44 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



harbor there is no place where that storm-tossed 

 shallop might have made a landing with any hope 

 of safety. To have turned toward the shore as 

 the pilot bade them when the mast broke would 

 have been to drown the whole company in the 

 surf, in which case Plymouth would never have 

 been. No one knows the name of the "lustie 

 seaman" who then usurped the command and 

 bade the rowers "if they were men, about with 

 her, or else they were all cast away." On the 

 words of this courageous unknown hung the lives 

 of the company and perhaps the fate of the ex- 

 pedition itself. It is a stern and rock-bound 

 coast in very truth, and if it seemed as dark and 

 forbidding on that December nightfall in 1620 as 

 it did on one of the same date this year, I for 

 one would not have blamed them had they sailed 

 away, never to come back. For a quarter of a 

 mile off shore scattered boulders curried the surf 

 and fluffed it into white foam. Its deafening 

 roar was filled with menace. Salt spray and sleet 

 mingled cut one's face rods back from the shore, 

 and high up the dark hill behind rose the gnarled 

 woodland, wailing and tossing its giant branches. 

 With the fall of night no light was visible from 

 sea or shore. All was as primal, as chaotic, as 



