Mary

Mary
A True Tale

Along New England’s bustling, boisterous shore,
Men zigzagged antlike gleaning – little more;
When sudden from the West, like some strange dawn,
Flashed far the gleam of Gold! Then men went blind –
Blind to things near; as when our eyes new-born
Dilate to visions dazzling, unconfined.
Books, tools, old plans were swept aside in haste,
And hopes went winging to a western waste.

Ah, thus were loved ones parted – scenes endeared
Relinquiched at a beck; yet there appeared
A trust of near return. So rushed amain
The Argonauts, like olden knights again,
Each of hot venture scorning risk and route.

One kissed his infant girl and toddling son
Flushed eyes askance, lest purpose swerve – then mute
A lingering kiss upon their mother pressed
And, trusting all to Providence, was gone.
While Mary wept in prayer with babe at breast,
Her piteous features by her boy caressed.

Months passed with meagre mails and sad replies:
Tho Mary, by her husband’s mother blessed
Thro’ natural likeness where she met his eyes,
Found solace there; and so, tho’ prone to tears,
Could even smile and carol to her dears.
Bright moments these: as when clouds hurrying by
Let down arrested glories from the sky,
Stirring some feathered heart to grateful song;
But such for Mary seldom lasted long;
For, hovering where her sleeping cherubs lay,
Her lonely heart would heave and tears find way.

Nor was this pity for herself so much
As for her mate now exiled; like some touch
Forbidding sole possession on her part,
Since never father had a fonder heart.
The winning wistfulness or foles of glee
That drew attention to her ardent boy –
His antics, his quaint talkings to some toy,
She felt her husband primate to, not she.
Or when the cherub sister chose to raise
The long fringed curtains of her wondering eyes
As if she were an angel in amaze
Pondering, or made reflective with surprise
At bengs so unlike others she had known
In the bright realm whence she so late had flown –
When tender touches of her bud-like hands
Opened pink petals brushing Mary’s face,
Or stroked her hair, oft tingling in its strands,
Or dimpling mother cheeks in soft embrace –
With every thrill of motherhood she grieved,
Feeling her lonely mate so far bereaved.

Despite the boast that California’s streams
Were paved with gold, her husband’s share, it seems,
Fell short of promise. Winter drove him back
To San Francisco, where there was a lack
Of hands for building – well paid work, tho rough.
Thus earning faitly, he still sent enough
For Mary’s modest needs; and as her eyes
Had given trouble once, he thought it wise
To send her funds for needle work and such;
But some of this she had not cared to touch.
So a wild thought came to her, vague and dim,
To save these sums entire however much
Or little, and, unbidden, go to him.
For hope had grown impatient. How she wore
Thro one long wretched night of sobs and sighs
With burning eyelids! Were not these the eyes
Her doctor once had biden her travel for?
Ha! travel now – how could she? Sometime since
A sister, writing from a distant place
Had urged a trip and proffered the expense
To save those eyes – had begged her to embrace
The doctor’s counsel. Would he still advise
Her daring, or forbid it as unwise?
Faintly the question stirred her hope: forlorn,
But rising like a sister to the dawn,
She gave herself to simple cares, and planned
How to explain her willingness at last
To take the doctor’s counsel, and command
That pride that had resisted in the past.

Now when her old physician, kind of heart
But feigning sternness, tho amused in part,
Looked in her eyes, a scowl upset his brow:
Those mute confessors of the soul below
Laid bare a secret trouble, not of nerves,
That won at once his sympathy. Reserves
Of contact knowledge with his suffering kind
Had made the good man far indeed from blind.
He made no comment – merely looked profound,
Letting her feel he held his former ground –
Letting her plead his purpose to the end.
Her husband’s tenderness for little life
Left snugly housed, of course he must comment,
Yet felt compassion for this loyal wife.
But might not kindred, eager from the start
To save her eyes, unknowing help a heart?

