 The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents the Cavalcade of America, tonight's stars, Douglas Fairbanks and Walter Hamden. Tonight, during Thanksgiving week, DuPont Cavalcade presents the Thanksgiving play called The Stepping Stone. 330 years ago today, on November 21st in 1620, a band of cold, thick, hungry and desperate men gathered on the deck of a ship riding an anchor off Cape Cod. There, on that day, they signed the First American Charter of Civil Liberties and Civil Responsibilities, the documents now known as the Mayflower Compact. Tonight, the DuPont Cavalcade brings you their story. Walter Hamden will play the part of William Brewster and Douglas Fairbanks will be John Alden. I am John Alden, that same John Alden who followed the gleam in the eyes of a handsome girl westward across the ocean sea. To find joy for my heart, work for my hands and peace for my soul. But this is not my story nor the story of Priscilla, my good wife. It is the tale of that one amongst all the Mayflower Company who best deserves the name they chose for themselves, the name of Saint. He was Master William Brewster, elder of the Exiles, wise leader and the second father for such poor lost sheepers, John Alden. His story begins in the Council Chamber of an English King, James I. He will become from Scotland on the death of Elizabeth and still a Scot. Sometime in the year 1608 when I myself was but a child. I had thought, my lord, that so that we have suffered a sufficient disturbance and now you report further and it's just pure, you say? Yes, these are little men, your majesty, lacking in numbers, quite deficient in wealth, position or power. Yet they are heretic. It is their will to suppose that religion should be free of royal power and that each man should be permitted to worship God after his own manner. What monstrous, monstrous! Yet you say they are not important. Such is my belief. They are most as un-pure men, tinkers, tailors, storekeepers and such. Your council then. A moderation, majesty. A few clipped ears in each congregation as we find them out. A forehead branded here and there. No drastic steps. Narcissus, I will make them conform themselves and I will harry them out of the land. Aren't you worse children? Among the little people was master William Brewster, postmaster and innkeeper at Scooby in a far corner of Nottinghamshire. With Richard Clifton and John Robinson, this Brewster had formed a secret congregation of free worshippers. When word of the king's purpose reached the elders, I vow we must never submit to this lordly and tyrannous power. What say you, master Brewster, that we are like to have small choice in the matter, Richard? The power is too great. Or why should God have given England to the devil's very nephew? Perhaps to test the strength of our own convictions, master Robinson. This great gilly on the throne suffers in his mind from the canker of kings. A belief in force. We must summon up an answerable courage. But what shall we do, brother? Go on as before. Worship God and trust in him. Meet him secret as before. Love each one the other as before. But what must we not prepare? What, exile? Yes, yes, I fear we must. When the blow falls, we must be ready. In between talk of hollowness? If he said a man may call his soul his own in the lowland city. That is true. True enough as our world goes. I've made inquiries in Amsterdam. I have friends there. The king's men? Maybe so. Though I think not. I heard no horses. Master is young, well-bred, Richard. Master Brewster, good master, I have news of great evil. Here, lad, sit it down. Now, propose yourself, my boy. I have ridden and walked and run from the contoundless night, master, to warn you. In the market, I heard it. How quietly will, now what is this word that you have for us? We are betrayed. What? The names of all our congregations are in the hands of the king's bed. No. He rides to Scrooby on the morrow. They will take us up everywhere. What you said we should be put to task, your lord. It has come sooner than I thought. Brothers, it is God's will that we leave England. And so the lords and three people fled into Holland. In Amsterdam and Leiden, grinding poverty was their lot with hard labor, with unfamiliar tasks, the burden of all, even the smallest children. Under the last of necessity, their thoughts turned little by little over the years towards the new world. But William Brewster will press them forward in this new adventure. As Bradford was to write one day, a great hope and inward zeal they had of laying some foundation in those remote parts of the world. Yea, though they should be but stepping stones on to others for the performing of so greater work. In Leiden, the elder had turned printer for his daily bread. Certain tracks published by him attended the authorities, both Dutch and English. And so he alone, of all the company, was still a fugitive in the year 1620. In time with the help of secret sympathizers, Brewster returned to England, and there he lay hidden until the little pilgrim congregation reached Southampton. Their arrangements were made to smuggle Brewster aboard the Mayflower under cover of night. One day