Thanksgiving RemarksA great many people who are skeptical on other subjects swallow Thanksgiving Day without questioning the validity of its title.There are plenty of people in Houston who will sit at the table today, with their mouths so full of turkey and dressing that they will be utterly unable to answer the smallest question about the origin of this National festival.The United States is the only country in the world that has a day of National thanksgiving in commemoration of one special event. Among the earliest settlers in this country, with the exception of cocktails, were the Pilgrim Fathers. They were a noble band of religious enthusiasts, who sailed from England to America in a ship called theMayflowerafter a celebrated brand of soap by the same name.By good fortune and fast sailing they managed to reach America before Thanksgiving Day. They landed at Plymouth Rock, where they were met by Hon. F. R. Lubbock and welcomed with an address. It was a very cold, and not a good day for speeches, either.This heroic little band of refugees were called Puritans in England, which is French for abolitionists. As they stood upon the bleak inhospitable shore, shivering in the biting blast, Captain Miles Standish, who had the stoutest heart and also the most jovial temper in the party, said: “Say, you fellows, can’t you stop chattering your teeth and shaking your knees? There don’t any of you look like you wanted to pass resolutions against burning anything just at present. You’re a jolly-looking lot of guys.”Among the distinguished members of this band were William Bradford, Edward Winslow, John Alden, John Carver and Marc. Anthony, a nephew of Susan B.According to the habits of true Americans, they had not been on land half an hour till they went into caucus to elect a governor.John Carver carried around the hat and collected the ballots, and consequently was elected.“Now,” said Governor Carver, “I hereby announce my proclamation that next Thursday shall be Thanksgiving Day.”“What for?” asked Captain Standish.“Oh, it’s the proper thing,” said the governor. “You’ll find it in all the school books and histories.”Governor Carver then appointed a committee with Captain Standish as chairman to explore the country around.Captain Standish set forth at the head of his devoted followers through the deep snow, while the others went to work erecting what rough shelter they could out of logs and pine boughs. Presently Captain Standish and his band returned, making tracks in the snow about ten feet apart and closely pursued by a large, brick-red, passionate Indian, who was remarking, “Waugh-hoo-hoo-hoo!” at every jump. Governor Carver advanced to meet the untutored child of the forest, and said to him in simple words:“How! Me heap white chief. Gottee big guns. You killee my soldiers, me heap shoot. Sabe?”“I am charmed to meet you, governor,” said the Indian. “My name is Massasoit. I also am a great chief. My wigwam is down there” (pointing with graceful gesture to the southwest)—“I have just come back from slaying the tribe of the Goo-Goos. You may not have heard, governor, that the cat came back.”Governor Carver grasped the hand of Massasoit, and said: “Welcome, thrice welcome to our newly discovered continent, sir. Colonel Winthrop, give Mr. Massasoit your hand.”“I’ll keep mine, and deal him another if it’s all the same to you,” said Colonel Winthrop.Massasoit took his place at the side of the blanket that was spread on the snow, and the pasteboards were shuffled.Two hours later the Pilgrim Fathers had won from the Indian chief 200 buffalo robes, 100 pelts of the silver fox, 50 tanned deer hides, 300 otter skins, and 150 hides of the beaver, panther and mink.This was the original skin game.Later on in the game, Governor Carver called a bet of $27 worth of wampum made by Massasoit, with his daughter Priscilla, and lost on eights and treys.Longfellow, in his beautiful poem, describes what followed:Then from her father’s tent,Tripping with gentle feet,Priscilla, the PuritanMaiden, stepped. All that sheKnew was obedience;Ready to sacrificeAll for her father’s word,Priscilla, the dutiful,Gentle and meek as theDove. As the violetModest and drooping-eyed,Up from his poker gameGazed Massasoit,Chief of the Tammanies,Brave as a lion. UpGazed Massasoit.Then, as a roebuck springs,Swift as an arrow, orLeapes Couchee-Couchee, thePanther, or Buzzy theRattlesnake springs from hisCoils in the sumac bush,So Massasoit got aMove on his chieftainlets;Got to his Trilby’s andFled to the wildness.Rushing through snowdrifts, andBreaking down saplings, tillFar in the distance heLooked back and saw that sheFollowed not far behind;Priscilla the sprinter wasNot very far behind;Cutting a swath through theSnow with her number fives;Right on his trail was she;Right on his track with aNew-woman look on her;Longing and hungry look,Look of a new-born hope,Hope for a man that mightBe her own tootsicums.Then Massasoit, theChief of the Tammanies,Gave a loud yell that wokeWise-Kuss the owl, and wokeKat-a-Waugh-Kew-is, theRing-streaked coon, and wokeSnakes in the forest.Then Massasoit wasGone like an arrow thatSpeeds from the hunter; heOnly touched ground on theHigh elevations; heFled from the land of thePilgrims and Puritans,Fled from Priscilla thePuritan maiden;Fled from Priscilla whoWanted to tickle himUnder the chin and callHim her sweet toodleums.Thus Massasoit, theIndian warrior,Laid down four aces andTook to the wilderness,Bluffed by a maiden.Laid down a jack-pot, andLost his percentage.Lost it to treys and eights,And to the forty yearsLived by Priscilla;Priscilla, the maiden.(Houston Daily Post, Thursday morning, November 28, 1895.)
