conversation did not belong to children in those days; they sat on
little stools and kept silence. That did not keep them from thinking. A
thanksgiving feast! What could it be? The only thanksgiving they knew
about meant such long prayers in church that the little people grew very
tired before the end--but a feast!--that would be something new and
interesting.
The feast was to be held on the following Thursday; so, during all the
days between, the house was full of the stir of brewing and baking.
Prudence polished the apples, and Joel pounded the corn, in eager
anticipation; but when the day arrived a disappointment awaited them,
for their father decreed that they should remain at home.
"You are over-young, my little Prudence, and Joel is over-bold; besides
which, he must stay and care for you."
"And do neither of you leave the house while your father and I are
away," added the mother. "I shall not have a moment's peace of mind, if
I think you are wandering outside alone."
"I will bring you back a Dutch cake, my little sister," whispered
Mehitable, who looked sweeter than ever in her best attire of black silk
and a lace kerchief, which with an unwilling heart she had put on in
obedience to her mother's command.
But when the elders were gone the disappointment and loneliness were too
much for the children. Prudence, being a girl, sat down in a corner and
cried; while Joel, being a boy, got angry, and strode up and down the
room with his hands in his pockets.
"It is too bad!" he burst out suddenly. "The greedy, grown-up people, I
believe they want all the food themselves! It's a downright shame to
keep us at home!"
"Joel!" gasped Prudence, horrified--"father and mother!"
"Well, I know," admitted Joel, more mildly; "but they need not have shut
us up in the house as if we were babies. Prudence, let's go out in the
yard and play, if we can't do anything else."
"But mother forbade us," said Prudence.
"I know. But then, of course, she only meant we must not go into the
woods for fear of wild beasts. There is no danger here by the doorsteps,
and father won't care; _he's_ not afraid!"
"I--don't--know," faltered Prudence.
"Well, _I'm_ going, anyway," said Joel, resolutely, taking his hat from
the peg. "Ah, do come too, Prudence!" he added persuasively.
So Prudence, though she knew in her heart it was a naughty thing to do,
took off her cap, and tying her little Puritan bonnet under her chin,
followed Joel through the door.
Once outside, I am afraid their scruples were soon forgotten. All the
sunshine of the summer and the sparkling air of the winter were fused
together to make a wonderful November day. The children felt like colts
just loosed, and ran and shouted together till, if there had not been a
good deal of noise also at the stone house where the feast was being
spread, their shrill little voices must surely have been heard there.
All at once Joel caught Prudence by the arm.
"Hush!" he exclaimed. "Look!"
A beautiful gray squirrel ran across the grass in front of them. It
stopped, poising its little head and intently listening.
"I'm going to catch him," whispered Joel, excitedly. "Father said if I
could catch one, he would make me a cage for it. Come along."
He tiptoed softly forward, but the squirrel heard and was up and away in
an instant. Joel pursued, and Prudence ran after him. Such a chase as
the little creature gave them--up on the fence, under the stones, across
the fields, and finally straight to the woods, with the children panting
and stumbling after, still keeping him in sight. Breath and patience
gave out at last; but when they stopped, where were they? In the very
heart of the forest, where the dead leaves rustled, and the sunlight
slanted down upon them, and the squirrel, safe in the top of a tree,
chattered angrily.
"Never saw--anything run--so fast," panted Joel in disgust.
"I--give--him up. We had better go back, Prudence. Why--but--I don't
think I know the way!"
Prudence's lip quivered, and her eyes filled.
"That's just like a girl!" said Joel, harshly, "to go and cry the first
thing."
"I don't care," cried Prudence, indignation burning away her tears; "you
brought me into this, anyhow, Joel, and now you ought to get me out."
This was so obviously true that Joel had no retort at hand. Besides, he
did not like to see Prudence unhappy. So, after a moment, he put his arm
around her.
"Never mind, Prue," he said; "I think if we try together, we can find
the way home."
But though they walked until their feet were weary, they could find no
familiar spot.
When they came out of the woods at last, it was only to find themselves
unexpectedly on the sandy beach of the ocean. They sat down on two
stones, and looked at each other in silence. Joel began to feel even his
bravery giving way. All at once they heard a sound of soft feet, and a
low, sweet voice said:
"How do, English!"
