Our scene is the wind-swept coast of Devon. By day there is a wide stretch of ocean far below. The time is remote and doubtless great ships of forgotten build stand out from Bristol in full sail for western shores. Their white canvas winks in the morning sun as if their purpose were a jest. They seek a northwest passage and the golden mines of India. But we must be loose and free of date lest our plot be shamed by broken fact. A thousand years are but as yesterday. We shall make no more than a general gesture toward the wide spaces of the past.

The village of Clovelly climbs in a single street a staircase, really from the shore to the top of the cliff, and is fagged and out of breath half way. But on a still dizzier crag, storm-blown, clinging by its toes, there stands the pirates’ cabin. To this topmost ledge fishwives sometimes scramble by day to seek a belated sail against Lundy’s Isle. But after twilight a night wind searches the crannies of the rock and whines to the moon of its barren quest, and then no villager, I think, chooses to walk in that direction. I have visited Clovelly and have kicked a sodden donkey from the wharf to the top of the street, past the shops of Devon cream and picture postal cards, but have sought in vain the pirates’ cabin. Since our far-off adventure of tonight ten thousand tempests have snarled across these giddy cliffs and we must convince our reason that these highest crags where we pitch our plot have long since been toppled in a storm. Where yonder wave lathers the shaggy headland, as if Neptune had turned barber, we must fancy that the pinnacles of yesteryear lie buried in the sea.

We had hoped for a play upon the sea, with a tall mast rocking from wing to wing and a tempest roaring at the rail. Alas! Our pirates grow old and stiff. They have retired, as we say, from active practice and live in idle luxury on shore. Yet we shall see that their villainy still thrives.

Our scene is their cabin on the cliff. It is a rough stone building with peeling plaster and slates that by day are green with moss. But it is night and the wind is whistling its rowdy companions from the sea. Until the morning they will play at leap-frog from cliff to cliff. Far below is the village of Clovelly, snug with fire and candles.

We enter the cabin without knocking like neighbors through a garden and poke about a bit before our hosts appear. A door, forward at the right, leads to the kitchen. Back stage, also, at the right, a ladder rises to a sleeping loft. On the left wall are a chimney and fireplace with a crane and pot for heating grog, and smoky timbers above to mark the frequent thirst. On a great beam overhead are bags of clinking loot and shining brasses from wrecked ships. Peppers hang to dry before the fire, and a lighted ship’s lantern swings from a hook. At the rear of the cabin, to the left, a row of mullioned windows looks at sea and cliffs in a flash of lightning. Below is a seaman’s chest. Above, on the broken plaster, is scrawled a ship. In the middle, at the rear, there is a clock with hanging pendulum and weights. A gun of antique pattern leans beside the clock. To the right the cabin is recessed, with a door right-angled in the jog and other windows looking on the sea. A parrot sits on its perch with curbed profanity. The gaudy creature is best if stuffed, for its noisy tongue would drown our dialogue. Like Hamlet’s player it would speak beyond its lines and raise a quantity of barren laughter. Our furniture is a table and three stools, and a tall-backed chair beside the hearth. On the table a candle burns, bespattered with tallow. The cabin glows with fire light.

At the lifting of the curtain there is thunder and lightning, and a rush of wind if it can be managed. Two pirates are discovered, drinking at the table. By the smack of their lips it is excellent grog. One of them Patch-Eye has lost an eye and he wears a black patch. His hair curls up in a pigtail, like any sailor before Nelson. It looks as stiff as a hook and he might almost be lifted by it and hung on a peg. But all of our pirates wear pigtails except one, Red Joe.

The other pirate at the table is called the Duke, for no apparent reason as he is a shabby rogue. We must not run our finger down the peerage in hope of finding him, or think that he owns a palace on the Strand. He has only one leg, with a timber below the knee. He wears a long cloak so that the actor’s rusticated leg can be folded out of sight. The Duke has a great red nose grog and rum and that sort of thing. His whiskers are the bush that marks the merry drinking place.

Patch-Eye is melancholy almost sentimental at times. He would stab a man, but grieve upon a sparrow. At heart we fear he is a coward, and stupid. The Duke, on the contrary, is shrewd and he does a lot of thinking. He has heavy eyebrows. He is the kind of thinker that you just know that he is thinking. Both pirates are very cruel and profane, but we must be careful.

And now we hush the melancholy fiddlers. If this comedy can stir the croaking bass-viol to any show of mirth, our work tops Falstaff. Glum folk with beards had best withdraw. Only the young in heart will catch the slender meaning of our play. Let’s light the candles and draw the curtain!

PATCH: Darlin’! Darlin’! (He lolls back in his chair and stretches out his legs for comfort.) Darlin’!

(At this a dirty old woman with one tooth appears from the kitchen. She is called Darlin’ just for fun, as she is not at all kissable. A sprig of mistletoe, even in the Christmas season, would beckon vainly.)

PATCH: Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Will yer fill the cups? Hurry, ol’ dear! And squeeze in jest a bit o’ lemon. It sets the stomich.

DARLIN’: Yer sets yer stomich like it were hen’s eggs. Alers coddlin’ it.

(She stirs and tastes the pot of grog, and hoists her wrinkled stockings.)

DUKE: There ‘s no one like Darlin’ fer mixin’ grog.

DARLIN’: Fer that kind word I ‘m lovin’ yer. (She looks at him with admiration.) Ain ‘t he a figger o’ a man? Wenus was nothin’. Jest nothin’ at all.

PATCH: It ’s grog beats off the melancholy. As soon as me pipes go dry, I gets homesick fer the ocean. Here we be, Duke, thrown up at last ter rot like driftwood on the shore. No more sailin’ off to Trinidad! No tackin’ ’round the Hebrides! We is ships as has sprung a leak. It was ‘appy days when we sailed with ol’ Flint on the Spanish Main.

DUKE: ’Appy days, Patch! (They drink.)

