John Law and Mary

Epilogue

April 16th, 1912

Johnny? Johnny? The newspaper, it … it said … No!

Come home, Johnny. Please come home.

April 10th, 1912

Dearest Mary,

Two days hence my ship sets sail for New York from South Hampton, and though we were together a mere two days ago, I miss you more than I can say. I can’t tell you how happy I was when you told me you were pregnant. My da, of course, will respond to the news like he does to everything I do -- with disapproval and scorn. He hasn’t been the same since mam died, but if I am honest, he is a bully and a brute, and the sooner I am out from under his thumb the happier I shall be. I never told you this, Mary, but I do believe when my skills with the violin surpassed his own and I started playing on ships, his jealousy became palpable. Right before I left Scotland, and in a moment of brutal honesty (not to say love), he told me he hoped I would fail. His own son!

But enough of da. I’d rather talk about more beautiful things, like our bairn-to-be and impending marriage. I have been considering your question as to which I prefer—a boy or girl. I know I’m supposed to say a boy (someone to carry on the Hume name), but really, so long as I am with you, Mary, this is all that matters. A sweet bonnie lass would suit me just fine.

Your mam has been of the greatest support, letting me live with you and her this last year, so please send her my love. This is silly, of course, since I will be handing these letters to you personally upon my return and look forward to reading every one of yours. What a wonderful idea you had, sweet Mary, writing a letter every day we are apart and reading them out loud to each other when I return 17 days hence.

Seventeen days! I miss you already.

All my love, Jock

April 10th, 1912

My Dear Fiddler,

You are a cruel, cruel boy, expecting me to do w’out you for 17 days after the news I just shared. Our baby is most decidedly a girl. How do I know? I had a dream last night that a wee girl with angel wings descended and kissed me on the forehead. I asked her who she was, and she told me her name was Johnann “after my father,” she said. So, you see, Johnny, we will be having a bright and beautiful girl.

I cried myself to sleep last night after you left. Come home safe, and come home quickly, so I can twirl my skirt to your wonderful music and wrap you in my arms.

Your loving Mary

April 11th, 1912

Dearest Mary,

On the morrow I leave for New York. I’ve played violin on five different ships, and visited a number of ports. I’ve seen Labrador, Jamaica, Barbados, Cuba, and the rest of the Caribbean islands, but by far I loved the excitement and bustle of America the best. The music there, oh Mary, and the food! Men with carts sell hot corn and sausages and kraut right there on the streets while organ grinders sing and housewives drop coins from apartment balconies to show their appreciation. I even saw the occasional fiddler dancing a Scottish jig and singing a sad, sad song. Can you imagine me doing that? Aye, me too.

Mary, someday we will travel the world together. I’ll be a world-famous violinist playing with this symphony or that, and ye and our child will be right beside me, tapping your toes to time and keeping me humble.

Tomorrow, we set sail for America on the largest ship ever built—the RMS Titanic. I have seen this colossus—it is a floating mountain, over 800 feet long and 175 feet tall, but instead of stone it has metal plating, and can hold over two thousand passengers. All of Dumfries could fit on this boat as easy as a postage stamp on an envelope and still leave room for Galloway.

I will try to send you a telegraph communique before we set sail. When I return, you will have received five telegrams, each one declaring my love for you more than the last, as I am sure my love will grow with each day of my absence.

Your Husband-to-be,

Jock (Or as you prefer to call me, Johnny)

April 12th, 1912

My Dear Fiddler,

By now you have set sail on that horrid ship that had the gall to take you away from me. I have been feeling a wee bit ill with my pregnancy, but my beloved mam tells me this is natural for many women, especially during the first few months.

I have some good news and some bad. Which would you like to hear first? Okay, I know your optimistic nature would prefer to save the best for last, so I shall begin with the not-so-pleasant news: I saw your da on the street with his new wife, Alice, on my way to the glove factory. He called me a name which I will not repeat, and his wife looked at me with death in her eyes. I almost broke into tears right there in the street, but held them back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. I don’t know what I did to deserve their scorn, but my mam assures me nothing at all. Under different circumstances, I would have given them the news of our bairn, their future granddaughter, the angel Johnann, but I can only imagine how it would have been received. I’ll leave your da to you, though it pains me to hear your stories about him, and I revile how he speaks to you.

But I shall move on to brighter things. The good news: My mam, the sprite, has offered to extend your stay in our home for as long as ye wish. ‘He’s been here a year already,’ said she, ‘and he’s good-natured lad and ’s been no trouble at all. Plus,’ she added, ‘I like to hear him play fiddle.’ The truth is, Johnny, since my da died, my mam has lacked for company, and she couldn’t be more joyous about being a gran. As sour as your da is about us, my mam is the counter weight, filled with love and light and open arms. But there I’ve gone and mentioned him again.

Sweet Johnny, dream of me tonight, and I will meet you there, on the bridge where our hearts connect.

