Hobomok/Chapter VI

If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.


 * Burns

The dawn presented a scene unusual to the inhabitants of Salem. The prisoners, some standing erect, some seated on the ground, and others leaning upon their bows, wore one uniform expression of defiance and rage. The Englishmen who stood around them, resting on their loaded guns, had that look of peculiar ghastliness which the light of morning gives to men who have passed a sleepless and anxious night. However, the sun had hardly placed his golden circlet on the summit of the highest eastern hills, before the deep rolling of the drum was heard along the street, and fresh recruits passed on, to take the place of their companions. In the mean time a council was called at the chief magistrate's, to determine what should be done with the prisoners.

"My countrymen," said Governor Endicott, "you all know for what purpose you are now called hither. Well it is for us that our brethren from the Isle of Wight have arrived among us; inasmuch as the wickedness of Morton hath made these savages very daring of late. But, as I was about to say, while we were sitting in the house of Mr. Conant, talking of God, and the things appertaining to salvation, Hobomok came among us and gave warning of a party of Indians in the hollow; forasmuch as he, whom we all know the Lord hath gifted with great quickness of ear, heard a low whoop therefrom. You know how the thing hath proved, and how wonderfully we have been saved from the malice and stratagems of our enemies; and now I would fain ask your judgment concerning what is best to be done in this matter."

After some discussion it was determined that Mr. Conant should take with him a strong guard, and convey the captives to their head sachem, Massasoit. Upon which, their godly minister, Mr. Higginson, arose and desired them to join with him in a petition to the throne of grace. Every hat was reverently laid aside, and a short, impressive prayer was made with the involuntary eloquence of recent gratitude. A strong guard was equipped, and as they passed in review before the Governor, the ensign stepped out and delivered the colors of the red cross, which had been unfurled the night before.

"It is marvellous in my eyes that the Lord fighteth on our side, while we march under such a badge of Antichrist," said Governor Endicott. "It as much beseemeth a christian to carry the half-moon of Mahomet, as such an emblem of popish victory. However, the pleasure of the king be obeyed."

Hobomok, who had been waiting for "the council fire to be extinguished," fell into the rear of the company, and re-conducted Mr. Collier to Plymouth.

During several hours the settlement continued in that state of excitement which might naturally be supposed to follow an alarm so unexpected. All the people that were near, called at Mr. Conant's, one after another, to hear the extent of the danger to which they had been exposed, till Mary and her mother were weary of repeating the story.

"I have come hither to find out the root of the matter," Madam Conant, said a neighbouring widow. "I heard last night that there was three hundred Indians found in Endicott's Hollow; and there I sat trembling afraid to venture out, till Jacob came home and told me something about the business."

"And I," observed another, "heard that Corbitant shot Governor Endicott in the mouth. Oh, it was a woful night to us women folks who have just come among you. We never hear of such like proceedings in our island."

"The matter hath no doubt been much magnified," replied Mrs. Conant. "We have reason to be thankful the Indians were few and easily surprised. But here is neighbour Oldham, who was one of the company. He can tell you every thing connected therewith."

"There was but one arrow fired," said Mr. Oldham; "and, as the Lord would have it, that stuck fast in a bit of cheese rind in my jacket pocket. Which, I think, proveth good the old saying, that `a little armour serveth a man if he knoweth where to put it.' But, after all our affrightment, this hath proved a small matter. The Lord hath merely given us a jog on the elbow at this time; that we may remember the dangers wherewithal we are surrounded, and wake up our sluggish souls, that have become somewhat perfunctory in his service."

"That's what my good man said, when he was dying," rejoined the widow. "Poor soul, the Indian shot him through and through, when he was digging for clams in the sands down there at Plymouth; and when I pulled out the arrow and bound up his wounds, he told me, it was all a chastisement of the Lord, in that we had fallen into rebellious ways."

"And I remember as well as if it was but yesterday," said another, "how my poor Joseph looked in them dreadful times. A bright and handsome boy he was once, but he overworked himself; and then he grew poor, and pale as a ghost, and what was worst of all, I hadn't food wherewithal to keep life in his body."

"Ah there is nobody knows the troubles and distresses of a new settlement, but those who have tasted thereof," observed Mrs. Conant; and she paused and sighed deeply, as the painful remembrance of her own lost sons passed before her. "But one must not talk of their own griefs at such a time," continued she. "There is great commotion throughout the world; and it is plain to perceive that Jehovah is shaking the heavens above our head, and the earth beneath our feet."

"Ay, ay," answered Oldham, "these are fearsome times in church and state, when the domineering bishop of London, whom no godly man ever yet knew without giving laud to the devil by reason of the acquaintance. I say it is fearful times when such like men have power to drive God's heritage into the wilderness, where they must toil hard for a scanty bread, and that too with daily jeopardy of life and limb."