in that summer, as I was at work in the dockside shack I used for my Cooper's trade, young man, young man, just love the Lord by God. What say you? What say, young sir? Why, old man, there's a strange question to pop out so bare among my barrels I've never given a matter great thought. So, so you're not one of us? I had hoped, but no matter. Do you love justice, young Cooper? Ah, hey, though, I've seen little of such like come out of the hereabouts. If you think justice, master, I know not where to send you for it, not in all England. I seek refuge from the injustice of the king, from the king's bailiff. Hard on my heels for a moment ago. Hide me, lad. Hide me quickly and turn them away. Can't lose my ears but chance to lose this hand that serves to grasp a mallet and ruin my bread? Shall I lose my life? Ah, hardly, master. What have you done? I've printed the truth. Look at me, lad. Do you see evil? Do you see villainy? Look into my eyes. I saw gentleness and light. Such goodness has been all my young life I have never known. Even now, I could not tell the why of it. But I knew I must do this man's bidding, despite the king's cruel law. Again, I heard him implore. Hide me, lad. Find me a refuge where I should be taken. My life will be forfeit. For that I care nothing. But many look to me for soap. Hide me and God's name. In your own name, old man. God's a stranger to me. I must be dashed. But come back here quickly. Into this great hog's head. Oh, it is empty enough. What happened? They're still now. And I lie my ears off as they come. In thy name, all the devils. All? Yes. They're coming. They're on us now. Who are you? John Alden. Cooper, by trade. Speak truth, Cooper, in the king's name. Have you seen a small, hunched-over man with a brown waistcoat? And a look of hypocritical holiness in his face? That I have, save I saw not his face. He passed here not three minutes since and in great haste. Which way? Up from the docks. Up into the town. He was watching it as best as it's in great pain from running. If you lie, you shall pay up on the rack. Come along, we'll take him yet. Oh, man, I've earned me a full reward. Let me help you out. I've been in quite a place since the last few years. Thank you. Thank you. I think it my first words did mystify your ears. Ah, it was a strange encounter. Just love the Lord by God. Who can answer that? Some of us can. We have many secret partisans on this coast through the manor's password. A counter-sign. Oh, that? I'm Wyndon Brewster, lately a printer by trade. I'm John Alden. But, Cooper, surely we are well-met. Though we must part right soon. Edith Rooster. Crisilla. Oh, Martha, I saw the soldiers. Where's your father? Where's Martha Mullins? He waits upon your coming at the place we had agreed. He dared not to leave. So he sent me instead of you. I saw the soldiers enter here. I was grateful. Well, then, old girl, I'm quite safe. By the art of this young man. The Crisilla Mullins. This is John Alden, who has done me a great kindness without asking why. My service. Why do you stare, sir? Your eyes, miss. They're like the eyes of the elder here. Are you Tim? Only in the spirit, John. We are both of the company who sail for the new world. To worship as we will. Would you have need of a well-skilled carpenter and Cooper, Martha? What, you'd venture with us? Well, that I would. But your parents left. I have none. I have these two hands and tools to fit them. I can read and write for my uncle taught me. And I have a mind to see this new land. What say you, Crisilla? If we are to go out in the great dark this night of the ship, we'll need strong arms to roll. This did fret my father for he's not young or well. Let the Cooper come, if he will. The land of the ship, Mayflower. Captain Christopher Jones, commanding. 6th of September, 1620. Wade anchor, wind fair. Course, west, prowess. So we take our departure from England. Pomp's Cavalcade of America, starring Douglas Fairbanks as John Alden and Walter Hampton as William Brewster, sponsored by the DuPont Company, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. The stepping stones continued. The same being a tale of the Mayflower and the Mayflower Compact, signed 330 years ago today off the Massachusetts shore in a time when the ideas of religious freedom and equality were new in the world. John Alden tells the story of Elder Brewster. It was a curious mixed company that sailed for, they thought, Virginia. Brewster's congregation numbered but 41. 