A great many people who are skeptical on other subjects swallow Thanksgiving Day without questioning the validity of its title.
There are plenty of people in Houston who will sit at the table today, with their mouths so full of turkey and dressing that they will be utterly unable to answer the smallest question about the origin of this National festival.
The United States is the only country in the world that has a day of National thanksgiving in commemoration of one special event. Among the earliest settlers in this country, with the exception of cocktails, were the Pilgrim Fathers. They were a noble band of religious enthusiasts, who sailed from England to America in a ship called theMayflowerafter a celebrated brand of soap by the same name.
By good fortune and fast sailing they managed to reach America before Thanksgiving Day. They landed at Plymouth Rock, where they were met by Hon. F. R. Lubbock and welcomed with an address. It was a very cold, and not a good day for speeches, either.
This heroic little band of refugees were called Puritans in England, which is French for abolitionists. As they stood upon the bleak inhospitable shore, shivering in the biting blast, Captain Miles Standish, who had the stoutest heart and also the most jovial temper in the party, said: “Say, you fellows, can’t you stop chattering your teeth and shaking your knees? There don’t any of you look like you wanted to pass resolutions against burning anything just at present. You’re a jolly-looking lot of guys.”
Among the distinguished members of this band were William Bradford, Edward Winslow, John Alden, John Carver and Marc. Anthony, a nephew of Susan B.
According to the habits of true Americans, they had not been on land half an hour till they went into caucus to elect a governor.
John Carver carried around the hat and collected the ballots, and consequently was elected.
“Now,” said Governor Carver, “I hereby announce my proclamation that next Thursday shall be Thanksgiving Day.”
“What for?” asked Captain Standish.
“Oh, it’s the proper thing,” said the governor. “You’ll find it in all the school books and histories.”
Governor Carver then appointed a committee with Captain Standish as chairman to explore the country around.
Captain Standish set forth at the head of his devoted followers through the deep snow, while the others went to work erecting what rough shelter they could out of logs and pine boughs. Presently Captain Standish and his band returned, making tracks in the snow about ten feet apart and closely pursued by a large, brick-red, passionate Indian, who was remarking, “Waugh-hoo-hoo-hoo!” at every jump. Governor Carver advanced to meet the untutored child of the forest, and said to him in simple words:
“How! Me heap white chief. Gottee big guns. You killee my soldiers, me heap shoot. Sabe?”
“I am charmed to meet you, governor,” said the Indian. “My name is Massasoit. I also am a great chief. My wigwam is down there” (pointing with graceful gesture to the southwest)—“I have just come back from slaying the tribe of the Goo-Goos. You may not have heard, governor, that the cat came back.”
Governor Carver grasped the hand of Massasoit, and said: “Welcome, thrice welcome to our newly discovered continent, sir. Colonel Winthrop, give Mr. Massasoit your hand.”
“I’ll keep mine, and deal him another if it’s all the same to you,” said Colonel Winthrop.
Massasoit took his place at the side of the blanket that was spread on the snow, and the pasteboards were shuffled.
