_The same as in Act II. Enter_ MARY, L., _with her hands full of
papers. She sits down at the table._
MARY. There! The bills of lading are signed, and all my accounts are
straight, so we are ready to begin again. But here we are, still fast
at New Orleans, when we ought to have got away three days ago. For
some reason or other I can’t get the cargo that was promised, and so
I have had to fill up with watermelons. Heavy, unprofitable things!
(_Writes._) I wish I could hear from William. Poor fellow! The doctor
at home said he must take a sea-voyage; and he has gone off with his
father to the Grand Banks, fishing. I wish I could see him!
(_Enter_ PHUS, R., _bringing a large watermelon_.)
PHUS. Wattermillions is bos’; dey’s bos’ an’ cool.
MARY. Why, Phus, what do you want of that watermelon?
PHUS. It’s such a golly big one; and den it’s marked so peart.
MARY. Why! there’s hundreds of them on board just as good.
PHUS. O no! mis’, dere ain’t. Dis one hab de little Voudoo mark dat
show dey’s sweet; an’ I wanted de baby to stick his little toof in it,
an’ suck de juice. Oh, Lors! (_Smacks his lips and sings._)
“Some are pa’shel to de appel, oddahs clamor fo’ de plum;
Some fin’ ’joyment in de cherry, oddahs make de peaches hum;
Some git fas’ned to de onion, oddahs lub de arti-choke;
But my taste an’ wattahmillion er’ bound by a pleasant joke.
“Hit er meller, hit er juicy,
Hit er coolin’, hit er sweet!
Hit er painless ter de stummick—
Yo’ kin eat, an’ eat, an’ eat!”
I helped you bring ’em on board, didn’t I, mis’?
MARY. Yes, Phus; you’re always handy. I wish you could be the mate, in
Patsy’s place, and help me steer the boat.
PHUS. Lor’ bress you, mis’! I couldn’t do dat. I should steer for all
de snags in de riber; an’ git twisted all up in de bay-yous, an’ run
inter all de san’bars.
MARY. Have you found anybody yet to take Patsy’s place, if he leaves?
PHUS. No, mis’. All de boys dey say as dey won’t be de mate to no
woman. Dey say you has no licens’, an’ can’t be de cap’n. An’ Mass’
Rumberg, he cum an’ take away de Keyhole’s Bride.
MARY. Oh, Phus! is that what they say? Then that is the reason that I
could not get the cargo that was promised here; and when they knew,
too, that I had been running the boat these three months all alone!
PHUS. When de cap’n cum hum?
MARY. Not until December, Phus.
PHUS. Whar’s he, mis’, now?
MARY. Away out to sea, on a ship; not a steamboat—a sailing vessel.
The doctor said it would cure him if he took a sea-voyage.
PHUS. Is de sea bigger dan de Missip’ or de Gulf Mex’?
MARY. Oh, yes, Phus! a good deal bigger, and wider, too. You can’t see
across.
PHUS. O, sho!
MARY (_rising and walking about_). And the waves are so high! and white
on the top! and they come booming in on the rocks! and the breeze! Oh!
the breeze is so sweet, so salt, so fresh! It is enough to do your soul
good to smell it.
PHUS. Golly! mis’. It mus’ be hunky, if it’s sweet, and salt, and
fresh, an’ comes in boomin’ at ye, on de rocks, all at once.
MARY (_smiling_). Better go out again, Phus, and look among the boys
for a mate.
PHUS. Yes, mis’. (_Exit_ R.)
MARY. I think I’ll write to mother, and tell her my troubles. If she
can’t help me any, it will do me good to write; and I can get Phus to
carry it to the Post Office before we start. (_She writes._)
(_Enter_ MR. ROMBERG.)
MR. R. (_slowly and deliberately_). Mrs. Miller, I came to see what
you were going to do about the boat. Your husband has been gone a long
time; and it seems there is no prospect of his immediate return. So we
might as well talk the matter over now as at any other time.
MARY (_rises and offers him a seat_). Mr. Romberg? I don’t know as I
have seen you before. You are the largest owner in the Creole Bride, I
believe? Why do you wish to know what I am going to do? (_Sitting._)
MR. R. (_sitting_). I (and the other owners) don’t want the boat to be
eating her head off here at the wharf.
MARY. We shall not stay here longer than this afternoon. As soon as I
come to terms with my mate, I shall be ready to steam her up.
MR. R. I don’t see how you can run this boat.
