The Pilgrims' First Christmas — Key Ideas to Explore

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Scribner, Josephine Pittman Project Gutenberg 2021 Not confirmed
Historical fiction; Christmas stories; Pilgrims (New Plymouth Colony) -- Fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Edition facts

Words 6,079
Reading time 27 min
Text sections 4

This digital edition of The Pilgrims' First Christmas — Key Ideas to Explore is described by source-level measurements including 6,079 words, 27 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 21.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Historical fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

This editorial note examines how the opening, middle, and closing excerpts of Josephine Pittman Scribner's 1913 novella guide a first reading, focusing on the shift from peril to celebration, the role of Mary Chilton, and the symbolic use of gifts.
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THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS

THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS

JOSEPHINE PITTMAN SCRIBNER

THE PILGRIM PRESS BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO

COPYRIGHT, 1913 BY LUTHER H. CARY

THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A

THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS

THE PILGRIMS’ FIRST CHRISTMAS

It was a bleak December day in the year 1620. All day long, the Mayflower struggled along the coast amidst the rain and snow, her rudder broken, her masts split in three pieces, and heavy seas dashing over her bow. The men had been called to man the oars and all were filled with anxiety and grief and apprehension of unknown perils to be faced. It was as if the Almighty would try them, as he tried Abraham. What could now sustain them but the spirit of God and his grace? If they looked behind them there was the mighty ocean, which they had passed and which was now as a main bar and gulf to separate them from all the civil parts of the world. If they looked forward, what could feed their hopes; what could they see but the weather-beaten face of the wilderness, the summer gone and the whole country full of wild beasts and wild men? And what multitudes there might be of them, they knew not. Locked in the airless cabins, with the hatches battened down, were the women and children. Twenty little children to amuse and keep quiet, while mother hearts were heavy with fear and terror. Moving among them was an English maid, divinely fair in her beauty. No need for her to paint her cheeks of damask and rose. In her strength and beauty she was as an angel of light to the homesick Pilgrim women. The day had been long and dreary to Mary Chilton. All night she had dreamed and all day she had thought of dear and mighty England; of the lanes and the fields and the songs of the birds, the faces of the neighbors going about, and the church at the end of the village street with the ivy on the tower. The tears started to her eyes. She turned away to hide them; but they did not escape the notice of John Winslow, who was bending over the oars. His brave Mary! He set his face firmly. Surely she must not falter now; she, who, in her own splendid health had nursed the sick, amused the children, restless at the prolonged confinement, kept the Billington boy from serious mischief, a task at which strong men quailed, and instilled courage and hope in the hearts of the weak. Even as he watched her, her tears vanished and her smile beamed down on the Billington boy, who spoke to her.

“Tell me, Mistress Mary, what am I going to find in my shoe on Santa Claus morning?”

She shook her head gaily--“Ah, that is a secret we must wait to find out upon the blessed Christmas morning.”

“It will not be hay, will it?”

“No,--only naughty boys get hay in their shoes, on St. Nicholas day, and you’ve promised me, Francis, you know, to keep out of mischief.”

“But will there be something?” he insisted.

“I cannot promise, Francis; we must hope and wait.”

Between the beat of the oars, John Winslow called out softly, “Mary!”

She moved nearer him. “What ails you? Are you sad?”

“My heart is sore, John. I know it is wrong. I love my people and my religion is dear to me, but I wish I were back in England! Just think, John, it is the blessed Christmas week. They are making merry, all over England, in holly-decked halls, with great fires roaring up the chimneys. Feasts are being prepared and families are drawing together in love and communion. And look at our position; tossed on a strange coast, with no harbor to enter, no friends to welcome us, no inns to entertain us and refresh our weather-beaten bodies, no place to seek for succor.”

“Anon,” said John, “but Robert Coppin, our pilot, bids us be of good cheer, that there is sure to be a creek or river to enter and escape this angry sea. And, Mary, I pray you do not plague your heart about that young scapegrace Billington. I cannot comprehend how such a profane wretch as his father came to be shuffled in with the company of Pilgrims. He was not of the Leyden church, ’tis sure. And that boy, it is providential that the whole ship was not blown up when he fired that fowling-piece almost within four feet of the gunpowder barrel.”

