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Brooks + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Wappin' Wharf + A Frightful Comedy of Pirates + +Author: Charles S. Brooks + +Illustrator: Julia McCune Flory + +Other: Gordon Hatfield + +Release Date: March 25, 2008 [EBook #24914] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAPPIN' WHARF *** + + + + +Produced by K Nordquist, Linda Cantoni, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Music +transcribed by Linda Cantoni. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="notes"> +<p><i>Transcriber's Note:</i> The dialogue in the play uses spaced contractions +such as "I 've." Normal contractions are used in the non-dialogue parts +of this book, such as the preface and stage directions.</p> + +<p>Midi, PDF, and MusicXML files have been provided for the songs +in this e-book. To hear a song, click on the [Listen] link. To view +a song in sheet-music form, click on the [PDF] link. To view MusicXML +code for a song, click on the [MusicXML] link.</p> +</div> + +<p><br /></p> + + +<div class="bbox"> +<h1>Wappin’ Wharf</h1> + +<h2>A Frightful Comedy of Pirates</h2> + + +<h3> +<i>By</i><br /> +CHARLES S. BROOKS +</h3> + +<h3> +<i>with pictures by</i><br /> +JULIA McCUNE FLORY +</h3> + +<h3> +<i>music by</i><br /> +GORDON HATFIELD +</h3> + +<hr class="sh" /> + +<p class="center"> +<b><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1922</span><br /> +<i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Harcourt, Brace and Company, Inc.</span></b> +</p> + + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/logo.png" width="86" height="96" alt="logo" title="logo" /> +</p> + + +<p class="center"><br /> +<i>Special Edition</i><br /> +<i>Imprinted for</i><br /> +<b>WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY<br /> +PUBLISHERS—BOSTON</b><br /><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="sm"> +<p class="center"> +WAPPIN' WHARF<br /> +<i>All Rights Reserved</i> +</p> + +<p>Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book +without a valid contract for production first having been obtained +from the publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or +amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or +charity.</p> + +<p>In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, +and no performance, representation, production, recitation, or public +reading, or radio broadcasting may be given except by special +arrangement with Walter H. Baker Company, 41 Winter Street, Boston, +Mass., or Playhouse Plays, 14 East 38th Street, New York City.</p> + +<p>This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of +Twenty-five Dollars for each performance, payable to Walter H. Baker +Company, 41 Winter Street, Boston, Mass., or Playhouse Plays, 14 East +38th Street, New York City, one week before the date when the play is +given.</p> + +<p>Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all +programs, printing and advertising for the play: "Produced by special +arrangement with Walter H. Baker Company."</p> + +<p>Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any +infringement of the author's rights as follows:</p> + +<p>"Section 4966: Any person publicly performing or representing any +dramatic or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, +without the consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical +composition, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages +thereof, such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not +less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for +every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be just. +If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for +profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and +upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one +year."—U.S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>Wappin’ Wharf</h2> + +<hr class="sh" /> + +<h3><i>CHARACTERS</i></h3> + +<ul> +<li>THE DUKE</li> +<li>PATCH-EYE</li> +<li>THE CAPTAIN</li> +<li>RED JOE</li> +<li>DARLIN'</li> +<li>BETSY</li> +<li>OLD MEG</li> +<li>SAILOR CAPTAIN</li> +<li>THREE SAILORS</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="noind">SETTING: For details of Stage Set turn to pages <a href="#Page_35">35-6-7</a>.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h3><i>A PROLOGUE TO BE SPOKEN BY BETSY</i></h3> + + +<p><i>Our scene is the wind-swept coast of Devon. By day there is a wide +stretch of ocean far below, and the abutments of our stage arise from +a dizzy cliff.</i></p> + +<p><i>The time is remote, and ships of forgotten build stand out from +Bristol in full sail for the mines of India. But we must be loose and +free of precise date lest our plot be shamed by broken fact. A +thousand years are but as yesterday. We make but a general gesture to +the dim spaces of the past.</i></p> + +<p><i>The village of Clovelly climbs in a single street—a staircase, +really—and it is fagged and out of breath half way. But far above, on +a stormy crag, clinging by its toes, there stands a pirates' hut. To +this topmost ledge fishwives sometimes scramble by day; but when a +wind shall search the crannies of the night, then no villager would +dare to climb so high.</i></p> + +<p><i>You will seek today in vain the pirates' cabin. Since the adventure +of our play a thousands tempests have snarled across these rocks. You +must convince your reason that these pinnacles of yesteryear, toppled +down by storm, lie buried in the sea.</i></p> + +<p><i>We had hoped that our drama's scene might lie on a pirate ship at +sea. We had wished for a swaying mast, full-set with canvas—a typhoon +to smother our stage in wind. We had hoped to walk a victim off the +plank, with the sea roaring in the wings. But our plot deals +stubbornly with us. Alas, our pirates grow old and stiff. They have +retired, as we say, from active practice and live in easy luxury on +shore. Yet we shall see that their villany still thrives.</i></p> + +<p><i>How shall we select a name for our frightful play? There is a wharf +in London that is known as Wapping. In these days that we call the +present it has sunk to common use and its rotten timbers are piled +with honest unromantic merchandise. But once a gibbet stood on Wapping +Wharf, and pirates were hanged upon it. It was the first convenient +harborage for inbound ships to dispose of this dirty deep-sea cargo. +So it was the somber motif of a pirate's life—his moment of +reflection after he had slit his victim's throat.</i></p> + +<p><i>Tonight, although your beards grow long and Time has marked its net +of wrinkles—tonight, the years spin backwards. Only the young in +heart will catch the slender meaning of our play.</i></p> + +<p><i>We are too quick to think that childhood passes with the years—that +its fine fancy is blunted with the practice of the world. Too long +have we been taught that the clouds of glory fade in the common day. +If a man permits, a child keeps house within his heart.</i></p> + +<p><i>Our prologue outstays its time. Already the captain of our pirates +puts on his hook. The evil Duke limps for practice on his wooden leg. +Presently our curtain will rise. We shall see the pirates' cabin, with +the lighthouse in the distance, Flint's lantern and the ladder to the +sleeping-loft. We shall hear a storm unparalleled—thunder, lightning +and a rush of wind, if it can be managed.</i></p> + +<p><i>Then our candles burn to socket. Our pasteboard cabin grows dark. The +blustering ocean, the dizzy cliffs of Devon, melt like an +unsubstantial pageant. Once again, despite the signpost of the years, +we have run on the "laughing avenues of childhood."</i></p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/rabbit.png" width="451" height="358" alt="" /> +</p> + +<h3>BY WAY OF EXPLANATION</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="dropcap">S</span><b>EVERAL</b> weeks ago an actor-manager requested me to try my hand at a +play for the winter season. The offer was unexpected. "My dear sir," I +said, "I am immensely flattered, but I have never written a play." +Then I hastened to ask, "What kind of play?" for fear the offer might +be withdrawn. He replied with sureness and decision. "I want a play," +he said, "with lots of pirates and—no poetry." He stressed this with +emphatic gesture. "And at least one shooting," he added. It was a slim +prescription. He left me to brood upon the matter.</p> + +<p>The proposal was too flattering to be rejected out of hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span></p> + +<p>After a furious week upon a plot and dialogue, I was given an +opportunity to display my wares. The manager himself met me in the +hallway. "Is there a shooting?" he asked, with what seemed almost a +suppressed excitement. I was able to satisfy him and he led me to his +inner office, where he pointed out an easy chair. The room was +pleasantly furnished with bookshelves to the ceiling. Evidently his +former ventures had been prosperous, and already I imagined myself +come to fortune as his partner. While I fumbled with embarrassment at +my papers—for I dreaded his severe opinion—he himself fetched a +basket of coal for a fire that burned briskly on the hearth. Then he +sat rigidly at attention.</p> + +<p>It now appeared that he had summoned to our conference several of his +associates—the subordinates, merely, of his ventures—his manager of +finance (with a sharp eye for a business flaw), his costumer and +designer, and another person who is his reader and adviser and, in +emergency, fills and mends any sudden gap that shows itself.</p> + +<p>My notion of theatrical managers has been that they are a cold and +distant race—the more sullen cousin of an editor. Is it not +considered that on the reading of a play they sit with fallen chin, +and that they chill an author to reduce his royalty? It is naught, it +is naught, saith the buyer. I am told that even the best plays are +hawked with disregard from theatre to theatre, until the hun<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span>gry +author is out at elbow. They get less civility than greets a mean +commodity. Worthless mining shares and shoddy gilt editions do not +kick their heels with such disregard in the outer office. Popcorn and +apples—Armenian laces, even—beg a quicker audience.</p> + +<p>But none of this usual brusqueness appeared. Rather, he showed an +agreeable enthusiasm as we proceeded—even an unrestraint, which, I +must confess, at times somewhat marred his repose and dignity. +Manifestly it was not his intention to depreciate my wares. He +exchanged frank glances of approval with his subordinates—with his +costumer especially, with whom his relation seems the closest.</p> + +<p>In the first act of my play, when it becomes apparent that one of my +pirates goes stumping on a timber leg, his eye flashed. And when it +was disclosed that the captain wears a hook instead of hand, he forgot +his professional restraint and cried out his satisfaction. He was soon +wrapped in thought by the mysterious behaviour of the fortune-teller +and he said, if she were short and stout, he had the very actress in +his mind.</p> + +<p>But it was in the second act that he threw caution to the winds. As +you will know presently, Red Joe—one of my pirates—seizes his trusty +gun and, taking breathless aim, shoots—But I must not expose my plot. +At this exciting moment (which is quite the climax of my play) +Belasco—or any of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> his kind—would have squinted for a flaw. He would +have tilted his wary nose upon the ceiling and told me that my plot +was humbug. What sailorman would mistake a lantern for a lighthouse? +Nor were there lighthouses in the days of the buccaneers. He would +have scuttled my play in dock and grinned at the rising bubbles. Mark +the difference! My manager, ignoring these inconsequential errors, +burst from his chair—this is amazing!—and turned a reckless +somersault between the table and the fire.</p> + +<p>His costumer, who knows best how his eccentricity runs to riot, +checked him for this and sent him to his chair. He sobered for a +minute and the play went on. Presently, however, when the enraged +pirates gathered to wreak vengeance on their victim, I saw how deeply +he was moved. His exultant eye sought the bookshelves, and I fancy +that he was in meditation whether he might be allowed a handstand with +his heels waving against the ceiling. His excited fingers obviously +were searching for a dagger in his boot.</p> + +<p>You may conceive my pleasure. If his cold and practiced judgment could +be so stirred, might I not hope that the phlegmatic pit in shiny +shirt-fronts would rise and shout its approval at our opening? And to +what reckless license might not the gallery yield? I fancied a burst +of somersaults in the upper gloom, and tremendous handsprings—both +men and women—down the sharp-pitched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> aisle. It would be +shocking—this giddy flash of lingerie—except that our broader times +now give it countenance. Peeping Tom, late of Coventry, in these more +generous days need no longer sit like a sneak at his private shutter. +He has only to travel to the beach where a hundred Godivas crowd the +sands. I saw myself on the great occasion of our opening night bowing +in white tie from the forward box.</p> + +<p>Our conference was successful. When the reading of the play was +finished and the wicked pirates stood in the shadow of the gibbet, he +thanked me and excused himself from further attendance by reason of a +prior engagement. Under the stress of selection for his theatre he +cannot sleep at night, and his costumer wisely packs him off early to +his bed. She whispers to me, however, that although he had hopes for a +storm at sea and a hanging at the end, his decision, nevertheless, is +cast in my favor for a quick production, whenever a worthy company can +be assembled.</p> + +<p><img src="images/sword.png" width="243" height="176" alt="sword" title="sword" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr1">On the tip of each he has bargained for a spot of red</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But</span> we have gone still further toward our opening. The manager has +already whittled a dozen daggers and they lie somewhere on a shelf, +awaiting a coat of silver paint. On the tip of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> each he has bargained +for a spot of red. Furthermore, he owns a pistol—a harmless, +devicerated thing—and he pops it daily at any rogue that may be +lurking on the cellar stairs.</p> + +<p>All pirates wear pigtails—pirates, that is, of the upper crust (the +Kidds and Flints and Morgans)—and at first this was a knotty problem. +But he obtained a number of old stockings—stockings, of course, +beyond the skill of that versatile person who mends the gaps—and he +has wound them on wires, curling them upward at the end and tieing +them with bits of ribbon. The pirate captain is allowed an extra inch +of pigtail to exalt him above his fellows. When he first adjusted this +pigtail on himself, his costumer cried out that he looked like a +Chinaman. This was downright stupidity and was hardly worthy of her +perception; but ladies cannot be expected to recognize a pirate so +instinctively as we rougher men. The stocking, however, was clipped to +half its length, and now he is every inch a buccaneer.</p> + +<p>As for the captain's hook, he is resourcefulness itself. These things +are secrets of the craft, but I may hint that there is a very suitable +hook in a butchershop around the corner. Surely the butcher—warmed to +generosity by the family patronage—would lend it for the great +performance. I have no doubt but that the manager, from this time +forward, will beg all errands in his direction and that his smile will +thaw the friendly butcher to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> his purpose. Certainly two legs of lamb, +if whispered that the drama is at stake, will consent to hang for one +tremendous day upon a single hook. Our hook is to be screwed into a +block of wood, and there is something about knuckles and a cord around +the wrist and a long sleeve to cover up the joining. Anyway, the +problem has been met.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/butcher.png" width="462" height="473" alt="butcher" title="butcher" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">His smile will thaw the friendly butcher to his +purpose<br /><br /></p> + +<p>In the furnace room he has found a heavy sheet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> of tin for the thunder +storm, and I have suggested that he dig in a nearby gravel pit for a +basket of rain to hurl against the pirates' window. But hard beans, he +says, are better, and he has won the cook's consent. For the slow +monotone of water dripping from the roof in our second act, a single +bean, he tells me, dropped gently in a pan is a baffling counterfeit.</p> + +<p>The lightning seems not to bother him, for he owns a pocket +flashlight; but the mighty wind that comes brawling from the ocean was +at first a sticker. The vacuum cleaner popped into his head, but was +put aside. The fireplace bellows were too feeble for any wind that had +grown a beard. His manager of finance, however, laid aside his book +one night—a weary tract upon the law—and displayed an ability to +moan and whistle through his teeth. The very casement rattled in the +blast. He has agreed to sit in the wings and loose a sufficient storm +upon a given signal.</p> + +<p>Our stage is cramped. Three strides stretch from side to side. "Can +this cockpit" you ask, "hold the vasty fields of France?" It is not, +of course, the vasty fields of France that we are trying to hold; but +we do lack space for the kind of riot the manager has in mind in the +final scene. He wants nothing girlish. Sabers and pistols are his +demand—a knife between the teeth—and more yelling than I could +possibly put down in print. A bench must be upset, the beer-cask +overturned, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> jug of Darlin's grog spilled, and one stool, at least, +must be smashed—preferably on the captain's head, who must, however, +be consulted. Patch-Eye and the Duke are not the kind of pirates that +lie down and whine for mercy at a single punch.</p> + +<p>At first our manager was baffled how the pirates were to ascend a +ladder to their sleeping loft. They had no place to go. They would +crack their ugly heads upon the ceiling. The costumer was positive +(parsimony!) that a hole—even a little hole—should not be cut in the +plaster overhead for their disappearance. If the chandelier had been +an honest piece of metal they might have perched on it until the act +ran out. Or perhaps the candles could be extinguished when their legs +were still climbing visibly. At last the manager has contrived that a +plank be laid across the tops of two step-ladders, behind a drop so +that the audience cannot see. No reasonable pirate could refuse to +squat upon the plank until the curtain fell.</p> + +<p><img src="images/finger.png" width="305" height="178" alt="finger" title="finger" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr2">With uncertain, questing finger</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We</span> are getting on. Our company has been selected. We need only a +handful of actors, but the manager has enlisted the street. The +dearest little girl has been chosen for Betsy, and each day she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> +practices her lullaby at the piano with uncertain, questing finger. A +gentle rowdy of twelve will speak the Duke's blood-curdling lines. I +understand that two quarrelsome pirates have nearly come to blows +which shall act the captain. The hero, Red Joe, will be played by the +manager himself, for it is he who owns the pistol. Is not the boy who +has the baseball the captain of his nine?</p> + +<p>I owe an apology to all the mothers of our cast; for the rough +language of my lines outweighs their gentler home instruction. +Whenever several of our actors meet there is used the vile language of +the sea. By the bones of my ten fingers has replaced the anemic oaths +of childhood. One little girl has been told she cries as easily as a +crocodile. Another little girl was heard to say she would slit her +sister's <i>wisdom</i>—a slip, no doubt, for <i>wizen</i>. And Blast my lamps! +and Sink my timbers! are rolled profanely on the tongue.</p> + +<p>In every attic on the street a rakish craft flies the skull and +crossbones, and roves the Spanish Main on rainy afternoons. Innocent +victims—girls, chiefly, who will tattle unless a horrid threat is +laid upon them—are forced blindfold to walk the plank. If the wind +blows, scratching the trees against the roof, it is, by their desire, +a tempest whirling their stout ship upon the rocks. What ho! We split! +Mysterious chalkings mark the cellar stairs and hint of treasure +buried in the coal-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span>hole. At every mirror pirates practice their cruel +faces.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/innocent.png" width="454" height="540" alt="plank" title="plank" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">Innocent victims ... are forced blindfold to walk the +plank<br /><br /></p> + +<p>And now the daggers are complete, and their tip of blood has been +squeezed from its twisted tube. Chests and neighbors have been +rummaged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> for outlandish costumes. From the kindling-pile a +predestined stick has become the timber leg of the wicked Duke. The +butcher's hook has yielded to persuasion.</p> + +<p>Presently rehearsals will begin—</p> + +<hr class="med" /> + +<p>I have been reading lately, and I have come on a sentence with which I +am in disagreement. I shall not tell the name of the book (mere +mulishness!) but I hope you know it or can guess. It is a tale of +children and of a runaway perambulator and of folk who never quite +grew up, with just a flick of inquiry—a slightest gesture now and +then—toward precious rascals like our Patch-Eye and the Duke. Its +author stands, in my opinion, a better chance of our lasting memory +than any writer living.</p> + +<p>If you have read this book, you have known in its author a man who is +himself a child—one from whom the years have never taken toll. And if +you have lingered from page to page, you know what humor is, and love +and gentleness. I think that children must have clambered on his +familiar knee and that he learned his plot from their trustful eyes.</p> + +<p>Someone has been reading my very copy of this book, for it is marked +with pencil and whole chapters have been thumbed. I would like to know +who this reader is—a woman, beyond a doubt—who has dug in this +fashion to the author's heart. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> the book is from a lending +library. She is only a number pasted inside the cover, a date that +warns her against a fine.</p> + +<p>Her pencil has marked the words to a richer cadence. I like to think +that she has children of her own and that she read the book at +twilight in the nursery, and that its mirth was shared from bed to +bed. But the pathetic parts she did not read aloud, fearing to see +tears in her children's eyes. Before her own at times there must have +floated a mist. She is a gracious creature, I am sure, with a +gentleness that only a mother knows who sits with drowsy children. And +now that it is my turn to read the book—for so does fancy urge me—I +hear her voice and the echo of her children's laughter among the +pages.