A little Indian boy stood before them. He wore a garment of skins, and a
tiny bow and quiver hung upon his back. His feet were bare, and he
walked so lightly that the children could hardly hear his tread.
Prudence, in fright, shrank close to her brother; but Joel had seen many
Indians during their year in the New World, and the stranger's eyes were
so bright and soft that the white boy returned the Indian's salutation.
Then, plunging his hand into his pocket, Joel brought forth a handful of
nut-meats, and held them out for an offering.
[Illustration: "'HOW DO, ENGLISH!'"]
The little Indian smiled delightedly, and politely took a few--not all.
Having munched the kernels gravely, the new-comer began to dance.
It was a most remarkable dance. It was first a stately measure,
accompanied by many poisings on his toes, and liftings of his head, from
which the wind blew back his straight black hair; but gradually his
motions grew faster and more furious, his slow steps changed to running,
he turned, he twisted his lithe body into all possible contorted shapes,
he threw his arms high above his head, waving them wildly, he took great
leaps into the air, and finally, when his dance had lasted about fifteen
minutes, several amazing somersaults brought him breathless, but still
smiling, to the children's feet.
His spectators had been shouting with delight during the whole
performance, and now asked him eager questions. What was his name? How
did he learn to dance? Could he not speak any more English? But to all
their inquiries he only shook his head, and at last sat down beside
them, motionless now as any little bronze statue, and looked steadily
out to sea.
Prudence's head drooped upon her brother's shoulder.
"I'm rather tired, Joel," she said wistfully; "don't you think we could
get to Plymouth pretty soon?"
"I don't know," said Joel, despondently.
At the words the Indian boy sprang to his feet. He ran toward the woods,
then stopped, and beckoned them to follow.
"He is going in the wrong direction, I am sure," said Joel, shaking his
head.
The boy stamped on the ground with impatience, and, running back, seized
Prudence's hand, and gently pulled her forward.
"Plymout'!" he said, in his strange accent.
The children looked at each other.
"We might as well try him," said Joel.
The boy clapped his hands together, and ran on before them into the
forest. It was a weary journey, over bogs and fallen trees, and seemed
three times as long as when they had come. A wasp once stung Prudence on
the cheek, making her cry out with pain; but quick as thought the little
Indian caught up a pellet of clay, and plastered it upon the wound, and,
marvelous to relate, before many minutes the sharp pain had quite gone
away.
The woods seemed gradually to grow a little more open, and pretty soon
they heard the distant tinkle of a cow-bell. At last (Prudence held her
breath for fear it might not be true) they emerged suddenly into the
clearing, and home lay before them.
They found they had made a complete circle since they started.
Their little guide stooped and picked up a gaudy-colored feather from
the ground. He examined it closely, and then he shouted aloud, and began
to run toward the storehouse as fast as his sturdy legs could carry him.
"I want to see mother," said Prudence, half crying with fatigue; so they
ran all together across the clearing.
All this while the feast had been progressing. About noontime the great
Massasoit, chief of the Indian tribe called the Wampanoags, had emerged
from the forest with all his tallest braves in single file behind him.
They wore their best beaver-skins, and their heads were gay with nodding
feathers. They were received at the door of the storehouse by their
English entertainers, who also wore the bravest attire that Puritan
custom allowed. They gave the braves a hearty welcome.
Within, the long table fairly groaned with abundance of good cheer; for
the housewives had vied with one another to provide the fattest game and
the daintiest dishes that Dutch or English housewifery had taught them.
After asking a blessing, they all sat down, the stalwart colonists and
their fair-haired women side by side with the taciturn Indians. The
white men felt that the best way to thank God for the harvest was to
share it with their dark-skinned brethren, who had first taught them to
plant and raise the maize which now furnished the table.
Governor Bradford sat at the head of the table. He hoped much from this
feast; first, that it might cement the friendship between the colonists
and their Indian neighbors, the Wampanoags; and, second, that the news
of it might induce the neighboring tribes, which were still partly
hostile, to live in peace with the settlers. But though food and talk
passed blithely round among the other guests, the governor saw, with
growing dismay, that the great Massasoit sat frowning and depressed. The
governor was not long in learning the cause. The interpreter, observing
the governor's uneasiness, whispered in his ear that in a recent war
with the Narragansetts, Massasoit's only child, a boy, was missed and
was thought to have been taken prisoner, and of course put to death,
after the cruel savage custom.
