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.)

Fer griddle cakes I 've a nimble wrist And I tosses 'em 'igh on a spoon. And the Duke and Patch yer can hardly match Fer their breakfast they stretch till noon. And I heaps the fire and I greases the iron, And the Duke, he kisses me thumb. Me Darlin', me dear, it 's perfectly clear I 've lovin' yer better than rum.

Patch, also sings.

She 's cooked fer sailors worn down to the bone, Till they rolls like the Captain's gig. At soup and stew we are never through, But our fav'rite dish is pig. And she cuts off slabs and passes 'em 'round, And the Duke, he takes her hand. Me Darlin', me love, by the gods above, Yer a cook fer a pirate band.

And now Darlin' again.

Me grog is the best. It is made o' rum, And I stirs in sugar, too. And a hogshead vast will hardly last A merry evenin' through. And I fills the cups till mornin' comes, And the Duke, he talks like a loon. Me Darlin', me life, will yer be me wife, And elope by the light o' the moon.

(Let all the tinware crash!)

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 Phoebus'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 a 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.

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.



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, without 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.

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.

CAPTAIN and PATCH: 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.

DUKE: That 's what gets me. If the ol' lady 'd seen nothin', she would n't took ter fidgettin'. And therefore she seen somethin'. 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.

CAPTAIN: A spy! (He gives a long-drawn whistle as the truth breaks on him.)

PATCH: If I thought he was a spy, I 'd ketch him right here with me dirk. I hates spies worse 'n empty bottles.

CAPTAIN: I 'd scrape him with me hook.



DUKE: 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?

CAPTAIN: Not as yet I never did. I never knowed a pirate as did n't have a double-barreled nose fer grog.

DUKE: 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.

CAPTAIN: It ain 't no night ter have spies about. With the Royal 'Arry comin' on so pretty.

PATCH: And jest gettin' ready ter smash hisself.

DUKE: That innercent ship will be due in less 'n half an hour.

CAPTAIN: If Red Joe is a spy, by the fiery beard o' Satan, I 'm tellin' yer that dead men tell no tales.

(He lifts the terrible hook and claws the air.)

DUKE: 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 cabin. I ain 't askin' favors often, Captain. And I 've 'ticerler reasons—reasons as touches me heart. (For a moment he is almost sentimental.) Reasons as touches me heart! Red Joe 's been snoopin'.

CAPTAIN: 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.

DUKE: Yer honors me, Captain. And if I is shoveled in first, me stump is yourn.

CAPTAIN: It 's handsome of yer, Duke. And I 'll not be jolly till a year is up—jest like a widder.

DUKE: Yer touches me. I 'll tie a black ribbon on yer hook.

(At this pathetic moment Darlin' is heard singing in the kitchen.)

And I fills the cups till mornin' comes, And the Duke, he talks like a loon. Me Darlin', me life, will yer be me wife, And elope by the light o' the moon?

(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.)

JOE: 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?

DUKE: Is n't it? Did yer hear that, Captain? Ain 't it, is what Red Joe means.

CAPTAIN: Right yer are, Joey. We must be trottin'.

DUKE: What 's the name o' that tavern, Joe, at Wappin' wharf where we gets the uncommon grog?

JOE: Wappin' wharf? I 'm blessed if the name 's not gone from me. The grog 's nothing to Darling's.

DUKE: What does yer call the tavern on the Isle o' Dogs?

JOE: I 'm remembering the rum. What 's the use of looking at the signboard?

DUKE: How does yer sight ter turn the bar at Guinea?

JOE: Sorry, Duke. It was my watch below. I was snoring when we turned.

CAPTAIN: What happened to yer pigtail?

PATCH: Where does we ship the niggers?

DARLIN': Ain 't yer got a mermaid on yer chest?

(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 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.)

JOE: Who offers me his carcass first? What! Is pirate blood so thin and white?

(The pirates stand with knives drawn. It is an awkward moment of social precedence.)

PATCH: (safe in the farthest corner). It 's me patch, Captain. It 's fetched loose. I follers yer.

JOE: 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?

(Joe's is a dangerous gayety. His two knives glisten in the candle light.)

PATCH: Scrape him with yer hook, Captain, I follers yer.

JOE: 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.

(He drives them around the table. Patch takes refuge behind the door. Darlin's red stockings run up the ladder.)

JOE: You bearded hound!

PATCH: He 's tauntin' yer, Captain. Hand him the hook! The Duke and me is back o' yer.

JOE: 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.

PATCH: Captain, I 'm 'sprized at yer good nater. Scrape him one!

