Making Haste from Babylon: The Mayflower Pilgrims and Their World: A New History

Making Haste from Babylon: The Mayflower Pilgrims and Their World: A New History

4.5 17
by Nick Bunker

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At the end of 1618, a blazing green star soared across the night sky over the northern hemisphere. From the Philippines to the Arctic, the comet became a sensation and a symbol, a warning of doom or a promise of salvation. Two years later, as the Pilgrims prepared to sail across the Atlantic on board the Mayflower, the atmosphere remained charged with fear and


At the end of 1618, a blazing green star soared across the night sky over the northern hemisphere. From the Philippines to the Arctic, the comet became a sensation and a symbol, a warning of doom or a promise of salvation. Two years later, as the Pilgrims prepared to sail across the Atlantic on board the Mayflower, the atmosphere remained charged with fear and expectation. Men and women readied themselves for war, pestilence, or divine retribution. Against this background, and amid deep economic depression, the Pilgrims conceived their enterprise of exile.

Within a decade, despite crisis and catastrophe, they built a thriving settlement at New Plymouth, based on beaver fur, corn, and cattle. In doing so, they laid the foundations for Massachusetts, New England, and a new nation. Using a wealth of new evidence from landscape, archaeology, and hundreds of overlooked or neglected documents, Nick Bunker gives a vivid and strikingly original account of the Mayflower project and the first decade of the Plymouth Colony. From mercantile London and the rural England of Queen Elizabeth I and King James I to the mountains and rivers of Maine, he weaves a rich narrative that combines religion, politics, money, science, and the sea.

The Pilgrims were entrepreneurs as well as evangelicals, political radicals as well as Christian idealists. Making Haste from Babylon tells their story in unrivaled depth, from their roots in religious conflict and village strife at home to their final creation of a permanent foothold in America.

From the Hardcover edition.

Editorial Reviews

John Demos
…Nick Bunker, a former banker and a gifted writer for sure, offers a remarkably fresh take on (it's true) an old and well-worn story. What's newest here is a prodigious lot of painstaking research, performed in every conceivably relevant site. The evidence—all the details found, sorted, glued together—adds up to a picture so full and vivid as to constitute a virtual ground-level tour of an otherwise lost world. Along the way, the Pilgrims themselves emerge to greet us, practically in the flesh.
—The Washington Post
Publishers Weekly
This superb book secures for the Pilgrims their iconic perch among the earliest founders of colonial America. Bunker, a British investment banker turned journalist, has succeeded in writing a major history, unprecedented in its sweep, of the Plymouth Colony, a history centered on the 1620s but not exclusive to that decade. If short on interpretation and on the drama inherent in the settlers' enterprise, it is long on facts. Bunker takes his history in two directions, downward into some never before used archives (which allows him to add detail and texture), and outward into the entire world context of the Pilgrim settlements. Never before has such a comprehensive and thoroughly researched study of the subject appeared. If sometimes fatiguing by the volume of detail (e.g., in a disquisition on one settlement, directions to the site include “turn left at the Dunkin' Donuts”), it scoops up every relevant character and links all to the basic tale of indomitable courage, religious faith, commercial ambition, international rivalry, and domestic politics. The results are stunning. Certain to be the dominating work on the Pilgrims for decades. 20 illus., 4 maps. (Apr.)
Library Journal
In his first book—and readers should hope it's not his last—British banker-turned-historian Bunker supplements existing scholarship with exhaustive original research and his own expertise on the English countryside to examine the roots and early days of the Puritan separatists, as they traveled from England to New England. Bunker focuses on the converging commercial, political, social, and, of course, religious motives that drove the Puritans to leave their homeland and build the second permanent American settlement. The author builds on settlers William Bradford's and Edward Winslow's firsthand accounts, filling in gaps and providing further and sometimes contradictory detail. He uses evidence from a variety of hitherto unexamined sources, including customs records, letters, and archaeological digs, to offer a thorough and vivid account of the Puritan experience that eschews sentiment and debunks popular mythologies. Bunker's Puritans are portrayed as entrepreneurs and political rebels as well as religious radicals, reluctantly emigrating only when their financial backing seemed secure and relations with King James had become intolerable. VERDICT This lively, richly detailed, and complex but clearly written book is highly recommended for academic and well-informed lay readers interested in tracing the beginnings of the Puritan story along new and fascinating paths. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 12/09.]—Douglas King, Univ. of South Carolina Lib., Columbia
Kirkus Reviews
In an ambitious debut, former investment banker and Financial Times writer Bunker sets out a new history of the Mayflower pilgrims. Most stories about the settlers focus on the period after 1620, when the pilgrims first landed in the New World to found Plymouth Colony in what is now Massachusetts. Bunker takes a distinctly wider view, with about half of the narrative concentrating solely on the Puritans' British origins and their history in Europe before they made their fateful trip. In these early sections, the author makes convincing arguments disputing the conventional notion that the small town of Scrooby was the center of the early Puritan movement, pointing out that the movement was spread across a wide area. In a discussion of King James I of England, who actively loathed the Puritans, Bunker includes a graphic description of the monarch's 1625 autopsy, which he uses to make a sharp point about how the king saw Puritanism as nothing more than a disease. The last part of the book deals largely with the Puritans' life in the New World and how they managed to survive. Unsurprisingly, given his financial background, Bunker also deals with an array of economic issues-in one instance, he touches on how one Mayflower investor smuggled alum, a powder used in fabric dying, to recoup his losses-but he handles these sections with a light touch, never bogging down in statistics. Indeed, the author's good judgment in choosing such details is the main strength of the book. Readers will be drawn into the Puritans' early history by Bunker's generous, accessible prose style, which is maintained even in analyses of finer points of politics, economics and religious thought. A well-executed,comprehensive overview of some of America's earliest settlers. First printing of 50,000. Author tour to Boston and New England, New York, Washington, D.C.
From the Publisher
“One opens this book with a weary sense of resignation. More hagiography about national origins? Another group of founders? The Pilgrims? The Mayflower? The Compact? The first Thanksgiving? A ‘new history’? Please! Enough already. And yet . . . it’s not like that, not at all. To the contrary, Nick Bunker offers a remarkably fresh take on (it’s true) an old and well-worn story. . . . The evidence . . . adds up to a picture so full and vivid as to constitute a virtual ground-level tour of an otherwise lost world.” —The Washington Post
“A meticulous exploration of the lives of the Pilgrims before they even set sail. . . . It’s a comprehensive work of genius and a delight to read.” —
“A wonderfully engaging study. . . . There is so much here that is fresh and invigorating that Making Haste from Babylon will seem to some lovers of early American history a real page-turner with new readings and perceptive takes in each chapter. Bunker has written that rarest of books—a scholarly history with all the narrative punch of a novel.” —The Providence Journal

