DEATH, DEMONS & MIRACLES
For the video companion chat to this post, click on the video above to take you to YouTube!
Plymouth Rock, enduring souvenir of the landing at Cape Cod.
It’s that time of year.
The boldest, brightest leaves are gone, and most of the deciduous trees are bare now, with just a few lone, proud standoffs against the winter, their pale yellow coats shedding still, helplessly, when the winds blow up. It’s time for Thanksgiving, that uniquely American pause before the storm. It’s time for the holidays, and time for everyone to come home.
Thanksgiving doesn’t typically inspire the telling of ghost stories. It comes in late November—halfway between the mother of all ghost story seasons, Halloween, and Christmas, which has been attached to ghost stories for some time now, largely thanks to Dickens’ classic yarn, A Christmas Carol. Thanksgiving is a breather of lightheartedness. A time for family, days off, football games (if you like that sort of thing) and of course, eating, eating and more eating.
But the story of the first Thanksgiving is a deeply haunting tale, and the place where it played out is one where roam not only the ghosts of Thanksgiving, but its demons too.
A HAUNTING HOMETOWN
They call it “America’s Hometown,” and though many small towns throughout the nation claim that title, only Plymouth, Massachusetts makes the claim legitimately. Located forty miles outside of Boston, the town was the site of the colony established in 1620 by the Pilgrims, the religious separatists who traveled—on a wing and a prayer—on the legendary Mayflower. It would become the site of the first Thanksgiving feast.
The explorer John Smith—founder of the Jamestown colony--was an Englishman who’d traveled to the region six years earlier, mapped it and named it “New Plimouth” after his home in the south of England. In a strange coincidence (or was it?), the first planned voyage of the Mayflower to America was thwarted, and the second—the one that made it—launched from Plymouth, England.
When Smith arrived here, the later sof Plymouth was home to the Wampanoag tribe of Patuxet. The year of his scouting visit, a horrific wave of plagues descended on the native tribes, lasting years and killing almost the entire Wampanoag population. Later, the Pilgrims would believe the act was the hand of God, making the way clear for their arrival.
BURIAL HILL
If you talk to the local experts on ghosts in Plymouth, the nerve center—or maybe unnerving center?—of town is Burial Hill. An astounding number of historical graves are collected here, including the 60-foot wide mass grave of 70 Revolutionary War soldiers frozen to death on deck of the their ship the day after Christmas, 1778. Ghost tour guides say these poor souls still walk here at the site of their burial after one of the most gruesome disasters in American maritime history.
There’s also a ghoulish woman they call “Mary” — a pale, horrifying specter who wails at visitors to leave the grounds—and a tall, silent and translucent figure of a Native American said to watch over the graves.
Burial Hill, home to history and . . . hauntings?
Of all the solemn points of pilgrimage here—no pun intended—central are the graves of many passengers of the Mayflower, among them the unshakable Governor William Bradford.
A SEPARATE (AND STORMY)PATH
Born in 1590 in Austerfield, Yorkshire, England, William Bradford grew up in a society dominated by the Church of England. As a young man he wandered into a worship service which was, to his intense interest, devoid of any ritual, vestments or frills. It was a quick journey from that first visit to full membership in the church of the so-called “Pilgrims” who sought to seek a “separate” path of faith outside the Church of England.
In 1608, the Pilgrims made their first significant move, relocating to the city of Leiden in the Netherlands. Here, they found religious tolerance and were able to establish a small but prosperous congregation. But despite their success in Leiden, the Pilgrims faced difficulties integrating into Dutch society while preserving their English cultural identity—something they fiercely cherished, despite their disdain of England’s national religion. They began to long for a new place to call home, where they could practice their religion and preserve their English heritage.
Governor William Bradford’s journal, published later as “Of Plimouth Plantation,” is one of the greatest treasures of American literature and history. Image via Wikipedia.
And so the idea of a voyage to the “New World”—America—began to take shape. The Pilgrims aspired to settle in an area under English jurisdiction while maintaining their religious independence, and with the help of financiers from the London Company, a group of investors, they secured a charter to establish a settlement in Virginia. There, an English colony was in the works. There, they could live as English but in a place far from the eye of the king’s religious mandates.