Toward the end of the feast, drink was served to every guest. For the
first time Massasoit showed animation. He seized his cup, and lifted it
in the air, and cried aloud in his native tongue, as he sprang to his
feet:
"May plague and famine seize the Narragansetts!"
At that very moment the house-door opened, and a pretty group appeared
upon the threshold. Two English children stood there, as fair and rosy
as the May-time, and between them a dark, lithe little Indian with
sparkling eyes.
Prudence ran straight to her mother.
Massasoit paused and trembled; then, as his cup fell and shivered upon
the ground, he crossed the room in one stride, and caught the Indian boy
in his arms, looking at him as if he could never see enough.
Governor Bradford knew in an instant that the lost child had been
restored, even without the Indian warrior's shout of triumph, and
Massasoit's passionate exclamation: "Light of my eyes--staff of my
footsteps!--thou art come back to me--the warmth of my heart, the
sunlight of my wigwam!"
[Illustration: "'THOU ART COME BACK TO ME--THE WARMTH OF MY HEART, THE
SUNLIGHT OF MY WIGWAM!' EXCLAIMED MASSASOIT"]
The rejoicing was so great that no one thought of chiding Joel and
Prudence for their disobedience. The governor himself gave Joel a
large slice of pudding, and Prudence told all her adventures, throned
upon her father's knee, wearing around her neck a string of wampum which
the grateful Massasoit had hung there.
"And, oh!" she exclaimed, "while the Indian boy was dancing for Joel and
me, I looked out to sea, and I saw such a wonderful bird--a great white
bird, flying along close to the water, and rising up and down. It was
many times greater than the swans in Amsterdam!"
"Was it, my little maid?" said the good governor, laying his hand on her
head, and then he exchanged a keen look with Prudence's father, saying
nothing more. But when the guests had departed, bearing home the Indian
boy in triumph, none was so early as the governor to reach the seashore;
and it was his call that brought the colonists to see the good ship
_Fortune_ (Prudence's "great white bird") already rounding the point,
and making ready to cast anchor in Plymouth harbor.
Ah, then indeed the great guns rang out from the shore to hail the ship,
and the ship's cannon boomed a quick reply, and the whole little town
was full and running over with glad welcome for the second English
vessel to land upon our Massachusetts coast.
In the evening a happy circle gathered round the fire in the house of
Prudence's father, and there was eager talk, for all had much to learn
and to tell.
"I know now," said Joel to Prudence, as they sat side by side--"I know
now what Thanksgiving means. It means plenty to eat."
Prudence looked at the dear faces around her, at Mehitable's sweet
smile, and at the shining eyes of John Andrews, for he had been a
passenger by the _Fortune_.
"Perhaps," she replied; "but I think, Joel, that we have Thanksgiving
because we are so glad to be all together once more."
This first Thanksgiving happened long ago, but out of it all our later
ones have grown; and when we think of the glad meetings of long-parted
parents and sons and daughters, of the merry frolics with brothers and
sisters and cousins, which come upon Thanksgiving Day, in spite of our
bountiful dinner-tables we shall agree with Prudence that it is the
happy family party which makes the pleasure, after all.
SOME INDIAN DOLLS
BY OLIVE THORNE MILLER
AMONG the wild Indians of our country is surely the last place one would
look for toys, and travelers have said they had none; but a closer look
brings some to light. On the desk before me sit two dear creatures, just
arrived from Dakota Territory. They were made by some loving mother of
the Gros Ventre tribe of Indians. But the unfortunate little redskin
girl for whom they were intended never received them after all, for they
were bought by a white man, and sent to New York to sit for their
picture for you.
They are a queer-looking pair, dressed in the most elegant Gros Ventre
style. They are eighteen inches tall, made of cloth, with their noses
sewed on, and their faces well colored; not only made red, like the
skin, but with painted features. The Indian doll has a gentle
expression, with mild eyes, but the squaw has a wild look, as though
she were very much scared to find herself in a white man's tepee. Both
have long hair in a braid over each ear, but the brave has also a
quantity hanging down his back, and a crest standing up on top--perhaps
as "scalp-lock."
