Transcriber’s Note
Italic text displayed as: _italic_
CAPTAIN MARY MILLER.
A Drama
BY
HARRIET H. ROBINSON.
“But, if you ask me what offices women may fill, I reply—any.
I do not care what case you put; let them be sea-captains if you
will.”—MARGARET FULLER (in 1844).
BOSTON:
[Illustration: Decoration]
CHARACTERS:
NATHAN GANDY _A retired sea-captain._
WILLIAM MILLER _A down-East skipper,
afterwards captain of the Creole Bride._
MR. ROMBERG _A ship-owner._
HANK (or Henry) MUDGETT _The cook, a Nantucket boy._
PATSY HEFRON _Mate of the Creole Bride._
JOSEPHUS HERODOTUS, called PHUS[1] _The Captain’s boy._
LORANY GANDY _Wife of Captain Gandy._
MARY GANDY _Daughter of Capt. and Mrs. Gandy._
LEAFY JANE GANDY }
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS GANDY } _Children of Capt. and Mrs. Gandy._
[1] This part may be changed to that of a girl, named PHUSEPHONY
(PERSEPHONE) HERODIAS.
COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY GEORGE M. BAKER.
CAPTAIN MARY MILLER.
ACT I.
NATHAN GANDY’S _house, near the wharf in Annisport. Living-room.
Fireplace_, R. _Doors_, R. _and_ L. _and back. Table_, R. C., _on
which is a braided-rag mat, partly done. Chairs, pictures of ships, a
mourning piece (weeping willow hanging over a tomb)_ MRS. GANDY _with
a broom. She sweeps carefully away from the middle of the room._
MRS. G. There! there’s that plaguy money for me to sweep raound agin!
I’m tired to death on it, I be; an’ that’s a fac’, I can’t half sweep
my floor! But, I snum, I won’t pick it up! I told Nathan I wouldn’t,
an’ I won’t!
(_Enter_ CAPTAIN GANDY, L., _singing_.)
“On Springfield’s maountins there did dwell
A lovelye youth, an’ known full well,
Leftenant Carter’s onlie son,
A galliant youth, nigh twenty-one.”
(_Sees his wife, who does not look up._)
CAPT. G. Hullo, Lorany! didn’t know yer was thar. What makes yer so
glum? (_Aside_) Oh, the caarf, I bet! Say, Lorany, I’m plaguy sorry I
sold the caarf. I’d buy her back, but the fellers ’d laf at me. I told
some on ’em haow bad yer felt, daown to the store. And old Pete Rosson,
he was a-sittin’ on a kintle o’ salt fish; he said: “Wimmin’s rights!
I s’pose Mis’ Gandy went ter the meetin’ and heerd the lectur’-woman.
I guess Mis’ Rosson wouldn’t dare ter complain ef I sold one o’ her
caarfs. I’d let her know they was _mine_, double quick.” Won’t yer take
up yer money, Lorany?
MRS. G. (_dusting_). No! Nathan, I won’t! So, there! It ’ill hev to
stay there, wher’ it dropped, for all o’ me; for I’ll never pick it
up as long as I live. I tho’t all we had was aourn together, and
that everything belonged as much ter me as it does ter you. But
I see naow that it’s as the lectur’-woman sed. I read it in the
_Transkip_:—“Husband and wife is one, but that one is the husband.”
I shouldn’t ’a’ tho’t o’ sellin’ yaour caarf or yaour best caow. You
call ’em yaourn, an’ the caarf was allus called mine. An’, then, little
Sally, that’s gone, tho’t so much on’t! (_Wipes her eyes._)
CAPT. G. Hang it! don’t take on so. (_Aside_) Darn them fellers,
flingin’ their wimmin’s right at me! (_To her_) Who cares what the
lectur’-woman says? Some darned old maid, or divorced widder, I s’pose.