63 others, the outsiders or strangers, had been lured into the adventure by the promises of the London investors who had furnished the ship for the voyage. Most of these outsiders were respectable folks, though, less than churchly. A few were a little better than vagabonds with scouring of London gutters. The churchmen insisted on ruling the whole company, but they did allow one spokesman for the unredeemed. Soon there was trouble brewing. I recall one night, midway in the passage, Priscilla Mullins came on deck to escape the cold black stench of that dreadful hold. I followed her to the rails. John, you know you must meet Lord Christmas. Well, so says your father, but why? Why does Master Mullins look down his nose at me? Why? Because you are not one of us. Must I say it again? Because I won't listen to long-winded sermons in young foul, smothering holes, because I can't sing tune with him when I don't know what they mean. Because you blast me in against God and make sport of our will. But I will speak my mind. I like to laugh a bit. I may know harm to your people. Well, hear me out, Priscilla. There are those amongst this ship company who do wish to harm the same. What do you mean? That mutiny is brewing with those you call outsiders. Mutants. They will not long look your elders authority once lands on you. You see, they like not being forever outside. A ship is our ship, my daughter. Those wretched people from London have their spokesman in Master Christopher Martin. Master Christopher speaks for the soft ones, the tame cats. Those with servants under bonds and guineas jingling in their purses. There are others that are different, desperate sorts. Wretched they are and rough, and some of them are ready for engled games. But do this. If you know where Master Booster lies hidden, go to him. Tell him that Cooper says it is time for him to come forth. The wind blew and cracked their secret, and we buried young Billy Button at sea for his to die. A child, Oceanus Hopkins, was born. John Holland was swept overboard and pulled himself back by a trailing halyard. A miracle declared the saints. But there were more sinners than saints aboard that form-wrecked ship. After many a weary and watery mile, land was sainted as Cape Cod, far to the north of our proposed destination. And then another storm. It's a swindle. I tell you mate, it's a bloody swindle. Virginia. We're young, chilly, sensed with Virginia. It may be for all of me. Dark, dark. We're far to the north. And you know for why? You tell us though why. It's much for my wits. Because in Virginia those storm-seeing, only pulpit pounders would come once more under the end of the king. They could lord it over us no longer. It's our swindle, I say. And we swim to Virginia. Yeah. But we can take the ship and sail there. Mr. Stoppers, there's no law here. There's Captain Jones law. And he's a hard man. Captain Shrimp, all bluster and blow. I could break him in two like this wooden peg. I'll tip this business to a round dozen of the Ebola lads. We'll meet here tonight to plan it out while them canting hypocrites are at their prayers. And around the one open fire in a passenger hold, another council was in progress. Fuddled there against the November cold were Elder Brewster and John Carver of the Holland Congregation with Miles Standish, the little red-headed soldier. And Christopher Martin, representing the outsider, the unsanctified, said Elder Brewster. Captain Jones has told us that he can proceed no further to the south. Let his supplies for the turn voyage give out. But he speaks truth on what I cannot say. But I for one am content to cast our lots here upon this coast. And you, John Carver, to the greed will be further removed from the long arm of King James pretty boy, stable. Captain Standish, there's all one to me if a harbor can be found in a hill to fetch us off the pond. You, Master Martin, will you speak for the outsider? Why should I speak? My words carry no weight in this council. Christopher, this grumbling hill becomes your word and substance. There are others who may do more than grumble. And who are the troublemakers? I know not, but there's a great whispering about a gavel of mutiny. Most of the outsiders trust me to uphold their rights in council. A few scorn my officers and plot behind my back. I've heard this talk of mutiny. Name me the traitors. I'll show them the color of action. I'll string them up on the arm. No, no, Captain Standish. We'll not use force. Force is the name of all we strive and suffer to conquer. Force breeds force as maggots breed corruption. And the end of that road is ever death. No, we must try the way of reason and loving kindness. We're all Englishmen here on this far edge of earth. And we're all children of God. We must act as brother. Or surely we shall perish where the spring moves north again. What would you have us do then? I put that question most urgently in prayer, Master Carla. And my prayer has been answered. Let us draw up a compact for our governance. And in this treaty amongst ourselves, let it be written that all in the community are equal before the law. Equal before the law. Equal. Why did the thing unheard of? Some must rule and some be ruled. It's ever been so. Some must need to true another fellow. But by consent, not by force. Let us try this new thing here on these new shores. Let us remove all cause of strife and civil disorder among all our elements. Let us have the courage to act with reason and human heartedness each toward the other. Let us join together the funded members of this small and much-period body. So we shall set forth a shining example to those who will follow after us to the shores of this new world. We have need of the law in this compact. Let the law be made equally for all. To the Green Deny? Well, Master Martin? I let it be agreed. You, my old Spanish? I will be it. My