This association of the “Saints” –as the Pilgrims called themselves—with these “Strangers” on board the ship was not entirely welcome. The former feared involvement with those not among their membership, and the Strangers weren’t all that happy about the union either. But the Strangers wanted the Pilgrims’ funds, and the Pilgrims desperately needed passage, and so the Saints and Strangers set sail.
In September 1620, the small ship named the Mayflower arrived in Plymouth, England. It was clearly too small and clearly unprepared for a transatlantic voyage, especially in the worsening autumn weather. But it was the chance they’d prepared for and prayed for, and so, carrying 102 passengers, including men, women and children, the Mayflower set sail into destiny.
The journey was arduous, with the Pilgrims facing storms, illness, and cramped quarters. They spent months at sea, enduring harsh conditions, almost total and constant seasickness on the tumultuous waters, fearful of the infighting among the Strangers.
During the voyage, William Bradford emerged as a natural leader. As the unrest of the Strangers reached a fever peak and they threatened to abandon the Pilgrims after landing, Bradford—knowing the winter was almost here and their banding together crucial for survival--convinced everyone on board to agree to a set of rules and laws known as “The Mayflower Compact.”This document outlined a plan of self governance which was to become the center of the American identity, with each member of the colony agreeing to follow the established rules for the sake of the community's well-being.
And so both Saints and Strangers—with radically different views on just about everything, including religion, agreed to live and govern together in peace.
As the ink dried on the Compact on November 11, 1620, the Mayflower’s passengers spotted land. Stormy seas had thwarted their navigation; they had arrived in present-day Cape Cod, Massachusetts—not Virginia, as intended.
They were alone, all alone; and there was no going back.
This fearsome wilderness, this ruthless winter coming on . . . these were now their only home.
A BRUTAL BEGINNING
There are two winters in American history that eclipse all others: the terrible winter at Valley Forge, when General George Washington prayed that his troops would survive the hunger, disease and grief of war.
And the first winter at Plymouth.
Through those now mythical months of 1620 to 1621, harsh weather, starvation, and the constant fear of the Native American tribes were the Pilgrims’ constant companions. By the end of that first winter, many of the passengers of that first voyage were dead, including all but four women. To hide the losses from the local tribes—fearing an ambush—the Pilgrims leveled the graves and planted on the land. To the same end, the Saints took to propping up the dead to make it appear as if they were sentries at the edges of the colony.
In his journal, William Bradford doesn’t even mention his own devastating loss: on the passage to America, his wife had fallen overboard and drowned. And yet it was Bradford who kept them going. He saw the struggles and losses as an integral part of the Pilgrim experience, of their God-ordained journey under His Providence. When the first elected governor, John Carver, died in that “Starving Time,” Bradford was the natural replacement.
But if Bradford sustained the spiritual lives of the Pilgrims, they still had to eat. And it was one of the most astounding figures in American history who fed them.
An Indian.
MIRACULOUS THINGS
The extraordinary individual named Tesquantum, known as Squanto, would rise to prominence as one of the most pivotal figures in the history of North American colonization. Originally from the Patuxet tribe, Squanto would come to play a matchless role in fostering harmonious relations between indigenous populations and English settlers. As an interpreter, diplomat, and mediator, Squanto saved the Pilgrim colony.
But he would later say they saved him, too.
Tragedy marked every step of Squanto's journey through life. In 1614, an English explorer named Thomas Hunt captured him and took him to Europe, selling him into slavery in Spain. Some accounts say that Catholic friars bought his freedom, and he fled to England. There, he learned the English language and continued to observe the practice of the Christian faith that he had begun to learn in Spain. Finally, he was able to be hired as an interpreter and boarded a ship bound for the American colonies.
Squanto was finally going home.