PATCH: Aye! The blessed, dear, ol’ roarin’ hulk. No better pirate ever lived than Flint. Smart with his cutlass. Quick at the trigger. Grog! A sloppin’ pail o’ it was jest a sip.

DUKE: I used ter tell him that his leg was holler.

PATCH: He was a vat, was Flint jest a swishin’ keg.

DUKE: Grog jest sizzled and disappeared, like when yer drops it on a red-hot seacoal.

PATCH: Fer twenty year and more me and you has seen ol’ Flint march his wictims off the plank.

DUKE: “Step lively!” he ‘d say. “Does n’t yer hear Davy callin’ to yer?” There was never a sailorman ever sat in the Port Light at Wappin’ wharf which could drink with Flint.

PATCH: Wappin’ wharf and gibbets is nothin’ ter talk about. Funerals even is cheerfuller.

DUKE: There ’s his parrot.

PATCH: She used ter cuss soft and gentle to herself ’appy all the day. She ain ‘t spoke since Flint was took. Peckin’ at yer finger and broodin’.

DUKE: There ‘s his ol’ clock.

PATCH: As hung in the cabin o’ the Spittin’ Devil.

DUKE: With the pendulum gettin’ tangled in a storm. A ’ell of a clock fer a bouncin’ ship.

PATCH: She was tickin’ peaceful the day Flint was hanged. But she stopped does yer remember it? the very minute they pushed him off the ladder.

DUKE: She ain ’t ticked since.

PATCH: It makes yer ’stitious. And she won ’t never run agin that ’s what Flint alers said till his death ’s revenged.

DUKE: He told us never ter wind her says she ’d start hisself without no windin’ when the right time came.

PATCH: If I was ter look up and see that pendulum swingin’ Horrers! Yeller elephants would be nothin’!

DUKE: Pooh! I ‘d give a month o’ grog jest ter hear the ol’ dear tickin’, and ter know that Flint was restin’ easy in his rotten coffin swappin’ stories with the pretty angels.

PATCH: I loved Flint like a brother. (He is quite sentimental about this.) It was him knocked this out. (Pointing to his missing eye.) But it was jest in the way o’ business. We differed a leetle in the loot. He was very persuasive, was ol’ Flint.

DUKE: Yer talks like a woman. They loves yer to cuff ’em. Them was ’appy days, Patch.

PATCH: Blast me gig what ’s left, Duke, but me and you has seen a heap o’ sights. I suppose I ’ve drowned meself a hundred men. It ’s comfertin’ when yer lays awake at night. I feels I ain ’t wasted meself. I ’ve used me gifts. I ain ’t been a foolish virgin and put me shinin’ talent inside a bushel. But me and you is driftwood now, Duke.

DUKE: Aye. But it ain ‘t no use snifflin’ about it, ol’ crocodile. Darlin’ is certainly handy at mixin’ grog. And we ’ve a right smart cabin with winders on the sea. Since I stuffed yer ol’ shirt in the roof it hardly leaks.

PATCH: My shirt! Next week is me week fer changin’. How could yer ha’ done it? I ’m a kinder perticerler dresser. I likes ter wash now and then if it ain ’t too often.

DUKE: Darlin’, me friend Patch is thirsty. And a drop meself. (The cups are filled.) Yer a precious ol’ lady, and I loves yer.

DARLIN’: Yer spoils me, Duke.

(Lightning and a crash of thunder.)

DUKE: It ’s foul tonight on the ocean. How the wind blows! It be spittin’ up outside. The channel ’s as riled as a wampire when yer scorns her. How she snorts!

PATCH: The devil hisself is hissin’ through his teeth.

DUKE: There ’ll be sailormen tonight what ’s booked fer Davy Jones’s locker. I ‘m not kickin’ much ter be ashore. I rots peaceful.

(Patch-Eye has opened the door to consult the night. It slams wide in the wind and the gust blows out the candle.)

DUKE: Hi, there, for’ard! Batten yer hatch! Yer blowin’ the gizzard out o’ us.

(He hobbles on timber leg to the warm chair by the fire. Patch closes the door and sits. Darlin’ relights the candle.)

PATCH: Poor Flint! He was took on jest such a night.

Dropped inter the Port Light fer somethin’ wet and warmin’. Jest ter kinder say goodby. Ship all fitted out. He ’d got three new sailormen fine fellers as had been sentenced ter be hanged fer cuttin’ purses, but had been let go, as they had reformed and wanted ter be honest pirates.

DUKE: I remembers the night, ol’ sea-nymph. It was rainin’ ter put out the fires o’ hell with the leetle devils stoakin’ in the sinners. It ’s sinners, Patch, as is used fer kindlers, ter keep the devils in a healthy sweat.

PATCH: He was ter sail when the tide ran out. Lord a Goody! How the tide runs down the Thames, as if it were homesick fer the ocean!

DUKE: But someone squealed.

PATCH: Squealers is worse ‘n hissin’ reptiles. They ketched Flint and they strung him to a gibbet. Poor ol’ dear! I never touches me patch, but I thinks o’ Flint.

DUKE: This here life is snug and easy. We has retired from practice, like store-keepers does who has made a fortin. Ain ‘t we settin’ here in style and comfert, and jest waitin’ fer the treasure ships ter come ter us? We gets the plums without chawin’ at the dough. We blows out the lighthouse, and we sets our lantern so as ter fool ’em on the course, and when they smashes on the rocks, well all we does is stuff our pokes with the treasure that washes up. I prays meself fer fog and dirty weather. Now I lay me, says I, and will yer send it thick and oozy?

PATCH: I ain ‘t disputin’ yer. (He cheers up a bit.) And we robs landlubbers once in a while.

DUKE: Now yer talkin’, ol’ sea-lion. I ‘m tellin’ yer it were a good haul we made last night on Castle Crag.

PATCH: Who ‘s disputin’ yer?

DUKE: I ‘m tellin’ yer. Silver candles! And spoons! Never seen such a heap o’ spoons.

PATCH: What ’s anyone want more ’n one spoon fer? Yer cleans it every bite agin the tongue.