Spanish, good master. Then, sweetie, our is the 11th of November of all stars in a 1620. November 21st in your new calendar, 300 and 30 years ago today, to all reassembled Mayflower Company on deck, William Brewster offers his compact. In the name of God, amen. We, whose names are underwritten to subjects of our dreaded sovereign law, begin the first of Great Britain, France, and all the cities. Brothers, brothers, I beg of you, keep it a form of word. We are English still. This compact will be heard at home. Let us not have the steward tree slings and the ship of war against us. I am sorry. We do not have a word. We do, by these presents, solemnly and mutually, in the presence of God and of one another, covenant and combine ourselves together into a civil body politic for our better ordering and preservation. Yes. And by virtue hereof, to enact constituent frames just just and useful laws, ordinances, acts, constitutions and offices from time to time, I shall be fought most need and convenience for the general good of the colony, onto which we all promise new submission and obedience. In witnessware of, we have hereunder, subscribed our name, the 11th of November, in the year of our Lord, 1620. We'll sign this compact. I, John Carver. I, William Braden. I, Edward Winslow. I, Isaac Allerton. I shall stand it, though it is a great foolishness. Who among the artisans will come forward now? This is for all of us. Not just the Holland men, it's not just the gently born. This is for all of us. Masters and Yeomen alike. Who will come forward and sign? John Alden? Yes, I'll sign with all my heart, as I do love just. Elder Brewster. Yes, John. There'll be no mutiny now. Now the violent tongues are silent. We've removed their cause for complaint. And you've won a great victory. You've made a great light in the world. Victory belongs to the Lord, John. All light is His light. Time without exit. I thought you'd say that. Elder, yes, that. Could you teach me what you mean when you say such things? Could you show me this way you have chosen, this way of truth and light? I would share the peace I've seen in your eyes. Oh, you would be one of us, John. If you'll teach me, Master, I'll try to learn to walk your path. Oh, mind you, it will not be easy work. It's not an easy road, John. But I'll do my best. Wait, where are you going? Tell Priscilla Mullins and her father. A harbor was found. A settlement made. A winter came. Half of our company met death in that first winter in a new world. What shall I say for them? Of those who set forth from Southampton and from Plymouth, most were brave. Many were loving. A few were wise. Out of the sum of their wisdom, their human heartedness, and their fortitude came apart of your own great American heritage. Knowingly or not, there as stepping stones unto others for the performing of a great work, a work that's still unfinished. If the wisest of them could speak, the most gentle, the strongest of all, I think you might say, protect what you've been given. Lose is not. Push forward still in the way of the Lord's three people, so the night be dark and the road is stony one. Follow ever the path of reason and courage and love in God's name. All the Hamzons, Douglas Fairbanks, and the Capricade players for tonight's story, The Steppy Stones. And I'll Bill Hamilton, speaking for the DuPont Company. This will be the 50th Thanksgiving day of the 20th century, and America has come halfway in 100 years. Yet here we are, and we've taken all that's faint and hurled at us and have grown stronger every day. This is reason enough for Thanksgiving. We should, as a nation, lift our voices in a great hymn of thanks to our maker for the wisdom, the courage, the adaptability, the good fortune, the plain doggedness that have brought us through safely. One secret of this strength is the indomitable urge that God has given us to create, to build, to improve. More than a century and a half of experience has shown the secret of America's strength in war and in peace. A way of living and working we know as the American way of life. May we continue in it and prosper. May we continue in it and achieve one day the previous peace for which mankind has prayed so long and carefully. The Treaty of Peace which will endure forever. This is the Thanksgiving wish of the men and women who make the DuPont companies better things for better living through chemistry. The nights upon Cavalcade, the Stepping Stones was written by George H. Faulkner. In support of Douglas Fairbanks and Walter Hammond tonight, you heard Susan Douglas as Priscilla. The Fairbanks current motion picture is State Secrets, Music for the DuPont Cavalcade is composed by Arden Cornwell and conducted by Donald Borey. The program is directed by John Zala. This is by Harris speaking. Ladies and gentlemen, though a tuberculosis is no longer the menace it was at the beginning of the century, it still takes more lives than all other infectious diseases put together. But PB can be conquered by medical care and research financed by your purchase of Christmas deals. So this year, buy them and buy a lot. Here, lovable baby snooks then barbed hopes back in the states on NBC.