Two hours later the Pilgrim Fathers had won from the Indian chief 200 buffalo robes, 100 pelts of the silver fox, 50 tanned deer hides, 300 otter skins, and 150 hides of the beaver, panther and mink.
This was the original skin game.
Later on in the game, Governor Carver called a bet of $27 worth of wampum made by Massasoit, with his daughter Priscilla, and lost on eights and treys.
Longfellow, in his beautiful poem, describes what followed:
Then from her father’s tent,Tripping with gentle feet,Priscilla, the PuritanMaiden, stepped. All that sheKnew was obedience;Ready to sacrificeAll for her father’s word,Priscilla, the dutiful,Gentle and meek as theDove. As the violetModest and drooping-eyed,Up from his poker gameGazed Massasoit,Chief of the Tammanies,Brave as a lion. UpGazed Massasoit.Then, as a roebuck springs,Swift as an arrow, orLeapes Couchee-Couchee, thePanther, or Buzzy theRattlesnake springs from hisCoils in the sumac bush,So Massasoit got aMove on his chieftainlets;Got to his Trilby’s andFled to the wildness.Rushing through snowdrifts, andBreaking down saplings, tillFar in the distance heLooked back and saw that sheFollowed not far behind;Priscilla the sprinter wasNot very far behind;Cutting a swath through theSnow with her number fives;Right on his trail was she;Right on his track with aNew-woman look on her;Longing and hungry look,Look of a new-born hope,Hope for a man that mightBe her own tootsicums.Then Massasoit, theChief of the Tammanies,Gave a loud yell that wokeWise-Kuss the owl, and wokeKat-a-Waugh-Kew-is, theRing-streaked coon, and wokeSnakes in the forest.Then Massasoit wasGone like an arrow thatSpeeds from the hunter; heOnly touched ground on theHigh elevations; heFled from the land of thePilgrims and Puritans,Fled from Priscilla thePuritan maiden;Fled from Priscilla whoWanted to tickle himUnder the chin and callHim her sweet toodleums.Thus Massasoit, theIndian warrior,Laid down four aces andTook to the wilderness,Bluffed by a maiden.Laid down a jack-pot, andLost his percentage.Lost it to treys and eights,And to the forty yearsLived by Priscilla;Priscilla, the maiden.
Then from her father’s tent,Tripping with gentle feet,Priscilla, the PuritanMaiden, stepped. All that sheKnew was obedience;Ready to sacrificeAll for her father’s word,Priscilla, the dutiful,Gentle and meek as theDove. As the violetModest and drooping-eyed,Up from his poker gameGazed Massasoit,Chief of the Tammanies,Brave as a lion. UpGazed Massasoit.Then, as a roebuck springs,Swift as an arrow, orLeapes Couchee-Couchee, thePanther, or Buzzy theRattlesnake springs from hisCoils in the sumac bush,So Massasoit got aMove on his chieftainlets;Got to his Trilby’s andFled to the wildness.Rushing through snowdrifts, andBreaking down saplings, tillFar in the distance heLooked back and saw that sheFollowed not far behind;Priscilla the sprinter wasNot very far behind;Cutting a swath through theSnow with her number fives;Right on his trail was she;Right on his track with aNew-woman look on her;Longing and hungry look,Look of a new-born hope,Hope for a man that mightBe her own tootsicums.Then Massasoit, theChief of the Tammanies,Gave a loud yell that wokeWise-Kuss the owl, and wokeKat-a-Waugh-Kew-is, theRing-streaked coon, and wokeSnakes in the forest.Then Massasoit wasGone like an arrow thatSpeeds from the hunter; heOnly touched ground on theHigh elevations; heFled from the land of thePilgrims and Puritans,Fled from Priscilla thePuritan maiden;Fled from Priscilla whoWanted to tickle himUnder the chin and callHim her sweet toodleums.Thus Massasoit, theIndian warrior,Laid down four aces andTook to the wilderness,Bluffed by a maiden.Laid down a jack-pot, andLost his percentage.Lost it to treys and eights,And to the forty yearsLived by Priscilla;Priscilla, the maiden.
(Houston Daily Post, Thursday morning, November 28, 1895.)