How many sages under stress have winked
At inward trickery with service linked,
Half shamed, half edified by simple trust
That aids duplicity but makes it just!
At length he said, in manner almost stern:
“Your relatives should know, if not, should learn
My views about a nursing mother’s eyes,
And what grave danger in postponement lies
When urged to follow some specific course;
For ills neglected go from bad to worse.
Tho not my province, if you hesitate
To enlist them, let me write to them and state
Your present difficulties. I will place
Before them my best views about the case.”
Whereat poor Mary, – for her pride took heed
And flushed resentful, – not a word could give.

Here was duel to be fought indeed –
The doctors urging his prerogative –
The patient’s struggle where her pride forbade.
Why sought she aid if but to scorn it so?
Had there not something like his urging played
In the sad franzy of her midnight woe?
Thus self-accusing she stood balked again
And knew not what to say. So he, as tho
Impatient, said: “I’m waiting.” Silence then.
Raising her face, as out of deep despair,
She met his eyes and read such pity there
Her pride gave way – a second father’s touch
Of sympathy seemed waiting on her will.
It came to her to speak to him as such –
To tell him that her sister wrote her still,
And proffered help; confessing in a burst
Her past disdain. She grasped, but knew not how,
His fatherlike intention from the first
To save her from humiliation now.

He chose to write her sister in a way,
That many a liberal doctor has indulged
Where danger lurks in brooding, nor betray
Her feelings. Nothing tender was divulged.
He amplified on “Vision” with delight,
Half chuckling, like a boy intent to scare,
Weaving alarming sentences on “Sight,”
Yet hiding all heart motives with true care.

A few weeks passed and Mary, like a queen,
Took ship for California, unimpressed
By fear in venturing. Has not love been sen
Even to welcome peril for a zest?
She walked the steamer’s deck, each foot a wing,
A bird’s heart in her bosom fluttering –
Free on a flight to find her mate and rest.
However far the way or wild the stress
Some rest must wait them in that wilderness.

The ocean’s pulsing breast far south and east
Lapping the vessel’s length, to curl away,
Looked like the mane of some unmeasured beast –
A couchant lion with a mouse at play;
That now and then a rough wave would obtrude
To cuff as with a folded paw the ship
And make it shudder for a moment’s dip,
Then stretch again in feline lassitude.

But when Cape Hatteras was neared no rest
Was given the limpid monster’s ruffled length:
Beaten by maddening winds that heaving breast
Hissed threatenings heavenward, furious in its strength.
The flogged ship, staggering sternly on its way
‘Twixt wind and wave, tossed tumbling in rebuffs,
Yet held a general course with slight delay,
Diving and seesawing thro’ appalling troughs.

And what of those aboard throughout these blows?
Illy indeed they fared, most in dismay
Thro’ the mad length of elemental throes.
Some wailed, some prayed – many were seen to swoon;
Or some to soothe the young essayed to croon,
Tho’ themselves terrified at every plunge,
Many being parted at each monstrous lunge.

Once Mary kneeling with her babe appaleld,
Her boy in terror, when the vessel rolled,
Gripping till now her skirt, at last lost hold,
And spun away from sight. Loud tho’ she called,
She caught no answer in the desperate din.
Alas, that moment’s terrible dismay!
When he was nowhere seen, she swooned away
Into kind arms beside that checked her fall,
And bore her safely at the matron’s call.

It was her boy who roused, as from the dead,
His o’erwrought mother. By the steward led
He came with tear-stains on his pudgy face,
Munching some cakes, bestowed as woe-amends,
By the good man, who found him out of place,
And was so taken they became fast friends.

Now this was providential. From the start
Mary, at meals, encountering creatures wild,
Whose greedy hands outreached and thought it smart,
Was often faint and feared her nursing child
Might suffer from this lack of nourishment
But from the time the steward brought ehr boy
Back to a grateful breast, she found content:
Their simple intercourse even gave her joy –
One shoulder-ridden when the vessel rocked,
Or led by hand about: her wandering elf
Was safe and faring better than herself.
Indeed he came with tidbits overstocked,
And at such intervals the mother knew
These precious gifts were quite enough for two.