</p> + +<p>It is a book about a great many things—about David and about a +sausage machine, about a little dog which was supposed to have been +caught up by mistake. But when the handle was reversed out he came, +whole and complete except that his bark was missing. A sausage still +stuck to his tail, which presently he ate. And it proved to be his +bark, for at the last bite of the sausage his bark returned. And David +took his salty handkerchief from his eyes and laughed. There is a +chapter on growing old—marked in pencil—a subject which the author +of this book knew nothing about, never having grown old himself. And +there is another chapter about a spinster, also marked. This chap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span>ter +sings with exquisite melody, but breaks once to a sob for a love that +has been lost. But the book is chiefly about children.</p> + +<p>There is one particular sentence in this book with which I am not in +agreement. "... down the laughing avenues of childhood, where memory +tells us we run but once...." I cannot believe that. I cannot believe +we run but once. In the heart of the man who wrote the book there +lives a child. And a child dwells in the heart of the woman of the +lending library.</p> + +<p>We are too ready to believe that childhood passes with the years—that +its fine imagination is blunted with the hard practice of the world. +Too long have we been taught that the clouds of glory fade in the +common day—that the lofty castles of the morning perish in the +noon-day sun. The magic vista is golden to the coming of the twilight, +and the sunset builds a gaudy tower that out-tops the dawn. If a man +permits, a child keeps house within his heart to the very end.</p> + +<p>And therefore, as I think of those whittled daggers with their spot of +blood, of that popping pistol, of the captain's horrid hook, of the +black craft flying the skull and crossbones in the attic, I know, +despite appearance, that I am young myself. I snap my fingers at the +clock. It ticks merely for its own amusement. I proclaim the calendar +is false. The sun rises and sets but makes no chilling notch upon the +heart. Once again, despite the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> weary signpost of the years, I run on +the laughing avenues of childhood.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/gear.png" width="420" height="118" alt="pirate gear" title="pirate gear" /> +<br /><br /></p> + +<p>My preface outstays its time. Even as I write our audience has +gathered. Limber folk in front squat on the floor. Bearded folk behind +perch on chairs as on a balcony. Already, behind the scenes, the +captain of the pirates has assumed his hook and villainous attire. +Patch-Eye mumbles his lines against a loss of memory. Paint has daubed +him to a rascal. The evil Duke limps for practice on his timber leg. +Presently our curtain will rise. We shall see the pirate cabin, with +the lighthouse blinking in the distance, the parrot, Flint's lantern +and the ladder to the sleeping loft. We shall hear a storm +unparalleled, like a tempest from the ocean—hissed through the teeth. +We shall see the pirates in tattered costume and in pigtails made of +stockings.</p> + +<p>And now to bring this tedious explanation to a close, permit me to +hush our orchestra for a final word. I have a most important +announcement. It is the sum and essence of all these pages. This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> play +of pirates—doctored somewhat with fiercer oaths and lengthened for +older actors—this play and my other play of beggars I dedicate with +my love to <i>John Abram Flory</i>, who, as Red Joe, was the most frightful +pirate of them all.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/armchair.png" width="457" height="249" alt="armchair" title="armchair" /> +</p> + +<h3>ON CHOOSING A TITLE</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="dropcap">I</span> <b>FIND</b> difficulty in selecting a name for my pirate play. Children +seem so easy in comparison—John or Gretchen, or Gwendolyn for parents +of romantic taste. Gwendolyn I myself dislike, and I have thought I +would give it to a cow if ever I owned a farm. But this is prejudice. +To name a child, I repeat, one needs only to run his finger down the +column of his acquaintance, or think which aunt will have the looser +purse-strings in her will.</p> + +<p>An unhappy choice, after all, is rare. Here and there a chocolate +Pearl or a dusky crinkle-headed Blanche escapes our logic; but who can +think of a sullen Nancy? Its very sound, tossed about the nursery, +would brighten a maiden even if she were peevish at the start. I once +knew an excellent couple of the name of Bottom, who chose Ruby for +their offspring; but I have no doubt that the in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span>felicity was altered +at the font. The fact is that most of our names grow in time to fit +our figure and our character. Margaret and Helen sound thin or fat, +agreeable or dull, as our friends and neighbors rise before us; and +any newcomer to our affection quickly erases the aspect of its former +ugly tenant. I confess that till lately a certain name brought to my +fancy a bouncing, red-armed creature; but that by a change of lease +upon our street it has acquired an alien grace and beauty. Perhaps a +scrawny neighbor by the name of Falstaff might remain inconsequent, +but I am sure that if a lady called Messilina moved in next door and +were of charming manner, a month would blur the bad suggestion of her +name; which presently—if our gardens ran together—would come to +sound sweetly in my ears.</p> + +<p>But a play (more than a child or neighbor) is offered for a sudden +judgment—to sink or swim upon a first impression—and its christening +is an especial peril. I have fretted for a month to find a title for +my comedy.</p> + +<p>My first choice was <i>A Frightful Play of Pirates</i>. In the word +<i>frightful</i> lay the double meaning that I wanted. It held up my hands, +as it were, for mercy. It is an old device. Did not Keats, when a +novice in his art, attempt by a modest preface to disarm the critics +of his Endymion? "It is just," he wrote, "that this youngster should +die away." Yet my title was too long. I could not hope, if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> my comedy +reached the boards, that a manager could afford such a long display of +electric lights above the door. It would require more than a barrel of +lamps.</p> + +<p><i>The Pirates of Clovelly</i> was not bad, except for length, but it was +too obviously stolen from Gilbert's opera. I could feel my guilty +fingers in his pocket.</p> + +<p><i>'S Death</i> was suggested, but it was too flippant, too farcical. <i>'S +Blood</i>, although effective in red lights, met the same objection. <i>The +Spittin' Devil</i>, named for our pirate ship, lacked refinement. +Certainly no lady in silk and lace would admit acquaintance with so +gross a personage.</p> + +<p><i>Darlin'</i> was offered to me—the name of the old lady with one tooth +who cooks and mixes the grog for my sailormen. And I still think that +with better spelling it would be an excellent title for musical +comedy. But it was naught for a pirate play. Its anemia would soften +the vigor of my lines. One could as well call the tale of Bluebeard by +the name of his casual cook.</p> + +<p>Then <i>Clovelly</i> seemed enough. At the very least—if my publisher were +energetic—it ensured a brisk sale of the printed play among the +American tourists on the Devon coast, who travel by boat or +char-a-banc to this ancient fishing village where we set our plot. For +even a trivial book sells to trippers if its story is laid around the +corner. Would it not be pleasant, I thought, when I visit the place +again,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> to see them thumbing me as they waited for the steamer—to see +a whole window of myself placed in equal prominence with picture +postal cards? When I registered at the inn alongside the wharf might I +not hope that the landlady would recognize my name and give me, as an +honored guest, a front room that looks upon the ocean? Perhaps, as I +had my tea and clotted cream on the village staircase, I might mention +casually to a pretty tourist that I was the author of the book that +protruded from her handbag—and fetch my dishes to her table.</p> + +<p>It is so seldom that an obscure author catches anyone <i>flagrante +delicto</i> on his book. Will no one ever read a book of mine in the +subway, that I may tap him on the shoulder? Do travelers never put me +in their grips? Must everyone read in public the latest novel, and +reserve all plays and essays for their solitary hours? At the club I +shuffle to the top any periodical that contains my name, but the +crowded noon buries me deep again.</p> + +<p>At best, maybe, in a lending library, I see a date stamped inside my +cover; but, although I linger near the shelf, no one comes to draw me +down. I think that hunters must look with equal hunger on the bear's +tread. 'T is here! 'T is there! But the cunning creature has escaped. +Blackmore's pleasant ghost frequents the shadowy church at Porlock +where he married Lorna and John Ridd, or roams the Valley of the Rocks +to see the studious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> pilgrims at his pages. Stevenson haunts the +gloomy inlet where the Admiral Benbow stood and where old Pew came +tapping in the night. In the flesh I shall join their revels as an +equal comrade. <i>Clovelly</i>, however, although its lilt was pleasant to +the ear, was an insufficient title.</p> + +<p><i>Skull and Crossbones</i> was too obvious, and my next choice was <i>The +Gibbet</i>. But there was the disadvantage of scaring the timid. Old +ladies would pass me by. It would check the sale of tickets. My +nephew, who is fourteen and not at all timid, was stout in its +defense. He pronounces it as if the <i>g</i> were the hard kind that starts +off gurgle. <i>G</i>ibbet! He asked me if I had a hanging in the piece. If +so, he knew how the business could be managed without chance of +accident—an extra rope fastened to the belt behind. I told him that +it was none of his business how I ended up the pirates. I would hang +them or not, as I saw fit. He would have to pay his quarter like +anybody else and sit it through.</p> + +<p>He suggested From <i>Dish-Pan to Matrimony</i>—obviously a jest. The sly +rogue laughs at me. I must confess, however, that he has given me some +of my best lines. "Villainy 's afoot!" for example, and "Sink me stern +up!" His peaceful school breeds a wealth of pungent English.</p> + +<p>I was in despair. <i>Revenge!</i> Would that have done? I see a maddened +father stand with smoking revolver above the body of a silky-whiskered +villain. "Doris," the panting parent cries, "the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> butcher boy knows +all and wants you for his bride." And down comes the happy curtain on +the lovers. <i>The Wreckers</i> belongs to Stevenson. <i>The Pirates' Nest!</i> +It is too ornithological. The Natural History Museum might buy a copy +and think I had cheated them.</p> + +<p>And then <i>Channel Lights</i>! It sends us sharply to the days of the +older melodrama—days when we exchanged a ten-cent piece for a gallery +seat and hissed the villain. Do you recall the breathless moment when +the heroine implored the villain to give her back her stolen child? +For answer the cruel fellow tied the darling to the buzz-saw. Or that +darker scene when he tossed the lady to the black waters of the +Thames, with the splash of a dipper up behind? Hurry, master hero! +Your horse's hoofs clatter in the wings. Gallop, Dobbin! A precious +life depends upon your speed. Our dangerous plot hangs by a single +thread.</p> + +<p>It is quite a task to find a sufficient title. I have wavered for a +month.</p> + +<p>But now my efforts seem rewarded.</p> + +<p>There is a wharf in London below the Tower, not far from the India +docks. It has now sunk to common week-day uses, and I suppose its +rotten timbers are piled with honest, unromantic merchandise. But once +pirates were hanged there. It was the first convenient place for +inbound ships to dispose of this dirty, deep-sea cargo. Doubtless +hereabout the lanes and building-tops were crowded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> with an idle +throng as on a holiday, and wherries to the bankside and the play +paused with suspended oar for a sight of the happy festival. Did +Hamlet wait upon this ghastly prologue? Shakespeare himself, unplayed +script in hand, mused how tragedy and farce go hand in hand. In those +golden days with which our comedy concerns itself, a gibbet stood on +Wapping wharf and pirates stepped off the fatal cart to a hangman's +jest. We may hear the shouts of the 'prentice lads echoing across the +centuries.</p> + +<p>I cannot hope that many persons—except dusty scholars—will know of +the district's ancient ill-repute, yet Wapping wharf figures often in +my dialogue as the somber motif of a pirate's life. It conveys to the +plot the sense of mystery. It needs but a handful of electric lamps.</p> + +<p>If no one offers me a better title I shall let it stand.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/ship.png" width="238" height="167" alt="ship" title="ship" /> +</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h1>Wappin’ Wharf</h1> + +<h2><i>A Frightful Comedy of Pirates</i></h2> + + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/pirate.png" width="259" height="265" alt="pirate" title="pirate" /> +</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span></p> + +<p class="noind">First produced in January, 1922, at the Play House, Cleveland, under +the direction of Frederic McConnell. The settings and costumes were +designed by Julia McCune Flory. The cast was as follows:</p> + +<table style="width: 100%" border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="cast"> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Duke</span></td><td><i>William C. Keough</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Patch-Eye</span></td><td><i>Howard Burns</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Captain</span></td><td><i>Ewart Whitworth</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Red Joe</span></td><td><i>K. Elmo Lowe</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span></td><td><i>Mary Gilson</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Betsy</span></td><td><i>Jeanette Geoghegan</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Old Meg</span></td><td><i>Emma Tilden</i></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span></td><td style="vertical-align: bottom"><i>Ganson Cook</i></td></tr> +<tr><td style="vertical-align: top"><span class="smcap">Sailors</span></td><td><i>Vance Stewart</i>, <i>Alvin Shulman</i>, <i>Arthur Kraus</i></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/act1.png" width="454" height="233" alt="Act I" title="Act I" /> +</p> + +<h1>Wappin’ Wharf</h1> + +<h2><i>A Frightful Comedy of Pirates</i></h2> + +<h3>ACT I</h3> + + +<p class="hang"><i>Our scene is the wind-swept coast of Devon. By day there is a wide +stretch of ocean far below. The time is remote and doubtless great +ships of forgotten build stand out from Bristol in full sail for +western shores. Their white canvas winks in the morning sun as if +their purpose were a jest. They seek a northwest passage and the +golden mines of India. But we must be loose and free of date lest our +plot be shamed by broken fact. A thousand years are but as yesterday. +We shall make no more than a general gesture toward the wide spaces of +the past.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>The village of Clovelly climbs in a single street—a staircase, +really—from the shore to the top of the cliff, and is fagged and out +of breath half way. But on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> still dizzier crag, storm-blown, +clinging by its toes, there stands the pirates' cabin. To this topmost +ledge fishwives sometimes scramble by day to seek a belated sail +against Lundy's Isle. But after twilight a night wind searches the +crannies of the rock and whines to the moon of its barren quest, and +then no villager, I think, chooses to walk in that direction. I have +visited Clovelly and have kicked a sodden donkey from the wharf to the +top of the street, past the shops of Devon cream and picture postal +cards, but have sought in vain the pirates' cabin. Since our far-off +adventure of tonight ten thousand tempests have snarled across these +giddy cliffs and we must convince our reason that these highest crags +where we pitch our plot have long since been toppled in a storm. Where +yonder wave lathers the shaggy headland, as if Neptune had turned +barber, we must fancy that the pinnacles of yesteryear lie buried in +the sea.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>We had hoped for a play upon the sea, with a tall mast rocking from +wing to wing and a tempest roaring at the rail. Alas! Our pirates grow +old and stiff. They have retired, as we say, from active practice and +live in idle luxury on shore. Yet we shall see that their villainy +still thrives.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>Our scene is their cabin on the cliff. It is a rough stone building +with peeling plaster and slates that by day are green with moss. But +it is night and the wind is whistling its rowdy companions from the +sea. Until the morning they will play at leap-frog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> from cliff to +cliff. Far below is the village of Clovelly, snug with fire and +candles.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>We enter the cabin without knocking—like neighbors through a +garden—and poke about a bit before our hosts appear. A door, forward +at the right, leads to the kitchen. Back stage, also, at the right, a +ladder rises to a sleeping loft. On the left wall are a chimney and +fireplace with a crane and pot for heating grog, and smoky timbers +above to mark the frequent thirst. On a great beam overhead are bags +of clinking loot and shining brasses from wrecked ships. Peppers hang +to dry before the fire, and a lighted ship's lantern swings from a +hook. At the rear of the cabin, to the left, a row of mullioned +windows looks at sea and cliffs in a flash of lightning. Below is a +seaman's chest. Above, on the broken plaster, is scrawled a ship. In +the middle, at the rear, there is a clock with hanging pendulum and +weights. A gun of antique pattern leans beside the clock. To the right +the cabin is recessed, with a door right-angled in the jog and other +windows looking on the sea. A parrot sits on its perch with curbed +profanity. The gaudy creature is best if stuffed, for its noisy tongue +would drown our dialogue. Like Hamlet's player it would speak beyond +its lines and raise a quantity of barren laughter. Our furniture is a +table and three stools, and a tall-backed chair beside the hearth. On +the table a candle burns, bespattered with tallow. The cabin glows +with fire light.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/twopirates.png" width="452" height="576" alt="Two pirates" title="Two pirates" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">Two pirates are discovered drinking at a table<br /><br /></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>At the lifting of the curtain there is thunder and lightning, and a +rush of wind—if it can be managed. Two pirates are discovered, +drinking at the table. By the smack of their lips it is excellent +grog. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> of them—Patch-Eye—has lost an eye and he wears a black +patch. His hair curls up in a pigtail, like any sailor before Nelson. +It looks as stiff as a hook and he might almost be lifted by it and +hung on a peg. But all of our pirates wear pigtails—except one, Red +Joe.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>The other pirate at the table is called the Duke, for no apparent +reason as he is a shabby rogue. We must not run our finger down the +peerage in hope of finding him, or think that he owns a palace on the +Strand. He has only one leg, with a timber below the knee. He wears a +long cloak so that the actor's rusticated leg can be folded out of +sight. The Duke has a great red nose—grog and rum and that sort of +thing. His whiskers are the bush that marks the merry drinking place.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>Patch-Eye is melancholy—almost sentimental at times. He would stab a +man, but grieve upon a sparrow. At heart we fear he is a coward, and +stupid. The Duke, on the contrary, is shrewd and he does a lot of +thinking. He has heavy eyebrows. He is the kind of thinker that you +just know that he is thinking. Both pirates are very cruel—and +profane, but we must be careful.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>And now we hush the melancholy fiddlers. If this comedy can stir the +croaking bass-viol to any show of mirth, our work tops Falstaff. Glum +folk with beards had best withdraw. Only the young in heart will catch +the slender meaning of our play. Let's light the candles and draw the +curtain!</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Darlin'! Darlin'! (<i>He lolls back in his chair and stretches +out his legs for comfort.</i>) Darlin'!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>At this a dirty old woman with one tooth appears from the kitchen. +She is called Darlin' just for fun, as she is not at all kissable. A +sprig of mistletoe, even in the Christmas season, would beckon +vainly.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Will yer fill the cups? Hurry, +ol' dear! And squeeze in jest a bit o' lemon. It sets the stomich.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Yer sets yer stomich like it were hen's eggs. Alers coddlin' +it.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>She stirs and tastes the pot of grog, and hoists her wrinkled +stockings.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: There 's no one like Darlin' fer mixin' grog.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Fer that kind word I 'm lovin' yer. (<i>She looks at him with +admiration.</i>) Ain 't he a figger o' a man? Wenus was nothin'. Jest +nothin' at all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It 's grog beats off the melancholy. As soon as me pipes go +dry, I gets homesick fer the ocean. Here we be, Duke, thrown up at +last ter rot like driftwood on the shore. No more sailin' off to +Trinidad! No tackin' 'round the Hebrides! We is ships as has sprung a +leak. It was 'appy days when we sailed with ol' Flint on the Spanish +Main.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: 'Appy days, Patch! (<i>They drink.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Aye! The blessed, dear, ol' roarin' hulk. No better pirate ever +lived than Flint. Smart with his cutlass. Quick at the trigger. Grog! +A sloppin' pail o' it was jest a sip.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I used ter tell him that his leg was holler.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: He was a vat, was Flint—jest a swishin' keg.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Grog jest sizzled and disappeared, like when yer drops it on a +red-hot seacoal.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Fer twenty year and more me and you has seen ol' Flint march +his wictims off the plank.