- The Washington Times - Sunday, November 29, 2009

Thanksgiving time has come again. Amid the countless directions our thoughts go at this time, allow me to reprise an earlier column about the origins of this national holiday.

Years ago, I was given a book called “The Light and the Glory,” written by David Manuel and Peter Marshall, son of Christian author Catherine Marshall and Peter Marshall, the U.S. Senate chaplain for many years.

The book retells the story of the Pilgrims’ arrival in what is now Plymouth, Mass., in November 1620, in a way that suggests God’s hidden hand repeatedly protected these devout people.

For example, in the Mayflower’s harrowing seven-week journey, it was blown off-course and landed far north of the jurisdiction of the Virginia Company. This forced the 102 Pilgrims to create their own community with little more than ingenuity and faith.

The harbor they sailed into was perfect for a ship — in fact, it could (and would) handle ships twice the size of the Mayflower. The mainland had rich, fertile soil and four spring-fed creeks with the “sweetest water any of them had ever tasted,” the authors wrote.

Oddly, some 20 acres were cleared for planting, although it seemed no one had touched the land for years.

“[T]hus arrived in a good harbor and brought safe to land,” William Bradford, one of the young leaders and future governor, wrote in his journal, “they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof.”

But, as Bradford added, landing in a desolate wilderness meant there were “no friends to welcome them, nor inns to entertain or refresh their weatherbeaten bodies, no houses, or much less towns to repair to, to seek for succor.”

The winter of 1620-21 was horrific. The Pilgrims built shelters as fast as they could, but sickness soon began claiming lives. Forty-seven people perished, including 13 of the 18 wives.

Then on a sunny March day, an Indian walked up and said, “Welcome!” to the stunned settlers.

Samoset asked for beer — and settled for brandy — and explained he had learned English from traveling with sea captains. He also knew why the Pilgrims had not been harmed by Indians: The land they were on once belonged to the Patuxets, a fierce tribe that killed any white people who came to 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, convinced that some supernatural spirit had destroyed the Patuxets,” Mr. Marshall and Mr. Manuel wrote. “Hence, the cleared land on which [the Pilgrims] had settled literally belonged to no one.”

The nearest Indian tribe was the Wampanoags, led by Massasoit. American history students likely will remember the rest of this story — Samoset introduced the Pilgrims to Squanto, a surviving Patuxet who was living with the Wampanoags. Squanto also knew English, and he taught the Pilgrims how to raise corn, plant pumpkins, refine maple syrup, pick medicinal herbs, harvest beaver pelts and catch eels and fish.

The first Thanksgiving dinner in October 1621 was bountiful. The Wampanoags arrived with deer and turkeys and the two groups introduced hoecakes, vegetables, fruit pies and popcorn to each other. It led to 40 years of peace.

Winter came again, and the Pilgrims endured a second “starving time.” Their burden was made heavier when, as winter began, 35 more Pilgrims were dropped off, empty-handed, from a ship. As the food supplies dwindled, there came a time when everyone was rationed to five kernels of corn a day.

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