Upon his arrival back in what Europeans called the New World—his tribe’s longtime lands—Squanto’s ship was attacked by the Wampanoag. Many of the Europeans on board were killed. Squanto was taken into captivity by the tribe, and there he learned that—while he’d been abroad—his people, the Pawtuxet, had been devastated by European diseases.
Everyone was dead.
Squanto’s capture and devastation dovetailed with the Pilgrims’ arrival at his people’s former tribal grounds. Filled with natural hostility, coupled with a deep fear of the disease that had killed so many other natives, the Wampanoag saw the utter helplessness of the Pilgrims after their arrival in the fall of 1620 but offered no help.
Squanto, however, was not one of them. With the complicated years, cultures and peoples he had lived among, both in freedom and slavery, his heart was pulled. He wanted to help the Pilgrims survive, but he also saw keenly that, without harmony, both the Indians and the Pilgrims were assured destruction at each other’s hand.
Agricultural guru, guide, slave, peacemaker, slave, interpreter, outcast. Squanto was all and more.
In the short time that followed, Squanto emerged as one of the key figures in the development of the American colonies. He acted as a mediator between Pilgrims and neighboring tribes—particularly the Wampanoag—negotiating peace agreements and facilitating trade relationships. He shared knowledge on crops, hunting techniques, and survival skills which proved instrumental to their survival. Without his guidance, starvation and untimely demise would likely have befallen the Pilgrims, and decimation the Native tribes.
One of Squanto's most noteworthy contributions was teaching the concept of using fish as fertilizer for crops to the Pilgrims. This agricultural method ultimately led to successful harvests celebrated during 1621.
Despite Squanto's invaluable aid, controversies surround his legacy. Some question his motives and accuse him of betraying his own people by collaborating with the English settlers. However, it is crucial to understand the complexities of the circumstances he faced. Squanto's ability to navigate between cultures and serve as an intermediary stemmed not only from a heartfelt charity but from a necessity: to protect his own people from further harm and ensure their survival.
Sometime between September and November 1621, the Pilgrims invited Squanto and almost one hundred of the Wampanoag to participate in a feast day to celebrate their first successful American harvest. The feast lasted three days: the first Thanksgiving.
LAST BREATHS
Squanto became close friends with Governor William Bradford, and in 1622 he accompanied him on a trading mission to tribes in the Chatham area. Just before the scheduled trip home, Squanto began bleeding from his nose. The Monomoyick people made him comfortable, but his time had come.
Three centuries later, in 1934, a Chatham writer named Elizabeth Reynard wrote about the night it happened, describing a winter darkness evocative of the Pilgrims’ “Starving Time” from which Squanto had delivered them. She writes that, in the last moments of his remarkable life, Squanto “buried his face in a deerskin cape and made no moan as the Blood of Death’ seeped into the woven mat”[i] on which he lay.
AN ELUSIVE GRAVE
The mystery of Squanto’s final resting place is almost as big as his impact on the American story. We know from Bradford’s meticulous journaling that Squanto was buried immediately after his death on the cold, dark Massachusetts night. What we don’t know is where.
In 2011, skeletal remains were discovered in an unmarked Native American Grave on Salt Marsh Way in North Chatham, Massachusetts.
Immediately, historians wondered if this, at last, were the remains of Squanto. It wasn’t a wistful, baseless proposition. It was obvious from the burial—the body was buried flat and not in a fetal position, and probably facing East—that the Indian had not been buried by Indians, but by Christians. The fact was seen by some as a major clue, for in his famed journal-turned-book, Of Plimouth Plantation, William Bradford had recorded Squanto’s prayer to go “to the Englishmen’s God in Heaven.”
Squanto had died a Christian.
Other historians point out that many Natives were given Christian burials during colonial days, and they believe that Squanto’s grave lies elsewhere. Some say it’s on the Monomoyick tribal grounds in the Muddy Creek Area outside Chatham.
Much like “George Washington slept here,” many claim the burial site of the towering figure of Squanto. (via Historical Marker Database. Image by Brandon D Cross of Flagler Beach, Florida. Click image to visit site and for directions.)