DUKE: Yer disgusts me, Patch. Yer ain ’t no manners. Fer meself I spears me food tidy on me knife.

(The Duke sits looking at the seaman’s chest at the rear of the cabin. He is deep in thought.)

DUKE: There ’s jest one leetle thing I does n’t understand. I asks yer. (He goes to the chest, opens it and draws out a rich velvet garment. He holds it up.) What ‘s the meaning o’ this here loot we took at Castle Crag? I asks yer. Ain ’t we been by that castle a hundred times? The Earl, he don ‘t wear clothes like this. None o’ the arstocky does, ’cept when they struts on Piccadilly. I asks yer, Patch. I asks yer who wears a thing like that.

(He puts the garment around Patch’s shoulders.)

DARLIN’: Yer looks like the Archbishop o’ Canterbury.

PATCH: (with strut and gesture). His Grice takin’ the air pluckin’ posies.

DUKE: Lookin’ like a silly jackass.

PATCH: Yer hurts me feelin’s, Duke.

(The Duke folds the cloak and puts it back again in the chest. He sits at the table in meditation.)

DUKE: I does n’t like it, Patch. I does n’t understand it. And what I does n’t understand, I does n’t like.

PATCH: What?

DUKE: Them gay clothes. Who owned ’em, I asks yer, afore we stole ’em.

PATCH: Darlin’! Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Yer had better mix another pot. Our cups is low. Yer does n’t want ter be a foolish virgin and get ketched without no grog.

DUKE: With this bit o’ slop what ‘s left I drinks to yer shinin’ lamps Wenus’s flashin’ gigs.

DARLIN’: I loves yer, Duke.

(She fills, mixes and stirs the pot. She tastes it like a practiced house-wife. Her apron is maid of all work. It is towel, dust-rag, mop and handkerchief.)

DUKE: What does yer make, ol’ Cyclops, o’ the new recruit?

PATCH: Red Joe?

DUKE: Him.

PATCH: He ’s a right smart pirate, I says. I never seen a feller as could shoot so straight.

DUKE: I says so. But he ’s a wee bit nobby kinder stiff in the nose.

PATCH: Looks as if he knowed he was kinder good.

DUKE: It ‘s queer how he come ter us. Jest settin’ on top his dory on the beach, when we found him. And what he said about his ship goin’ down! Blast me ol’ stump, but it were queer.

PATCH: Queer?

DUKE: Yer said it, Patch. Queerer than mermaids. Did we ever see a stick o’ that ship? I ‘m askin’ yer, Patch.

PATCH: Ain ‘t I listenin’?

DUKE: Ain ‘t I tellin’ yer? Nary a bit washed in. Did yer ever know a wreck ‘long here where nothin’ washed in jest nothin’? I ‘m askin’ yer.

PATCH: You and me would starve if it happened regular.

DUKE: It ’s what we lives by pickin’s on the beach.

PATCH: He ’s a right smart pirate, ’s Red Joe. The Captain the most ’ticerler man I know he took ter him at once. He ’s a kinder good-lookin’ feller.

DARLIN’: (stirring at the pot). He ain ’t got whiskers like the
Duke.

(She spits must I say it? she spits into the fire.)

DUKE: Queer that never a stick washed in.

PATCH: I ‘m not denyin’ yer, Duke. Where ’s Red Joe now? It ‘s gettin’ on. I ’ll jest take a look fer him. (He takes the lantern from its hook and stands at the open door.) It ain ‘t blowin’ so hard. Öl’ Borealis I speaks poetical ain ‘t strainin’ at his waistcoat buttons like he was.

DUKE: Igerence! I pities yer. Borealis ain ’t wind. He ’s rainbows.

(Patch-Eye goes into the night. The Duke sits to a greasy game of solitaire.)

DUKE: It ’s queer, I says. Nary a stick! Jest Red Joe on top his dory! (He sings abstractedly.)

[Music: PIRATE CHANTY]

Bill Bones used ter say, on many a day,
When takin’ a ship fer its loot,
That a blow on the head was quickest dead
And safest and best ter boot.
But a wictim’s end, fer meself I contend
There s a hundred been killed by me
Is a walk, I ’ll be frank, on a slippery plank,
And a splash in the roarin’ sea.

(He turns and surveys the drawing above the windows. He cocks his head like a connoisseur, critically with approval.)

DUKE: I ‘m the artist o’ that there masterpiece. The Spittin’ Devil! I done it on a rainy mornin’. Genius is queer. (Then he sings again.)

Öl Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk
His choice was a jab in the dark

(He is engaged thus, fumbling with his cards, when Darlin’, crossing from the fire, interrupts him.)

DARLIN’: Duke, will yer have a nip o’ grog? It eases yer pipes. Yer sounds as if yer had crumbs in yer gullet.

(The Duke pushes forward his cup.)

DUKE: It ’s a lovely tune, and I wrote the words meself. (He continues his song.)

Old Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk
His choice was a jab in the dark
And Morgan’s crew, ’twixt me and you,
Considered a rope a lark.
But a prettier end, I repeat and contend
And I ’ve sailed on every sea
Is a plunge off the side in the foamin’ tide.
It tickles a sailor like me.

DARLIN’: Duke, does yer happen ter have a wife?

DUKE: (deeply engaged). Some tunes is hard, so I jest makes ’em up as I goes along.

Blackbeard had a knife which he stuck in his wife.
Fer naggin, says he ter me

DARLIN’: Has yer a wife? A wife as might turn up, I mean.

DUKE: Say it agin, Darlin’.

DARLIN’: Most sailors has wives o’ course, strewed here and there from Bristol to Guinea jest ter make all ports cozy. So ‘s yer goin’ home ter a ’appy family, no matter where yer steers.

DUKE: It ’s comfertable, Darlin’ I ’ll not deny it when yer heads ter harbor to see a winkin’ candle in a winder on a hill, and know that a faithful wife and a couple o’ leetle pirates is waitin’ ter hug yer.

