, and if we could stand upon the little
plateau on which this man and maid are standing, and could look out with
them--we should see--what should we see?

We may, indeed, stand upon the little plateau--possibly it is no other
than the base of Cole's Hill, that pathetic spot on which the dead were
buried those first sad months, the ground above being leveled and
planted with corn lest the Indians should count the number of the
lost--and look out upon that selfsame harbor, but the sight which meets
our eyes will be a very different one from that which met theirs. Let
us, if we can, for the space of half an hour or so, imagine that we are
standing beside this Pilgrim man and maid, on the day on which Mr.
Boughton portrayed them.

Instead of 1920 it is 1621. It is the 5th of April: the winter of
terrifying sicknesses and loss has passed; of the hundred souls which
left England the autumn previously more than a half have died. The
Mayflower which brought them all over, and which has remained in the
harbor all winter, is now, having made repairs and taking advantage of
the more clement weather, trimming her sails for the thirty-one days'
return voyage to England. They may return with her, if they wish, any
or all of the sturdy little band; they may leave the small, smoky log
cabins; the scanty fare of corn and fish; the harassing fear of the
Indians; they may leave the privations, the cramped quarters, and return
to civilized life--to friends and relatives, to blooming English
hedgerows and orderly English churches. But no one--no, not a single one
returns! They have thrown in their lot with the new country--the new
life. Their nearest civilized neighbors are the French of Nova Scotia,
five hundred miles to the north, and the English of Virginia five
hundred miles to the south. But they are undaunted. And yet--who can
doubt that as they gaze out upon the familiar sails--the last banner
between themselves and their ancestral home, and as they see them
sailing out and out until they sink below the verge of sea and sky, the
tears "rise in the heart and gather to the eyes" in "thinking of the
days that are no more."

Three hundred years ago! The same harbor now as then, with the highland
of Cape Cod dimly outlined in the gray eastern horizon; the bluffs of
Manomet nearer on the right; opposite them, on the left, Duxbury Beach
comes down, and ends in the promontory which holds the Gurnet Lights.
Clarke's Island--already so name