Didn’t I buy suthin’ for yer with the money! Didn’t I buy yer a gaown,
a shawl, an’ a bunnit! An’, when yer didn’t like ’em, didn’t I give yer
all the money back, and yer wouldn’t take it! An’ didn’t yer fling it
daown on the floor, an’ vaow you wouldn’t pick it up!
MRS. G. Yes, but yer never as’d me! an’ I didn’t want her sold, nuther!
You know haow I took care o’ that caarf. Her mother died, an’ never
saw her. I almost feel as if she was mine; for I brought her up like
a baby, and she sucked milk from my finger before she could stan’.
I’m sure I’m as much her mother as harf the hens are mothers of their
chickens: for they never see some o’ the eggs till they are put under
’em to hatch, an’ they don’t know which is which.
CAPT. G. Waal! yaou’ve got yer new things, hain’t ye? an’ I’m glad
on’t. I’m abaout sick o’ them black clo’es o’ yourn. They look so
maugre. For my part, I want ter see yer in suthin’ bright.
MRS. G. I sh’d think yer did! Yer tho’t I was abaout sixteen, didn’t
yer? (_Opens the door at the back, and produces a very showy piece of
dress goods, a shawl of a very loud pattern, and a bonnet trimmed with
green and red and yellow_) Look a’ that! What do you think o’ them
things! Young enough for Mary, or Leafy Jane, either. I never wore
such bright things when I was a gal; an’ I’m sure I ain’t a-gwine ter
begin naow.
CAPT. G. I don’t see why, Lorany! They ain’t no brighter than the
marygoolds, pecuniaries (_petunias_), and dadyoluses, yer like so well,
in the garden, or even the persalter roses.
MRS. G. That’s a different thing. I ain’t a flower-garden; I do wish
the men-folks ’d let their wives buy their own clo’es, or give ’em the
money to buy ’em with. (_Sits down and braids on her mat._)
CAPT. G. Why, Lorany! the wimmen folks ain’t used to layin’ out money.
We can make it spend a great deal better ’n they can.
MRS. G. P’r’aps yer can; but we’d like what we bought ourselves a great
deal better; I do wish they’d let us buy our own clo’es, I say, or give
us the money to buy ’em with, so’s we could suit ourselves.
CAPT. G. Wall, I snum, yer as bad as the lectur’-woman Pete Rosson
told on. He said she said wimmen ortter have their own private pusses,
same’s the men, and other things tew; and that the Legislater ort to
see tew’t, but that they was tew busy,—trying to settle the size of a
bar’l o’ cramberries, an’ talkin’ baout sellin’ eggs by weight, and
sich things,—to care what becomes o’ wimmin’s rights. Sellin’ eggs by
weight! what durned nonsense! Some on ’em would take twenty to make a
paound, and some wouldn’t take mor’n eight, an’ where’d yer cookin’ go
ter, I’d like ter know?
MRS. G. Waal, Nathan, I don’t care nuthin’ abaout that! I shall put
twelve eggs inter my old-fashioned paound cake, as the recipee sez,
whether they’re big or little. But I do care about the caarf. I’d
almost rather you’d ’a’ sold _me_!
CAPT. G. Wall, I vum to vummy!
MRS. G. You knew haow much I allus tho’t on her ’cause little Sally
loved her so; an’ ’afore she died she’d be’n a-readin’ some o’ them old
pictur’-books, an’ she said the caarf had eyes just like one on ’em in
it, an’ so she named the caarf May Donna, or some sich name. (_Wipes
her eyes._)
CAPT. G. Consarn it all! Lorany, don’t cry! There! There! I’ll pick up
the money, Lorany, I’ll pick up the money. (_Aside_) I wonder if there
_is_ anything in them wimmin’s rights, after all! (_Puts the money in
his pocket. Sits in chair tipped back against the wall, and eats an
apple, cutting it with his jack-knife._)
(_Enter_ LEAFY JANE _and_ JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, _the latter dragging a
small log of wood_.)
