Part 7
JOEL. [_To_ ANDREW.] He's on to us. Pickle him quiet, or it's court martial! [_Showing a long knife._] Shall I give him this?
ANDREW. [_Taking it from him._] No. _I_ will.
ELLEN. [_Seizing his arm._] Andrew!
ANDREW. Let go.
[THE FIGURE, _descending into the intrenchment, approaches with face muffled_. JOEL _draws_ ELLEN _away_. ANDREW _moves toward_ THE FIGURE _slowly_. _They meet and pause._
ANDREW. You're a spy!
[_With a quick flash,_ ANDREW _raises the knife to strike, but pauses, staring_. THE FIGURE, _throwing up one arm to ward the blow, reveals--through the parted cloak--a glint of stars in the firelight_.[E]
THE FIGURE. Steady, boys; I'm one of ye. The sergeant told me to drop round.
JOEL. Oh, the sergeant! That's all right, then.
ANDREW. [_Dropping the knife._] Who are you?
THE FIGURE. Who be _I_? My name, ye mean? My name's Average--Sam Average. Univarsal Sam, some o' my prophetic friends calls me.
ANDREW. What are you doing here--now?
THE FIGURE. Oh, tendin' to business.
JOEL. Tendin' to _other_ folks' business, eh?
THE FIGURE. [_With a touch of weariness._] Ye-es; reckon that _is_ my business. Some other folks is me.
JOEL. [_Grimacing to_ ELLEN.] Cracked!
THE FIGURE. [_To_ ANDREW.] You're a mite back'ard in wages, ain't ye?
ANDREW. Nine months. What of that?
THE FIGURE. That's what I dropped round for. Seems like when a man's endoored and fit, like you have, for his country, and calc'lates he'll quit, he ought to be takin' a little suthin' hom' for Thanksgivin'. So I fetched round your pay.
ANDREW. My pay! You?
THE FIGURE. Yes; I'm the paymaster.
ELLEN. [_Coming forward, eagerly._] Andy! The money, is it?
THE FIGURE. [_Bows with a grave, old-fashioned stateliness._] Your sarvent, ma'am!
ANDREW. [_Speaking low._] Keep back, Nell. [_To_ THE FIGURE.] You--you were saying----
THE FIGURE. I were about to say how gold bein' scarce down to the Treasury, I fetched ye some s'curities instead; some national I.O.U.'s, as ye might say. [_He takes out an old powder-horn, and rattles it quietly._] That's them. [_Pouring from the horn into his palm some glistening, golden grains._] Here they be.
ELLEN. [_Peering, with_ JOEL.] Gold, Andy!
JOEL. [_With a snigger._] Gold--nothin'! That's corn--just Injun corn. Ha!
THE FIGURE. [_Bowing gravely._] It's the quality, ma'am, what counts, as ye might say.
JOEL. [_Behind his hand._] His top-loft leaks!
THE FIGURE. These here karnels, now, were give' me down Plymouth way, in Massachusetts, the fust Thanksgivin' seems like I can remember. 'Twa'n't long after the famine we had thar. Me bein' some hungry, the red-folks fetched a hull-lot o' this round, with the compliments of their capting--what were his name now?--Massasoit. This here's the last handful on't left. Thought ye might like some, bein' Thanksgivin'.
JOEL. [_In a low voice, to_ ELLEN.] His screws are droppin' out. Come and pack. We've got to mark time and skip.
THE FIGURE. [_Without looking at_ JOEL.] Eight or ten minutes still to spare, boys. The sergeant said--wait till ye hear his jew's-harp playin' of that new war tune, _The Star-Spangled Banner_. Then ye'll know the coast's clear.
JOEL. Gad, that's right, I remember now.
[_He draws_ ELLEN _away to the knapsack, which they begin to pack_. ANDREW _has never removed his eyes from the tall form in the cloak_.
[_Now, as_ THE FIGURE _pours back the yellow grains from his palm into the powder-horn, he speaks, hesitatingly_.
