_Forward deck of the Creole Bride. Wheel-house at_ R. _gangway and
railing at_ L., _table and two camp chairs at_ C., _chairs_ C. MARY
_at the wheel, with the chart and compass beside her_.
MARY. I wonder if I am all right here! The course is not very clearly
marked out. Willie is still so sick that he can’t tell me any more
about steering, and Patsy don’t seem to know anything but his engine,
or how to go when it is plain sailing. (_Studies the chart._) Let me
see! We must stop at three more stations before we reach the mouth of
the Washita,—Munroe, Columbia, and Harrisonburg; and then we go down
the Red and Yellow to Baton Rouge. Oh! yes, I see. We steer right here
by Dead Man’s Bluff, and then by Run-away Swamp. How lucky I studied
that book on navigation! It helps me so much to understand these marks
on the chart. If Patsy would only behave well, I should be all right;
but he don’t like the idea of being “bossed,” as he calls it, “by a
woman.”
(_Enter_ PATSY, R.)
MARY. Patsy, have you thrown out the line lately?
PATSY. Yes, mum.
MARY. Where are we?
PATSY. Be-gorries! I dunno, mum.
MARY. How much water?
PATSY. Faix! the lid was varry well down, and the mud was yaller.
MARY. That may mean something to you, I suppose. You can’t read. Bring
me the line. (_He bring it from_ L.)
PATSY. It’s tin fut, mum. (_Aside_) Bedad, she thinks she’s cap’n.
MARY. That’ll do, Take the line forward, and mind your engine.
PATSY (_muttering_). Mind the injun, is it? O’ coorse. Musha and faix,
I wull! I’m the lasht lad not to be mindin’ me injun. (_Drops the line
and goes toward_ R.)
MARY. Patsy!
PATSY. Vart do yer want? I can’t be lavin’ my injun arl the time. True
for yez!
MARY. Patsy! I told you to take the line _forward_!
PATSY. I’ll not do it, mum, for all of yez. Ye’re not the cap’n!
MARY (_looking at him severely_). Patsy! Take that line forrard, and be
quick about it!
PATSY (_takes the line to_ L., _and exit_ R., _muttering_). I’ll not be
bossed by no woman!
MARY. I don’t know what I shall do with Patsy. He threatens to leave me
at the next station, and I can’t find a decent engineer short of Baton
Rouge; and I mustn’t trouble William with it, he is still so feeble.
(_Enter_ PHUS, L.)
PHUS. Mis’, de cap’n say he feel bet’ as did, an’ he wan’ ter see yer.
MARY. Very well, I’ll go down. You call Patsy to stand at the wheel;
and then you go and stay with the baby.
PHUS. Yes, mis’. (_Calls_, R.) Pats! Har! you Pats, lave dat injyne an’
cum an’ stan’ by de wheel. Pay—ats! Pay—ats! Pay—a—ts! Cum, Pats, to de
weel-house! Mis’ say so.
(_Enter_ PATS R. _He takes the wheel._)
MARY (_to_ PATSY). Mind your helm now; keep her on her course. (_Exit_
MARY, R.)
PATSY. Ugh! Bedad!
PHUS (_sits down at the wheel-house and takes his banjo_). Bress de
Lor’, de cap’n’s bet’ as was. He say he mean git well. (_Sings and
rocks himself._)
Lor’ bress de cap’n,—’Lijah cum down.
Lor’ bress de cap’n’s mis’,—’Lijah cum down.
An’ let ’im git well,—’Lijah cum down.
As dis poor Jo-Phus did,—“Lijah cum down.
Swing low de goolden charyot,
Car’ long de baby, cap’n, an’ de cap’n’s mis’,
’Lijah cum down.
PATSY (_putting his head out of the wheel-house_). Musha! Shtop yer
hullabaloo, you black nayger.
PHUS. Dere aint no sich man round here. My name’s Jo-see-phus,
Herodytus Miller. (_Exit_ L.)
(_Re-enter_ MARY, R., _half supporting_ CAPTAIN MILLER, _who tries to
walk; he sits down near the table wearily_.)
CAPT. M. (_feebly_). It’s no use, Mary, I can’t walk. I can’t use my
legs a mite, and that’s a fact. The malaria has settled in them, and I
don’t know as I shall ever walk again.
MARY (_stands beside him, and keeps her eye on the vessel’s course_).
Yes, you will, dear. The doctor says so; and he says you must get away
from the boat, go into the mountains and stay awhile, and then you will
be as well as ever.
CAPT. M. Oh, Mary! If I could only go to New England. I feel as if it
would cure me. If I could only go to Maine, and see the White Hills,
all covered with snow on top, from behind father’s house, see mother,
and have some of their good victuals—(_He breaks down._)
MARY. You _shall_ go. It won’t cost any more to go there than it will
to pay your board at some place near the mountains; and no matter if it
does.
CAPT. M. How can I leave the vessel? If I take the money to go East
with, I shan’t be able to meet my payments, and shall lose my chance of
buying into her.
MARY (_to_ PATSY). Ease her off a couple of points. (_To_ WILLIAM)
Never mind that! Don’t worry. It’s better to lose everything else than
to lose your health. But you will not lose the boat. I can run her
while you’re gone. Only three months! The doctor says he thinks that
will do.
CAPT. M. I don’t know about your running the boat, Mary. Ours is a
thousand-mile trip, you know, next time, and it’s easier to come down
than it is to go up. The Yellow-red winds like a corkscrew.
MARY. I know that, William; but I think I can manage her. I have done
it; and here we are safe so far, and no accident yet.
