Hobomok/Chapter XIV
_____Epistles, wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains.
Cowper
On this day there was business and rejoicing through every corner of the settlement. Among all the daring souls, who left honor, comfort, and independence, for the sake of worshipping God according to the dictates of their own consciences, there was no one more highly or more deservedly respected than Mr. Johnson. In the bloom of life, a gentleman, a scholar, and nearly allied to a noble family, he left his own wise, wealthy, and happy land, to join a poor, despised, and almost discouraged remnant in this western wilderness. Could his prophetic eye have foreseen that the wild and desolate peninsula where he first purchased, would become the proud and populous emporium of six flourishing states; could he have realized that the transfer of government from London to Massachusetts, was but the embryo of political powers, which were so soon to be developed before the gaze of anxious and astonished Europe; how great would have been the reward of the high-minded Englishman. But his self-denying virtue had not these powerful excitements. Who in those days of poverty and gloom, could have possessed a wand mighty enough to remove the veil which hid the American empire from the sight? Who would have believed that in two hundred years from that dismal period, the matured, majestic, and unrivalled beauty of England, would be nearly equalled by a daughter, blushing into life with all the impetuosity of youthful vigor? But though Johnson and his associates could not foresee the result of the first move which they were unconsciously making in the great game of nations---a game which has ever since kept kings in constant check---he, at least, was amply rewarded by an approving conscience, and the confiding admiration of his brethren, which almost amounted to idolatry. All was life and activity during the day of his arrival. In one place might be seen boats, passing and repassing from the vessel, the ripples breaking against their oars, as they glistened in the sun. In another, the hearty interchange of salutation between seamen and landsmen; or a group of gentlemen, busy in the delivery of letters, and already eagerly engaged in discussions concerning the extent of the government wherewith they had been entrusted.
While all this bustle was going on without doors, there were questions enough to be asked and answered by the female inmates of Mr. Conant's dwelling. Several hours past before the Lady Arabella's chest was brought on shore; and though Mary's heart was throbbing high with expectation, she made no inquiries concerning letters from England. At length, however, a sailor arrived with the long expected treasures.
"This is from your father, Lady Mary," said Mrs. Johnson as she placed a letter in her hand. With provoking delay, she handed another package to Mary, as she said, "This is from brother George."
It was a neat edition of Spenser's Fairy Queen, written within, in his lordship's own hand, "To Miss Mary Conant. This cometh to reminde her of bye past daies, from her olde friende George ---Earl Lincoln."
"And this," continued Lady Arabella, "is likewise from Earl Rivers, who desired that Mary would open it in her own apartment."
Every one acquainted with the mazes of love, is aware of a strange perversity in the female heart with regard to such matters. Mary half suspected that her friend noticed the painful suffusion which covered her face and neck, and the package which she supposed contained news, to her more important than any thing else in the world, was placed in her little bedroom with affected indifference, and was not touched till every article of household work was completed with even more deliberate neatness than usual. Not so Mrs. Conant---she eagerly caught her letter, and tearing open the envelope, devoured with painful pleasure the only words which her father had addressed to her since her marriage. They were as follows:
"Deare Daughtere,
"Manie thoughts crowde into my hearte, when I take upp my pen to write to you. Straightwaye my deare wife, long in her grave, cometh before me, and bringeth the remembrance of your owne babie face, as you sometime lay suckling in her arms. The bloode of anciente men floweth slow, and the edge of feeling groweth blunte: but heavie thoughts will rise on the surface of the colde streame, and memorie will probe the wounded hearte with her sharpe lancett. There hath been much wronge betweene us, my deare childe, and I feel that I trode too harshlie on your young hearte: but it maye nott be mended. I have had many kinde thoughts of you, though I have locked them up with the keye of pride. The visit of Mr. Brown was very grievious unto me, inasmuch as he tolde me more certainly than I had known before. that you were going downe to the grave. Well, my childe, `it is a bourne from whence no traveller returns. ' My hande trembleth while I write this, and I feel that I too am hastening thither. Maye we meete in eternitie. The tears dropp on the paper when I think we shall meete no more in time. Give my fervente love to Mary. She is too sweete a blossom to bloome in the deserte. Mr. Brown tolde me much that grieved me to hear. He is a man of porte and parts, and peradventure she maye see the time when her dutie and inclination will meete together. The greye hairs of her olde Grandefather maye be laide in the duste before that time; but she will finde he hath nott forgotten her sweete countenance and gratious behaviour. I am gladd you have founde a kinde helpe-meete in Mr. Conant. May God prosper him according as he hath dealte affectionately with my childe. Forgive your olde father as freelie as he forgiveth you. And nowe, God in his mercie bless you, dere childe of my youthe. Farewell.