Nothing was said on either side at all;
There seemed a fair exchange of cheer withal –
The steward’s joy in the boy’s artless airs –
The mother’s peace, since Heaven so halved her cares.
Doubtless this man, who made no least advance,
Had marked at table Mary’s diffidence
And felt compassion when the greedy few
Devoured their own and her last morsel too.
Sad, be it said, in all the motley horde
He proved the one true gentleman aboard.

When nearing Aspinwall, with gallent pen
He wrote for Mary a kind note, addressed
To friends on the “Sonora,” plying then,
From San Francisco. In her interest
He bespoke kindness till she reached her goal.
Her eyes swam tears in thanking this good soul
Who had proved a brother when she needed one:
And so next day they parted; she upon
A slippery barge crowded with many more
Crossing the shoals that shelved the Isthmian shore.

Foul was this passage, hardly fit for beast:
All stood, like cattle sweltering in a pen,
The women crushed by inconsiderate men,
Whence Mary, friendless, was the last released.
So, unnoticed by the groups, that soon were gone
On the best beasts at hand, – the only one,
Balked with a crying baby, looked about
For some deliverance o’er her baffling route.
Choosing a negro and his beast by sign –
The only medium either could divine –
She found herself and baby listed high
And seated on the donkey. Then her boy
Was raised, in wonder, to a swarthy breast,
And on they went at last toward the West

Her donkey plodded without whip or rein,
Thro’ tangled shrubs that snared the winding way;
But urging pats like coaxing words were vain
To increase his gait and merely made him bray.
To fancy, every motion of his head
From side to side seemed genturing firmly – No!
Unless dejection of his frame ill-fed
Strove, by its wagging, to depict his woe.

The negro’s stride, lost soon to hail or sight,
Set Mary worrying: might her boy now lost
Be in some pit or hidden jungle tossed
By his spent bearer? Growing chill with fright,
Other black conjurings thro’ her terror stirred:
Perhaps some ravenous animal, unheard,
Had pounced upon and dragged him to its lair
To feast in silence on her darling there.
Such frenzies seized her when the heat increased
She scarce could keep her seat upon the beast;
Until, perhaps, a “clearing” showed the pair
In some cool spot at east, her boy asleep,
Or, waking, of her terrors unaware,
Staring astonishment to see her weep.

But rank malarial vapors drugged again
Her vision on their way. The facile brain,
Often as distance hid her boy, would start
Weaving fantastic filaments that mocked,
Conjuring conjectures that all reason shocked,
Leaving no vigor in the tortured heart.
Fronds looked like hands whose digits waved her back
Or swished malicious o’er her donkey’s ears. –
Where a deep shadow fell across the track,
There gaped some threatening pit before her fears:
A large gray lichen seemed to squat in wrath,
Grimalkin-like, grimacing in her path.

But sudden darkness swept across the sky,
And racking thunders, lightning armed on high
Boomed rough belligerance thro’ rocked space afar,
In horrid crash of elemental war;
Followed by such a deluge, crystal clear,
A silvery screen hid even objects near.
Quick as this boon from heaven had been released
The cloud-born torrents in soft cadence ceased,
Leaving but lisping rivulets around
Bent toward thirsting fissures in the ground;
While tardier drops, like fairy footsteps fell,
From freshened branches, dimpling every dell.
Tho Mary had dismounted twice before
She once more left the donkey to arrange
Her sodden packs and give her child a change,
Debating how to dry the dress she wore;
For now her reason, like the sky had cleared,
Rid, as by magic, of the sprites she feared.

While thus considering, hampered by her child,
The negro breaking through the brush in haste
Came up beside assuring, for he smiled,
And pointing toward the way he just retraced,
Put her upon the donkey, and defiled,
Tearing the brush before him, while he led
The beast by coaxing to a near-by shed.
Stooped nigh, an old squaw fanned a fresh brush fire,
While Mary’s little man, half stripped, stood near
Swinging a part of his still damp attire,
As tho at home, without a sign of fear.
Entering the shed, despite repugnance felt,
She placed her babe upon a spread-out pelt,
Summoned the squaw to wring and dry her dress;
Then took her babe to breast with fond caress.