DARLIN’: I says so, Duke. I ’ve been a wife meself on and off, with husbands sailin’ in and out kissin’ yer and ‘oistin’ sail. Roundabout, I says, makes ’appy marriages. Has yer a wife, Duke livin’, as yer can remember?

DUKE: Yer a bold, for’ard creature. Are yer proposin’ ter me?

(Something like a wink shows in the blush.)

DARLIN’: I blush fer yer bad manners, Duke. I ’m a lady and I waits patient fer the ‘appy question. I lets me beauty do the pleadin’. I was a flamin’ roarer in me time. Lovers was nothin’. Dozens! There was a sea-captain once (She smiles dreamily, then seems to cut her throat with her little finger.) Positive! Jest ’cause we tiffed. And a stage-coach driver! I had ter cool his passion with a rollin’ pin. He brooded hisself inter drink. ’Appy days! (She is lost for a moment in her glorious past, then blows her nose upon her apron and returns to us.) Duke askin’ yer pardon I was noticin’ lately that you was castin’ yer eyes on leetle Betsy.

DUKE: As washes the dishes?

DARLIN’: Her.

DUKE: Go ’long!

DARLIN’: And I thought yer might be drawn to her.

DUKE: Darlin’, I ’m easy riled.

DARLIN’: Yer can have her, Duke, on one condition.

DUKE: She ’s a pretty leetle girl.

DARLIN’: Yer must set me up in a pub in Bristol with brass beer-pulls.

DUKE: I ’ll not deny I ’ve given her a thought. Usual, wives is nuisances naggin’ at yer fer sixpences. But sometimes I does get lonesome on a wet night when there are nothin’ ter do. I need someone ter hand me down me boots. Betsy ’d make a kinder cozy wife. Could yer learn her ter make grog?

DARLIN’: Aye.

DUKE: I might do worse. And roast pig that crackles?

DARLIN’: I could learn her.

DUKE: I might do worser. I ’d marry you, Darlin

DARLIN’: Dearie!

DUKE: But yer gettin’ on. Patch might marry yer. He ’s only got one eye.

DARLIN’: (with scorn). Patch!

DUKE: I ’ll not deny I ‘ve been considerin’ leetle Betsy. I was thinkin’ about it this mornin’ as I was cleanin’ me boot. Wives cleans boots. I ‘m the sort o’ sailorman she would be sure ter like.

DARLIN’: And what about the pub?

DUKE: Blast me stump, Darlin’, I ’ll not ferget yer.

DARLIN’: Does I get brass beer-pulls in the tap?

DUKE: Everythin’ shiny.

DARLIN’: I ‘m lovin’ yer.

DUKE: Betsy would kinder jump at me. There ‘s somethin tender about a young girls first love cooin’ in yer arms.

DARLIN’: Easy, Duke!

DUKE: I alers was a fav’rite with the ladies. I think it ’s me whiskers.

DARLIN’: ’Vast there, Duke! There ’s a shoal ahead. Red Joe ’s a right smart feller.

DUKE: Red Joe?

DARLIN’: Him. He sets and watches her.

DUKE: What can she see in a young feller like that?

DARLIN’: Women ’s queer folks. They ’re wicious wampires. Jest yer watch ’em together. Red Joe ‘s snoopin’ in on yer.

DUKE: Yer can blast me. He ain ’t got whiskers.

DARLIN’: I ‘m tellin’ yer, Duke. If I was you I ’d tumble that Red Joe off a cliff. I ‘m hintin’ to yer, Duke. Off a cliff! (She sniffs audibly.) It ’s the pig. I clean fergot the pig. It ‘s burnin’ on the fire. Off a cliff! I ‘m hintin’ to yer.

(She runs to the kitchen.)

DUKE: Red Joe! Women ’s queer queerer than mermaids. A snooper! Jest a ‘prentice pirate! No whiskers! Nothin’!

(At this moment there is a stamping of feet outside and Patch-Eye enters with Red Joe.

If Red Joe were born a gentleman we might expect silver buckles and a yellow feather to trail across his shoulder, for he bears a jaunty dignity. His is a careless grace the swagger of a pleasant vagabond a bravado that snaps its fingers at danger. His body has the quickness of a cat, his eye a flash of humor kindly, unless necessity sharpens it. As poets were thick in those golden days we suspect that the roar of the ocean sets rhymes jingling in his heart. He is, however, almost as shabby as the other pirates, although he wears no pigtail. His collar is turned up. He wrings the water from his hat.

Patch-Eye throws himself on the seaman’s chest and falls asleep at once. He snores an obligato to our scene. Just once an ugly dream disturbs him and we must fancy that a gibbet has crossed the frightful shadow of his thoughts.)

DUKE: Evenin’, ol’ sea-serpent! Where has you been?

JOE: Up at the lighthouse. It ’s as mirky as hell’s back door.

DUKE: See Petey?

JOE: I did. He was puttering with his light and meowing to his tabby cat.

DUKE: We ‘re a blessin’ ter ol’ Petey. I ‘m bettin’ me stump he ’d get lonesome up there ’cept fer us. (He points to the window to the right, where the lighthouse shows.) There ‘s ol’ Petey, starin’ at the ocean. Yer ain ‘t never seen a light at that t’ other winder, has yer Joe? We waits fer a merchantman which he knows has gold aboard. Then we jest tips a hint ter Petey, and he douses his light. Then we sets up our lantern ol’ Flint’s lantern outside on the rocks, jest where she shows at t’ other winder. The ship sticks her nose agin the cliff. Smash!

(At this point, after a few moments of convulsion, Patch-Eye falls off the chest. He sits up and rubs his eyes.)

PATCH: I dreamed o’ gibbets!

DUKE: Yer is lucky, ol’ keg o’ rum, yer does n’t dream o’ purple rhinoceroses. Go back ter bed. (Then to Joe.) Smash! I says. On comes Petey agin. And we jest as innercent as babies in a crib. It was me own idear. Brains, young feller. Jest yer wait, Joey, till yer sees a light at t’ other winder.

