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A Thanksgiving Repost
I would like to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and offer an excerpt from Peter Marshall's The Light and the Glory on the first Thanksgiving and the events leading up to it.
If any one event could be singled out to mark the turning point of their (the Pilgrim's) fortunes, it would have been what happened on a fair Friday in the middle of March. The men were gathered in the common house to conclude their conference on military instruction, when the cry went up, "Indian coming!" Captain Standish shook his head, even as he went to look out the window - to see a tall, well-built Indian, wearing nothing but a leather loincloth striding up their main street.
"Welcome!", he boomed in a deep, resonant voice. The Pilgrims were too startled to speak. At length. they replied with as much gravity as they could muster: "Welcome."
"Have you got any beer?" he asked them in flawless English. If they were surprised before, they were astonished now. The Pilgrims looked at one another, then turned back to him. "Our beer is gone. Would you like some ... brandy? The Indian nodded. They brought him some brandy, and a biscuit with butter and cheese, and then some pudding and a piece of roast duck. To their continuing amazement, he ate with evident relish everything set before him. Where had he developed such an appetite for English food? How, in fact, had he come to speak English? For that matter, who was he and what was he doing here? But they would have to wait, for obviously he did not intend to talk until he had finished his repast. Finally the time for answering questions came. His name was Samoset. He was a sagamore (or chief) of the Algonquins, from what is now Pemaquid Point in Maine. He had been visiting these parts for the past eight months, having begged a ride down the coast with Captain Thomas Dermer, an English sea captain who was known to the Pilgrims by reputation. He had been sent out to explore the coast for the Council for New England, the company to whom they would now be applying for a patent. Apparently Samoset's sole motivation was a love of travel, and he had learned his English from various fishing captains who had put in to the Maine shore over the years. Now they asked the crucial question: What could he tell them of the Indians hereabouts? And the story he told gave every one of them cause to thank God in their hearts.
This area had always been the Territory of the Patuxets, a large hostile tribe who had barbarously murdered every white man who had landed on their shores. But four years prior to the Pilgrims' arrival, a mysterious plague had broken out among them, killing every man, woman, and child. So complete was the devastation that the neighboring tribes had shunned the area ever since, convinced that some great supernatural spirit had destroyed the Patuxets. Hence the cleared land on which they settled literally belonged to no one! Their nearest neighbors, said Samoset, were the Wampanoags, some fifty miles to the southwest. These Indians numbered about sixty warriors. Massasoit, their sachem (or chief) had such great wisdom that he also ruled over several other small tribes in the general area. And it was with Massasoit that Samoset had spent most of the past eight months. Who were the Indians out on the Cape who had attacked them? These were the Nausets, who numbered about a hundred warriors. The previous summer they had attacked Captain Dermer and killed three of his men. The Nausets hated the white man, because several years before one Captain Thomas Hunt had tricked seven of their braves into coming aboard his ship on the pretext of wanting to trade with them. He had taken them, along with twenty Patuxets , to Spain, where he had sold them into slavery.
By the time he was done with his tale telling, it was nightfall. Samoset announced that he would sleep with them, and return in the morning. Captain Standish put a discreet watch on him, but Samoset slept the sleep of the untroubled. And in he morning he left, bearing a knife, a bracelet, and a ring as gifts to Massasoit. That was the last they saw of him until the following Thursday , when he returned accompanied by another Indian who also spoke English, and was of all things, a Patuxet! The second Indian was Squanto, and he was there to be according to Bradford, "a special instrument sent of God for their good, beyond their expectation." The extraordinary chain of "coincidences" in this man's life is in its own way no less extraordinary than the saga of Joseph's being sold into slavery in Egypt. Indeed in the ensuing months, their was not a doubt in any of their hearts that Squanto, whose Indian name was Tisquantum, was a Godsend.
] His story really began in 1605, when Squanto and four other were taken captive by Captain George Weymouth. The Indians were taken to England, where they were taught English. When Squanto finally managed to make it back home and stepped ashore six months before the Pilgrims arrived, he received the most tragic blow of his life: not a man, woman, or child of his tribe was left alive! Nothing but skulls, bones, and ruined dwellings remained. In despair he wandered into Massasoit's camp, because he had nowhere else to go. And that chief, understanding his circumstances, took pity on him. But Squanto merely existed, having lost all reason for living. That is, that was his condition until Samoset brought news of a small colony of peaceful English families who were so hard pressed to stay alive, let alone plant a colony at Patuxet. A light seemed to come back into Squanto's eye, and he accompanied Samoset when the latter came to Plymouth as Massasoit's interpreter, for the chief himself had come, with all sixty warriors painted in startling fashion.