CAPT. M. (_considering_). This cargo is secure, and the next one all
promised. But I hate to leave you, Mary, and the baby.
MARY (_to_ PATSY). Keep her on her course, boy! (_To_ WILLIAM) I hate
to have you go, William, only I know that it is for your good; and
then, if I go, you’ll have to give up the boat, and we shan’t have
anything to live on; and that will never do.
CAPT. M. You’re right, Mary, as you always are.
(_Enter_ HANK, _the cook, with a waiter full of dishes_.)
HANK. Here’s your lunch, sir.
CAPT. M. Why, Hank! Have _you_ come again? It isn’t more than half an
hour since I ate my breakfast.
HANK (_drawling_). Yes, it is, sir. It’s an hour. And the doctor says
you was to eat every hour.
CAPT. M. (_looks at the waiter_). What have you got now?
MARY (_to_ PATSY, _hurriedly_). Hard a-port, there! Give that snag a
wide berth! (_She goes quickly towards the wheel-house._) Go below,
Patsy, and fire up, or we shan’t get to Munroe till moonrise. (_Exit_
PATSY, L., _muttering_.)
HANK (_to_ WILLIAM). Waal, tha’s some fixings the Indians say is good
for invaliges, and one on ’em showed me how to cook ’em.
CAPT. M. What are they, Hank? Name over your bill of fare.
HANK. Waal, cap, this ere’s corn-pone, o’ coose; and a dodger or so;
a slice o’ bacon; a helter-skelter; some succotash; two frog’s legs
pealed and sizzled; a pigeon biled in milk; some baked punkin; eel’s
tails soused; and some no-cake.
CAPT. M. What! what! what! Are you going to stuff me to death, or
poison me—which?
HANK. Oh, sir! you needn’t eat ’em all. The Injuns said if you eat just
the right thing for you, you’d be sure to get well.
CAPT. M. I dare say. They’d cure a dog with their charms and their
notions.
HANK. Some of the vittals is good, and some pretty middlin’ poor, but
it’s all good for suthin’,— or the pigs!
CAPT. M. (_laughing_). I shouldn’t wonder. (_Looking over the waiter._)
What’s baked punkin for, Hank? It looks like raw, dried potato-parings.
HANK. The Indians said ’twas to chaw, and give you an appetite.
MARY (_from the wheel-house_). What in the world are the soused
eel’s-tails for?
HANK. Oh, to make you feel lively, and cherk you up a little. They make
brains.
CAPT. M. What next? What’s the no-cake for, and where is it? Cake
sounds kind o’ good. And hot biscuit. Mother’s hot biscuit! Oh! how I
should like some of them.
HANK. Well, the no-cake is that aire white stuff piled up on that aire
plate. It looks like something goodish; but when you chaw it, it feels
like sand. The Injuns eat it, and they said ’twould make the cap’n
sleep good.
CAPT. M. I should think it would,—and dream of my grandmother. If it
chews like sand, it will be heavy enough.
HANK. There ain’t no decent vittals for a sick man to eat in these
diggings. ’Tain’t half so good as the Nantucket feed, such as my marm
used to cook.
CAPT. M. Oh, Hank! don’t speak of it! How I should like some fried
perch,—some good fresh salt-water perch, with their heads on; and some
steamed clams, fresh-dug Nantucket clams, with the shells all gaping
at you. I feel as if I could eat a good four-quart tin pan full this
minute, shells and all.
HANK. I’d like to make you a rippin’ good chowder, sir. Such as we have
ter hum. What you want is real, good, hard, fresh cod-fish or haddock,
head and all, some white potatoes (none o’ your flat yellow sweets),
some onions, some Boston crackers, and a generous rasher of salt strip
pork (none o’ your middlings). But I can’t do it. They never heerd of a
Boston cracker, and there ain’t a decent piece o’ fresh salt-water fish
between here and Nantucket. Only this darned canned stuff; and that’s
enough to p’isen a feller.
MARY (_to_ WILLIAM, _from the wheel-house_). You’ll have some chowder
when you get home, dear; and you’ll eat again of all the old New
England food.
HANK. Oh, sir! you goin’ hum?
CAPT. M. I think of it.
MARY (_to_ HANK). Yes, he _is_ going home; and pretty soon, too.
HANK. If you do, sir, I hope you’ll take a skip down to Nantucket, and
see my folks. Marm ’ll be mighty glad to see you. I’ll write to her,
and send her some money, and you can take the letter, sir, right along.
And please, sir, fetch me word how the old place looks, and if marm
seems comfortable.
CAPT. M. Yes, Hank, I’ll take your letter; and if I can’t go to see
your mother, I will send it to her by express.
HANK. Thank you, sir, thank you; and if you should go to Annisport, and
see Miss Leafy Jane, please tell her I hain’t forgot her, and if you
can say I’ve been a good feller—and behaved tip-top—
CAPT. M. Why, Hank! do you remember that little fly-away? You steady
old boy, you. Of course you’ve been a good fellow, and I’ll tell her
so,—if I see her,—but why don’t you write to her yourself?
HANK. Oh, sir! she might not like it.
CAPT. M. That’s so. Well, do as you like, Hank. You can leave the
waiter. I will eat all I can of your concoctions. (_Exit_ HANK, R.)
CAPT. M. (_turning towards_ MARY). I did not know that there was any
love-making in that quarter.
MARY. Nor I, neither.
[_Disposition of characters at end of act._ CAPT. MILLER _at table_,
C., _eating_. MARY _at the wheel_, L.]
CURTAIN.