Rush Revere and the Brave Pilgrims: Time-Travel Adventures with Exceptional Americans

by Rush Limbaugh

  I softly knocked on the door.

  William turned and said, “Rush Revere, you’re always the last person I expect to see but it’s always good to see you. Come in. Please, have a seat. I hope your travels have been kind to you?” He pointed to the oak chest sitting near his desk.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Yes, traveling and exploring have been good to me. I’ve learned much and hope to be able to share it someday with my history class.” I looked around his modest home and noticed a fireplace took up one side of the room, a bed against another wall, and a Bible and silver drinking cup rested on his desk. His musket hung from pegs on the wall. I cleared my throat and said, “It’s great to see the settlement growing.”

  “Yes, it’s growing,” said William, “but not as fast as it could.”

  “Why is that?” I asked. “Do you not have enough trees or supplies to build houses?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. I can’t remember if I told you while we were on the boat or not, but we have a contract with our sponsors in England, the ones who helped us pay for this voyage. The contract says that everything we produce or harvest, like food, furs, furniture, etc., must go into a common store and each member of the community is entitled to one common share. Eventually, we hope to make enough to pay back our sponsors in England. But I’m finding it difficult to get our people to work.”

  I pondered his comment and said, “So you’re saying that everything that is produced, all the profits, go into, let’s say, a box. And then everyone gets one equal share of what’s in the box regardless of how much work they do or how much they produce.”

  “Correct,” said William, “and some people figure that it doesn’t matter how much they work because they’re still going to get an equal share of what’s in the box. I can’t really blame them. I mean what is the incentive to work hard if you know the other person will get the same reward doing little to no work?”

  “That doesn’t seem very fair,” I said. I thought about Tommy’s football coach and the question he asked all the boys after practice. He said, “What would you think if two teams playing against each other get the same amount of points regardless of how many touchdowns they make?” The boys booed the coach, and Tommy asked, “What’s the purpose of playing if nobody can win?” The coach replied, “Exactly! So get out there this Saturday and play hard! Play to win! There are a few of you who think you don’t have to play hard to win a championship. Some of you think you deserve part of the trophy even though you’re not giving your best effort. I’m here to tell you that if I see slackers out there, I’m cutting you from the team. And if you don’t think that’s fair, then you don’t understand what it means be a champion!” Then the coach led them in the chant, “Play to win! Play to win! Play to win!” I then thought of the Pilgrims. They initially tried to make everyone winners but soon realized the attempt was failing because not everyone wanted to work hard enough to be champions. The truth is, when we try to make everyone a winner, no one’s a winner.

  William continued. “We thought people would be happy with a commonwealth, where no one owns property but rather shares what everyone else has. Instead, the idea is bringing much confusion and discontent.”

  To be clear, I asked, “If no one owns property, then you don’t own your house or your garden or your business.”

  “Correct,” William said. “I live here, but the house, the garden, or a business belongs to the community. And it has caused many of our people to do less instead of do more. We thought everyone working for each other would help the community flourish and prosper. But that hasn’t been the case because men who work harder and smarter are beginning to wonder why they are putting all of their profits into a common box, as you say, so that other men who choose not to work receive an equal share of the profits. For the first time since the boat, I can see real tension developing! Anytime that I am in the Common House, at least three people come up to me to tell me they don’t want to be doing all the work while their neighbor is sleeping! I’m beginning to wonder if the solution to our problems is for everybody to keep what they produce.”

  A knock came at the open door. “Sorry to interrupt,” said Tommy. “Freedom and some other girls started braiding each other’s hair and that’s not really my thing. So I came to find you.”

  “Come in, Tommy,” said William.

  “I happened to overhear your conversation about how some people work harder and smarter but how others get all the perks. I’m not sure why but it reminded me of the county fair.”

  Tommy surprised me. I thought for sure he’d tell William about what his football coach said.

