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.