# Hobomok/Chapter XVI

A Tale of Early Times - published in 1824
Nor think to village swains alone Are these unearthly terrors known; For not to rank nor sex confined Is this vain ague of the mind.
Rokeby
Independent of universal public depression, a peculiar and settled gloom pervaded Mr. Conant's dwelling; and on every account it was a sad home for one in the freshness of existence. True, Mr. Conant seldom spoke with his former harshness, and even the tones of his voice had become more gentle; still his feelings were too rigid and exclusive to sympathize with a young heart almost discouraged by surrounding difficulties. One after an another, she had been deprived of the cheering influence of Sally Oldham, the firm support of Lady Arabella, and the mild, soothing spirit of her mother; and no one was left to supply their place. As for Mrs. Oldham, the whole circle of her ideas might be comprised in one sentence, viz. "People will marry whom they are fore-ordained to marry, and die when they are appointed to die." The facetiousness of Mr. Oldham was sometimes amusing; but his feelings were blunt, and his wit too often partook of coarseness and vulgarity. There were some in the settlement in whom Mary might have found as much sympathy as she ever met from her old associate, but she knew them not; and when the heart is oppressed with many sorrows, it shrinks from the task of initiating a stranger into all its mysteries of thought and feeling. With none therefore, had Mary any thing like communion. Even Hobomok came unnoticed, and went away unheeded. Sometimes she would think of asking her father's permission to return to England; and then the prospect of Brown's arrival the ensuing spring, would determine her to await his motions. This hope enabled her to discharge her daily duties with tolerable cheerfulness; but twilight generally saw the melancholy maiden seated by her mother's grave. At such seasons her imagination would be busy with the light, silvery clouds, as they hurried along the sky in every variety of form and hue. In one place might be seen a group rising side by side, like the sacred groves of the ancients; here, a stupendous column stood alone, like the magnificent pillar of some ruined edifice; and there, a large, shadowy cloud rested upon the horizon, like the aerial drapery of an angel's couch. It was a mild evening at the commencement of October, when, as she had seated herself as usual to pursue this fanciful amusement, her attention was suddenly arrested by the singular appearance of one of those capricious forms. It was a vessel---so perfect and distinct that the shrouds seemed creaking in the wind, and the canvass fluttering to the breeze. It slowly floated along the atmosphere, till it came over the place whe she stood, when it gradually descended and melted into air. Mary had no small share of the superstition of the times, and shuddering at the fatal omen she hastily ran to inform her father. The figure was again seen in the west, and to Mr. Conant, it seemed even more plain than it had to his daughter. Mr. Oldham and two or three neighbours were now called in; and a third time did the strange appearance rise, sink, and disperse, even as at first.
"I marvel if some mishap be not about to befall the shipping which is coming hither," said Mr. Conant. "Forerunners like this, seldom appear but to warn us of some coming disaster."
"That's true enough," rejoined Mr. Oldham. "Don't you remember the story that Capt. Thurston told us about the Castor and Pollux lights on the mast of the Jewel, the night before she run against the Ambrose? A sad mishap that. They say the Jewel would assuredly have been torn in pieces, had it not been for the discreet counsel of Mr. Johnson. God rest his soul; he was the wisest and best man in the whole fleet; and no disparagement to them who are left behind."
"Them Castor and Pollux lights are bad things when one of them is seen alone," quoth another; "but they are nothing to what I have seen and heard in the line of forewarnings. The night before the godly Mr. Higginson died, I heard the tolling of a bell by the hour together, as plain as if I had been within bow-shot of St. Paul's."
"I'm thinking it could be no bell in this world that echoed in this wilderness," replied Mr. Oldham; "unless the devil is sexton now-a-days, and has the ringing of their English bells, which I trow is no very unlikely thing, while Bishop Laud sitteth at the helm."
"It's not well to use lightness of speech concerning such things," said his companion. "I knew a man in England who laughed at the power which it hath pleased the Lord to give unto Satan, and the self-same night a blow was heard on the side of his house as loud as a clap of thunder, and it was cracked to the very foundation, though none of his neighbours heard the report thereof."
"England has come to a dreadful pass in these days," observed Mr. Conant. "I have known some of their scholars who would fain judge of the doings of their Maker by their own reason, and they say that all such like things are the cunning devices of man's imagination."
"I should like to have such folks see a sight that I can tell them of," said a third. "On the night that Mr. Johnson died, though he was at Shawmut, and of course I couldn't know that his end drew near, I saw a light on the foot of my bed, about two in the morning. It burned a few minutes, and then went out. My wife straightway said `You may depend upon it, the pious Mr. Johnson hath departed,' and sure enough, as nigh as I can discover, he died just at that time."
The relation of such wonders continued for a long time, and perhaps would never have known an end, had not the lateness of the hour reminded them it was time to depart.