  “I am familiar with fairs, since they have existed as far back as the Romans. But what is this ‘county fair’ you speak of, exactly?” asked William.

  “Oh, well, it’s sort of this competition,” said Tommy. “People from all over come and see who has the biggest pumpkin or best pies or the largest pig. And the winner gets a cash prize like profits and a cool blue ribbon. People love it. They work really hard to try to have the best garden. They grow amazing vegetables like squash and cucumbers and tomatoes. My mom makes the best salsa and she enters it into the county fair every year and she’s won three times!”

  “Your mother makes salsa? I’m not familiar with this. Is that something that Somoset showed you?” asked William.

  “Oh, no, but it’s awesome. It’s this great dip for chips! She chops up tomatoes and onions and chili pepper and a little bit of an herb called cilantro! My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

  “I like this ‘county fair’ idea,” said William. “Do you think we could have a county fair here in Plymouth?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you would call it a county fair, but you could use the idea if you like,” said Tommy.

  I looked at Tommy and smiled. I wanted him to know how very proud I was that Tommy was the one teaching!

  “We could start by giving people their own plot of land to till, grow, and harvest their own crops on,” William said. “Perhaps this could motivate people to work harder and be more creative with their skills, knowing that anything they produce would be theirs to keep. Perhaps a little competition could be healthy!”

  I agreed. “Yes, it’s quite brilliant! Those who work harder will likely produce more and then be rewarded more. Those who don’t will not.”

  “Yes, I like it. I will consider this some more,” said William. “Thank you, Rush. Thank you, Tommy. Our conversation has been very helpful. And next time we should try the ‘salsa’ you speak of.”

  The sound of footsteps made us turn toward the door as Freedom rushed in breathing hard. “Indians! Coming down the hill. About four or five.”

  A second later the bell starting to ring as we jumped up and ran outside.

  This time, five Indians approached the settlement from Watson’s Hill. As they drew near, I recognized that Somoset was leading them. I couldn’t help but feel relieved. I imagine William Bradford and the other Pilgrims felt the same way. The Indians looked tall and strong. Each carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows and two carried several bundles of fur. Some were bare-chested and a couple had furs draped over their shoulders. The Indians stopped at the same place that Somoset had stopped during his first visit.

  “Somoset return with Squanto,” said Somoset, the yellow feather still clipped in his hair.

  An Indian with knowing eyes stepped forward. He held a small bundle of animal skins and furs under one arm. He wore a necklace made of small seashells and his smile was bigger and brighter than Somoset’s.

  “I am Squanto,” he said. “I used to live here in Patuxet Harbor. That was many years ago. I’ve been sent by Massasoit, the sachem and leader of this land. He permits me to come and speak with you. He will come soon. He is eager to meet you.”

  “Your English is extraordinary,” said William. “How did you learn to speak the English tongue so well?”

  “You must be William Bradford. May I call you William?”
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  “Yes, of course,” William said.

  The ease in which Squanto spoke English was unnerving. It didn’t seem natural. And yet he was a perfect gentleman as he stood there in his leather loincloth and bare chest.

  Squanto spoke again. “We have brought some furs to trade as well as some fresh herring to share with you. A small token of our friendship.”

  Myles Standish, who had also come out to meet the Indians, stood with his armor and musket and said, “When will Massasoit be here?”

  “Before the sun sets,” said Squanto. “He comes when he is ready. He could be watching us now. Every great sachem has eyes in all the forest. He watches. He waits. You are fortunate that he wishes to befriend you.”

  “We thank you for the herring,” said William. “I’m sure they are delicious.”

  “They are not for eating,” Squanto said. “They are for planting. If you’re going to plant corn and grow a successful crop at Patuxet, you will need to fertilize the soil with these.” Squanto held up the herring.

  “Squanto know much. Smart. Listen to Squanto and live long,” said Somoset. “Me leave now. Long journey home.”

