By now the whole village was awake. Standish ordered two muskets to be fired into the air to discourage anyone who might be inclined to attack them. Hobomok, meanwhile, got up on top of the hut and began calling for Squanto. In a few minutes, up he strode. Plymouth’s best friend, not dead, not even wounded. There were a number of braves with him whom Standish promptly disarmed, promising to return their bows and arrows at daylight. The white men then explained why they had come in such warlike fashion and learned that in the uproar Corbitant and his faction had fled.
Standish and his men stayed in the village all night, and in the morning most of the Indians came and greeted them in a warm and friendly manner Standish then made a grim speech. Although Corbitant had escaped for the moment, he said, there was no place in the land where he would be safe if he continued to threaten Plymouth and mock Massasoit’s great treaty of peace. Corbitant had come to Plymouth more than once and had been kindly entertained there. They had never showed nor intended any evil toward him, nor did they now if he was willing to make peace with them. As for the great chief Massasoit, if he did not return in safety from the Narragansetts, Plymouth would make war on them and overthrow them.
It was a daring speech for a man with only thirty-two soldiers, but Standish was a shrewd judge of human nature. He knew that the crucial factor in the relations between two peoples was power and that the Indians were still deeply afraid of his muskets. For Plymouth’s salvation, he was determined to press the advantage as long as it lasted. Never, while Miles Standish was alive, did this new commonwealth react to insult with weakness.
Perhaps the highest compliment Standish earned for his exploit was the lifelong admiration of Hobomok, something not easily won from a pinese. It was the beginning of a deep friendship between the white warrior and the red warrior. In his extreme old age when Hobomok became quite feeble, Standish took him into his home and cared for him until his death.
Now, as proof of their peaceful intentions, Standish offered to take anyone who had been wounded in the first melee back to Plymouth, where Doctor Samuel Fuller would heal them. One man and a woman accepted his invitation, and accompanied by Squanto and “many other known friends” the ten soldiers and their warrior captain marched home with peace restored.
Within a few days after the expedition to Namasket, the wisdom of Plymouth’s policy of strength became apparent. Congratulations and promises of peace from sachems as far away as Martha’s Vineyard poured into the little settlement. Massasoit returned unharmed from the Narragansetts, and a humbled Corbitant went to the great chief and asked him if he would help the rabble-rouser make peace with Plymouth.
Now the energy and decision of Plymouth’s new leaders manifested itself in another exploration. For some time they had been hearing news of the Massachusetts Indians who lived around the shores of a great bay twenty leagues to the north. They were a warlike people, and many of the messages that Plymouth had heard were filled with threats and scorn. The sensible thing to do, William Bradford decided, was to send envoys to them to see the country, make peace with them, and see what they had to trade.
Once more the governor chose ten men, this time under Miles Standish, and sent Squanto and two other Indians along in the shallop. They set out at midnight on September 18 and reached Boston Harbor late the following day. They went ashore the next morning and breakfasted on delicious lobsters that had been gathered by Indian fishermen. Then Captain Standish briskly set two sentinels on a cliff to secure the shallop and marched inland with a squad of four.
They met a woman who said she had caught the lobsters that they had eaten, so they gave her some trinkets which more than satisfied her. Soon, with the woman’s help, they reached the village of a local sachem named Obbatinewat. He was an ally of Massasoit and greeted them in a most friendly fashion. He had little to offer them in the way of hospitality, however. He lived a rather miserable life, continuously in fear of the fierce Abnaki Indians of Maine, who raided his people constantly. The squaw sachem, or queen of the Massachusetts, was also one of his enemies.
Captain Standish told Obbatinewat of all the sachems who had come to Plymouth after their show of force at Namasket and had allied themselves with King James. If Obbatinewat wished to join this alliance, Standish grandly guaranteed to safeguard him from his enemies. The sachem eagerly agreed and offered to lead them across the bay to the residence of the Massachusetts squaw queen.
Landing near present-day Charlestown, Standish marched all but two of his men three miles inland. Here they came to a place where corn had just been harvested and where a wigwam had been pulled down in great haste. Obviously, news of the white men’s arrival had spread through the countryside, and the immediate reaction was fear.
In another mile they came to the house of the late king of the Massachusetts, Nanepashemet. It was an unusual structure, completely unlike any Indian dwelling they had seen. Standing high upon a hill, the house was built on a huge scaffold some six feet from the ground. Not far away was a fort that the king had built. A wall of great trees some thirty or forty feet high was dug into the ground, enclosing a ring of some forty or fifty square feet. A trench, breast high, was dug on either side of it, and the only entrance was over a small bridge. In the center of this strange structure was a wigwam in which the great chief lay buried.
Standish now decided they had gone far enough from their shallop and sent two of his Indians on ahead to look for the inhabitants. The envoys soon returned with good news. The Massachusetts braves had apparently fled into the forest, but the women were nearby guarding the corn. The explorers marched another mile to reach them, seeing more evidence en route of houses hastily pulled down and corn covered only by a single mat.
