(At this point, after a few moments of convulsion,Patch-Eye falls off the chest. He sits up and rubs his eyes.)
Patch: I dreamed o' gibbets!
crib"And we jest as innercent as babies in a crib"Duke:Yer is lucky, ol' keg o' rum, yer does n't dream o' purple rhinoceroses. Go back ter bed. (Then to Joe.) 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.
(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.)
Duke: Darlin'! Darlin'! (She thrusts in her head.)
Duke: Where 's Betsy?
Darlin': She 's washin' dishes.
Duke: I 'm wonderin' if she would lay off a bit from her jolly occerpation, and sing us a leetle song.
Darlin': (calling). Betsy! I wants yer.
BetsyBetsy entersPatch:I never knowed yer cared fer music, Duke. Usually yer goes outside. Yer jest boohs.
Duke: I does usual, Patch. Tonight 's perticerler.Red Joe ain 't never heard Betsy sing. Does yer like music, Joe?
Joe: I like the roaring of the ocean. I like to hear the trees tossing in the wind.
Patch: 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.
Darlin': (beckoning at the kitchen door). Betsy! Stop sloppin' with the dishes!
(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-daughter. Plainly she is a pirate by accident, not inheritance, for she is clean and she wears a pretty dress.)
Duke: (as he rises and makes a show of manners). Betsy, yer is welcome ter the parlor. We wants Red Joe ter hear yer sing. That leetle song o' yers.
(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.)
Betsy'sLullaby
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Betsy: (sings).
(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—soto naso, shall we say?—so as not to disturb the song. In Red Joe the song seems tohave stirred a memory. At the end of each stanza Betsy pauses, as if she, too, dwelt in the past.)
Patch: 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.
(He blows his sentimental nose. A slighter structure would burst in the explosion.)
Duke: Yer ol' nose sounds as if it were tootin' fer a fog. Yer might be roundin' the Isle o' Dogs on a mirky night.
(He goes to the door and stretches out his hand for raindrops.)
Duke: 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.
(He comes close to Darlin' and whispers.)
Duke: 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!
(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.)
Patch: Will yer wait a bit, Betsy—askin' yer pardon—while I talks to yer?
Betsy: Of course, Patch.
Patch: I don 't suppose, dearie, I 'm the kind o' pirate as sets yer thinkin' of fiddles tunin' up, nerparsons. 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 withL.L, 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'.
Betsy: I never meant to, Patch. I 'm sorry.
Patch: 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 'roundbehind yer and hand yer things. And now yer tells me there ain 't no hope at all.
Betsy: No hope at all, Patch.
Patch: 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.
Betsy: I am sorry, Patch.
(She offers him her hand.)
Patch: 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.
(He climbs the ladder, but turns at the top.)
Patch: There was jest one too many potaters in the pot.
(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.)
Joe: I slipped the Duke in the dark. I came back to talk with you. (Then bluntly, but with kindness.) How old are you, my dear?
Betsy: I don 't know.
Joe: You don 't know? How long have you lived here?
Betsy: In this cabin? Three years.
Joe: And where did you live before?
Betsy: In the village—in Clovelly.
washing"She did washing for the sailormen"Joe:Did your parents live there?
Betsy: 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.
Joe: Who was old Nancy?
Betsy: She did washing for the sailormen.
Joe: Was she good to you?
Betsy: Oh yes. I think—I do not know—that she was not my mother.
Joe: And Darlin'?
Betsy: Yes. She has been good to me. And the others, too. I seem to remember someone else. How long have you been a pirate?
Joe: 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?
Betsy: It is far off. Some one sang to me. Itwas 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.
Joe: Do you remember who it was who sang to you?
Betsy: No.
Joe: That song you just sang—where did you learn it?
Betsy: I have always known it. It makes me sad to sing it, for it sets me thinking—thinking of something that I have forgotten. (She stands at the window above the sea.) 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?
Joe: Because I heard it once myself.
(Betsy sits beside him at the table.)
Betsy: Where? Perhaps, if you will tell me, it will help me to remember.
Joe: I heard the song once when I was a lad—when I was taken on a visit.