Out of this meeting came a peace treaty of mutual aid and assistance which would last for forty years and would be a model for many that would be made thereafter. Massasoit was a remarkable example of God's providential care for His Pilgrims. He was probably the only other chief on the northeast coast of America who (like Powhatan to the south) would have welcomed the white man as a friend. When Massasoit and his entourage finally left, Squanto stayed. He had found his reason for living. These English were like little babes, so ignorant they were of the ways of the wild. Well, he could certainly do something about that! The next day he went out and came back with all the eels he could hold in his hands - which the Pilgrims found to be "fat and sweet" and excellent eating. How had he ever caught them? He took several young men with him and taught them how to squash the eels out of the mud with their bare feet and catch them with their hands. But the next thing he showed them was by far the most important, for it would save every one of their lives. April was corn planting month in New England as well as Virginia. Squanto showed the Pilgrims how to plant corn the Indian way, hoeing six foot squares in toward the center, putting down four or five kernels, and fertilizing the corn with fish. At that, the Pilgrims just shook their heads; in four months they had caught exactly one cod. No matter, said Squanto cheerfully; in four days the creeks would be overflowing with fish. The Pilgrims cast a baleful eye on their amazing friend, who seemed to have adopted them. But Squanto ignored them and instructed the young men in how to make the wiers they would need to catch the fish. Obediently the men did as he told them, and four days later the creeks for miles around were clogged with alewives making their spring run. The Pilgrims did not catch them, they harvested them! Now the corn was planted. Pointing spoke-like toward the center of each mound were three fishes, their heads almost touching. Now said Squanto, they would have to guard against wolves, adding that the wolves would attempt to steal the fish. The Pilgrims would have to guard it for two weeks, until it had a chance to decompose. And so they did and that summer twenty full acres of corn began to flourish. Squanto helped in a thousand similar ways, teaching them how to stalk deer, plant pumpkins among the corn, refine maple syrup from maple trees, discern which herbs were good to eat and good for medicine, and find the best berries. But after the corn there was one other specific thing he did which was of inestimable importance for their survival. What little fishing they had done was a failure, and any plan for them to fish commercially was a certain fiasco. So Squanto introduced them to the pelt of the beaver, which was then in plentiful supply in northern New England, and in great demand throughout Europe. And not only did he get them started, but he guided in the trading, making sure they got their full money's worth in top-quality pelts. This would prove to be their economic deliverance, just as corn would be their physical deliverance. The Pilgrims were brimming over with gratitude - not only to Squanto and the Wampanoags who had been so friendly, but to their God. In Him they had trusted, and he had honored their obedience beyond their dreams. So Governor Bradford declared a day of public Thanksgiving, to be held in October. Massasoit was invited, and unexpectedly arrived a day early, with ninety Indians! Counting their numbers, the Pilgrims had to pray hard to keep from giving in to despair. To feed such a crowd would cut deeply into the food supply that was supposed to get them through the winter. But if they had learned one thing through their travels, it was to trust God implicitly. As is turned out, the Indians were not arriving empty handed. Massasoit had commanded his braves to hunt for the occasion, and they arrived with no less than five dressed deer and more than a dozen fat wild turkeys! And they helped them with preparations, teaching the Pilgrim women how to make hoecakes, and a tasty pudding out of cornmeal and maple syrup. Finally they showed them an Indian delicacy: how to roast corn kernels in an earthen pot until they popped, fluffy and white - popcorn! The Pilgrims in turn provided many vegetables from their household gardens: carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, cucumbers, radishes, beets, and cabbages. Also using some of their precious flour, they took summer fruits which the Indians had dried and introduces them to the likes of blueberry, apple, and cherry pie. It was all washed down with sweet wine made from wild grapes. A joyous occasion for all! Between meals, the Pilgrims and Indians happily competed in shooting contests with gun and bow. The Indians were especially delighted that John Alden and some of the younger men of the plantation were eager to join them in foot races and wrestling. There were even military drills staged by Captain Standish. Things went so well (and Massasoit showed no inclination to leave) that Thanksgiving day was extended for three days.
Surely one moment stood out in the Pilgrims' memory - William Brewster's prayer as they began the festival. They had so much for which to thank God: for providing all their needs, even when their faith had not been up to believing that he would do so; for the lives of the departed, and for taking them home to be with Him; for their friendship with the Indians - so extraordinary when the settlers to the south had experienced the opposite; for all his remarkable Providences in bringing them to this place and sustaining them.
As I said earlier, this excerpt was taken from Peter Marshall's excellent book, The Light and the Glory, the first in a series he wrote on American history.