  “Somoset is leaving with his men and returning to his people,” said Squanto. “He is a sachem in the land northward.”

  Somoset nodded.

  “But I will stay,” said Squanto. “I will help you and do what I can to help Massasoit see that you are his friend and ally.”

  Somoset smiled and found Freedom among the Pilgrims. He walked up to her and held out his hand. Inside was a leather strap with what looked like a bear claw attached to it. “A gift for you,” said Somoset.

  Freedom accepted it and said, “A fine gift. Thank you.”

  Somoset gave one final look at the Pilgrims and then turned northward and left with his men.

  Freedom turned to Squanto and asked, “You said you used to live here at Patuxet Harbor many years ago. Why did you and your people leave?”

  “I have heard about the girl they call Freedom,” said Squanto. “The girl with midnight hair who speaks perfect English.”

  “Thank you,” blushed Freedom.

  “Seven years ago, I was kidnapped and taken from Patuxet Harbor, never to see my family or loved ones again. I was put on a ship and sailed across the ocean to a new world called Spain. Eventually, I sailed to England and learned to speak like you do. Finally, I had the chance to travel back to my homeland. I was eager to see my family, my parents and brother and sisters. But when I returned, there was nothing. Everyone was gone. I soon learned that the plague, a great sickness, had swept over Patuxet Harbor and killed my people. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds . . .” Squanto stopped talking as he stared off into the harbor. He looked sad and distant.

  “I’m sorry, Squanto,” said Freedom.

  “Yes,” said William, “we are all sorry for your loss.”

  Squanto blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. “You are kind. And you, too, have suffered great loss. Many of your people have died from sickness. This place has seen great sorrow for both Indian and Englishman. But I will try to change that. Together, we can learn from each other. Come, I will show you how to plant corn that will grow big and delicious.”

  Tommy nudged William and said, “Sounds like he could give you some nice tips on how to win a blue ribbon for best corn at the county fair!”

  William smiled and said, “I like the way you think, Tommy.”

  As the Pilgrims followed Squanto, I called for Freedom and Tommy. “I think it’s time we find Liberty and return to school.”

  “This has been a great field trip,” said Freedom.

  “No kidding. Do we get extra credit for this?” Tommy asked.

  “Where did everyone go?” asked Liberty. “I had a nice nap over by that oak tree. Do you want to hear about the dream I had?”

  “Sure,” I said. “You can tell us all about it as we walk to someplace a little more private so we can time-jump back to school.”

  Illustration depicting Native American Indian Squanto. He served as guide and interpreter for Pilgrim colonists at Plymouth Colony.

  Tommy and Freedom climbed on the back of Liberty. And as we walked into the forest to open the time portal, Liberty ended the day the only way a magical horse could.

  Liberty said, “I dreamed that I was racing from town to town while carrying your revolutionary hero Paul Revere! Suddenly, a giant bolt of lightning struck the ground in front of me. I dodged it just as another hit the ground and then another. Each time, I barely avoided the bolts. It was like Zeus himself was determined to stop our midnight ride. Just before we reached the final town a lone food cart selling Veggie Supreme sandwiches rolled in front of us and I had to make a split-second decision on what to do. Should I stop and indulge myself with mouthwatering goodness or jump the cart and win the day?”

  “What did you do?” Freedom asked with great curiosity. Tommy looked like he was equally interested.

  “I don’t know; that’s when I woke up. I think an acorn hit me on the head. I’m telling you, this forest is out to get me!”

  “I think you stopped for a midnight snack!” said Tommy.

  “I think you jumped the food cart and saved the day!” said Freedom.

  I pondered both answers and said, “You are a time-traveling horse that can stop time! So I think you did both!”

  Chapter 9

  The morning air was crisp but not cold as we dropped through the time portal and landed on the grass near the back door to Manchester Middle School. Tommy and Freedom didn’t waste any time as they slid off the side of Liberty, grabbed their modern-day clothes, and rushed into the school to change.