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: "Step lively!" he 'd say. "Does n't yer hear Davy callin' to +yer?" There was never a sailorman ever sat in the Port Light at +Wappin' wharf which could drink with Flint.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/portlight.png" width="467" height="399" alt="Port light" title="Port light" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"Port Light" at Wappin' Wharf<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Wappin' wharf and gibbets is nothin' ter talk about. Funerals +even is cheerfuller.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: There 's his parrot.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: She used ter cuss soft and gentle to herself—'appy all the +day. She ain 't spoke since Flint was took. Peckin' at yer finger and +broodin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: There 's his ol' clock.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: As hung in the cabin o' the Spittin' Devil.</p> + +<p><img src="images/clock.png" width="287" height="386" alt="clock" title="clock" class="floatl" /> +<span class="floatcapl1">"A 'ell of a clock fer a bouncin' ship"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> With the pendulum gettin' tangled in a storm. A 'ell of a clock +fer a bouncin' ship.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: She was tickin' peaceful the day Flint was hanged. But she +stopped—does yer remember it?—the very minute they pushed him off +the ladder.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: She ain 't ticked since.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It makes yer 'stitious. And she won 't never run agin—that 's +what Flint alers said—till his death 's revenged.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: He told us never ter wind her—says she 'd start hisself without +no windin' when the right time came.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: If I was ter look up and see that pendulum<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> swingin'—Horrers! +Yeller elephants would be nothin'!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Pooh! I 'd give a month o' grog jest ter hear the ol' dear +tickin', and ter know that Flint was restin' easy in his rotten +coffin—swappin' stories with the pretty angels.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I loved Flint like a brother. (<i>He is quite sentimental about +this.</i>) It was him knocked this out. (<i>Pointing to his missing eye.</i>) +But it was jest in the way o' business. We differed a leetle in the +loot. He was very persuasive, was ol' Flint.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer talks like a woman. They loves yer to cuff 'em. Them was +'appy days, Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Blast me gig what 's left, Duke, but me and you has seen a heap +o' sights. I suppose I 've drowned meself a hundred men. It 's +comfertin' when yer lays awake at night. I feels I ain 't wasted +meself. I 've used me gifts. I ain 't been a foolish virgin and put me +shinin' talent inside a bushel. But me and you is driftwood now, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Aye. But it ain 't no use snifflin' about it, ol' crocodile. +Darlin' is certainly handy at mixin' grog. And we 've a right smart +cabin with winders on the sea. Since I stuffed yer ol' shirt in the +roof it hardly leaks.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: My shirt! Next week is me week fer changin'. How could yer ha' +done it? I 'm a kinder perticerler dresser. I likes ter wash now and +then—if it ain 't too often.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Darlin', me friend Patch is thirsty. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> a drop meself. (<i>The +cups are filled.</i>) Yer a precious ol' lady, and I loves yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Yer spoils me, Duke.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Lightning and a crash of thunder.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's foul tonight on the ocean. How the wind blows! It be +spittin' up outside. The channel 's as riled as a wampire when yer +scorns her. How she snorts!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: The devil hisself is hissin' through his teeth.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: There 'll be sailormen tonight what 's booked fer Davy Jones's +locker. I 'm not kickin' much ter be ashore. I rots peaceful.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Patch-Eye has opened the door to consult the night. It slams wide in +the wind and the gust blows out the candle.</i>)</p> + +<p><img src="images/blowin.png" width="266" height="253" alt="Blowin' the gizzard" title="Blowin' the gizzard" class="floatl" /> +<span class="floatcapl2">"Yer blowin' the gizzard out o' us"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> Hi, there, for'ard! Batten yer hatch! Yer blowin' the gizzard +out o' us.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He hobbles on timber leg to the warm chair by the fire. Patch closes +the door and sits. Darlin' relights the candle.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Poor Flint! He was took on jest such a night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span></p> + +<p>Dropped inter the Port Light fer somethin' wet and warmin'. Jest ter +kinder say goodby. Ship all fitted out. He 'd got three new +sailormen—fine fellers as had been sentenced ter be hanged fer +cuttin' purses, but had been let go, as they had reformed and wanted +ter be honest pirates.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I remembers the night, ol' sea-nymph. It was rainin' ter put out +the fires o' hell—with the leetle devils stoakin' in the sinners. It +'s sinners, Patch, as is used fer kindlers, ter keep the devils in a +healthy sweat.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: He was ter sail when the tide ran out. Lord a Goody! How the +tide runs down the Thames, as if it were homesick fer the ocean!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: But someone squealed.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Squealers is worse 'n hissin' reptiles. They ketched Flint and +they strung him to a gibbet. Poor ol' dear! I never touches me patch, +but I thinks o' Flint.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: This here life is snug and easy. We has retired from practice, +like store-keepers does who has made a fortin. Ain 't we settin' here +in style and comfert, and jest waitin' fer the treasure ships ter come +ter us? We gets the plums without chawin' at the dough. We blows out +the lighthouse, and we sets our lantern so as ter fool 'em on the +course, and when they smashes on the rocks, well—all we does is stuff +our pokes with the treasure that washes up. I prays meself fer fog and +dirty weather. Now I lay me, says I, and will yer send it thick and +oozy?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I ain 't disputin' yer. (<i>He cheers up a bit.</i>) And we robs +landlubbers once in a while.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Now yer talkin', ol' sea-lion. I 'm tellin' yer it were a good +haul we made last night on Castle Crag.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Who 's disputin' yer?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'm tellin' yer. Silver candles! And spoons! Never seen such a +heap o' spoons.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: What 's anyone want more 'n one spoon fer? Yer cleans it every +bite agin the tongue.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer disgusts me, Patch. Yer ain 't no manners. Fer meself I +spears me food tidy on me knife.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>The Duke sits looking at the seaman's chest at the rear of the +cabin. He is deep in thought.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: There 's jest one leetle thing I does n't understand. I asks +yer. (<i>He goes to the chest, opens it and draws out a rich velvet +garment. He holds it up.</i>) What 's the meaning o' this here loot we +took at Castle Crag? I asks yer. Ain 't we been by that castle a +hundred times? The Earl, he don 't wear clothes like this. None o' the +arstocky does, 'cept when they struts on Piccadilly. I asks yer, +Patch. I asks yer who wears a thing like that.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He puts the garment around Patch's shoulders.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Yer looks like the Archbishop o' Canterbury.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: (<i>with strut and gesture</i>). His Grice takin' the air—pluckin' +posies.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Lookin' like a silly jackass.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer hurts me feelin's, Duke.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>The Duke folds the cloak and puts it back again in the chest. He +sits at the table in meditation.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I does n't like it, Patch. I does n't understand it. And what I +does n't understand, I does n't like.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: What?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Them gay clothes. Who owned 'em, I asks yer, afore we stole 'em.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Darlin'! Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Yer had better mix +another pot. Our cups is low. Yer does n't want ter be a foolish +virgin and get ketched without no grog.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: With this bit o' slop what 's left I drinks to yer shinin' +lamps—Wenus's flashin' gigs.</p> + +<p><img src="images/apron.png" width="315" height="277" alt="apron" title="apron" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr3">Her apron is towel, dust rag, mop and handkerchief</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>:</span> I loves yer, Duke.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She fills, mixes and stirs the pot. She tastes it like a practiced +house-wife. Her apron is maid of all work. It is towel, dust-rag, mop +and handkerchief.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What does yer make, ol' Cyclops, o' the new recruit?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Red Joe?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Him.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: He 's a right smart pirate, I says. I never seen a feller as +could shoot so straight.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I says so. But he 's a wee bit nobby—kinder stiff in the nose.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Looks as if he knowed he was kinder good.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's queer how he come ter us. Jest settin' on top his dory on +the beach, when we found him. And what he said about his ship goin' +down! Blast me ol' stump, but it were queer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Queer?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer said it, Patch. Queerer than mermaids. Did we ever see a +stick o' that ship? I 'm askin' yer, Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Ain 't I listenin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ain 't I tellin' yer? Nary a bit washed in. Did yer ever know a +wreck 'long here where nothin' washed in—jest nothin'? I 'm askin' +yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: You and me would starve if it happened regular.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's what we lives by—pickin's on the beach.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: He 's a right smart pirate, 's Red Joe. The Captain—the most +'ticerler man I know—he took ter him at once. He 's a kinder +good-lookin' feller.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: (<i>stirring at the pot</i>). He ain 't got whiskers like the +Duke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span></p> + +<p class="right">(<i>She spits—must I say it?—she spits into the fire.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Queer that never a stick washed in.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I 'm not denyin' yer, Duke. Where 's Red Joe now? It 's gettin' +on. I 'll jest take a look fer him. (<i>He takes the lantern from its +hook and stands at the open door.</i>) It ain 't blowin' so hard. Ol' +Borealis—I speaks poetical—ain 't strainin' at his waistcoat buttons +like he was.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Igerence! I pities yer. Borealis ain 't wind. He 's rainbows.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Patch-Eye goes into the night. The Duke sits to a greasy game of +solitaire.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's queer, I says. Nary a stick! Jest Red Joe on top his dory! +(<i>He sings abstractedly.</i>)</p> + +<p class="caption"><br />PIRATE CHANTY</p> + +<p class="center">[<a href="music/chanty.midi">Listen</a>] [<a href="music/chanty.pdf">PDF</a>] [<a href="music/chanty.xml">MusicXML</a>]</p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/chanty.png" width="497" height="382" alt="music" title="music" /> +</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Bill Bones used ter say, on many a day,<br /> +When takin' a ship fer its loot,<br /> +That a blow on the head was quickest dead<br /> +And safest and best ter boot.<br /> +But a wictim's end, fer meself I contend—<br /> +There 's a hundred been killed by me—<br /> +Is a walk, I 'll be frank, on a slippery plank,<br /> +And a splash in the roarin' sea. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He turns and surveys the drawing above the windows. He cocks his +head like a connoisseur, critically—with approval.</i>)</p> + +<p><img src="images/beer.png" width="220" height="223" alt="beer" title="beer" class="floatl" /> +<span class="floatcapl3">"It eases yer pipes"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> I 'm the artist o' that there masterpiece. The Spittin' Devil! I +done it on a rainy mornin'. Genius is queer. (<i>Then he sings again.</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Ol' Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk—<br /> +His choice was a jab in the dark—<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>He is engaged thus, fumbling with his cards, when Darlin', crossing +from the fire, interrupts him.</i>)</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Duke, will yer have a nip o' grog? It eases yer pipes. Yer +sounds as if yer had crumbs in yer gullet.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>The Duke pushes forward his cup.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's a lovely tune, and I wrote the words meself. (<i>He +continues his song.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Old Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk—<br /> +His choice was a jab in the dark—<br /> +And Morgan's crew, 'twixt me and you,<br /> +Considered a rope a lark.<br /> +But a prettier end, I repeat and contend—<br /> +And I 've sailed on every sea—<br /> +Is a plunge off the side in the foamin' tide.<br /> +It tickles a sailor like me. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Duke, does yer happen ter have a wife?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: (<i>deeply engaged</i>). Some tunes is hard, so I jest makes 'em up +as I goes along.</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Blackbeard had a knife which he stuck in his wife.<br /> +Fer naggin', says he ter me—<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Has yer a wife? A wife as might turn up, I mean.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Say it agin, Darlin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Most sailors has wives o' course, strewed here and there from +Bristol to Guinea—jest ter make all ports cozy. So 's yer goin' home +ter a 'appy family, no matter where yer steers.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's comfertable, Darlin'—I 'll not deny it—when yer heads +ter harbor to see a winkin' candle in a winder on a hill, and know +that a faithful wife and a couple o' leetle pirates is waitin' ter hug +yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I says so, Duke. I 've been a wife meself on and off, with +husbands sailin' in and out—kissin' yer and 'oistin' sail. +Roundabout, I says,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> makes 'appy marriages. Has yer a wife, +Duke—livin', as yer can remember?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer a bold, for'ard creature. Are yer proposin' ter me?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Something like a wink shows in the blush.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I blush fer yer bad manners, Duke. I 'm a lady and I waits +patient fer the 'appy question. I lets me beauty do the pleadin'. I +was a flamin' roarer in me time. Lovers was nothin'. Dozens! There was +a sea-captain once—(<i>She smiles dreamily, then seems to cut her +throat with her little finger.</i>) Positive! Jest 'cause we tiffed. And +a stage-coach driver! I had ter cool his passion with a rollin' pin. +He brooded hisself inter drink. 'Appy days! (<i>She is lost for a moment +in her glorious past, then blows her nose upon her apron and returns +to us.</i>) Duke—askin' yer pardon—I was noticin' lately that you was +castin' yer eyes on leetle Betsy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: As washes the dishes?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Her.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Go 'long!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: And I thought yer might be drawn to her.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Darlin', I 'm easy riled.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Yer can have her, Duke, on one condition.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: She 's a pretty leetle girl.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Yer must set me up in a pub in Bristol—with brass +beer-pulls.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'll not deny I 've given her a thought.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> Usual, wives is +nuisances—naggin' at yer fer sixpences. But sometimes I does get +lonesome on a wet night when there are nothin' ter do. I need someone +ter hand me down me boots. Betsy 'd make a kinder cozy wife. Could yer +learn her ter make grog?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Aye.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I might do worse. And roast pig that crackles?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I could learn her.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I might do worser. I 'd marry you, Darlin'—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Dearie!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: But yer gettin' on. Patch might marry yer. He 's only got one +eye.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: (<i>with scorn</i>). Patch!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'll not deny I 've been considerin' leetle Betsy. I was +thinkin' about it this mornin' as I was cleanin' me boot. Wives cleans +boots. I 'm the sort o' sailorman she would be sure ter like.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: And what about the pub?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Blast me stump, Darlin', I 'll not ferget yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Does I get brass beer-pulls in the tap?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Everythin' shiny.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I 'm lovin' yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Betsy would kinder jump at me. There 's somethin' tender about a +young girl's first love—cooin' in yer arms.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Easy, Duke!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I alers was a fav'rite with the ladies. I think it 's me +whiskers.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: 'Vast there, Duke! There 's a shoal ahead. Red Joe 's a right +smart feller.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Red Joe?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Him. He sets and watches her.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What can she see in a young feller like that?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Women 's queer folks. They 're wicious wampires. Jest yer +watch 'em together. Red Joe 's snoopin' in on yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer can blast me. He ain 't got whiskers.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I 'm tellin' yer, Duke. If I was you I 'd tumble that Red Joe +off a cliff. I 'm hintin' to yer, Duke. Off a cliff! (<i>She sniffs +audibly.</i>) It 's the pig. I clean fergot the pig. It 's burnin' on the +fire. Off a cliff! I 'm hintin' to yer.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>She runs to the kitchen.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Red Joe! Women 's queer—queerer than mermaids. A snooper! Jest +a 'prentice pirate! No whiskers! Nothin'!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>At this moment there is a stamping of feet outside and Patch-Eye +enters with Red Joe.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>If Red Joe were born a gentleman we might expect silver buckles and a +yellow feather to trail across his shoulder, for he bears a jaunty +dignity. His is a careless grace—the swagger of a pleasant +vagabond—a bravado that snaps its fingers at danger. His body has the +quickness of a cat, his eye a flash of humor—kindly, unless necessity +sharpens it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> As poets were thick in those golden days we suspect that +the roar of the ocean sets rhymes jingling in his heart. He is, +however, almost as shabby as the other pirates, although he wears no +pigtail. His collar is turned up. He wrings the water from his hat.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>Patch-Eye throws himself on the seaman's chest and falls asleep at +once. He snores an obligato to our scene. Just once an ugly dream +disturbs him and we must fancy that a gibbet has crossed the frightful +shadow of his thoughts.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Evenin', ol' sea-serpent! Where has you been?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Up at the lighthouse. It 's as mirky as hell's back door.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: See Petey?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I did. He was puttering with his light and meowing to his tabby +cat.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: We 're a blessin' ter ol' Petey. I 'm bettin' me stump he 'd get +lonesome up there 'cept fer us. (<i>He points to the window to the +right, where the lighthouse shows.</i>) There 's ol' Petey, starin' at +the ocean. Yer ain 't never seen a light at that t' other winder, has +yer Joe? We waits fer a merchantman which he knows has gold aboard. +Then we jest tips a hint ter Petey, and he douses his light. Then we +sets up our lantern—ol' Flint's lantern—outside on the rocks, jest +where she shows at t' other winder. The ship sticks her nose agin the +cliff. Smash!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>At this point, after a few moments of convulsion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> Patch-Eye falls +off the chest. He sits up and rubs his eyes.