Betsy: Were your parents pirates?
Joe: 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.
Betsy: Was it like this, Joe—a cabin on a cliff?
Joe: I remember how the moon peeped around the corner to see who came so late knocking on the door. I remember—I remember—(He stops abruptly). Do you remember when you first came to live with Nancy?
Betsy: 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?
Joe: Go on, Betsy.
Betsy: 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 tipsysailor from the Harbor Light. Joe, are you really a man from the sea?
Joe: Why, Betsy?
Betsy: 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—
Joe: Yes, my dear.
Betsy: 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.
Joe: Me? (Then with sudden change.) Me? Gentle? The devil himself is my softer twin.
Betsy: Don 't! Don 't!
Joe: 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?
Betsy: Joe! For God's sake! Don 't!
Joe: Is it gentleness to plunge a dagger in a man and watch for his dying eye to glaze?
Betsy: It is a lie. Tell me it is a lie!
Joe: My dear. (Gently he touches her hand.)
Betsy: It is a lie.
Joe: We 'll pretend it is a lie.
(They sit for a moment without speaking.)
Betsy: How long, Joe, have you lived with us?
Joe: Two weeks, Betsy.
daisy chain"From Monday to Monday, and then around again to Monday"Betsy: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.
Joe: 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?
Betsy: I was sent to call the Duke to dinner andcarried a bell to ring it on the cliff. I was afraid when a stranger's head appeared upon the path.
Joe: Yet, when I spoke, you stopped.
Betsy: 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.
Joe: I shall be gone, Betsy, in a little while.
Betsy: Gone?
Joe: I am not, my dear, the master of myself. We must forget these days together.
Betsy: Joe!
Joe: May be I shall return. Fate is captain. The future shows so vaguely in the mist. Listen! It is the Duke.
(In the distance the Duke is heard singing the pirates' song.)
Joe: We must speak of these things together. Another time when there is no interruption.
(Gently she touches his fingers.)
hookThe Captain would be a frightful man to meet sociallyBetsy: I shall be lonely when you go.
(There is loud stamping at the door. Betsy goes quickly to the kitchen.
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"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.)
Captain: There 's news! There 's news, me men! I 've brought big news from the village.
(He wrings the water from his hat. He is provokingly deliberate. All of the pirates crowd around.)
Captain: 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.
Patch: What 's yer news, Captain?
Captain: 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!
(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.)
Captain: There 's big news, me hearties.
Duke: What 's yer news, Captain? We asks yer.
Captain: I 'm tellin' yer. It 's sweatin' withcuriosity that kills cats. (He yawns and stretches his legs across the hob.) 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.
Duke: Now then, Captain, hold hard on yer tiller agin wobblin', and get ter port.
Darlin': We 're hangin' on yer lips.
Captain: Yer need n't keep shovin' me. I kicks up when I 'm riled. They say down in the village—
(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.)
Captain: There 's Petey—
Patch: We 're jest fidgettin' fer the news.
Captain: The news? Oh, yes. Now yer hears it. (He draws the pirates near.) 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.
Darlin': Glory ter God!
Duke: And then Petey will douse his glim. And we 'll set up the ship's lantern.
Patch: Smash!
Duke: Then Petey will light hisself.
Patch: And we 'll be jest as innercent as babies rockin' in a crib.
Royal 'Arry
"The Royal 'Arry. It 's her."
Duke: And lay it on the helmsman fer bein' sleepy.
Captain: 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.
Duke: And him not givin' me word. I calls that shabby. He was me fag at Eton.
Patch: 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?
Duke: I thought he was settin' in Whitehall,tryin' on crowns, so as ter get one that did n't scratch his ears.
Captain: They say he 's incarnito.
Patch: What? Is it somethin' yer ketches like wollygogs in the stomich?
Duke: 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.
Darlin': Like Cindereller at the party.
Duke: If yer wants Patch ter understand yer, Captain, yer has got to use leetle words as is still pullin' at their bottles.
Darlin': When words grow big and has got beards they jest don 't say nothin' to Patch.