JOE: Who comes to the barber first? Cowards! I 'll ram your pigtails down your throats. I 'll wash your dirt in blood.

(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.)

PATCH: Did yer notice, Captain, how I took him by the throat? He was squirmin' loose when I grabbed him. It was me tripped him.

DUKE: Captain, I asks yer a favor. Can I stick him now. Dead men tell no tales.

PATCH: Captain, yer jest makes a pet o' the Duke. Ain 't it my turn? I gets rusty.

DARLIN': Let the Duke do it. He has more reasons than Patch.

CAPTAIN: 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. (He shakes it.) 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.



DUKE: He 's pokin' fun at yer, ol' lionheart.

PATCH: Yer hurts me feelin's.

DUKE: 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!

CAPTAIN: 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.

DUKE: By by, Joey. See yer later, ol' angel cake. Yer has jest time ter say "Now I lay me."

CAPTAIN: How 's the night, Duke?

DUKE: Blacker than the Earl o' Hell's top-boots.

DARLIN': 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.

(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 agrees ter this and ter give 'em bliss— From Pew I learned the trick— I push 'em wide o' the wessel's side, And poke 'em down with a stick.

(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.)

BETSY: God help the poor sailormen!

JOE: Betsy! Betsy! For the love of God!

(Suddenly the lighthouse light vanishes. And almost at once the ship's lantern shows at the window to the left. All sounds are hushed.)

BETSY: 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. (She stuffs her ears and runs from the window.) I can 't bear to listen. I can 't bear to look.

JOE: Betsy! Betsy! Do you hear? Margaret! Margaret!

(At the sound of Margaret she lifts her head, buried in her arms. She runs toward Joe. Her wits seem dazed.)

JOE: Quick! Margaret! Margaret! That knife! That knife on the stones! Margaret, cut me loose!

(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.)

BETSY: You 've hit it! Thank God! The light is shattered. (Then, after a pause.) I seem to remember now. My name is Margaret. I remember—

JOE: What do you remember?

BETSY: 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.

JOE: What else do you remember?

BETSY: I remember—

JOE: Margaret, do you remember me?

(Margaret looks at him and a new memory is stirred.)

BETSY: 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 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.

JOE: And by luck and God's help we shall be playmates once again.

(He puts his arms around her and kisses her.)

BETSY: Quick, Hal! You must escape. Quick! Before the pirates come. Follow the path to the village! You can escape by the Royal Harry.

(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.)

CAPTAIN: Blast me, the lantern 's out!

PATCH: Rot me, but there were an explosion!

DARLIN': Poof! And there were n't no lantern!

DUKE: What done it? What done it? I asks yer.

(They stand at the window and look toward the ocean.)

DUKE: She is still headed on. Her nose is still pointin' toward the cliff.

CAPTAIN: What 's that?

DUKE: 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.

CAPTAIN: Yer can hang me ter a gibbet.

PATCH: Yer can rot me bones.

DARLIN': Me heart 's gone palpy.

DUKE: What done it? What done it? I asks yer.

(At this point let us hope that the curtain does not stick.)



ACT III

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.

DUKE: What done it? What done it? I asks yer.

PATCH: Jest when everythin' was goin' pretty.

CAPTAIN: Jest when she was about ter hit.

DARLIN': Me heart near stopped—I was that excited.

(The pirates sit in deep dejection.)

DUKE: The mystery o' this business is how the blinkin' lantern went out.

CAPTAIN: Ol' Petey done his part.

PATCH: He doused herself in time.

CAPTAIN: It was the lantern done it.

DUKE: When there were n't no light at all, the Royal 'Arry, she jest sniffed willainy and dropped anchor.

PATCH: I was repeatin' Smash yer devil! Smash yer devil!—kinder hurryin' her on.

DARLIN': I was sayin' Now I lay me—throbbin' with excitement.

DUKE: It was n't ile. I put ile in the lantern meself. Captain, yer seen me put in ile.

CAPTAIN: I seen yer. And I swished it meself ter be sure.

PATCH: Nothin 's been right since that ol' lady hanged me ter a gibbet.

CAPTAIN: There we was watchin'—

PATCH: Pop!

CAPTAIN: 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.

PATCH: Does yer think the lantern exploded?

DUKE: Did yer ever hear o' a ship's lantern explodin'? I asks yer, Captain.

CAPTAIN: 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.

DUKE: Swabs' lanterns explode, stoopid. Ships' lanterns don 't. Captain, I feels as mournful as when Flint's clock did n't tick no more and we knowed he was took by the blessed angels.

CAPTAIN: I ain 't meself as gay as a cuckoo—not quite I ain 't.

