# Hobomok/Chapter XII

A Tale of Early Times - published in 1824
Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Amid the forest; and the bounding deer Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near.
Bryant
During the long and dreary winter which followed, there was nothing to break the monotony of the scene, except the occasional visits of Hobomok, who used frequently to come up from Plymouth and join the hunters in their excursions. At such seasons, he was all vigor and elasticity; and none returned more heavily laden with furs and venison, than the tawny chieftain. The best of these spoils were always presented to the "child of the Good Spirit," as he used to call Mary; and never to Squantam or Abbamocho had he paid such unlimited reverence.
A woman's heart loves the flattery of devoted attention, let it come from what source it may. Perhaps Mary smiled too complacently on such offerings; perhaps she listened with too much interest, to descriptions of the Indian nations, glowing as they were in the brief, figurative language of nature. Be that as it may, love for Conant's daughter, love deep and intense, had sunk far into the bosom of the savage. In minds of a light and thoughtless cast, love spreads its thin, fibrous roots upon the surface, and withers when laid open to the scorching trials of life; but in souls of sterner mould, it takes a slower and deeper root. The untutored chief knew not the strange visitant which had usurped such empire in his heart; if he found himself gazing upon her face in silent eagerness, 'twas but adoration for so bright an emanation from the Good Spirit; if something within taught him to copy, with promptitude, all the kind attentions of the white man, 'twas gratitude for the life of his mother which she had preserved. However, female penetration knew the plant, though thriving in so wild a soil; and female vanity sinfully indulged its growth. Sometimes a shuddering superstition would come over her, when she thought of his sudden appearance in the mystic circle, and she would sigh at the vast distance which separated her from her lover; but the probability of Brown's return, would speedily chase away such thoughts.
Hobomok seldom spoke in Mr. Conant's presence, save in reply to his questions. He understood little of the dark divinity which he attempted to teach, and could not comprehend wherein the traditions of his fathers were heathenish and sinful; but with Mary and her mother, he felt no such restraint, and there he was all eloquence.
It was in the middle of the "cold moon," by which name he used to designate January, that he arrived in Salem, on one of his numerous visits, bringing with him some skins of the beautiful grey fox of the Mississippi.
"Hobomok brought you fur for moccassins," said he, as he handed them to Mary.
"How very soft it is," said she, showing it to her mother. "It seems like the handsome fur, which grandfather had from Russia. You did not kill it yourself, Hobomok?"
The Indian shook his head. "His tracks are toward the setting sun," replied he. "Hobomok give beaver skins like sand to a warrior come in from the west. He say they call it Muzaham Shungush. There is a council-fire at Mount Haup. The chiefs think the hunter came not to trade for beaver skins, but to find how heavy the red men of Ossamequin, Sassacus, Miantonimo, and Uncas."
"Have none of them been hither, heretofore?" inquired Mary.
"One warrior came among us in the moon of flowers and spread his blanket with us through the hunting moon. I talked with him, like as with the Yengees. He told big stories about his tribe; but he say Great Spirit lay between us, and his back bone so high, make foot of the Indian weary. The chiefs said he counted red men then; but the cloud passed over."
"Well," rejoined Mary, "I hope they'll bring more such handsome fur hither. If they come to count the red men, peradventure they'll find them too heavy. You see I am going to make you a wampum belt of the shells you brought, and I want you to tell me how to put them together."
"Hobomok glad," replied the Indian, his eyes sparkling with joy at such a proof of gratitude. "You see that shell, the color of the sky when the sun goes down? Put him in the big moose there," pointing to the middle of the belt. "Him like the rainbow, put on the back of the deer; and him like the heaped snow, put on the big snake. That's like Tatobam's wampum. Tatobam kill snakes---make great spirit snake very angry---That's reason the Indian from the west call him Tongoomlishcah."
"And who is he?" asked Mary.