Your Beloved,

Mary

April 12th, 1912

Dearest Mary,

We are at sea! I could try to describe the grandeur and size of this vessel, but you would not believe me. It has ten levels, with each one grander then the last. I probably shouldn’t have, but could not resist, and asked a crew member how much a first-class ticket would cost a young and humble fiddler such as myself. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and laughed. ‘My boy, that would be anywhere from 30 pounds to 870 pounds for a parlor suite.’ Mary, I thought he was joking, but his eyes lit up. ‘I know laddie. I know,’ he said to me. ‘To be birthed in first class is to eat your meals on fine china with polished silver, and to enjoy oysters on the half shell and other culinary delights like leg of lamb, duck, fresh beef, and pâté de foie gras with buttery roasted potatoes and minted rice. And if that weren’t enough, laddie, then washing it all down with the finest champagne. And for dessert,’ he continued, ‘peaches in chartreuse jelly and Waldorf pudding, and that’s just to start. All of this and about seven other courses do the regal ones tuck in while ignoring gorgeous music like “Song d’Automne” played for them by poor, young musicians such as yourself.’ My jaw must have dropped, for he laughed at my surprised look at his knowing the name of a song we played just last night. ‘Yes, laddie, even if the first-class snobs can barely be troubled to look up from their nosebags, I was one of the servers in the dining room.’ He gave me another slap on the back. ‘Well done, laddie. Well done.’

I know you said you were afraid of the sea, Mary, but you can hardly feel the sway of the waves on this ship. Such is its size and majesty, even the ocean cannot touch it. Someday when I am rich and famous, I will take you on such a cruise, and we will clink our glasses and toast our lives together and play hide-and-seek with our son or daughter … and stay far away from the edge of the deck. You will not even know you are at sea.

Mr. Hartley—our bandmaster -- just informed me our break was over. What a slave driver! No, in fact, he couldn’t have a bigger heart, nor could we have a better person to lead our small group of troubadours. Mary, I am completely honored to have been chosen for the maiden voyage of this wonderful ship, and it has thrown the doors wide open to opportunity. Yet it is with eager anticipation I look forward to being back in your arms, my sweet girl.

Yours, Completely in Love,

Jock

April 13th

Dearest Johnny, Last night I woke up…

My Sweet Mary, last night I couldn’t sleep …

I had a dream that – no! I can barely stand to think about it, let alone put it to words…

… so, I put on as warm a jacket as I have, wrapped a blanket around me and stepped into the chill ocean air. I strolled the promenade looking at the stars and the endless nothingness, humming our favorite song. I leaned on the guard rail and looked to the north …

I … I dreamt I was out to sea on a ship, and a flock of seagulls circled overhead. The sun was warm, and the ocean glittered, as the waves lapped gently against the prow. I heard a panicked voice calling my name—your voice -- crying for help. I looked down to see you in the ocean, floundering in the waves …

The Northern Lights, Mary. The sky was ablaze. Blue and white and silver ribbons of light shimmered above, illuminating the whole northern part of the sky whilst shooting stars shot across the heavens. ‘Ah, Mary,” I said, ‘if only you could be here to see this. And then suddenly, there you were, by my side. For it was a dream, you see…

Johnny, I looked around for a life ring or life raft I could lower, but none were around. Your calls became more distant and more urgent as the ship continued along its way, but I could still hear your calls. Even with my fear of the sea, I tried to move, to climb the railing with the intention of jumping into the water, to save you somehow …

“Mary, is it not glorious,” I said. ‘Look at the lights.’ But there was something amiss. You merely stared back at me in silence, your face pale and white in the moonlight. And then you started to weep. ‘Mary, darlin’, I said, ‘what is it?’

“… but my feet wouldn’t move. My legs were suddenly full of lead, and I couldn’t lift myself over the railing. And as you cried out, the seagulls started to fall from the sky all around you, one after another, plummeting into the sea as you continued to wave and call out for help. I couldn’t move, Johnny. My feet were frozen in place …

“… but you just kept crying, Mary. I put my arms around you, to console ye. ‘There, now, Mary,’ I said. ‘Everything’s going to be alright.’ But you just looked up at me with tears in your eyes. At last you spoke. ‘Do you really mean it?’ you said.

“… and the ship just sailed further and further away from you, Johnny. I just kept watching until at last, you went under, swallowed up by the deep. I screamed out, but you were gone.

Then you unfurled yourself from my arms, Mary, and suddenly looked angry and hurt, and you gave me a great shove. I plummeted over the side of the ship, tumbling, tumbling down, head over heels. I called your name…”

… and then I woke-up.

… and then I woke-up.