Soon they were plodding on the road again,
And two hours later came within the ken
Of those who had preceded them, now camped
Near a clear brooklet by a hillock ramped,
From whose rich vest of purple, red, and green
A distant view of Panama was seen.
They had not missed her at their hurried start
Until so far upon the way, return
To know what happened, or her plight to learn,
Was thought unwise. Now, seeing her, many a heart
Set to claim her. So warm was welcome there,
They abashed with undue tenderness and care.
From heedless hearts indifferent at a test,
Conscience exacts past dues with interest.

Next morning all must be upon the way,
To board new lighters o’er the shallow bay
Toward their vessel, anchored two miles out;
So, while they suppered, men discussed the route.
Night, like a nun in sable garb, drew nigh,
Disposing all to peace. Their evening meal,
Lit round by glories from the western sky,
Made even the weariest new devotion feel.

A “pick-up” breakfast theirs, and on they moved,
Often o’er rapids forded in dismay;
Tried to extremity, but patient proved –
Some even humorous till they reached the bay.
Mary, quite spent again, was helped aboard
A lighter by those friends whose sympathy
Contrived a coush for her. Courage restored
She crossed at ease the shallow stretch of sea.

High seated in the broad Pacific cove,
Her fond eyes followed every northbound wave
That seemed a becoming gesture to her love.
Oh, could she win the wings that swept so brave –
The wondrous sailing wings of gulls above,
That, even when poised, shot yb her back and forth,
Passing her southbound ship – ah, why not north –
Where centered hopes of him and happiness?
Dear soul, this thought begot a new distress.

Mary had marked her map: from points on shore
She sensed the north as certain as a bird;
Now that the ship sailed southward more and more
Struck her untutored judgment as absurd.
Thus passionate impatience of a heart
Long exiled from its mate grows querulous
Banning expedience in whole or part,
Peremptory where reason would discuss.
So brooding there in silence long along
She indulged a mood she would not like to own.

Came twilight, gorgeous o’er the ocean haze
Kindling the gaze of spell-bound groups around
But even this vesper radiance failed to raise
Sad Mary from that misery profound.
Her evening meal was trifled with. She rose
and with her little ones went to her berth,
Disheartened at the course the pilot chose –
Tired of the stir of passengers and mirty.
There with her dears she scarce suppressed a sob,
Yet self-rebuking. As they fell asleep,
Herself too wakeful listening to the throb
Of engines underneath, she heard the sweep
Of rudder-chains rough rattling in their sheaves
And felt some change, as when a vessel heaves.
Conjecturing swift she reached the deck, to learn
The vessel’s course had changed – had made a turn
When out two hundred miles. This northwest change
Made a right angle from the former range.
Humbled indeed, but with contentment deep,
She soon beside her babes was rocked to sleep.

In sleep a sprite ill-fledged with adverse wings,
One given to fanning fancies all too fair,
The other poised, o’ershadowing with despair –
Or just nerve harlequins at threats and flings?
She dreamed her boy dozed on a cliff’s sheer wall,
His pendant feet in air, each nod of head
Likely to launch him forward to his fall.
Lest steps would startle him she crept instead
Breathless behind until she grasped his skirt,
And lay there prostrate with all powers inert.
Then the heart’s hammering waked her: groping where
His face was felt she kissed his curly hair,
Nerves fluttering still, but blest to find him close;
Then merciful exhaustion brought repose.

With morning she recalled the steward’s lines
To friends on the Sonora. Only one
Still worked on board, the others having gone,
Like many more, deserting to the mines.
This delegated friend, tho brusque, was true,
Deeming it less his duty to protect
Than know his charges suffered no neglect,
And unaffected see the business through.