ANDREW. I think--I'd like some.
THE FIGURE. Some o' what?
ANDREW. Those--my pay.
THE FIGURE. [_Cheerfully._] So. _Would_ ye? [_Handing him the horn._] Reckon that's enough?
ANDREW. [_Not taking it._] That's what I want to make sure of--first.
THE FIGURE. Oh! So ye're hesitatin'!
ANDREW. Yes; but I want you to help me decide. Pardon me, sir. You're a stranger, yet somehow I feel I may ask your help. You've come just in time.
THE FIGURE. Queer I should a-dropped round jest now, wa'n't it? S'posin' we take a turn.
[_Together they walk toward the embankment. By the knapsack_ ELLEN _finds the little frame_.
ELLEN. [_To herself._] My picture!
[_She looks toward_ ANDREW _affectionately_. JOEL, _lifting the knapsack, beckons to her_.
JOEL. There's more stuff over here.
[_He goes off, right_; ELLEN _follows him_.
ANDREW. [_To_ THE FIGURE.] I should like the judgment of your experience, sir. I can't quite see your face, yet you appear to be one who has had a great deal of experience.
THE FIGURE. Why, consid'able some.
ANDREW. Did you--happen to fight in the late war for independence?
THE FIGURE. Happen to? [_Laughing quietly._] N-no, not fight; ye see--I was paymaster.
ANDREW. But you went through the war?
THE FIGURE. Ye-es, oh, yes; I went through it. I took out my fust reg'lar papers down to Philadelphie, in '76, seems like 'twas the fourth day o' July. But I was paymaster afore that.
ANDREW. Tell me: I've heard it said there were deserters even in those days, even from the roll-call of Washington. Is it true?
THE FIGURE. True, boy? Have ye ever watched a prairie-fire rollin' toward ye, billowin' with flame and smoke, and seed all the midget cowerin' prairie-dogs scootin' for their holes? Wall, that's the way I watched Howe's army sweepin' crosst the Jarsey marshes, and seed the desartin' little patriots, with their chins over their shoulders, skedaddlin' home'ards.
ANDREW. What--the Americans!
THE FIGURE. All but a handful on 'em--them as weren't canines, ye might say, but men. _They_ set a back-fire goin' at Valley Forge. Most on 'em burnt their toes and fingers off, lightin' on't thar in the white frost, but they stuck it through and saved--wall, the prairie-dogs.
ANDREW. But they--those others. What reason did they give to God and their own souls for deserting?
THE FIGURE. To who?
ANDREW. To their consciences. What was their reason? It must have been a noble one in '76. _Their_ reason _then_; don't you see, I must have it. I must know what reason real heroes gave for their acts. You were there. You can tell me.
THE FIGURE. _Real_ heroes, eh? Look around ye, then. To-day's the heroic age, and the true brand o' hero is al'ays in the market. Look around ye!
ANDREW. What, here--in this war of jobsters, this petty campaign of monstrous boodle?
THE FIGURE. Thar we be!
ANDREW. Why, here are only a lot of cowardly half-men, like me--lovers of their own folks--their wives and babies at home. They'll make sacrifices for them. But real men like our fathers in '76: they looked in the beautiful face of Liberty, and sacrificed to _her_!
THE FIGURE. Our fathers, my boy, was jest as fond o' poetry as you be. They talked about the beautiful face o' Liberty same's you; but when the hom'made eyes and cheeks of their sweethearts and young uns took to cryin', they desarted their beautiful goddess and skun out hom'.