MRS. G. (_looking up_). Where yer be’n all the arternoon?
J. Q. A. Ben to the wharf, chippin’.
L. J. (_lisping_). Yeth, we chipped and got our bathkeths full, and the
thkipperth (_skipper’s_) boy, he thed, ‘There, take a log’—and we took
one.
CAPT. G. The skipper’s boy!—who’s he?
J. Q. A. He’s the skipper’s son.
CAPT. G. What skipper’s son?
J. Q. A. Why! the captain of the Betsey Ludgitt. He’s down there to
the wharf, unloadin’ his wood. And his boy, he’s real hunkey! He give
me all these butnuts (_shows them_) and this gum,—see this gum,—real
spruce gum!—none o’ your Burgundy pitch and candle-grease, such as you
buy to the store.
MRS. G. Gum! Then I s’pose you’ll go to chawin’ agin!
J. Q. A. I’ll bet I will. Its rippin’ good! (_Chews._)
L. J. (_lisps_). Marm, he sthiks hith cud on the head-board, and it
makth a white plathe. I theen it when I make the bed.
MRS. G. Sticks his cud on the head-board! What on airth do you mean?
L. J. Yeth, hith cud o’ gum. He doth it motht every night, when he
_hath_ gum.
MRS. G. What do you do that for?
J. Q. A. I stick it there when I go to sleep, so when I wake up in the
middle of the night I can have a good chaw to pass away the time.
CAPT. G. Haw! Haw! Haw!
MRS. G. John Quincy Adams Gandy! What’ll yer do next!
J. Q. A. Go a-fishin’, I guess, marmy. (_Kisses her._)
CAPT. G. What’s the skipper’s name?
J. Q. A. Miller—Solomon Miller; and his son’s name’s William.
L. J. And the cook’th name ith Henry Mudgett.
MRS. G. The cook! What der yer know abaout the cook?
L. J. He’th real nithe. I thaw him lath fall. Hith mother an’
grandfather live down to Nantucket. Hith grandfather thalth (_salts_)
down fith, nam’th (_name’s_) Zabulon, and they have a big houth an’ a
lot of land.
CAPT. G. A lot o’ sand, I guess you mean. Haow’d yer come ter know ’em
so well?
J. Q. A. Oh! They was up here in the fall when we went a-chippin’ with
Mary, and they talked with us a good deal.
L. J. Yeth, an’ the thkipper’th thon kept lookin’ at Mary.
J. Q. A. Yes, and so did Hank at you.
L. J. Hith name ain’t Hank! it’h Henry!
J. Q. A. Oh, Lawks!
MRS. G. Whar _is_ Mary?
J. Q. A. We left her down to the wharf, an’ she was a talkin’ to the
skipper’s son.
L. J. Yeth, and the thkipper came out, and he talked, an’ they all
laughed, and he thed to John Pin, “Run along, Totty, with your log o’
wood. They’ll foller ye, an’ tell yer pa an’ ma all about it.”
J. Q. A. I guess I aint Totty! (_Chewing._) I seen ’em an’ after they
done it,—
L. J. Oh, John Pin Ad! you muthn’t thay ‘I theen,’ _Mary_ theth. You
can’t thay ‘theen’ nor ‘done,’ unleth you can thay have’ before it; an’
you can’t thay ‘I theed,’ at all.
J. Q. A. I guess I can too. Mary needn’t feel so big ’cause she’s ben
to Bradford ’cademy three months.
L. J. Yeth, you mutht thay ‘I have thawed,’ and ‘I hain’t theen,’ and
‘I have did,’ and ‘I hain’t done it,’ and you’ll be right.
J. Q. A. Poh! you ain’t right at all! Hear me. You must say ‘I have
done, I have seen,’ or ‘I saw and I did’; and you must never say ‘I
seed, I sawed, I seen,’ nor ‘I done it.’ That’s what _Mary_ says.