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I dreamed o' gibbets!</p> + +<p><img src="images/crib.png" width="253" height="245" alt="crib" title="crib" class="floatl" style="padding-right: 1em" /> +<span class="floatcapl4">"And we jest as innercent as babies in a crib"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> Yer is lucky, ol' keg o' rum, yer does n't dream o' purple +rhinoceroses. Go back ter bed. (<i>Then to Joe.</i>) Smash! I says. On +comes Petey agin. And we jest as innercent as babies in a crib. It was +me own idear. Brains, young feller. Jest yer wait, Joey, till yer sees +a light at t' other winder.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Betsy is heard singing in the kitchen. The Duke stops and listens. A +dark thought runs through his head. His shrewd eye quests from kitchen +door to Joe.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Darlin'! Darlin'! (<i>She thrusts in her head.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Where 's Betsy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: She 's washin' dishes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'm wonderin' if she would lay off a bit from her jolly +occerpation, and sing us a leetle song.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: (<i>calling</i>). Betsy! I wants yer.</p> + +<p><img src="images/betsy.png" width="287" height="532" alt="Betsy" title="Betsy" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr4">Betsy enters</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Patch</span>:</span> I never knowed yer cared fer music, Duke. Usually yer goes +outside. Yer jest boohs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I does usual, Patch. Tonight 's perticerler.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> Red Joe ain 't +never heard Betsy sing. Does yer like music, Joe?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I like the roaring of the ocean. I like to hear the trees tossing +in the wind.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Wind ain 't music. Yer should hear Betsy. She 's got a leetle +song that makes yer feel as good and peaceful as a whinin' parson.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: (<i>beckoning at the kitchen door</i>). Betsy! Stop sloppin' with +the dishes!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Betsy enters. She is a pretty girl. Our guess at her age is—but it +is better not to guess. We have in our own experience made several +humiliating blunders. Let us say that Betsy is young enough to be a +grand-daugh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span>ter. Plainly she is a pirate by accident, not inheritance, +for she is clean and she wears a pretty dress.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: (<i>as he rises and makes a show of manners</i>). Betsy, yer is +welcome ter the parlor. We wants Red Joe ter hear yer sing. That +leetle song o' yers.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He returns to the recess at the rear of the cabin and covertly +watches Joe. Patch-Eye is lost in heavenly meditation. Joe's attention +is roused before the first stanza of the song is finished. By the +third stanza Betsy sings to him alone.</i>)</p> + +<p class="caption"><br /><span class="err" title="Transcriber's Note: Misspelled 'Betsey' +in music title">Betsy's</span> Lullaby</p> + +<p class="center">[<a href="music/lullaby.midi">Listen</a>] [<a href="music/lullaby.pdf">PDF</a>] [<a href="music/lullaby.xml">MusicXML</a>]</p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/lullaby.png" width="459" height="324" alt="music" title="music" /> +<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: (<i>sings</i>).</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +The north wind's cheeks are puffed with tunes:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span>It whistles across the sky.<br /> +Its song is shrill and rough, until<br /> +The hour of twilight 's nigh.<br /> +Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.<br /> +The winds on tip-toe keep.<br /> +In the dusk of day they hum their lay,<br /> +And weary children sleep.<br /> +<br /> +The waves since dawn roared on the rocks:<br /> +They snarled at the ships on the deep.<br /> +But at twilight hour they chain their power<br /> +And little children sleep.<br /> +Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.<br /> +The ships in a cradle swing,<br /> +And sailormen blink and children sink<br /> +To sleep, as the wavelets sing.<br /> +<br /> +The sun at noon was red and hot:<br /> +It stifled the east and west.<br /> +But at even song the shadows long<br /> +Have summoned the world to rest.<br /> +Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.<br /> +The sun runs off from the sky.<br /> +But the stars, it 's odd, while children nod,<br /> +Are tuned to a lullaby. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She sings slowly, to a measure that might rock a cradle. This can be +managed, for I have tried it with a chair. Once, Patch-Eye blows his +nose to keep his emotions from exposure. But make him blow +softly—</i>soto naso<i>, shall we say?—so as not to disturb the song. In +Red Joe the song seems to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> have stirred a memory. At the end of each +stanza Betsy pauses, as if she, too, dwelt in the past.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: When I hears that song I feels as if I were rockin' babies in a +crib—blessed leetle pirates, pullin' at their bottles, as will foller +the sea some day.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He blows his sentimental nose. A slighter structure would burst in +the explosion.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer ol' nose sounds as if it were tootin' fer a fog. Yer might +be roundin' the Isle o' Dogs on a mirky night.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He goes to the door and stretches out his hand for raindrops.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Joe, you and me has got ter put ile in the lantern. Come on, ol' +sweetheart. When yer sees this lantern blinkin' at that there winder, +yer will know that willainy 's afoot.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He comes close to Darlin' and whispers.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer said it, Darlin'. Yer said it. Red Joe 's castin' his eye on +Betsy. Off a cliff! Tonight! Now! If I gets a chance. Off a cliff! +Come on, Joey!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He goes outdoors with Red Joe, singing Betsy's song. The lullaby +fades in the distance. Patch-Eye and Betsy are left together, for the +roast pig again calls Darlin' to the kitchen.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Will yer wait a bit, Betsy—askin' yer pardon—while I talks to +yer?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Of course, Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I don 't suppose, dearie, I 'm the kind o' pirate as sets yer +thinkin' of fiddles tunin' up, ner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> parsons. No, yer says. Ner cradles +and leetle devils bitin' at their coral. And I don 't suppose yer has +a kind o' hankerin' and yearnin'. Yer never sets and listens to me +comin'. Course not, yer says. Betsy, if I talk out square you 'll not +blab it all 'round the village, will yer? They would point their +fingers at me, and giggle in their sleeves. I want ter tell yer +somethin' o' a wery tender nater. There 's a leetle word as begins +with <i>L</i>. <i>L</i>, I mean, not 'ell. I would n't want yer to think, Betsy, +I 'm cussin'. 'Ell is cussin'. That leetle word is what 's ailing me. +It 's love, Betsy. It 's me heart. Smashed all ter bits! Jesus, yer +asks, what done it? It 's a pretty girl, I answers yer, as has smashed +it. Does yer foller, Betsy? A pretty girl about your size, and with +eyes the color o' yourn. What does yer say, Betsy? Yer says nothin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I never meant to, Patch. I 'm sorry.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Course you are. Jest as sorry as the careless feller as nudged +Humpty Dumpty off the wall. But it did n't do no good. There he was, +broke all ter flinders. And all the King's horses and all the King's +men could n't fix him. Humpty Dumpty is me, Betsy. Regularly all split +up, fore and aft, rib and keel. I mopes all day fer you, Betsy. And I +mopes all night. Last night I did n't get ter sleep, jest fidgettin', +till way past 'leven o' clock. And I woke agin at seven, askin' +meself, if I loves you hopeless. Yer is a lump o' sugar, Betsy, as +would sweeten ol' Patch's life. If we was married I 'd jest tag +'round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> behind yer and hand yer things. And now yer tells me there ain +'t no hope at all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: No hope at all, Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yesterday I was countin' the potaters in the pot, sayin' ter +meself: She loves me—She don 't love me. But the last potater did n't +love me, Betsy. There was jest one too many potaters in the pot. No, +yer says, yer could n't love me. Cause why? Cause Patch is a shabby +pirate with only one eye.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I am sorry, Patch.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>She offers him her hand.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Blessed leetle fingers, as twines their selves all 'round me +heart. Patch, yer says, yer sorry. There ain 't no hope at all. Yer +nudges him off the wall, but yer can 't fix him. But I never heard +that Humpty Dumpty did a lot o' squealin' when he bust. He took it +like a pirate. And so does Patch. I does n't sulk. If yer will pardon +me, Betsy, I 'll leave yer. Me feelin 's get lumpy in me throat. I 'll +take a wink o' sleep in the loft.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He climbs the ladder, but turns at the top.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: There was jest one too many potaters in the pot.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He disappears through the hole in the wall. Betsy arranges the mugs +on the table, then stands listening. Presently there is a sound of +footsteps. Red Joe enters at the rear.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I slipped the Duke in the dark. I came back to talk with you. +(<i>Then bluntly, but with kindness.</i>) How old are you, my dear?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I don 't know.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: You don 't know? How long have you lived here?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: In this cabin? Three years.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: And where did you live before?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: In the village—in Clovelly.</p> + +<p><img src="images/washing.png" width="248" height="170" alt="washing" title="washing" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr5">"She did washing for the sailormen"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Joe</span>:</span> Did your parents live there?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Y-e-s. I think so. I don 't know. Old Nancy, they called +her—she brought me up. But she died three years ago.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Who was old Nancy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: She did washing for the sailormen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Was she good to you?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Oh yes. I think—I do not know—that she was not my mother.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: And Darlin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Yes. She has been good to me. And the others, too. I seem to +remember someone else. How long have you been a pirate?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: A pirate? Years, it seems, my dear. But I am more used to a +soldier's oaths. I have trailed a pike in the Lowland wars. The roar +of cannon, and siege and falling walls, are gayer tunes than any ocean +tempest. What is this that you remember, Betsy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: It is far off. Some one sang to me. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> was not Nancy. When +Nancy died, Darlin' took me and brought me up. That was three years +ago. But last year the Captain and Duke and Patch-Eye came climbing up +the rocks. They were sailormen, they said, who had lost a ship. And +these cliffs with the sea pounding on the shore comforted them when +they were lonely. So they stayed. And Darlin' and I cook for them.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Do you remember who it was who sang to you?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: No.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: That song you just sang—where did you learn it?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I have always known it. It makes me sad to sing it, for it sets +me thinking—thinking of something that I have forgotten. (<i>She stands +at the window above the sea.</i>) Some days I climb high on the cliffs +and I look upon the ocean. And I know that there is land beyond—where +children play—but I see nothing but a rim of water. And sometimes the +wind comes off the sea, and it brings me familiar far-off +voices—voices I once knew—voices I once knew—fragments from a life +I have forgotten. Why do you ask about my song?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Because I heard it once myself.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Betsy sits beside him at the table.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Where? Perhaps, if you will tell me, it will help me to +remember.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I heard the song once when I was a lad—when I was taken on a +visit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Were your parents pirates?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: It was a long journey and all day we bumped upon the road, +seeking an outlet from the tangled hills. Night overtook our weary +horses and blew out the flaming candles in the west; and shadows were +a blanket on the sleeping world. Toward midnight I was roused. We had +come to the courtyard of a house—this house where I was taken on a +visit.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Was it like this, Joe—a cabin on a cliff?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I remember how the moon peeped around the corner to see who came +so late knocking on the door. I remember—I remember—(<i>He stops +abruptly</i>). Do you remember when you first came to live with Nancy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I dreamed once—you will think me silly—Are there great stone +steps somewhere, wider than this room, with marble women standing +motionless? And walls with dizzy towers upon them?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Go on, Betsy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: In Clovelly there are naught but cabins pitched upon a hill, +and ladders to a loft. And, at the foot of the town, a mole, where +boats put in. And I have listened to the songs of the fishermen as +they wind their nets. And through the window of the tavern I have +heard them singing at their rum. And sometimes I have been afraid. I +have stuffed my ears and ran. But the ugly songs have followed me and +scared me in the night. The shadows from the moon have reeled across +the floor, like a tipsy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> sailor from the Harbor Light. Joe, are you +really a man from the sea?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Why, Betsy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: The sea is never gentle. It never sleeps. I have stood +listening at the window on breathless nights, but the ocean always +slaps against the rocks. Even in a calm it moves and frets. Is it not +said that the ghosts of evil men walk back and forth on the spot where +their crimes are done? The ocean, perhaps, for its cruel wreckage, +haunts these cliffs. It is doomed through all eternity with a lather +of breaking waves to wash these rocks of blood. And the wind whistles +to bury the cries of drowning men that plague the memory. Joe—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Yes, my dear.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: You are the only one—Patch-Eye, Duke and the Captain—you are +the only one who is always gentle. And I have wondered if you could +really be a pirate.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Me? (<i>Then with sudden change.</i>) Me? Gentle? The devil himself is +my softer twin.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Don 't! Don 't!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: What do you know of scuttled ships, and rascals ripped in fight? +Of the last bubbles that grin upon the surface where a dozen men have +drowned?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Joe! For God's sake! Don 't!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Is it gentleness to plunge a dagger in a man and watch for his +dying eye to glaze?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: It is a lie. Tell me it is a lie!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: My dear. (<i>Gently he touches her hand.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: It is a lie.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: We 'll pretend it is a lie.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>They sit for a moment without speaking.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: How long, Joe, have you lived with us?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Two weeks, Betsy.</p> + +<p><img src="images/monday.png" width="158" height="108" alt="daisy chain" title="daisy chain" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr6">"From Monday to Monday, and then around again to +Monday"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>:</span> Two weeks? So short a time. From Monday to Monday and then +around again to Monday. It is so brief a space that a flower would +scarcely droop and wither. And yet the day you came seems already long +ago. And all the days before are of a different life. It was another +Betsy, not myself, who lived in this cabin on a Sunday before a +Monday.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: It is so always, Betsy, when friends suddenly come to know each +other. All other days sink to unreality like the memory of snow upon a +day of August. We wonder how the flowering meadows were once a field +of white. Our past selves, Betsy, walk apart from us and, although we +know their trick of attitude and the fashion of their clothes, they +are not ourselves. For friendship, when it grips the heart, rewinds +the fibres of our being. Do you remember, dear, how you ran in fright +when you first saw me clambering up these rocks?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I was sent to call the Duke to dinner and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> carried a bell to +ring it on the cliff. I was afraid when a stranger's head appeared +upon the path.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Yet, when I spoke, you stopped.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: At the first word I knew I need n't be afraid. And you took my +hand to help me up the slope. You asked my name, and told me yours was +Joe. Then we came together to this cabin. And each day I have been +with you. Two weeks only.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I shall be gone, Betsy, in a little while.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Gone?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I am not, my dear, the master of myself. We must forget these +days together.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Joe!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: May be I shall return. Fate is captain. The future shows so +vaguely in the mist. Listen! It is the Duke.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>In the distance the Duke is heard singing the pirates' song.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: We must speak of these things together. Another time when there +is no interruption.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Gently she touches his fingers.</i>)</p> + +<p><img src="images/captain.png" width="251" height="179" alt="hook" title="hook" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr7">The Captain would be a frightful man to meet socially</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em"><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I shall be lonely when you go.</span></p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>There is loud stamping at the door. Betsy goes quickly to the +kitchen.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>The Captain enters, followed by the Duke. Patch-Eye enters by way of +the ladder. The Captain has a hook hand. This is the very hook +mentioned in my preface—if you read prefaces—got from the corner +butcher. The Captain would be a frightful man to meet socially. I can +hear a host saying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> "Shake hands with the Captain." One quite loses +his taste for dinner parties. There is a sabre cut across the +Captain's cheek. He is even more disreputable in appearance than his +followers, with a bluster that marks his rank.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: There 's news! There 's news, me men! I 've brought big news +from the village.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He wrings the water from his hat. He is provokingly deliberate. All +of the pirates crowd around.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: By the bones of me ten fingers, it 's a blythe night fer our +business. It 's wetter than a crocodile's nest. When I smells a fog, I +feels good. I tastes it and is 'appy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: What 's yer news, Captain?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: News? Oh yes, the news. I 've jest hearn—I 've jest +hearn—blast me rotten timbers! How can a man talk when he 's dry! A +cup o' grog!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Darlin' has slipped into the room in the excitement. Old custom +anticipates his desire. She stands at his elbow with the cup, like a +dirty Ganymede. The Captain drinks slowly.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: There 's big news, me hearties.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What 's yer news, Captain? We asks yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I 'm tellin' yer. It 's sweatin' with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> curiosity that kills +cats. (<i>He yawns and stretches his legs across the hob.</i>) Down in the +village I learnt—I was jest takin' a drop o' rum at the Harbor Light. +It 's not as sweet as Darlin's. They skimps their sugar. Yer wants ter +keep droppin' it in as yer stirs it. I thinks they puts in too much +water. Water 's not much good—'cept fer washin'. And washin' 's not +much good.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Now then, Captain, hold hard on yer tiller agin wobblin', and +get ter port.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: We 're hangin' on yer lips.