ANDREW. But there were some----
THE FIGURE. Thar was some as didn't--yes; and thar's some as don't to-day. Those be the folks on my pay-roll. Why, look a-here: I calc'late I wouldn't fetch much on the beauty counter. My talk ain't rhyme stuff, nor the Muse o' Grammar wa'n't my schoolma'am. Th' ain't painter nor clay-sculptor would pictur' me jest like I stand. For the axe has hewed me, and the plough has furrered; and the arnin' of gold by my own elbow-grease has give' me the shrewd eye at a bargain. I manure my crops this side o' Jordan, and as for t'other shore, I'd ruther swap jokes with the Lord than listen to his sarmons. And yet for the likes o' me, jest for to arn my wages--ha, the many, many boys and gals that's gone to their grave-beds, and when I a-closed their eyes, the love-light was shinin' thar.
ANDREW. [_Who has listened with awe._] What _are_ you? What _are_ you?
THE FIGURE. Me? I'm the paymaster.
ANDREW. I want to serve you--like those others.
THE FIGURE. Slow, slow, boy! Nobody sarves _me_.
ANDREW. But they died for you--the others.
THE FIGURE. No, 'twa'n't for me; 'twas for him as pays the wages; the one as works through me--the one higher up. I'm only the paymaster; kind of a needful makeshift--his obedient sarvant.
ANDREW. [_With increasing curiosity, seeks to peer in_ THE FIGURE'S _face_.] But the one up higher--who is he?
THE FIGURE. [_Turning his head away._] Would ye sarve him, think, if ye heerd his voice?
ANDREW. [_Ardently, drawing closer._] And saw his face!
[_Drawing his cowl lower and taking_ ANDREW'S _arm_, THE FIGURE _leads him up on the embankment, where they stand together_.
THE FIGURE. Hark a-yonder!
ANDREW. [_Listening._] Is it thunder?
THE FIGURE. Have ye forgot?
ANDREW. The voice! I remember now--Niagara!
[_With awe_, ANDREW _looks toward_ THE FIGURE, _who stands shrouded and still, facing the dawn. From far off comes a sound as of falling waters, and with that--a deep murmurous voice, which seems to issue from_ THE FIGURE'S _cowl_.
THE VOICE. I am the Voice that was heard of your fathers, and your fathers' fathers. Mightier--mightier, I shall be heard of your sons. I am the Million in whom the one is lost, and I am the One in whom the millions are saved. Their ears shall be shut to my thunders, their eyes to my blinding stars. In shallow streams they shall tap my life-blood for gold. With dregs of coal and of copper they shall pollute me. In the mystery of my mountains they shall assail me; in the majesty of my forests, strike me down; with engine and derrick and millstone, bind me their slave. Some for a lust, some for a love, shall desert me. One and one, for his own, shall fall away. Yet one and one and one shall return to me for life; the deserter and the destroyer shall re-create me. Primeval, their life-blood is mine. My pouring waters are passion, my lightnings are laughter of man. I am the One in whom the millions are saved, and I am the Million in whom the one is lost.
ANDREW. [_Yearningly, to_ THE FIGURE.] Your face!
[THE FIGURE _turns majestically away_. ANDREW _clings to him_.
ANDREW. Your face!
[_In the shadow of the flag_ THE FIGURE _unmuffles for an instant_.
[_Peering, dazzled_, ANDREW _staggers back, with a low cry, and, covering his eyes, falls upon the embankment_.
[_From away, left, the thrumming of a jew's-harp is heard, playing "The Star-Spangled Banner."_
[_From the right enter_ JOEL _and_ ELLEN.
[_Descending from the embankment_, THE FIGURE _stands apart_.
JOEL. Well, Colonel Average, time's up.
ELLEN. [_Seeing_ ANDREW'S _prostrate form, hastens to him_.] Andy! What's happened?
ANDREW. [_Rising slowly._] Come here. I'll whisper it.
[_He leads her beside the embankment, beyond which the dawn is beginning to redden._
JOEL. Yonder's the sergeant's jew's-harp. That's our signal, Nell. So long, colonel.
THE FIGURE. [_Nodding._] So long, sonny.
ANDREW. [_Holding_ ELLEN'S _hands, passionately_.] You understand? You _do_?
ELLEN. [_Looking in his eyes._] I understand, dear.
