The Truth About Thanksgiving

History books describe the first Thanksgiving as a harvest celebration held in 1621 by the Pilgrims, whose early settlers of Plymouth Rock, who wore big black hats and buckled boots and carried flare- barreled muskets.

The Pilgrims invited local Indians to their celebration, or so the story goes, and together they gave thanks and feasted on turkey and sweet potatoes.

Despite the propagation of the Thanksgiving story in books and encyclopedias, some historians believe a good deal of Pilgrim lore is just plain false. It's generally agreed that sometime in early October, not late November, fifty or so Pilgrims held a three-day harvest bash. Beyond that, there is little evidence to authenticate the stories. Writers and painters have tended to moralize and romanticize the story, embellishing it with colorful anecdotes and side stepping the grimmer details.

For instance, the Pilgrims most likely wore bright colored clothing and no shoes in the summer. Painters of the 17th century apparently supplied the pilgrims with their black hats and buckles. Did the Pilgrims really give thanks as the holiday implies? Plymouth Historian James Baker says that in all the voluminous writings of the Mayflower settlers, there are exactly three paragraphs referring to any kind of feast--with no mention of anyone saying thanks to anyone. There's no evidence that anyone said prayers, either.

The role of the Indians is also disputed. According to most history books, about ninety Indians were invited by Governor William Bradford to share the feast. (Bradford is the author of Plymouth Plantation, a history of the settlement which he helped establish.) The Dictionary of American History tells us that the first Thanksgiving was celebrated with the help of Squanto, a "friendly Indian." But other document reveal that Squanto was twice kidnapped and taken to Europe where he learned English. Upon returning to his native land, Squanto found that a disease carried to the New World by Europeans had wiped out his entire tribe, the Pawtuxet People.

What many history books don't tell us is that Thanksgiving may have been held to celebrate the massacre of Indians. In colonial times the settlers periodically held religious fasts, or "days of humiliation," and Thanksgiving days throughout the year. Sometimes such a day marked an Indian Massacre.;

The above explanation about the real truth of Thanksgiving inspired the fiction story that follows.

While most of American celebrates Thanksgiving with the misguided belief it was a day the Pilgrims who would never have survived with the help of the Wampanoag people, sat down with the native people and had a feast in thanks and gratitude to the Wampanoags for helping them to survive that first winter, American Indians consider it a Day of Mourning. It was the day approximately 700 Pequot men, women and children were massacred - some burnt to death in fires that were set to their village, others killed as they tried to escape, dying by gunshot or worse.

When the Green Corn Dance Turned to Blood

There had been excited preparation all week for the Green Corn Dance. The People needed such a gathering. Life had changed since the arrival of the white people from Europe. Many people had died from the illnesses or bad medicine these people had brought to them. Many of the men were killed or people would just disappear never to be seen again. These were hard times for the Pequot people and all the nations who were in close proximity to the whites.

It was good to hear the women laugh as they made preparations for the feast. Children scampered about, chasing one another, laughing, feeling a sense of freedom they had not felt in a long time. The Mothers always insisted the children stay close to them or to not leave the boundaries of their village for any reason. The dogs barked happily, some chasing after the children as they ran and played, others hanging around where the food was being prepared for the feast, hoping they would get some scraps.

Suddenly there was the sound of horses and the shouts of men. As they approached the village, the Pequot men quickly gathered the weapons they had and the women and children were ushered to safety, the younger women helping the elders as they fearfully shouted for their children to follow them quickly.

Red Wing was 7 winters old. She had two baby brothers, one which she held the best that she could, and her Mother held her other son as they hurried as fast as they could to the main lodge. The lodge filled up quickly and warriors were stationed inside the lodge and outside of it, to protect the women, children and elders. Some of the warriors were boys, 16 or 17 years old, but who had been taught the way of their people. So many of the men in the village had been kidnapped or murdered it was now up to the young men to protect their people.

The huddled together in small groups as the men and horses entered the village, shouting words Red Wing could not understand. There was the sound of gunfire over and over again. The young men there to protect them did the best that they could, but they soon ran out of ammunition.

Suddenly men entered the lodge and within minutes had shot and killed the young warriors. Then they began to fire indiscriminately and there were the terrible sounds of death cries, the babies wailed, terrified, one crawling on his Mother’s fallen body, she had fallen victim to the gun shots. Red Wing whispered to her Mother, “I am scared.” Her Mother hugged her close and said it will be alright little one. We are all here together. The men finally stopped shooting. “We are wasting ammunition here.” One said to the other. “Yes we are.” Another one responded. These squaws and old people and children are not worth wasting bullets. Set this place on fire.”

One of the men ran out of the lodge and returned a torch in hand. He began to set fire to here and there, throughout the lodge and all the men disappeared through growing flames and smoke. The children began to scream and their mothers tried to comfort them while the old women sang their death song.

“Mother! Mother! We must run from here!” Red Wing shouted above the screams. “Please Mother, let’s run from here.” Her Mother covered them all with a blanket and she pushed Red Wing near the opening but the flames were fierce and the smoke was beginning to make them all choke.

Her Mother screamed, her youngest had stopped breathing. The heat intensified and then Red Wing’s Mother fell to the ground. As hard as Red Wing tried to pull her Mother up, she could not do it. The flames were higher and very hot and the smoke made it nearly impossible to breath.

Red Wing screamed for her Mother again, then she dropped her baby brother and as she tried to pick him up, her clothing caught fire. The flames began to sear her flesh and Red Wing screamed and screamed.

The night was filled with screaming and the smell of smoke and burning flesh. Red Wing soon fell alongside her Mother and baby brothers and the fire continued to burn. Mercifully, the smoke stopped their breath so they could no longer feel the pain of the fire as it burnt flesh and hair. All those who had run to the lodge for safety were dead.

Outside the men who came that night celebrated with shouts and pats on the back the destruction of the village and the Pequot people who lived there. There would never again be a Gathering and Celebration of the Green Corn. The Pequot people were dead – 700 who had lived and died on this land.

As the flames continued to burn the main lodge, one of the men looked over and saw a little girl, about the age of his own. “Look there!” He shouted to his companion. “How can that be?” He asked aloud as he pointed in the area he had seen the little girl. “What?” his companion asked. “A little girl. I just saw a little girl standing there.” “That impossible you fool! No one could escape that fire.” His companion replied. “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight.” He said as he laughed. The man had drunk nothing, but he knew what he had seen – a little Indian girl, standing here in the flames looking at him. Suddenly he wanted to leave this place. He had heard too many screams this night – smelled burning flesh and watched as smoke drifted skyward in the night – it was a victory the other men shouted. They had killed the savages. He said nothing, but quickly got his horse and began to ride as hard as he could to return home to his wife and his own children. It was a night he would never forget.

For the Indian people – it would forever be known as the Day of Mourning.

November Reports

Two Beads Main Page

Last updated on November 20, 2007

Send This Page
On To A Friend