April 14th

Dearest Mary,

After a difficult night’s sleep -- my cabin mate informs me I called out in the night -- it is a new day, bright and sunny. We continue to cut our way through the Atlantic heading towards New York, and we are now nearly 400 miles from shore. It’s mid-afternoon, and while I expected it to be warmer, it seems like we have collided with some cold winds blowing in from the northwest. No matter. I am doing what I love—playing music and seeing the world, and the only thing I am missing is you. I do love you.

Mary, you will not believe me when I tell you this: The first-class passengers have access to a swimming pool. That’s right! It’s on the deck F above the boiler, not doubt placed there to maintain the pool’s warmth during mid-winter plunges. It’s enclosed, so the upper-crust can swim there regardless of the season. They also have a gymnasium, a squash court, and if you can believe it (and I barely can), a Turkish bath. You will no doubt laugh upon reading this, and I’ll be laughing right along with you. Yes, there are these types of riches in the world.

Today our orchestra played on the great deck of the promenade while rich folk enjoyed a game of shuffleboard or cricket. Mary, I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think I’ll ever aspire to this kind of wealth. A lot of the first-class passengers seem to me to be kind of sleepy and don’t make eye contact with anyone they consider beneath them. (I think I’ll ask Captain Smith to speak to the upper crust about changing their attitude a bit.)

We, the musicians, are birthed together in second class, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Last night, myself and one of the other lads played fiddle into the wee hours for the “lesser folk” down below who danced the night away. How grand it was. How wonderful, how grand!

As for the rest of the band, they are a good group of lads. Many of the passengers, of course, seem to consider our efforts to be nothing more than background music whilst we perform at various locations throughout the ship, but tis okay. Every one of us is a serious musician, and even if we are ignored by passenger and crew alike, we take pride in what we do and play our best for each other’s sake … and for the sake of the music.

Mary, during a break today, I was looking out to sea, and I swear to you I saw a group of dorsal fins breaking the water’s surface. Whether they were sharks or dolphins or a trick my eyes were playing on me, I know not, but what a wonderous world.

Duty calls, my beautiful lassie. We are due on the grand staircase in 15 minutes. It has been four whole paragraphs since I told you I loved you. I stand remiss. My heart is yours. Jock

April 14th, 1912

Dearest Johnny,

It is the evening time, and I am exhausted. My mam and I need the money, so I will be sewing gloves throughout my pregnancy, but it was good to return home, to have dinner, and to once again sit by the hearth and write a letter to my beloved fiddler. My mam is nearby reading poetry and spiritual books, a sin, no doubt, that if it ever became known, would get her forcibly removed from the pews for good. I still think she misses my pa, Billy, but from my memory of him, he would have wanted to tamp down me mam’s free spirit, and why marry a spirited lass if you want to tamp her down? I think I will ask ye this when I see you next, and then watch your discomfort at being put on the spot by your fiery, love-filled wife.

Johnny, I’ve been having a growing dread inside me today. In truth, I was greatly troubled by my dream and it has been hard for me to shake it. As so few of my dreams are predictive,

I will choose to dismiss it as fear and fear alone, no more than the idle fancy of a longing heart and a reflection of my deep desire to be reunited with you, my love.

And, oh, I nearly forgot! I received your telegraph, and it must have cost you a day’s pay to send, but how dear it was to receive your words of adoration. You are 21, and I am but 20, and while life can be hard, our lives together are stretched out before us.

I love you, Johnny. Yours forever and a day,

Mary

April 15th

8:00 p.m.

My Lovey Wife,

We—the band and I—are about to play our final two sets of the evening. It is dark and calm outside, and the new moon whispers your name in my ear. The food here has been outstanding, and even in four days I do believe I have put on a pound or two. When I return, you may not recognize your husband, such will be my girth.

It is an ache in my heart, Mary, being away from you, and yet I take solace in the unspeakable bliss of knowing that nine months hence, you will be bring our child into the world. How glorious my life has become with you in it.

Okay, my love, duty calls. The slave drive, Hartley (in truth, a lovely man), is calling us to the dining room. I will finish my letter later.

Your forever,

Jock

________

April 15th

1:45 a.m.

Mary, I … the ship! …. We’ve taken on water. You’d be proud, Mary. The band played until the very end. Lifeboats not full, and I think I see a seat reserved for your fiddler. We will be together soon, my Mary. I … I love you. Look for me in your dreams. *

April 16th, 1912

Johnny? Johnny? The newspaper, it … it said … No!

Come home, Johnny. Please come home.

(*Final letters written by John Law Hume to Mary Costin. Found in his violin case floating amidst the flotsam of the Titanic.)

This story is a work of historical fiction. Research for “John Law and Mary” was based on numerous online articles, including: “A Titanic Family Feud-- The Mother and Child Disowned by In-laws After Death of Ship's Hero Violinist” published May 23rd, 2011, in the Daily Mail.Com, and written by Christopher Ward. Mr. Ward is the grandson of John Law Hume and Mary Costin, and author of “And the Band Played On” (2012).