"And they tell me likewise," rejoined Mrs. Conant "that Sir Ferdinando Gorges is likely to make difficulty about the Massachusetts patent; and that the Lord, for further trial of our faith, hath suffered more enemies to be stirred up against us in England, who are ready, like Amalek of old, to smite Israel while they are weak and unable for defence."

"Oh yes," replied Mr. Oldham; "and the Earl of Warwick, and divers other great folks who hold possessions here, `sit under their vine and their fig-tree, with none to molest or make them afraid,' and little know they concerning our troubles, and never a hand of theirs would ward off a blow, unless where the matter of filthy lucre was concerned."

"Nevertheless," said Mrs. Conant, "the work will prosper. Though there appeareth now but a little cloud, about the bigness of a man's hand; yet the Lord Christ is in it, and out of it shall shine the perfection of beauty."

"I could listen to your edifying discourse all the day long, but there is no time for folding of hands now-a-days," interrupted the widow, as she threw her cloak over her shoulders. "My red cardinal is over warm for the season to be sure, but then I think it is but decent to have something over a body's head."

"I marvel that you should think it decent to call a christian garment by a name that appertains to the scarlet woman of Babylon," said Mr. Oldham. "It's no name of my making, Goodman; nor did I know that evil was signified thereby," answered the widow. "But I must be stirring homewards. The Lord bless you all."

The other visitors gradually followed her example, and quietness and order were soon restored to the household.

"Mother," said Mary, after their guests had all departed, "you know father has gone to Plymouth for two or three days?"

"To be sure I do, my child," replied Mrs. Conant, smiling. "And what then?" Mary hesitated a few moments ere she added, "I have seen Charles Brown this morning; and he is coming here this evening, that is, if you have no objection thereto."

"You well know my heart, my dear Mary," replied her mother, "but I ought not to do wrong because your father is absent."

"You don't think it is wrong---in your conscience you can't think it's wrong," said Mary, as she kissed her forehead, and looked up archly in her face. "So do say he may come."

"You have sacrificed much for me, my child," answered the indulgent parent. And, pausing a moment, she continued, "Perhaps I do wrong thus to violate the injunctions of my husband, but I know you are prudent, and you may e'en follow your own dictates concerning this matter."

The young man to whom we have so often referred, was a graduate at Oxford, and of no ordinary note in his native kingdom. He had known Mary before she left the mansion of her noble grandfather; and the remembrance of the little fairy just blushing into womanhood had proved powerful enough to draw the ambitious young lawyer from the fair hopes of distinction in England, to the wild and romantic scheme of establishing the Episcopal mitre in the forests of America. The state in which he found things on his arrival, induced him to abandon his favorite project; and prudence for awhile enabled him to conceal his high church principles. But the crown and the mitre were interwoven with every association of his heart, and in that hot-bed of argument he found the attempt at neutrality was in vain. Notwithstanding the first settlers at Naumkeak had taken the liberty of nonconforming to the rules of their mother church, and to the established regulations of the Plymouth elders, Mr. Brown soon found that they complained loudly of the spirit of the times. Mr. Conant in particular, stated that New England was likely to become "a cage for every unclean bird. A free stable-room and litter for all kinds of consciences." Such expressions extorted from Brown an involuntary reproach upon those false guides who had first taught men to wander from the true church. This was, of course, the watch-word of animosity; and from that time the young man was considered as Ishmael in the house of Abraham. However, long after the old man discovered the abomination of his sentiments, he continued a daily visitor at Mr. Conant's, who `felt it his duty to controvert the matter with him, inasmuch as the Lord might please to make him the instrument of his redemption." But it could not long remain concealed that metal more attractive than the iron glove of controversy, had drawn him to their fire-side; and, with more anger than Mrs. Conant had ever before seen him manifest, he forbade him the house forever.

With all Mary's habitual sweetness of disposition, this course of conduct did serve to diminish her filial respect and affection. She had no sympathy with her father's religious scruples, for her heart very naturally bowed down before the same altar with the man she loved. None could form an idea of the depth and fervor of her affection, who had not, like her, left a bright and sunny path, to wander in the train of misery, gloom, and famine. During her stay at her grandfather's, she had become familiar with much that was beautiful in painting, and lovely in sculpture, as well as all that was elegant in the poetry of that early period; and their rich outline was deeply impressed upon her young heart. For her mother's sake, she endured the mean and laborious offices which she was obliged to perform, but she lived only in the remembrance of that fairy spot in her existence. Alone as she was, without one spirit that came in contact with her own, she breathed only in the regions of fancy; and many an ideal object had she invested with its rainbow robe. When at length she found a being who understood her feelings, and who loved, as she had imagined love, her whole soul was rivetted. The harshness of her father tended to increase this, by rendering the stream of affection more undivided in its source. In such a state of things, their interviews must of course be transient and unfrequent; but when they did occur, the cup of joy, so seldom tasted, sparkled to the brim. Let the philosopher say what he will about these humbler blossoms of the heart, earth has nothing like them, for loveliness and fragrance. And he, who through the dim lapse of years, remembers the time when two full, gushing tides of young affection, were mingled in one common stream, will hardly be willing to acknowledge that the world is altogether "vanity and vexation of spirit."

