Complete works of hall c.., p.653
Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 653
(KATE sits so that her eyes can remain fixed on PHILIP throughout the next speech. She is up stage left — he, down stage R., half-turned away from the spectators — CAESAR down stage R. The others along L. wall and by fireplace. The narrative, which is all acted by PETE, is interrupted by little cries of “Glory!” “Aw, think o’ that!” “God bless me soul!” etc., etc.)
PETE.
Love saved me! And you can’t kiss a man who loves a girl same as I love Kirry. No, you can’t, though, else I should ha’ been dead long ago: soon after I got out yonder. There’s little in the life to keep you alive: it’s sweat, and break your heart. And so ’twould ha’ been with me, but my heart was so full of her. The way I was loving that girl out there was just shocking! What odds to me how hard the work was, when she was before my eyes all the time whispering: “Win me, boy, suffer and win me!” How could I give up, when I knew she was here, waiting and waiting so faithful and true! Men go out there and dig and delve and die and find nothing, because there’s no one to love ‘em — no one to point to the diamonds — but I! Hah! she showed me! She showed me! Then, at last, just as I’d finished, and was ready to come home, the freebooters came along and robbed my chum. Nobody dared go after ‘em — being bloody-minded scoundrels, who’d shoot you as soon as look — and a damn sight sooner! Well, says I, it’s no business o’ mine! I’m for the ship and the shore where my girl’s waiting. But, no, sir — I couldn’t do it! How would she ha’ welcomed me, if I’d left a job like that undone? What! She so true to me — and me false to my chum? So out I went after the varmints, and got knocked over for my pains — not before I’d grabbed the diamonds, though! And when I lay on the veldt, so full of bullet-holes you could see through me whichever way you looked. Die, says I? Rats! I says. Is that what my Kate’s waiting for? What ‘ud she think of me if I came home in a packing-case? Not me! I should be ashamed o’ myself doing any such thing. Get out, says I. A man’s not much good if his wife’s a widow, says I! So I scraped together the little bits o’ life there were in me, and crawled and crope till I crope back to something like life — love helping me! Aw yes, love helping me all the time! So, Kirry, it was you saved me, sure enough. Live, you cried! Hang on, boy I Don’t give in! Come home, Pete — I’ll not deceive ye, boy! I’m waiting for ye, faithful and true! And here I am, sound in wind and limb — and rich, too, and happy beyond words — thanks to you, Kirry! thanks to you! (He falls at her knees.)
(Emotion among the Bystanders — KATE is sobbing violently.)
GRANNIE.
She can’t a bear it — Lord bless the boy! Whether he opens his mouth or keeps it shut, he breaks her heart wi’ happiness.
CAESAR.
(Taking PETE’S arm.) Come and see the home place, Pete, and give her time to gather her wits. (Very sympathetically — with one hand on KATE’S shoulder.) Ah, Kate, sorrow may endure for a night — but joy cometh in the morning.
PETE.
I’m a great, rough, hulking, blithering idiot. (To PHILIP.) Phil, my lad, she’s used to you — you stay with her — talk to her you know how. Quiet her — soothe her!
CAESAR.
(To NANCY.) Nancy, my lass this is an occasion for rejoicing. (With one hand he indicates the neighbours — with the other the tap-room.)
NANCY.
So ’tis, master — I’ll see to that!
(Bustles out C.)
PETE.
Get outside — all of you! (Genially thrusting the neighbours out A.) Give her air — and give her time! Hang about a bit — and then come and drink our healths.
(The NEIGHBOURS, with approving cries go out A.)
PETE.
(To GRANNIE in the big chair.) Come on, Grannie.
GRANNIE.
Well, well — me trapsin’ all over the house wi’ my bad leg!
PETE.
(Almost carrying her.) Ay! and ye’ll dance at my wedding with both legs yet!
(CAESAR has already gone out B. PETE half-carries GRANNIE out B.)
(A pause.)
KATE.
(With a cold, hard voice.) Well?
PHILIP.
