The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 44

JOHN TALBOT (_barring his way_). No, no! You shan't go forth!

FENTON. G.o.d's mercy, no!

HUGH TALBOT. Are you stark crazed?

FENTON. You shall stay with us.

JOHN TALBOT. What's your pledged word to men that know not honor?

HUGH TALBOT. My word. Unbar the door, Jack. Why, lad, we're traveling the same road.

FENTON. G.o.d! But we'll give them a good fight at the last. (_Goes to the shot-window._) Take up your musket, Kit.

NEWCOMBB. But I--Captain! When you are gone, I--I--

HUGH TALBOT. I'll not be far. You'll hold the bridge?

JOHN TALBOT. Aye, sir.

BUTLER. We've powder enough--you said it, sir,--laid there at the stairhead, to blow the bridge to h.e.l.l.

HUGH TALBOT. Aye, Myles, you've hit it!

(_Holds out his hand._)

BUTLER. Not yet, sir!

HUGH TALBOT. Hereafter, then. G.o.d speed you, lads!

JOHN TALBOT. Speed you, sir! (_All five stand at salute as_ HUGH TALBOT _goes out. In the moment's silence upon his exit_, JOHN TALBOT _bars the door and turns to his comrades._) You have--Hugh Talbot's orders. Take your pieces! Driscoll! Newcombe!

(_Obediently the two join_ FENTON _at windows._) Butler!

BUTLER. Aye! We have Hugh Talbot's orders.

(_Points to powder-keg._)

JOHN TALBOT. Are you meaning--

BUTLER. It's not I will be failing him now!

FENTON (_at window_). G.o.d! They waste no time.

JOHN TALBOT. Already--they have dared--

FENTON. Here--this moment--under our very eyes!

DRISCOLL. Christ Jesus!

(_Goes back from the window, with his arm across his eyes, and falls on his knees in headlong prayer._)

JOHN TALBOT. Kit! Kit Newcombe!

(_Motions him to window._)

NEWCOMBE. I cannot! I--

JOHN TALBOT. Look forth! Look! And remember--when you meet them--remember! (NEWCOMBE _stands swaying, clutching at the grating of the window, as he looks forth._) Lads! (_Motions to_ BUTLER _and_ FENTON _to carry the powder to the stairhead._) The time is short. His orders!

(DRISCOLL _raises his head and gazes fixedly toward the centre of the room._)

FENTON. Yonder, at the stairhead.

BUTLER. Aye.

(FENTON _and_ BUTLER _carry the keg to the door._)

NEWCOMBE. Not that! Not that death! No! No!

JOHN TALBOT. Be silent! And look yonder! Driscoll! Fetch the light! Newcombe! Come! You have your places, all.

DRISCOLL. But, Captain! The sixth man--where will the sixth man be standing?

(_There is a blank silence, in which the men look questioningly at_ DRISCOLL'S _rapt face and at one another._)

JOHN TALBOT. Sixth?

FENTON. What sixth?

DRISCOLL. The blind eyes of ye! Yonder!

(_Comes to the salute, even as, a few moments before, he has saluted_ HUGH TALBOT, _living._

NEWCOMBE _gives a smothered cry, as one who half sees, and takes courage._ FENTON _dazedly starts to salute. Outside a bugle sounds, and a voice, almost at the door, is heard to speak._)

VOICE OUTSIDE. For the last time: will you surrender you?

JOHN TALBOT (_in a loud and confident voice_). No! Not while our commander stands with us!

VOICE OUTSIDE. And who might your commander be?

JOHN TALBOT. Hugh Talbot, the Captain of the Gate! The light here, Phelimy.

(JOHN TALBOT _bends to set the candle to the powder that shall destroy Cashala Gatehouse, and all within it. His mates are gathered round him, with steady, bright faces, for in the little s.p.a.ce left vacant in their midst they know in that minute that_ HUGH TALBOT _stands._)

[CURTAIN]