The remembrance of her own thwarted inclinations wrought powerfully on the mind of Mary's gentle and affectionate mother, and she at length gave their meeting her unqualified consent. The bowl of chocolate was prepared that night with even more careful fondness than usual; and as Mrs. Conant at an early hour laid her head upon the pillow, she was just preparing to say, "I fear I do wrong, my child," but Mary kissed away the sentence.

The absence of so many of the inhabitants, and the fear of some fresh alarm, made it expedient that the outskirts of the settlement should be guarded, and Mary well knew that Brown was on that duty. In expectation of his arrival, she stationed herself at the door, and looked out upon the still brightness around. The lonely spot was fair and tranquil, and earth, sea, and sky, beneath the unvaried radiance of the moon, "seemed just waking from some heavenly dream." The evening star was sailing along its peaceful course, and seemed, amid the stainless sanctity of the heavens, like a bright diadem on the brow of some celestial spirit. "Fair planet," thought Mary, "how various are the scenes thou passest over in thy shining course. The solitary nun, in the recesses of her cloister, looks on thee as I do now; mayhap too, the courtly circle of king Charles are watching the motion of thy silver chariot. The standard of war is fluttering in thy beams, and the busy merchantman breaks thy radiance on the ocean. Thou hast kissed the cross-crowned turrets of the Catholic, and the proud spires of the Episcopalian. Thou hast smiled on distant mosques and temples, and now thou art shedding the same light on the sacrifice heap of the Indian, and the rude dwellings of the Calvinist. And can it be, as my father says, that of all the multitude of people who view thy cheering rays, so small a remnant only are pleasing in the sight of God? Oh, no. It cannot be thus. Would that my vision, like thine, could extend through the universe, that I might look down unmoved on the birth and decay of human passions, hopes, and prejudices."

These thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Brown, as he came whistling along the footpath, the light of evening resting full upon his handsome features.

"The moon has seemed to rise slowly and wearily since I have been looking out for you," said the maiden, as her lover gaily imprinted a kiss upon her hand.

"I could wish she would stop her shining course awhile," replied he; "for, setting aside the expectation of meeting you, it is one of the brightest nights I ever looked upon."

"I have been watching it," answered Mary, "till it hath almost made me sad. At this moment she is shining on the lordly palaces and blooming gardens of good old England, is she not?"

"Ah yes; and such thoughts make even my heart sicken within me. But it is not so when I think of you. Love `maketh the desert to blossom as the rose.' Besides, my dear Mary, I trust we shall both live in England again."

"Never while my mother lives, Charles. I would not leave her even for you. But she will soon go from us to be no more. I picked a little shivering violet the other day, and it seemed the sweeter for the cold dew that was on it. And I thought it was so like to my mother; for the sicker she is, the more she seemeth like an angel."

I know not why it is, but, in minds of a certain tone, the richest melody of love is always mingled with notes of sadness; and, in the full communion of unreserved tenderness, the maiden leaned her head upon the shoulder of the young man, and wept in silence.

"My dear Mary," said Brown, "it is not well to be melancholy. We both ought to recollect that there is One above who will defend us, though every earthly friend be taken. As for your father, he may be conscientious in this matter; but I more than half suspect that he cares more about having his own way, than he does for all the prayers and churches in christendom. If so, I know your kind mother will use all her influence to overcome his obstinacy."

"I know it too," replied Mary; "but her counsels have little weight with him when he has determined upon a course. However, he loves her; and I believe she loves him as well as she ever could in her earliest days."

"Do you think you could endure so much for me, Mary?" asked her lover, while his bright dark eye rested with more than usual admiration on the passive beauty of her countenance.

"A cold heart may make promises and protestations," she replied; "and when we dream of love we are always too apt to think of the paradise, rather than the thorny hedge which the sin of Adam has placed around it; but let the storm come upon you, Charles, and see if my head shrink from the tempest."

"I know by experience how hard it is to escape from the entanglements of the heart," answered Brown. "My life was full of enjoyment before I met you in Lincolnshire; and now, when I try to think of any source of happiness in which you have no share, I am forced to acknowledge that you are, in some way or other, connected therewith. You remember that those who entered Spencer's shady grove, Whose loftie trees yelad with sommer's pride, Did spred so broad, that heaven's light did hide, Not perceable with power of any starr; When weening to returne whence they did straye, They cannot finde that path which once was showne, But wander to and fro in waies unknowne.

"And isn't it so with the path of love, my Mary?" A smiling glance from the bright eye of the maiden gave an answer of silent eloquence. The interview was prolonged to a late hour; and the conversation of the lovers became gradually more and more marked by that tenderness of expression, which, "like the rich wines of the south, is so delicious in its native soil; so tasteless in the transportation."