Wappin' Wharf Part 8

BETSY: I was sent to call the Duke to dinner and carried a bell to ring it on the cliff. I was afraid when a stranger's head appeared upon the path.

JOE: Yet, when I spoke, you stopped.

BETSY: At the first word I knew I need n't be afraid. And you took my hand to help me up the slope. You asked my name, and told me yours was Joe. Then we came together to this cabin. And each day I have been with you. Two weeks only.

JOE: I shall be gone, Betsy, in a little while.

BETSY: Gone?

JOE: I am not, my dear, the master of myself. We must forget these days together.

BETSY: Joe!

JOE: May be I shall return. Fate is captain. The future shows so vaguely in the mist. Listen! It is the Duke.

(_In the distance the Duke is heard singing the pirates' song._)

JOE: We must speak of these things together. Another time when there is no interruption.

(_Gently she touches his fingers._)

BETSY: I shall be lonely when you go.

(_There is loud stamping at the door. Betsy goes quickly to the kitchen._

_The Captain enters, followed by the Duke. Patch-Eye enters by way of the ladder. The Captain has a hook hand. This is the very hook mentioned in my preface--if you read prefaces--got from the corner butcher. The Captain would be a frightful man to meet socially. I can hear a host saying "Shake hands with the Captain." One quite loses his taste for dinner parties. There is a sabre cut across the Captain's cheek. He is even more disreputable in appearance than his followers, with a bl.u.s.ter that marks his rank._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Captain would be a frightful man to meet socially]

CAPTAIN: There 's news! There 's news, me men! I 've brought big news from the village.

(_He wrings the water from his hat. He is provokingly deliberate. All of the pirates crowd around._)

CAPTAIN: By the bones of me ten fingers, it 's a blythe night fer our business. It 's wetter than a crocodile's nest. When I smells a fog, I feels good. I tastes it and is 'appy.

PATCH: What 's yer news, Captain?

CAPTAIN: News? Oh yes, the news. I 've jest hearn--I 've jest hearn--blast me rotten timbers! How can a man talk when he 's dry! A cup o' grog!

(_Darlin' has slipped into the room in the excitement. Old custom antic.i.p.ates his desire. She stands at his elbow with the cup, like a dirty Ganymede. The Captain drinks slowly._)

CAPTAIN: There 's big news, me hearties.

DUKE: What 's yer news, Captain? We asks yer.

CAPTAIN: I 'm tellin' yer. It 's sweatin' with curiosity that kills cats. (_He yawns and stretches his legs across the hob._) Down in the village I learnt--I was jest takin' a drop o' rum at the Harbor Light.

It 's not as sweet as Darlin's. They skimps their sugar. Yer wants ter keep droppin' it in as yer stirs it. I thinks they puts in too much water. Water 's not much good--'cept fer was.h.i.+n'. And was.h.i.+n' 's not much good.

DUKE: Now then, Captain, hold hard on yer tiller agin wobblin', and get ter port.

DARLIN': We 're hangin' on yer lips.

CAPTAIN: Yer need n't keep shovin' me. I kicks up when I 'm riled.

They say down in the village--

(_It is now a sneeze that will not dislodge. He has hopes of it for a breathless moment, but it proves to be a dud._)

CAPTAIN: There 's Petey--

PATCH: We 're jest fidgettin' fer the news.

CAPTAIN: The news? Oh, yes. Now yer hears it. (_He draws the pirates near._) A great merchantman has jest sailed from Bristol. The Royal 'Arry. It 's her. With gold fer the armies in France. She 's a brig o'

five hundred ton. This night, when the tide runs out, she slips away from Bristol harbor. With this wind she should be off Clovelly by this time termorrer night.

DARLIN': Glory ter G.o.d!

DUKE: And then Petey will douse his glim. And we 'll set up the s.h.i.+p's lantern.

PATCH: Smas.h.!.+

DUKE: Then Petey will light hisself.

PATCH: And we 'll be jest as innercent as babies rockin' in a crib.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The Royal 'Arry. It 's her."]

DUKE: And lay it on the helmsman fer bein' sleepy.

CAPTAIN: And I 've other news. Down in the village they say--fer a fis.h.i.+n' sloop brought the word--that his 'Ighness, the Prince o'

Wales, left London a month ago.

DUKE: And him not givin' me word. I calls that shabby. He was me f.a.g at Eton.

PATCH: Does yer think, Captain, he 'll spend a week-end with us, ridin' to the 'ounds, jest tellin' us the London gossip--how the pretty d.u.c.h.esses is cuttin' up?

DUKE: I thought he was settin' in Whitehall, tryin' on crowns, so as ter get one that did n't scratch his ears.

CAPTAIN: They say he 's incarnito.

PATCH: What? Is it somethin' yer ketches like wollygogs in the stomich?

DUKE: Igerence. I 'm 'shamed o' yer, Patch. Ain 't yer been ter school? Ain 't yer done lessons on a slate? Ain 't yer been walloped so standin' 's been comfertabler. The Captain and me soils ourselves talkin' to yer. Incarnito is dressed up fancy, so as no one can know him.

DARLIN': Like Cindereller at the party.

DUKE: If yer wants Patch ter understand yer, Captain, yer has got to use leetle words as is still pullin' at their bottles.

DARLIN': When words grow big and has got beards they jest don 't say nothin' to Patch.