L. J. Father thayth ‘I theen and I done’; and I gueth what father theth
ith about right.
CAPT. G. O child! Yer mustn’t talk as I do. Mary knows what’s proper
to say, better’n yer old dad. He never had no edication. There was no
’cademy for him.
MRS. G. Nor me, nuther. Gals wa’n’t ’lowed to go to school in my time,
daown to Plymouth, when my folks lived there. There was too many boys
wanted to go; and the gals had to stay ter hum, to make room for ’em.
(_Enter_ MARY _and_ WILLIAM.)
MARY. Father, here’s Captain Miller’s son. I made his acquaintance down
at the wharf last fall. (_Goes to_ MRS. G., _seats herself on a stool
near her, and arranges rags, and hands them to her_.)
CAPT. G. (_rising and shaking hands with_ WILL). Is that _so_?
WILL. Yes! and, when I went home, I told the folks all about her and
the children, and the Captain and Mrs. Gandy; and mother said one of
her girl friends, a real intimate, married a Gandy.
MRS. G. What was her name afore she was married?
WILL. Johnson.
MRS. G. Plumy Johnson, as I’m alive!
WILL. Yes, her name was Plumy—Plumy Johnson.
MRS. G. (_shaking his hand_) Wal, if ain’t right glad ter see yer. Set
right daown an’ tell us all abaout your folks.
WILL (_sitting_). There ain’t much to tell. Father, he’s skipper of the
Betsey Ludgitt, and we live in North Pittston, Maine. We’ve got a nice
little place there, and there’s ten of us children. I am the oldest.
CAPT. G. (_sitting_). Haow long yer be’n skippin’?
WILL. About five years. I’ve got so now I can handle a boat, and one of
the other boys is going to take my place.
CAPT. G. What are you goin’ ter dew?
WILL. There’s a man out West, clear beyond the Ohio, that wants me to
run a boat on the Mississippi, up and down. It’s a steamboat. He’s got
a good mate for her that knows all about the ingine, and he says I can
learn the ropes about that fast enough. But I don’t know. I hate to go
so far from home, and almost alone too. (_He looks conscious._)
MRS. G. I should think yer would. Don’t stand gawpin’ raound, Leafy
Jane. Go ’long and git yer knittin’-work. (L. J. _obeys and seats
herself on the log_. J. Q. A. _bothers her_.) And yer marm, what does
she say?
WILL. Oh! marm, she hates to have me go; but she’s more willing than
she would be, ’cause Hank Mudgitt, a likely Nantucket boy, wants to go
with me, to be the cook. He’s been cooking for father. His marm was a
Folger, and knew my marm when she lived to Nantucket, and she says I’d
better not lose the chance.
CAPT. G. Folger? Folger? Why! I’ve heerd that name afore. I knew a
Captain Folger onct, of the barque Hulda Griggs. He had a lot o’ boys,
an’ one on ’em went to college, and turned out a smart lawyer. I guess
yer’d better not lose the chance. Lots o’ boys go West, and they do
well, or they don’t come back to tell us. Horace Greeley told ’em all
to go West, in his _Trybune_, you know, when he wrote the whole on’t.
“Go West, young man,” he says, though he didn’t go himself. But I
s’pose his advice was jest as good, same as the guide-board p’ints the
way it never goes.
WILL. The man that wants me says it’s a good steamboat, with a nice,
clean cabin for a family to live in, if a captain had one.
CAPT. G. Is it a side-wheeler or a skre-you?
J. Q. A. Oh! father, all them Mississippi steamboats are side-wheelers,
and they have to be made flat-bottomed on account of the snags in the
river, and the shallow water, so’s they can run ’em right up to the
shore, where there’s no landing. Oliver Optic says so in one of his
books.
CAPT. G. Dew tell! I’d ruther have a sailin’ vessel. Give me a good
three-masted schaouner, with a spankin’ breeze to make her go, and a
bower anchor to cast when she comes inter port.