[_They kiss each other._
JOEL. [_Calls low._] Come, you married turtles. The road's clear. Follow me now. Sneak.
[_Carrying his knapsack_, JOEL _climbs over the embankment and disappears_.
[_The thrumming of the jew's-harp continues._
[ELLEN, _taking the strip of silk flag from her shoulders, ties it to the standard_.
ANDREW. [_Faintly._] God bless you!
ELLEN. [_As they part hands._] Good-by!
[THE FIGURE _has remounted the embankment, where--in the distincter glow of the red dawn--the gray folds of his cloak, hanging from his shoulders, resemble the half-closed wings of an eagle, the beaked cowl falling, as a kind of visor, before his face, concealing it_.
THE FIGURE. Come, little gal.
[ELLEN _goes to him, and hides her face in the great cloak. As she does so, he draws from it a paper, writes on it, and hands it to_ ANDREW, _with the powder-horn_.
THE FIGURE. By the by, Andy, here's that s'curity. Them here's my initials; they're all what's needful. Jest file this in the right pigeonhole, and you'll draw your pay. Keep your upper lip, boy. I'll meet ye later, mebbe, at Lundy's Lane.
ANDREW. [_Wistfully._] You'll take her home?
THE FIGURE. Yes; reckon she'll housekeep for your uncle till you get back; won't ye, Nellie? Come, don't cry, little gal. We'll soon git 'quainted. 'Tain't the fust time sweethearts has called me _Uncle_.
[_Flinging back his great cloak, he throws one wing of it, with his arm, about her shoulders, thus with half its reverse side draping her with shining stripes and stars. By the same action his own figure is made partly visible--the legs clad in the tight, instep-strapped trousers (blue and white) of the Napoleonic era. Holding the girl gently to him--while her face turns back toward_ ANDREW--_he leads her, silhouetted against the sunrise, along the embankment, and disappears_.
[_Meantime, the thrumming twang of the jew's-harp grows sweeter, mellower, modulated with harmonies that, filling now the air with elusive strains of the American war-hymn, mingle with the faint dawn-twitterings of birds._
[ANDREW _stares silently after the departed forms; then, slowly coming down into the intrenchment, lifts from the ground his gun and ramrod, leans on the gun, and--reading the paper in his hand by the growing light--mutters it aloud_:
_U. S. A._
[_Smiling sternly, he crumples the paper in his fist, makes a wad of it, and rams it into his gun-barrel._
HYACINTH HALVEY
BY
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
_Hyacinth Halvey_ is reprinted by special permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York City, publishers of Lady Gregory's work in America. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address the publisher.
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Lady Augusta Gregory, one of the foremost figures in the Irish dramatic movement, was born at Roxborough, County Galway, Ireland, in 1859. "She was then a young woman," says one who has described her in her early married life, "very earnest, who divided her hair in the middle and wore it smooth on either side of a broad and handsome brow. Her eyes were always full of questions.... In her drawing-room were to be met men of assured reputation in literature and politics, and there was always the best reading of the times upon her tables." Lady Gregory has devoted her entire life to the cause of Irish literature. In 1911 she visited the United States and at a dinner given to her by _The Outlook_ in New York City she said:
"I will not cease from mental strife Or let the sword fall from my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In--Ireland's--fair and lovely land."
Lady Gregory, with William Butler Yeats and John Millington Synge, has been the very life of the Irish drama. The literary association of these three has been highly fruitful. She helped to found the Irish National Theatre Society, and for a number of years has been the managing force of the celebrated Abbey Theatre in Dublin.
Lady Gregory's chief interest has been in peasant comedies and folk-plays. Her _Spreading the News_, _Hyacinth Halvey_, _The Rising of the Moon_, _The Workhouse Ward_, and _The Travelling Man_ are well-known contributions to contemporary drama.
