ON THE MAYFLOWER
It has been nearly nine weeks since we left and originally we hoped to cross the sea in six weeks. Captain Jones and his officers have started looking for birds, plants, trees or other signs that we are close to land, but they haven't seen anything yet. The health of the passengers on board is getting worse every day. William Button, the young servant of Doctor Samuel Fuller, died and we buried him at sea — 43 degrees North — 2,835 miles from England. That's where his grave is.
ON THE MAYFLOWER
At last we saw land. There is joy on every face. To remember this day I have written the second part of my poem. Here it is: With storms and disease, we faced many dangers, Our families died, but we didn't stop, And we reached the New World, both Saints and Strangers, Soldiers of fortune and pilgrims of hope.
Before we landed, I decided to show the poem to William Bradford. I should have mentioned him before in this diary. He's the Saints' leader, a man of great intelligence and kindness. Out of all his friends, he could really be called a "saint". He's keeping a detailed record of everything that happens on the Mayflower.
I thought he might like to copy my little poem into his journal, so I showed it to him. Here is what he said, "We are not just Saints or just Strangers anymore. Although we have our differences, we are all God's children, and our Lord loves us all equally. So now together we are God's pilgrims and that's the name we shall all be called." When I heard these kind, wise words. I didn't feel upset at all. Bradford was right, so today I wrote the ending of the poem. I hope he'll like it when I show it to him:
We will love these rivers and mountain ranges,
We will fight for this land to our last breath,
And we'll stay here forever, both Saints and Strangers,
Brothers and sisters in life and death.