GRANDMOTHER’S STORY
Mallowbanks, January 8th.
_Carin_, _my waiting one_:
Play you are sitting in the firelight with all my family, and Keefe close
beside me, and the rain falling outside. If the wind whistles down the
chimney, it is, after all, not loud enough to drown my little
grandmother’s voice, for it is a high and musical one, and rises above
noises louder than itself. Very snug and happy we all are. It is a
witching hour, and grandmother looks unearthly and shining, with her hair
gleaming in the firelight like a silver cloud in the sun.
“Once on a time,” said she, beginning her story in the good old way,
“there was an ancestress of yours, Azalea, my dear, named Dorothy
Marshall. She was so gentle and sweet a woman that long, long after she
was dead, the fame of her lived on, though no woman ever led a quieter
life than she did. They say she had fair hair and dark blue eyes, with a
complexion not pale, but golden, and ripe, full lips, and a beautiful
dimple in her chin. In her youth she was a gallant horsewoman and she
could sail a boat like a man. Indeed, it was the sea that she loved the
best, though she grew up amid beautiful fields and was often in the
mountains. But to be within sound and sight of the sea, and to have the
smell of it in her nostrils, made her a happy woman indeed.
“That may have been one of the reasons that when she was only eighteen
she married Samuel Bings. Now the Bings were a seafaring family if ever
there was one. Twelve sons were there, giants all, and save one, each
before he died became the commander of his own ship on the sea. They
were merchantmen, these ships, in the carrying trade between Norfolk and
ports all over the world, and to this day there are many strange things
in our family which they brought from half around the world.
“Samuel was the fifth son and of them all the most like his father, who
was a famous seaman and had been thrice around the world, and many times
about the Horn. When Samuel and Dorothy were married there was feasting
and dancing in the old Marshall home at Norfolk, and good wishes from
high and low. They were so young, so handsome, so fortunate, that only
one cloud could be discovered anywhere on their horizon, and that was
that either they must be apart, or Dorothy must follow the fortunes of
the sea with her husband. This she would gladly have done had it not
been that her mother, whose only daughter she was, suffered poor health
and could not endure to have her daughter leave her. So it was decided
that Samuel was to make one journey more, for which he had signed, and
that he would then give up his sailor’s life and conduct a ship chandlery
at home.
“With that Dorothy begged him to go with her for one last journey over
the mountains, that they might be together in solitude for a while. So
he took his fine roan, Pacolet, and she her little mare, Bess, and they
rode away for a wonderful month among the mountains, stopping where they
pleased, and seeing the homes and plantations of their fellow Virginians,
and everywhere they were entertained with great consideration, for two
handsomer or more charming young people it would have been difficult to
find. Moreover, Samuel loved his horse Pacolet better than anything in
the world save his bride, and to feel this faithful and spirited steed
under him, and to see the fair face of his love shining with health and
joy, was, he thought, all that any man could ask of fate.
“So it was with a stout heart that at last he sailed away as commander of
his elder brother’s merchantman, _The Adventure_, carrying cotton to
France and tobacco to Algiers and gold to Constantinople. For you must
know, Azalea, that at that time—I think it must have been about 1794,
America did a good trade among the ports of the Mediterranean and even
beyond. Perhaps, too, if you have read your history, you will know how
the corsairs of the Barbary States preyed upon these merchantmen, so that
it was necessary for America to place a fleet of battleships to guard the
African coast in order to protect the merchant ships from the pirates.
Notwithstanding this, many a ship was held against its will and its
officers and crews made prisoners, and it was a common thing for notices
to be read in American churches, giving the names of those in captivity
in Tripoli or Algiers. Then would the friends and relatives of the
imprisoned men raise money and buy them out again.
“But Samuel Bings had no fear. The Bings were brave men and subtle men,
and they reckoned with their wits to keep them out of trouble.
“‘Keep heart of grace, Dorothy, my love,’ said Samuel when he bade her
good-bye. ‘A year may pass, or a year and a half at farthest; then shall
you see me home, and never more will I quit shore save by your leave or
in your company.’
“But hardly had he put to sea when troubles came upon his bride. First
her long-ailing mother died; then three months after that her father bade
her farewell also. So she was left alone in the world. She had kin in
plenty—though none of them were very near—who would have welcomed her to
their homes, but they lived on plantations out of sight of the sea, and
Dorothy had a mind to be where she could see it rolling in bringing the
brave ships on it.
