From William Bradford’s Journal of Plymouth Plantation, Sixteen Hundred and Twenty-One.
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A lamentable malady had taken fifty and two souls from the humble colony that first winter. Some said God had forsaken them. Others feared plague. But most remarkable were the words of Myles Standish, a well-respected member of the community. For he declared the pain that afflicted them was neither Divine retribution nor another Great Sickness, but was the consequence of their men too often partaking in lustful self-gratification.
William Bradford, being a just Governor, shunned Myles Standish and his beliefs, reminding him that they were a Christian people, and had never before engaged in such carnal pleasures.
“Right?” he asked the men.
They all did then look around sort of sheepishly and murmured, “Yeah, of course,” but in a way that wasn’t entirely convincing. John Billington stepped forward. “But maybe we should listen to him anyway?” he said. “Just in case someone here—not me—has been partaking in it two or three times before each sundown.”