BABY WOES
Having brought things up to this point by telling what I heard from my
dear mother, who had a wonderful memory, as well as a most dramatic
power of speech, I must try now to put down what I remember myself. Here
and there a scene stands out, just a medallion, as it were, a bas-relief
from the far past, with everything as distinct and clear-cut as
possible.
The very first is a very mortifying one to recount; but, if I am to put
down all I remember, as I have been urged to do, I must be frank and
truthful, or it will have no value. This is the old story of our first
Mother Eve in that beautiful garden of Eden, temptation, fall,
punishment. My mother was ill on Pawley’s Island, the beach. I must have
been about three. The wife of the family doctor (who was, when we were
on the beach, Doctor Hasel) had sent a plate of very beautiful peaches
to my mother, and they had been put on the Sheraton sideboard in the
dining-room. They were so big that one could rest on a tumbler without
going in, quite different from the ordinary peaches we had; indeed, I
had never seen such peaches, as big as an orange they were and with
bright-red cheeks. I gazed and gazed, walking through the room several
times slowly. My father was sitting in the corner of the room at his
desk, writing, with his back turned, and finally Satan prevailed and I
tipped in softly with my little bare feet, and tried to reach the
peaches; failing, I got a chair and put it alongside the sideboard,
climbed up, got the top peach and quickly and quietly made my way into
the thick shrubbery outside, and ate my beautiful and delicious capture
with great delight. I was somewhat sticky and messy, but fortune favored
me and I made my way into the nursery without meeting any one, washed my
hands and face to the best of my ability, and then went in the corner of
the piazza where my dolls were, and felt serenely happy. When I came out
with my doll for a walk I found quite an excitement. First May, the
Irish nurse who was head of the nursery, met me and asked if I had taken
one of the beautiful peaches. Quite calmly I answered “No.” Then every
one I met told of the rape of the peach and asked if I knew anything
about it. I always managed to answer in the same calm negative, though
by this time I was far from feeling calm within. Finally May went to my
father with many lamentations, and announced that one of the servants
had taken one of the beautiful peaches from the sideboard. Papa said:
“Send Miss Bessie to me.” So I came and papa repeated the terrible
question, as it had now come to be, and I answered with the same “No,”
but very faint was it this time, for I felt it was no use, as papa
seemed to me to have all the qualities of the Deity, omniscience being
one. He said with a terribly pained voice:
“My little daughter, why tell a lie? I was writing here and heard your
little feet coming and going through the room, but thought of no
possible harm until this outcry about the missing peach was brought to
me, and then I turned and saw the chair placed by the sideboard, and
knew what the little feet had been busy about, and sent for my little
girl, feeling sure she would tell me what she had done. It was a shock
to me to hear that ‘No,’ and a real grief. That my little daughter,
named after my blessed Aunt Blythe, who was the soul of honor, should
have taken one of the beautiful peaches sent to her mother who is ill,
without asking for it, is bad enough; but that that same little
daughter should tell a lie about it is a great distress. But most of all
is the fact that she told a lie which would leave the guilt to fall upon
an innocent person! That is a terrible thing to have done, and I must
punish you, so that you may never fall so low again. Go into the little
room and wait until I come.”
I went. The little room was a shed-room on the northeast corner of the
piazza, which was kept always ready for any stray man guest who might
arrive unexpectedly. The little mahogany bed was always made up with
fresh sheets and white coverlet and looked very inviting. I sat in the
rocking-chair and rocked, trying to make believe to myself that I did
not care and was not frightened. After a while my father came and gave
me a severe switching. When he had finished he kissed me, put me on the
bed, and threw a light linen coverlet over me, and I went to sleep. I
slept a long time, for when I woke up it was nearly dark, and I felt
like an angel in heaven--so happy and peaceful and, above all, filled
with a kind of adoration for my father. It is strange what a realization
of right and wrong that gave me, baby though I was. I have never ceased
to feel grateful to papa for the severity of that punishment. It _had_
to be remembered, and it meant the holding aloft of honesty and truth,
and the trampling in the dust of dishonesty and falsehood. No child is
too young to have these basic principles taught them.
The next silhouette which stands out vividly is different. We had had
the delight of a little sister added to our nursery. She was born in
December, the only winter baby. All the rest of us were born in summer.
I only remember the wild excitement in the nursery when May came in the
early morning and announced, “You have a little sister,” and how we
scrambled out of bed and into our clothes hastily, hoping to see her. Of
course, we did not have that joy for some days.
Then a long blank, only two years, really. It was summer. We were on
Pawley’s Island, and my father and mother had gone to New York, leaving
us at home with the governess and nurse. Letters came saying that my
mother was very ill, and instead of the carriage being ordered to meet
her at the boat, directions came for a mattress to be placed in the
wagon, and that was to meet her at Waverly. The afternoon came and we
were so wild with expectation and excitement that the governess and
nurse thought best to take us across the causeway into the woods, with
the bait held out of meeting mamma as she came.
