Mary
\nA True Tale<\/p>\n

Along New England’s bustling, boisterous shore,
\nMen zigzagged antlike gleaning – little more;
\nWhen sudden from the West, like some strange dawn,
\nFlashed far the gleam of Gold! Then men went blind –
\nBlind to things near; as when our eyes new-born
\nDilate to visions dazzling, unconfined.
\nBooks, tools, old plans were swept aside in haste,
\nAnd hopes went winging to a western waste.<\/p>\n

Ah, thus were loved ones parted – scenes endeared
\nRelinquiched at a beck; yet there appeared
\nA trust of near return. So rushed amain
\nThe Argonauts, like olden knights again,
\nEach of hot venture scorning risk and route.<\/p>\n

One kissed his infant girl and toddling son
\nFlushed eyes askance, lest purpose swerve – then mute
\nA lingering kiss upon their mother pressed
\nAnd, trusting all to Providence, was gone.
\nWhile Mary wept in prayer with babe at breast,
\nHer piteous features by her boy caressed.<\/p>\n

Months passed with meagre mails and sad replies:
\nTho Mary, by her husband’s mother blessed
\nThro’ natural likeness where she met his eyes,
\nFound solace there; and so, tho’ prone to tears,
\nCould even smile and carol to her dears.
\nBright moments these: as when clouds hurrying by
\nLet down arrested glories from the sky,
\nStirring some feathered heart to grateful song;
\nBut such for Mary seldom lasted long;
\nFor, hovering where her sleeping cherubs lay,
\nHer lonely heart would heave and tears find way.<\/p>\n

Nor was this pity for herself so much
\nAs for her mate now exiled; like some touch
\nForbidding sole possession on her part,
\nSince never father had a fonder heart.
\nThe winning wistfulness or foles of glee
\nThat drew attention to her ardent boy –
\nHis antics, his quaint talkings to some toy,
\nShe felt her husband primate to, not she.
\nOr when the cherub sister chose to raise
\nThe long fringed curtains of her wondering eyes
\nAs if she were an angel in amaze
\nPondering, or made reflective with surprise
\nAt bengs so unlike others she had known
\nIn the bright realm whence she so late had flown –
\nWhen tender touches of her bud-like hands
\nOpened pink petals brushing Mary’s face,
\nOr stroked her hair, oft tingling in its strands,
\nOr dimpling mother cheeks in soft embrace –
\nWith every thrill of motherhood she grieved,
\nFeeling her lonely mate so far bereaved.<\/p>\n

Despite the boast that California’s streams
\nWere paved with gold, her husband’s share, it seems,
\nFell short of promise. Winter drove him back
\nTo San Francisco, where there was a lack
\nOf hands for building – well paid work, tho rough.
\nThus earning faitly, he still sent enough
\nFor Mary’s modest needs; and as her eyes
\nHad given trouble once, he thought it wise
\nTo send her funds for needle work and such;
\nBut some of this she had not cared to touch.
\nSo a wild thought came to her, vague and dim,
\nTo save these sums entire however much
\nOr little, and, unbidden, go to him.
\nFor hope had grown impatient. How she wore
\nThro one long wretched night of sobs and sighs
\nWith burning eyelids! Were not these the eyes
\nHer doctor once had biden her travel for?
\nHa! travel now – how could she? Sometime since
\nA sister, writing from a distant place
\nHad urged a trip and proffered the expense
\nTo save those eyes – had begged her to embrace
\nThe doctor’s counsel. Would he still advise
\nHer daring, or forbid it as unwise?
\nFaintly the question stirred her hope: forlorn,
\nBut rising like a sister to the dawn,
\nShe gave herself to simple cares, and planned
\nHow to explain her willingness at last
\nTo take the doctor’s counsel, and command
\nThat pride that had resisted in the past.<\/p>\n

