Dear America A Journey to the New World Diary of Remember Patience Whipple

October, 1620

October 1, 1620

Morning

Mayflower

1150 miles sailed

"Mem," that's what I answer to.  'Tis short for Remember.  My full name being Remember Patience Whipple.  Patience was to be my first name, but Mam, my mother, decided it was wrong.  I was squally and impatient.  They wanted, however, to remember my mother's dear sister who had just passed on.  So they slipped the Patience in-between.  For some it is a good first name, for me it is better as an in-between name.  Mam says I am more patient than I once was, but I still have a far way to go.  I'm twelve years old.  Maybe by the time I am full grown, say fifteen, I shall be patient.

We are journeying to the New World.  It is the Mayflower that be getting us there, slowly.  She measures ninety feet in length and twenty-five feet in breadth at her broadest point.  She is a strong ship but a plodding one, as she creaks her way across this vast gray Atlantic sea.

The reason for our journey is our religion.  You see, we are not the Pope's people nor the King's really, but God's people.  We are Saints of the Holy Discipline.  "Saints" - for short.  That is what all of us English who went to Holland are called.  And if we go to this New World, free from old King James and all the fancy church rituals that are not to our way, we can worship as we want.  You see, we believe that the church is in our heart and not in a building.  So 'tis our hearts that lead us.

But now it is my stomach that is revolting.  For days it has been topsy-turvy with me, and the sailing master, Master Jones, says we only have had gales, no real storms.  Oh dear, I am feeling pukish.  Quissy I call it.  I don't want to cast.  I don't want to cast.  That is all I can think of - vomiting.  I must stop writing, dear diary.  That sounds so stupid, "dear diary."  I must find you a proper name.  But I must lay my pen down before I puke all over you. . . .

October 2, 1620

Mayflower

Storm-force winds; too dangerous to go topside to seek out Master Jones for our progress. 'Tis hard to imagine what this New World shall be like. I am used to towns with buildings and winding streets. And people bustling to market and talking Dutch, or English if they be one of us. But the New World is empty of all that. There are no buildings or streets and the only people are feathered men and feathered women and feathered babies, I suppose, who do paint their faces 'tis said, and live in most uncommon shelters.

October 2, 1620

Afternoon

Mayflower

They say we be heading for northern Virginia, near the Hudson River. The King, King James of England, granted the land. Then the merchants formed the company for a plantation where we shall grow things to send back to England to sell.

Too sick to write.

I hate John Billington.

October 3, 1620

Mayflower

Storm still blows.

God forgive my harsh thoughts on John Billington. God Bless John Billington even though I cannot bear him. His brother Francis might be worse.