severe affliction." She further avers that the ghost of the old custom still haunts the place, and that owing to its presence, half acknowledged, though ridiculed, evening visits are cut short, and a call after nine is supposed to need explanation. denies, however, the assertion that a Plymouth audience "is tied to the nine o'clock by a spirit of friendliness, are now charged for, or made the basis of expectations. Sundry minor customs, once religiously observed, have now fallen into disuse. Nine o'clock, so saith my informant, was once the recognized bedtime. "Why, sir! when we girls used to go to visit our grandmother, she used to chalk out our 'merrills' and our fox and geese' for us on the 'bellusses,' but at the first stroke of the bell we had to pick up our coffee-corns and speckled beans, and hang up the 'bel bell-rope," and says that although the recognized summons may startle a scattering few to the point of leaving, feeling themselves in the wrong place, it is by no means an exeunt omnes; for its effect in the main is only to excite a general uneasiness and cause the speaker to feel that his remarks are no longer receiving the attention their importance demands. The after nine, and often after ten, disquiet on the streets she thinks would quite bewilder a returned worthy of the immediate bygone genera Billington Sea and Island. tion; and that he would be perplexed as to the day of the week by the modern latitude regarding salt fish dinners. Formerly, the whole town, rich and poor, ate salt fish with pork scraps and potatoes for their Saturday dinner, and people always knew when it was Friday night by seeing the salt fish put in soak. She tells of a certain Captain Carver who always had three salt fish boiled, bound together; the middle one for his own eating, the outside ones to dispense in charity. But all is changed, and my vivacious informant is herself "a little mixed" since the disappearance of the old brick oven with its Saturday certainties; for now, "though beans keep their place fairly well, you cannot tell when you do have a right to expect your baked Indian pudding! Its dark red and suety richness and all the sweet, hard, brown bread crusts are things of the past; and worse than all the rest, very few now feel bound to have succotash on Forefathers' Day; and the benighted rising generation even confound this historical dish, peculiar to the Old Colony, confound it with that very ordinary and disgustingly modern mixture made of green corn and beans! as if the rich flavor of the genuine and only real article were not imparted by the lye used in hulling the dry corn, and as if succotash proper were not a winter dish, prominent at every Forefathers' dinner since Forefathers' dinners began!" One grievance she mentioned is the modern substitution of terrace for dyke, whereby Plymouth is losing a word of its very own, brought to it in the Mayflower direct from Holland. Other lamentable changes there are. Indeed, the Plymoutheans' sweet home is becoming so much like other places that it is doubtful if a found article would now be hung on Town Tree for its owner to see, as was quite recently the custom, or if Out North residents still keep their butterpails in that "Cold Spring" which gushes out by the roadside, supplied with its handy and suggestive tin dipper. It is playfully told that some natives of this period take part in the work of administering the laws, and that thus history repeats itself, as witness a funny warrant once issued by an Indian constable, which suitable seclusion and nearness just behind the fine large courthouse. The impartial weighing and balancing indicated by the white emblems conspicuous on the front of the latter, tell as plainly as emblems can that strict justice is always meted out within. The old deeds and records there to be studied have been found of great use in fixing landmarks, so that one feels safe in walking reverentially down Leyden Street, where the nineteen first families set their log dwellings near each other "for protection," and thence along the Waterside Street to the Rock; for he knows that marked for all posterity by the Rock, almost any one of the main points of interest can be reached in a ten minutes' walk. And, unbeliever that I was! it is now borne in upon me that the Rock is a surety. "Of course they stepped on that rock," was my sarcastic remark in the course of a lively table-talk. "Well, now," was the ready answer, "it must have been a very unwise forefather who would step in the mud when there was a rock so handy." "And but that one?" "Even so, sir; but just that one, a boulder, itself a pilgrim, landed here by none know what prehistoric overturn or overflow. Our shore is mud |