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer need n't keep shovin' me. I kicks up when I 'm riled. +They say down in the village—</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>It is now a sneeze that will not +dislodge. He has hopes of it for a breathless moment, but it proves to +be a dud.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: There 's Petey—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: We 're jest fidgettin' fer the news.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: The news? Oh, yes. Now yer hears it. (<i>He draws the pirates +near.</i>) A great merchantman has jest sailed from Bristol. The Royal +'Arry. It 's her. With gold fer the armies in France. She 's a brig o' +five hundred ton. This night, when the tide runs out, she slips away +from Bristol harbor. With this wind she should be off Clovelly by this +time termorrer night.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Glory ter God!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: And then Petey will douse his glim. And we 'll set up the ship's +lantern.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Smash!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Then Petey will light hisself.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: And we 'll be jest as innercent as babies rockin' in a crib.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/royal.png" width="355" height="268" alt="Royal 'Arry" title="Royal 'Arry" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"The Royal 'Arry. It 's her."<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: And lay it on the helmsman fer bein' sleepy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: And I 've other news. Down in the village they say—fer a +fishin' sloop brought the word—that his 'Ighness, the Prince o' +Wales, left London a month ago.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: And him not givin' me word. I calls that shabby. He was me fag +at Eton.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Does yer think, Captain, he 'll spend a week-end with us, +ridin' to the 'ounds, jest tellin' us the London gossip—how the +pretty Duchesses is cuttin' up?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I thought he was settin' in Whitehall,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> tryin' on crowns, so as +ter get one that did n't scratch his ears.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: They say he 's incarnito.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: What? Is it somethin' yer ketches like wollygogs in the +stomich?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Igerence. I 'm 'shamed o' yer, Patch. Ain 't yer been ter +school? Ain 't yer done lessons on a slate? Ain 't yer been walloped +so standin' 's been comfertabler. The Captain and me soils ourselves +talkin' to yer. Incarnito is dressed up fancy, so as no one can know +him.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Like Cindereller at the party.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: If yer wants Patch ter understand yer, Captain, yer has got to +use leetle words as is still pullin' at their bottles.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: When words grow big and has got beards they jest don 't say +nothin' to Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: This here Prince o' Wales is journeyin' down Plymouth way.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What 's that ter us? I 'm askin' yer. His 'Ighness cut me when I +passed him in Piccadilly. The bloomin' swab! I pulled me hat, standin' +in the gutter, but he jest seemed ter smell somethin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It were n't roses, I 'm tellin' yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Silence! They say he has sworn an oath to break up the pirate +business on the coast.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: And let us starve? It 's unfeelin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: No pickin's on the beach?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I 'd like to catch him. I 'd slit his wizen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I 'd put pizen in the pig I feeds him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'd nudge him off the cliff—jest like he were a sneakin' +snooper.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Well, there 's yer news! I 'm dry. Darlin'! Some grog!</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He crosses to the table and draws the pirates around him.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Here 's to the Royal 'Arry!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: And may the helmsman be wery sleepy!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: And we as innercent as leetle pirates suckin' at their +bottles!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span>: The Royal 'Arry!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>While the cups are still aloft there is a loud banging at the door. +An old woman enters—old Meg. We have seen her but a minute since pass +the windows. Perhaps she is as dirty as Darlin'. A sprig of mistletoe, +even at the reckless New Year, would wither in despair. She is a gypsy +in gorgeous skirt and shawl, and she wears gold earrings. Any +well-instructed nurse-maid would huddle her children close if she +heard her tapping up the street. Meg walks to the table. She sniffs +audibly. It is grog—her weakness. She drinks the dregs of all three +cups. She rubs her thrifty finger inside the rims and licks it for the +precious drop. She opens her wallet and takes from it a +fortune-teller's crystal.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I tells fortins, gentlemen. Would n't any o' yer like ter see the +future? I sees what 's comin' in this here magic glass. I tells yer +when ter set yer nets—and of rising storms. Has any o' yer a kind o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> +hankerin' fer matrimony? I can tell yer if the lady be light or dark. +It will cost yer only a sixpence.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer insults me. Fer better and fer worse is usual fer worse. +Does yer think yer can anchor an ol' sea-dog like me to a kennel as is +made fer landlubbery lap dogs? I 've deserted three wives. And that 's +enough. More 's a hog.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He retires to the fireplace in disgust.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Husbands is nuisances, as I was tellin' the sea-captain, jest +afore he cut his throat.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Thank ye, ol' lady, I does n't need yer. When the ol' Duke is +willin', he knows a leetle dear as will come flutterin' to his arms.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: What can yer do fer an ol' sailorman like me? I 'd like someone +with curlin' locks, as can mix grog as good as Darlin's. And I likes +roast pig—crackly, as Darlin' cooks it. (<i>He offers his hand.</i>) I has +a leetle girl in mind, but she 's kinder holdin' off. What does yer +see, dearie? Does yer hear any fiddles tunin' fer the nupshals? Is +there a pretty lady waitin' fer a kiss?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I sees the ocean. And a ship. I sees inside the cabin o' that +ship.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Does yer see me as the captain o' that ship? Jest settin' easy, +bawlin' orders—jest feedin' on plum duff.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I sees yer in irons.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Mother o' goodness! Now yer done it!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I sees Wappin' wharf. I sees a gibbet. I sees<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span>—</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/meg.png" width="464" height="673" alt="Meg" title="Meg" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"I sees a gibbet. I sees——"<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Horrers!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I sees you swingin' on that gibbet—stretchin' with yer +toes—swingin' in the wind.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer makes me grog sour on me.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He goes to the rear of the cabin and looks disconsolately over the +ocean.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: (<i>as she looks in the glass</i>). I sees misfortin fer everyone +here—'cept one—tragedy, the gibbet. Go not upon the sea until the +moon has turned. Ha! Leetle glass, has yer more to show? Has yer any +comfort? The light fades out. It is dark.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ain 't yer givin' us more 'n a sixpence worth o' misery? Yer +gloom is sloppin' over the brim.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: Ah! Here 's light agin at last. There 's a red streak across the +dial. It drips! It 's blood!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Ain 't yer got any pretty picters in that glass?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Graveyards are cheerfuller 'n gibbets.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: Peace! I sees a man in a velvet cloak. It 's him that swings yer +to a gibbet. It 's him that strangles yer till yer eyes is poppin'. +That man avoid like a pizened snake.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Avoid? By the rotten bones o' Flint, if I meets that man in a +velvet cloak I hooks out his eye.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Captain, yer sweats yerself unnecessary. (<i>Slyly.</i>) Here 's Red +Joe, ol' dear. Joe 's a spry young feller. He looks as if he might be +hankerin' fer a wife. Hey, Darlin'?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: He 's the kind as wampires makes their wictims.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>With a laugh—but unwillingly—Joe holds out his hand.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: (<i>as she looks in the glass her face brightens</i>). I sees a tall +buildin' with gold spires. I hears a shout o' joy and I hears stately +music, like what yer hears in Bartolmy Fair arter the Lord Mayor has +made his speech. I sees a man in a silk cloak. He swaggers to the +music. I sees—I sees—</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She looks long in the glass and seems to see great and unexpected +things. Her eyes are as wide as a child's at a tale of fairies. It is +no less a moment—but how different!—than when Lady Bluebeard peeped +in the forbidden door. Scarcely was Little Red Riding Hood more +startled when she touched the strange bristles on her grandmother's +chin. But Meg is not frightened. She smiles. She bends intently. She +is about to speak. Then she sinks into the chair behind the table.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I sees—I sees—nothin'! The glass is blank!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Nothin'? Jest nothin' at all?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Ain 't there no blood drippin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Ner gibbets?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Ner sailormen swingin' in the wind?</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Old Meg is visibly affected by what she has seen. The Duke, with a +suspicious glance at Red Joe, moves forward to look over her shoulder +at the glass. Slyly she sees him. She pushes the crystal forward and +it breaks upon the stones. Then she rises<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> abruptly. She lifts a +portentous finger. She advances to Red Joe.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: I sees danger fer yer, Joe. Who can tell whether it be death? 'T +is beyond my magic. But beware a knife! Go not near the cliff! (<i>Then, +in a lower tone.</i>) You will see me agin. And in your hour o' danger. +When yer least expects it.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She is about to curtsy, but turns abruptly and leaves the cabin. +Darlin', with shaken nerves, runs to bolt the door. There is silence +except for the monotone of rain.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Nice cheerful ol' lady, I says.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer can pipe the devil up, but she give me shivers.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: For just a minute I thought some old lady had died and left me +her money box.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The Duke picks up a fragment of the crystal and puts it to his eye. +He examines it at the candle, and turns it round and round. He makes +nothing of it, and shakes his head.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer can dim me gig that 's left, I 'm clean upset.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I ain 't been so down in the boots since the blessed angels +took Flint ter 'ell.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Captain, you and Patch is melancholier 'n funerals. Weepin' +widders is jollier. Will yer let a hanted, thirsty, grog-eyed +grand-daughter o' a blinkin' sea-serpent upset yer 'appy +dispersitions? Stiffen yerself! Keep yer nose up, Captain! We has sea +enough. We 're not thumpin' on the rocks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer said it, Duke. I sulks unnecessary. There 's ol' Petey +shinin' up there. Termorrer night, if the wind holds, we 'll see his +starin' eye go out, and our lantern shinin' at t' other winder. (<i>He +takes a pirate flag from his boot. He smoothes it with affection. Then +he waves it on his hook.</i>) The crossbones as hung on the masthead o' +the Spittin' Devil. Ol' Flint's wery flag. Him as they hanged on a +gibbet on Wappin' wharf. It was a mirky night like this, with +'prentices gawpin' in the lanterns and Jack Ketch unsnarlin' his +cursed ropes. I spits blood ter think o' it.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/flag.png" width="355" height="265" alt="pirate flag" title="pirate flag" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"Ol' Flint's wery flag"<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'll die easy when I 've revenged his death and the ol' clock +is tickin' peaceful and Flint sleepin' 'appy in his rotten coffin.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: A drink all 'round. We 'll drink the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> health o' this here +flag. You 'll drink with us, Darlin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Yer spoils me, Captain.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Everyone drinks.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: And now we 'll drink confusion to the swab that 's settin' on +the English throne.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>All drink except Red Joe. He makes the pretense, but pours his grog +out covertly. Our play is nothing if not subtle.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Here 's to ol' Flint!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span>: Here 's to ol' Flint!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>It is bed-time. They all stretch and yawn. The Captain climbs the +ladder to the sleeping loft. Patch follows with the candle, warming +the Captain's seat for speed. The Duke comes next, carrying his one +boot which he has removed before the fire. Darlin' kisses her hand to +the Duke and retires to the kitchen. We suspect that she curls up +inside the sink, with a stewpan for a pillow. Red Joe lingers for a +moment and stands gazing at the ocean.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: My memory fumbles in the past. I, too, hear familiar voices—lost +for many years. A dark curtain lifts and in the past I see myself a +child. There are strange tunes in the wind tonight. Methinks they sing +the name of Margaret.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He climbs the ladder. And now, with an occasional dropping boot, the +pirates prepare for bed. Presently we hear the Duke up above, +singing—rigorously at first, until drowsiness dulls the tune.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +It is said in port by the sailor sort,<br /> +As they swig all night at their rum,<br /> +That a jolly grave is the ocean wave,<br /> +But a churchyard bell 's too glum.<br /> +I agrees ter this and ter give 'em bliss—<br /> +From Pew I learned the trick—<br /> +I push 'em wide o' the wessel's side<br /> +And poke 'em down with a stick. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/darlin.png" width="467" height="503" alt="Darlin'" title="Darlin'" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">Darlin' warms her old red stockings<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span></p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Darlin' enters. With a prodigious yawn she sits at the fire. She +kicks off her slippers and warms her old red stockings. She comforts +herself with grog and spits across the hearth. She sleeps and gently +snores. The Duke continues with his song.</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Ol' Flint had a fist and an iron wrist,<br /> +And he thumped on the nose, it is said,<br /> +Till a wictim's gore ran over the floor<br /> +And he rolled in the scuppers dead.<br /> +But, Patch, there 's a few, I 'm tellin' ter you,<br /> +Who 's nice and they hates a muss,<br /> +And a plank, I contend, is a tidier end.<br /> +No sweepin', nor scrapin', nor fuss.<br /> +<br /> +Captain Kidd, when afloat, put the crew in a boat,<br /> +And he shoved 'em off fer to starve.<br /> +On a rock in the sea, says he ter me—on a rock<br /> +In the sea, says he ter me—on a rock— +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The singer's voice fails. Sleep engulfs him. Silence! Then sounds of +snoring. The range of Caucasus hath not noisier winds. Let's draw the +curtain on the tempest!</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/waves.png" width="203" height="95" alt="waves" title="waves" /> +</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/act2.png" width="454" height="269" alt="Act II" title="Act II" /> +</p> + +<h3>ACT II</h3> + + +<p class="hang"><i>It is the same cabin on the following night. There is no thunder and +lightning, but it is a dirty night of fog—as wet as a crocodile's +nest—and you hear the water dripping from the trees. The Duke, +evidently, has had an answer to his "Now I lay me." The lighthouse, as +before, shows vaguely through the mist.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>In this scene we had wished to have a moon. The Duke will need it +presently in his courtship; for marvelously it sharpens a lover's +oath. 'T is a silver spur to a halting wooer. Shrewd merchants, I am +told, go so far as to consult the almanac when laying in their store +of wedding fits; for a cloudy June throws Cupid off his aim. What +cosmetic—what rouge or powder—so paints a beauty! If the moon were +full twice within the month scarcely a bachelor would be left. I pray +you, master car<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span>penter, hang me up a moon. But our plot has put its +foot down. "Mirk," it says, "mirk and fog are best for our dirty +business."</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>We had wished, also, to place one act of our piece on the deck of a +pirate ship, rocking in a storm. Such high excitement is your right, +for your payment at the door. It required but the stroke of a lazy +pencil. But our plot has dealt stubbornly with us. We are still in the +pirates' cabin in the fog.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>We hear Darlin' singing in the kitchen, as the curtain rises.</i></p> + +<p class="caption"><br />DARLIN'S SONG</p> + +<p class="center">[<a href="music/darlin.midi">Listen</a>] [<a href="music/darlin.pdf">PDF</a>] [<a href="music/darlin.xml">MusicXML</a>]</p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/darlinssong.png" width="459" height="323" alt="music" title="music" /> +</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Oh, I am the cook fer a pirate band<br /> +And food I never spoil.<br /> +Cabbage and such, it sure ain 't much,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span>Till I sets it on ter boil.<br /> +And I throws on salt and I throws on spice,<br /> +And the Duke, he says ter me,<br /> +Me Darlin', me pet, I 'm in yer debt,<br /> +And he sighs contentedlee.<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="right">(<i>There is a rattle of tinware. Patch-Eye sings the next stanza in the +loft.</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +On the Strand, it 's true, I 'm tellin' ter you,<br /> +The Dukes and the Duchesses dwell.<br /> +And they dines in state on golden plate—<br /> +Eatin' and drinkin' like 'ell.<br /> +But I says ter you, and it 's perfectly true,<br /> +They stuffs theirselves too much;<br /> +And a mutton stew, when yer gets it through,<br /> +Is better than peacocks and such.<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="right">(<i>More tinware in the kitchen. And now Darlin' again!</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +I 've cooked in a brig to a dancin' jig<br /> +Which the sea kicks up in a blast.<br /> +And me stove 's slid 'round until I 've found<br /> +A rope ter make it fast.<br /> +But I braces me legs and the Duke, he begs<br /> +Fer puddin' with sweets on the side.<br /> +Me Darlin', it 's rough, and I likes yer duff.<br /> +I 'll marry yer, Darlin', me bride.<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>In her reckless joy at this dim possibility she overturns the +dishpan. During the song the Duke's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> legs have appeared on the ladder. +He descends, fetching with him a comb and mirror.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><img src="images/moon.png" width="113" height="136" alt="moon" title="moon" class="floatl" style="padding-right: 1em" /> +<span class="floatcapl5">"I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon"</span> +<i>He brushes his hair. This is unusual and he finds a knot that is +harder than any Gordian knot whatsoever. He smoothes and strokes his +whiskers. He goes so far as to slap himself for dust. He puts a sprig +of flowers—amazing!—in the front of his cloak. He practices a smile +and gesture. He seems to speak. He claps his hand upon his heart. Ah, +my dear sir, we have guessed your secret. The wind, as yet, blows from +the south, but a pirate waits not upon the spring. His lover's oath +pops out before the daffodil. I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up +a moon.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>And now the Duke stands before us the King of smiles. His is the +wooer's posture. He speaks, but not with his usual voice of command. +Oberon, as it were, calls Titania to the woodland when stars are torch +and candle to the sleeping world.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Betsy! Betsy!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She appears. The Duke wears a silly smile. But did not Bottom in an +ass's head win the fairy princess? A moon, sweet sir! And +now—suddenly!—the magic night dissolves into coarsest day.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Would yer like ter be the Duchess?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>This is abrupt and unusual, but nice customs curtsy to Dukes as well +as Kings.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'm askin' yer, Betsy. Yer ol' Duke is askin' yer. I 'm lovin' +yer. Yer ol' Duke is lovin' yer. I 'll do the right thing by yer. I +'ll marry yer. There! I 've said it. When yer married yer can jest set +on a cushion without nothin' ter do—(<i>reflectively</i>) nothin' 'cept +cookin' and washin' and darnin'. Does yer jump at me, Betsy?