"Nick Bunker’s thorougly researched new history digs deeper than previous accounts. . . . Making Haste from Babylon is a remarkable tour de force destined to become an indispensible resource for in-depth understanding of the colonial experience in New England." –Historical Journal of Massachusetts

“Bunker . . . is simply a marvelous writer with a nose for the fascinating anecdote. . . . There’s some intriguing fact or story on every page . . . so much of Making Haste from Babylon [is] rich in the thrill of brushing up against the past and its fathomless mysteries.” —
“A bold work of revisionism.” —Harper’s Magazine
“Making Haste from Babylon is essential reading for those who think they know the story of the Pilgrims. . . . All this and more Bunker relates with enviable concision and verve.” —BBC History Magazine

“Prodigious . . . [Bunker’s] vivid style and bold analysis infuse this book with colour and pace, and the result is an indispensable contribution to understanding how it all began.” —Literary Review

"This superb book secures for the Pilgrims their iconic perch among the earliest founders of colonial America. Bunker…has succeeded in writing a major history, unprecedented in its sweep, of the Plymouth Colony. . . . Never before has such a comprehensive and thoroughly researched study of the subject appeared. . . . The results are stunning. Certain to be the dominating work on the Pilgrims for decades.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Nick Bunker has done the seemingly impossible: he has shed new light on the oldest of stories, the epic of the Pilgrims' experience in the Old and New Worlds.  With graceful writing and diligent scholarship, he has given us an engaging and original book.” —Jon Meacham

“I have rarely read a book which combines such a breadth of canvas...with such penetrating and detailed research.” —Patrick Collinson, Professor of Modern History, Cambridge University (emeritus)
“In this beautifully written and imagined book, impeccably researched, and full of  so many fresh insights and  discoveries,  Nick Bunker has given us the most grounded and convincing portrait  yet achieved of what drove the Pilgrim Fathers to seek their faith and fortune in the New World. . . . Combining intensive archive research with a time traveler’s eye  he conjures  a wonderfully evocative  sense of place. . . . It is a fabulous tale of our ancestors, but also the true founding moment of America.” —Michael Wood, British historian, documentary filmmaker, and broadcaster

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The Beave of Mawooshen

The planters heare aboutes, if they will have any beaver, must go 40 or 50
myles into the country, with their packes on their backes.