“‘What if _The Adventure_ should land and Samuel come seeking me and I
not be at hand?’ she said.
“So she chose her a house on the side of the hill that led up from the
wharves, and from its galleries she could see every ship that came
sailing into port. Here she made her a home, putting into it whatever
was most beautiful or treasured from the old house of the Marshalls, and
those curious things which the brothers Bings had brought her from China
and Java and Japan and the South Sea isles; yes, and from the Bahamas and
the Azores and the Canaries and the Hebrides and all the islands they had
visited. Moreover, she made it her business to build a fine stable for
her husband’s beloved horse, Pacolet, so that he was tended like a king’s
horse, and every day she rode him to keep him in form, and she would take
him to a certain place where they could overlook the sea, and the two of
them would stand there like statues, watching the horizon for a sight of
_The Adventure_.
“The year passed with no word from Samuel. But Dorothy comforted her
heart.
“‘Did he not say I might have to wait a year and a half a year?’ she
asked.
“But the year and the half year went by, and it was two years, and then
three, and nothing was heard of the ship at all. So a dark fear began to
grow up in the heart of Dorothy, and she never missed her church, not
only because she was devout, but because she thought that some time she
might hear the name of her husband read as among those who were lying in
one of the cruel Barbary prisons awaiting a ransom. But never a word did
she hear, and the years rolled by.
“Then came the year 1801 and Tripoli declared war upon America, and
Stephen Decatur was sent to deal with the treacherous governments of
Tangier and Tripoli, and there, after his victories, he saw to the
release of all American prisoners.
“‘Now, surely,’ thought Dorothy Bings, ‘my husband will return.’
“But he did not come, and though his brothers, always traveling, inquired
at all ports if anything had been heard of him, they never were able to
bring his waiting wife any word.
“Then the brothers, compassionate for her youth and her sorrow, bade her
accept her widowhood with courage.
“‘Samuel is dead,’ they said. ‘He has died the death of a sailor and a
gentleman, rest you sure. Be comforted, Dorothy. You loved him well and
he loved you, but he is gone. Accept your sorrow and find another mate.
He would be the last one to wish you to dwell here alone with your youth
going and no child in your house to comfort you. We, his brothers, bid
you seek new happiness.’
“And indeed the beautiful Mistress Bings might have had her pick of many
gallant gentlemen. But though they sued her ardently, and though she was
lonely with a loneliness beyond her words to express, she could not bring
herself to be the bride of any one of them.
“‘For what,’ said she, ‘if I should wed me, and some day Samuel should
come home, looking for me? What if he is eating his heart out now in
some dungeon or on some lonely isle, dreaming of me and Pacolet, and I
should take the horse and myself to a new master? No, no, I could never
sleep quiet in my bed, nor Pacolet in his stall, were we false to him.
He trusted us beyond all the world. We will be faithful.’
“So the years rolled by, and at last silver began to come in the golden
hair of Mistress Dorothy. But her longing, instead of growing less,
increased year by year, so that she did little else but watch the harbor
and the wharves, and to every sailor man who came up the street,
staggering from his long journey, she called:
“‘Pray pardon me, good sir, but have you been overseas? Then perhaps you
will tell me if you saw anyway, in any port, a tall man with steel blue
eyes, named Samuel Bings.’
“And the sailors, high and low, paid her courtesy, knowing her sad story,
and respecting her for her steadfastness, and they would stop, hat in
hand below her balcony, and tell her of their voyages, and of what they
knew concerning the fate of missing men. But never a one of them,
stranger or friend, could bring her word of the man she mourned.
“Because of this intercourse she came to know many, many sailors, and
since she was one of those whom sorrow teaches, they trusted her and came
to her in trouble, and brought her their joys, too. She was the friend
to all, and since she had a liberal soul and a well-filled purse, she was
enabled to help many a poor man in straits, and to send him on his way
with a strengthened heart.
“At length, old age came upon her. She leaned upon a stick when she
walked, and she must needs be wrapped in the rich shawls brought her from
far lands, when she sat upon the galleries. But still her eyes were
bright, and they were always seeking, seeking, and her voice was sweet
though it quavered as she leaned over her gallery’s edge to question the
men who came up from the ships.