"Your Affectionate fathere,
" Rivers ."
"N.B. I have sente you a Bible, (which please to accept as a token of love) by Mr. Isaac Johnson; whome I esteeme a right honorable gentleman, though it grieveth me to see the worthies and nobles of the lande giving their countenance to the sinn of Non-conformitie."
The unqualified kindness of her repenting father proved too much for the weak nerves of his disobedient child; and for a long time Mary and her friend hung over her in a fearful anxiety, lest the blow should hasten a departure, which they all saw must soon come. Lady Arabella brought forward some cordials which she had brought with her, and presently her highly excited system sunk exhausted into slumber. Mrs. Johnson laid herself down beside the sleeping invalid, and gladly sought repose after the fatigue of a long and wearisome voyage. Mary willingly improved this opportunity to examine the contents of her package. A prayer book, bound in the utmost elegance of the times, first met her view. It was ornamented with gold clasps, richly chased; the one representing the head of king Charles, the other the handsome features of his French queen; and the inside of both adorned with the arms of England. Mary hardly paused to look at the valuable present in her eagerness to read the following lines.
"Deare Mary,
"How many times I should have written to you, could I have devised any waye for it to come safely into your hands, I leave your own hearte to judge. God knoweth howe much more I have beene in the deserte since I came hither, than while I was in the wildernesse of Newe England. It was a trial I needed, to showe me howe very deare you were unto my soule. I often think of the sicknesse, wante, and misery I founde you in, when Hobomok first guided me from Plymouth to Naumkeak; and although since the company hathe sente many vessels, there hathe been an alteration in the state of affairs, yet my hearte is readie to burste when I thinke to what you are nowe exposed. God willing, I would have shared any difficulties with you, soe as I might have called you wife; but I loved you the better in that you forgot not your dutie to your mother in your love for me. I live only on the hope of againe seeing the lighte of your countenance, but I nowe feare it cannot be until a yeare from hence. Before this reacheth you, I shall be on my waye to the East Indies, where wealthe promiseth to pour forth many treasures. For your sake I will toyle for the glittering duste, and many hardships would I endure so as I might throwe it at your feete, and saye, 'Tis all for thee. Your grandfather received your letter with much kindnesse. He spoke with greate love, of your mother, but made no remarks concerning your father. He shooke his head mournfully when I parted from him, and saide, when he was in the grave peradventure you would finde you had not been forgotten by the olde Earle: and he added, `I hope you will live long and be happie together.' You see there is no need of having any heavy thoughts; for in the Spring I shall return unto you, if God spares my life: and whenever it pleaseth him to take your goode mother (and I sincerely hope it be not soone, much as I desire to call you mine), you will come and share my home, in England or America, as circumstances may be. To that home your father will alwayes have a wellcome, and if he chooseth not to accept it, I know nott that your dutie extendeth furthere. Some time or other I maye make New England my abode. My hearte woulde incline to staye here; but England, like the pelican we have read of, is mangling her owne bosome: though unlike that birde, she doth not give nourishment to her childrene. The Protestants banished by Mary, thirste for the bloode of Charles; sending out their poisoned arrows from Geneva and the Netherlands with all the acrimonie of exile. Our goode king Charles and his beautiful consorte are perplexed and embarrassed on every side, and it needeth no very keene eye to see that a terrible crisis draweth neare. For these reasons I would fain seeke tranquillity on the other side of the vaste ocean, if so be that an Episcopalian dove, flying from the deluge which he seeth approaching, and bringing an olive branch in his mouthe, maye there finde refuge. My hearte bleedeth for olde England, torne with religious commotions, as she hath beene, from the time of the second Tudor: but my feeble hande may not stop her wounds, gushing though they be at every pore. In the Spring I shall more certainlie knowe concerning what I have mentioned in general terms: but wheresoever I may abide, my hearte leapeth for joye, when I think I shall then be permitted to kiss your hande. I have sent a pipe to Hobomok, inasmuch as I thoughte it mighte please him to knowe that I remembered him in the big island across the water. In remembrance of our last interview at dame Willet's, I have likewise sent her a Bible, which I thought she would value more than anything wherewith I coulde furnish her. And to you my dear girle, I sende what I knowe will be more wellcome than anything but myself. Remember me kindly to Sally and dame Willet, and with much dutifull love to your mother. I remaine through life,
"Your affectionate and humble servante,
" Charles Brown ."