Happy Thanksgiving!
If any one event could be singled out to mark the turning point of their (the Pilgrim's) fortunes, it would have been what happened on a fair Friday in the middle of March. The men were gathered in the common house to conclude their conference on military instruction, when the cry went up, "Indian coming!" Captain Standish shook his head, even as he went to look out the window - to see a tall, well-built Indian, wearing nothing but a leather loincloth striding up their main street.
"Welcome!", he boomed in a deep, resonant voice. The Pilgrims were too startled to speak. At length. they replied with as much gravity as they could muster: "Welcome."
"Have you got any beer?" he asked them in flawless English. If they were surprised before, they were astonished now. The Pilgrims looked at one another, then turned back to him. "Our beer is gone. Would you like some ... brandy? The Indian nodded. They brought him some brandy, and a biscuit with butter and cheese, and then some pudding and a piece of roast duck. To their continuing amazement, he ate with evident relish everything set before him. Where had he developed such an appetite for English food? How, in fact, had he come to speak English? For that matter, who was he and what was he doing here? But they would have to wait, for obviously he did not intend to talk until he had finished his repast. Finally the time for answering questions came. His name was Samoset. He was a sagamore (or chief) of the Algonquins, from what is now Pemaquid Point in Maine. He had been visiting these parts for the past eight months, having begged a ride down the coast with Captain Thomas Dermer, an English sea captain who was known to the Pilgrims by reputation. He had been sent out to explore the coast for the Council for New England, the company to whom they would now be applying for a patent. Apparently Samoset's sole motivation was a love of travel, and he had learned his English from various fishing captains who had put in to the Maine shore over the years. Now they asked the crucial question: What could he tell them of the Indians hereabouts? And the story he told gave every one of them cause to thank God in their hearts.
This area had always been the Territory of the Patuxets, a large hostile tribe who had barbarously murdered every white man who had landed on their shores. But four years prior to the Pilgrims' arrival, a mysterious plague had broken out among them, killing every man, woman, and child. So complete was the devastation that the neighboring tribes had shunned the area ever since, convinced that some great supernatural spirit had destroyed the Patuxets. Hence the cleared land on which they settled literally belonged to no one! Their nearest neighbors, said Samoset, were the Wampanoags, some fifty miles to the southwest. These Indians numbered about sixty warriors. Massasoit, their sachem (or chief) had such great wisdom that he also ruled over several other small tribes in the general area. And it was with Massasoit that Samoset had spent most of the past eight months. Who were the Indians out on the Cape who had attacked them? These were the Nausets, who numbered about a hundred warriors. The previous summer they had attacked Captain Dermer and killed three of his men. The Nausets hated the white man, because several years before one Captain Thomas Hunt had tricked seven of their braves into coming aboard his ship on the pretext of wanting to trade with them. He had taken them, along with twenty Patuxets , to Spain, where he had sold them into slavery.
By the time he was done with his tale telling, it was nightfall. Samoset announced that he would sleep with them, and return in the morning. Captain Standish put a discreet watch on him, but Samoset slept the sleep of the untroubled. And in he morning he left, bearing a knife, a bracelet, and a ring as gifts to Massasoit. That was the last they saw of him until the following Thursday , when he returned accompanied by another Indian who also spoke English, and was of all things, a Patuxet! The second Indian was Squanto, and he was there to be according to Bradford, "a special instrument sent of God for their good, beyond their expectation." The extraordinary chain of "coincidences" in this man's life is in its own way no less extraordinary than the saga of Joseph's being sold into slavery in Egypt. Indeed in the ensuing months, their was not a doubt in any of their hearts that Squanto, whose Indian name was Tisquantum, was a Godsend.
] His story really began in 1605, when Squanto and four other were taken captive by Captain George Weymouth. The Indians were taken to England, where they were taught English. When Squanto finally managed to make it back home and stepped ashore six months before the Pilgrims arrived, he received the most tragic blow of his life: not a man, woman, or child of his tribe was left alive! Nothing but skulls, bones, and ruined dwellings remained. In despair he wandered into Massasoit's camp, because he had nowhere else to go. And that chief, understanding his circumstances, took pity on him. But Squanto merely existed, having lost all reason for living. That is, that was his condition until Samoset brought news of a small colony of peaceful English families who were so hard pressed to stay alive, let alone plant a colony at Patuxet. A light seemed to come back into Squanto's eye, and he accompanied Samoset when the latter came to Plymouth as Massasoit's interpreter, for the chief himself had come, with all sixty warriors painted in startling fashion.
