Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MYSTERY OF CRO-A-TAN, by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MYSTERY OF CRO-A-TAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The home-bound ship stood out to sea
Last Line: The tale of cro-a-tan!
Subject(s): America - Exploration; Dare, Virginia (1587-?); Virginia (state)


I

THE home-bound ship stood out to sea,
And on the island's marge,
Sir Richard waited restlessly
To step into the barge.

"The Governor tarrieth long," he chode,
"As he were loth to go:
With food before, and want behind,
There should be haste, I trow."

Even as he spake, the Governor came: --
"Nay, fret not, for the men
Have held me back with frantic let,
To have them home again.

"The women weep; -- 'Ay, ay, the ship
Will come again' (he saith),
'Before the May; -- Before the May
We shall have starved to death!'

"I've sworn return by God's dear leave,
I've vowed by court and crown,
Nor yet appeased them. Comrade, thou,
Mayhap, canst soothe them down."

Sir Richard loosed his helm, and stretched
Impatient hands abroad: --
"Have ye no trust in man?" he cried,
"Have ye no faith in God?

"Your Governor goes, as needs he must,
To bear through royal grace,
Hither, such food-supply, that want
May never blench a face.

"Of freest choice ye willed to leave
What so ye had of ease;
For neither stress of liege nor law
Hath forced you over seas.

"Your Governor leaves fair hostages
As costliest pledge of care, --
His daughter yonder, and her child,
The child Virginia Dare!

"Come hither, little sweetheart! Lo!
Thou'lt be the first, I ween,
To bend the knee, and send through me
Thy birthland's virgin fealty
Unto its Virgin Queen.

"And now, good folk, for my commands:
If ye are fain to roam
Beyond this island's narrow bounds,
To seek elsewhere a home, --

"Upon some pine-tree's smoothen trunk
Score deep the Indian name
Of tribe or village where ye haunt,
That we may read the same.

"And if ye leave your haven here
Through dire distress or loss,
Cut deep within the wood above
The symbol of the cross.

"And now on my good blade, I swear,
And seal it with this sign,
That if the fleet that sails to-day
Return not hither by the May,
The fault shall not be mine!"

II

The breath of spring was on the sea;
Anon the Governor stepped
His good ship's deck right merrily, --
His promise had been kept.

"See, see! the coast-line comes in view!"
He heard the mariners shout, --
"We'll drop our anchors in the Sound
Before a star is out!"

"Now God be praised!" he inly breathed,
"Who saves from all that harms;
The morrow morn my pretty ones
Will rest within my arms."

At dawn of day they moored their ship,
And dared the breakers' roar:
What meant it? not a man was there
To welcome them ashore!

They sprang to find the cabins rude;
The quick green sedge had thrown
Its knotted web o'er every door,
And climbed the chimney-stone.

The spring was choked with winter's leaves,
And feebly gurgled on;
And from the pathway, strewn with wrack,
All trace of feet was gone.

Their fingers thrid the matted grass,
If there, perchance, a mound
Unseen might heave the broken turf;
But not a grave was found.

They beat the tangled cypress swamp,
If haply in despair
They might have strayed into its glade:
But found no vestige there.

"The pine! the pine!" the Governor groaned;
And there each staring man
Read in a maze, one single word,
Deep carven, -- CRO-A-TAN!

But cut above, no cross, no sign,
No symbol of distress;
Naught else beside that mystic line
Within the wilderness!

And where and what was "CRO-A-TAN"?
But not an answer came;
And none of all who read it there
Had ever heard the name.

The Governor drew his jerkin sleeve
Across his misty eyes;
"Some land, maybe, of savagery
Beyond the coast that lies;

"And skulking there the wily foe
In ambush may have lain:
God's mercy! Could such sweetest heads
Lie scalped among the slain?

"O daughter! daughter! with the thought
My harrowed brain is wild!
Up with the anchors! I must find
The mother and the child!"

They scoured the mainland near and far:
The search no tidings brought;
Till mid a forest's dusky tribe
They heard the name they sought.

The kindly natives came with gifts
Of corn and slaughtered deer;
What room for savage treachery
Or foul suspicion here?

Unhindered of a chief or brave,
They searched the wigwam through;
But neither lance nor helm not spear,
Nor shred of child's nor woman's gear,
Could furnish forth a clue.

How could a hundred souls be caught
Straight out of life, nor find
Device through which to mark their fate,
Or leave some hint behind?

Had winter's ocean inland rolled
An eagre's deadly spray,
That overwhelmed the island's breadth
And swept them all away?

In vain, in vain, their heart-sick search!
No tidings reached them more;
No record save that silent word
Upon that silent shore.

The mystery rests a mystery still,
Unsolved of mortal man:
Sphinx-like untold, the ages hold
The tale of CRO-A-TAN!





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