Now when her old physician, kind of heart
\nBut feigning sternness, tho amused in part,
\nLooked in her eyes, a scowl upset his brow:
\nThose mute confessors of the soul below
\nLaid bare a secret trouble, not of nerves,
\nThat won at once his sympathy. Reserves
\nOf contact knowledge with his suffering kind
\nHad made the good man far indeed from blind.
\nHe made no comment – merely looked profound,
\nLetting her feel he held his former ground –
\nLetting her plead his purpose to the end.
\nHer husband’s tenderness for little life
\nLeft snugly housed, of course he must comment,
\nYet felt compassion for this loyal wife.
\nBut might not kindred, eager from the start
\nTo save her eyes, unknowing help a heart?<\/p>\n

How many sages under stress have winked
\nAt inward trickery with service linked,
\nHalf shamed, half edified by simple trust
\nThat aids duplicity but makes it just!
\nAt length he said, in manner almost stern:
\n“Your relatives should know, if not, should learn
\nMy views about a nursing mother’s eyes,
\nAnd what grave danger in postponement lies
\nWhen urged to follow some specific course;
\nFor ills neglected go from bad to worse.
\nTho not my province, if you hesitate
\nTo enlist them, let me write to them and state
\nYour present difficulties. I will place
\nBefore them my best views about the case.”
\nWhereat poor Mary, – for her pride took heed
\nAnd flushed resentful, – not a word could give.<\/p>\n

Here was duel to be fought indeed –
\nThe doctors urging his prerogative –
\nThe patient’s struggle where her pride forbade.
\nWhy sought she aid if but to scorn it so?
\nHad there not something like his urging played
\nIn the sad franzy of her midnight woe?
\nThus self-accusing she stood balked again
\nAnd knew not what to say. So he, as tho
\nImpatient, said: “I’m waiting.” Silence then.
\nRaising her face, as out of deep despair,
\nShe met his eyes and read such pity there
\nHer pride gave way – a second father’s touch
\nOf sympathy seemed waiting on her will.
\nIt came to her to speak to him as such –
\nTo tell him that her sister wrote her still,
\nAnd proffered help; confessing in a burst
\nHer past disdain. She grasped, but knew not how,
\nHis fatherlike intention from the first
\nTo save her from humiliation now.<\/p>\n

He chose to write her sister in a way,
\nThat many a liberal doctor has indulged
\nWhere danger lurks in brooding, nor betray
\nHer feelings. Nothing tender was divulged.
\nHe amplified on “Vision” with delight,
\nHalf chuckling, like a boy intent to scare,
\nWeaving alarming sentences on “Sight,”
\nYet hiding all heart motives with true care.<\/p>\n

A few weeks passed and Mary, like a queen,
\nTook ship for California, unimpressed
\nBy fear in venturing. Has not love been sen
\nEven to welcome peril for a zest?
\nShe walked the steamer’s deck, each foot a wing,
\nA bird’s heart in her bosom fluttering –
\nFree on a flight to find her mate and rest.
\nHowever far the way or wild the stress
\nSome rest must wait them in that wilderness.<\/p>\n

The ocean’s pulsing breast far south and east
\nLapping the vessel’s length, to curl away,
\nLooked like the mane of some unmeasured beast –
\nA couchant lion with a mouse at play;
\nThat now and then a rough wave would obtrude
\nTo cuff as with a folded paw the ship
\nAnd make it shudder for a moment’s dip,
\nThen stretch again in feline lassitude.<\/p>\n

But when Cape Hatteras was neared no rest
\nWas given the limpid monster’s ruffled length:
\nBeaten by maddening winds that heaving breast
\nHissed threatenings heavenward, furious in its strength.
\nThe flogged ship, staggering sternly on its way
\n‘Twixt wind and wave, tossed tumbling in rebuffs,
\nYet held a general course with slight delay,
\nDiving and seesawing thro’ appalling troughs.<\/p>\n

