Hobomok/Chapter XX

by Lydia Maria Child

God, the best maker of all marriages,
Combine your hearts in one.

King Henry V

Charles Brown had listened with respect and admiration to the farewell address of the Indian, and forgetful of every other sentiment, he eagerly pursued him, with the intention of restoring the happiness he had so nobly sacrificed. But there were few of the swiftest animals of the forest could outstrip the speed of Hobomok. His step was soon out of hearing, and Brown having at length lost sight of his track, reluctantly gave over the pursuit. In his anxiety to overtake the savage, and in the bewilderment of his own brain, he lost the path; and the sun was nearly setting, when he regained the road he had left. He seated himself upon a rock, in hopes of again meeting Hobomok, should he attempt to return to Plymouth. No sound was heard in those lone forests, save the rustling of the leaves as they bowed to the autumnal wind, or the shriek of some solitary bird as he flapped his wings above the head of the traveller. To these was now and then added the monotonous sound of the whippowill, answered by a strain of wild and varied melody from some far-off songster of the woods. The foliage of the trees was every where so thickly interlaced, excepting the narrow footpath which opened before him, that scarcely a single ray of light could be discerned among the branches. The brightness of the sun had already gone beyond the view, and a long train of sable clouds were gathering in the west, as if mourning his departure. The conflicting feelings of the young man were settled in deep melancholy; and the aspect of nature "suited the gloomy habit of his soul."

"Thus," thought he, "has been my ambitious course. Thus did the dawning rays of hope and imagination send forth their radiance, till the world seemed all light and joy. I have struggled through the clouds which have gathered around me, cheered by the thought that Mary's love would render the evening of my days tranquil and happy. Desperate must have been the temptations which beset the dear girl's mind, when she took the cruel step which has forever wrenched that hope from me. But the deed is done, and God forbid that my resentment should rest on her unhappy head. Existence must now be as sad as those dull clouds which are so fast gathering."

The evening grew more dark, and still nothing betokened the approach of the hunter; and the dismal hooting of the owls, and the distant growling of the wolf, warned the traveller to seek safety in the haunts of men. He proceeded along his journey uninterrupted; and soon the well known wigwam of Hobomok met his view. He started with a sudden pang, and walked along rapidly, whistling lest he should hear the sound of that voice so dear to his memory. Immediately after the painful spot was passed, he met a little boy, hieing homeward, as merry and hardy as youth and poverty could make him.

"My boy," said he, "can you tell me where Mr. Collier lives?"

The child pointed to a new house that was hard by, and scampered home to tell his father there was a stranger in the settlement. Mr. Brown already had his hand upon the latch, when the recollection of Hobomok's terror induced him to ascertain who were the inmates of the dwelling, before he ventured to enter. Stepping round cautiously he looked in at the window. Sally sat there knitting by a dim taper, her foot gently moving the white pine cradle, which contained her sleeping infant.

"I shall no doubt alarm her if I go in so suddenly," thought he.

While he was deliberating, he heard the noise of coming footsteps, and presently a man stumbled, and fell directly before him.

"What have we here?" muttered the stranger, springing on his feet and looking back. "I'll go in and ask Sally for a light."

"Who are you, sir?" inquired he, as he noticed Brown standing before his door.

"Mr. Collier," replied the young man, "I would not willingly alarm you, therefore give me your hand, before I tell you my name. You suppose Charles Brown to be dead, but he is alive, and you now have him by the hand."

"Charles Brown of Salem!" exclaimed Mr. Collier.

"The same," answered his visitor.

"If you are really the living Mr. Brown," said the other, "why do you stand outside of my door? Don't you suppose you'd have a welcome within, after all that's past and gone?"

This was the first expression of kindness which the disconsolate wanderer had heard since his arrival, and he shook the hand of his old acquaintance so cordially, that he could have no remaining doubts whether he was real flesh and blood.

"I knew I should frighten your wife," replied he. "I saw she was alone, and inasmuch as I knew she supposed me to be dead, I thought best to await your return. But if you will prepare her to see me, I will gladly enter, for I am overcome with weariness."

Mr. Collier entered, and drawing his chair towards the cardle, he looked in upon his infant, and smiled, as he said,

"Sally, I have some strange news to tell you, if you'll promise not to be frightened."

"What is it? What is it?" asked his wife, eagerly. I'm sure you don't look as if it was very terrifying."

"It's bad enough though, for some folks that you love," replied he, thoughtfully. "Charles Brown is alive."

"Charles Brown alive!" screamed Sally. "Tell me how you know it."

"I have seen him, shook hands with him, and talked with him," rejoined her husband.

"What will poor Mary do?" asked his wife.

"That's the first thing I thought of," answered Mr. Collier. "Poor fellow, he little knoweth what is in reserve for him; but the Lord overruleth all things in infinite wisdom. I have one thing more to tell you; and you must be calm about it, for peradventure I should have been sorely frightened had I seen his face before he spoke. He standeth even now at the door."