(Betsy is heard singing in the kitchen. The Duke stops and listens. A dark thought runs through his head. His shrewd eye quests from kitchen door to Joe.)

DUKE: Darlin’! Darlin’! (She thrusts in her head.)

DUKE: Where ’s Betsy?

DARLIN’: She ‘s washin’ dishes.

DUKE: I ‘m wonderin’ if she would lay off a bit from her jolly occerpation, and sing us a leetle song.

DARLIN’: (calling). Betsy! I wants yer.

PATCH: I never knowed yer cared fer music, Duke. Usually yer goes outside. Yer jest boohs.

DUKE: I does usual, Patch. Tonight ’s perticerler. Red Joe ain ’t never heard Betsy sing. Does yer like music, Joe?

JOE: I like the roaring of the ocean. I like to hear the trees tossing in the wind.

PATCH: Wind ain ’t music. Yer should hear Betsy. She ’s got a leetle song that makes yer feel as good and peaceful as a whinin’ parson.

DARLIN’: (beckoning at the kitchen door). Betsy! Stop sloppin’ with the dishes!

(Betsy enters. She is a pretty girl. Our guess at her age is but it is better not to guess. We have in our own experience made several humiliating blunders. Let us say that Betsy is young enough to be a grand-daughter. Plainly she is a pirate by accident, not inheritance, for she is clean and she wears a pretty dress.)

DUKE: (as he rises and makes a show of manners). Betsy, yer is welcome ter the parlor. We wants Red Joe ter hear yer sing. That leetle song o’ yers.

(He returns to the recess at the rear of the cabin and covertly watches Joe. Patch-Eye is lost in heavenly meditation. Joe’s attention is roused before the first stanza of the song is finished. By the third stanza Betsy sings to him alone.)

[Music: Betsy’s Lullaby]

BETSY: (sings).

The north wind’s cheeks are puffed with tunes:
It whistles across the sky.
Its song is shrill and rough, until
The hour of twilight ’s nigh.
Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.
The winds on tip-toe keep.
In the dusk of day they hum their lay,
And weary children sleep.

The waves since dawn roared on the rocks:
They snarled at the ships on the deep.
But at twilight hour they chain their power
And little children sleep.
Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.
The ships in a cradle swing,
And sailormen blink and children sink
To sleep, as the wavelets sing.

The sun at noon was red and hot:
It stifled the east and west.
But at even song the shadows long
Have summoned the world to rest.
Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.
The sun runs off from the sky.
But the stars, it ’s odd, while children nod,
Are tuned to a lullaby.

(She sings slowly, to a measure that might rock a cradle. This can be managed, for I have tried it with a chair. Once, Patch-Eye blows his nose to keep his emotions from exposure. But make him blow softly soto naso, shall we say? so as not to disturb the song. In Red Joe the song seems to have stirred a memory. At the end of each stanza Betsy pauses, as if she, too, dwelt in the past.)

PATCH: When I hears that song I feels as if I were rockin’ babies in a crib blessed leetle pirates, pullin’ at their bottles, as will foller the sea some day.

(He blows his sentimental nose. A slighter structure would burst in the explosion.)

DUKE: Yer ol’ nose sounds as if it were tootin’ fer a fog. Yer might be roundin’ the Isle o’ Dogs on a mirky night.

(He goes to the door and stretches out his hand for raindrops.)

DUKE: Joe, you and me has got ter put île in the lantern. Come on, ol’ sweetheart. When yer sees this lantern blinkin’ at that there winder, yer will know that willainy ’s afoot.

(He comes close to Darlin’ and whispers.)

DUKE: Yer said it, Darlin’. Yer said it. Red Joe ‘s castin’ his eye on Betsy. Off a cliff! Tonight! Now! If I gets a chance. Off a cliff! Come on, Joey!

(He goes outdoors with Red Joe, singing Betsy’s song. The lullaby fades in the distance. Patch-Eye and Betsy are left together, for the roast pig again calls Darlin’ to the kitchen.)

PATCH: Will yer wait a bit, Betsy askin’ yer pardon while I talks to yer?

BETSY: Of course, Patch.

PATCH: I don ’t suppose, dearie, I ‘m the kind o’ pirate as sets yer thinkin’ of fiddles tunin’ up, ner parsons. No, yer says. Ner cradles and leetle devils bitin’ at their coral. And I don ’t suppose yer has a kind o’ hankerin’ and yearnin’. Yer never sets and listens to me comin’. Course not, yer says. Betsy, if I talk out square you ’ll not blab it all ’round the village, will yer? They would point their fingers at me, and giggle in their sleeves. I want ter tell yer somethin’ o’ a wery tender nater. There ’s a leetle word as begins with L. L, I mean, not ’ell. I would n’t want yer to think, Betsy, I ‘m cussin’. ‘Ell is cussin’. That leetle word is what ’s ailing me. It ’s love, Betsy. It ’s me heart. Smashed all ter bits! Jesus, yer asks, what done it? It ’s a pretty girl, I answers yer, as has smashed it. Does yer foller, Betsy? A pretty girl about your size, and with eyes the color o’ yourn. What does yer say, Betsy? Yer says nothin’.

BETSY: I never meant to, Patch. I ’m sorry.

PATCH: Course you are. Jest as sorry as the careless feller as nudged Humpty Dumpty off the wall. But it did n’t do no good. There he was, broke all ter flinders. And all the King’s horses and all the King’s men could n’t fix him. Humpty Dumpty is me, Betsy. Regularly all split up, fore and aft, rib and keel. I mopes all day fer you, Betsy. And I mopes all night. Last night I did n’t get ter sleep, jest fidgettin’, till way past ‘leven o’ clock. And I woke agin at seven, askin’ meself, if I loves you hopeless. Yer is a lump o’ sugar, Betsy, as would sweeten ol’ Patch’s life. If we was married I ’d jest tag ’round behind yer and hand yer things. And now yer tells me there ain ’t no hope at all.

BETSY: No hope at all, Patch.