—an English settler on the coast of Maine, June 1634

Seventy miles from the Atlantic, in the central lowlands of Maine, if you head west along Route 2 and cross the Sandy River you will see a line of mountains far away upon your right. Built of slate, they rise to more than three thousand feet. They reach their finest color on a winter’s day, when the air is sharp and cold and the sunlight turns their eastern slopes from gray to blue. Above the modern town of Farmington, they form the outlying ramparts of a dark massif.

Here the influence of the ocean ends, and the American interior begins. Behind the blue ridge, the high ground extends for sixty miles, as far as the frontier with Canada. Between hills black and shaggy with spruce but dusted white with snow, the road ascends an esker, a ribbon of gravel, dropped into place by a glacier fourteen thousand years ago.

The esker makes a platform for Highway 27. Along the road, you climb until you reach a narrow pass and a chain of lakes. Beyond them lies a gloomy wetland, called Hathan Bog, where in the dusk moose wander from the swamp across the asphalt. Then, a little farther on, the highway arrives at a plateau, and a liquor store, and a customs post, at a hidden place named Coburn Gore, where day and night the Frenchmen thump back over the border in their logging trucks. Like the valleys of West Virginia, the pass supplies an aperture, an entry into the land beyond the mountains, at the northern end of the Appalachian barrier.

At places such as this, the west begins: but where did America start for new settlers arriving from England in the 1620s or the 1630s? Maybe they saw it first from ten miles out on the ocean, with a glimpse of sandy cliffs along the eastern rim of Cape Cod, or at forty miles, if their first sighting was Cadillac Mountain, above Bar Harbor, visible to any ship bound in from Newfoundland. Or did the New World really begin later? Did its strangeness dawn upon them when they saw ice jamming a river mouth as late as April, or a belt of white wampum beads, or a field of maize, or a man in deerskin breeches, with a shaved head and a torso painted purple? The point at which the alien was glimpsed for what it was, alarming, uncanny, or sublime, might occur at any of these moments, or at none of them. Half of the early migrants simply faded and died.

There was another point when America began. The moment took place when new settlers crossed a different kind of boundary, when for the first time they could be certain that their colony was going to endure. So far as the Mayflower Pilgrims were concerned, this moment occurred in the territory in Maine that lay below Coburn Gore, in the year 1628. Eight years earlier, they had landed at Provincetown, Massachusetts, at the extremity of Cape Cod. Soon afterward they founded their settlement across the bay at New Plymouth. That was another beginning, but it was tenuous and frail. It took far longer for the Plymouth enterprise to make itself permanent, and to open the way for the foundation of Boston to the north, by colonists in far larger numbers.

Fraught with risk, the Mayflower project endured a long period of trial, experiment, and error. Deeply in debt to their backers in London, and chronically short of supplies to keep their feet shod, their muskets loaded, and their small boats afloat, they needed a commodity to send back to England to be swapped for silver coins or used to redeem their IOUs. They eventually found it, in the quantities they needed, up here in Maine. They bought it from the people who lived in the country below the watershed between what we now call Quebec and the United States. This was where the moment of maturity occurred: the place where they passed across an emotional frontier, the line that separates insecure ambition from likely success.

There was only one way in which the Pilgrims could find the money to pay their debts and finance new supplies from home. They needed the fur of Castor canadensis, the North American beaver. No other colonial product fetched so high a price, in Paris, in London, or in Holland. What made the skins so precious? That will be the subject of a later chapter. All we need know for the time being is that during the 1620s the price of a beaver pelt increased fourfold, to reach a peak of nearly forty shillings. That was enough to rent nine acres of English farmland for a year.

Until they had pelts, the colony at New Plymouth remained a fragile outpost, a tiny corn- growing settlement wedged between the forest and the sea. For it to become something more, the seed or nucleus for a much larger inflow of the English, they had to find beaver skins, and in Maine the valleys and the high ground supplied a vast habitat for the mammal.

As many as fifty beavers may have lived in each square mile, or even more densely in places such as Hathan Bog. Alongside the esker, on every stream beavers built their dams and lodges. Today the animals have left a chain of beaver meadows, dried- up ponds, strung out along the side of Highway 27. Take the surface area of Franklin County, Maine, around and beneath the bog and the highway, and multiply it by fifty. You come to an estimate of ninety thousand of the creatures in that one county alone.