The squaws trembled with fear as the white men approached, but they soon saw that no harm was meant and fell to boiling cod and other food, entertaining them in excellent style. Finally one of their men came out of the forest, shaking and trembling as much as the women. He was relieved to find that no hostilities were intended and was more than willing to trade his beaver skins with Plymouth. All the Indian women were well dressed in coats of luxurious beaver, and Squanto, betraying his primitive heritage, suggested to Standish that they rob their coats and corn and everything else that might be useful. “They are a bad people,” he said, “and have often threatened you.”
Proving he was no warmonger, Standish replied: “Were they never so bad, we would not wrong them or give them any justification against us.” He went on to explain to the puzzled Squanto that the white men put little stock in the harsh words that the Massachusetts flung about, but let them do something against Plymouth and then “we would deal far worse than he desired.”
The Massachusetts women accompanied the explorers back to their shallop and were so eager to trade that they sold the beaver coats from their backs and tied boughs about themselves to protect their modesty. “But with great shamefacedness,” Edward Winslow says, and thinking of the low-cut gowns he had seen on London jezebels, he adds, “for indeed they are more modest than some of our English women.”
Standish and his men were awed on the way home by the magnificence of Massachusetts Bay. “Better harbors for shipping cannot be than here are,” Edward Winslow said. Sailing home with a good load of beaver, the Plymouth men wondered aloud if they had chosen the wrong site for their homestead. When they mentioned their doubts to William Bradford, the young governor vehemently disagreed. It would be folly to abandon Plymouth. They had invested too much in labor and Indian diplomacy. The Mayflower had carried their application for a patent on this land. “The Lord assigns to all men the bounds of their habitation,” he said. Massachusetts Bay must have been appointed for another use.
Besides, Governor Bradford pointed out, they had much to be thankful for. They had twenty acres of corn almost ready to harvest and a firm friendship with the Indians in their vicinity. The woods and rivers teemed with game and fish. They were no longer threatened by either starvation or annihilation.
“Instead of wondering about the advantages of Massachusetts Bay, perhaps they should all offer thanks to God for the blessings he had given them here at Plymouth.
As the son of an English farmer, William Bradford was well acquainted with the harvest celebrations of his homeland. He also remembered the annual Thanksgiving Day celebrated in Leyden on the third of October, the anniversary of the city’s deliverance from the Spaniards. Why not have a similar holiday here in Plymouth so that they might “after a more special manner rejoice together”?
Preparations for the first Thanksgiving Day were soon under way. The twenty acres of Indian corn yielded an excellent harvest, but the six acres of English barley and peas came to nothing. This emphasized in everyone’s mind how deeply dependent they were on their Indian allies. Without the corn they would face a winter of certain starvation. No doubt this was a major reason why Governor Bradford decided that their Indian friends should also come to the festival.
A messenger was sent to Massasoit inviting him. Governor Bradford then sent four men out fowling, and in one day they killed enough wild turkeys to feed the whole company for almost a week. There were also eels, lobsters, and shellfish gathered from the bountiful shores of the bay. But not even this abundance seemed enough when the great Chief Massasoit arrived with no less than ninety hungry men.
For a moment, even that budding diplomat Edward Winslow was speechless. Ninety braves! Knowing by now the Indian tendency to gorge as long as food was available, the colonists saw all their provisions for the winter vanishing. They did not realize that for Massasoit and his Wampanoags a harvest thanksgiving was also a customary festival. Almost all the tribes along the eastern seaboard celebrated the rippening of the crops with a “Green Corn Dance.” Among many, this feast lasted for days, during which the entire village was cleansed and renewed, all old clothes and provisions discarded, and new fires kindled, to symbolize the beginning of a new year.
Massasoit and his men assumed they were being invited to Plymouth’s version of this feast and thus knew what was expected of them. They promptly sent hunters into the woods, who came back with five “fine deer.” These they presented ceremoniously to the leaders of the little colony - Governor Bradford, Miles Standish, Edward Winslow, William Brewster, Stephen Hopkins. The venison was accepted with gratitude. Nor was this the end of the Indians’ generosity. Almost certainly they exhibited their skill in catching eels and other sea creatures, to further bulwark the common larder.
The menu on this first thanksgiving was by no means confined to meat and fish. The household gardens had produced a great variety of vegetables – “sallets,” as the citizens of 1621 called them: parsnips, carrots, turnips, onions, cucumbers, radishes, beets, cabbages. The wild fruits of the summer - gooseberries, strawberries, plums, and cherries - had been dried under Squanto’s expert instructions, and some were cooked in “dough cases” to become forerunners of New England’s famous pies. Although the nearby bogs abounded in cranberries, their first use had to wait some years - and then it was in a “steamed pudding” made from chopped cranberries, flour, and molasses. The Indians also grew pumpkins among their corn - and Squanto undoubtedly obtained some seeds for the colonists - but in this first year there is no evidence that this formidable vegetable found its way onto Plymouth’s tables. In later years, however, the colonists would be eating pumpkin regularly as a sauce and in bread and in pie.