PATCH: Yesterday I was countin’ the potaters in the pot, sayin’ ter meself: She loves me She don ’t love me. But the last potater did n’t love me, Betsy. There was jest one too many potaters in the pot. No, yer says, yer could n’t love me. Cause why? Cause Patch is a shabby pirate with only one eye.

BETSY: I am sorry, Patch.

(She offers him her hand.)

PATCH: Blessed leetle fingers, as twines their selves all ’round me heart. Patch, yer says, yer sorry. There ain ’t no hope at all. Yer nudges him off the wall, but yer can ’t fix him. But I never heard that Humpty Dumpty did a lot o’ squealin’ when he bust. He took it like a pirate. And so does Patch. I does n’t sulk. If yer will pardon me, Betsy, I ’ll leave yer. Me feelin ’s get lumpy in me throat. I ’ll take a wink o’ sleep in the loft.

(He climbs the ladder, but turns at the top.)

PATCH: There was jest one too many potaters in the pot.

(He disappears through the hole in the wall. Betsy arranges the mugs on the table, then stands listening. Presently there is a sound of footsteps. Red Joe enters at the rear.)

JOE: I slipped the Duke in the dark. I came back to talk with you. (Then bluntly, but with kindness.) How old are you, my dear?

BETSY: I don ’t know.

JOE: You don ’t know? How long have you lived here?

BETSY: In this cabin? Three years.

JOE: And where did you live before?

BETSY: In the village in Clovelly.

JOE: Did your parents live there?

BETSY: Y-e-s. I think so. I don ’t know. Old Nancy, they called her she brought me up. But she died three years ago.

JOE: Who was old Nancy?

BETSY: She did washing for the sailormen.

JOE: Was she good to you?

BETSY: Oh yes. I think I do not know that she was not my mother.

JOE: And Darlin’?

BETSY: Yes. She has been good to me. And the others, too. I seem to remember someone else. How long have you been a pirate?

JOE: A pirate? Years, it seems, my dear. But I am more used to a soldier’s oaths. I have trailed a pike in the Lowland wars. The roar of cannon, and siege and falling walls, are gayer tunes than any ocean tempest. What is this that you remember, Betsy?

BETSY: It is far off. Some one sang to me. It was not Nancy. When Nancy died, Darlin’ took me and brought me up. That was three years ago. But last year the Captain and Duke and Patch-Eye came climbing up the rocks. They were sailormen, they said, who had lost a ship. And these cliffs with the sea pounding on the shore comforted them when they were lonely. So they stayed. And Darlin’ and I cook for them.

JOE: Do you remember who it was who sang to you?

BETSY: No.

JOE: That song you just sang where did you learn it?

BETSY: I have always known it. It makes me sad to sing it, for it sets me thinking thinking of something that I have forgotten. (She stands at the window above the sea.) Some days I climb high on the cliffs and I look upon the ocean. And I know that there is land beyond where children play but I see nothing but a rim of water. And sometimes the wind comes off the sea, and it brings me familiar far-off voices voices I once knew voices I once knew fragments from a life I have forgotten. Why do you ask about my song?

JOE: Because I heard it once myself.

(Betsy sits beside him at the table.)

BETSY: Where? Perhaps, if you will tell me, it will help me to remember.

JOE: I heard the song once when I was a lad when I was taken on a visit.

BETSY: Were your parents pirates?

JOE: It was a long journey and all day we bumped upon the road, seeking an outlet from the tangled hills. Night overtook our weary horses and blew out the flaming candles in the west; and shadows were a blanket on the sleeping world. Toward midnight I was roused. We had come to the courtyard of a house this house where I was taken on a visit.

BETSY: Was it like this, Joe a cabin on a cliff?

JOE: I remember how the moon peeped around the corner to see who came so late knocking on the door. I remember I remember (He stops abruptly). Do you remember when you first came to live with Nancy?

BETSY: I dreamed once you will think me silly Are there great stone steps somewhere, wider than this room, with marble women standing motionless? And walls with dizzy towers upon them?

JOE: Go on, Betsy.

BETSY: In Clovelly there are naught but cabins pitched upon a hill, and ladders to a loft. And, at the foot of the town, a mole, where boats put in. And I have listened to the songs of the fishermen as they wind their nets. And through the window of the tavern I have heard them singing at their rum. And sometimes I have been afraid. I have stuffed my ears and ran. But the ugly songs have followed me and scared me in the night. The shadows from the moon have reeled across the floor, like a tipsy sailor from the Harbor Light. Joe, are you really a man from the sea?

JOE: Why, Betsy?

BETSY: The sea is never gentle. It never sleeps. I have stood listening at the window on breathless nights, but the ocean always slaps against the rocks. Even in a calm it moves and frets. Is it not said that the ghosts of evil men walk back and forth on the spot where their crimes are done? The ocean, perhaps, for its cruel wreckage, haunts these cliffs. It is doomed through all eternity with a lather of breaking waves to wash these rocks of blood. And the wind whistles to bury the cries of drowning men that plague the memory. Joe

JOE: Yes, my dear.

BETSY: You are the only one Patch-Eye, Duke and the Captain you are the only one who is always gentle. And I have wondered if you could really be a pirate.

JOE: Me? (Then with sudden change.) Me? Gentle? The devil himself is my softer twin.

BETSY: Don ’t! Don ’t!

JOE: What do you know of scuttled ships, and rascals ripped in fight? Of the last bubbles that grin upon the surface where a dozen men have drowned?

BETSY: Joe! For God’s sake! Don ’t!

JOE: Is it gentleness to plunge a dagger in a man and watch for his dying eye to glaze?

BETSY: It is a lie. Tell me it is a lie!

JOE: My dear. (Gently he touches her hand.)

BETSY: It is a lie.

JOE: We ’ll pretend it is a lie.

(They sit for a moment without speaking.)

BETSY: How long, Joe, have you lived with us?

JOE: Two weeks, Betsy.