Why did the beavers of Maine become the target of exploitation, and not those of another region? The Pilgrims might have gone elsewhere, and sometimes did. Beavers will live in any setting with the trees they like to gnaw, the quaking aspen or the willow, and streams that flow down gradients a few degrees above the level. As for the date, why did it take so long for the Pilgrims to begin to penetrate the deep interior? Because it was only in 1628, and in Maine, that chance and circumstance combined to make it feasible. Access, demand for the skins, the legal right to settle, the technology of transport, the command of language, a supply of trading goods, and the presence of people able and willing to hunt: these were essential too.

As we shall see, the very early history of New England contains many hidden, forgotten corners, niches quite as remote as Coburn Gore. Most often, these spots of vagueness or omission arise because, in the British Isles, the evidence lies neglected, scattered in odd places in dozens of archive collections.

They contain a wealth of overlooked material about the origins of the Mayflower project and its place in the wider history of England under King James and his son the future Charles I. For the most part, British scholars have either left these very early sources untouched or failed to see their significance. They have done what the Pilgrims did not do, and left America to the Americans. This is why so much of the Pilgrim narrative remains in shadowy monochrome, like a photograph in sepia or a silent film, deprived of color, light, and sound.

Among the gaps in the story, one of the most serious concerns the trade in beaver pelts, shipped back in their thousands by way of the ports of Barnstaple, Bristol, and Plymouth in the west of England. That is why we start in Franklin County. We might begin by imagining its character, not by way of fantasy, but with the aid of available resources, scientific and archaeological, and verbal too. To help us, we might imitate the native people of the region. We might invoke the spirit of a bird to function as an airborne guide.

Today more than four hundred pairs of bald eagles breed in the state of Maine. When Charles I sat on the throne, doubtless their numbers were far greater. What might she have seen, an eagle, if in the spring of 1628 she swung her head around through three- quarters of a circle and scanned the country below Coburn Gore? She saw the land of Mawooshen. That was the name given then to the region: mountain, river, valley, plain, and coast, and among them the Eastern Abenaki, who lived between the blue ridge and the ocean.

The Bald Eagle’s Nest

From her zenith, at four thousand feet, she sees the Sandy River bending back and forth. Fed by streams cascading down off the massif, the river swings around and doubles back but never ceases to drop toward the sea. Beyond its broad, flat valley, to the south the ground rolls out to form a plain covered by birch woods and pine, with strewn on the earth beneath them hundreds of pale gray boulders. They were abandoned, like elliptical cannonballs, by the same retreating glaciers that formed the esker.

As the ice melted and the Atlantic rose, the sea reached this far inland, laying down thick beds of silt and sand. Even now, the ocean is far closer than it seems. In the seventeenth century, long before men dammed the rivers of Maine, salmon swam all the way up from the sea to Farmington to spawn.

If our eagle of 1628 leaves her nest at the top of a tall white pine, and goes looking for game along the valley, she comes to a spot where the Sandy meets another river, deeper and wider. Before it begins its own final descent toward the sea, it flows in a sequence of long, quiet reaches between sets of falls and rapids. Each one marks a geological division, ten or fifteen miles apart, where the river suddenly alters course. For this reason, the river bears the name Kennebec. In the native language of the country the word gwena means “long,” while the syllable bague refers to a placid stretch of water.

Hovering above the Kennebec, the eagle probes with her eyes for a leaping fish or a squirrel breaking cover. When she finds one, she swoops down at the spot where the Sandy River meanders in from the west, near the site of the modern town of Madison. Beneath a bluff, the water forms a calm, deep pool, tinted in spring by a drifting haze of pollen from the pines. As she skims the amber surface and then swings back up into the sky with a fish in her talons, she flies over a place where the woods have been cleared, to make a wide, flat open space on a terrace thirty feet above the river.

As she climbs, the eagle pays little heed to the village of Naragooc, or the human beings stooping down to collect Maine fiddleheads, edible wild ferns gathered at this season. She ignores the circular huts along the bluff, the wooden longhouse, or the people moving to and fro between cooking fires, storage pits, and the fields of maize that loosely encircle the settlement.
Instead, she rises steeply again. From her highest altitude, she can see as far as eighty miles. With the dense packing of nerve cells in her retina, she can pick out objects three or four times smaller than those detected by a human eye.

