Part 3
DUKE: 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?
PATCH: I ain 't disputin' yer. (_He cheers up a bit._) And we robs landlubbers once in a while.
DUKE: Now yer talkin', ol' sea-lion. I 'm tellin' yer it were a good haul we made last night on Castle Crag.
PATCH: Who 's disputin' yer?
DUKE: I 'm tellin' yer. Silver candles! And spoons! Never seen such a heap o' spoons.
PATCH: What 's anyone want more 'n one spoon fer? Yer cleans it every bite agin the tongue.
DUKE: Yer disgusts me, Patch. Yer ain 't no manners. Fer meself I spears me food tidy on me knife.
(_The Duke sits looking at the seaman's chest at the rear of the cabin. He is deep in thought._)
DUKE: There 's jest one leetle thing I does n't understand. I asks yer. (_He goes to the chest, opens it and draws out a rich velvet garment. He holds it up._) 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.
(_He puts the garment around Patch's shoulders._)
DARLIN': Yer looks like the Archbishop o' Canterbury.
PATCH: (_with strut and gesture_). His Grice takin' the air--pluckin' posies.
DUKE: Lookin' like a silly jackass.
PATCH: Yer hurts me feelin's, Duke.
(_The Duke folds the cloak and puts it back again in the chest. He sits at the table in meditation._)
DUKE: 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.
PATCH: What?
DUKE: Them gay clothes. Who owned 'em, I asks yer, afore we stole 'em.
PATCH: 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.
DUKE: With this bit o' slop what 's left I drinks to yer shinin' lamps--Wenus's flashin' gigs.
DARLIN': I loves yer, Duke.
(_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._)
[Illustration: Her apron is towel, dust rag, mop and handkerchief]
DUKE: What does yer make, ol' Cyclops, o' the new recruit?
PATCH: Red Joe?
DUKE: Him.
PATCH: He 's a right smart pirate, I says. I never seen a feller as could shoot so straight.
DUKE: I says so. But he 's a wee bit nobby--kinder stiff in the nose.
PATCH: Looks as if he knowed he was kinder good.
DUKE: 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.
PATCH: Queer?
DUKE: Yer said it, Patch. Queerer than mermaids. Did we ever see a stick o' that ship? I 'm askin' yer, Patch.
PATCH: Ain 't I listenin'?
DUKE: 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.
PATCH: You and me would starve if it happened regular.
DUKE: It 's what we lives by--pickin's on the beach.
PATCH: 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.
DARLIN': (_stirring at the pot_). He ain 't got whiskers like the Duke.
(_She spits--must I say it?--she spits into the fire._)
DUKE: Queer that never a stick washed in.
PATCH: I 'm not denyin' yer, Duke. Where 's Red Joe now? It 's gettin' on. I 'll jest take a look fer him. (_He takes the lantern from its hook and stands at the open door._) It ain 't blowin' so hard. Ol' Borealis--I speaks poetical--ain 't strainin' at his waistcoat buttons like he was.
DUKE: Igerence! I pities yer. Borealis ain 't wind. He 's rainbows.
(_Patch-Eye goes into the night. The Duke sits to a greasy game of solitaire._)
DUKE: It 's queer, I says. Nary a stick! Jest Red Joe on top his dory! (_He sings abstractedly._)
[Music: PIRATE CHANTY]
Bill Bones used ter say, on many a day, When takin' a ship fer its loot, That a blow on the head was quickest dead And safest and best ter boot. But a wictim's end, fer meself I contend-- There 's a hundred been killed by me-- Is a walk, I 'll be frank, on a slippery plank, And a splash in the roarin' sea.
(_He turns and surveys the drawing above the windows. He cocks his head like a connoisseur, critically--with approval._)
DUKE: I 'm the artist o' that there masterpiece. The Spittin' Devil! I done it on a rainy mornin'. Genius is queer. (_Then he sings again._)
Ol' Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk-- His choice was a jab in the dark--
(_He is engaged thus, fumbling with his cards, when Darlin', crossing from the fire, interrupts him._)
DARLIN': Duke, will yer have a nip o' grog? It eases yer pipes. Yer sounds as if yer had crumbs in yer gullet.
[Illustration: "It eases yer pipes"]
(_The Duke pushes forward his cup._)
DUKE: It 's a lovely tune, and I wrote the words meself. (_He continues his song._)
Old Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk-- His choice was a jab in the dark-- And Morgan's crew, 'twixt me and you, Considered a rope a lark. But a prettier end, I repeat and contend-- And I 've sailed on every sea-- Is a plunge off the side in the foamin' tide. It tickles a sailor like me.
DARLIN': Duke, does yer happen ter have a wife?