</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>I confess, myself, a mere man, unable to analyze Betsy's emotions. +She stands staring at the Duke, as you or I might stare at a +hippopotamus in the front hall. I have bitten my pencil to a pulp—the +maker's name is quite gone—but I can think of no lines that are +adequate. Her first surprise, however, turns to amusement.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ain 't yer a kind o' hankerin' fer me? Come ter me arms, +sweetie, and confess yer blushin' love. I 'm askin' yer. I 'm askin' +yer ter be the Duchess.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: But I do not love you, Duke.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>In jest, however, the little rascal perches on his knee.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Make yerself comfertable. Yer husband 's willin'. When I cramps, +I shifts yer. Kiss me, when yer wants.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: You are an old goose.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Did I hear yer? Does yer hold off fer me ter nag yer? The ol' +Duke 's waitin' ter fold yer in his lovin' arms.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I do not love you, Duke.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The Captain and Patch-Eye have thrust their heads<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> through the +opening above the ladder, and they listen with amusement.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'm blowed. I 'm a better man than Patch. I 'm tellin' yer. Is +it me stump, Betsy? I has n't a hook hand like the Captain. Yer has +got ter be linked all 'round. There 's no fun, I says, in bein' hugged +by a one-armed man. Yer would be lop-sided in a week.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: It 's just that I do not love you, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer wounds me feelin's. Does n't I ask yer pretty? Should I have +waited fer a moon and took yer walkin'? And perched with yer on the +rocks, with the ol' moon winkin' at yer, shovin' yer on? The Duke 's +never been refused before. A number o' wery perticerler ladies, arter +breakfast even, has jest come scamperin'. 'T ain 't Patch, is it +Betsy? A pretty leetle girl would n't love a feller as has one eye. It +ain 't the Captain. He ain 't no hand with the ladies. Yer not goin' +ter tell me it 's Petey? I would n't want yer ter fall in love with a +blinkin' light.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: You have lovely whiskers, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer can pull one fer the locket that yer wears. Are yer makin' +fun o' me?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I would n't dare.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Does yer mean it, Betsy? Are yer relentin'? Are yer goin' ter +say the 'appy word as splices us from keel to topsail? Yer ain 't jest +a cruel syren are yer, wavin' me on, hopin' I 'll smash meself? Are +yer winkin' at me like ol' Flint's lantern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span>—me thinkin' it 's love I +see, shinin' in yer laughin' eyes?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Why don 't you marry Darlin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Her with one tooth? Yer silly. I boohs at yer. Ol' ladies with +one hoof inside a coffin does n't make good brides. Yer wants someone +kinder gay and spry, as yer can pin flowers to.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: She loves you, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Course she does. So does the ol' lady as keeps the tap at the +Harbor Light, and one-eyed Pol as mops up the liquor that is spilt. +And youngsters, too. A pretty leetle dear—jest a cozy armful—was +winkin' at me yesterday—kinder givin' me the snuggle-up. I pities +'em. It 's their nater, God 'elp 'em, ter love me; but the ol' Duke is +perticerler. Yer has lovely eyes, Betsy—blessed leetle mirrors where +I sees Cupid playin'. They shines like the lights o' a friendly +harbor.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Darlin' cooks roast pig that crackles.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I sets me heart on top me stomich. Ain 't yer comfertable, +settin' on me knee? Shall I shift yer to me stump? Betsy, I calls +arter we are married, fetch me down me slipper and lay it on the +hearth ter warm. Yer husband 's home. And I tosses yer me boot, all +mud fer cleanin'. And then yer passes the grog. And arter about the +second cup I limbers up and kisses yer. And then yer sets upon me +knee. It will be snug on winter evenin's when the blast is blowin'. +And when we 're married yer can kiss me pretty near as often as yer +please. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> I won 't deny as I won 't like it. The ol' Duke ain 't +slingin' the permission 'round general. Darlin' nags me. What yer +laughin' at?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: You silly old man!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer riles me. Once and fer all, will yer marry me? I 'll not +waste the night argyin' with yer. I 'm not goin' ter tease yer. I 've +only one knee and it ain 't no bench fer gigglin' girls as pokes fun +at their betters. I 'll jolt yer till yer teeth rattles. Is it someone +else? Has yer a priory 'tachment? Red Joe? Is it Red Joe, Betsy? Is he +snoopin' 'round?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Betsy rises with sobered mood, and walks away.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: There 's somethin' about that young feller I does n't like. He +'s a snooper. Betsy, does yer get what I 'm talkin' about? I have +offered ter make yer the Duchess. I 'll buy—I 'll steal yer a set o' +red beads. I 'll give yer a sixpence—without no naggin'—every time +yer goes ter town, jest ter spend reckless. I 'll marry yer. I 'll +take yer ter Minehead and get the piousest parson in the town. Would +yer like Darlin' fer a bridesmaid—and grog and angel-cake? Me jest +settin' ready ter kiss yer every time yer passes it. I 'm blowed! You +are wickeder than ol' Flint's lantern. It must be Red Joe. Him with +the smirk! There 's a young feller 'round here, Betsy, as wants ter +look out fer his wizen.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>But Betsy has run in panic to the kitchen.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I does n't understand 'em. I 'm thinkin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> the girl 's a fool. A +ninny I calls her. It 's Red Joe. Off a cliff! Yer said it, Darlin'. +Off a cliff!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He removes the sprig of flowers and tosses it into the fire.</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>And summer's lease hath all too short a date:—</i></span> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>He retires to the rear of the cabin and strokes the parrot's head. He +jerks away his hand for fear of being nipped. The ungrateful world has +turned against him.</i>)</p> + +<p><img src="images/parrot.png" width="144" height="368" alt="parrot" title="parrot" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr8">"Yer as mean as women"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> Yer a spiteful bird. Yer as mean as women. Ninnies I calls 'em. +It must ha' been the moon. I should ha' waited fer a moon.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He sits on the chest at the rear of the cabin and whittles a little +ship. Women are a queer lot.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>The Captain and Patch-Eye have climbed down the ladder. They burst +with jest. The Captain sits on the chair by the fire, mimicing the +posture of the Duke. Patch-Eye perches on his knee.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Darlin' loves yer, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Course she does. They all does. Youngsters, too—winkin' and +givin' me the snuggle-up.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer has lovely whiskers, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer can pull one, Betsy, fer the locket that yer wears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span></p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>But the Duke ends the burlesque by upsetting the chair. The Captain +and Patch-Eye, chuckling at their jest, sit to a game of cards. The +Duke returns to the chest. Once in a while he lays down the ship and +seems to be thinking. The broken crystal of the fortune-teller lies on +the floor. He picks it up and puts it to his eye, as if the future may +still show upon its face. He is preoccupied with his disappointment +and his bitter thoughts.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>Darlin', meantime, is heard singing in the kitchen with her dishes.</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Fer griddle cakes I 've a nimble wrist<br /> +And I tosses 'em 'igh on a spoon.<br /> +And the Duke and Patch yer can hardly match<br /> +Fer their breakfast they stretch till noon.<br /> +And I heaps the fire and I greases the iron,<br /> +And the Duke, he kisses me thumb.<br /> +Me Darlin', me dear, it 's perfectly clear<br /> +I 've lovin' yer better than rum.<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="noind"><i>Patch, also sings.</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +She 's cooked fer sailors worn down to the bone,<br /> +Till they rolls like the Captain's gig.<br /> +At soup and stew we are never through,<br /> +But our fav'rite dish is pig.<br /> +And she cuts off slabs and passes 'em 'round,<br /> +And the Duke, he takes her hand.<br /> +Me Darlin', me love, by the gods above,<br /> +Yer a cook fer a pirate band. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span></p> + +<p class="noind"><i>And now Darlin' again.</i></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +Me grog is the best. It is made o' rum,<br /> +And I stirs in sugar, too.<br /> +And a hogshead vast will hardly last<br /> +A merry evenin' through.<br /> +And I fills the cups till mornin' comes,<br /> +And the Duke, he talks like a loon.<br /> +Me Darlin', me life, will yer be me wife,<br /> +And elope by the light o' the moon.<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="right">(<i>Let all the tinware crash!</i>)</p> + +<p><img src="images/card.png" width="70" height="95" alt="ace of spades" title="ace of spades" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr9">"Did n't yer ever play Black-ace at the Rusty Anchor?"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Captain</span>:</span> (<i>as he throws down his cards</i>). There! I done yer. Yer a +child at cards, Patch. How ain 't it that yer never learnt? Did n't +yer ever play black-ace at the Rusty Anchor down Greenwich way? Crack +me hook, I 've played with ol' Flint hisself, settin' in the leetle +back room. With somethin' wet and warmin' now and then, jest ter keep +the stomich cozy. Never stopped till Phœbus's fiery eye looked in +the winder.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Poor ol' Flint! I never sees his clock up there but I drops a +tear.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer cries as easy as a crocodile. And yer as innercent at +cards as—as a baby bitin' at his coral, a cooin' leetle pirate.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It 's frettin' does it, Captain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What 's frettin' yer?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It 's what the ol' lady said last night. She hung me ter a +gibbet, jest like ol' Flint. There 's a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> gibbet, Captain, on Wappin' +wharf, jest 'round the corner from the Sailors' Rest. Does yer +remember it, Captain? It makes yer grog belch on yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: (<i>to tease and frighten Patch</i>). Aye. There was two sailormen +hangin' there when I comes in a year ago.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Horrers!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Jest swingin' in the wind, and tryin' ter get their toes down +comfertable. (<i>He has hooked two empty mugs and he rocks them back and +forth.</i>) Jest reachin' with their footies ter ease theirselves.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/hanging.png" width="454" height="233" alt="pirates hanging" title="pirates hanging" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"Jest swingin' in the wind"<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: The ol' lady last night made me a wee bit creepy. Gibbets and +Wappin' wharf ain 't nothin' ter talk about.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I never see a flock o' crows but I asks their pardon fer +keepin' 'em waitin' fer their supper. Crows, Patch, is fond o' yer as +yer are, without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> neither sauce ner gravy—jest pickin' 'appy, soup +ter nuts, at yer dry ol' bones. Here 's ol' Patch, they says, waitin' +in the platter fer his 'ungry guests ter come.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Me stomich 's turned keel up.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Patch, yer ain 't got spunk ter be a pirate. Yer as soft as +Petey's pussycat.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I ain 't, ain 't I? Was n't it me as nudged the Captain o' the +Northern Star off his poop—when he were n't lookin'? Him with a +pistol in his boot! Did n't I hit Bill, the bos'n, with a +marline-spike—jest afore he woke up? Sweet dreams, I says, and I +tapped him gentle. I got a lot o' spunk. Bill did n't wake up, he did +n't. Was n't it me, Captain, that started that mutiny? Was n't it me? +I 'm askin' yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Still braggin' o' that ol' time. It was more 'n four years +ago. What yer done since? Jest loadin' yer stomich—jest gruntin' and +wallerin' in the trough—jest braggin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I ain 't 'fraid o' nothin'—'cept a gibbet. (<i>For a moment the +ugly word sticks in his gullet.</i>) But the ol' lady kinder got me. Yer +looked down yer nose yerself, Captain—askin' yer pardon.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Struck me, Patch, she was jest a wee bit flustered by Red +Joe. Did yer notice how she sat and looked at the glass? And would n't +say nothin'? Jest nothin' at all.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: And then the ol' dear's fingers slipped and the glass was +broke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: It looks almost as if she done it a purpose.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The Duke has been thinking all of this time with necessary +contortions of the face. It is amazing how these help on a knotty +problem.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Course she done it a purpose. It was ter stop me lookin' 'cross +her shoulder in the glass.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What does yer think she saw?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Was it blood drippin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'll tell yer. I 'll tell yer.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>But he continues whittling.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Well, ain 't we listenin', Duke?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Jest strainin' our ears.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'll tell yer. I squinted in the glass, meself, arter it was +broke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span> and <span class="smcap">Patch</span>: What did yer see?</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>There is intense silence. The Duke comes forward to the table. He +taps his fingers sagely. He looks mysteriously at his fellow pirates. +They put their heads together. The Duke sinks his voice. In such +posture and accent was the gunpowder plot hatched out.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Nothin'! Jest nothin'!</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>The strain is over. They relax.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: The Duke, he jest seen nothin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Jest nothin' at all.</p> + +<p><img src="images/patch.png" width="186" height="181" alt="Patch" title="Patch" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr10">"I 'spects nothin' from Patch"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> That 's what gets me. If the <i>ol' lady</i> 'd seen nothin', she +would n't took ter fidgettin'. And therefore she seen <i>somethin'</i>. +Does yer foller? You, Captain? I 'spects nothin' from Patch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer hurts me feelin's, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Somethin' 's wrong. Somethin' 's wrong with Red Joe.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Red Joe 's a right smart feller, I says.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: He can shoot as straight as ol' Flint. Barin' meself, Joe 's +as straight a shot as I 've seen in many a year. Patch, agin him, is +jest a crooked stick.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Pick on the Duke jest once, why does n't yer?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ease off, mates! Red Joe ain 't goin' ter hang on no gibbet. +'Cause why? 'Cause I 'm tellin' yer. I 'll tell yer what the ol' lady +seen in the glass.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Once more the Duke draws the pirates around him. He is Guy Faux and +the wicked Bothwell rolled together.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: We 're listenin', Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Like kittens at a mouse-hole.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Captain, it 's deuced strange that Red Joe's ship—nary a stick +o' her—never come ter shore. Does yer remember a wreck 'long here +where nothin' washed ter shore?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer right, Duke. I never did.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Does you remember one, stoopid?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I does n't remember one this minute, Duke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ol' Flint, he had a pigtail, did n't he? And you 've a pigtail, +Captain, has n't yer? And Patch-Eye, he 's got what he calls a +pigtail.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Spinach, I calls it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: And ol' Pew, he 'd got a pigtail, ain 't he? And every blessed +man as sailed with him. I 'm tellin' yer, Captain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: The sea-cook, he did n't have one.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Sea-cooks ain 't sailormen. They 're swabs. Jest indoor swabs. +Did yer ever see a pirate snipped all 'round like a landlubber, with +nary a whisp behind?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer can rot me keel, Duke, I never did.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I agrees with the Captain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Red Joe, he ain 't got a pigtail.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: No more he ain 't.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Was n't it Noah, Captain; as got his pigtail cut by some +designin' woman? Does yer think Red Joe 's gone and met a schemin' +wixen?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I scorns yer igerence. Yer thinks o' Jonah.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Well? Well? I 've told yer Red Joe ain 't got a pigtail. Does +n't yer smell anythin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: (<i>as he turns his head and sniffs audibly</i>). I can 't say as +I sniffs nothin'—leastways, nothin' perticerler. I smells a bit o' +grog, perhaps.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I gets a whiff o' garlic from the kitchen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: The two o' yer never can smell nothin' when there 's garlic or +grog around. I 'm askin' yer pardon, Captain. Does Red Joe talk like a +pirate?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> Sink me, he can 't rip an oath. Did yer ever know a pirate +which could n't talk fluent?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What 's bitin' yer, Duke?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ain 't I tellin' yer?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Ain 't we listenin'?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Jest hangin' on yer tongue?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Captain, you and me and Patch has seen a heap o' sights. We +knows the ocean. We knows her when she 's blue and when she 's kickin' +'igher than a gallow's tree.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: We has been ter Virginy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: We has traded slaves at the Barbadoes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: And does n't we set around o' nights and swap the sights we +seen—mermaids and sea-serpents and such? Did yer jest once ever hear +Red Joe tell what he 's seen? Yer can sink me stern up with all lights +burnin', if I think the feller 's ever been beyond the Isle o' Dogs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What 's bitin' yer, Duke?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's jest this. Red Joe ain 't no pirate. He 's a landlubber.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He says this as you or I might call a man a snake.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: (<i>And now a great light comes to him. He is proud of his +swift perception. He leans across the table to share his secret with +Patch.</i>) I seem ter get what Duke means. He 's hintin', Patch, that +Red Joe ain 't a pirate.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: If he ain 't a pirate, what is he? I asks yer that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: (<i>as he brings down his fist for emphasis</i>). He 's a bloomin' +spy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: A spy! (<i>He gives a long-drawn whistle as the truth breaks on +him.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: If I thought he was a spy, I 'd ketch him right here with me +dirk. I hates spies worse 'n empty bottles.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I 'd scrape him with me hook.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/hook.png" width="460" height="626" alt="hook" title="hook" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"I 'd scrape him with me hook"<br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 've been thinkin', Captain, while you and Patch has been +amusin' yerselves. Askin' yer pardon, Captain, but cards rots the +mind. Did yer ever know a pirate that ain 't drunk at the Port Light +on Wappin' wharf?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Not as yet I never did. I never knowed a pirate as did n't +have a double-barreled nose fer grog.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Well, when Red Joe comes in, we 'll jest ask him. And we 'll ask +him if he ever played black-ace at the Rusty Anchor.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: It ain 't no night ter have spies about. With the Royal 'Arry +comin' on so pretty.