MARY (_rising_). Why not, sir? I _have_ run her for the last three
or four months. I carried her ’way up the Red and Yellow, and down
again to Baton Rouge, through the most crooked part of our whole
thousand-mile route; and I steered most of the time myself. The mate
don’t know much about handling the wheel.
MR. R. The merchants, I find, are not willing to trust you with a
cargo; so I don’t see but you will have to give it up. You won’t be
able to meet your payments; and I must look out for my own property, as
well as that of the rest of the owners, for it is all in my care.
MARY. Is not Mr. Miller’s contract as captain of the boat all right? It
does not expire till next year. He is all paid up to the first of the
month; and I hope to be able to pay the next quarter,—that is, if I can
go on running the boat.
MR. R. Yes, madam; but you must understand that the contract is with
_Captain Miller_, and not with his wife; that is where the trouble
is. Husband and wife are not one in this business. Captain Miller’s
contract _is_ all right, and he _is_ paid up; but if he dies, the whole
thing will have to be settled.
MARY (_alarmed_). But my husband is _not_ dead. He is not going to die!
Why can’t I run the boat up to Cairo? I have a full cargo, and another
is promised there. I know the route for the next three months. I have
been over it all.
MR. R. (_rising_). Mrs. Miller, you cannot be a captain in name.
MARY. But, Mr. Romberg, I _am_ the captain.
MR. R. No, Mrs. Miller. You may run the boat, but you cannot act as
captain,—you have no license. The fact is, the law does not allow it.
That is what the owners say; and we consulted a lawyer, and he gave it
as his opinion, _after careful consideration_, that a woman cannot be
master of a vessel legally.
MARY. Then we must lose our chance of owning the boat; and I cannot
raise the money needed for the support of my poor sick husband and my
little baby,—just because I am a woman! Oh! Mr. Romberg! this is hard
indeed!
MR. R. I suppose it is rather hard; but that is the way of the law, in
Louisiana, at least, and I think all over the United States. When our
fathers framed the constitution, they thought it was better that woman
should be confined to the domestic sphere. The home, the home is their
place,—not the decks of vessels. They wanted to protect women in their
proper sphere.
MARY. Protect them! Hinder them, I should think!
MR. R. (_approaching_ MARY). If Captain Miller, now, were not living,
you might find some likely river-man to marry you, and be captain of
the boat, in name; and then you could keep on acting as master,—your
mate, perhaps,—then you’d be all right.
MARY. Marry! The mate! Patsy! Oh, Mr. Romberg! Oh, sir! what do you
mean?
MR. R. (_aside_). Gad! the women are all alike. How they stick to one
man! (_To her_) I don’t see what else you can do.
MARY. There was Captain Tucker’s wife; after he died she took the boat.
MR. R. Yes, but she did not run it long; all of us owners objected to a
petticoat captain, and we discharged her.
MARY (_severely_). Then what has become of her and all her six children?
MR. R. Oh, she tends in a lager-beer saloon in Natchez.
MARY (_indignantly_). Yes, and I suppose her children are given away
or put out to service—all because she is a woman! She has to do this
degrading work to get an honest living, and all because you wouldn’t
allow her to do the only work she always had done and was best fitted
to do. She run the boat three years before her husband died.
MR. R. Well, she might have married and had some one to be her
captain. The merchants sent one of their best river-men to marry her,
but she ordered him off the boat.
MARY. I don’t blame her!
MR. R. There ain’t much a woman can do round here _but_ get married.
There’s many a likely man that is _not_ a river-man who would like to
get a good smart Yankee woman like you.
MARY (_sharply_). Mr. Romberg! what do you mean?
MR. R. I mean, of course, if your husband does not come back, which
seems most likely—
Mary (_turning away_). Oh! What shall I do?
MR. R. My dear Mrs. Miller! you must be as wise as a serpent as well as
harmless as a dove.
MARY. Oh, sir! how can I be wise without money, without friends, with
my hands tied by a little child, and my means of earning a living taken
away?
MR. R. Well, there is a month or two yet before I shall be obliged to
ask you to give up your husband’s papers. Meanwhile, you can go on
to Cairo, and come back; go along the Red and Yellow, and leave your
cargo. You needn’t take on any more. I’ll see you again when you come
down to New Orleans; and then, if your husband has not returned, we
must close up our accounts. That is what the rest of the owners say,
and I agree.
