William Bradford's "Of Plymouth Plantation" is a remarkable work by a man who himself was something of a marvel. It remains one of the most readable seventeenth-century American books, attractive to us as much for its artfulness as for its high seriousness, the work of a good storyteller with interlligence and wit. Edited, with an Introduction, by Francis Murphy.
Bradford is an engaging writer whose prose isn't hard to understand. In places his understatement about the death and hardship faced almost constantly is even amusing. Nothing of the kind of challenges that the Leyden pilgrims faced in Massachusetts will seem familiar to a modern reader. Just the same, the fact that it all happened is fascinating. One can almost imagine being there, looking over the decks of the Mayflower and facing all that December gray and wilderness and wondering what you were doing coming here. Told in first person it reads like an adventure as much as a history.
The pilgrims here are also quite human and not at all the diorama characters of a first graders Thanksgiving craft project. They face social challenges and the horrors of death and disease. Attacks by natives actually occured on occasion. The dream of a sort of providence is one that proves difficult in the real world. Bradford mourns the loss of these ideals and the people who imported them. There's something a little sad in his later passages, whether it be age or a truly lost paradise one never really knows. But what Bradford imagined as a sort of religious nirvana clearly doesn't pan out in the end. Nevertheless it is well worth the journey. I highly recommend a read of this American classic.
Previous reviewers seem to have approached the book with differring expectations. If you want to read about John and Priscilla, go to Longfellow, and if you want to read about Constance of the Mayflower, then you won't find her here (except in the records for the 1623 land division, maybe) - and indeed few of the myths of the Pilgrim Story can be found in Bradford's history. This might dissappoint some people who like to paint their history with honest toil and romance, Plymouth Rocks and Thanksgivings, but to a more attentive reader, Bradford has delights enough to keep anybody satisfied. His style is at times cumbersome, and the language of the 1640s(ish) can often obscure the already confusing legal language of some of the letters and contracts in the book. The language and style, though, are part of the book's character. Bradford's reticence in always referring to himself as either "The Governor" or "Governor Bradford" is not only quaint but also instructive, and to dismiss is as tedious is not to give it its due attention.
Overall, Bradford still keeps a sense of adventure and dedication: adventure that the reader may share when confronted with sudden unfamiliar truths of the divisions which separated the Pilgrims, or the decidedly economic flavour to some of the reasons for their departure from Holland. Even to witness on a page before you the first time in any known source that the word "Pilgrims" was used to describe the settlers at Plymouth, is enough to make the reader feel privileged.
Morison's notes now look somewhat dated - his anachrinistic mention of Communism sticking particularly in the throat, but the reader might share some of his admiration which obviously emerges for the governor and his people. The Pilgrims at Plymouth can in many ways be regarded as adventurers and even (rather more dubiously) pioneers. Maybe if more people were exposed to Bradford's work they would see that although they weren't quite what popular culture would have us think of them, they were all the same resolute and brave people in most untoward circumstances.