And what of those aboard throughout these blows?
\nIlly indeed they fared, most in dismay
\nThro’ the mad length of elemental throes.
\nSome wailed, some prayed – many were seen to swoon;
\nOr some to soothe the young essayed to croon,
\nTho’ themselves terrified at every plunge,
\nMany being parted at each monstrous lunge.<\/p>\n

Once Mary kneeling with her babe appaleld,
\nHer boy in terror, when the vessel rolled,
\nGripping till now her skirt, at last lost hold,
\nAnd spun away from sight. Loud tho’ she called,
\nShe caught no answer in the desperate din.
\nAlas, that moment’s terrible dismay!
\nWhen he was nowhere seen, she swooned away
\nInto kind arms beside that checked her fall,
\nAnd bore her safely at the matron’s call.<\/p>\n

It was her boy who roused, as from the dead,
\nHis o’erwrought mother. By the steward led
\nHe came with tear-stains on his pudgy face,
\nMunching some cakes, bestowed as woe-amends,
\nBy the good man, who found him out of place,
\nAnd was so taken they became fast friends.<\/p>\n

Now this was providential. From the start
\nMary, at meals, encountering creatures wild,
\nWhose greedy hands outreached and thought it smart,
\nWas often faint and feared her nursing child
\nMight suffer from this lack of nourishment
\nBut from the time the steward brought ehr boy
\nBack to a grateful breast, she found content:
\nTheir simple intercourse even gave her joy –
\nOne shoulder-ridden when the vessel rocked,
\nOr led by hand about: her wandering elf
\nWas safe and faring better than herself.
\nIndeed he came with tidbits overstocked,
\nAnd at such intervals the mother knew
\nThese precious gifts were quite enough for two.<\/p>\n

Nothing was said on either side at all;
\nThere seemed a fair exchange of cheer withal –
\nThe steward’s joy in the boy’s artless airs –
\nThe mother’s peace, since Heaven so halved her cares.
\nDoubtless this man, who made no least advance,
\nHad marked at table Mary’s diffidence
\nAnd felt compassion when the greedy few
\nDevoured their own and her last morsel too.
\nSad, be it said, in all the motley horde
\nHe proved the one true gentleman aboard.<\/p>\n

When nearing Aspinwall, with gallent pen
\nHe wrote for Mary a kind note, addressed
\nTo friends on the “Sonora,” plying then,
\nFrom San Francisco. In her interest
\nHe bespoke kindness till she reached her goal.
\nHer eyes swam tears in thanking this good soul
\nWho had proved a brother when she needed one:
\nAnd so next day they parted; she upon
\nA slippery barge crowded with many more
\nCrossing the shoals that shelved the Isthmian shore.<\/p>\n

Foul was this passage, hardly fit for beast:
\nAll stood, like cattle sweltering in a pen,
\nThe women crushed by inconsiderate men,
\nWhence Mary, friendless, was the last released.
\nSo, unnoticed by the groups, that soon were gone
\nOn the best beasts at hand, – the only one,
\nBalked with a crying baby, looked about
\nFor some deliverance o’er her baffling route.
\nChoosing a negro and his beast by sign –
\nThe only medium either could divine –
\nShe found herself and baby listed high
\nAnd seated on the donkey. Then her boy
\nWas raised, in wonder, to a swarthy breast,
\nAnd on they went at last toward the West<\/p>\n

Her donkey plodded without whip or rein,
\nThro’ tangled shrubs that snared the winding way;
\nBut urging pats like coaxing words were vain
\nTo increase his gait and merely made him bray.
\nTo fancy, every motion of his head
\nFrom side to side seemed genturing firmly – No!
\nUnless dejection of his frame ill-fed
\nStrove, by its wagging, to depict his woe.<\/p>\n