“‘She will never hear from Samuel Bings this side heaven,’ the sailor men
fell into the way of saying. And now she was so venerable, and her sad
story was so widely known, that men coming to the port for the first time
would question if she was yet to be seen, and they would salute as they
approached, and would wait to hear the questions that she asked. She was
to them like a ballad of true love, or a chant grown dear with use.
Indeed, they made songs about her, and when they argued for true love,
they were able to point to her. They venerated her silver hair, which
had once been golden, and it was to the glory of Norfolk that she lived
there.
“Then, one day as she sat in the sunshine, watching the harbor and noting
the ships and the busy throng upon the wharves, and all the business that
had become to her as her very life, an old, bent man, a sailor by his
walk and dress, came shambling up the street. She never had seen him
before, but no sooner had her eyes fallen upon him than her heart gave a
great leap.
“‘Come to me,’ she called to the faithful servant who had been her
companion since the days when she was a bride. ‘Come to me and hold me
by the arm, for I must question yonder man.’
“So the maid supported her, and Mistress Bings got to the balustrade of
her balcony, and leaning over it, called to the old stranger.
“‘Your pardon sir, but have you been traveling long and far?’
“The man lifted his cap, and as well as he could for his bent back, he
looked up at the silver-haired lady on the balcony above him.
“‘Long and far, madam,’ he answered.
“‘Then I beg you of your goodness to come up here and talk with me a
while.’
“The old man hesitated, perplexed at such an invitation. But she called
again:
“‘I beg you of your goodness.’
“So he came, and she asked him to be seated before her, and then she
fixed her burning eyes on him.
“‘Tell me, sir, have you in all of your travels ever met a man named
Samuel Bings—a tall man with steel blue eyes, a sailor, every inch of
him?’
“The old man stared at her a moment, and then started to his feet.
“‘Are you,’ he cried, ‘his wife, Dorothy? Had he a horse named Pacolet?’
“‘I knew it! I knew it,’ cried Mistress Bings. ‘As soon as ever I saw
you coming up the street, I knew that at last I should hear of him. Oh,
tell me, sir, is he living still?’
“The old man sank into his seat again and hung his huge head over his
knees.
“‘No, madam, he is dead these ten years since.’
“‘Ah, dead,’ breathed Mistress Bings. ‘He is at rest, my Samuel. He is
safe in his last bed. He suffers no longer. May God rest his soul!’
“For a little while she could say no more, only now and then crying to
her maid:
“‘He is at rest. He suffers no longer.’
“Then, when she was calmer, she turned once more to the bowed stranger.
“‘For the love of God, sir, tell me all you know.’
“So he told her the story of how he had been a small planter in Jamaica,
a man of English birth, and how a great tobacco merchant of that place
had fitted out a ship to convey his produce to the Turkish ports, and how
he, William Hull, had sailed with her, being minded to take a voyage.
They had a fair crossing, and Hull said to himself that now at last he
was living, now at last, he was seeing life. Then, off the Tripoli
coast, the ship was attacked by corsairs and captured, and the captain
and crew were thrown in prison. In time, the captain and all of his men
save Hull were released, but Hull was of a restless and quick nature, and
would not make friends of his foes. The jailors complained that he was
quarrelsome; twice he tried to escape and was recaptured; and he openly
vowed vengeance on Tripoli should he ever be a free man again and upon a
ship of his own country. So, what with his hot-headedness, and the
warfare that was on then between America and the Barbary States, he came
under the notice of the dey, who, regarding him as a dangerous man, had
him put in the dungeons below ground. For a time he was all alone, and
he all but went mad in the solitude, but after a time there was need to
put a dangerous murderer in his dungeon, and he was removed to another
place, and thrown in with an old, half-crazed man.
“‘He had been a man of great stature,’ said Hull, ‘and it was easy to
see, in spite of all his rags and filth, that he was a gentleman. He
greeted me courteously when I entered, and I said to myself that now I
should be able to hold converse with a fellow-being, but indeed, madam,
it was little enough converse that we held. He could hold to one theme
but a moment or two, and then he would fall under a sort of spell, and
would sit softly mumbling to himself, as if he were going back over old
scenes. Then he would arouse himself and call to me. And when I
answered him, he would say:
“‘“Man, man, if ever you go free, for the love of God, search out my
sweet wife Dorothy and my good horse Pacolet, and tell them I have not
forgot.”