MARY. Oh, Mr. Romberg! is there nothing I can do to keep the boat? Can
I not get a license? Did a woman never have a captain’s license?
MR. R. I never heard of one. And I don’t think there ever was one. It
would be absurd! But I must bid you good-morning.
MARY. Good-morning, sir. (_Exit_ MR. ROMBERG, R.) Indeed! what kind of
a woman does he take me to be! Telling _me_ about marrying another man
so as to have a captain! I will show him that I can be master of my
own boat. _I_ go into a lager-beer saloon! As Mary Gandy I would not
have done it; and as Mary Miller I certainly shall not. _I_ give up the
boat! My William’s boat? Never! Unless they put me on shore by force.
_Why_ cannot _I_ get a license? _I’ll try!_ and then, if worst comes to
worst, I must make my way somehow back home again. If I could only hear
from mother! (_Sits down at the table—arranges papers._)
(_Enter_ PHUS, R.)
PHUS. O, Lor’! Mis’ Miller! Here’s suthin’ I forgits. I met de pos’-man
out here, an’ he holl’d at me (_She does not look up._)—“Har, you nig!”
I looks round, and sez: “Whar? whar? I dun’ see no nig.” He laf, an’
sez, “You know who dat is?” “Whar?” sez I. “On dis let’,” sez he. “No,”
sez I; “who is it?” “It’s Mrs. Mary Miller,” sez he. “Lor’,” sez I,
“dat’s my cap’n’s mis’; gib it yere.” “Well, fotch it, then,” sez he,
“an’ be darn quick ’bout it.” “I will,” sez I. (MARY _looks up_.)
MARY. A letter? Oh, give it to me! How long have you had it?
PHUS. Jes dis minit, mis’.
MARY (_tearing the envelope_). From home, and written by dear brother
John. Dear little fellow! (_Reads._)
DEAR MARY,—
Mother wants me to write. She says: Tell Mary that I talked it all
over with your father, and he asked old Pete Rosson, and then I wrote
to the lecture woman up to Boston, and she says you must have a
captain’s license so’s you can keep the boat. And she says you must
apply to the Local Inspectors (here is a blank for you to fill out),
and that if you pass your examination they will see that it is sent
to Washington to the Solicitor of the Treasury. You must write to
Mr. Le Brun or Mr. Cholmly, Local Inspectors, New Orleans, La. Do it
right off before Mr. Romberg gets a chance to take away the boat. And
oh! mother says you must sign your own name to the application—Mary
Miller, or Mary Gandy Miller (’cause it isn’t legal to sign your
husband’s name, and _Mrs._ is nothing but a title). She’s found out
that a woman has no more right, legally, to use her husband’s first
name and title than he has to use hers. She says Martha Washington had
more sense than to call herself Mrs. George, or Mrs. General, or Mrs.
President Washington. Plain Martha Washington was good enough for
her. And oh! the folks round here are real proud of you, to think you
can manage a steamboat, and old Pete Rosson says “it’s a darned shame
you have such a hard time, and he hopes you won’t give up the ship.”
He expects to go to the Legislature this winter, and he says “if the
men at Washington don’t let you have the captain’s license, he’ll vote
agin every mother’s son on ’em.”
Yours, as usual,
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS GANDY.
MARY (_folding the letter)_. Dear, dear folks at home! How good they
are to tell me just what to do! I must write my application at once.
(_Sits down at the table._)
PHUS. Is de folks well, mis’, an’ de cap’n?
MARY (_writing_). Yes, Phus, the folks are well; but the letter is not
from the captain. I do not expect to hear from him at present.
PHUS. O, Lor’! mis, is dat so?
MARY. Yes, Phus. You wait round till I get this letter done, then you
carry it to the post-office. I want an answer from it, right off, as
soon as I can get it.
PHUS. Yes, mis’. (_He goes out_, L., _keeps popping his head in and
tiptoeing round_.)
MARY (_folding up the letter, and putting it in a long envelope_).
There! my blank is all filled out, and my letter written; both signed
plain Mary Miller, which means to me (_sighing_) that I must hereafter
stand alone,—legally, at any rate, and take the responsibility of all
my actions. No more hiding behind a husband’s or a father’s name. Plain
Mary Miller! A good name, and I must show that I am worthy of it. (_To_
PHUS) There, be as quick as you can; and then come back here and take
care of the baby while I go on deck. (_She goes to the cradle._)
PHUS. Yes, mis’! I’m skippin’. (_Exit_ R.)
CURTAIN.