"The grass has now grown on Tatobam's grave, and trees are planted thereon," answered the savage. "He was the father of Sassacus, great Sachem of the Pequods. In council, cunning as the beaver, and quick-sighted as the eagle. His tribe were like swallows before a storm, and his wrath like the rising of a thunder cloud. Furious as a wounded buffalo in the fight, but true to his love as the star of the north."
"And was she good enough for so great a warrior?" rejoined Mary.
"His Mohegan squaw was bright and handsome as the wakon-bird of the west. Her voice cheered the sachem, like the song of the muck-a-wiss, that tells of frost gone by. In the dance she was nimble as the deer, and quick as the diving loon. But the quiver of Mohegan was sent to the Pequod, and it was wound with the skin of the snake."
"And then he made war upon his squaw's tribe, I suppose?"
"Tatobam's men were thick as leaves in autumn, his quiver was full, his bow was strong, and his arrow sharp as the lightning, when the Great Spirit sends it forth in his anger. There would have been few left among the Mohegans to black their faces for the dead. The voice of his tribe was for battle. The hunter heard their war-song far away in the desert, like the notes of the woodpecker, which tell of the tempest. So the council-fire was extinguished. The face of Tatobam was anointed, and his belt buckled for the fight. But Indian can love," said he, as he stooped low, and looked up in Mary's face.
"How did Tatobam prove it?" inquired Mrs. Conant.
"Grass never grows in the war-path of the Pequod. His warriors said they would bring home the scalps of their enemies before the rising of the sun. They called on Tatobam to lead to the fight, that they might drink the blood of Mohegan. Before the moon went behind the hills, his tracks were upon the sand; the rising tide washed them away. He rose up at the call of his tribe, and they knew not he had been forth alone. They found not a sleeping enemy. The ambush of the Pequod was broken. The tomahawk was changed for the peace pipe, and the marriage dance was seen in the wigwam of Tatobam."
"Hobomok," interrupted Mr. Conant, who entered at this moment, "it is a pity you were not out with your bow, forasmuch as a fine deer just ran through the settlement."
"There's a tribe of 'em, out on the plains to night," answered the Indian. "Their tracks are thick as flies in the Sturgeon moon.* Sagamore John's men are coming out with---with---" and unable to think of the English word, he pointed to the candle.
"Oh, they are coming out by torch-light," exclaimed Mary, "as Hobomok says the western Indians do. How I do wish I could see them hunt by torch-light."
"I shall go out with you," said Mr. Conant, "to see what success the Lord giveth us in this matter. I have heard wonderful stories appertaining to the taking of deer after this fashion. They say that in the lightest night that ever was made, the creatures are so bewitched, that they'll not move a jot, after they once get sight of the fire."
"And wherefore shouldn't I go, father?" asked Mary.
"A pretty sight truly," replied the old man, "to see you out at midnight with twenty hunters."
"But," rejoined his wife, "two or three horses can be procured; and if a few of the young folks will go, assuredly I see no harm therein; more especially as you will accompany Mary. You must remember," continued she, in an insinuating tone, "that there are few such like gratifications in this wilderness." "No doubt there is enough of them; wherewithal to entice their wandering hearts," answered her husband; "but if you think it fitting the girl should go, verily I have no objection thereto."
Preparations were accordingly made. The window Willet agreed to come up and stay with Mrs. Conant; and a few young women readily consented to accompany Mary, on such horses as the settlement could afford. As for Hobomok, he was all eagerness to display his skill. His arrows were carefully selected, and the strength of his bow was tried again and again, as he occasionally turned to Mary, and boasted of the service it had always done him, in field and forest.
Winter seldom presents a night of such glittering beauty, as the one they chose for their expedition. The mellow light of moon and star looked down upon the woods, and as the trees danced to the shrill music of the winds, their light was reflected by ten thousand undulating motions, in all the rich varieties of frost work. It seemed as if the sylphs and fairies, with which imagination of old, peopled the mountain and the stream, had all assembled to lay their diamond offerings on the great altar of nature. Silently Mary gazed on the going down of that bright planet, and tree and shrub bowed low their spangled plumes in homage to her retiring majesty, till her oblique rays were only to be seen in faint and scattered radiance, on the cold, smooth surface of the earth.