“‘Sometimes he would sob when he spoke these words, and sometimes he
would call them at the top of his voice. Again he would whisper them,
and often in his sleep I would hear him muttering: “My sweet wife Dorothy
and my good horse Pacolet.”‘
“The old stranger stopped in compassion, for Mistress Bings lay with her
face against the high back of her chair, as colorless as snow. But when
she found that he had ceased, she motioned for him to proceed.
“‘This is the greatest day of my life, save one,’ she said, ‘and that was
the day I became a bride. Do not fear for me. Finish your tale.’
“‘Nine years, lacking three months, we were together in that dungeon,’
continued Hull, ‘and then he died. A sudden cold, a closing of the
lungs, and he was gone. He passed away in my arms, madam, very
peacefully, and with his last breath he bade me carry messages to you.’
“‘And you waited all these years, man?’
“‘Madam, I knew nothing of the place he called his home, and though he
often tried for hours at a time to remember, he could not recall them.
Never, in all that time, did he talk lucidly upon any subject at all,
save when he spoke of you and his horse, and then he said no more than I
have told you. It was as if, finding that all things were going from
him, he commanded himself to remember the two beings he loved.’
“‘Yet you knew his name, William Hull?’ said Mistress Bings.
“‘Aye, madam. When at last my old captain was able to secure my release,
I begged him and the governor to go with me to the keeper of the prison,
and there I told him that I had but one little favor to ask in return for
the years of life he had wrenched from me, and that was the name of my
companion. So he gave it to me—Bings. But he could not tell me from
what American port he had sailed, nor would he give me anything of his
story. To this day, madam, I do not know the fate of his ship or his
crew, and I fear that this tragedy like many others, will be unrecorded
to the end of time.’
“‘To the end of time,’ whispered Mistress Bings. ‘To the end of time is
a long while, William Hull.’
“‘So long it will never come,’ said William Hull.
“‘But he never forgot? My husband never forgot? In darkness and
solitude and madness, he remembered me still?’
“‘Madam, it was his one joy.’
“‘Pacolet is long since dead,’ said Mistress Bings. ‘He is buried in a
fine field, and a great bowlder is placed above his grave to mark it.’
“‘He loved his horse,’ said William Hull.
“‘May they meet in Paradise!’ cried Mistress Bings.
“‘What, madam, the soul of the man and—and a horse?’
“‘May they meet in Paradise,’ she repeated. Then she bade William Hull
enter her house, and she feasted him well, and when he had finished, she
asked him concerning his life and his work, and when she found that
though old, and bent and broken, he meant always to follow the sea, a
common sailor before the mast—the least of all the signed men because of
his bent back—she cried:
“‘Not so, William Hull. You shall not so weary yourself. If you have a
mind to stay on land, I will build you a snug house on one of my
plantations; but if you prefer the sea, I will buy you a yawl, and you
can sail from port to port along our coast here.’
“So at first William Hull spoke for the sea and the yawl, but when he
learned that she would no longer live in the house that watched the
harbor there being no reason why she should continue to search the faces
of returning sailors, looking among them for the one she loved—but would
go onto a plantation and live among her trees and flowers, he elected to
live near her and to be her servant. To the end, he served her, and she
guarded him, he for the sake of a man who, though bereft of his senses,
was still an affectionate friend, she for the sake of the bridegroom who
had never forgotten his love, and who had been snatched from the sunlight
to wither in a dungeon all his days.”
That is the tale my grandmother told.
And all the while, Carin, I let my hand stay in Keefe’s. The fire fell
low, the wind grew higher, and the story, you might have thought, would
have made us sad. But it did not do so. Grandmother walked up the
stairs to her room with her head lifted; I saw Uncle David and Aunt
Lorena going down the corridor hand in hand. As for me, I could have
danced. I do not know what Keefe thought, but I heard him singing “Annie
Laurie” when he reached his room. I saw then that the story had risen
above sorrow into joy, and when I went to bed I was very, very
happy—happier than ever before in my life. It is wonderful to know there
is really such a thing as true love in the world, isn’t it?
_Azalea_.