It is a noteworthy fact that most of the plays of the Irish dramatic movement are one-act plays. Much of Irish life lends itself admirably to one-act treatment. _Hyacinth Halvey_ is one of Lady Gregory's best productions. This play contains a universal idea: reputation is in great measure a matter of "a password or an emotion." Hyacinth, having a good reputation thrust upon him, may do as he likes--his good name clings to him notwithstanding.
PERSONS
HYACINTH HALVEY JAMES QUIRKE, _a butcher_ FARDY FARREL, _a telegraph boy_ SERGEANT CARDEN MRS. DELANE, _postmistress at Cloon_ MISS JOYCE, _the priest's housekeeper_
HYACINTH HALVEY
SCENE: _Outside the post-office at the little town of Cloon._ MRS. DELANE _at post-office door_. MR. QUIRKE _sitting on a chair at butcher's door. A dead sheep hanging beside it, and a thrush in a cage above._ FARDY FARRELL _playing on a mouth-organ. Train-whistle heard._
MRS. DELANE. There is the four-o'clock train, Mr. Quirke.
MR. QUIRKE. Is it now, Mrs. Delane, and I not long after rising? It makes a man drowsy to be doing the half of his work in the night-time. Going about the country, looking for little stags of sheep, striving to knock a few shillings together. That contract for the soldiers gives me a great deal to attend to.
MRS. DELANE. I suppose so. It's hard enough on myself to be down ready for the mail-car in the morning, sorting letters in the half-dark. It's often I haven't time to look who are the letters from--or the cards.
MR. QUIRKE. It would be a pity you not to know any little news might be knocking about. If you did not have information of what is going on, who should have it? Was it you, ma'am, was telling me that the new sub-sanitary inspector would be arriving to-day?
MRS. DELANE. To-day it is he is coming, and it's likely he was in that train. There was a card about him to Sergeant Carden this morning.
MR. QUIRKE. A young chap from Carrow they were saying he was.
MRS. DELANE. So he is, one Hyacinth Halvey; and indeed if all that is said of him is true, or if a quarter of it is true, he will be a credit to this town.
MR. QUIRKE. Is that so?
MRS. DELANE. Testimonials he has by the score. To Father Gregan they were sent. Registered they were coming and going. Would you believe me telling you that they weighed up to three pounds?
MR. QUIRKE. There must be great bulk in them indeed.
MRS. DELANE. It is no wonder he to get the job. He must have a great character, so many persons to write for him as what there did.
FARDY. It would be a great thing to have a character like that.
MRS. DELANE. Indeed, I am thinking it will be long before you will get the like of it, Fardy Farrell.
FARDY. If I had the like of that of a character it is not here carrying messages I would be. It's in Noonan's Hotel I would be, driving cars.
MR. QUIRKE. Here is the priest's housekeeper coming.
MRS. DELANE. So she is; and there is the sergeant a little while after her.
[_Enter_ MISS JOYCE.
MRS. DELANE. Good evening to you, Miss Joyce. What way is his reverence to-day? Did he get any ease from the cough?
MISS JOYCE. He did not, indeed, Mrs. Delane. He has it sticking to him yet. Smothering he is in the night-time. The most thing he comes short in is the voice.
MRS. DELANE. I am sorry, now, to hear that. He should mind himself well.
MISS JOYCE. It's easy to say let him mind himself. What do you say to him going to the meeting to-night?
[SERGEANT _comes in_.
MISS JOYCE. It's for his reverence's "Freeman" I am come, Mrs. Delane.
MRS. DELANE. Here it is ready. I was just throwing an eye on it to see was there any news. Good evening, Sergeant.
SERGEANT. [_Holding up a placard._] I brought this notice, Mrs. Delane, the announcement of the meeting to be held to-night in the court-house. You might put it up here convenient to the window. I hope you are coming to it yourself?
MRS. DELANE. I will come, and welcome. I would do more than that for you, Sergeant.
SERGEANT. And you, Mr. Quirke.