WILL. The man says he’ll pay me so much a year, enough to live on, and
give me a certain per cent on the freight, and a chance to buy into the
vessel in two years.
CAPT. G. A smackin’ good chance, I should say. I advise yer to snap at
it. When does he want ye?
WILL. Right off, in a month or so, and now, if I could get anybody,
besides Hank Mudgitt, to go with me (_looks at_ MARY), I shall write
right off and accept the offer.
CAPT. G. Somebody ter go with ye besides Hank! What do you want anybody
else for? Ain’t he a good cook?
MRS. G. What on airth do you mean?
WILL. (_to_ CAPT. G.) Yes, but I want somebody, somebody to be—my—wife.
CAPT. G. Dew tell! What kind of a wife do yer want? Not one o’ them
gals that wears bangs an’ boot-heels, an’ go a-teetering along the road?
WILL. No, I don’t want one of that kind. Mary—Mary says she’ll go with
me if you are both willing.
MRS. G. Aour Mary! Mary Gandy!
CAPT. G. Wal, I swan to man!
MRS. G. Why! Mary, where’d he git a chance to ask yer?
MARY. I saw him first, mother, as I told you, last fall, when I went
down to the wharf with the children, chipping. You know you didn’t want
them to go alone. He said then he should come back in the spring, and
hoped he’d see me again.
WILL. And I have seen her several times; and the other day I told her
about the steamboat, and she ’lowed she was willing to go with me.
MRS. G. I thought she was ’mazin’ fond o’ chippin’ all to onct.
MARY. I guess you mean that ‘I promised,’ don’t you, William?
WILL. Yes, you promised, and I told father; and he said he guessed it
was all right. He’d known o’ Captain Gandy quite a spell. The Nancy
Paige lay at the wharf alongside the Betsey Ludgitt once, down to
Castine.
J. Q. A. (_trying to mend a whip-lash_). By darn!
L. J. My Thunday-thkool teacher theth you muthn’t thay _by darn_; but
if you mutht thay _by anything_, you can thay _by jollerth_ (_jollers_).
J. Q. A. I saw the skipper’s son kiss Mary, and she kissed him just as
he give me a log o’ wood. (_Singing derisively._) Kissin’ the fellers,
kissin’ the fellers!
(WILL _rises in confusion, and goes to back of stage_.)
MRS. G. Stop! John Quincy Adams Gandy!
CAPT. G. (_walking about_). I snum to pucker. Wal! seein’ it’s all made
up between yer, I don’t see as we have anything to do abaout it.
MRS. G. I don’t know as it would do any good for me to say no, even if
I wanted to. (_To_ WILLIAM) Haow long you goin’ to be raound here?
WILL. Another week. Then I must go home with father to get my things
and what money I’ve saved up, then come back and buy the fixings to
furnish the cabin with. If Mary’s ready by that time, we will start for
the Mississippi about the first of June.
CAPT. G. Better come here every day, and let us see something of ye.
P’r’aps Mary will conclude not to go, if she sees too much on ye.
MRS. G. Yes. Come right here and stay. I feel as if Plumy Johnson’s son
must be a good boy; an’, if Mary is set on havin’ ye, I want to get
some acquainted with my new son-in-law. (MARY _rises and crosses to_
WILLIAM.)
L. J. I geth he ain’t the only thon-in-law you’ll have, mother.
MRS. G. I hope he’ll be so good that I shall want another.
J. Q. A. (_trying to snap_ L. J.’S _ears_). I s’pose you want to be a
loveress, too. (_Makes up a face._)
L. J. _You_ won’t be.
J. Q. A. I will, too.
L. J. You won’t, nuther. (_Makes up a face._)
Old Phin Gan-dowdy,
He’th an’ old rowdy.