PATCH: Ever since that ol' lady—

DUKE: Lay off on that ol' lady!

(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.

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.)

DUKE: Captain! Captain! Quick! Tie him up!

(Joe is bound again with rope.)

DUKE: It 's him that done it. It 's Red Joe.

CAPTAIN: How did he get loose?

DUKE: (as he points to the knife on the floor). Does yer see that knife? Does yer see Joe? I 'm tellin' yer. It was him shot out the lantern.

PATCH: Did n't I help ter tie him meself?

DUKE: 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.

PATCH: Easy now, ol' dear. Yer alers pitchin' inter me, 'cause I 'm good-natered.

CAPTAIN: Red Joe, I calls yer a dirty spy. A swab! A landlubber! Fer one copper farthin' I 'd ketch yer one with this hook.

DUKE: It was me discovered him. I asks yer, Captain, ter leave Red Joe ter me. I hates him most perticerler.

(Betsy enters from the kitchen.)

BETSY: Did you call, Captain?

DARLIN': Nobody ain 't callin' yer, dearie. Now jest toddle back to the kitchen.

DUKE: This ain 't no place fer a leetle girl. It will give yer bad dreams. Mince pie 's nothin'.

(Betsy attempts to leave the cabin by the door that leads to the cliffs—the door at the rear of the cabin.)

DUKE: Where you goin', Betsy?

BETSY: I 've an errand in the village.

DUKE: 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.

PATCH: Captain, I gets rusty.

CAPTAIN: 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.

(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.)

DUKE: 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.



CAPTAIN: Go 'long, Duke. Bones, as is kept waitin', sulks.

PATCH: One or three?

DUKE: One 's enough. I 'm talkin' to yer, bones. I wants sixes, sweeties.

(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.)

DUKE: Now yer done it!

PATCH: You is all thumbs, Betsy.

CAPTAIN: 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?

DARLIN': Come out o' yer hidin'!

CAPTAIN: I 'll light the candle meself.

(He takes it to the fire, lights it and returns to the table.)

CAPTAIN: There yer are—blazin' like ol' Petey. Yer had better sit down, Betsy. Crack me stump, where is the girl?

PATCH: Kinder silly o' her ter run away. We ain 't never walloped her.

DUKE: 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? (He throws.) Two fives! I 've done yer, Patch.

(It is Patch's turn. He kisses the cubes.)

PATCH: 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. (He throws.) A pair o' sixes! Does yer see it, Duke? Stick yer blinkin' eye right down agin the table! It 's me, Captain. (He rises and draws his knife.) Joey are yer ready?

JOE: 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.

PATCH: Are n't meanin' us, are yer Joey?

JOE: And I 'll tell you more.

CAPTAIN: 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.

DUKE: We does n't want ter sit up late and lose our beauty sleep jest listenin' to a speech.

JOE: 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.

PATCH: Tip me the wink, Captain, when yer has heard enough.

JOE: Stand off, you whelp! The King of England fights in France—

DUKE: Ain 't yer 'shamed that you is not there ter help?

JOE: 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 by gunboats. They will close in on you tomorrow—you and all the dirty vermin that befoul these cliffs.

DUKE: He talks so big, ye 'd think he was the King himself.

(Everyone laughs at this. The Duke takes the cloak from the chest. In derision he hangs it across Red Joe's shoulders.)

DUKE: 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.

PATCH: 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.

CAPTAIN: King, I asks yer ter cast yer gig on me. I 'd be a right smart Archbishop o' Canterbury. Me whiskers is 'clesiastical.

DUKE: I offers meself, King, as Lord 'Igh Admiral o' the Navy. I swears fluent.

DARLIN': Has yer a Princess vacant? I lolls graceful on a throne. (The horrid creature spits.)

CAPTAIN: 'Vast there, me hearties! I 'm thinkin' I 'm hearin' the sound o' footsteps.

DUKE: (to Patch). Did yer lordship hear any sound?

PATCH: Askin' your Grice's pardon, I did n't ketch a thing. Did you hear anythin', Princess?

DARLIN': There 's nothin' come ter me pearly ears.

CAPTAIN: Silence! I wants ter listen.

(No sound is heard.)

CAPTAIN: Well, Patch, yer had better get yer dirk ready. I 'm uncommon sleepy. I wants ter get ter bed.

DARLIN': Ketch him a deep one, Patch.

PATCH: 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!

(He sharpens his dirk and gayly tests it on his whiskers.)

JOE: 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.

DUKE: He 's all wound up like a clock—jest tickin' words.

CAPTAIN: 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'.

(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—have come in sight at the window with the broken glass.

