Squanto and the First Thanksgiving

This is an electronic version of our Glimpses for Kids children's worship bulletin inserts. These are designed to present Christian biographies for Children's church, educational or worship ministries.

The day I had longed for for so many moons was finally here. I was almost home! I stood on the bow of the ship watching as the shoreline came into view. My heart pounded with anticipation! I could almost hear the shouting, drumming, and dancing, and taste the great feast my family would serve to welcome me home. I couldn't wait to see their precious faces and tell them about my second kidnapping five years ago in 1614.

The Kidnappings
You see, my troubles began in 1605 when I was just a young teenager, living in what later became known as Massachusetts. I was kidnapped and taken to England, where I learned to speak English and taught the white man about our land in America. After nine long years, Captain John Smith brought me home. However, only days later, I was kidnapped a second time.

An evil ship commander, Captain Hunt, tricked me and 26 other Indians who had gone onto his ship to trade with him. He chained us in the bottom of the boat and took us across the ocean and sold us as slaves. But God was able to use Captain Hunt's evil for (my) good. A good man, a monk, bought me and took me to Spain.

He told me about the new god-man named Jesus. Despite the monk's kindness, I still longed to be with my people, the Patuxet tribe.

The compassionate monks sensed my heartache and helped get me back to England, where I found passage on a ship to North America. When we stopped in Maine, I met Samoset, a Native American like myself. His Indian clothes and moccasins made me even more homesick. I greeted him with a raised hand to show friendship. "I am Tisquantum," I said. "The English call me Squanto. I am returning to the Patuxet tribe, no longer a slave." I was glad for Samoset's friendship in the weeks to come.

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Home at Last
At last, our ship pulled into the harbor. I slid down the rope over the side of the ship and into the waiting canoe. The land of my childhood looked deserted, but I thought I knew why.

They probably saw this English boat coming and hid in the woods. I'll call my family. They will answer.

All the familiar places were still there. I ran into the woods calling my father and mother, anticipating a joyful reunion.

No answer.

I called the familiar Indian whistle, the one that sounded like a frightened bird.

Still there was silence.

My heart began to thump. I raced through my land, searching wildly for my tribe.

Samoset's birdcall beckoned me to him. I found him squatting over something in a clearing. I gasped at what I saw there. Human bones and skulls were scattered on the ground.

Samoset got up and walked away, disappearing into the woods. I searched until sunset, finding more bones, a pair of moccasins, and a few arrowheads.

Finally Samoset returned with the worst news. The chiefs of the next village had told him of the Great Plague of 1616. The entire Patuxet tribe had died in the plague. There hadn't even been time to honor the dead with a proper burial.

My stomach contracted into a tight ball of pain and my chest heaved as I stumbled into the darkness. I fell to my knees as I realized I was the only one of my family still alive.

Why? Why was I even born? To help the English? To break my mother's heart? Does the God of the English care about the Indian? Find out how Squanto played a part in the first Thanksgiving in part 2 of this "Glimpses for Kids" children's worship bulletin insert.