Far to the north, she sees the mountain escarpment and the dark smudge marking the site of Hathan Bog. Bare summits and icy mountain streams offer little by way of food, and so she turns toward the south. On the way to the sea, the landscape becomes a mottled rug, made up of ridges of gravel between elongated lakes. They point toward the site of the modern city of Augusta, forty miles away, with the Atlantic visible far beyond it as a distant rim of silver.

This was Mawooshen. Even the English called the country by that name. They did so in a document compiled in about 1607,most likely as a briefing paper for a failed attempt to found a colony at the mouth of the Kennebec, at Fort St. George.The word apparently referred to a confederacy of some thirteen towns and villages of the Eastern Abenaki, scattered across the zone between the Sandy River and Cadillac Mountain.

Among them, the deepest inland was Naragooc, located at the junction of the Sandy and the Kennebec. Today its name survives on a modern map in the altered form of Norridgewock. When the English manuscript was written, Naragooc provided a home to as many as four or five hundred people, led by a Zegeme, or sachem, a chief by the name of Cocockohamas. His clan occupied a spot where the earth was unusually good. A fine olive brown tilth called Hadley loam, it formed a narrow carpet along both banks of the river, like the rich soil of exactly the same kind along the Connecticut valley, coveted by later English settlers.

At Naragooc, the Abenaki lived at the northernmost point where at the time the climate permitted the cultivation of maize. They also sat on the perimeter between the northern hardwoods, spruce, and fir and the softer oaks and pines of southern New England. Accessible by water, Naragooc was poised between corn country and the hunting spaces of the north. And so in spring, when our imaginary eagle saw the village, the people who lived there would be skinning hundreds of dead beavers. Late winterwas the time to catch them, with a spear driven through the melting ice, when the animals were most hungry and least cautious and their pelts were thickest.

By the middle of the seventeenth century, the trade in beaver fur had come to lie at the heart of the life of the Abenaki. At Naragooc the evidence is plain, and it takes two forms, material and linguistic. In the 1990s, when archaeologists explored the village sites beside the Kennebec, they found scores of beaver bones, from the animal’s jawbone, skull, and legs. But the beaver left a still deeper mark on the language that the people spoke.

It survives in the form of a lexicon compiled more than three hundred years ago by a French Catholic missionary, Father Sebastian Râle. He listed more than thirty nouns, verbs, and phrases used by the people of Naragooc to describe the animal, its skin, its behavior, and the manner in which they pursued it. They called the beaver temakwe, meaning “tree cutter.” They gave different names to male and female adults, and they called a young beaver a temakwesis. They had separate words for beavers as they appeared in winter and as they were in warmer weather when their pelts had thinned. Then they were known as nepenemeskwe, from nipen, meaning “summer.”

The people of Naragooc called the skin of a beaver matarreh, and they added extra syllables to grade the pelts into categories of size and quality. The beaver’s kidneys, rognons de castor, had their own Abenaki word—awisenank—and this suggests that once skinned, the beaver was cooked and eaten: an English visitor to Maine in the 1620s compared the taste to roast lamb. Father Râle recorded phrases referring to the beaver’s motion, as its tail beats the surface of a pond, as it lifts its head from the water, or as it dives back to hide. At home, the English hunted otters with packs of webfooted hounds. Râle tells us that the Abenaki did something similar: they pursued the beaver with a chien à castor, a “beaver dog,” or in their language a temakwekkwe.

They inhabited a place ideal for the purpose. From the highland plateau, three river systems descend to the north, south, and east: the Kennebec, the St. John, and the Chaudière, the Canadian river that drains away from the far side of Coburn Gore and down into the St. Lawrence. If the sheer quantity of mammals was the first great attraction of the region, the second lay in the ease of entry and exit along these great waterways. To the Eastern Abenaki, the chain of ponds and lakes around Hathan Bog were the high road that led from Mawooshen to Quebec and back.

After the British seized control of Canada in 1759, they sent a military engineer called John Montresor to find the path, as a means to move men and guns from Quebec to Boston and back. He found the bog and the beaver dams, but Colonel Montresor remembered how reluctant the people of Mawooshen were to disclose the secret of the forest highway.

The Abenaki, he said, were “the natural proprietors of the country . . . No nation having been more jealous of their country than the Abenaquis, they have made it a constant rule to leave the fewest vestiges of their route.” In the early days of New England, long before Montresor, no European had trod the path at all. The first were Râle’s forerunners, French Jesuits, in the 1640s, coming over the watershed southward. This was a journey a skilled Abenaki could accomplish in a week or so, if the weather were benign.