Out of this meeting came a peace treaty of mutual aid and assistance which would last for forty years and would be a model for many that would be made thereafter. Massasoit was a remarkable example of God's providential care for His Pilgrims. He was probably the only other chief on the northeast coast of America who (like Powhatan to the south) would have welcomed the white man as a friend. When Massasoit and his entourage finally left, Squanto stayed. He had found his reason for living. These English were like little babes, so ignorant they were of the ways of the wild. Well, he could certainly do something about that! The next day he went out and came back with all the eels he could hold in his hands - which the Pilgrims found to be "fat and sweet" and excellent eating. How had he ever caught them? He took several young men with him and taught them how to squash the eels out of the mud with their bare feet and catch them with their hands. But the next thing he showed them was by far the most important, for it would save every one of their lives. April was corn planting month in New England as well as Virginia. Squanto showed the Pilgrims how to plant corn the Indian way, hoeing six foot squares in toward the center, putting down four or five kernels, and fertilizing the corn with fish. At that, the Pilgrims just shook their heads; in four months they had caught exactly one cod. No matter, said Squanto cheerfully; in four days the creeks would be overflowing with fish. The Pilgrims cast a baleful eye on their amazing friend, who seemed to have adopted them. But Squanto ignored them and instructed the young men in how to make the wiers they would need to catch the fish. Obediently the men did as he told them, and four days later the creeks for miles around were clogged with alewives making their spring run. The Pilgrims did not catch them, they harvested them! Now the corn was planted. Pointing spoke-like toward the center of each mound were three fishes, their heads almost touching. Now said Squanto, they would have to guard against wolves, adding that the wolves would attempt to steal the fish. The Pilgrims would have to guard it for two weeks, until it had a chance to decompose. And so they did and that summer twenty full acres of corn began to flourish. Squanto helped in a thousand similar ways, teaching them how to stalk deer, plant pumpkins among the corn, refine maple syrup from maple trees, discern which herbs were good to eat and good for medicine, and find the best berries. But after the corn there was one other specific thing he did which was of inestimable importance for their survival. What little fishing they had done was a failure, and any plan for them to fish commercially was a certain fiasco. So Squanto introduced them to the pelt of the beaver, which was then in plentiful supply in northern New England, and in great demand throughout Europe. And not only did he get them started, but he guided in the trading, making sure they got their full money's worth in top-quality pelts. This would prove to be their economic deliverance, just as corn would be their physical deliverance. The Pilgrims were brimming over with gratitude - not only to Squanto and the Wampanoags who had been so friendly, but to their God. In Him they had trusted, and he had honored their obedience beyond their dreams. So Governor Bradford declared a day of public Thanksgiving, to be held in October. Massasoit was invited, and unexpectedly arrived a day early, with ninety Indians! Counting their numbers, the Pilgrims had to pray hard to keep from giving in to despair. To feed such a crowd would cut deeply into the food supply that was supposed to get them through the winter. But if they had learned one thing through their travels, it was to trust God implicitly. As is turned out, the Indians were not arriving empty handed. Massasoit had commanded his braves to hunt for the occasion, and they arrived with no less than five dressed deer and more than a dozen fat wild turkeys! And they helped them with preparations, teaching the Pilgrim women how to make hoecakes, and a tasty pudding out of cornmeal and maple syrup. Finally they showed them an Indian delicacy: how to roast corn kernels in an earthen pot until they popped, fluffy and white - popcorn! The Pilgrims in turn provided many vegetables from their household gardens: carrots, onions, turnips, parsnips, cucumbers, radishes, beets, and cabbages. Also using some of their precious flour, they took summer fruits which the Indians had dried and introduces them to the likes of blueberry, apple, and cherry pie. It was all washed down with sweet wine made from wild grapes. A joyous occasion for all! Between meals, the Pilgrims and Indians happily competed in shooting contests with gun and bow. The Indians were especially delighted that John Alden and some of the younger men of the plantation were eager to join them in foot races and wrestling. There were even military drills staged by Captain Standish. Things went so well (and Massasoit showed no inclination to leave) that Thanksgiving day was extended for three days.
Surely one moment stood out in the Pilgrims' memory - William Brewster's prayer as they began the festival. They had so much for which to thank God: for providing all their needs, even when their faith had not been up to believing that he would do so; for the lives of the departed, and for taking them home to be with Him; for their friendship with the Indians - so extraordinary when the settlers to the south had experienced the opposite; for all his remarkable Providences in bringing them to this place and sustaining them.
As I said earlier, this excerpt was taken from Peter Marshall's excellent book, The Light and the Glory, the first in a series he wrote on American history.
Happy Thanksgiving!