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: And jest gettin' ready ter smash hisself.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: That innercent ship will be due in less 'n half an hour.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: If Red Joe is a spy, by the fiery beard o' Satan, I 'm +tellin' yer that dead men tell no tales.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He lifts the terrible hook and claws the air.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Askin' yer pardon, Captain, bein' as it was me as smelled him +out, won 't yer let me slit his wizen? I does it pretty, without +mussin' up the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> cabin. I ain 't askin' favors often, Captain. And I +'ve 'ticerler reasons—reasons as touches me heart. (<i>For a moment he +is almost sentimental.</i>) Reasons as touches me heart! Red Joe 's been +snoopin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I loves yer, Duke. There ain 't much as I won 't let yer +have. And jest ter show yer that I 'm all cut up by this here +snoopin', when I 'm dead I 'll will yer this ol' hook o' mine, as has +scraped a hundred men.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer honors me, Captain. And if I is shoveled in first, me stump +is yourn.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: It 's handsome of yer, Duke. And I 'll not be jolly till a +year is up—jest like a widder.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Yer touches me. I 'll tie a black ribbon on yer hook.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>At this pathetic moment Darlin' is heard singing in the kitchen.</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +And I fills the cups till mornin' comes,<br /> +And the Duke, he talks like a loon.<br /> +Me Darlin', me life, will yer be me wife,<br /> +And elope by the light o' the moon?<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>There is a stamping of boots outside. The pirates put their fingers +on their lips. They are innocence itself. The Duke scratches the head +of the parrot. The strange bird declines to taste his grog. Patch-Eye +shuffles the cards. The Captain hooks the mugs toward him one by one +for the last drops of their precious liquor. Red Joe enters. Also, +Darlin' from the kitchen.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Hello, mates! Evening, Captain! Are n't you cozy! As peaceful as +old ladies with their darning. I 've just come from seeing Petey, up +at the lighthouse. Petey says that along in about fifteen minutes the +Royal Harry will be showing around the cliff. Is n't it time, Captain, +to set up the lantern where 's she 's useful?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: <i>Is n't</i> it? Did yer hear that, Captain? <i>Ain 't</i> it, is what +Red Joe means.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Right yer are, Joey. We must be trottin'.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What 's the name o' that tavern, Joe, at Wappin' wharf where we +gets the uncommon grog?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Wappin' wharf? I 'm blessed if the name 's not gone from me. The +grog 's nothing to Darling's.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What does yer call the tavern on the Isle o' Dogs?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I 'm remembering the rum. What 's the use of looking at the +signboard?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: How does yer sight ter turn the bar at Guinea?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Sorry, Duke. It was my watch below. I was snoring when we turned.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What happened to yer pigtail?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Where does we ship the niggers?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Ain 't yer got a mermaid on yer chest?</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The pirates have risen and come forward. Their questions are put +faster and with insolence. Dirk and hook are drawn. Joe stands in an +easy, careless attitude. He seems ignorant of danger. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> has taken a +coal from the fire and slowly, deliberately, with back to the menace, +he lights his pipe. Then suddenly he drops it from his teeth. He leaps +to action. He draws his knife—two knives, one for each hand. He kicks +away a chair, for room. He drives the pirates across the cabin. The +candle—all the mugs upon the table—rattle to the stones. He cries +out with bravado.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Who offers me his carcass first? What! Is pirate blood so thin +and white?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>The pirates stand with knives drawn. It is an awkward moment of +social precedence.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: (<i>safe in the farthest corner</i>). It 's me patch, Captain. It 's +fetched loose. I follers yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Come, Duke, and take your answer! Have you no stomach for my +message? 'Fore God, is there no black ram to lead his sheep to the +shearing?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Joe's is a dangerous gayety. His two knives glisten in the candle +light.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Scrape him with yer hook, Captain, I follers yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: My knife frets. It is thirsty for thick red wine. Who offers me +his cask to tap? I 'll pledge the King, although it is a dirty +vintage. Come, Captain, I 'll carve you to a dainty morsel. We 'll +have fresh meat for the platter. You 'll not be known from scared +rabbit-flesh.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He drives them around the table. Patch takes refuge behind the door. +Darlin's red stockings run up the ladder.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: You bearded hound!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: He 's tauntin' yer, Captain. Hand him the hook! The Duke and me +is back o' yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Do you fear to cheat the gibbet on Wapping wharf? A knife 's a +sweeter end. Who comes first? I 'll help him across the Styx. Or sink +or swim! Flint waits in hell for three whelps to join his crew.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Captain, I 'm 'sprized at yer good nater. Scrape him one!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Who comes to the barber first? Cowards! I 'll ram your pigtails +down your throats. I 'll wash your dirt in blood.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The Duke proves to be the strategist. He has edged to the rear of +the cabin. He circles behind Red Joe. And now in a flash he leaps on +him. Joe is buried under the three pirates, for Patch's valor returns +when Joe is down. Joe is tied with ropes and fastened to an upright at +the chimneyside. This is the terrible, glorious moment, now that the +fight is over, when the actor-manager, as I first read the play—as +explained in the preface (you really must read the preface)—turned +his excited somersault down the carpet.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Did yer notice, Captain, how I took him by the throat? He was +squirmin' loose when I grabbed him. It was me tripped him.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Captain, I asks yer a favor. Can I stick him now. Dead men tell +no tales.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Captain, yer jest makes a pet o' the Duke. Ain 't it my turn? I +gets rusty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Let the Duke do it. He has more reasons than Patch.</p> + +<p><img src="images/lantern.png" width="188" height="250" alt="lantern" title="lantern" class="floatl" /> +<span class="floatcapl6">"It 's full o' ile"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Captain</span>:</span> Lay off, me hearties! Does n't yer know we 're in a hurry? +Red Joe 's kickin' up has wasted a heap o' time. The Royal 'Arry will +be showin' 'round the cliff any minute now. Red Joe 's safe. He 's +tied up double. We 'll have a merry party arterward—with grog and +angel cake. It 's business afore pleasure. Here, Duke, take the +lantern. (<i>He shakes it.</i>) It 's full o' ile. Jest stir yer timber +stump, Duke. Yer can foller, Patch. Yer follers better 'n yer leads. +Some folks is pussycats.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: He 's pokin' fun at yer, ol' lionheart.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer hurts me feelin's.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I 'll hurt yer in a fatter place—where yer sits—if yer does +n't step along. Yer a yeller-livered, maggoty land fish. I curbs me +tongue. I scorns yer worse 'n cow's milk. Go 'long, afore I loosens up +and tells yer what yer are!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: In about two minutes that blessed eye o' Petey will go out. +We must set up the lantern afore the Royal 'Arry sticks her nose in +sight.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: By by, Joey. See yer later, ol' angel cake. Yer has jest time +ter say "Now I lay me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: How 's the night, Duke?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Blacker than the Earl o' Hell's top-boots.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I 'll jest stick me apron on me head and go 'long, too. It +ain 't proper fer a lady as has me temptin' beauty ter be left alone +with snoopers.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>The cabin is empty except for Red Joe. He strains at his cords, but +is tied fast. You hear the voices of the pirates singing in the +distance.</i>)</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="lyrics"> +<tr> +<td> +I agrees ter this and ter give 'em bliss—<br /> +From Pew I learned the trick—<br /> +I push 'em wide o' the wessel's side,<br /> +And poke 'em down with a stick.<br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>As soon as the pirates have left the cabin Betsy enters. She sees +Joe but passes him in fright. She runs to the window and shields her +eyes to see into the darkness.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: God help the poor sailormen!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Betsy! Betsy! For the love of God!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Suddenly the lighthouse light vanishes. And almost at once the +ship's lantern shows at the window to the left. All sounds are +hushed.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: The ship 's in sight. I see her lights. She has rounded the +farther cliff. I see her turning. She heads in from the sea. Her three +masts are in line. She steers for the lantern. God have mercy! She 'll +strike in another minute. (<i>She stuffs her ears and runs from the +window.</i>) I can 't bear to listen. I can 't bear to look.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Betsy! Betsy! Do you hear? Margaret! Margaret!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span></p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>At the sound of Margaret she lifts her head, buried in her arms. She +runs toward Joe. Her wits seem dazed.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Quick! Margaret! Margaret! That knife! That knife on the stones! +Margaret, cut me loose!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Still dazed, moving as if in a dream, Betsy picks up the knife. She +cuts Joe's cords. Joe seizes the gun that leans against the clock. He +takes deliberate aim through the window. He fires. The window glass is +shattered. The ship's lantern is hit. The light vanishes. He replaces +the gun. Betsy stands beside him, looking in his face.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: You 've hit it! Thank God! The light is shattered. (<i>Then, +after a pause.</i>) I seem to remember now. My name is Margaret. I +remember—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: What do you remember?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: A great staircase—a room, with shadows from a candle. And when +I was afraid, a lady sang to me. And she set the candle so that the +fearful giant upon the wall ran off, and I was safe.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: What else do you remember?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I remember—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Margaret, do you remember me?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Margaret looks at him and a new memory is stirred.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Yes, I remember you. Were you not a great tall lad whose +crook'd elbow was level with my head? And once we climbed a tower—or +do I recall a dream? You held me so that I might see the waves +breaking on the rocks below. Then with level eyes we looked upon the +sea, and cried out our discovery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> of each glistening sail. Are these +things real? One morning you mounted horse, and I was held aloft so +that you might stoop and kiss me. You rode off with a clatter on the +stones. You turned and waved your hat. And now you have come back. You +are Hal. We were playmates once.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: And by luck and God's help we shall be playmates once again.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He puts his arms around her and kisses her.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Quick, Hal! You must escape. Quick! Before the pirates come. +Follow the path to the village! You can escape by the Royal Harry.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>They are running to the door when there is a sound of voices on the +path outside. Joe has just time to put himself in the posture in which +the pirates left him. The pirates and Darlin' enter in dejection. +Betsy runs to the kitchen.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Blast me, the lantern 's out!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Rot me, but there were an explosion!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Poof! And there were n't no lantern!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What done it? What done it? I asks yer.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>They stand at the window and look toward the ocean.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: She is still headed on. Her nose is still pointin' toward the +cliff.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What 's that?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I hears the rattlin' o' chains. She 's droppin' anchor. She has +sniffed the willainy. Her anchor 's down. She 's saved hisself. Blow +me, she 's saved hisself.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer can hang me ter a gibbet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer can rot me bones.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Me heart 's gone palpy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What done it? What done it? I asks yer.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>At this point let us hope that the curtain does not stick.</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><br /> +<img src="images/whatdoneit.png" width="334" height="300" alt="What done it?" title="What done it?" /> +</p> + +<p class="caption">"What done it? I asks yer"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<img src="images/act3.png" width="460" height="248" alt="Act III" title="Act III" /> +</p> + +<h3>ACT III</h3> + + +<p class="hang"><i>The scene is the same as before. We have given up all hope of a +pirate ship rocking on the sea. Our plot still twists us around its +little finger. The curtain rises on the tableau of the second act. Old +Petey shows again at the window to the right.</i></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What done it? What done it? I asks yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Jest when everythin' was goin' pretty.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Jest when she was about ter hit.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Me heart near stopped—I was that excited.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>The pirates sit in deep dejection.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: The mystery o' this business is how the blinkin' lantern went +out.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Ol' Petey done his part.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: He doused herself in time.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: It was the lantern done it.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: When there were n't no light at all, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> Royal 'Arry, she jest +sniffed willainy and dropped anchor.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I was repeatin' Smash yer devil! Smash yer devil!—kinder +hurryin' her on.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: I was sayin' Now I lay me—throbbin' with excitement.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It was n't ile. I put ile in the lantern meself. Captain, yer +seen me put in ile.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I seen yer. And I swished it meself ter be sure.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Nothin 's been right since that ol' lady hanged me ter a +gibbet.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: There we was watchin'—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Pop!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: And all of a sudden—quicker 'n seven devils—the bloomin' +lantern went all ter pieces. It 's grog, I says. Snakes is next. It +were a comfert to the ol' Captain ter know that all o' yer seen it. I +seen a yeller rhinoceros once, runnin' along with purple mice—all +alone I seen it—and it kinder sickened me o' rum.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Does yer think the lantern exploded?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Did yer ever hear o' a ship's lantern explodin'? I asks yer, +Captain.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer talks silly, Patch. That lantern has hung fer twenty year +on ol' Flint's ship—swingin' easy and contented all 'round the +Horn—and it ain 't never exploded once.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Swabs' lanterns explode, stoopid. Ships' lanterns don 't. +Captain, I feels as mournful as when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> Flint's clock did n't tick no +more and we knowed he was took by the blessed angels.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I ain 't meself as gay as a cuckoo—not quite I ain 't.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Ever since that ol' lady—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Lay off on that ol' lady!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>They sit in silence, in dejection. All stare stupidly at the floor. +For a moment it seems as if nothing more will be said and the audience +might as well go home. But presently the Duke sees something at the +rear of the cabin. He looks as you or I would look if we saw a yellow +elephant taking its after-dinner coffee in the sitting-room; but, as +he is a pirate, he is not frightened—merely interested and intent. He +brushes his hand before his eyes, to make sure it is no delusion—not +grog or rum. Then he rises softly. He crosses to the window. Very +gently he touches the glass. He finds it is really broken. He loosens +a piece of the shattered glass. The others are sunk in such melancholy +that they do not observe him.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>He gazes through the window, studying the direction of the broken +ship's lantern. He traces the angle with his finger. The gesture ends +with an accusing finger pointing at Red Joe. He whistles softly. For a +moment his eye rests upon the gun, which leans against the clock. He +has guessed the riddle. He advances casually, but with dirk in hand. +He comes in front of Joe. Suddenly he presses the blade of his dirk +against Joe's stomach.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Captain! Captain! Quick! Tie him up!</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Joe is bound again with rope.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's him that done it. It 's Red Joe.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: How did he get loose?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: (<i>as he points to the knife on the floor</i>). Does yer see that +knife? Does yer see Joe? I 'm tellin' yer. It was him shot out the +lantern.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Did n't I help ter tie him meself?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Askin' yer pardon, Captain, but you and Patch has the brains o' +a baby aligator. A stuffed rhinocopoterus is pos'-lutely nothin'. +Askin' yer pardon fer speakin' so plain. I does all yer thinkin' for +yer. There 's some folks settin' here as are fat-headed, and thinks +ships' lanterns explode.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Easy now, ol' dear. Yer alers pitchin' inter me, 'cause I 'm +good-natered.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Red Joe, I calls yer a dirty spy. A swab! A landlubber! Fer +one copper farthin' I 'd ketch yer one with this hook.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It was me discovered him. I asks yer, Captain, ter leave Red Joe +ter me. I hates him most perticerler.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Betsy enters from the kitchen.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Did you call, Captain?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Nobody ain 't callin' yer, dearie. Now jest toddle back to +the kitchen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: This ain 't no place fer a leetle girl. It will give yer bad +dreams. Mince pie 's nothin'.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Betsy attempts to leave the cabin by the door that leads to the +cliffs—the door at the rear of the cabin.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Where you goin', Betsy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: I 've an errand in the village.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Well, yer ain 't goin'. It ain 't no night fer a leetle girl ter +be out. I ain 't goin' ter have me Duchess snifflin' with a cold. Go +to grandma! It was me discovered him, Captain. I 'm askin' yer a +favor. He 's a snooper.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Captain, I gets rusty.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Lay off, me hearties. Duke! Patch! I loves both o' yer. I +loves yer equal, like two mugs o' grog as is full alike. Yer can pitch +dice ter see which does it.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He places the dice cup on the table beside the candle. The Duke and +Patch take their places. Betsy, under cover of this centered interest, +runs to Red Joe, who whispers to her.</i>)</p> + +<p><img src="images/dice.png" width="150" height="162" alt="dice" title="dice" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr11">"The leetle bones is me friends"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> I drops 'em in me mug, so 's they can get a smell o' rum. The +leetle bones is me friends. I never throws less 'n a five spot. I +makes a pint o' shakin' the bones till they rattles jolly. I likes the +sound o' it even better 'n the blessed scrapin' o' a spoon what 's +stirrin' grog. Write it on me tombstone—if I rots ashore—He was the +kinder feller as never throwed less 'n a five spot.