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.