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Show 6 THE ACORN turkeys and geese and ducks, sufficient to provision the whole settlement an entire week. All that day and night there was rare work among the good wives of Plymouth pounding corn and baking it, getting out and polishing the tin and pewter table services brought from England and Holland; scrubbing the wooden trenchers that served the poorer colonists in place of tin or pewter, and plucking and dressing the game which the hunters brought in. In many of those log-built cabins on the Plymouth Green, tallow dip must have shown tired housewives at work, long after the usual hour for retiring. In the morning, the roar of one of the great guns on the hill-top announced the commencement of Thanksgiving. Then in the different dwellings and over fires lit in the open air, began the work of roasting and broiling. Soon the air was savory with the steam of turkeys, turning on strings before the fire, and of other birds frizzling on spits or dancing in bubbling pots. Presently there was a rattle of drums, and every man caught up his firelock and hurried to the house of Captain Standish, falling into line as he arrived. When all had assembled, the sergeant stepped forward, and the men, three abreast, with shouldered firearms, marched orderly and silently toward the rude meeting house. Then followed Governor Bradford, in his long robe of office, walking gravely, as befitted a magistrate. By his side walked the venerable Elder Brewster, in his long preacher's cloak, bearing the Bible reverently in his hands. Behind all, strode the brave soldier, Miles Standish, captain of the colony of Plymouth, "clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather," his trusty sword at his side, and a small cane in his hand, as a mark of office. Proudly he watched the sturdy frames, firm tread and serviceable weapons of his little troop, and doubtless was half regretful that among the subjects for thanksgiving was the blessing of peace with all the tribes about them. We can imagine him thinking that those good muskets ought to be used at better targets than wild fowl. Elder Brewster's sermon, we are told, was appropriate to the occasion. THE ACORN 7 Never was he known to preach a better discourse, or a shorter one, though it would be thought long and tiresome now, especially by boys and girls who were thinking of the roast turkey, plun pudding and cranberry sauce waiting for them at home. It was over at last, and the congregation dispersed. Then came the Thanksgiving dinner, which was a Thanksgiving dinner in truth. Of course the tables were rude, and there was not much attempt at decoration; nor were there the many little delicacies that are now commonly found on Thanksgiving tables; but there were the turkeys, bronze and huge, and there were the other fowls, great and small, roasted and broiled over the embers. There, too, were bread made of golden maize, and rich Indian puddings. That Thanksgiving dinner was one of the great events of our history. We could well wish that some painter had been present to have handed down the scene on canvas. There are the rough, unplastered walls, the windows, with oiled paper in lieu of glass, the stone fireplaces, the antique furniture, and over the door a pair of deer antlers, supporting the settler's heavy blunderbuss. Then there is the well-filled board, surrounded by the grave faces of our fathers, who, we can imagine, were serious even in their joy and festivity. There is the Puritan father of the household, with his close-cropped hair, well-trimmed beard and "moustaches like a pard," dressed in padded jerkin or doublet, baggy breeches, long stockings, low-quartered shoes, and a big ruff around the neck. The Pilgrim dame is arranged in her best Sunday gown, with a silk stomacher, slashed sleeves, lace neckerchief and embroidered caps. The young folks are miniature copies in dress of their parents. Dinner is scarcely over when there is an Indian shout, followed by a challenge from one of the guard. A sharp rattle of a drum, and every man grasped his matchlock, and rushed out in alarm. Nearly a hundred savages were pouring from the woods toward the little hamlet. But there was no occasion for alarm. It was the friendly Massasoit and ninety of his Wampanoag braves who had come to share in the festivity. They brought with them five deer and a good supply of other game as their contribution to the feast. |