"It can't be true," exclaimed she, jumping up, and looking out of the window.

The door opened, and Brown stood before her.

"Do you believe it now, Sally?" said he.

"Yes, I do; and I am glad to see you," she replied; "and since my good-man is here, I will kiss your hand."

She looked him in the face till the multitude of thoughts in her kind heart broke forth in tears.

"Do tell us," said Mr. Collier, "for I was so surprised that I never thought of it until now, how came you hither?"

"I came in an English vessel, which lies two miles below waiting for wind. My story is no uncommon one for an East India passenger. Our vessel was wrecked, and for nearly three years I have been a prisoner on the coast of Africa. How I effected my escape, I have neither strength nor spirits to tell you now."

"How wonderful are the doings of Providence," rejoined Mr. Collier; and he looked at his wife, as if he would add, "Poor fellow, his hardest fortune is yet to come."

"You need not look thus mournfully on each other, my good friends," observed the young man. "Had I not known the worst, I had not so long refrained from asking after my dear Mary."

"How could you have heard so soon?" inquired both.

"I met Hobomok soon after I landed," replied Brown; "and I have waited a long while, trusting to see him again as he returned; but if he came he must have taken a different route. He himself told me that Mary was his wife, and the mother of an Indian boy."

"Is it possible you have met Hobomok alone, and yet live to tell thereof?" asked Mr. Collier.

"I met him alone in the woods, and sincerely did I wish he would take my life," answered the young man. "I have a story to tell of that savage, which might make the best of us blush at our inferiority, Christians as we are; but I cannot tell it now."

"Speaking of hunting, makes me think of what I stumbled over, when I met you," replied Mr. Collier. "I'll take a light and go out to see what it was; for assuredly I thought it seemed like some large animal."

He soon returned, bringing in the pole, which had been left there by Hobomok.

"This is strange," exclaimed he. "Here is as handsome a deer as ever I put eyes on; and three clever foxes."

"What's that paper, fastened on the horns?" asked his wife.

Her husband untied it; and when opened, it proved to be as follows:

"This doth certifie that the witche hazel sticks, which were givene to the witnesses of my marriage are all burnte by my requeste: therefore by Indian laws, Hobomok and Mary Conant are divorced. And this I doe, that Mary may be happie. The same will be testified by my kinsmen Powexis, Mawhalissis, and Mackawalaw. The deere and foxes are for my goode Mary, and my boy. Maye the Englishmen's God bless them all.

The marke of Hobomok.

"Written by me, at the instigatione of the above Indian, who hath tolde me all, under an injunctione of secresie for three daies.

Edward Winslow. Governor of the jurisdictione of New Plimouth."

"His conduct is all of a piece, noble throughout," observed Brown. And he repeated to his friends, his singular interview with the Indian.

The behavior of the savage naturally drew forth many expressions of wonder and admiration; and the next question was, "How is Mary to be informed of all this? She will, no doubt, be alarmed at the absence of Hobomok."

"I am going to prepare some food for Mr. Brown," replied Sally; "and after I have done that, if you will take care of little Mary, I will go and spend the night with her. It is so near the fort, there can't be any danger when there are two of us; and perhaps to-morrow she will see Mr. Brown."

The young man insisted that he needed no food; and that he himself would stand sentinel near Mary's wigwam, and guard her through the night. Sally represented the impracticability of this plan, and the terrible alarm it would give Mary, should she chance to discover him; and after a good deal of friendly altercation, she carried her point. A small repast was set before Brown, and Mrs. Collier, having made all necessary arrangements for the comfort of her family, and having received repeated cautions, both from her husband and her guest, departed to the dwelling of her friend. She found her, as she expected, anxiously looking out for the hunter.

"What can be the reason he does not return?" said she, as Sally entered. "I was just thinking of coming in to ask you about him."

"Perhaps he did not find game plenty," replied Mrs. Collier.

"You know he seldom fails to find something," rejoined his anxious wife; "and besides he always comes home at night, whether he has been lucky or unlucky. He never would trust me and his boy to the mercy of Corbitant, after the night closed in; but perhaps, like every thing else that I ever loved, he is snatched away from me."

"I have thought a great deal of that trick you tried at Naumkeak," observed her friend. "It would be strange if Hobomok should die, and Brown should yet return alive and well; and yet we do sometimes hear of things as wonderful as that."

"How wildly you talk, dear Sally," she replied. "Charles has been dead these three years, and it is wicked in me to think of him so much as I do; for if ever a wife owed love to a husband, heathen or christian, I do to Hobomok. But have you heard any thing about my husband, that made you speak thus?"

Slowly did her friend prepare her mind for the reception of the tidings, and cautiously and gradually did she impart them, until she was made to comprehend the return of her lover, his meeting with Hobomok, and the exalted course which her husband had pursued.

The singular circumstances were so prudently revealed, and Mary had been so much accustomed to excitement, that no violent tumult was raised within her bosom; but she sobbed till Mrs. Collier thought her heart must break.