A local historian named Paul Brooks came to believe Squanto’s grave could be found near the private burying ground of a local family, the Nickersons, while one of the Nickersons himself—the late historian W. Sears Nickerson—thought Squanto was buried under the Eastwood Ho! golf course at Pleasant Bay.
Meanwhile, the Cape Cod National Seashore—the National Park that marks this entire sacred American space —believes Squanto’s remains are possibly interred on a hill just west of Ryder's Cove and Route 28.
Where it all began. Cape Cod today.
SQUANTO’S GHOST?
The site of Squanto’s grave may forever remain a mystery, but there can be no doubt that his spirit is firmly tethered to this entire area—perhaps literally.
At the old Burial Hill in Plymouth, some believe that the Native American “watchman” seen at the cemetery is none other than the famed cosmopolitan peacemaker. The figure—clad in buckskin—is believed to protect the grounds against those of ill will such as vandals— a fitting story for the man who grew so close to the Pilgrims interred here.
As touching as this legend is, this figure—if the encounters are real—is not likely a human spirit. There’s a giveaway in its appearance as to its true nature: When visitors have seen the face of the entity, it has no eyes.
This lack of a physical attribute is, according to demonological “unwritten rules,” a calling card of the demonic. The late Jesuit exorcist Malachi Martin spoke of an old Irish legend describing how demons cannot ever perfectly copy the creations of God, so demonic spirits are often seen without appendages, heads, mouths or eyes. Often, however, the rest of the apparition appears as an historical figure or loved one—some person you’d expect to find at the location. It’s not surprising that decidedly inhuman spirits would appear here in Plymouth as Indians—and as Pilgrims, for those sightings are plentiful at Burial Hil too.
Another less than cozy tale told by locals of Burial Hill is that of a more obviously diabolical entity said to infest these grounds. Described as a spirit similar to the “imp” or “fairy” of demonology, locals call this the “pukwudgie,” an evil, trickster creature from Wamapnoag folklore. According to the local tribes—who’ve been encountering these entities for millennia—pukwudgies lure people to their deaths, shoot poison arrows and set deadly fires. Like fairies, they are also infamous for kidnapping people, who often are never seen again.
TELL THE TALES
I hope these stories will encourage you to make this Thanksgiving a new time for ghost stories, and to use these stories to share the history of the Saints, Strangers . . . and Squanto, that miraculous American who—perhaps more than a little controversially—changed the world forever. Following are some great books and a documentary that is extremely well done. You can still get these delivered before the big day, so you’ll have more to do than just eat. (Ok, ok. Eating is enough, but still!) Just a note that I do get a little something if you buy anything through these links, but as always I would never recommend anything that I wouldn’t recommend anyway.
It’s odd, I think, that there are no (to my knowledge anyway) any real published works of scholarship on the life of the remarkable Squanto. But one of the best sources of information on Squanto—and everything about the Plymouth colony—is the journal of William Bradford: Of Plymouth Plantation. Every American home should have a copy, and I mean that!
There are plentiful children’s books about Squanto, including the critically acclaimed Squanto and the Miracle of Thanksgiving by Eric Metaxas, a beautifully illustrated work for 5-to 10-year-olds. There’s still time to get this to your house for reading with the younger ones during the comatose after-feast minutes before pie. You’ll enjoy this astounding story—and the lovely art—as much as the littler ones.
If you prefer watching your history, I found The American Experience: The Pilgrims last year, and it’s really well done. You can watch it with the PBS app on Prime Video subscriptions or rent it for watching while you’re cooking—or before the almighty football games start on Thursday! You can also get the DVD here.
As for ghost stories, you can’t go wrong with the truly creepy collection, Haunted Plymouth by Kevin Hynes, which should leave you very thankful indeed that you’re home safe in bed and not wandering the disturbing darkness of this historic Massachusetts hamlet.
I hope this Thanksgiving you’ll join me in my effort to #prayforghosts and remember the Saints, Strangers and Native Americans who lived and died as part of our nation’s history, and to #prayforpeace among all peoples.
Blessed Thanksgiving to you all,
Ursula