Strange craft were sighted now from day to day
Becoming numerous as the ship made way. –
Dingy and dirty hulls from “Round the Horn,”
Foul Chinese junks, with freakish sails forlorn,
Jostled by some large wave would rear and strain
Like bucking buffaloes on a silvery plain.
Long peaceful days went by, so much the same,
They aptly qualified the ocean’s name.

The longed-for Golden Gate was reached at last;
But, swathed in fog, the portal’s charms were passed
Unnoted. Even where their vessel docked
The “Cove” was veiled from vision. Off they flocked
In the rude eagerness of groups long pent,
When, sheeplike, some press shouldering to the front.
But there our mother with her tender pair,
Tho tremulously eager, did not dare
To venture forward as the others rushed,
Lest her boy suffer or her babe be crushed.

But when her tingling feet once touched the planks –
The simple dockage that the times supplied –
She raised her swimming eyes to Heaven in thanks,
Not noticing her deckhand friend who stood
Impatient with her luggage to one side,
Not at first marking his impatient mood.
She, stammering thanks, first noticed that he frowned,
Seeming to quiz why no one was around
To welcome or to take her things in hand.
Blushing, she owned that she alone had planned
The trip; acknowledging his services,
From her last mail she scanned her mate’s address.

Shaking his head, as gladly rid of her,
He went back quibbing as one might expect;
While Mary hired a passing wanderer
To take her bundles as she would direct.
Soon, at a Crispin’s where her husband stayed;
They were arrived, her helper thanked and paid.

This shoeman, with his wife and girl of four,
Living behind his shop, stood up at sight
Of Mary and her babies in the door.
Raising his hand, as tho to grade the light
From startled eyes that doubted they saw true,
He slowly gasped: “Good gracious, is it you?”
Their greetings passed, he lifted up her boy,
Turning to call his wife, and when she came
The two young mothers laughed and wept for joy,
each using the other’s schoolgirl name.
Soon all were seated and some sweetmeats passed,
And Mary found both cheer and rest at last.

Urged by the hostess, she was shortly led,
Together with her darlings to a bed,
And, while more questions of her mate were pressed,
They passed unanswered till she took some rest.

Fresh from her nap, with eyes and cheeks aglow,
She asked the time her husband would reach home,
His work being distant. Not that she would go
To meet him: ’twas her plan that he should come
And, unobserved by strangers, meet her there.
Then came the thought of dinner. Mary’s pride
Lay in her cooking. Would her hostess care
If she in preparations took a share?
Which query brought a smile and kiss beside.
Thus those concocters, happy in their scheme,
Discussed male silencers, immersed in steam.

Mary set out to organize and bake
Her husband’s special treat – a spicy cake,
Whose rich aroma soon began to rise
And spread prophetic of a sweet surprise.
Ah, wifehood – status of waived liberty –
Self-chosen servitude to a common man;
But picked, plumed, knighted by an alchemy
No sage hath sounded yet nor ever can,
Since Heaven so hides what life ingratiates here!
How like a settler on unroken soil
She scans her rough preemption without fear;
Certain to mellow all thro tact and toil?
If as a miner she has prospected,
Finding that gold which others spurned as lead,
How fond the hopes, how constant the content
Shown in her trust of full development?

Our genial host, with leather in his lap,
Might have been called an eagle in a trap.
Chance, ever baffling, to his youth unkind,
Failed to discourage his unusual mind.
Apt to be caustic toward the glib or vain,
His wit found unctions to assuage one’s pain.
A half-way botanist, he dealt in boots,
And fondled leather tho in love with roots.
Anent his friend’s return from work he planned
A meeting should be had with none at hand.
So, having coached his spouse by words discreet,
With coat and hat nearby he scanned the street.
Seeing his friend afar, in jovial flight
With wife and child the three passed out from sight.

While Mary hid, as might a timid hare,
Her puzzled husband looked about the place,
Sniffing suggestive cooking, half aware,
Of a loved presence that he failed to trace.
But when he marked the table-spread’s increase
She heard the whistle of his inference;
Then heard him enter where his innocents,
Like angel envoys sleeping, pictured peace.

***