Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FERRY, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FERRY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The river's in full-spate
Last Line: Door, and nothing is heard but the noise of the waters.]


Persons:

JOHN TODD, an old ferryman.
ROBERT TODD, his son.
JANE TODD, Robert's wife.

Scene: The living-room of the ferry-house -- a door
opening on to the river-bank, another to the inner
room. It is evening in early spring, and the
ceaseless roar of the river in flood sounds through
the room. JOHN, seated at a cobbler's bench, works by
candle-light. JANE, coming from the inner

ROBERT. The river's in full-spate.
JANE. Ay, how it roars!
JOHN [looking up from his work]. The snow has melted on the fells.
JANE. That wind
Will puff the candle out. Lad, shut the door.
JOHN. It's fresh, and smells of spring. 'Twas such a night....
ROBERT. Wife, I'll away down to the Traveller's Rest.
JANE. Well, don't be late.
JOHN. But what about the boat?
ROBERT. The boat is safe enough; I've made her fast.
JOHN. Ay, lad, but what if any one should hail,
And you not here to answer to their call?
I cannot take the oars; you know that well.
ROBERT. The devil himself could never cross to-night;
That water is too big. [Goes out.]
JOHN. 'Twas such a night
That Margaret hailed, and did not hail in vain.
I did not fear the flood.
JANE. You cannot hear
How loud it roars. Your ears are dull with age.
You could not cross to-night.
JOHN. If Margaret called,
Old as I am, I'd take the oars my hands
Have touched not these long years. If Margaret called --
But she will call no more. [Bends over his work.]
JANE. You could not cross.
JOHN. I would that Robert had not gone to-night.
JANE. Why, he's a steady lad; there's little harm.
JOHN. Ay, lass; and yet, I wish he had not gone.
If any one should hail, and he not here!
JANE. No one will hail to-night.
JOHN. 'Twas such a night
That Margaret hailed.
JANE. 'Twas cruel madness then.
JOHN. She knew that I would come.
JANE. More shame to her
That she should call you to nigh-certain death!
JOHN. How can you speak of Robert's mother so!
She knew my arm was strong. She came that night
Home from the city, after many years.
She stood upon the bank and called my name,
And I, above the roar of waters, heard,
And took the oars and crossed to her, though twice
The river caught me in its swirl, and strove
To sweep me to the dam. But I was strong,
And reached the other bank; and in she stepped,
And never seemed to think of fear. Her eyes
Were on me, and I rowed her home, though death
Clutched at the boat, and sought to drag us down;
For I was young and strong. That May we wed;
And by the next spring-floods the boy was born,
And she lay dead -- and I, so young and strong!
My strength that brought her through the roaring spate
Could not hold back that silent-ebbing life.

[Bends over his work.]

JANE. Yes, I have heard the story many times.

[Silence falls on the room save for the roar of the
river. After a while, JOHN lifts his head as though listening.]

JOHN. Hark! What is that?
JANE. It's nothing but the flood.
JOHN [still listening]. She calls!
JANE. Who calls?
JOHN. Do you hear naught?
JANE. Nay, naught.
There's naught to hear -- only the river's roar.

[JOHN bends again over his work, and is silent for a
while; but often lifts his head as though listening.
At last he speaks.]

JOHN. Can you hear naught, lass? Some one hails the boat.
JANE. It's but your fancy. How could you hear aught
With your deaf ears, when I can scarcely catch
My needles' click -- the river roars so loud!
JOHN. I heard a voice.
JANE. I tell you it was naught.
No voice could cross that flood. If any called,
That roar would drown their cry. You could not hear.
But no one would be fool enough to call
On such a night as this.
JOHN. I heard a voice.
I would that Robert had not gone to-night....
JANE. What could he do if he were here?
JOHN. I crossed
On such a night.
JANE. Ay, ay, but Robert's wed.
JOHN [starting up]. Hark, hark, she calls! I hear the voice again.
JANE [rising and laying a hand on his arm]. Nay, father!
Sit thee down. There's no one calls.
Your memory tricks you. It's the river's roar
That rings in your old head, and mazes you.

[JOHN sits down again at his bench.]

It sounds as though it sought to drag the banks
Along with it -- and all! You'd almost think
That it was round the house!

[Goes to the door and opens it and looks out.]

How fierce and black
Among the rocks it threshes 'neath the moon!
It makes me shudder though we're high and dry.

[Closes the door.]

JOHN. Did you see no one on the other bank?
JANE. No one was there to see. Who should there be?

[JOHN bends again over his work; then stops, and sits
gazing into the fire, still listening.]

JOHN [rising and speaking slowly]. Lass, some one hails
the boat; and I must go,
For Robert is not here.
JANE [rising too, and holding him by the arm as he turns
towards the door.] You go! You go!
What would you do, you poor, old crazy man?
'Twould break you like a straw!
JOHN. Yes, I am old;
But Robert is not here.
JANE. If he were here
He could do naught. The flood would crush the boat
Like any eggshell!
JOHN. Robert should be here.
Hark, hark, the voice again! Lass, I must go.

[He tries to move towards the door, but JANE takes him
by the arms and forces him back into his seat.]

JANE. You crazed, old man! Sit down. What would you do?
You need not hurry to your death; fear not,
'Twill come ere you are ready! Sit you down.
You're feeble in my hands as any babe.
What could you do against that raging flood?
JOHN. Yes, I am weak, who once was young and strong.
But Robert should be here.
JANE. I'll fetch him home.
If you'll sit quiet till I come again.

[JOHN gazes silently into the fire, then closes his
eyes as if asleep.]

JANE. He's quiet now; the silly fit has passed.
Yet, I will go for Robert. It were best
That he should come. I think I should go crazed
Betwixt the flood and his fond, doting talk.
I fear I don't know what. It's that old man
Has filled me with his fancies; but he sleeps
Sound as a babe. I'll go for Robert now,
And be back ere he wakes.

[Throws a shawl over her head, and goes out softly,
closing the door behind her. JOHN sits for a while
with his eyes still shut; then starts up suddenly, and
stands listening.]

JOHN. She calls! She calls!

[Moves to the door and throws it open.]

I come! I come!

[Shading his eyes with his hand and gazing into the night.]

She awaits me on the bank,
Beyond the raging waters, in the light.
Margaret, I come!

[He goes out, leaving the door open. The clank of a
chain being unloosed is heard; then nothing save the
thresh of the river. Some moments pass; then voices
are heard on the threshold.]

ROBERT [outside]. The door is open, lass.
You should not leave it so.
JANE [entering]. I shut it close.
Father! He is not here! He's gone!
ROBERT. Gone where?
JANE. Robert, the boat! the boat! [They rush out together.]
ROBERT [his voice heard above the roar of the waters].
The boat's gone too!
Quick, to the dam!
JANE [as they pass the door]. He seemed to sleep so sound.

[The candle gutters out in the draught from the open
door, and nothing is heard but the noise of the waters.]





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