It is the same cabin on the following night. There is no thunder and lightning, but it is a dirty night of fog as wet as a crocodile’s nest and you hear the water dripping from the trees. The Duke, evidently, has had an answer to his “Now I lay me.” The lighthouse, as before, shows vaguely through the mist.

In this scene we had wished to have a moon. The Duke will need it presently in his courtship; for marvelously it sharpens a lover’s oath. ’T is a silver spur to a halting wooer. Shrewd merchants, I am told, go so far as to consult the almanac when laying in their store of wedding fits; for a cloudy June throws Cupid off his aim. What cosmetic what rouge or powder so paints a beauty! If the moon were full twice within the month scarcely a bachelor would be left. I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon. But our plot has put its foot down. “Mirk,” it says, “mirk and fog are best for our dirty business."

We had wished, also, to place one act of our piece on the deck of a pirate ship, rocking in a storm. Such high excitement is your right, for your payment at the door. It required but the stroke of a lazy pencil. But our plot has dealt stubbornly with us. We are still in the pirates’ cabin in the fog.

We hear Darlin’ singing in the kitchen, as the curtain rises.

[Music: DARLIN’S SONG]

Oh, I am the cook fer a pirate band
And food I never spoil.
Cabbage and such, it sure ain ’t much,
Till I sets it on ter boil.
And I throws on salt and I throws on spice,
And the Duke, he says ter me,
Me Darlin’, me pet, I ’m in yer debt,
And he sighs contentedlee.

(There is a rattle of tinware. Patch-Eye sings the next stanza in the loft.)

On the Strand, it ’s true, I ‘m tellin’ ter you,
The Dukes and the Duchesses dwell.
And they dines in state on golden plate
Eatin’ and drinkin’ like ’ell.
But I says ter you, and it ’s perfectly true,
They stuffs theirselves too much;
And a mutton stew, when yer gets it through,
Is better than peacocks and such.

(More tinware in the kitchen. And now Darlin’ again!)

I ‘ve cooked in a brig to a dancin’ jig
Which the sea kicks up in a blast.
And me stove ’s slid ’round until I ’ve found
A rope ter make it fast.
But I braces me legs and the Duke, he begs
Fer puddin’ with sweets on the side.
Me Darlin’, it ’s rough, and I likes yer duff.
I ‘ll marry yer, Darlin’, me bride.

(In her reckless joy at this dim possibility she overturns the dishpan. During the song the Duke’s legs have appeared on the ladder. He descends, fetching with him a comb and mirror.

He brushes his hair. This is unusual and he finds a knot that is harder than any Gordian knot whatsoever. He smoothes and strokes his whiskers. He goes so far as to slap himself for dust. He puts a sprig of flowers amazing! in the front of his cloak. He practices a smile and gesture. He seems to speak. He claps his hand upon his heart. Ah, my dear sir, we have guessed your secret. The wind, as yet, blows from the south, but a pirate waits not upon the spring. His lover’s oath pops out before the daffodil. I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon.

And now the Duke stands before us the King of smiles. His is the wooer’s posture. He speaks, but not with his usual voice of command. Oberon, as it were, calls Titania to the woodland when stars are torch and candle to the sleeping world.)

DUKE: Betsy! Betsy!

(She appears. The Duke wears a silly smile. But did not Bottom in an ass’s head win the fairy princess? A moon, sweet sir! And now suddenly! the magic night dissolves into coarsest day.)

DUKE: Would yer like ter be the Duchess?

(This is abrupt and unusual, but nice customs curtsy to Dukes as well as Kings.)

DUKE: I ‘m askin’ yer, Betsy. Yer ol’ Duke is askin’ yer. I ‘m lovin’ yer. Yer ol’ Duke is lovin’ yer. I ’ll do the right thing by yer. I ’ll marry yer. There! I ’ve said it. When yer married yer can jest set on a cushion without nothin’ ter do (reflectively) nothin’ ’cept cookin’ and washin’ and darnin’. Does yer jump at me, Betsy?

(I confess, myself, a mere man, unable to analyze Betsy’s emotions. She stands staring at the Duke, as you or I might stare at a hippopotamus in the front hall. I have bitten my pencil to a pulp the maker’s name is quite gone but I can think of no lines that are adequate. Her first surprise, however, turns to amusement.)

DUKE: Ain ‘t yer a kind o’ hankerin’ fer me? Come ter me arms, sweetie, and confess yer blushin’ love. I ‘m askin’ yer. I ‘m askin’ yer ter be the Duchess.

BETSY: But I do not love you, Duke.

(In jest, however, the little rascal perches on his knee.)

DUKE: Make yerself comfertable. Yer husband ‘s willin’. When I cramps, I shifts yer. Kiss me, when yer wants.

BETSY: You are an old goose.

DUKE: Did I hear yer? Does yer hold off fer me ter nag yer? The ol’
Duke ‘s waitin’ ter fold yer in his lovin’ arms.

BETSY: I do not love you, Duke.

(The Captain and Patch-Eye have thrust their heads through the opening above the ladder, and they listen with amusement.)

DUKE: I ’m blowed. I ’m a better man than Patch. I ‘m tellin’ yer. Is it me stump, Betsy? I has n’t a hook hand like the Captain. Yer has got ter be linked all ’round. There ‘s no fun, I says, in bein’ hugged by a one-armed man. Yer would be lop-sided in a week.