The negro’s stride, lost soon to hail or sight,
\nSet Mary worrying: might her boy now lost
\nBe in some pit or hidden jungle tossed
\nBy his spent bearer? Growing chill with fright,
\nOther black conjurings thro’ her terror stirred:
\nPerhaps some ravenous animal, unheard,
\nHad pounced upon and dragged him to its lair
\nTo feast in silence on her darling there.
\nSuch frenzies seized her when the heat increased
\nShe scarce could keep her seat upon the beast;
\nUntil, perhaps, a “clearing” showed the pair
\nIn some cool spot at east, her boy asleep,
\nOr, waking, of her terrors unaware,
\nStaring astonishment to see her weep.<\/p>\n

But rank malarial vapors drugged again
\nHer vision on their way. The facile brain,
\nOften as distance hid her boy, would start
\nWeaving fantastic filaments that mocked,
\nConjuring conjectures that all reason shocked,
\nLeaving no vigor in the tortured heart.
\nFronds looked like hands whose digits waved her back
\nOr swished malicious o’er her donkey’s ears. –
\nWhere a deep shadow fell across the track,
\nThere gaped some threatening pit before her fears:
\nA large gray lichen seemed to squat in wrath,
\nGrimalkin-like, grimacing in her path.<\/p>\n

But sudden darkness swept across the sky,
\nAnd racking thunders, lightning armed on high
\nBoomed rough belligerance thro’ rocked space afar,
\nIn horrid crash of elemental war;
\nFollowed by such a deluge, crystal clear,
\nA silvery screen hid even objects near.
\nQuick as this boon from heaven had been released
\nThe cloud-born torrents in soft cadence ceased,
\nLeaving but lisping rivulets around
\nBent toward thirsting fissures in the ground;
\nWhile tardier drops, like fairy footsteps fell,
\nFrom freshened branches, dimpling every dell.
\nTho Mary had dismounted twice before
\nShe once more left the donkey to arrange
\nHer sodden packs and give her child a change,
\nDebating how to dry the dress she wore;
\nFor now her reason, like the sky had cleared,
\nRid, as by magic, of the sprites she feared.<\/p>\n

While thus considering, hampered by her child,
\nThe negro breaking through the brush in haste
\nCame up beside assuring, for he smiled,
\nAnd pointing toward the way he just retraced,
\nPut her upon the donkey, and defiled,
\nTearing the brush before him, while he led
\nThe beast by coaxing to a near-by shed.
\nStooped nigh, an old squaw fanned a fresh brush fire,
\nWhile Mary’s little man, half stripped, stood near
\nSwinging a part of his still damp attire,
\nAs tho at home, without a sign of fear.
\nEntering the shed, despite repugnance felt,
\nShe placed her babe upon a spread-out pelt,
\nSummoned the squaw to wring and dry her dress;
\nThen took her babe to breast with fond caress.<\/p>\n

Soon they were plodding on the road again,
\nAnd two hours later came within the ken
\nOf those who had preceded them, now camped
\nNear a clear brooklet by a hillock ramped,
\nFrom whose rich vest of purple, red, and green
\nA distant view of Panama was seen.
\nThey had not missed her at their hurried start
\nUntil so far upon the way, return
\nTo know what happened, or her plight to learn,
\nWas thought unwise. Now, seeing her, many a heart
\nSet to claim her. So warm was welcome there,
\nThey abashed with undue tenderness and care.
\nFrom heedless hearts indifferent at a test,
\nConscience exacts past dues with interest.<\/p>\n

Next morning all must be upon the way,
\nTo board new lighters o’er the shallow bay
\nToward their vessel, anchored two miles out;
\nSo, while they suppered, men discussed the route.
\nNight, like a nun in sable garb, drew nigh,
\nDisposing all to peace. Their evening meal,
\nLit round by glories from the western sky,
\nMade even the weariest new devotion feel.<\/p>\n

A “pick-up” breakfast theirs, and on they moved,
\nOften o’er rapids forded in dismay;
\nTried to extremity, but patient proved –
\nSome even humorous till they reached the bay.
\nMary, quite spent again, was helped aboard
\nA lighter by those friends whose sympathy
\nContrived a coush for her. Courage restored
\nShe crossed at ease the shallow stretch of sea.<\/p>\n

