 | An idyl of work |  |
PEGGY BLIGH'S VOYAGE.
You may ride in an hour or two, if you will,
From Halibut Point to Beacon Hill,
With the sea beside you all the way,
Through pleasant places that skirt the Bay;
By Gloucester Harbor and Beverly Beach,
Salem's old steeples, Nahant's long reach,
Blue-bordered Swampscott, and Chelsea's wide
Marshes, laid bare to the drenching tide,
With a glimpse of Saugus spire in the west,
And Malden hills in their dreamy rest.
From Halibut Point to Beacon Hill,
With the sea beside you all the way,
Through pleasant places that skirt the Bay;
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Salem's old steeples, Nahant's long reach,
Blue-bordered Swampscott, and Chelsea's wide
Marshes, laid bare to the drenching tide,
With a glimpse of Saugus spire in the west,
And Malden hills in their dreamy rest.
All this you watch idly, and more by far,
From the cushioned seat of a railway-car.
But in days of witchcraft it was not so;
City-bound travellers had to go
Horseback over a blind, rough road,
Or as part of a jolting wagon-load
Of garden produce and household goods,
Crossing the fords, half lost in the woods,
By the fear of redskins haunted all day,
And the roar of lions, some histories say.
From the cushioned seat of a railway-car.
But in days of witchcraft it was not so;
City-bound travellers had to go
Horseback over a blind, rough road,
Or as part of a jolting wagon-load
Of garden produce and household goods,
Crossing the fords, half lost in the woods,
By the fear of redskins haunted all day,
And the roar of lions, some histories say.
If ever for Boston a craft set sail,
Few to secure a passage would fail,
Who had errands to do in the three-hilled town:
And they might return ere the sun went down.
So, one breezy midsummer dawn,
Skipper Nash, of the schooner Fawn,
Sails away with a crowded deck.
One of his passengers cranes her neck
Out of her scarlet cloak,—an eye
Like a smouldering coal had Peggy Bligh,—
And looks at her townsmen, looks at the sea,
At the crew and the skipper; what can it be
That hinders their flinging her bold glance back?
Many a wife hath an eye as black,
And a cloak as scarlet. Ay, but she—
Nobody covets her company!
Nobody meets that strange look of hers
But a nameless terror within him stirs,
His heart-strings flutter, his nerves they twitch,—
'T is an evil eye,—it will blight and bewitch.
Few to secure a passage would fail,
Who had errands to do in the three-hilled town:
And they might return ere the sun went down.
So, one breezy midsummer dawn,
Skipper Nash, of the schooner Fawn,
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One of his passengers cranes her neck
Out of her scarlet cloak,—an eye
Like a smouldering coal had Peggy Bligh,—
And looks at her townsmen, looks at the sea,
At the crew and the skipper; what can it be
That hinders their flinging her bold glance back?
Many a wife hath an eye as black,
And a cloak as scarlet. Ay, but she—
Nobody covets her company!
Nobody meets that strange look of hers
But a nameless terror within him stirs,
His heart-strings flutter, his nerves they twitch,—
'T is an evil eye,—it will blight and bewitch.
Afraid to be silent, afraid to speak,
The crew and the skipper, with half-oaths weak,
Looked up dismayed when aboard she came,
And the voyagers whispered around her name,
And gazed askance, as apart she stood,
Eying them under her scarlet hood.
The crew and the skipper, with half-oaths weak,
Looked up dismayed when aboard she came,
And the voyagers whispered around her name,
And gazed askance, as apart she stood,
Eying them under her scarlet hood.
A fair wind wafted them down the Bay;
By noon at the Boston wharves they lay.
“We shall sail at three!” the skipper cried;
Save Peggy, all were aware that he lied,
For along the deck had been passed a word
Which only speaker and listener heard,—
How he meant to give the old crone the slip
By an hour or so, on the homeward trip.
By noon at the Boston wharves they lay.
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Save Peggy, all were aware that he lied,
For along the deck had been passed a word
Which only speaker and listener heard,—
How he meant to give the old crone the slip
By an hour or so, on the homeward trip.
Errands all finished, and anchor weighed,
Out of the harbor her way she made,—
The schooner Fawn. But who hastens down
To the water-side, with a shout and frown,
Angrily stamps with her high-heeled shoe,
Audibly curses the skipper and crew,
Flutters her cloak and flames with her eye?—
Who but the witch-woman, old Peg Bligh?
Out of the harbor her way she made,—
The schooner Fawn. But who hastens down
To the water-side, with a shout and frown,
Angrily stamps with her high-heeled shoe,
Audibly curses the skipper and crew,
Flutters her cloak and flames with her eye?—
Who but the witch-woman, old Peg Bligh?
