The Last Hurrah of a very full day in Boston (something for everyone)
The next day, on our way to Cape Cod, We stopped at Plimouth Plantation, where I got a big surprise. At the Native American village, members of various tribes take turns as greeters and crafters, so there are always actual Native Americans on site. When the man in the wheel chair told me he was an Abenaki, I actually shrieked. History: my five-greats grandfather was a 12-year-old drummer for Montcalm in the battle where England won Canada from France. When the French lost and the man we assume was his father was killed, he ran away. If the Abenaki hadn't taken him in, he would have died. He lived with the Abenaki for many years, eventually becoming a courier de bois, trapper, etc. He lived to age 112 - I've seen his grave in upper New York state - and, incredibly, one of his descendents (my mother's great-aunt) lived to be 100 and could actually remember seeing him when she was a child. Definitely weird, as he must have been born c. 1747. Anyway, the gentlemen below enjoyed the story as much as I did telling it. We shook hands with a right good will.
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