High seated in the broad Pacific cove,
\nHer fond eyes followed every northbound wave
\nThat seemed a becoming gesture to her love.
\nOh, could she win the wings that swept so brave –
\nThe wondrous sailing wings of gulls above,
\nThat, even when poised, shot yb her back and forth,
\nPassing her southbound ship – ah, why not north –
\nWhere centered hopes of him and happiness?
\nDear soul, this thought begot a new distress.<\/p>\n

Mary had marked her map: from points on shore
\nShe sensed the north as certain as a bird;
\nNow that the ship sailed southward more and more
\nStruck her untutored judgment as absurd.
\nThus passionate impatience of a heart
\nLong exiled from its mate grows querulous
\nBanning expedience in whole or part,
\nPeremptory where reason would discuss.
\nSo brooding there in silence long along
\nShe indulged a mood she would not like to own.<\/p>\n

Came twilight, gorgeous o’er the ocean haze
\nKindling the gaze of spell-bound groups around
\nBut even this vesper radiance failed to raise
\nSad Mary from that misery profound.
\nHer evening meal was trifled with. She rose
\nand with her little ones went to her berth,
\nDisheartened at the course the pilot chose –
\nTired of the stir of passengers and mirty.
\nThere with her dears she scarce suppressed a sob,
\nYet self-rebuking. As they fell asleep,
\nHerself too wakeful listening to the throb
\nOf engines underneath, she heard the sweep
\nOf rudder-chains rough rattling in their sheaves
\nAnd felt some change, as when a vessel heaves.
\nConjecturing swift she reached the deck, to learn
\nThe vessel’s course had changed – had made a turn
\nWhen out two hundred miles. This northwest change
\nMade a right angle from the former range.
\nHumbled indeed, but with contentment deep,
\nShe soon beside her babes was rocked to sleep.<\/p>\n

In sleep a sprite ill-fledged with adverse wings,
\nOne given to fanning fancies all too fair,
\nThe other poised, o’ershadowing with despair –
\nOr just nerve harlequins at threats and flings?
\nShe dreamed her boy dozed on a cliff’s sheer wall,
\nHis pendant feet in air, each nod of head
\nLikely to launch him forward to his fall.
\nLest steps would startle him she crept instead
\nBreathless behind until she grasped his skirt,
\nAnd lay there prostrate with all powers inert.
\nThen the heart’s hammering waked her: groping where
\nHis face was felt she kissed his curly hair,
\nNerves fluttering still, but blest to find him close;
\nThen merciful exhaustion brought repose.<\/p>\n

With morning she recalled the steward’s lines
\nTo friends on the Sonora. Only one
\nStill worked on board, the others having gone,
\nLike many more, deserting to the mines.
\nThis delegated friend, tho brusque, was true,
\nDeeming it less his duty to protect
\nThan know his charges suffered no neglect,
\nAnd unaffected see the business through.<\/p>\n

Strange craft were sighted now from day to day
\nBecoming numerous as the ship made way. –
\nDingy and dirty hulls from “Round the Horn,”
\nFoul Chinese junks, with freakish sails forlorn,
\nJostled by some large wave would rear and strain
\nLike bucking buffaloes on a silvery plain.
\nLong peaceful days went by, so much the same,
\nThey aptly qualified the ocean’s name.<\/p>\n

The longed-for Golden Gate was reached at last;
\nBut, swathed in fog, the portal’s charms were passed
\nUnnoted. Even where their vessel docked
\nThe “Cove” was veiled from vision. Off they flocked
\nIn the rude eagerness of groups long pent,
\nWhen, sheeplike, some press shouldering to the front.
\nBut there our mother with her tender pair,
\nTho tremulously eager, did not dare
\nTo venture forward as the others rushed,
\nLest her boy suffer or her babe be crushed.<\/p>\n