One joy to the palate which they did have in abundance was wine. Since their beer had run short they wasted no time in brewing both white and red from the wild grapes that grew “very sweet and strong” throughout the countryside. The vintage must have been a trifle green that first October, and they may have spiked it with Holland gin or other “strong waters” which they had in plenty among their stores. For Massasoit and his braves, this first taste of the transformed juice of the grape was further proof of the magic powers of their new allies.
For biscuits and bread there was English wheat, which they used sparingly, since their supply was very limited. But corn they had in abundance, and they served it parched and in hoecakes and in ashcakes. It tasted even better roasted over the hot coals and dipped in butter. Squanto added a local dish, Indian pudding, made of cornmeal and molasses boiled in a bag. It is also highly probable that everyone enjoyed this “grain that built a continent” in another New World way - cooked over the coals in earthen jars until the kernels burst into fluffy whiteness - popcorn! The Indians had been eating it this way for decades, and they also knew how to add the final touch by pouring maple syrup over it to turn it into sweet crunchy balls of goo.
The cooking was almost all done in the open - the venison and turkeys and geese and partridges turned on spits, the lobsters and oysters roasted over the coals, the clam chowder and venison stews simmered in iron kettles over dancing fires. There were only ten women, counting teenagers, to do the cooking. But the men turned the spits and sliced the venison and generally helped with the heavy work.
Between meals, the guests and hosts relaxed in games of sport and skill. There were shooting exhibitions with both guns and bows. Massasoit and his men were impressed to discover that some of these white men, especially Miles Standish, could handle a bow and arrow almost as well as an Indian. The red men were delighted to find that John Alden, John Howland, and the other younger men were ready and eager to join them in their races and wrestling matches. In return Plymouth’s athletes introduced them to their favorite sport, stoolball, which involved batting a ball through a series of wickets in a sort of rough-and-tumble croquet.
Captain Standish entertained with military maneuvers. Choosing his best men, he marched the company briskly down the main street into the clearing where the feast was being held.
“Rest your muskets,” he barked. The men expertly thrust their pieces in the spike-like rest that supported the heavy matchlock from the ground during firing.
“Draw out your match.” The long match was made ready. “Try your match. Guard your pan. Present. Give fire!”
The volley boomed out, to the Indians’ mixture of delight and dismay.
“Bring up your musket,” the captain shouted. “Poise your musket and recover your rest. Shoulder your musket.”
Always quick to seize an opportunity to impress his Indian allies, Standish climaxed his military parade by firing one of the cannons on Fort Hill. With the same brisk military order, the big gun was loaded (but, not shotted) and the match was applied to the touchhole by the captain himself. Whoom! The Indians had been astounded by the crash of the white men’s muskets. But this mighty gun seemed to steal the thunder from heaven itself. Truly Massasoit had been wise to make peace with these people! Perhaps they could overthrow even the mighty Narragansetts if they chose.
But display of power was not the main purpose of this feast; by far the largest part of it was devoted to uninhibited drinking and eating and gaiety. Proof of how well Governor Bradford succeeded as master of ceremonies is in the duration of the celebration - three long full days of marathon enjoyment. During the nights, Massasoit and his braves slept in the fields around Plymouth. Gone were the fears that once made a worried Standish post extra guards against a treacherous attack. By the time this first Thanksgiving was over, the formal alliance between Plymouth and the men of Massasoit had been cemented by strong ties of genuine friendship. Red men and white men parted, vowing to repeat the feast the following year and for many years to come.
The great feast over, Plymouth settled down to a more somber routine. Winter was not far away now. The trees were a riot of russet and gold, and the air had an ominous autumn chill. But they were reasonably well prepared. From their corn supply, they were able to guarantee about a peck a week to each person as well as another peck of the meal that they had brought from England. They took advantage of the southward migration of ducks and other wild fowl to lay in a good supply of them, as well as venison, against the lean winter months.
Besides hunting, there was much to be done on the hou
ses, adding thatch to roofs, daubing chinks with clay. All this work was suddenly interrupted by an excited Indian who came racing into town with news from Cape Cod. There was a ship sailing toward Plymouth. A great ship with sails. A white man’s ship!
Everyone stared, at first with amazement then with concern. They expected no ship from England. Who could it be? Their first thought was a French or Spanish privateer, for the land on which they stood was claimed by both these traditional enemies of England. Quickly Bradford called his council together and ordered the cannon on the hill to be fired as an alarm to those who were out hunting or fishing.
Miles Standish now took over, stationing small squads of men along the shore to repel landing parties and priming his artillery on Fort Hill. If it was an enemy, they were going to fight. Not for them the habit of buying off marauding pirates and privateers as so many Spanish cities did farther south.
Hours of waiting passed, and then the mysterious visitor was visible off the entrance to the harbor. He was coming in! Breathlessly they watched the captain feeling his way down the channel with the leadsman heaving away in the bowsprit. Soon he was past Saquish Head and swinging about to anchor near Clark’s Island, not far from where the Mayflower had ridden. Now was the moment. If he was a privateer, a foreign flag would run up his masthead.
One Small Candle: The Pilgrim's First Year in America (The Thomas Fleming Library) Page 17