BETSY: Two weeks? So short a time. From Monday to Monday and then around again to Monday. It is so brief a space that a flower would scarcely droop and wither. And yet the day you came seems already long ago. And all the days before are of a different life. It was another Betsy, not myself, who lived in this cabin on a Sunday before a Monday.

JOE: It is so always, Betsy, when friends suddenly come to know each other. All other days sink to unreality like the memory of snow upon a day of August. We wonder how the flowering meadows were once a field of white. Our past selves, Betsy, walk apart from us and, although we know their trick of attitude and the fashion of their clothes, they are not ourselves. For friendship, when it grips the heart, rewinds the fibres of our being. Do you remember, dear, how you ran in fright when you first saw me clambering up these rocks?

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 bluster that marks his rank.)

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 anticipates 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 washin’. And washin’ ’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 God!

DUKE: And then Petey will douse his glim. And we ’ll set up the ship’s lantern.

PATCH: Smash!

DUKE: Then Petey will light hisself.

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

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

CAPTAIN: And I ’ve other news. Down in the village they say fer a fishin’ 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 fag 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 Duchesses 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.

CAPTAIN: This here Prince o’ Wales is journeyin’ down Plymouth way.

DUKE: What ’s that ter us? I ‘m askin’ yer. His ’Ighness cut me when I passed him in Piccadilly. The bloomin’ swab! I pulled me hat, standin’ in the gutter, but he jest seemed ter smell somethin’.

PATCH: It were n’t roses, I ‘m tellin’ yer.

CAPTAIN: Silence! They say he has sworn an oath to break up the pirate business on the coast.

PATCH: And let us starve? It ‘s unfeelin’.

DUKE: No pickin’s on the beach?

JOE: I ’d like to catch him. I ’d slit his wizen.

DARLIN’: I ’d put pizen in the pig I feeds him.

DUKE: I ‘d nudge him off the cliff jest like he were a sneakin’ snooper.

CAPTAIN: Well, there ’s yer news! I ‘m dry. Darlin’! Some grog!

(He crosses to the table and draws the pirates around him.)

CAPTAIN: Here ’s to the Royal ’Arry!

DUKE: And may the helmsman be wery sleepy!

DARLIN’: And we as innercent as leetle pirates suckin’ at their bottles!

ALL: The Royal ’Arry!

(While the cups are still aloft there is a loud banging at the door. An old woman enters old Meg. We have seen her but a minute since pass the windows. Perhaps she is as dirty as Darlin’. A sprig of mistletoe, even at the reckless New Year, would wither in despair. She is a gypsy in gorgeous skirt and shawl, and she wears gold earrings. Any well-instructed nurse-maid would huddle her children close if she heard her tapping up the street. Meg walks to the table. She sniffs audibly. It is grog her weakness. She drinks the dregs of all three cups. She rubs her thrifty finger inside the rims and licks it for the precious drop. She opens her wallet and takes from it a fortune-teller’s crystal.)

MEG: I tells fortins, gentlemen. Would n’t any o’ yer like ter see the future? I sees what ‘s comin’ in this here magic glass. I tells yer when ter set yer nets and of rising storms. Has any o’ yer a kind o’ hankerin’ fer matrimony? I can tell yer if the lady be light or dark. It will cost yer only a sixpence.

CAPTAIN: Yer insults me. Fer better and fer worse is usual fer worse. Does yer think yer can anchor an ol’ sea-dog like me to a kennel as is made fer landlubbery lap dogs? I ’ve deserted three wives. And that ’s enough. More ’s a hog.

(He retires to the fireplace in disgust.)

DARLIN’: Husbands is nuisances, as I was tellin’ the sea-captain, jest afore he cut his throat.

DUKE: Thank ye, ol’ lady, I does n’t need yer. When the ol’ Duke is willin’, he knows a leetle dear as will come flutterin’ to his arms.

PATCH: What can yer do fer an ol’ sailorman like me? I ’d like someone with curlin’ locks, as can mix grog as good as Darlin’s. And I likes roast pig crackly, as Darlin’ cooks it. (He offers his hand.) I has a leetle girl in mind, but she ‘s kinder holdin’ off. What does yer see, dearie? Does yer hear any fiddles tunin’ fer the nupshals? Is there a pretty lady waitin’ fer a kiss?

MEG: I sees the ocean. And a ship. I sees inside the cabin o’ that ship.

PATCH: Does yer see me as the captain o’ that ship? Jest settin’ easy, bawlin’ orders jest feedin’ on plum duff.

MEG: I sees yer in irons.

PATCH: Mother o’ goodness! Now yer done it!

MEG: I sees Wappin wharf. I sees a gibbet. I sees

PATCH: Horrers!

MEG: I sees you swingin’ on that gibbet stretchin’ with yer toes swingin’ in the wind.

PATCH: Yer makes me grog sour on me.

(He goes to the rear of the cabin and looks disconsolately over the ocean.)

MEG: (as she looks in the glass). I sees misfortin fer everyone here ’cept one tragedy, the gibbet. Go not upon the sea until the moon has turned. Ha! Leetle glass, has yer more to show? Has yer any comfort? The light fades out. It is dark.

DUKE: Ain ‘t yer givin’ us more ‘n a sixpence worth o’ misery? Yer gloom is sloppin’ over the brim.

MEG: Ah! Here ’s light agin at last. There ’s a red streak across the dial. It drips! It ’s blood!

CAPTAIN: Ain ’t yer got any pretty picters in that glass?

PATCH: Graveyards are cheerfuller ’n gibbets.

MEG: Peace! I sees a man in a velvet cloak. It ’s him that swings yer to a gibbet. It ‘s him that strangles yer till yer eyes is poppin’. That man avoid like a pizened snake.

CAPTAIN: Avoid? By the rotten bones o’ Flint, if I meets that man in a velvet cloak I hooks out his eye.

DUKE: Captain, yer sweats yerself unnecessary. (Slyly.) Here ’s Red Joe, ol’ dear. Joe ’s a spry young feller. He looks as if he might be hankerin’ fer a wife. Hey, Darlin’?

