Priscilla jumps into the bow of the first of these to shove off.

As the small craft bumps the shore, Priscilla rises joyously. She
stretches her hands in ecstasy toward the new world. She leans
forward against the breeze, her whole figure alive with the joy
of expectant youth.

She leaps with an irrepressible "Yippee" from the boat to the
shore.

She remains for an instant, a vibrant pagan, drunk with the joy
of life; Pan poised for an unforgettable moment on Plymouth Rock.

The next minute her foot slips on the hard, wet, unyielding
stone. She clutches desperately. She slides slowly back into the
cold chill saltness of Cape Cod Bay.

She is pulled, dripping and ashamed, into the boat. She crouches
there, shivering and hopeless. She hears someone whisper, "Pride
goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."

A coarse mirthless chuckle.

The pilgrims disembark.

II

Plymouth.

A year later.