Here ended the Pilgrimage of John Howland
who died February 23, 1672-23 aged 80 years. He married
Elizabeth, daughter of John Tilly, who came with him in the
Mayflower, Dec. 1620. From them are descended numerous
posterity.
"He was a goodly man, and an ancient professor in the ways of
Christ. He was one of the first comers into this land and was
the last man that was left of those that came over in the ship
called the May Flower that lived in Plymouth." - Plymouth
Records.
Here in the town you may see the Howland house still standing
firm upon its foundations, although built in 1667. It has a
large Dutch chimney of red brick. The roof is sharp pitched.
Here too still stands the Harlow house, which was built in the
Old Manse style in 1671. The oak timbers were said to have been
taken from the frame of the first Pilgrim fort and common house
which stood on a hill back of the town. How like their
characters were the works of those early Pilgrims, relics of
those bygone days when character-building and home-making were
considered essentials.
Then we thought of that other grave that was recently made in
the new cemetery; where the body of Chester Howland reposes. He
was only one of the many loyal sons of the 26th Division who
braved the cruel ocean in 1917 carrying the principles handed
down from their Pilgrim forefathers to lands beyond the waves.
They seized the golden sword of knighthood - an old inheritance
from their worthy sires - and with what valor they wielded it,
the rows of white crosses in a foreign land attest. Its hilt for
them was set with rarest gems. "A mother's love or sweetheart's
fond goodbye." A grateful nation saw fit to bring their remains
back to their native land. They merit beautiful monuments, but
memory of their noble deeds of valor and sacrifice will be all
the monument they need, and by the light of Freedom's blazing
torch the world shall read their epitaph written by the hand of
Time.
How fine again it is to stand
Where they in Freedom's soil are laid,
And from their ashes may be made
The May Flowers of their native land.
At many hearths the fires burn dim,
The vacant chairs are closer drawn
Where weary hearts draw nearer them
And softly whisper, "they are gone."
The low-hung clouds in pity sent,
Their floral tributes from the skies,
And sobbing winds their voices lent
To stifled sobs and bitter sighs.
In spotless beauty their myriads lay,
Upon Freedom's flag like frozen tears
Or petals of the flowers of May,
In perfumed softness on their bier.
Oh, may they not have died in vain,
Those gallant youths of Freedom's land,
They sought not any earthly gain
And perished that the right might stand.
The death of the following is depicted in "Dr. Le Baron and his
Daughters." "In memory of seventy-two seamen who perished in
Plymouth harbor on the 26 and 27 days of December, 1778, on
board the private armed Brig. Gen. Arnold, of twenty guns, James
Magee of Boston, Commander, sixty of whom were buried on this
spot."
"Oh falsely flattering were yon billows smooth
When forth elated sailed in evil hour
That vessel whose disastrous fate, when told,
Filled every breast with sorrow and each eye with
piteos tear."
One of the seamen is said to have been the lover of Miss Hannah
Howland, which probably explains why she has this epitaph on her
monument: "To the memory of Miss Hannah Howland, who died of a
languishment January ye 25th, 1780."
The grave of the Elder Faunce, to whom we are indebted for the
history of Plymouth Rock and for its preservation, is here.
There are numerous other inscriptions quaint yet significant.
Here you will find the oldest Masonic stone in the country.
There is a design at the top, a skeleton whose right elbow rests
upon a tomb, the right hand grasping a scythe. Upon the tomb is
an hour glass, and on this are crossbones. At the left of the
skeleton is a flaming urn; at the base of which is a rose tree
bearing buds and flowers. Near the tomb is a skull leaning
against a dead shrub.
"Here lies buried the body of Mr. Nath Jackson who died July ye
14th, 1743, in ye 79th year of his age."
With the Baltimore oriole piping his cheery recitative in the
top of an elm; chickadees uttering their minor strains, and
mourning doves soothing our ears with their meditative cooing,
we left the sacred spot, to visit Plymouth Rock. We loved to
listen to the purling undertones of Town Brook and wondered what
its liquid music might not tell, if we could interpret its
story. Shakespeare was right when he said we could find sermons
in stones, and here if we read aright is a sermon that made the
Old World monarchs tremble. And still to us it tells of that
mighty force that brought it here in the dim past - to be the
corner stone of our republic. Its ringing text is still sounding
from shore to shore.
"Tradition has kept the memory of the rock on which the Pilgrims
first set foot, and which lay on the foot of the hill. It has
become an historic spot, to which the name Forefathers' Rock has
been given. No other in America possesses such hallowed
associations or has so often been celebrated in song and story."
"Here," said De Toqueville, "is a stone which the feet of a few
outcasts pressed for an instant, and the stone became famous. It
is treasured by a nation. Its very dust is shared as a relic.
And what has become of the gateways of a thousand palaces? Who
cares for them?"
Tradition also says that Mary Chilton and John Allen were the
first to leap upon this rock, as we read in the lines to Mary
Chilton -
"The first on Plymouth Rock to leap!
Among the timid flock she stood,
Rare figure, near the May Flower's prow,
With heart of Christian fortitude,
And light heroic on her brow."
But whoever was the first to step upon this stone, that act we
now cherish as the first one toward the founding of a nation,
and as typical of the heroism and daring of its founders.