A pipe gaudily decorated, and carefully enveloped in several wrappings of paper, accompanied this package. Another contained a largely lettered Bible, written within "For my olde friende Mistress Willet." On the outside of the third parcel was written, "I had almoste forgotten my promise to Sally: if she be at Plimouth, sende this to her." It contained a handsome gown, which Brown had once playfully promised her for a wedding dress. A letter from the Earl of Rivers was bound up with the prayer book which he sent to his "Deare grandedaughtere;" but the import of it was so similar to her mother's, that I forbear to copy it. Last of all, though the first opened, was a miniature likeness of Brown; and Mary gazed upon it till the eyes seemed laughing and beaming, in all the brilliancy of life, then turned away and wept that the mockery of the pencil had such power to cheat the heart. There was a strange contrast between these presents, and every thing around them. A small rough box placed upon a trunk, was all Mary's toilette. And now there reposed upon it the miniature of her lover, in its glittering enclosure; and a splendid prayer-book printed for the royal family. As Mary looked upon them, and thought of her present situation, she felt that it was ill-judged kindness thus forcibly to remind her of what she had left. Her meditations were interrupted by the sound of Lady Arabella's footsteps, and she hastily removed the rich articles which covered her table. However, the precaution was needless; for Mr. Johnson and his wife were perfectly aware of Brown's reciprocated attachment; and both supposed that the earl's private parcel contained intelligence from him. No one could have more conscientious horror of the form of church worship established by the first defender of the faith, and either from opinion or policy, supported by three successive monarchs; but personal respect for Mr. Brown, and affectionate interest in Mary, overcame in some degree the narrow prejudices of the times, and the secret was faithfully preserved.
In the evening Mr. Johnson brought up another package from the Earl of Rivers. It contained, as he had mentioned, a large, handsome Bible, written within, in the trembling hand of age, "For my beloved daughtere, the Ladye Mary." Beneath, a blistered spot announced that the name had aroused the cold sympathies of advanced years, and given to the stainless page the peace-offering of a father's heart. It were but mockery of nature's power, to define the complicated tissue of pain and pleasure, in the mind of mother or daughter. Even the stern nerves of Mr. Conant relaxed a little, when he read the old gentleman's letter. He turned to the window, and drummed a psalm tune for a few moments, then cast round an inquiring glance, too see if any one had noticed this moment of weakness. He met the anxious look of Mary, who was timidly watching the changes of his countenance. From his softened mood she argued that her grandfather's expressions concerning Brown, had met with no very unfavorable reception; but however the old man's worldly pride might have been affected by such honorable mention of his name, it was all concealed, beneath a deep shade of rigidity, as he said,
"I have but two things whereof to complain,---the one in the letter, the other in the book; and they are both things which my soul hateth. I mean the standing of the Apocrypha in the Bible, and what is said concerning that son of Belial."