It quite terrifies me as I write. My pencil shakes. Old ladies will want to scream.

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.)

DUKE: Does yer see it, Captain?

PATCH: Horrers!

DUKE: It 's never went since Flint was hanged.

CAPTAIN: And would n't run till his death 's revenged and him layin' peaceful in his coffin.

PATCH: Does yer think it 's grog? Does all o' yer see it?

DUKE: What done it?

(From the distance is heard a long-drawn whistle.)

CAPTAIN: What 's that?

PATCH: It makes me jumpy.

DUKE: It ain 't a night when folks whistles jest fer cows and such. Finish yer job, Patch.

PATCH: Are yer feared o' somethin' special, Duke?

DUKE: Feared? If we ain 't quick, there 'll be a gibbet fer all o' us.

CAPTAIN: Ain 't the clock tickin' peaceful?

PATCH: She ain 't got no right ter tick. It 's like a dead man talkin'.

DUKE: 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!



(He approaches Joe with upraised knife. Suddenly he cries out.)

DUKE: It 's him the fortin-teller mentioned. It 's the man in a velvet cloak!

CAPTAIN: It 's him! Me God! Me hook!

(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 "'Vast there!" and the pirates turn to face his men. They 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.)

BETSY: Joe! Hal! Thank God, you are safe.

JOE: Margaret!

SAILOR CAPTAIN: I am the captain of the Royal Harry.

JOE: Captain, I charge you to arrest these men.

SAILOR CAPTAIN: Yes, your Royal Highness.

DUKE: Royal 'Ighness? Did yer hear what he said?

DARLIN': 'Ighness nothin'. He 's jest a snooper.

(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.)

JOE: You will transport them in chains to London to wait their sentence by a court of law.

SAILOR CAPTAIN: Yes, your majesty.

JOE: You mistake me, Captain. My father is the King of England. I am but the Prince of Wales.

SAILOR CAPTAIN: Alas, sire, we bring you heavy news. Your Royal Father, the King of England, has been killed, fighting gloriously on the soil of France.

JOE: Bear with me. My grief has leaped the channel. My thought is a silent mourner at my 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?

SAILOR CAPTAIN: Calais has fallen.

JOE: 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.

(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.)

MEG: (not boisterously—with just a flip of her trickling finger, as if it were a foaming cup). Hooray! 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.

JOE: Thanks my good woman. We grant you a pension for your love.

(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.)

JOE: 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.

SAILOR CAPTAIN: I swear my allegiance, your Majesty.

JOE: 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 battlements grow dizzy at the height. It is the outer bastion of the world, laughing to scorn the ocean's siege.

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.

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.

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.

BETSY: By what miracle did you know me, Hal?

JOE: 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.

MEG: (faintly—floating in a golden sea of grog) Hooray!

(Joe takes Betsy in his arms and kisses her.)

JOE: 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.

CAPTAIN: Leetle Betsy, I fergives yer.

DUKE: I asks yer health, though I swings termorrer.

PATCH: And may yer live long and 'appy!

DARLIN': We 're lovin' yer, Betsy.

BETSY: 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.

DARLIN': Glory ter God!

JOE: The pardon is granted. Captain, strike off their irons!

DARLIN': We loves yer, Betsy.

CAPTAIN: We are fonder of yer than grog and singin' angels.

PATCH: I thanks yer, King.

DUKE: 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.

BETSY: It was a prior attachment, Duke.

CAPTAIN: We 'll serve yer, King, like we served ol' Flint.

PATCH: Top and bottom, fore and aft.

DUKE: We 'll brag how the King o' England and us has drunk grog together, and how the Queen washed up the mugs.

MEG: (in a whisper). Hooray!

JOE: And now, Captain, lead the way. We must speed to London.

BETSY: Good by, Duke. Some day you will find a girl who cooks roast pig that crackles.

DUKE: A blessin', Betsy, on yer laughin' eyes!

CAPTAIN: A health ter King Hal and his blushin' bride!

ALL: King Hal! Leetle Betsy!

(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.)

PATCH: 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.

DARLIN': (at the fire). Yer coddles yer stomich, Patch.

PATCH: 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.

CAPTAIN: Yer can pull one, Betsy, fer the locket that yer wears. We is laughin' at yer, ol' walrus.

DUKE: Kings is bigger than Dukes. I looses without no kickin' up. There 's no one like Darlin' fer mixin' grog.

DARLIN': Fer that kind word I 'm lovin' yer.

(She fills the cups.)

PATCH: 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.

CAPTAIN: 'Appy days, Patch!

ALL: 'Appy days!

(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.)

* * * * *

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.

THE END