  Birds were chirping in the gnarled oak tree that shaded the back door. The sound of a large engine idling, like that of a garbage truck or a bus, was coming from in front of the school. It must be the school bus that Freedom heard right before we had time-jumped. As we peeked around the side of the school, I nearly stepped in a mess of pink frosting. Ah, yes, the incident with Elizabeth and her pink cupcakes. In a way, Elizabeth was like Massasoit. She was the leader or sachem of this school. Students either feared or revered her. She watched and waited for any sign of weakness in her classmates or any opportunity to send the message that she was in control. I wondered when our next meeting would be. And I wondered what happened in the meeting between the Pilgrims and Massasoit. I doubt Massasoit had brought pink cupcakes. But, hopefully, the two groups had better success at getting along.

  Liberty watched the students exit the bus. “I’ve always wanted to ride inside a bus,” he said, “but they simply don’t make the seats big enough for extra-large mammals like me. I’ve seen horses ride in those fancy trailers and get pulled wherever they want to go. They probably get their hooves manicured, their manes permed, and their nose hairs plucked! No thank you!”

  Tommy ran outside with the bulging travel bag and handed it to me. “Here are the Pilgrim clothes, mine and Freedom’s. Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s a letter from William Bradford.”

  I paused, not sure I heard Tommy correctly. “What is it? Who is it from?”

  Slowly, Tommy repeated, “William Bradford, remember him?” He reached out his arm in my direction.

  “Earth to Rush Revere, come in, Rush Revere,” teased Liberty.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” I stammered, still trying to figure out how Tommy got a letter from William Bradford. “I’m here, I’m listening. You say it’s a letter?”

  “Well, actually, it’s a sealed parchment, which I’ve always thought was cool because of the wax seal. Of course, the most common substance used to seal a letter was beeswax or resin. Did you know the pope would seal his documents with lead?”

  Native American Indian sachem Massasoit visits the Pilgrims at Plymouth Colony around 1621.

  “You’re doing it again,” said Liberty.

  “Too much info?” Tommy asked.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” said Liberty. “I love the way your brain works.”
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  “Yeah, but I probably sound like I should be wearing really thick glasses and a pocket protector full of pens. Anyway, here,” Tommy said as he waved the sealed parchment in front of me.

  I took it and examined both sides. Still a little confused I asked, “Exactly how did you get it?”

  “After Squanto finished speaking and led the Pilgrims to the cornfield, William slipped this letter inside my coat pocket and asked me to give it to you. He said it was really important, but I forgot about it until I changed my clothes.”

  “Oh, well, that makes sense. For a second, I thought that William Bradford had figured out a way to teleport mail through a time-travel pony express service.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Liberty said, eyes narrowed.

  “Well, I need to run and get my backpack out of my locker. Freedom already went to her English class. We’ll see you in last period for Honors History!” Tommy waved and slipped back into the school.

  “Well, what are you waiting for—open it up!” Liberty said, excitedly. “He said it was important! Maybe it’s a treasure map! Or maybe it’s the first clue to a scavenger hunt! Or maybe it’s an invitation to his birthday party!”

  I ignored Liberty as I pondered what William Bradford would send to me in a sealed parchment. I slipped my finger between the edge of the yellowed paper and the red seal until the seal broke. I opened the letter and read:

  “Do you realize what this is?” I asked, excitedly. “This is an invitation to the very first Thanksgiving! What an honor!”

  “I was hoping for a treasure map,” said Liberty. “But the part that says ‘lots of food’ makes up for it. Let’s hope they have a great harvest with lots of fresh vegetables! The invitation didn’t say anything about what to wear, did it? I mean, I’d hate to come overdressed. I hope it’s not formal. Tuxedos can be such a bother.”

  “Have you worn a tuxedo before?” I asked.

  “Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t. What’s it to you?” Liberty said suspiciously.