The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 41

JOHN TALBOT. Be quiet, Kit! You're far from Drogheda--here at the Bridge of Cashala.

BUTLER. Aye, safe in Cashala Gatehouse, with five hundred of Cromwell's men sitting down before it.

JOHN TALBOT. Keep your watch, Butler!

NEWCOMBE. You give orders? You still command, Jack? Where's Captain Talbot, then?

(_s.n.a.t.c.hes up his sword and rises._)

BUTLER (_quitting the window_). Aye, where _is_ Captain Talbot?

JOHN TALBOT. You say--

FENTON (_rising_). We all say it.

JOHN TALBOT. Even thou, d.i.c.k?

DRISCOLL. He does not come! Hugh Talbot does not come!

FENTON. He bade us hold the bridge one day. We've held it three days now.

BUTLER. And where is Hugh Talbot with the aid he promised?

JOHN TALBOT. He promised. He has never broken faith. He will bring us aid.

FENTON. Aye, if he be living!

DRISCOLL. Living? You mean that he--Och, he's dead! Hugh Talbot's dead! And we're destroyed! We're destroyed!

NEWCOMBE (_cowering_). The b.u.t.t of the muskets!

FENTON. G.o.d!

(_Deliberately_ BUTLER _lays down his musket._)

JOHN TALBOT. Take up your piece!

BUTLER. Renounce me if I do!

FENTON. I stand with you, Myles Butler. Make terms for us, John Talbot, or, on my soul, we'll make them for ourselves.

JOHN TALBOT. Surrender?

NEWCOMBE. Will Cromwell spare us, an we yield ourselves now? Will he spare us? Will he--

FENTON. 'Tis our one chance.

NEWCOMBE. Give me that white rag!

(_Crosses and s.n.a.t.c.hes a bandage from chimneypiece._)

FENTON (_drawing his ramrod_). Here's a staff!

(_Together FENTON and NEWCOMBE make ready a flag of truce._)

JOHN TALBOT (_struggling with_ BUTLER _and_ DRISCOLL). A black curse on you!

BUTLER. We'll not be butchered like oxen in the shambles!

JOHN TALBOT. Your oaths!

BUTLER. We'll not fight longer to be knocked on the head at the last.

NEWCOMBE. No! No! Not that! Out with the flag, d.i.c.k!

FENTON. A light here at the grating!

(NEWCOMBE _turns to take a candle, obedient to_ FENTON'S _order. At that moment, close at hand, a bugle sounds._)

JOHN TALBOT. Hark!

DRISCOLL. The bugle! They're upon us!

BUTLER (_releasing his hold on_ JOHN TALBOT). What was that?

JOHN TALBOT. You swore to hold the bridge.

BUTLER. Swore to hold it one day. We've held it three days now.

FENTON. And the half of us are slain.

NEWCOMBE. And we've no water--and no food!

JOHN TALBOT (_pointing to the powder-keg_). We have powder in plenty.

DRISCOLL. We can't drink powder. Ah, for G.o.d's love, be swift, d.i.c.k Fenton! Be swift!

JOHN TALBOT. You shall not show that white flag!

(_Starts toward_ FENTON, _hand on sword._)

BUTLER (_pinioning_ JOHN TALBOT). G.o.d's death! We shall! Help me here, Phelimy!

JOHN TALBOT. A summons to parley. What see you, Fenton?

FENTON (_at the shot-window_). Torches coming from the boreen, and a white flag beneath them. I can see the faces. (_With a cry_) Look, Jack! A'G.o.d's name! Look!

(JOHN TALBOT _springs to the window._)