We two were standing just outside the door of my home, breaking twigs
to be used for brightening the fire in the morning, when suddenly a
real savage, the first I had ever seen, dressed in skins, with many
feathers on his head, came into the village crying:
"Welcome English!"
Women and children, all who were able to do so, ran out to see him,
the first visitor we had had in Plymouth. His skin was very much darker
than ours, being almost brown, and, save for the color, one might have
believed him to be a native of Scrooby dressed in outlandish fashion to
take part in some revel.
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Father was the more surprised because of hearing him speak in our
language, than because of his odd dress; but we afterward learned that
he had met, two or three years before, some English fishermen, and they
had taught him a few words.
Very friendly he was, so much so that when he put his hand on my head
I was not afraid, and I myself heard him talking with Master Brewster,
during which conversation he spoke a great many Indian words, and some
in English that I could understand.
His name was Samoset, and after he had looked around the village,
seeming to be surprised at the manner in which our houses of logs
were built, he went away, much to my disappointment, for I had hoped,
without any reason for so doing, that he might give me a feather from
the splendid headdress he wore.
As I heard afterward, he promised to come back again, and when, six
days later, he did so, there was with him another Indian, one who could
talk almost the same as do our people. His was a strange story, or so
it seemed to me, so strange and cruel that I wondered how he could be
friendly with us, as he appeared to be, because of having suffered so
much at the hands of people whose skins were white.
Squanto had been a member of the same tribe that owned the land where
our village of Plymouth was built, and his real name, so Governor
Bradford says, is Squantum.