"I would willingly go down to the grave," said she, "willingly forfeit my hopes of heaven, if I could know they were both happy; but to have Hobomok a wanderer, for my sake, and to have him die among strangers, without one relation to speak those words of comfort and kindness, which he has so often uttered to me, I cannot---I cannot endure it." "I only have sinned; and yet all the punishment has fallen upon his head. No; not quite all; for I know Brown must despise me."

Sally tried every gentle art to soothe her perturbed feelings, and before she departed, she extorted a promise that she would see Brown towards evening. A thousand times did Mary repent this resolution, notwithstanding her eagerness for the interview. Alternately would she weep, and then pray that blessings might rest on the head of him who had so lately been her husband; and if she regained any thing like composure, little Hobomok, who wandered about unused to such neglect, would ask, "What for make mamy ky so 'bout fader;" and his tone of infant melancholy would call forth all her sorrows afresh. At length the day drew toward a close; and Mary's pulse throbbed high when she heard those well-known footsteps approaching. In an instant she was at the feet of her lover, clasping his knees with a pale imploring countenance, as she said,

"Can you forgive me, Charles,---lost and humbled as I have been?"

"The Lord judge you according to your temptations, my dear Mary," replied he, as he raised her to his bosom, and wept over her in silence.

For a time both seemed afraid to trust each other with a second word or look.

"My temptations were many," said Mary, interrupting the silence. "I cannot tell you all now. But at home all was dark and comfortless; and when I heard you too were gone, my reason was obscured. Believe me I knew almost as little as I cared, whither I went, so as I could but escape the scenes wherewith you were connected; but to this hour, my love has never abated."

"I believe it, Mary; but where is your boy?"

The child moved before his mother, as he lisped, "Here's little Hobomok."

Mary caught him to her heart and kissed him, while the tears fell fast upon his cheeks.

"He is a brave boy," observed Brown, as he passed his fingers through the glossy black hair of the fearless young Indian.

"Those were the last words his father said to him," rejoined Mary, and she placed him in his arms, and turned away to conceal her emotion.

"Let's talk no more concerning this subject," said the young man. "The sacrifice that has been made is no doubt painful to us both; more especially to you, who have so long known his goodness; but it cannot now be remedied. You must go to Mr. Collier's to night; but will you first say that you will be my wife, either here or in England?"

"I cannot go to England," she replied. My boy would disgrace me, and I never will leave him; for love to him is the only way that I can now repay my debt of gratitude."

"What is his name?" asked Brown.

"According to the Indian custom, he took the name of his mother," answered Mary. "I called him Charles Hobomok Conant."

"He shall be my own boy," exclaimed the young man. "May God prosper me according to my kindness towards him. But, my dear Mary, will you, as soon as possible, be my wife?"

"If you do not utterly despise me," rejoined she, in an agitated tone. "You well know how dear you are to my soul."

Mary and her son removed to Mrs. Collier's; and a letter was immediately despatched to Mr. Conant, informing him of existing circumstances, and requesting that the marriage might be performed at his house. The old gentleman returned this brief answer.

"Come to my arms, by deare childe; and maye God forgive us both, in aughte wherein we have transgressed."

The necessary arrangements were made; and a few days after, Mr. Brown, accompanied by Mary and her son, returned to Salem. It was the first time Mary had seen the town since her departure with the savage; and on many accounts the meeting could not be otherwise than one of mingled pain and pleasure.

Her father clasped her in a long, affectionate embrace, and never to the day of his death, referred to a subject which was almost equally unpleasant to both. A few weeks after their arrival, Mr. Skelton was sent for, and Mary stood beside her bridegroom, her hand resting on the sleek head of that swarthy boy. He, all unconscious of what was going forward, gave little heed to the hand which was intended to restrain his restless motions; for now he would be wholly concealed behind his mother's dress, and now, one rougeish black eye would slily peep out upon his favorite companion, the laughing little Mary Collier.

Charles Brown and Mary Conant were pronounced husband and wife, in the presence of her father and Dame Willet, Mr. and Mrs. Oldham, and her two constant friends from Plymouth.

A new house was soon after erected near Mr. Conant's; and through the remainder of his life, the greater part of his evenings were spent by that fireside. Disputes on matters of opinion would sometimes arise; but Brown seldom forgot his promises of forbearance, and they were always brought to an amicable termination. Partly from consciousness of blame, and partly from a mixed feeling of compassion and affection, the little Hobomok was always a peculiar favorite with his grandfather. At his request, half the legacy of Earl Rivers was appropriated to his education. He was afterwards a distinguished graduate at Cambridge; and when he left that infant university, he departed to finish his studies in England. His father was seldom spoken of; and by degrees his Indian appellation was silently omitted. But the devoted, romantic love of Hobomok was never forgotten by its object; and his faithful services to the "Yengees" are still remembered with gratitude; though the tender slip which he protected, has since become a mighty tree, and the nations of the earth seek refuge beneath its branches.

THE END.