DUKE: (_deeply engaged_). Some tunes is hard, so I jest makes 'em up as I goes along.
Blackbeard had a knife which he stuck in his wife. Fer naggin', says he ter me--
DARLIN': Has yer a wife? A wife as might turn up, I mean.
DUKE: Say it agin, Darlin'.
DARLIN': 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.
DUKE: 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.
DARLIN': 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, makes 'appy marriages. Has yer a wife, Duke--livin', as yer can remember?
DUKE: Yer a bold, for'ard creature. Are yer proposin' ter me?
(_Something like a wink shows in the blush._)
DARLIN': 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--(_She smiles dreamily, then seems to cut her throat with her little finger._) 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! (_She is lost for a moment in her glorious past, then blows her nose upon her apron and returns to us._) Duke--askin' yer pardon--I was noticin' lately that you was castin' yer eyes on leetle Betsy.
DUKE: As washes the dishes?
DARLIN': Her.
DUKE: Go 'long!
DARLIN': And I thought yer might be drawn to her.
DUKE: Darlin', I 'm easy riled.
DARLIN': Yer can have her, Duke, on one condition.
DUKE: She 's a pretty leetle girl.
DARLIN': Yer must set me up in a pub in Bristol--with brass beer-pulls.
DUKE: I 'll not deny I 've given her a thought. 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?
DARLIN': Aye.
DUKE: I might do worse. And roast pig that crackles?
DARLIN': I could learn her.
DUKE: I might do worser. I 'd marry you, Darlin'--
DARLIN': Dearie!
DUKE: But yer gettin' on. Patch might marry yer. He 's only got one eye.
DARLIN': (_with scorn_). Patch!
DUKE: 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.
DARLIN': And what about the pub?
DUKE: Blast me stump, Darlin', I 'll not ferget yer.
DARLIN': Does I get brass beer-pulls in the tap?
DUKE: Everythin' shiny.
DARLIN': I 'm lovin' yer.
DUKE: Betsy would kinder jump at me. There 's somethin' tender about a young girl's first love--cooin' in yer arms.
DARLIN': Easy, Duke!
DUKE: I alers was a fav'rite with the ladies. I think it 's me whiskers.
DARLIN': 'Vast there, Duke! There 's a shoal ahead. Red Joe 's a right smart feller.
DUKE: Red Joe?
DARLIN': Him. He sets and watches her.
DUKE: What can she see in a young feller like that?
DARLIN': Women 's queer folks. They 're wicious wampires. Jest yer watch 'em together. Red Joe 's snoopin' in on yer.
DUKE: Yer can blast me. He ain 't got whiskers.
DARLIN': 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! (_She sniffs audibly._) It 's the pig. I clean fergot the pig. It 's burnin' on the fire. Off a cliff! I 'm hintin' to yer.
(_She runs to the kitchen._)
DUKE: Red Joe! Women 's queer--queerer than mermaids. A snooper! Jest a 'prentice pirate! No whiskers! Nothin'!
(_At this moment there is a stamping of feet outside and Patch-Eye enters with Red Joe._
_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. 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._
_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._)
DUKE: Evenin', ol' sea-serpent! Where has you been?
JOE: Up at the lighthouse. It 's as mirky as hell's back door.
DUKE: See Petey?
JOE: I did. He was puttering with his light and meowing to his tabby cat.
DUKE: We 're a blessin' ter ol' Petey. I 'm bettin' me stump he 'd get lonesome up there 'cept fer us. (_He points to the window to the right, where the lighthouse shows._) 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!
(_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!
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.
[Illustration: "And we jest as innercent as babies in a crib"]
(_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.
PATCH: 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!
[Illustration: Betsy enters]
(_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._)
[Music: Betsy's Lullaby]
[Transcriber's Note: Misspelled "Betsey" in original music title.]
BETSY: (_sings_).
The north wind's cheeks are puffed with tunes: It whistles across the sky. Its song is shrill and rough, until The hour of twilight 's nigh. Rest, my dear one, rest and dream. The winds on tip-toe keep. In the dusk of day they hum their lay, And weary children sleep.
The waves since dawn roared on the rocks: They snarled at the ships on the deep. But at twilight hour they chain their power And little children sleep. Rest, my dear one, rest and dream. The ships in a cradle swing, And sailormen blink and children sink To sleep, as the wavelets sing.
The sun at noon was red and hot: It stifled the east and west. But at even song the shadows long Have summoned the world to rest. Rest, my dear one, rest and dream. The sun runs off from the sky. But the stars, it 's odd, while children nod, Are tuned to a lullaby.
(_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 to have 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, ner 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 _L_. _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 'round behind 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.
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.
[Illustration: "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. It 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.
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.