The novella opens with a bleak December day in 1620, the Mayflower struggling along the coast with a broken rudder and split masts. The prose immediately establishes a tone of anxiety and grief, comparing the Pilgrims' trial to Abraham's. The women and children are locked in airless cabins, and among them is Mary Chilton, described as an "English maid, divinely fair." Her interaction with the Billington boy about Santa Claus introduces a thread of childhood hope amid hardship. This opening frames the story as one of endurance and faith, setting up a contrast between the harsh external world and the internal resilience of the characters.

The Opening: Peril and Promise

The first excerpt plunges readers into the physical and emotional turmoil of the voyage. The ship's damage—"her rudder broken, her masts split in three pieces"—is described with concrete detail, while the men's anxiety is linked to "unknown perils." The narrative voice adopts a biblical cadence, asking what could sustain them but "the spirit of God and his grace." This religious framing is reinforced by the allusion to Abraham. Notably, the focus shifts to Mary Chilton, whose tears and smile are observed by John Winslow. Her role as a caretaker—nursing the sick, amusing children, restraining the Billington boy—is established early, positioning her as a moral anchor. The dialogue about Santa Claus and shoes introduces a folk tradition, hinting at how the Pilgrims might reconcile their faith with familiar customs.

The Middle: Birth and Omen

A later excerpt describes the birth of Peregrine White, the first child born to the Pilgrims in the New World. The community interprets the event as an omen: "A citizen! A citizen!" they cry, and the baby is handed around while they sing the carol "Unto us a child is born." The scene is brief but significant, linking the infant to the idea of a new nation. Susanna White, the mother, lies in a "lowly bed" and "marveled and was content." The language here is restrained, focusing on the collective response rather than individual emotion. This section serves as a pivot from the opening's struggle to the closing's celebration, using the birth as a symbol of continuity and hope. The carol ties the event to Christmas, reinforcing the holiday theme without explicit mention of the date.

The Closing: Gifts and Legacy

The final excerpt lists the gifts of that first Christmas: "the clear, sparkling water; the seed corn, precious as jewels; the beginning of the free, fair homes; the new citizen, the little pilgrim; and the great gift of self-government and the freedom to worship." The list is abstract, focusing on ideals rather than material objects. The narrative then expands to the legacy: "the greatest gift of all is the mighty nation that has sprung from their loins." This forward-looking conclusion uses biblical language—"multiplied as the stars of the heavens"—to connect the Pilgrims' story to a providential destiny. The shift from the specific (water, corn) to the grand (nation, freedom) mirrors the novella's arc from immediate survival to enduring significance.

Reading the Excerpts Together

When read sequentially, the three excerpts trace a clear emotional and thematic progression: from the storm-tossed ship to the hopeful birth to the celebratory gift-giving. The opening emphasizes physical danger and emotional strain, the middle introduces a communal event that redefines the group's identity, and the closing reframes the entire experience as the foundation of a nation. Mary Chilton appears only in the opening, but her care for the Billington boy and her tears for England establish a human scale that the later, more symbolic passages build upon. The novella's brevity—under 6,100 words—means each excerpt carries significant weight. Readers should note how the author balances historical detail with sentimental language, and how the religious and patriotic themes are intertwined from the start.

The excerpts reveal a work that moves from specific hardship to generalized triumph. The opening's concrete details—broken masts, battened hatches—give way to the closing's abstract gifts. Readers may find that the novella's power lies in this transition, as it transforms a historical moment into a founding myth. Pay attention to how the author uses children (the Billington boy, Peregrine White) to bridge the personal and the national, and how the language of faith underpins every stage of the journey.

That little novella stayed with me because the turning point wasn’t the feast, but the quiet moment before it—when giving felt less like celebration and more like hope. There’s a similar trembling in The Undesirable Governess — Story, Setting & Ideas, where a stranger’s small offering changes the whole temperature of a room without anyone announcing it. I kept thinking about that long after finishing.

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