But when her tingling feet once touched the planks –
\nThe simple dockage that the times supplied –
\nShe raised her swimming eyes to Heaven in thanks,
\nNot noticing her deckhand friend who stood
\nImpatient with her luggage to one side,
\nNot at first marking his impatient mood.
\nShe, stammering thanks, first noticed that he frowned,
\nSeeming to quiz why no one was around
\nTo welcome or to take her things in hand.
\nBlushing, she owned that she alone had planned
\nThe trip; acknowledging his services,
\nFrom her last mail she scanned her mate’s address.<\/p>\n

Shaking his head, as gladly rid of her,
\nHe went back quibbing as one might expect;
\nWhile Mary hired a passing wanderer
\nTo take her bundles as she would direct.
\nSoon, at a Crispin’s where her husband stayed;
\nThey were arrived, her helper thanked and paid.<\/p>\n

This shoeman, with his wife and girl of four,
\nLiving behind his shop, stood up at sight
\nOf Mary and her babies in the door.
\nRaising his hand, as tho to grade the light
\nFrom startled eyes that doubted they saw true,
\nHe slowly gasped: “Good gracious, is it you?”
\nTheir greetings passed, he lifted up her boy,
\nTurning to call his wife, and when she came
\nThe two young mothers laughed and wept for joy,
\neach using the other’s schoolgirl name.
\nSoon all were seated and some sweetmeats passed,
\nAnd Mary found both cheer and rest at last.<\/p>\n

Urged by the hostess, she was shortly led,
\nTogether with her darlings to a bed,
\nAnd, while more questions of her mate were pressed,
\nThey passed unanswered till she took some rest.<\/p>\n

Fresh from her nap, with eyes and cheeks aglow,
\nShe asked the time her husband would reach home,
\nHis work being distant. Not that she would go
\nTo meet him: ’twas her plan that he should come
\nAnd, unobserved by strangers, meet her there.
\nThen came the thought of dinner. Mary’s pride
\nLay in her cooking. Would her hostess care
\nIf she in preparations took a share?
\nWhich query brought a smile and kiss beside.
\nThus those concocters, happy in their scheme,
\nDiscussed male silencers, immersed in steam.<\/p>\n

Mary set out to organize and bake
\nHer husband’s special treat – a spicy cake,
\nWhose rich aroma soon began to rise
\nAnd spread prophetic of a sweet surprise.
\nAh, wifehood – status of waived liberty –
\nSelf-chosen servitude to a common man;
\nBut picked, plumed, knighted by an alchemy
\nNo sage hath sounded yet nor ever can,
\nSince Heaven so hides what life ingratiates here!
\nHow like a settler on unroken soil
\nShe scans her rough preemption without fear;
\nCertain to mellow all thro tact and toil?
\nIf as a miner she has prospected,
\nFinding that gold which others spurned as lead,
\nHow fond the hopes, how constant the content
\nShown in her trust of full development?<\/p>\n

Our genial host, with leather in his lap,
\nMight have been called an eagle in a trap.
\nChance, ever baffling, to his youth unkind,
\nFailed to discourage his unusual mind.
\nApt to be caustic toward the glib or vain,
\nHis wit found unctions to assuage one’s pain.
\nA half-way botanist, he dealt in boots,
\nAnd fondled leather tho in love with roots.
\nAnent his friend’s return from work he planned
\nA meeting should be had with none at hand.
\nSo, having coached his spouse by words discreet,
\nWith coat and hat nearby he scanned the street.
\nSeeing his friend afar, in jovial flight
\nWith wife and child the three passed out from sight.<\/p>\n

While Mary hid, as might a timid hare,
\nHer puzzled husband looked about the place,
\nSniffing suggestive cooking, half aware,
\nOf a loved presence that he failed to trace.
\nBut when he marked the table-spread’s increase
\nShe heard the whistle of his inference;
\nThen heard him enter where his innocents,
\nLike angel envoys sleeping, pictured peace.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n