At length the party were in motion, proceeding through the woods by the twinkling lustre of the stars. Mr. Conant held the rein of Mary's horse, and guided his footsteps along the rough and narrow path. Hobomok walked by her side, as silent and thoughtful as he usually was in the presence of her father. They soon came out upon the open plain; and a few moments after, six neighboring Indians were seen winding along from the opposite woods, with their torches carried upon poles high above their heads, casting their lurid glare on the mild, tranquil light of the evening. As they drew up, a few inquiries were made by Hobomok in his native tongue, and answered by his companions in scarcely an audible tone, as they significantly placed their fingers upon their lips. Mr. Conant and his ten associates formed a line and fell into the rear, while the Indians who carried the poles, did the same, and placed themselves forward. It was indeed a strange, romantic scene. The torches sent up columns of dense, black smoke, which vainly endeavoured to rise in the clear, cold atmosphere. Hobomok stood among his brethren, gracefully leaning on his bow, and his figure might well have been mistaken for the fabled deity of the chase. The wild, fitful light shone full upon the unmoved countenance of the savage, and streamed back unbroken upon the rigid features of the Calvinist, rendered even more dark in their expression by the beaver cap which deeply shaded his care-worn brow. The pale loveliness of Mary's face, amid the intense cold of the night, seemed almost as blooming as her ruddy companions; and the frozen beauty of the surrounding woods again flashed brightly beneath the unwonted glow of those artificial rays.
There, in that little group, standing in the loneliness and solitude of nature, was the contrast of heathen and christian, social and savage, elegance and strength, fierceness and timidity. Every eye bent forward, and no sound broke in upon the stillness, excepting now and then, the low, dismal growl of the wolf was heard in the distance. Whenever this fearful sound came upon the ear, the girls would involuntarily move nearer to their protectors, who repeatedly assured them that wolves would never approach a fire. Presently a quick, light step was heard, and a deer glided before them. The beautiful animal, with rapid and graceful motion, was fast hurrying to the woods, when his eye seemed caught by the singular light which gleamed around him. He paused, and looking back, turned his pert, inquiring gaze full upon the hunters. He saw the forms of men, and knew they were his enemies; but so powerful was the fascination of the torches, that his majestic antlers seemed motionless as the adjacent shrubbery.
The arrow of Hobomok was already drawn to the head, when Mary touched his shoulder, as she said, "Don't kill it, Hobomok---don't;" but the weapon was already on the wing, and from his hand it seldom missed its mark. The deer sprung high into the air, its beautiful white breast was displayed for an instant, a faint, mournful sound was heard---and Hobomok stept forward to seize the victim he had wounded. As he brought it up to Mary, the glossy brown of its slender sides was heaving with the last agonies of life, and she turned away from the painful sight.
But a short space ensued, ere another was seen sweeping across the plain. He too noticed the unnatural brightness, and stood bound by the same bewitching spell. One of the Indians gave his torch to Hobomok, and placing his eye on a level with his bow, took steady and deliberate aim. However, it seemed he had not effected his purpose entirely; for the creature uttered a piercing cry, and bounded forward with incredible swiftness. The next Indian handed his torch to one of the white men, and rushing before his companion, he buried his knife deep in the bosom of the wounded deer. A loud laugh of derision followed.
"It's mine," exclaimed he, in Indian language, "It's mine, for I killed it."
"'Tisn't yours," retorted the other, furiously; "the deer hadn't run ten rods; and a hunter never gave up a beast under that."
The girls could not understand what was spoken by the contending savages; but they saw that a quarrel was likely to ensue, and Mary whispered to her father to guide them homeward. The route they had taken was a short one, and the difficulties in retracing it were few. The maidens gladly welcomed their own quiet apartments, and Mr. Conant returned to the plain. The Indian who had first wounded the animal, had proudly relinquished his claim, and stood by, in sullen, offended majesty. The others were preparing a new set of flambeaux for a fresh attack.