First Person
The holy day
Excerpts from The First Year: A Pilgrim’s Notebook
I. Our harvest being gotten in, our governor declared a day of thanksgiving and sent five men on fowling that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruits of our labor. And though the governor did ask me to go with the men, seeing, as he put it, I had nothing better to do, I assured him that I was deep in pensive thought on the issue of the upcoming winter and the state of our stocks of cod and corn and waterfowl and that I always did my best thinking with my eyes closed while lying upon my stomach. The governor then shrugged and walked away and so four men did go on their expedition for fowl while I stayed in the village with the women. They four men in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week, which is fine, but I did find the reception they received a bit much and mocked it when they weren’t around. “I could have done that,” I told a few people.
II. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms with the throwing of balls and the grappling of bodies, many of the indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, and I tried to tell them that I don’t like deer, that I was fine with chicken, but they did not listen and filled my plate anyway, and so I did feed it to my dog when the indians were looking the other way.
III. We sat around the great fires with the indians for many long hours, our governor having decided that the best course of action in relation to them was one of Christian cheer and mutual respect, the better to ensure our survival during the coming winter. One indian, named Ossagua, wore a great headdress and a stern countenance at all times; I gathered he was a kind of medicine man or spiritual guide. His face was painted garishly with animal’s blood and he wore a necklace of wolves’ teeth. I would have been fascinated by him, perhaps even terrified, if he had ever gone away long enough to give me the chance. Instead, he never left my side throughout the feast. He described in great detail how he spent his days in their village from the time he woke until the time he bedded down for the evening. He sat his children in my lap. He gave me some kind of locket to wear that, as far as I could understand, consecrated our new friendship for eternity. He told me at least ten times that his favorite thing to do was fishing. Over and over again, he leapt to his feet and flopped his hand around and grunted, “Fish, fish.” “Yes,” I assured him. “You like to fish. I understand. How fascinating.”
IV. Ninety indians, fifty pilgrims, and no one thought to make brownies. I’m beginning to regret coming to this new world.
V. On the third day of solemnity, Edward Winslow declared that, before feasting, it would be meet that we all in turn name those things that we were thankful for, the better to enumerate before all, including our new indian friends, that which God had done for us and extol His glory. All assembled agreed this would be a fine and noble gesture. Many did thank the Lord for our safe passage across the ocean; others thanked him for the bounty of the harvest and the joy of religious freedom. When it got around to me, I began coughing theatrically and rose from the table while pointing at my throat, as if I were choking and off to search for water. I did wander around for five minutes thus, and by the time I returned to the feasting table, they were already five people down the line and I was quite off the hook.
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