“We'll give her the go-by!” says Skipper Nash,
And laughs at his schooner's scurry and dash;
But here and there one muttered, “He 's rash!”
“As good right has Peggy,” said one or two,
“To a homeward passage as I or you;
For what has the poor old beldam done
That any man could lay finger on,
Worse than living alone in a tumble-down hut,
And speaking her mind when she chose to? But—”
The speaker stopped, to follow the stare
Of his listeners up through the windy air.
A monstrous gull bore down on the blast;
Once it poised on the schooner's mast;
Once it flapped in the skipper's face;
Scarcely it veered for a moment's space
From the prow's white track in the seething brine;
Its sharp eye gleamed with a steel-cold shine,
And one of the sailors averred that he saw
A red strip dangle from beak and claw;
And all the voyagers shrank with fear
To see that wild creature a-swoop so near.
And laughs at his schooner's scurry and dash;
But here and there one muttered, “He 's rash!”
“As good right has Peggy,” said one or two,
“To a homeward passage as I or you;
For what has the poor old beldam done
That any man could lay finger on,
Worse than living alone in a tumble-down hut,
And speaking her mind when she chose to? But—”
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Of his listeners up through the windy air.
A monstrous gull bore down on the blast;
Once it poised on the schooner's mast;
Once it flapped in the skipper's face;
Scarcely it veered for a moment's space
From the prow's white track in the seething brine;
Its sharp eye gleamed with a steel-cold shine,
And one of the sailors averred that he saw
A red strip dangle from beak and claw;
And all the voyagers shrank with fear
To see that wild creature a-swoop so near.
As they hove in sight of Salem town
A fog came up, and the breeze went down.
They could almost hear the farm-folk speak,
And smell the magnolias at Jeffrey's Creek.
Abreast of the Half-way Rock once more,
With the Misery Islands just off shore,
The gull gave a shriek, and flew out of sight,
And—there they lay in the fog all night.
A fog came up, and the breeze went down.
They could almost hear the farm-folk speak,
And smell the magnolias at Jeffrey's Creek.
Abreast of the Half-way Rock once more,
With the Misery Islands just off shore,
The gull gave a shriek, and flew out of sight,
And—there they lay in the fog all night.
They dared not stir until morn was red,
And the sky showed a blue streak overhead;
Then glad on the clear wave sped the Fawn
Homeward again through a breezy dawn,
And the skipper shouted, “The vessel arrives
In season for breakfast with your wives!”
And the sky showed a blue streak overhead;
Then glad on the clear wave sped the Fawn
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And the skipper shouted, “The vessel arrives
In season for breakfast with your wives!”
But some one else had arrived before.
Who is that, by the hut on the shore,
Milking her cow with indifferent mien,
As if no schooner were yet to be seen!
By the side glance out of her small black eye,
It must be—surely it is—Peg Bligh!
Who is that, by the hut on the shore,
Milking her cow with indifferent mien,
As if no schooner were yet to be seen!
By the side glance out of her small black eye,
It must be—surely it is—Peg Bligh!
How she got there no mortal could tell,
But crew and passengers knew right well
That she had not set foot upon deck or hull,
“Nor the mast?” About that you may ask the gull.
But crew and passengers knew right well
That she had not set foot upon deck or hull,
“Nor the mast?” About that you may ask the gull.
Well, the story goes on to say
That Skipper Nash always rued the day
When he left old Peg on the wharf behind,
With her shrill cry drifting along the wind.
For he lost his schooner, his children died,
And his wife; and his cattle and sheep beside;
And his old age found him alone, forlorn,
Wishing, no doubt, he had never been born.
That Skipper Nash always rued the day
When he left old Peg on the wharf behind,
With her shrill cry drifting along the wind.
For he lost his schooner, his children died,
And his wife; and his cattle and sheep beside;
And his old age found him alone, forlorn,
Wishing, no doubt, he had never been born.
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What Peggy Bligh had to do with his case
It is hard to see, in our time and place.
How things might have struck us, we do not know,
Had we lived here two hundred years ago,
When the thoughts of men took a weirder shape
Than any mist that hangs round the Cape.
But this moral 's a good one for all to mind:
His own heart is the curse of a man unkind.
It is hard to see, in our time and place.
How things might have struck us, we do not know,
Had we lived here two hundred years ago,
When the thoughts of men took a weirder shape
Than any mist that hangs round the Cape.
But this moral 's a good one for all to mind:
His own heart is the curse of a man unkind.
| An idyl of work | |