Captain: This here Prince o' Wales is journeyin' down Plymouth way.
Duke: 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'.
Patch: It were n't roses, I 'm tellin' yer.
Captain: Silence! They say he has sworn an oath to break up the pirate business on the coast.
Patch: And let us starve? It 's unfeelin'.
Duke: No pickin's on the beach?
Joe: I 'd like to catch him. I 'd slit his wizen.
Darlin': I 'd put pizen in the pig I feeds him.
Duke: I 'd nudge him off the cliff—jest like he were a sneakin' snooper.
Captain: Well, there 's yer news! I 'm dry. Darlin'! Some grog!
(He crosses to the table and draws the pirates around him.)
Captain: Here 's to the Royal 'Arry!
Duke: And may the helmsman be wery sleepy!
Darlin': And we as innercent as leetle pirates suckin' at their bottles!
All: The Royal 'Arry!
(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.)
Meg: 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'hankerin' fer matrimony? I can tell yer if the lady be light or dark. It will cost yer only a sixpence.
Captain: 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.
(He retires to the fireplace in disgust.)
Darlin': Husbands is nuisances, as I was tellin' the sea-captain, jest afore he cut his throat.
Duke: 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.
Patch: 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. (He offers his hand.) 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?
Meg: I sees the ocean. And a ship. I sees inside the cabin o' that ship.
Patch: Does yer see me as the captain o' that ship? Jest settin' easy, bawlin' orders—jest feedin' on plum duff.
Meg: I sees yer in irons.
Patch: Mother o' goodness! Now yer done it!
Meg: I sees Wappin' wharf. I sees a gibbet. I sees—
Meg
"I sees a gibbet. I sees——"
Patch: Horrers!
Meg: I sees you swingin' on that gibbet—stretchin' with yer toes—swingin' in the wind.
Patch: Yer makes me grog sour on me.
(He goes to the rear of the cabin and looks disconsolately over the ocean.)
Meg: (as she looks in the glass). 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.
Duke: Ain 't yer givin' us more 'n a sixpence worth o' misery? Yer gloom is sloppin' over the brim.
Meg: Ah! Here 's light agin at last. There 's a red streak across the dial. It drips! It 's blood!
Captain: Ain 't yer got any pretty picters in that glass?
Patch: Graveyards are cheerfuller 'n gibbets.
Meg: 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.
Captain: Avoid? By the rotten bones o' Flint, if I meets that man in a velvet cloak I hooks out his eye.
Duke: Captain, yer sweats yerself unnecessary. (Slyly.) 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'?
Darlin': He 's the kind as wampires makes their wictims.
(With a laugh—but unwillingly—Joe holds out his hand.)
Meg: (as she looks in the glass her face brightens). 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—
(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.)
Meg: I sees—I sees—nothin'! The glass is blank!
Captain: Nothin'? Jest nothin' at all?
Patch: Ain 't there no blood drippin'?
Darlin': Ner gibbets?
Captain: Ner sailormen swingin' in the wind?
(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 risesabruptly. She lifts a portentous finger. She advances to Red Joe.)
Meg: 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! (Then, in a lower tone.) You will see me agin. And in your hour o' danger. When yer least expects it.
(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.)
Patch: Nice cheerful ol' lady, I says.
Captain: Yer can pipe the devil up, but she give me shivers.
Joe: For just a minute I thought some old lady had died and left me her money box.
(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.)
Patch: Yer can dim me gig that 's left, I 'm clean upset.
Captain: I ain 't been so down in the boots since the blessed angels took Flint ter 'ell.
Duke: 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.
Captain: 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. (He takes a pirate flag from his boot. He smoothes it with affection. Then he waves it on his hook.) 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.
pirate flag
"Ol' Flint's wery flag"
Duke: 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.
Captain: A drink all 'round. We 'll drink thehealth o' this here flag. You 'll drink with us, Darlin'.
Darlin': Yer spoils me, Captain.
(Everyone drinks.)
Captain: And now we 'll drink confusion to the swab that 's settin' on the English throne.
(All drink except Red Joe. He makes the pretense, but pours his grog out covertly. Our play is nothing if not subtle.)