The walk in the woods was always a treat, so we went joyfully--Della,
who was twelve, and Charley, the baby, still in her nurse’s arms most of
the time, and myself. I remember principally in this walk a spider, the
biggest I ever saw until I was an old woman. I was hanging on an oak
limb, quite near to the ground. It was rotten, and it broke and I fell
to the earth, and with me fell out of the hollow limb a spider as big as
a dollar. I was terribly frightened and screamed for a long time.
Soon after I was quieted we heard the rumble of wheels, and the wagon
came in sight, going very slowly. As it came nearer we rushed forward to
meet it, but papa, who rode on horseback beside it, held up his finger
in warning, and then placed it on his lips, so we remained quite still
until the wagon, in which we could see nothing, passed. Papa stopped
behind, got down from his horse and kissed us all, putting Charley upon
the horse, while he walked beside. He told us that mamma was very ill,
and we must be very good and make no noise, but keep the house very
quiet. Della asked if we could see her and just kiss her, but he said
no; we must be content to know she had got safely home, and thank God
for that, but we would not be able to see her until she was better. Then
he mounted and rode on and caught up with the wagon. When the little
procession of disappointed children reached the house my mother had been
carried into her own room and put to bed. A nurse had arrived in the
buggy and took charge of her room. The governess and May were told to
keep us entirely in the western part of the house, where we could not be
heard unless we made some outrageous noise.
This dear old house consisted of _two_ houses, each with two immense
rooms down-stairs with very high ceilings and many windows and doors,
and two rooms above equally large, but only half stories. These two
houses were placed at right angles; the front one, toward the beach, ran
north and south, the other, toward the marsh, ran east and west. Both
had wide piazzas around them, which made a large, cool, shady hall where
they came together. Our nursery was in the northeast up-stairs room in
the front house, and though it was over the dining-room and not over
mamma’s room, it was thought best to move us to the other side of the
house entirely. So we slept in the bedroom next to the day-nursery,
where we took our meals, at the extreme west of the house.
I cannot tell how long this stillness lasted, but it seems an age, as I
look back. Then one day May came in and said mamma was better, and we
had a new little brother, but we must still be very good and make no
noise. I remember going very softly with my bare feet, holding Charley’s
hand, until we got to the piazza outside of mamma’s room and waiting
until we heard the baby cry. Then we knew the good news was true, and we
crept back in delight to the playroom. Every day we made this trip, and
for some days were rewarded by the delightful sound of the baby’s voice;
and then one day, though we sat a long time, there was no sound--all was
still. And that day, after dinner, papa came in and told us the little
brother had left us; God had taken him back to heaven.
We went out for our afternoon walk very solemnly, and as we walked I
held tightly to Hagar’s hand and said how I wished I could just once
have seen my little brother. Hagar, who was a negro girl about fifteen,
Maum ’Ria’s daughter, and was assistant in the nursery, and went out to
walk with us, said: “If yu didn’t bin so coward, I cud ’a show yu de
baby, but yuse too cry-baby en yu’ll tell en git me in trubble.” I
declared I would not cry and I would not tell, if only she would let me
see the little brother. Then she told me that when she began to take
water up into the rooms, I must sit on the stairs and wait till she
beckoned to me, and then very softly I must follow her up-stairs--all of
which programme was carried out. And when we got into the room above my
mother’s, she put me out of the window on to the shed, and followed
herself, and we walked stealthily on the shingles, so they would not
creak, across the shed of the piazza to the window of the other house,
where the company room was. The venetian was closed, but Hagar put her
hand between the slats and pulled the bolt and opened the shutter and
put me in, following, herself, quickly. There, on the white-curtained
dressing-table was a pretty white box of a strange shape to me. Hagar
lifted the white muslin which covered it and held me up so that I could
look in, and there was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen. I looked
with delight. I can remember the little waxen face now. All would have
gone well if I had not suddenly stooped and, before Hagar could stop me,
kissed the lovely thing. The awful cold of death sent such a shock
through me that I opened my mouth to scream, but before any sound came
Hagar clapped her hand over my mouth and hissed into my ear: “Ain’t I
say so! Yuse too cry-baby! I wish to de Lawd I neber bring yu! Yu’ll
sho’ tell en git me in trubble!” I stifled my screams and choked back my
tears, Hagar shaming me and adjuring me to silence until I was quiet
enough for us to attempt the perilous return trip. That night I could
not sleep. I sobbed and sobbed and tossed on my little bed; the cold of
that kiss seemed to freeze me all over. May went to papa, saying she
feared I was going to be ill. He came to the nursery at once, talked to
me and patted me and, when I only cried the more, he took me in his arms
and walked up and down the nursery, singing to me. As the sobs still
continued, he asked: “What ails my little daughter; has she any pain?”
“No.”
“Has anything scared my little Bessie?”
Violently I shook my head and tried my best to stop the sobs. I must
keep my promise to Hagar. But it was far into the night before my
father’s sweet voice, singing hymn after hymn, soothed me and the sense
of safety in his strong arms brought quiet, and I slept, and he laid me
gently in my little trundle-bed.