[Illustration: DOLLS FROM DAKOTA TERRITORY]
The dress of the lady resembles, in style and material, a bathing-suit.
It is of blue flannel, trimmed with red braid, a long blouse and
leggings of the same. She has also moccasins, and a string of blue beads
around her neck, besides little dots of beads all over her waist. The
suit of the warrior is similar in style, but the blouse is of unbleached
muslin, daubed with streaks of red paint, and trimmed with braid, also
red. Across his breast he wears an elaborate ornament of white beads,
gorgeous to behold.
Beside these Gros Ventre dolls stand another pair, from a Canada tribe;
the squaw dragging a six-inch-long toboggan loaded with tent and poles,
while the warrior carries his snow-shoes. She is dressed in red and
black flannel, with calico blouse and cloth hood; tin bracelets are on
her arms, and her breast bears an ornament like a dinner-plate, also of
tin. Her lord and master wears a dandyish suit of white canton-flannel,
fuzzy side out, a calico shirt, red necktie, and likewise a hood and tin
dinner-plate. They are made of wood, with joints at hip and shoulder,
and the faces are carved and painted. Wild dolls are curious and
interesting. Let me tell you of a few others I have seen.
The little Moquis girls have wooden dolls of different sizes and
degrees. The best have arms and legs, are dressed in one garment of
coarse cotton, and instead of hair have feathers sticking out of their
heads, like the ends of a feather duster.
A lower grade of Moquis doll has no limbs, but is gaily painted in
stripes, and wears beads as big as its fist would be, if it had one.
This looks as you would with a string of oranges around your neck. The
poorest of all, which has evidently been loved by some poor little
Indian girl, has in place of a head a sprig of evergreen. How did the
white man get hold of a treasure like this? Is the little owner grown
up? Is she laid to sleep under the daisies? Or was this doll left behind
in a hurried flight of the Moquis village before an enemy?
It isn't an Edison doll; it can't talk,--so we shall never know.
THE WALKING PURCHASE
BY GEORGE WHEELER
IN the early twilight of a September morning, more than one hundred and
sixty years ago, a remarkable company might have been seen gathering
about a large chestnut-tree at the cross-roads near the Friends'
meeting-house in Wrightstown, Pennsylvania. It is doubtful whether any
one of us could have guessed what the meeting meant. Most of the party
were Quakers in wide-brimmed hats and plain dress, and if it had been
First-day instead of Third-day, we might have thought they were
gathering under the well-known tree for a neighborly chat before
"meeting." Nor was it a warlike rendezvous; for the war-cry of the
Lenni-Lenape had never yet been raised against the "Children of Mignon"
(Elder Brother), as the followers of William Penn were called; and in a
little group somewhat apart were a few athletic Indians in peaceful
garb and friendly attitude. But it evidently was an important meeting,
for here were several prominent officials, including even so notable a
person as Proprietor Thomas Penn.
In 1686, fifty-one years before this, William Penn bought from the
Lenni-Lenape, or Delaware Indians, a section bounded on the east by the
Delaware, on the west by the Neshaminy, and extending to the north from
his previous purchases "as far as a man can go in a day and a half." No
effort was made to fix the northern boundary until the Indians, becoming
uneasy at the encroachments of the settlers, asked to have the line
definitely marked. On August 25, 1737, after several conferences between
the Delawares and William Penn's sons, John and Thomas, who, after their
father's death, became proprietors of Pennsylvania, the treaty of 1686
was confirmed, and a day was appointed for beginning the walk. This
explains why the crowd was gathering about the old chestnut-tree in the
early dawn of that day, September 19, 1737.
"Ready!" called out Sheriff Smith.
[Illustration: "THE THREE MEN STEPPED FROM THE CROWD AND PLACED THEIR
RIGHT HANDS UPON THE TREE"]
At the word, James Yeates, a native of New England, "tall, slim, of much
ability and speed of foot," Solomon Jennings, "a remarkably stout and
strong man," and Edward Marshall, a well-known hunter, over six feet
tall, and noted as a walker, stepped from the crowd and placed their
right hands upon the tree.