Duke: Here 's to ol' Flint!
All: Here 's to ol' Flint!
(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.)
Joe: 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.
(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.)
Darlin'
Darlin' warms her old red stockings
(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.)
(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!)
waves
Act II
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.
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 carpenter, 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."
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.
We hear Darlin' singing in the kitchen, as the curtain rises.
DARLIN'S SONG
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(There is a rattle of tinware. Patch-Eye sings the next stanza in the loft.)
(More tinware in the kitchen. And now Darlin' again!)
(In her reckless joy at this dim possibility she overturns the dishpan. During the song the Duke'slegs have appeared on the ladder. He descends, fetching with him a comb and mirror.
moon"I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon"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.
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.)
Duke: Betsy! Betsy!
(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.)
Duke: Would yer like ter be the Duchess?
(This is abrupt and unusual, but nice customs curtsy to Dukes as well as Kings.)
Duke: 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—(reflectively) nothin' 'cept cookin' and washin' and darnin'. Does yer jump at me, Betsy?
(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.)
Duke: 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.
Betsy: But I do not love you, Duke.
(In jest, however, the little rascal perches on his knee.)
Duke: Make yerself comfertable. Yer husband 's willin'. When I cramps, I shifts yer. Kiss me, when yer wants.
Betsy: You are an old goose.
Duke: 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.
Betsy: I do not love you, Duke.
(The Captain and Patch-Eye have thrust their headsthrough the opening above the ladder, and they listen with amusement.)
Duke: 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.
Betsy: It 's just that I do not love you, Duke.
Duke: 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.
Betsy: You have lovely whiskers, Duke.
Duke: Yer can pull one fer the locket that yer wears. Are yer makin' fun o' me?
Betsy: I would n't dare.
Duke: 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—me thinkin' it 's love I see, shinin' in yer laughin' eyes?
Betsy: Why don 't you marry Darlin'?
Duke: 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.
Betsy: She loves you, Duke.
Duke: 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.
Betsy: Darlin' cooks roast pig that crackles.
Duke: 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. AndI 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?
Betsy: You silly old man!
Duke: 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?
(Betsy rises with sobered mood, and walks away.)
Duke: 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.
(But Betsy has run in panic to the kitchen.)
Duke: I does n't understand 'em. I 'm thinkin'the girl 's a fool. A ninny I calls her. It 's Red Joe. Off a cliff! Yer said it, Darlin'. Off a cliff!
(He removes the sprig of flowers and tosses it into the fire.
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.)
parrot"Yer as mean as women"Duke: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.
(He sits on the chest at the rear of the cabin and whittles a little ship. Women are a queer lot.
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.)
Patch: Darlin' loves yer, Duke.
Captain: Course she does. They all does. Youngsters, too—winkin' and givin' me the snuggle-up.
Patch: Yer has lovely whiskers, Duke.
Captain: Yer can pull one, Betsy, fer the locket that yer wears.
(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.
Darlin', meantime, is heard singing in the kitchen with her dishes.)
Patch, also sings.
And now Darlin' again.
(Let all the tinware crash!)
ace of spades"Did n't yer ever play Black-ace at the Rusty Anchor?"Captain:(as he throws down his cards). 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.
Patch: Poor ol' Flint! I never sees his clock up there but I drops a tear.
Captain: 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.
Patch: It 's frettin' does it, Captain.
Captain: What 's frettin' yer?
Patch: It 's what the ol' lady said last night. She hung me ter a gibbet, jest like ol' Flint. There 's agibbet, Captain, on Wappin' wharf, jest 'round the corner from the Sailors' Rest. Does yer remember it, Captain? It makes yer grog belch on yer.
Captain: (to tease and frighten Patch). Aye. There was two sailormen hangin' there when I comes in a year ago.
Patch: Horrers!
Captain: Jest swingin' in the wind, and tryin' ter get their toes down comfertable. (He has hooked two empty mugs and he rocks them back and forth.) Jest reachin' with their footies ter ease theirselves.
pirates hanging
"Jest swingin' in the wind"
Patch: The ol' lady last night made me a wee bit creepy. Gibbets and Wappin' wharf ain 't nothin' ter talk about.