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Go 'long, Duke. Bones, as is kept waitin', sulks.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: One or three?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: One 's enough. I 'm talkin' to yer, bones. I wants sixes, +sweeties.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>As he throws Betsy jostles the candle with her arm. It overturns and +falls. The cabin is dark. You can see her run from the cabin and pass +the windows to the left.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Now yer done it!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: You is all thumbs, Betsy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Easy, mates! It were jest an accident. Betsy, fetch a seacoal +from the hearth! Betsy! We ain 't goin' ter wallop yer. Where are yer, +Betsy?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Come out o' yer hidin'!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: I 'll light the candle meself.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He takes it to the fire, lights it and returns to the table.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: There yer are—blazin' like ol' Petey. Yer had better sit +down, Betsy. Crack me stump, where is the girl?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Kinder silly o' her ter run away. We ain 't never walloped her.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Women 's silly folks. I calls 'em ninnies. It don 't do no good +tryin' ter understand 'em. Now then, ol' lionheart, are yer ready? +(<i>He throws.</i>) Two fives! I 've done yer, Patch.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>It is Patch's turn. He kisses the cubes.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Yer as sweet as honey. Tell me yer loves me. Me dirk is itchin' +fer yer answer. Luck 's a lady as dotes on me. (<i>He throws.</i>) A pair +o' sixes! Does yer see it, Duke? Stick yer blinkin' eye right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> down +agin the table! It 's me, Captain. (<i>He rises and draws his knife.</i>) +Joey are yer ready?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: God, if I were loose I 'd take you by the dirty gullet and twist +it until you roared. I 'd kick you off my path like a snarling cur. Of +what filth does nature sometimes compound a man! Shall a skunk walk +two-legged to infect the air? Three cowards will hang on Wapping wharf +before the month is up.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Are n't meanin' us, are yer Joey?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: And I 'll tell you more.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Ain 't we listenin' to yer? Yer can talk spry, as Patch here +has a leetle job ter do, and it 's nearin' bed time.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: We does n't want ter sit up late and lose our beauty sleep jest +listenin' to a speech.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: A pirate takes his chance of death. You guard your dirty skins by +wrecking ships upon the rocks. You dare not pit yourselves against a +breathing victim. Like carrion-crows you sit to a vile and bloated +banquet.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Tip me the wink, Captain, when yer has heard enough.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Stand off, you whelp! The King of England fights in France—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Ain 't yer 'shamed that you is not there ter help?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I 'll tell you why I am not in France. I swore to his majesty +that I would clear his coast of pirates. My plans are made. The +channel is swept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> by gunboats. They will close in on you tomorrow—you +and all the dirty vermin that befoul these cliffs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: He talks so big, ye 'd think he was the King himself.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Everyone laughs at this. The Duke takes the cloak from the chest. In +derision he hangs it across Red Joe's shoulders.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: We 'll play ch'rades. Here 's yer costume, Joey. There! It fits +yer like the skin o' a snake. We makes yer King. Yer looks like yer +was paradin' in St. James's park, lampin' a Duchess.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Does yer majesty need a new 'igh chancellor. I asks yer fer it. +I wants a fine house in London town, runnin' ter the Strand, and +peacocks struttin' in the garden.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: King, I asks yer ter cast yer gig on me. I 'd be a right +smart Archbishop o' Canterbury. Me whiskers is 'clesiastical.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I offers meself, King, as Lord 'Igh Admiral o' the Navy. I +swears fluent.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Has yer a Princess vacant? I lolls graceful on a throne. +(<i>The horrid creature spits.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: 'Vast there, me hearties! I 'm thinkin' I 'm hearin' the +sound o' footsteps.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: (<i>to Patch</i>). Did yer lordship hear any sound?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Askin' your Grice's pardon, I did n't ketch a thing. Did you +hear anythin', Princess?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: There 's nothin' come ter me pearly ears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Silence! I wants ter listen.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>No sound is heard.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Well, Patch, yer had better get yer dirk ready. I 'm uncommon +sleepy. I wants ter get ter bed.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Ketch him a deep one, Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I takes it mighty kind o' you, Captain. Yer has alers been a +lovin' father ter me. Joey, I 'll tell yer what yer are. Yer the kind +o' feller I hates most perticerler. Yer a spy! Say yer prayers, you +hissin' snake!</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>He sharpens his dirk and gayly tests it on his whiskers.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: My wasted day is done. In the tempest's wrack the stars are dim +and faith 's the only compass. Now or hereafter, what matters it? The +sun will gild the meadows as of yesteryear. The moon will fee the +world with silver coin. And all across the earth men will traffic on +their little errands until nature calls them home. I am a stone cast +in a windy pool where scarce a ripple shows. Life 's but a candle in +the wind. Mine will not burn to socket.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: He 's all wound up like a clock—jest tickin' words.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Patch, Joe is tellin' us poetical that his wick has burned +right down to the bottle. Yer had better put it out, without more +hesitatin'.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>And now, as they are intent for the coming blow—suddenly! +quietly!—a woman's hand and arm—a claw, rather, with long, thin, +shrivelled fingers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span>—have come in sight at the window with the broken +glass.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>It quite terrifies me as I write. My pencil shakes. Old ladies will +want to scream.</i></p> + +<p class="hangbl"><i>The fingers grope along the sill. They fumble on the wall. They +stretch to reach the gun which stands beside the clock. Another inch +and they will grasp it and Red Joe will be saved. The arm rubs against +the pendulum of the clock. It swings and the clock starts to tick. And +still no one has seen the terrible hand. And now the fingers are +thrust blindly against the gun. It falls with a clatter on the stones. +The hand and arm disappear. But Darlin' has seen the swinging pendulum +and shrieks.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Does yer see it, Captain?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Horrers!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's never went since Flint was hanged.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: And would n't run till his death 's revenged and him layin' +peaceful in his coffin.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Does yer think it 's grog? Does all o' yer see it?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: What done it?</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>From the distance is heard a long-drawn whistle.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: What 's that?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It makes me jumpy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It ain 't a night when folks whistles jest fer cows and such. +Finish yer job, Patch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Are yer feared o' somethin' special, Duke?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Feared? If we ain 't quick, there 'll be a gibbet fer all o' us.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Ain 't the clock tickin' peaceful?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: She ain 't got no right ter tick. It 's like a dead man +talkin'.</p> + +<p><img src="images/sword2.png" width="212" height="241" alt="sword" title="sword" class="floatr" /> +<span class="floatcapr12">"I 'll be wipin off a streak o' red upon me breeks"</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Duke</span>:</span> Quick! Give me the knife! I 'll stick it in him. And when I 'm +done, we scatters. There 's trouble brewin'. Termorrer night, when the +tide is out, we meets at the holler cave. And may the devil lend a +helpin' hand. Snooper, are yer ready? Does yer see this here blade +shinin' in the candle? In about one minute I 'll be wipin' off a +streak o' red upon me breeks. Flint—blessin' on yer gentle soul!—yer +can rest in peace!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>He approaches Joe with upraised knife. Suddenly he cries out.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It 's him the fortin-teller mentioned. It 's the man in a velvet +cloak!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: It 's him! Me God! Me hook!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>With a growl of rage the pirates leap forward toward Joe, but are +arrested by the sound of running feet. Into the cabin rushes the +sailor captain, followed by three sailors. The sailor captain cries +"</i>'Vast there!<i>" and the pirates turn to face his men. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> put up a +fight worthy of old Flint. Darlin', to escape the rough-and-tumble +runs half way up the ladder. The table is overturned. The stools are +kicked across the room. Even the precious grog is spilled. But the +pirates' valor is insufficient. They are overpowered at last and tied. +Red Joe's cords are cut. Into the cabin Betsy comes running, followed +by old Meg.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Joe! Hal! Thank God, you are safe.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Margaret!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span>: I am the captain of the Royal Harry.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Captain, I charge you to arrest these men.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span>: Yes, your Royal Highness.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Royal 'Ighness? Did yer hear what he said?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: 'Ighness nothin'. He 's jest a snooper.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She sits on the floor, with her head on the Duke's knee. She is +staunch to the last—a true cook for a pirates' band.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: You will transport them in chains to London to wait their +sentence by a court of law.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span>: Yes, your majesty.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: You mistake me, Captain. My father is the King of England. I am +but the Prince of Wales.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span>: Alas, sire, we bring you heavy news. Your Royal +Father, the King of England, has been killed, fighting gloriously on +the soil of France.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Bear with me. My grief has leaped the channel. My thought is a +silent mourner at my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> father's grave. Shall a King sink to the measure +of a mound of turf for the tread of a peasant's foot? Where is now the +ermine robe, the glistening crown, the harness of a fighting hour, the +sceptre that marked the giddy office, the voice, the flashing eye that +stirred a coward to bravery, the iron gauntlet shaking in the pallid +face of France? All—all covered by a spadeful of country earth. +Captain, has Calais fallen to our army's siege? Are the French lilies +plucked for England's boutoniere?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span>: Calais has fallen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Then God be praised even in this hard hour. By heaven's help I +throw off the idle practice of my youth. The empty tricks and trivial +habits of the careless years, I renounce them all. A wind has scoured +the sullen clouds of youth. My past has been a ragged garment, stained +with heedless hours. Tonight I cast it off, like a coat that is out at +elbow. My father henceforth lives in me.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>Meg, at her entrance, has sniffed the wasted grog. Her nose, surer +than a hazel wand, inclines above the hearth. She bends to the lovely +puddle. She employs and tastes her dripping finger—covertly, with +mannerly regard to the Prince's rhetoric—sucking in secret his good +health and happy returns, so to speak. The liquor warms her +tongue—not to drunkenness, but to ease and comfort. The hearth-stone +is her tavern chair.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: (<i>not boisterously—with just a flip of her trickling finger, as +if it were a foaming cup</i>). Hooray!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> I wants ter be the first, yer +Majesty, ter swear allegiance to yer throne. I saw yer future in the +glass. Ol' Meg knowed yer, like she had rocked yer in the cradle. I +told yer I would come in yer hour o' danger. It was me reached through +the winder fer the gun ter save yer. It was me whistle that yer heard, +dearie, hurryin' up the sailormen as Betsy went ter fetch.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Thanks my good woman. We grant you a pension for your love.</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>She quests back to her pool of grog. She finds a spoon. She sits to +the delicious salvage, with back against the chimney and woolen legs +out-stretched. Speeches to her are nothing now. We cannot expect her +help in winding up our play. The burden falls on Joe. We must be +patient through a sentimental page or two.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: Ha! My velvet cloak, which I left at Castle Crag when I laid +aside the Prince and took disguise. These unintentioned ruffians by +their dirty jest have clothed me to my office.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sailor Captain</span>: I swear my allegiance, your Majesty.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: I rely on my sailors to clear the coast and seas. But first I +want your allegiance in another high concern. Some fourteen years ago, +when I was a lad of ten, I journeyed with my royal father to the +castle of the Duke of Cornwall, which stands high on the wind-swept +coast. Its giddy towers rise sheer above the ocean until the very +rooks nesting in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> battlements grow dizzy at the height. It is the +outer bastion of the world, laughing to scorn the ocean's siege.</p> + +<p>In that castle, Captain, there lived a little girl; and she and I +romped the sounding corridors together. And once I led her to an open +'brasure in the steep-pitched wall, and held her so that she might see +the waves curling on the rocks below. And tales of mermaids I +invented, and shipwreck and treasure buried in the noisy caverns of +the rock, where twice a day the greedy tide goes in and out to seek +its fortune. And far afield we wandered and stood waist-deep in the +golden meadows, until the weary twilight called us home.</p> + +<p>And I remember, when tired with play, that her mother sang to us an +old song, a lullaby. Her voice was soft, with a gentleness that only a +mother knows who sits with drowsy children.</p> + +<p>And to that little girl I was betrothed. It was sworn with oath and +signature that some day I would marry her and that, when I became king +of England in the revolving years, she would be its queen.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: By what miracle did you know me, Hal?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: It was the song you sang. Your voice was the miracle that told +the secret. With unvarnished speech I woo you. I love you, Margaret, +and I ask you to be my wife.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: (<i>faintly—floating in a golden sea of grog</i>) Hooray!</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Joe takes Betsy in his arms and kisses her.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: The magic of your lips, my dear, is the miracle that answers me. +My loyal sailors, I present you. Margaret, Duchess of Cornwall, +Countess of Devon, Princess of the Western Marches, by right and title +possessor of all land 'twixt Exeter and Land's End. And now, by her +consent and the grace of God, the wife of Harry, King of England.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Leetle Betsy, I fergives yer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: I asks yer health, though I swings termorrer.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: And may yer live long and 'appy!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: We 're lovin' yer, Betsy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: My gracious lord, for these three years this cabin has been my +home. These are my friends—the only friends I have ever known. They +fed me when I had no food and they kept me warm against the cold. Must +they hang? I ask you to pardon them.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Glory ter God!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: The pardon is granted. Captain, strike off their irons!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: We loves yer, Betsy.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: We are fonder of yer than grog and singin' angels.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: I thanks yer, King.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: It were jest an hour ago, settin' in that chair, I asks ter +splice yer, Betsy, keel ter topsail. The ol' Duke never thought the +Countess of all them places, and the Queen o' England, ter boot, would +ever be settin' on his knee, pullin' at his whiskers—him askin' her +ter name the 'appy day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: It was a prior attachment, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: We 'll serve yer, King, like we served ol' Flint.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Top and bottom, fore and aft.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: We 'll brag how the King o' England and us has drunk grog +together, and how the Queen washed up the mugs.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Meg</span>: (<i>in a whisper</i>). Hooray!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Joe</span>: And now, Captain, lead the way. We must speed to London.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Betsy</span>: Good by, Duke. Some day you will find a girl who cooks roast +pig that crackles.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: A blessin', Betsy, on yer laughin' eyes!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: A health ter King Hal and his blushin' bride!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span>: King Hal! Leetle Betsy!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>With a wave of the hand Joe departs, and with him, Betsy, who kisses +her fingers to the pirates in farewell. The sailors follow. The +pirates and Darlin' are left. The pirates sit at the table. They +exchange glances of satisfaction. They unbutton for a quiet evening at +home. Kings are but an episode in a pirate's life. They return to the +happy routine of their lives. Our adventure has circled to its +start.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: Darlin'! Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Yer had better mix +another pot o' grog. Yer does n't want ter be a foolish virgin and get +ketched without no grog.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: (<i>at the fire</i>). Yer coddles yer stomich, Patch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: The Duke, he knows a leetle dear as is jest waitin' ter come +flutterin' ter his lovin' arms. I thinks it 's yer whiskers, Duke.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: Yer can pull one, Betsy, fer the locket that yer wears. We is +laughin' at yer, ol' walrus.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span>: Kings is bigger than Dukes. I looses without no kickin' up. +There 's no one like Darlin' fer mixin' grog.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Darlin'</span>: Fer that kind word I 'm lovin' yer.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>She fills the cups.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Patch</span>: It 's grog beats off the melancholy. As soon as me pipes goes +dry, I gets homesick fer the ocean. Here we be, Duke, thrown up at +last ter rot like driftwood on the shore. It was 'appy days when we +sailed with ol' Flint on the Spanish Main.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Captain</span>: 'Appy days, Patch!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span>: 'Appy days!</p> + +<p class="hangbl">(<i>They lift their cups in memory of a golden past. It is a contented +family around the evening candle. They are as cozy as old ladies with +their darning. Meg snores in peace as the curtain falls.</i>)</p> + +<hr class="med" /> + +<p><i>Our candles have burned to socket. Our pasteboard cabin is bare and +dark. No longer do pirate flags flaunt the ghostly seas. The stormy +ocean, the dizzy cliffs of Devon, melt like an unsubstantial pageant. +Let's put away our toys—the timber leg, the patch, the frightful +hook. Once again, despite the weary signpost of the years, we have run +on the laughing avenues of childhood.</i></p> + + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wappin' Wharf, by Charles S. Brooks + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAPPIN' WHARF *** + +***** This file should be named 24914-h.htm or 24914-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/1/24914/ + +Produced by K Nordquist, Linda Cantoni, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) 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