Thomas Penn had promised five pounds in money and five hundred acres of
land to the walker who covered the greatest distance; and these three
men were to contest for the prize. Just as the edge of the sun showed
above the horizon, Sheriff Smith gave the word, and the race began.
Yeates quickly took up the lead, stepping lightly. Then came Jennings,
accompanied by two Indians, who were there to see that the walking was
fairly done. Closely following them were men on horseback, including the
sheriff and the surveyor-general. Thomas Penn himself followed the party
for some distance. Far in the rear came Marshall, walking in a careless
manner, swinging a hatchet in one hand, "to balance himself," and at
intervals munching a dry biscuit, of which he carried a small supply. He
seemed to have forgotten a resolution he had made to "win the prize of
five hundred acres of land, or lose his life in the attempt."
Thomas Penn had secretly sent out a preliminary party to blaze the
trees along the line of the walk for as great a distance as it was
thought possible for a man to walk in eighteen hours. So, when the
wilderness was reached, the walkers still had the best and most direct
course clearly marked out for them. The Indians soon protested against
the speed, saying over and over: "That's not fair. You run. You were to
walk." But the treaty said, "As far as a man can _go_," and the walkers
were following it in letter, if not in spirit, as they hurried along.
Their protests being disregarded, the Indians endeavored to delay the
progress by stopping to rest; but the white men dismounted, and allowed
the Indians to ride, and thus pushed on as rapidly as ever. At last the
Indians refused to go any farther, and left the party.
Before Lehigh River was reached Jennings was exhausted, gave up the
race, and lagged behind in the company of followers. His health was
shattered, and he lived only a few years.
That night the party slept on the north side of the Lehigh Mountains,
half a mile from the Indian village of Hokendauqua. Next morning, while
some of the party searched for the horses which had strayed away during
the night, others went to the village to request Lappawinzoe, the
chief, to send other Indians to accompany the walkers. He angrily
replied: "You have all the good land now, and you may as well take the
bad, too." One old Indian, indignant at the stories of how the white men
rushed along in their greed to get as much land as possible, remarked in
a tone of deep disgust: "No sit down to smoke; no shoot squirrel; but
lun, lun, lun, all day long."
Scarcely had the last half-day's walk begun before Yeates, who was a
drinking man, was overcome by the tremendous exertions and intemperance
of the previous day. He stumbled at the edge of Big Creek, and rolled,
helpless, down the bank into the water. When rescued he was entirely
blind, and his death followed within three days.
Marshall still pressed on. Passing the last of the blazed trees which
had hitherto guided him, he seized a compass offered by Surveyor-General
Eastburn, and by its aid still continued his onward course. At last,
Sheriff Smith, who for some time had frequently looked at his watch,
called, "Halt!" Marshall instantly threw himself at full length, and
grasped a sapling. Here was the starting-point for the northern boundary
of the purchase of 1686, sixty-eight miles from the old chestnut-tree
at Wrightstown, and very close to where Mauch Chunk stands to-day. The
walk was twice as long as the Indians expected it to be.
Unfortunately for the Delawares, they knew too little of legal
technicalities to notice that the deed did not state in what direction
the northern boundary was to be drawn. They naturally expected it to be
drawn to the nearest point on the Delaware. But the surveyor-general, to
please Penn, decided that the line should run at right angles to the
direction of the walk, which was almost exactly northwest. Draw a line
from Mauch Chunk to the Delaware so that if extended it would pass
through New York city, and another to the point where New York, New
Jersey, and Pennsylvania meet. The first is the Indian's idea of the
just way to lay out the northern boundary; the second is the line which
Surveyor-General Eastburn actually finished marking out in four days
after Marshall's walk ended.
And so the three hundred thousand acres which the Indians would have
given to the Penns as the result of Marshall's walk were increased to
half a million by taking selfish advantage of a flaw in the deed.
[Illustration: "THE INDIANS PROTESTED AGAINST THE SPEED"]
The Lenni-Lenape had loved and trusted William Penn because he always
dealt openly and fairly with them. "We will live in love with William
Penn and his children," said they, "as long as the sun and moon shall
shine." But the wrongs inflicted on them in the "walking purchase"
aroused the deepest indignation. "Next May," said Lappawinzoe, "we will
go to Philadelphia, each one with a buckskin to repay the presents and
take back our land again." It was too late, however, for this to be
done.