MR. QUIRKE. I'll come, to be sure. I forget what's this the meeting is about.
SERGEANT. The Department of Agriculture is sending round a lecturer in furtherance of the moral development of the rural classes. [_Reads._] "A lecture will be given this evening in Cloon Court-House, illustrated by magic-lantern slides--" Those will not be in it; I am informed they were all broken in the first journey, the railway company taking them to be eggs. The subject of the lecture is "The Building of Character."
MRS. DELANE. Very nice, indeed, I knew a girl lost her character, and she washed her feet in a blessed well after, and it dried up on the minute.
SERGEANT. The arrangements have all been left to me, the archdeacon being away. He knows I have a good intellect for things of the sort. But the loss of those slides puts a man out. The thing people will not see it is not likely it is the thing they will believe. I saw what they call tableaux--standing pictures, you know--one time in Dundrum----
MRS. DELANE. Miss Joyce was saying Father Gregan is supporting you.
SERGEANT. I am accepting his assistance. No bigotry about me when there is a question of the welfare of any fellow creatures. Orange and green will stand together to-night, I, myself, and the station-master on the one side, your parish priest in the chair.
MISS JOYCE. If his reverence would mind me he would not quit the house to-night. He is no more fit to go speak at a meeting than [_pointing to the one hanging outside_ QUIRKE'S _door_] that sheep.
SERGEANT. I am willing to take the responsibility. He will have no speaking to do at all, unless it might be to bid them give the lecturer a hearing. The loss of those slides now is a great annoyance to me--and no time for anything. The lecturer will be coming by the next train.
MISS JOYCE. Who is this coming up the street, Mrs. Delane?
MRS. DELANE. I wouldn't doubt it to be the new sub-sanitary inspector. Was I telling you of the weight of the testimonials he got, Miss Joyce?
MISS JOYCE. Sure, I heard the curate reading them to his reverence. He must be a wonder for principles.
MRS. DELANE. Indeed, it is what I was saying to myself, he must be a very saintly young man.
[_Enter_ HYACINTH HALVEY. _He carries a small bag and a large brown-paper parcel. He stops and nods bashfully._
HYACINTH. Good evening to you. I was bid to come to the post-office----
SERGEANT. I suppose you are Hyacinth Halvey? I had a letter about you from the resident magistrate.
HYACINTH. I heard he was writing. It was my mother got a friend he deals with to ask him.
SERGEANT. He gives you a very high character.
HYACINTH. It is very kind of him, indeed, and he not knowing me at all. But, indeed, all the neighbors were very friendly. Anything any one could do to help me they did it.
MRS. DELANE. I'll engage it is the testimonials you have in your parcel? I know the wrapping-paper, but they grew in bulk since I handled them.
HYACINTH. Indeed, I was getting them to the last. There was not one refused me. It is what my mother was saying, a good character is no burden.
FARDY. I would believe that, indeed.
SERGEANT. Let us have a look at the testimonials.
[HYACINTH HALVEY _opens a parcel, and a large number of envelopes fall out_.
SERGEANT. [_Opening and reading one by one._] "He possesses the fire of the Gael, the strength of the Norman, the vigor of the Dane, the stolidity of the Saxon----"
HYACINTH. It was the chairman of the Poor Law Guardians wrote that.
SERGEANT. "A magnificent example to old and young----"
HYACINTH. That was the secretary of the De Wet Hurling Club----
SERGEANT. "A shining example of the value conferred by an eminently careful and high-class education----"
HYACINTH. That was the national schoolmaster.
SERGEANT. "Devoted to the highest ideals of his motherland to such an extent as is compatible with a hitherto non-parliamentary career----"
HYACINTH. That was the member for Carrow.
SERGEANT. "A splendid exponent of the purity of the race----"
HYACINTH. The editor of the "Carrow Champion."
SERGEANT. "Admirably adapted for the efficient discharge of all possible duties that may in future be laid upon him----"
HYACINTH. The new station-master.