I remember nothing after that until one afternoon--I do not know if it
was that summer or the next--we were going out for our usual walk on the
beach, May with the little Louise in her arms, Charley trudging behind,
I bringing up the rear. As we came round the piazza and were about to go
down the front steps, papa, who was at his desk writing in the
dining-room, called to May: “Mary, do not take the children farther than
the Opening. We are going to have a storm and it will surely break when
the tide changes.” She came out and told us what papa had said.
I flung myself down on the top step and said: “If I can’t go any farther
than the Opening, I won’t go at all.”
May argued, she pleaded with me, she warned: “For the Lord’s sake,
child, don’t let your father hear you! Come on then”--and she took my
hand.
But at this I lay flat back on the piazza and yelled and shrieked: “If I
can’t go beyond the Opening, I won’t go at all.”
At last my father’s voice came, calm and serene, from the dining-room:
“Never mind, Mary, leave her. Don’t let the other children lose their
walk. Go on to the beach.” And she went.
I screamed louder and louder and kicked until my poor heels were all
bruised, but I didn’t care. The devil of temper had me in its clutches,
and I was crazed by it. Finally papa came out and took me into the
little Prophet’s Chamber, and gave me a severe whipping. As before, I
went to sleep on the little white bed and woke up feeling like an angel
in heaven, with adoration in my heart for the God who had conquered the
evil spirit which had possessed me. I always feel grateful for that
first conquest of the evil spirit within me. It has, no doubt, saved me
much suffering; but this poor, intense, self-willed nature has all its
long life dashed itself against stone walls, crying: “All--or nothing!”
And God has tried gently to win me to yield to his will, his plans, and
I have rebelled. And he had to take from me all that he had given me
with a free hand, as though I were his favorite child.
Never was a girl more blessed than I in her marriage, too happy to live,
I often felt. Alas, my happiness so possessed me that it made me blind
to the world outside. What cared I for the world, or outer world, as
long as my little paradise was untouched? Alas, it had to go; and so one
thing after another had to be taken before this poor piece of humanity
was fit for the Master’s use, able to yield and to help others to yield.
And now I thank the great Father for all that crushing and sorrow, as I
used as a little child to thank and adore my father for his punishments.
There were only these two that I have told of. Never afterward did my
father have to give me even a stern look. It was my joy and pride to win
his approval, generally only a smile, but it meant more to me than the
most lavish praise from any one else.
My father thought riding a most healthful exercise. My sister was a
fearless horsewoman, and during the summers which we passed on this
beautiful island, which had a splendid hard, broad beach three miles
long, she spent all her afternoons on horseback. When she came home and
dismounted, my father always put me on for a little ride. I was terribly
afraid and it was a fearful joy to me. I nearly always cried when I was
put on the horse, whose name was Typee; I would say: “Papa, I could
canter all day, but it is the stopping I mind.” I still remember with
terror the high, hard trot which Typee found necessary in stopping; he
could not go from his easy canter to his nice, easy walk without
introducing this tremendous hard trot between, and when I was thrown up
into the air I never knew whether I would drop back in the saddle or
down on the sand. My brother Charley, two years younger, was a good and
fearless rider; his horse Lady was swift and spirited, had a very easy
gait and was not at all vicious, but nothing would induce me to mount
her.
One day, when my father returned from a visit to the upper part of the
State, he called me and said: “My little Bessie, I have brought a pony
to be all your own; his name is Rabbit and he is very gentle, so that
now you need not be afraid to ride, and you can go with Adèle instead of
waiting until she comes home, for your ride.”
Of course I appeared overjoyed and thanked him with enthusiasm, but in
my heart I was terribly dismayed; go to ride with Della, who went fast
all the time! No, indeed, I could not do that, but after Rabbit arrived,
a little, dark-brown horse with kind eyes and slow ways, I was put on
his back, weeping, every afternoon, and started off with Della; but
Typee went so fast that I begged her to go on and leave Rabbit and me
to our own devices, which she always did, so we ambled along
comfortably, he having a very nice pace which suited me better than a
canter or a gallop. Della took her long, rapid ride and, returning,
picked me up, so we came home demurely together. It was supposed that I
was becoming a great horsewoman, and I really was getting over my fear
and ceased to weep as I was mounted. Those quiet rambles along the
beautiful, smooth beach, where nothing could hurt you,--with the great,
beautiful sea, rolling in with its dashing waves just beside me, but
limited by its great Creator--very soon became the greatest delight and
joy to me. I loved to be alone with this wonderful companion, and would
ride along about a mile and then turn and come slowly back, so that
Della could reach me before we got home. This conduct of my father’s
toward me showed his wonderful insight, and the thought he gave each
individuality. Every one, my mother included, feared the effect on me of
forcing me to mount and ride daily, when it was such pain to me, but he
saw that if that nervous fear of everything was recognized and
encouraged, the rest of me would never develop. Charley went to ride
every morning with a negro boy a few years older than himself, to see
that he was not too rash. I doubt whether Brutus could be called a
modifier, but he understood all about horses and was a good rider,
teaching Charley a great deal, running races, and jumping ditches.