There is a great facility in appropriating any thing uncommon to our own situation and circumstances. Mary readily believed that the extraordinary phantom was meant for herself only; and she immediately conjectured it foreboded evil tidings from her lover. The more she indulged these thoughts, the more their power increased, till their unquiet influence entirely deprived her of rest. At that credulous period, it is not surprising that superstition exerted her full force over a mind so prone to revel in the etherial visions of imagination. And who, even in these enlightened days, when reason sits almost sole arbiter of the human mind, has not felt similar influences powerful and strong within him? Who among the wisest and the best, has not experienced states of feeling when the light sigh of the summer breeze, or the gentle pattering of midnight rain, or mayhap a passing shadow on the moonlight floor, or the rustling of the trees, as they bowed their foliage to the evening gale, has had power to quicken the pulse, and restrain the motion of the breath? But there are moments of weakness, which pride would hardly deign to bring before the tribunal of reason; and which, if brought there, would doubtless be found to originate in causes merely physical. Whatever is their source, they sometimes come suddenly upon the mind, striking with magic force, "the electric chain wherewith it's darkly bound;" and in this instance, Mary's fearful augury was too soon realized. The next week Hobomok came to Salem, bearing a letter for Mr. Conant, and another for Governor Endicott. The first contained information of the death of Earl Rivers, written by his grandson; the other mentioned that an East India ship had been lately wrecked, with the loss of her whole crew and cargo; and added that Charles Brown, formerly of Salem, was among the passengers. No sooner had the news passed the lips of the Governor, than it spread through the whole settlement, like an electric shock through an united circle. The circumstance of Mary's attachment was well known, and the matrons and maidens paid a passing tribute of grief, as they asked,
"How will the poor damsel bear this? The Lord support her; for whatsoever be her errors in doctrine, she hath a sweet-favored face, and a disposition like an angel."
"Hold your blasphemous tongues," replied their rigid listeners. "Because the children of Belial have a comely form, a smooth skin, and noble blood, you forsooth straightway liken them to angels of light. Wot you not that all these things pass away as if they had never been? As for the untimely end of him who hath bred so much disturbance among us, 'tis but the visitation of the Lord, for his sinful upholding of the domineering prelates."
While people were busy with similar observations, an officious neighbour eagerly carried the unwelcome news to Mary.
For a moment her heart reeled, and the blow threatened to suspend her faculties. The next, there was a ray of hope. She had become accustomed to false alarms, and she trusted this would prove to be one. Fallacious as she felt this hope, she could not, and would not relinquish it. Whatever were her feelings, they were but briefly exposed to the unfeeling curiosity of her guest. Her father's supper was left half prepared, her cloak hastily thrown on, and an instant after, she entered Governor Endicott's.
"The Lord help you," exclaimed Mrs. Endicott, "how pale you look, and how you tremble. Do be seated, and let me give you some cordial."
"Has his Honor received a letter from England?" inquired the anxious girl, without taking notice of her kind offer.
"Bless your young heart," replied Mrs. Endicott, as she put the corner of her apron to her eyes, "I'm expecting him home every minute. But do take a drop of cordial. It grieves me to death to see you look so."
Her importunities were all useless, and the good woman would have attempted words of comfort, had not the misery of Mary's countenance made such an emphatic appeal to her forbearance. Mary spoke not; but fixed her wild and anxious gaze on the door, until the Governor entered, when she suddenly rose and inquired.
"Have you received a letter from Plymouth to day?"
She had always been a great favorite with the chief magistrate, for, zealous as he was, he was not the man to look on so fair and young a creature, and hate her for her creed. Her question awakened his deepest sympathy, and he cast a pitying glance upon her, as he replied,
"It is all too true, Mary."
There are things which the heart can never realize, be they ever so long in prospect. Come when they will, they come with crushing, agonizing power. The mother may listen for weeks, to the hushed moan of her dying infant; the bridegroom may watch the hectic flush, daily settling more deeply on the cheek of his young bride; but the chain is rivetted closer and closer, and terrible must be the force which rends it asunder.
Mary answered not. She pressed her hand hard upon her brow, and she who had been so gentle and childlike that a rough word would draw tears from her eyes, now neither wept nor sighed. She was about to depart, but the Governor grasped her hand affectionately as he said,
"Forgive me, my good girl, I know that your heart is full; but I would fain remind you that we are only sojourners in this world until we can find a better; and that whatsoever befalleth us, is meant for our eternal good. Cast therefore the burthen of your sorrows at the feet of Jesus."
Mary appreciated his kindness, but she could not attend to him; and, struggling to release her hand, she muttered an indistinct answer, and hastily quitted the house, to hide her grief from his view. She rested her head on a young tree which grew in the path, and tried to pray; but, in that whirl of feeling, she could not even think, and scarcely knowing what she did, she proceeded homeward.
Her father had finished his supper, and though he had found it unprepared, he uttered no complaint. He well knew the occasion of this neglect; and his own thoughts were not unmixed with bitterness. Conscience, cool and unbiassed, inquired whether he had not in some measure mistaken obstinacy and pride for conscientious zeal; and in the humbleness of the moment, he acknowledged that christians were too apt to mistake the voice of selfishness for the voice of God. His earliest enemies had been of the English church, and he had seen his wife drooping and dying amid the poverty which his religious opinions had brought upon her, and yet he tried hard to be convinced, and did at last verily believe, that earthly motives had nothing to do with his hatred of Episcopacy. He still retained all his abhorrence of Brown's sentiments, but since the death of his wife, he had thought, with a good deal of concealed pleasure, how very graciously he would make a sacrifice to the peace of her only child; and now that there was no hope of making this atonement for his past harshness, he felt more of disappointment than he would have been willing to acknowledge. In this softened state of feeling, one gentle expostulation would have driven him to the bosom of his child, there to impart comfort, and seek forgiveness. He did indeed speak feelingly of the death of her grandfather, and told her of the God who was alike the support of the young and the aged. While he dwelt upon the excellence of religious consolation, he called her "my dear child," and more than once his eyes filled with tears. Unfortunately, Mary was too absent, too distressed, to receive these tardy proofs of affection with the gratitude which kindness was always wont to excite; so after one or two efforts to mention the painful subject, he did as he too often had done---stifled the voice of nature, and hid all his better feelings beneath the cold mask of austerity. Mary, tortured with thoughts she could no longer endure in his presence, observed that she was going to dame Willet's, and then left him to his meditations.