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From “Domesday Book”
BILL, look here! Here’s the Times—you see this picture? | |
| Read if you like a little later. You never | |
| Heard how I came to Fairbanks, chanced to stay. | |
| It’s eight years now. You see in nineteen-eleven | |
| I lived in Hammond, Indiana, thought | 5 |
| I’d take a trip, see mountains, see Alaska, | |
| Perhaps find fortune or a woman—well, | |
| You know from your experience how it is. | |
| It was July and from the train I saw | |
| The Canadian Rockies, stopped at Banff a day, | 10 |
| At Lake Louise, and so forth. At Vancouver | |
| Found travelers feasting, Englishmen in drink, | |
| Flirtations budding, coming into flower, | |
| And eager spirits waiting for the boat. | |
| Up to this time I hadn’t made a friend, | 15 |
| Stalked silently about along the streets, | |
| Drank Scotch like all the rest, and much besides. | |
| Well, then we took the steamship Princess Alice | |
| And started up the Inland Channel—great! | |
| Got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal | 20 |
| Cradles of the North, and so began at once | |
| To find the mystery, silence, see clear stars, | |
| The whites and blacks and greens along the shore. | |
| And still I had no friend, was quite alone. | |
| Just as I came on deck I saw a face— | 25 |
| Looked, stared perhaps. Her eyes went over me, | |
| Would not look at me. At the dinner-table | |
| She sat far down from me. I could not see her, | |
| But made a point to rise when she arose, | |
| Did all I could to catch her eye—no use. | 30 |
| So things went and I gave up—still I wondered | |
| Why she had no companion. Was she married?— | |
| Was husband waiting her at Skagway maybe? | |
| I fancied something of the sort at last, | |
And, as I said, gave up.
But on a morning | 35 |
| I rose to see the sun rise, all the sky | |
| First as a giant pansy, petals flung | |
| In violet toward the zenith streaked with fire; | |
| The silver of the snows changed under light | |
| Mottled with shadows of the mountain tops— | 40 |
| Like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn. | |
| At last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven, | |
| The sun just peeks, and gilds the porcelain | |
| Of snow with purest gold; and in the valleys | |
| Darkness remains—Orician ebony | 45 |
| Is not more black. You’ve seen this too, I know, | |
| And recognize my picture. There I stood, | |
| Believed I was alone; then heard a voice, | |
| “Is it not beautiful!” and looked around, | |
| And saw my girl, who had avoided me, | 50 |
| Would not make friends before. This is her picture, | |
| Name, Eleanor Murray. So the matter started. | |
| I had my seat at table changed, and sat | |
| Next to my girl to talk with her. We walked | |
| The deck together. Then she said to me | 55 |
| Her home was in Chicago—so it is | |
| Travelers abroad discover they are neighbors | |
| When they’re at home. She had been teaching school | |
| And saved her money for this trip—had planned | |
| To go as far as Fairbanks. As for me, | 60 |
| I thought I’d stop with Skagway. Oh, this life! | |
| Your hat blows off, you chase it, bump a woman; | |
| Then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted, | |
And marry later.
As we steamed along | |
| She was the happiest spirit on the deck. | 65 |
| The Wrangel Narrows almost drove her wild, | |
| There where the mountains are like circus-tents— | |
| Big show, menagerie, and all the rest— | |
| But white as cotton with perennial snow. | |
| We swam past aisles of pine-trees, where a stream | 70 |
| Rushed down in terraces of hoary foam. | |
| The nights were glorious—we drank and ate, | |
And danced when there was dancing.
Well, at first | |
| She seemed a little school-ma’am—quaint, demure, | |
| Meticulous and puritanical. | 75 |
| And then she seemed a school-ma’am out to have | |
| A time—so far away, where none would know; | |
| And like a woman who had heard of life, | |
| And had a teasing interest in its wonder, | |
| Too long caged up. At last my vision blurred— | 80 |
| I did not know her, lost my first impressions | |
| Amid succeeding phases which she showed. | |
| |
| But when we came to Skagway, then I saw | |
| Another Eleanor Murray. How she danced | |
| And tripped from place to place—such energy! | 85 |
| She almost wore me out with seeing sights. | |
| And now, behold, the White Pass she must see | |
| Upon the principle of missing nothing! | |
| But oh, the grave of Soapy Smith, the outlaw, | |
| The gambler and the heeler—that for her! | 90 |
| We went four miles and found the cemetery, | |
| The grave of Soapy Smith; came back to town | |
| Where she would see the buildings where they played | |
| Stud poker, keno, in the riotous days. | |
| |
| Time came for her to go. She looked at me | 95 |
| And said, “Come on to Fairbanks.” As for that, | |
| I’d had enough, was ready to return, | |
| But sensed an honorarium; so I said, | |
| “You might induce me,” with a pregnant tone. | |
| That moment we were walking ’cross the street: | 100 |
| She stopped a moment, shook from head to heels, | |
| And said, “No man has talked to me that way.” | |
| I dropped the matter. She renewed it—said, | |
| “Why do you hurry back?—what calls you back? | |
| Come on to Fairbanks, see the gardens there, | 105 |
| That tag the blizzards with their rosy hands | |
| And romp amid the snows.” She smiled at me. | |
| Well then, I thought—why not? And smiled her back, | |
| And on we went to Fairbanks, where my hat | |
Blows off, as I shall tell you.