With a birch-bark canoe, eighteen feet long, fit to carry two men and one thousand pounds of cargo, the Abenaki could pole and paddle along streams as little as five inches deep. But to make canoes like these, they needed sheets of bark from birch trees at least four feet in circumference. In the seventeenth century, paper birch of such a size grew rarely in southern New England, but the trees existed in plenty in Maine. For this reason, the birch-bark canoe was chiefly a tool of the people of Mawooshen and the country that lay behind it.

With their canoes, they could travel for hundreds of miles, from the headwaters of the Connecticut River in the west to Nova Scotia in the east. Up on the plateau, the belt of land around Coburn Gore could be crossed on foot. Down in the lowlands, the pattern of lakes and low ridges left behind by the ice sheets created natural canoe trails, by way of short overland carries between the waterways. By this means, the Abenaki could make detours around obstacles in the Kennebec, cross from it to another river, the Androscoggin, and reach the mountains of northern New Hampshire. In the other direction, going east from Naragooc by way of the Sebasticook, they could enter the vast basin of the Penobscot and the St. John. In turn, those rivers led them across the modern border into what is now the Canadian province of New Brunswick.

If there were boundaries to movement, they arose only from hostile opponents. In 1626, on the Hudson River, the Mohawk killed and ate seven Dutch fur traders, and two years later they ejected from the same region their foes the Mohican. So, for the people of Naragooc, the Mohawk and their fellow Iroquois fixed the limit of commerce to the west.

To the east, the St. John marked a frontier with the Micmac, known then as the Tarrentines, long the enemies of the Abenaki. They were sea-going raiders and middlemen, passing up and down the coast between the French in Canada and the people of Massachusetts to the south. Even so, between these limits there remained forty thousand square miles of uncontested country. And that was why, in the spring of 1628, our bald eagle saw the English up the Kennebec

From the Hardcover edition.

Meet the Author

A graduate of King’s College, Cambridge, with a master’s degree from Columbia University, Nick Bunker has had a diverse career in finance and journalism. A former investment banker and reporter for the Financial Times, he now lives with his wife, Susan, in Lincolnshire, England.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Making Haste from Babylon: The Mayflower Pilgrims and Their World: A New History 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 15 reviews.
Samwell83 More than 1 year ago
Most of the history about Plymouth that I've read tends to focus on Plymouth: why the Pilgrims went, how they got there, what happened there, and how they survived. Bunker's approach assumes familiarity with that outline of the story, and he sets off to see the Pilgrims in the context of the world they left and lived in. There's rich history, well-researched, presenting the Pilgrim's political, economic and spiritual connections in England, and dealing with them in terms of the wider world. Bunker paints a canvas of the business cycle, changing patterns of international trade, politics and policy, taxes, Calvinism and the Church of England. He does so in a very readable style for the general interest reader, but his scholarship is deep and there's a lot of new material for the serious historian too. This book causes a rethink of everything you thought you knew about the Plymouth Colony.
neanderthal78 More than 1 year ago
I've read lots of books that deal with the topic of the Pilgrim Fathers and upon hearing about this new take I had to read it. I just finished it yesterday and I was not let down by it but at the same time it wasn't my favorite book on the subject. What I liked about it was it filled in the missing pieces of the puzzle that other books about New Plymouth leave out...what was going on in England. Half the time people think that these folks woke up one day and just sailed to America because of religious freedom. That is true but that's not the whole story. Nick Bunker does a great job in filling in the back story. I leaned a lot about Calvinism and the north of England from this text. I would call this almost a prequel book to most books on the Pilgrims. What I didn't like was that you almost have to be English and be from northern England to really appreciate the middle part of this book. Being an American I felt lost at points or was just bored. For me I liked the 1st, 4th, 5th, and 6th part but the two middle parts dragged for me. If someone wants to learn about Plymouth Plantation and their from America I would recommend "Mayflower" by Nathaniel Philbrick first. If that grabs your attention then I would say read this on. Not the best starting spot for new readers of the subject but a good reference for those that have read all the American side before.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great information about the ship Mayflower!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
She grabes sweetheart by the scruff and flys out. If hunter trys to steal you again ignor him. Go back to darkclaw
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hides in the corner shivering, crying. "Two legs she whisspers....good Hunter....Bad Michal....Bad HunterS.....good Darkkckaw." She sits there whispering and sobbing in teror in mummbled tones.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Let her go!
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Runs in with arorua
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