Page:St. Nicholas (serial) (IA stnicholasserial321dodg).pdf/117

 1904] When the summer came, however, and the days were longer, and the air grew warmer, they began to have a much brighter prospect, and they planted wheat, rye, barley, and Indian corn.

The latter grain a friendly Indian, named Squanto, had brought them and told them how to cultivate. Slowly the summer days ripened into autumn, and this time the people were much happier, for they had acres of grain, and the dense forest all around abounded in wild game, and the river was full of fish.

These blessings almost made the people feel that they had been fully repaid for leaving their own country, where they had been so cruelly persecuted.

And in November, the governor, Miles Standish, appointed a time for the people to have a great feast and give thanks for the many blessings of the past year.

So they sent four of their men out into the forest, with their guns, and they spent a whole day in shooting game.

Then they invited Massasoit, the Indian chief, and all his men, who had been very kind to them, to come and partake of their Thanksgiving feast with them.

The Indians, being very much pleased with the invitation, brought with them a present of five deer for the white men.

And the Indians and white men feasted and played games and had a merry time for three days.

This is the origin of our beuatiful custom of setting apart, each year, a Thanksgiving Day.



battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing, fought April 7, 1862, is my favorite.

My grandfather was the captain of Company A of the Eighth Regiment from Illinois, which was the first one formed in that State.

He and another soldier were called “The Little Captains,” because they were the youngest officers in the Union army.

About the middle of the battle, a bullet struck my grandfather in the thumb of the right hand.

He made his way as best he could through the underbrush, with bullets flying all around him, to a little stream at the back of the ranks, to wash away the blood and see if he was badly hurt.

Before he started for the stream, he made up his mind he would not run. He was not going to be a coward! So afterward he went to one of the generals and asked: "Did you see me go hack, General?”

“Yes,” was the answer, “Well, General,” asked my grandfather, “did I run?” The general answered, slowly: “N-no—not exactly—but you did some of the tallest walking ever I saw a man do!”

My grandfather afterward found that the lead from the bullet had melted and wrapped around his thumb bone. A piece of it, however, was still loose, so he went to one af the soldiers who, he knew, had been a doctor before he entered the army, and had his finger examined to see if the loose piece could not be gotten out, but it was an unsuccessful attempt, for they did not get it out.

Later, it began troubling him so much that he went to one of his comrades who had a pair of pincers and finally succeeded in pulling it out.

The part that wrapped around the bone is still there, and he can always tel] when it is going to rain, on account of his finger. It always feels heavy.