DARLIN’: He ’s the kind as wampires makes their wictims.

(With a laugh but unwillingly Joe holds out his hand.)

MEG: (as she looks in the glass her face brightens). I sees a tall buildin’ with gold spires. I hears a shout o’ joy and I hears stately music, like what yer hears in Bartolmy Fair arter the Lord Mayor has made his speech. I sees a man in a silk cloak. He swaggers to the music. I sees I sees

(She looks long in the glass and seems to see great and unexpected things. Her eyes are as wide as a child’s at a tale of fairies. It is no less a moment but how different! than when Lady Bluebeard peeped in the forbidden door. Scarcely was Little Red Riding Hood more startled when she touched the strange bristles on her grandmother’s chin. But Meg is not frightened. She smiles. She bends intently. She is about to speak. Then she sinks into the chair behind the table.)

MEG: I sees I sees nothin’! The glass is blank!

CAPTAIN: Nothin’? Jest nothin’ at all?

PATCH: Ain ‘t there no blood drippin’?

DARLIN’: Ner gibbets?

CAPTAIN: Ner sailormen swingin’ in the wind?

(Old Meg is visibly affected by what she has seen. The Duke, with a suspicious glance at Red Joe, moves forward to look over her shoulder at the glass. Slyly she sees him. She pushes the crystal forward and it breaks upon the stones. Then she rises abruptly. She lifts a portentous finger. She advances to Red Joe.)

MEG: I sees danger fer yer, Joe. Who can tell whether it be death? ’T is beyond my magic. But beware a knife! Go not near the cliff! (Then, in a lower tone.) You will see me agin. And in your hour o’ danger. When yer least expects it.

(She is about to curtsy, but turns abruptly and leaves the cabin. Darlin’, with shaken nerves, runs to bolt the door. There is silence except for the monotone of rain.)

PATCH: Nice cheerful ol’ lady, I says.

CAPTAIN: Yer can pipe the devil up, but she give me shivers.

JOE: For just a minute I thought some old lady had died and left me her money box.

(The Duke picks up a fragment of the crystal and puts it to his eye. He examines it at the candle, and turns it round and round. He makes nothing of it, and shakes his head.)

PATCH: Yer can dim me gig that ’s left, I ’m clean upset.

CAPTAIN: I ain ’t been so down in the boots since the blessed angels took Flint ter ’ell.

DUKE: Captain, you and Patch is melancholier ‘n funerals. Weepin’ widders is jollier. Will yer let a hanted, thirsty, grog-eyed grand-daughter o’ a blinkin’ sea-serpent upset yer ’appy dispersitions? Stiffen yerself! Keep yer nose up, Captain! We has sea enough. We ‘re not thumpin’ on the rocks.

CAPTAIN: Yer said it, Duke. I sulks unnecessary. There ‘s ol’ Petey shinin’ up there. Termorrer night, if the wind holds, we ’ll see his starin’ eye go out, and our lantern shinin’ at t’ other winder. (He takes a pirate flag from his boot. He smoothes it with affection. Then he waves it on his hook.) The crossbones as hung on the masthead o’ the Spittin’ Devil. Öl’ Flint’s wery flag. Him as they hanged on a gibbet on Wappin’ wharf. It was a mirky night like this, with ‘prentices gawpin’ in the lanterns and Jack Ketch unsnarlin’ his cursed ropes. I spits blood ter think o’ it.

DUKE: I ’ll die easy when I ‘ve revenged his death and the ol’ clock is tickin’ peaceful and Flint sleepin’ ’appy in his rotten coffin.

CAPTAIN: A drink all ’round. We ‘ll drink the health o’ this here flag. You ‘ll drink with us, Darlin’.

DARLIN’: Yer spoils me, Captain.

(Everyone drinks.)

CAPTAIN: And now we ’ll drink confusion to the swab that ‘s settin’ on the English throne.

(All drink except Red Joe. He makes the pretense, but pours his grog out covertly. Our play is nothing if not subtle.)

DUKE: Here ‘s to ol’ Flint!

ALL: Here ‘s to ol’ Flint!

(It is bed-time. They all stretch and yawn. The Captain climbs the ladder to the sleeping loft. Patch follows with the candle, warming the Captain’s seat for speed. The Duke comes next, carrying his one boot which he has removed before the fire. Darlin’ kisses her hand to the Duke and retires to the kitchen. We suspect that she curls up inside the sink, with a stewpan for a pillow. Red Joe lingers for a moment and stands gazing at the ocean.)

JOE: My memory fumbles in the past. I, too, hear familiar voices lost for many years. A dark curtain lifts and in the past I see myself a child. There are strange tunes in the wind tonight. Methinks they sing the name of Margaret.

(He climbs the ladder. And now, with an occasional dropping boot, the pirates prepare for bed. Presently we hear the Duke up above, singing rigorously at first, until drowsiness dulls the tune.)

It is said in port by the sailor sort,
As they swig all night at their rum,
That a jolly grave is the ocean wave,
But a churchyard bell ’s too glum.
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.

(Darlin’ enters. With a prodigious yawn she sits at the fire. She kicks off her slippers and warms her old red stockings. She comforts herself with grog and spits across the hearth. She sleeps and gently snores. The Duke continues with his song.)

Öl’ Flint had a fist and an iron wrist,
And he thumped on the nose, it is said,
Till a wictim’s gore ran over the floor
And he rolled in the scuppers dead.
But, Patch, there ’s a few, I ‘m tellin’ ter you,
Who ’s nice and they hates a muss,
And a plank, I contend, is a tidier end.
No sweepin’, nor scrapin’, nor fuss.

Captain Kidd, when afloat, put the crew in a boat,
And he shoved ’em off fer to starve.
On a rock in the sea, says he ter me on a rock
In the sea, says he ter me on a rock

(The singer’s voice fails. Sleep engulfs him. Silence! Then sounds of snoring. The range of Caucasus hath not noisier winds. Let’s draw the curtain on the tempest!)