BETSY: It ’s just that I do not love you, Duke.

DUKE: Yer wounds me feelin’s. Does n’t I ask yer pretty? Should I have waited fer a moon and took yer walkin’? And perched with yer on the rocks, with the ol’ moon winkin’ at yer, shovin’ yer on? The Duke ’s never been refused before. A number o’ wery perticerler ladies, arter breakfast even, has jest come scamperin’. ’T ain ’t Patch, is it Betsy? A pretty leetle girl would n’t love a feller as has one eye. It ain ’t the Captain. He ain ‘t no hand with the ladies. Yer not goin’ ter tell me it ’s Petey? I would n’t want yer ter fall in love with a blinkin’ light.

BETSY: You have lovely whiskers, Duke.

DUKE: Yer can pull one fer the locket that yer wears. Are yer makin’ fun o’ me?

BETSY: I would n’t dare.

DUKE: Does yer mean it, Betsy? Are yer relentin’? Are yer goin’ ter say the ’appy word as splices us from keel to topsail? Yer ain ’t jest a cruel syren are yer, wavin’ me on, hopin’ I ’ll smash meself? Are yer winkin’ at me like ol’ Flint’s lantern me thinkin’ it ’s love I see, shinin’ in yer laughin’ eyes?

BETSY: Why don ‘t you marry Darlin’?

DUKE: Her with one tooth? Yer silly. I boohs at yer. Öl’ ladies with one hoof inside a coffin does n’t make good brides. Yer wants someone kinder gay and spry, as yer can pin flowers to.

BETSY: She loves you, Duke.

DUKE: Course she does. So does the ol’ lady as keeps the tap at the Harbor Light, and one-eyed Pol as mops up the liquor that is spilt. And youngsters, too. A pretty leetle dear jest a cozy armful was winkin’ at me yesterday kinder givin’ me the snuggle-up. I pities ’em. It ’s their nater, God ’elp ’em, ter love me; but the ol’ Duke is perticerler. Yer has lovely eyes, Betsy blessed leetle mirrors where I sees Cupid playin’. They shines like the lights o’ a friendly harbor.

BETSY: Darlin’ cooks roast pig that crackles.

DUKE: I sets me heart on top me stomich. Ain ’t yer comfertable, settin’ on me knee? Shall I shift yer to me stump? Betsy, I calls arter we are married, fetch me down me slipper and lay it on the hearth ter warm. Yer husband ’s home. And I tosses yer me boot, all mud fer cleanin’. And then yer passes the grog. And arter about the second cup I limbers up and kisses yer. And then yer sets upon me knee. It will be snug on winter evenin’s when the blast is blowin’. And when we ’re married yer can kiss me pretty near as often as yer please. And I won ’t deny as I won ‘t like it. The ol’ Duke ain ’t slingin’ the permission ‘round general. Darlin’ nags me. What yer laughin’ at?

BETSY: You silly old man!

DUKE: Yer riles me. Once and fer all, will yer marry me? I ’ll not waste the night argyin’ with yer. I ‘m not goin’ ter tease yer. I ’ve only one knee and it ain ‘t no bench fer gigglin’ girls as pokes fun at their betters. I ’ll jolt yer till yer teeth rattles. Is it someone else? Has yer a priory ’tachment? Red Joe? Is it Red Joe, Betsy? Is he snoopin’ ’round?

(Betsy rises with sobered mood, and walks away.)

DUKE: There ‘s somethin’ about that young feller I does n’t like. He ’s a snooper. Betsy, does yer get what I ‘m talkin’ about? I have offered ter make yer the Duchess. I ’ll buy I ‘ll steal yer a set o’ red beads. I ’ll give yer a sixpence without no naggin’ every time yer goes ter town, jest ter spend reckless. I ’ll marry yer. I ’ll take yer ter Minehead and get the piousest parson in the town. Would yer like Darlin’ fer a bridesmaid and grog and angel-cake? Me jest settin’ ready ter kiss yer every time yer passes it. I ’m blowed! You are wickeder than ol’ Flint’s lantern. It must be Red Joe. Him with the smirk! There ’s a young feller ’round here, Betsy, as wants ter look out fer his wizen.

(But Betsy has run in panic to the kitchen.)

DUKE: I does n’t understand ’em. I ‘m thinkin’ the girl ’s a fool. A ninny I calls her. It ‘s Red Joe. Off a cliff! Yer said it, Darlin’. Off a cliff!

(He removes the sprig of flowers and tosses it into the fire.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summers lease hath all too short a date:

He retires to the rear of the cabin and strokes the parrot’s head. He jerks away his hand for fear of being nipped. The ungrateful world has turned against him.)

DUKE: Yer a spiteful bird. Yer as mean as women. Ninnies I calls ’em. It must ha’ been the moon. I should ha’ waited fer a moon.

(He sits on the chest at the rear of the cabin and whittles a little ship. Women are a queer lot.

The Captain and Patch-Eye have climbed down the ladder. They burst with jest. The Captain sits on the chair by the fire, mimicing the posture of the Duke. Patch-Eye perches on his knee.)

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: Öl’ 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’ île. 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.)