Mine Host of Merry Mount Rejoices with Lasses in Beaver Coats

The Beaver
1623-1628

Adam Trane is present at the rebellion, his huzzahs loudest of all, though his own servitude is not harsh. Adam is twenty-one now, still a servant in name to Blaxton. The young ruffian has long gone his own way but does his duty, hunting and trading furs for his master. In the winters, Blaxton teaches him the rudiments of reading and writing, though Adam prefers the chatter in the wigwams to the mysteries of Homer and Pliny.

Adam becomes one of Mar-re-Mount’s liveliest adventurers. Long Tom admires the young man’s craft as woodsman and makes him a trusted lieutenant. Mar-re-Mount’s trader-settlers prosper, their Indian allies serving as hunters and guides in the quest for beaver, the Indian women gathering sassafras and sarsaparilla.

Wampum trade beads

At one time, five ships crowd the small bay off Squantum Head, their masters coming to trade with Morton.

The Plymouth brethren grow beside themselves with envy. Next to religious zealotry, their great purpose is to gain wealth and pay off loans made to the settlement by London investors. The Separatists also fear the freedoms in play at Mar-re-Mount, a mecca for non-believers.

“Lord of Misrule,” Governor Bradford dubs Morton. “His acolytes get much by trading with the Indians, but just as soon spend their gains in drinking wine in great excess – as much as £10’s worth in a single morning.”

Late April 1627, Adam and other knights of misrule prepare for the wildest spree yet. The tallest pine in a nearby forest is felled and carried to the summit of Mar-re-Mount. Garlanded with spring flowers, the eighty-foot spar is topped with a magnificent pair of antler horns.

The Revels at Mar-re-Mont  Image courtesy: Meet Thomas Morton

No helpers are more eager than the natives invited to celebrate the ancient revels of May. Morton playfully styles himself  “Mine Host of Merry Mount,” and composes a drinking song for his guests:
      

     “Give to the nymph that’s free from scorn
       No Irish stuff nor Scotch over-worn.
       Lasses in beaver coats, come away,
       You’ll be welcome to us night and day.
       Then drink and be merry, merry, merry boys,
       Let all you delight be in Hymen’s joys;
       Io! to Hymen, now the day is come,
      About the merry Maypole take a room.”

Imagining Boston -- 15