For a day | 110 |
| We did the town together, and that night | |
| I thought to win her. First we dined together, | |
| Had many drinks, my little school-ma’am drank | |
| Of everything I ordered, had a place | |
| For more than I could drink. And truth to tell | 115 |
| At bed-time I was woozy—ten o’clock. | |
| We had not registered; and so I said, | |
| “I’m Mr. Kelly and you’re Mrs. Kelly.” | |
| She shook her head. And so, to make an end, | |
| I could not win her, signed my name in full, | 120 |
| She did the same, we said good-night and parted. | |
| |
| Next morning when I woke, felt none too good; | |
| Got up at last and met her down at breakfast; | |
| Tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee; | |
| Got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand | 125 |
| Upon my head and said, “Your head is hot, | |
| You have a fever.” Well, I lolled around | |
| And tried to fight it off till noon—no good. | |
| By this time I was sick, lay down to rest; | |
| By night I could not lift my head—in short, | 130 |
| I lay there for a month, and all the time | |
| She cared for me just like a mother would. | |
| They moved me to a suite, she took the room | |
| That opened into mine, by night and day | |
| She nursed me, cheered me, read to me. At last | 135 |
| When I sat up, was soon to be about, | |
| She said to me: “I’m going on to Nome, | |
| St. Michael first. They tell me that you cross | |
| The Arctic Circle going to St. Michael, | |
| And I must cross the Arctic Circle—think | 140 |
| To come this far and miss it!—I must see | |
| The Indian villages.” And there again | |
| I saw, but clearer than before, the spirit | |
| Adventurous and restless, what you call | |
| The heart American. I said to her, | 145 |
| “I’m not too well, I’m lonely—yes, and more— | |
| I’m fond of you, you have been good to me, | |
| Stay with me here!” She darted in and out | |
| The room where I was lying, doing things; | |
| And broke my pleadings just like icicles | 150 |
You shoot against a wall.
But here she was | |
| A month in Fairbanks, living at expense; | |
| Said, “I’m short of money—lend me some; | |
| I’ll go to Nome, return to you and then | |
We’ll ship together for the States.”
You see | 155 |
| I really owed her money for her care, | |
| Her loss in staying; then I loved the girl, | |
| Had played all cards but one—I played it now: | |
| “Come back and marry me.” Her eyes looked down, | |
| “I will be fair with you,” she said; “I think | 160 |
| Away from you I can make up my mind | |
| If I have love enough to marry you.” | |
| I gave her money and she went away; | |
| And for some weeks I had a splendid hell | |
| Of loneliness and longing—you might know, | 165 |
| A stranger in Alaska, here in Fairbanks, | |
| In love besides, and mulling in my mind | |
| Our days and nights upon the Steamer Alice, | |
Our ramblings in the Northland.
Weeks went by— | |
| No letter and no girl, I found my health | 170 |
| Was vigorous again. One morning, walking, | |
| I kicked a twenty-dollar gold-piece up | |
| Right on the side-walk. Picked it up and said: | |
| “An omen of good luck—a letter soon! | |
| Perhaps this town has something for me!” Well, | 175 |
| I thought I’d get a job to pass the time | |
| While waiting for my girl. I got the job, | |
| And here I am today. I’ve flourished here, | |
| Worked to the top in Fairbanks in eight years, | |
And thus my hat blew off.
What of the girl? | 180 |
| Six weeks or more a letter came from her— | |
| She crossed the Arctic Circle, went to Nome, | |
| Sailed back to ’Frisco where she wrote to me. | |
| Sent all the money back I loaned to her, | |
| And thanked me for the honor I had done her | 185 |
| In asking her in marriage; but had thought | |
| The matter over, could not marry me, | |
| Thought in the circumstance it were not best | |
| To come to Fairbanks, see me, tell me so. | |
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| Now, Bill, I’m egotist enough to think | 190 |
| This girl could do no better. Now, it seems, | |
| She’s dead, and never married. Why not me?— | |
| Why did she ditch me? So I thought about it, | |
| Was piqued of course, concluded in the end | |
| There was another man. A woman’s No | 195 |
| Means she has someone else, or hopes to have, | |
| More suited to her fancy. Then one morning, | |
| As I awoke with thoughts of her as usual, | |
| Right in my mind there plumped an incident | |
| On shipboard, when she asked me if I knew | 200 |
| A certain man in Chicago. At the time | |
| The question passed amid our running talk | |
| And made no memory. But you watch and see | |
| A woman when she asks you if you know | |
| A certain man, the chances are the man | 205 |
| Is something in her life. So now I lay | |
| And thought: there is a man, and that’s the man— | |
| His name is stored away, I’ll dig it up | |
| Out of the cells subliminal. So I thought, | |
But could not bring it back.
I found at last | 210 |
| The telephone directory of Chicago, | |
| And searched and searched the names from A to Z. | |
| Some mornings I’d pronounce a name and think, | |
| “That is the name,” then throw the name away— | |
| It did not fit the echo in my brain. | 215 |
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| But now at last—look here! Eight years are gone, | |
| I’m healed of Eleanor Murray, married too; | |
| I read about her death here in the Times, | |
| And turn the pages over—column five: | |
| “Chicago startled by a suicide— | 220 |
| Gregory Wenner kills himself!” Behold | |
| At last the name she spoke! | |
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