Captain: 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, withoutneither 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.
Patch: Me stomich 's turned keel up.
Captain: Patch, yer ain 't got spunk ter be a pirate. Yer as soft as Petey's pussycat.
Patch: 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.
Captain: 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'.
Patch: I ain 't 'fraid o' nothin'—'cept a gibbet. (For a moment the ugly word sticks in his gullet.) But the ol' lady kinder got me. Yer looked down yer nose yerself, Captain—askin' yer pardon.
Captain: 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.
Patch: And then the ol' dear's fingers slipped and the glass was broke.
Captain: It looks almost as if she done it a purpose.
(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.)
Duke: Course she done it a purpose. It was ter stop me lookin' 'cross her shoulder in the glass.
Captain: What does yer think she saw?
Patch: Was it blood drippin'?
Duke: I 'll tell yer. I 'll tell yer.
(But he continues whittling.)
Captain: Well, ain 't we listenin', Duke?
Patch: Jest strainin' our ears.
Duke: I 'll tell yer. I squinted in the glass, meself, arter it was broke.
CaptainandPatch: What did yer see?
(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.)
Duke: Nothin'! Jest nothin'!
(The strain is over. They relax.)
Captain: The Duke, he jest seen nothin'.
Patch: Jest nothin' at all.
Patch"I 'spects nothin' from Patch"Duke:That 's what gets me. If theol' lady'd seen nothin', she would n't took ter fidgettin'. And therefore she seensomethin'. Does yer foller? You, Captain? I 'spects nothin' from Patch.
Patch: Yer hurts me feelin's, Duke.
Duke: Somethin' 's wrong. Somethin' 's wrong with Red Joe.
Patch: Red Joe 's a right smart feller, I says.
Captain: 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.
Patch: Pick on the Duke jest once, why does n't yer?
Duke: 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.
(Once more the Duke draws the pirates around him. He is Guy Faux and the wicked Bothwell rolled together.)
Captain: We 're listenin', Duke.
Patch: Like kittens at a mouse-hole.
Duke: 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?
Captain: Yer right, Duke. I never did.
Duke: Does you remember one, stoopid?
Patch: I does n't remember one this minute, Duke.
Duke: 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.
Captain: Spinach, I calls it.
Duke: And ol' Pew, he 'd got a pigtail, ain 't he? And every blessed man as sailed with him. I 'm tellin' yer, Captain.
Patch: The sea-cook, he did n't have one.
Duke: 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?
Captain: Yer can rot me keel, Duke, I never did.
Patch: I agrees with the Captain.
Duke: Red Joe, he ain 't got a pigtail.
Captain: No more he ain 't.
Patch: 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?
Captain: I scorns yer igerence. Yer thinks o' Jonah.
Duke: Well? Well? I 've told yer Red Joe ain 't got a pigtail. Does n't yer smell anythin'?
Captain: (as he turns his head and sniffs audibly). I can 't say as I sniffs nothin'—leastways, nothin' perticerler. I smells a bit o' grog, perhaps.
Patch: I gets a whiff o' garlic from the kitchen.
Duke: 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?Sink me, he can 't rip an oath. Did yer ever know a pirate which could n't talk fluent?
Captain: What 's bitin' yer, Duke?
Duke: Ain 't I tellin' yer?
Captain: Ain 't we listenin'?
Patch: Jest hangin' on yer tongue?
Duke: 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.
Captain: We has been ter Virginy.
Patch: We has traded slaves at the Barbadoes.
Duke: 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.
Captain: What 's bitin' yer, Duke?
Duke: It 's jest this. Red Joe ain 't no pirate. He 's a landlubber.
(He says this as you or I might call a man a snake.)
Captain: (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 seem ter get what Duke means. He 's hintin', Patch, that Red Joe ain 't a pirate.
Patch: If he ain 't a pirate, what is he? I asks yer that.
Duke: (as he brings down his fist for emphasis). He 's a bloomin' spy.