J. Q. A. This is the way you’ll look when you are a loveress.
(_Imitates a fine young lady._) How are you, Hank! Mrs. Henry Mudgitt!
L. J. Go way—you gump!
MRS. G. Do, children, stop yer bickerin’! (_To_ MARY) I declare for’t’
I hate to hev yer go so far from hum. But, then (_with a sigh_), my
mother lives e’en a’most to the jumpin’-off place daown East; and I
hain’t seen her this five year.
CAPT. G. (_goes to_ MRS. G. _and puts hand on her shoulder_). It’s the
way o’ natur’, mother. The Bible says: “A man shall leave his father
and mother, an’ shall be united to his wife.”
J. Q. A. Well, father, it don’t say _she_ shall. It says _he_.
CAPT. G. It means the same, any way. The Bible allus means she when it
says he. It means ’em both. Genesis says, yer know, chap. V., verse 2,
Male and female created he them, an’ blessed them, an’ called their
name Adam, in the day when they was created. The Bible said that in the
beginning. Even old Pete Rosson allows that.
MRS. G. I wonder yer hadn’t thought o’ that when yer sold my caarf,
_aour_ caarf, mine as well as yourn.
CAPT. G. (_walking off_). I van! I never did.
MRS. G. If he did creat’ men an’ wimmin ekal, an’ call their name Adam,
just as we call aourn Gandy, one on us has no right to sell the things
that belong to both without askin’ each other’s leave.
CAPT. G. (_returning_). I don’t s’pose they have, Lorany. If yer don’t
beat ’em all in an argiment. (_Aside_) Hang that caarf! Come, mother,
don’t let’s bicker any more abaout that. (_To_ MARY) Yer’ll have quite
a weddin’ tower, won’t ye, Mary, ’way out onto the Mississippi? Yer’ll
have ter work spry ter git yer weddin’ toggery ready. Whar yer goin’
ter be married; ter hum?
MRS. G. Lucky I saved my old receipee for weddin’ cake.
WILL. We think we’d better go to the minister’s, and have it done quiet
like, the very morning before we start. We sha’n’t feel like making
much of a touse about it, ’cause everybody ’ll be crying to see Mary go
off.
MRS. G. And, then, our relations live so far off, they couldn’t any on’
em come. Lucky yer made them sheets, Mary. Yer wouldn’t ’a’ had half
time enough naow to get ’em done.
CAPT. G. I van! mother. It reminds me o’ the time when we went to live
on the Nancy Paige.
MRS. G. So it does me.
CAPT. G. There’s nothing like the sea to live on, is there, mother?
(_Sings._)
“I’m on the sea,
I am where I would ever be,
The deep, the dark, the rolling sea.”
MARY. You’ll have to sing it “river” for us, father.
J. Q. A. (_takes up the refrain, and snaps his whip at the end of each
line_).
I am where I would ever be-iver,
The deep, the dark, the rolling re-iver.
L. J. Thtop! you thap-head (_sap-head_), you thilly coot! (WILLIAM
_and_ MARY _whisper together_.)
CAPT. G. I guess I’ll go an’ fodder them caows. (_Humming._)
“An’ turnin’ raound he straight did feel
A pywison sarpient byite hywis hee-ee-el.”
(_Exit_ R.)
WILL. (_taking_ MARY _by both hands_). Be all ready, now Mary, when I
come back? If I can, I’ll come on so as to stay a day or two before
we’re married. But I’ll be here in season, any way. You fix the day,
and let me know. And write often (_whispers_), dear Mary, won’t you?
MARY. Yes, William.
WILL. Good-by!
MARY. Good-by! (_Exit_ WILLIAM, L.)
J. Q. A. Good-by! Good-by! Smack, smack!
_Disposition of characters at end of Act I._ MRS. G. _sitting at table
braiding mat_. MARY _standing at left, with her hands clasped before
her, looking down_. J. Q. A. _and_ L. J. _in centre, bickering_.