Filed under: Who Was at the First Thanksgiving? | Tags: George W. Bush, Mayflower, Pilgrims, Thanksgiving
We have another thing to thank the Pilgrims for: George W. Bush. He is a descendant of several passengers on the Mayflower.
Ah, so many turkeys, so little time. T minus 51 days and counting.
Filed under: Who Was at the First Thanksgiving? | Tags: Mary Brewster, Mayflower, Pilgrims, Plymouth, Sarah Palin, Thanksgiving
It is suggested that there were over 140 people who took part in the “first” Thanksgiving of 1621, the 52 survivors of the Mayflower, as well as the 90 Native Americans who accompanied Wampanoag Chief Massasoit to the legendary meal.
While Edward Winslow (and later, William Bradford) left very brief accounts of what transpired during that mythologized moment in history, they neglected to mention who prepared the meal for such a large gathering of people. In the absence of real proof, we are left to speculate that the caterers for the event were the women of Plymouth, of whom only 4 adults had survived the bleak winter of 1620-21 (18 who had originally departed on the journey.) Among this rare group of female survivors was Mary Brewster.
Mary Brewster lives in the history books only as the wife of Elder William Brewster (the first religious leader of the colony and advisor to Governor William Bradford) and the mother of his children. Like her sister survivors in the Plymouth colony, not much is known about her biography or individual contribution to the fledgling community; sadly, there isn’t even a clear record of her maiden name. Like so many women in our nation’s—and indeed the world’s—past, her story has been forgotten.
But we can paint a broad portrait about the kind of life she may have lived. As a woman of her time, she was likely subject to the patriarchal confines we would assume for women of the late 16th and early 17th century. Women were expected to marry. Once married, they were beholden to decisions their husbands made (such as where & how to live, etc.) Especially in the New World, it was considered their bounden duty to bear children—the survival of the community was tantamount. They could not vote, or speak in church; they were expected at all times to have their heads covered, as a sign of modesty and subservience.
And, of course, there was the woman’s critical role in the early colonial home:
Almost everything a family used or ate was prepared at home under the woman’s direction. She made butter, cheese, soap, and candles. She preserved meat and vegetables, spun and wove cloth and made it into clothing, took care of chickens and dairy cattle, worked the vegetable garden, kept the fire going—women produced a significant share of the necessities of life.
Girls were taught housewifery by their mothers. They learned to grind corn, barley and wheat into flour, then to measure flour in their hands for baking bread. They also learned how to cook outdoors, how to scour, scald, and cook meats, to dry fish, and how to use herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes.
Source: History of American Women
These unique and challenging circumstances of colonization allowed, for a brief moment in time, some singular opportunities for the pilgrim women. Because the colony depended on their work and contributions to the home, their social status rose. Unlike most of Europe at the time, laws passed in Plymouth recognized women’s importance in property law. Women were allowed to enter into contracts (most commonly pre-nuptial agreements)—in fact, premarital agreements about distribution of goods and wealth were common. In addition, wives were guaranteed at least 1/3 of their husband’s property after his passing; and if they were widowed and entered into a subsequent marriage, they were entitled to keep whatever wealth they had brought from the first.
But Mary Brewster never had the opportunity to exercise her property rights (which was unfortunate, due to Elder Brewster’s significant land holdings by the time of his death in 1644.) She died only a handful of years after the Mayflower arrival, in 1627, when she was approximately 59 years of age. But her legacy to the New World was in her children, of whom five survived to adulthood: Jonathan, Patience, Fear, Love, and Wrestling. (Yes—those were their real names. I can’t believe it either. “Patience” and “Love,” I suppose, can be explained away; they do, after all, fit in with names we’ve heard before like “Honor,” “Grace,” and “Joy.” But what are the mental ramifications of naming your children “Fear” and “Wrestling”? Sounds like a recipe for trouble to me.) Nevertheless, through these (albeit questionably named) children, it is suggested that Mary has become the ancestor of millions of Americans.
Perhaps one of the most amusing coincidences during this 2008 Thanksgiving season is the suggestion that one of Brewster’s descendants is none other than Sarah Palin, recent Vice Presidential candidate and Governor of Alaska. (I just can’t seem to escape her, no matter what topic I choose to discuss.) While I can’t find much evidence to back up this assertion by Wikipedia, perhaps we can discern some anecdotal proof by looking at some similar traits of these frontier women. Both have lived on the outskirts of civilization. Both have belonged to somewhat unorthodox religious traditions. Both have field dressed wild game. But perhaps the strongest link between the two is their shared delight in bizarre children’s names: so Patience, Fear, Love and Wrestling, meet Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper and Trig.
Some things never change.
Filed under: Who Was at the First Thanksgiving? | Tags: Massasoit, Mayflower, Native Americans, Pilgrims, Plymouth, Squanto, Thanksgiving, Tisquantum, Wampanoag
He has been called the Ulysses of his day, an epic figure who was carried back and forth across the Atlantic many times, but who only ever wanted to get home. A man who was, for better or for worse, at the whim of the fates, and who was a pivotal pawn in the strategic colonization of North America. And his story has never been told properly; we have only seen him as the helper, the guide, the plant whisperer, the translator, the means to an end. The man who unlocked the door for the Pilgrims.
That simplistic portrait ends here.
The man we know as Squanto—or, more properly, Tisquantum–was born into the Patuxet tribe in the Wampanoag confederation, which occupied the area that is now Plymouth, Massachusetts. As a young man, he and several other members of his tribe were taken from their home by Captain George Weymouth, as “show and tell” pieces to bring before English society. Tisquantum, from what records show, then became affiliated with Sir Ferdinando Gorges (Weymouth’s employer) while in London, from whom he learned English—and was enlisted by Gorges to act as a translator and guide for explorers of the New World.
On an expedition with John Smith (of Pocahontas and Jamestown fame), Tisquantum was again abducted, this time by one of Smith’s own associates, and sold as a slave in Spain. Rescued by Spanish friars, he managed to make his way to Newfoundland, where he was discovered by an a friend of his former owner (Ferdinando Gorges), and he was taken back into custody. Upon his return to England and to Gorges, he was promised that after one last surveying mission of New England, he could go back to his tribe.
It had been 15 years since he had last been with his family.
During that final mission, however, Tisquantum discovered a terrible tragedy: that his entire tribe had been decimated by a plague. He had become the last of his kind.
I should pause here to mention that these “plagues” among the Native Americans (the illnesses the Europeans brought over with them) were both known and celebrated by colonizing countries—they were seen as a useful tool in the conquest of the New World. Before the Mayflower made its fateful journey, King James of England even praised the “Almighty God in his great goodness and bounty towards us” for “this wonderful plague among the savages.” (see James Loewen, Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Book Got Wrong)
In 1616-17, a great plague (speculated to have been smallpox) struck what is now New England, killing approximately 30-80% of Native American tribes living in the area. The plague was, apparently, idiosyncratic, wiping out entire villages in some cases and leaving others relatively untouched (such as Massasoit’s tribe, which was relatively close to Tisquantum’s.)
Who can know what Tisquantum thought when he was sent as an emissary to the colonists by Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag, and encountered these Englishmen and women upon the land of his people (for the colonists had, of course, settled in “Plymouth”–what was formerly Patuxet)? Nevertheless, regardless of his own feelings, he negotiated peace on that March day in 1621, guaranteeing that neither Wampanoag nor colonist would attack one another, and that they would come to one another’s aid should there be an outside threat.
Tisquantum then stayed among the colonists, befriending them and becoming their most pivotal associate. It was his help that allowed them to survive, and even thrive, after their first very difficult winter in New England. That First Thanksgiving would not have been possible without his mentorship. As William Bradford (Plymouth Colony governor) described, Squanto was “…a special instrument sent of God for their good beyond their expectation. He directed them how to set their corn, where to take fish, and to procure other commodities, and was also their pilot to bring them to unknown places for their profit.” (Loewen, 84).
But for Tisquantum, playing the middle between two uneasy neighbor/foes was not a safe place to be. For despite their pious and hardworking image, the Pilgrims were no angels. For years after their arrival, they were known to steal seed and tools from Native American graves, even when they understood they were desecrating the sacred spaces of their neighbors. They were also known to steal occasionally from the living among the tribes; and regarded such actions as God simply intervening for their benefit. And this only contributed further to the distrust the Wampanoag had in the Pilgrims–Pilgrims who were, after all, white people. And white people left disease and destruction in their wake.
It should come as no surprise, then, that Tisquantum was ultimately regarded as a traitor by the Wampanoags and other Native American tribes because of his close associations with the Pilgrims. As the “enabler” of the settlers, he was helping them to gain a foothold in the New World. But neither was Tisquantum entirely guiltless in earning such a reputation; apparently, he used his strength as an interpreter and ally of the Pilgrims to his own gain, increasing his power and prestige by threatening other Native Americans with the Pilgrims’ plague (he claimed the Pilgrims had it stored under their homes in barrels.)
Such acts, and other suggested betrayals, may have cost him his life. He died, quite suddenly, in 1623, from an acute fever that featured heavy bleeding from the nose—some have even speculated that he may have been poisoned.
But regardless of how he met his end, it is important to see Tisquantum beyond the simple portrait that has been painted of him in the history books: as a humble sidekick to the Pilgrims, or as the great betrayer of the Native Americans. The truth is, he was neither. Instead, he was a product of his life circumstances: a former slave; a linguist; an international traveler; a loner; an orphan; and a citizen of the world in a way that no Pilgrim ever could have been (or, for that matter, in a way that few of us are now.) And there is no doubt that these circumstances must have shaped his personality and world view. For there was absolutely no one like him: while he spoke English, knew English custom, and had lived in London for years, he did not look English, and would never be an Englishman. And although he looked like his Native American neighbors, and spoke their language and knew their customs, because he knew the ways of the white man and had lived among them, he would never be completely of the tribe.
Strangely enough, it was by occupying this in-between place, by serving as the ultimate “other,” that Tisquantum made all things possible for the Pilgrims. For he, too, had been a stranger in a strange land; he had lived among the Europeans for a great part of his life–and perhaps that allowed him to understand the colonists a bit better than his Native American kin.
So as you tuck in to your Turkey dinner on Thursday, unlatch your belt, and go back for seconds, spare a thought for Squanto. And raise your glass to a misunderstood man; a man who was alone; a man whose fate collided with history; a man in the middle.