(Who has sunk into a chair, with his head in his hands.) Horrible! Horrible!
KATE.
You haven’t told him?
PHILIP.
How could I? You saw him! you heard him! How could I?
KATE.
When are you going to?
PHILIP.
I can’t! I can’t! What could I say?
KATE.
Say you are my husband. (Last word in a whisper.)
PHILIP.
Kate!
KATE.
(Rising.) Are you not? In the sight of God — are you not?
PHILIP.
God help me! I can’t! I can’t!
(NANCY bustles in C. with mugs.)
NANCY.
Here’s the right stuff for ‘em! (Puts tray on table and crosses to door A., where she calls.) Postman Kelly! Come in, come in! all of you! (She turns to KATE.) Are you feeling better, dearie?
(The NEIGHBOURS come in A.)
KATE.
(Strongly — with her eyes fixed on PHILIP.) Yes, I’m better, Nancy! Oh! much better!
NANCY.
(Crossing to door B.) Good for you! (Calls.) Cap’n Pete! Come along! She’s herself again — the darling!
(PHILIP moves.)
KATE.
(Imperatively.) Don’t go, Philip. (With a touch of scorn.) Don’t run away — stay and watch!
PHILIP.
(Frightened.) Watch — what?
KATE.
(Nodding at him, with a smile full of mystery.) Aha! you are afraid!
(PHILIP draws himself up, prepared for the worst.)
(Re-enter PETE, CAESAR, and GRANNIE, B.)
PETE.
Are you really strong, Kitty?
KATE.
Yes! I am strong! I am well!
(NANCY has distributed the mugs, etc.)
CAESAR.
Friends and neighbours — the dead has come to life. My daughter, who was sitting alone and mourning as a dove, has found her mate — Capt’n Peter Quilliam. We thank the good Lord for his merciful deliverance. We wish you all happiness, Peter — with length of days and goodly increase.
(Drinks.)
ALL.
(Raising their mugs.) Pete! Here’s to you, Capt’n Pete! Your very good health, Pete — long life and happiness, Pete!
PETE.
Phil — Why, where’s your glass, Phil? Nancy, Mr. Philip’s glass . . .
NANCY.
There now! I’d ha’ sworn I gave him one. (She finds it on the table where PHILIP had set it down, untouched, and gives it to him.)
PETE.
(Forcing PHILIP to stand on one side of him, while KATE stands on the other.) Us three: Kate, Phil — and me, we must drink together. Well, now, Master Caesar and friends all — I’m no hand at speechifying and all that — but I’m glad I’m alive — I give you my word, and what’s more, I’m the happiest man alive this day — and so I ought to be. And, as for a toast and a sentiment — why what’s in my heart must come to my lips — and here it is — as I’ve drunk it many’s the time out yonder on the veldt— “Here’s to the girl I love the best God bless her!”
(Cheers.)
Now, Kate!
KATE.
(Wildly, turning to him.) Here’s the man I love the best! God bless him!
(Great cheers.)
CURTAIN.
THE SECOND ACT
SCENE. The living room in Pete’s house. On the right a deeply-recessed fireplace, with wood fire. Dresser above it. At the back two low windows; above them an oak gallery runs along the whole wall; above the gallery two other low windows. The gallery leads to a door (R), and the steps leading up to it are on the left. Left front, a larger door opening into an orchard. The staircase ought to be clearly seen from top to bottom. For this purpose I think it best to put it at back, with the window at side. Door on left. Fireplace on right. Drum on stage down prompt side. At the rise of the curtain NANCY is in the gallery looking out of one of the windows; below, in the room, MEG, a little, gawky maid-servant, is taking cakes and jugs of ale, tumblers, etc., out through door (A).
NANCY.
Bustle now! Here they come! The master and the mistress, and Doctor Mylechreest and Master Cregeen, and the neighbours all, like a reg’lar comet’s tail, behind them.
MEG.
And the baby, Miss Nancy?
NANCY.
Oh, they’ve put the baby in a tree to get cool, for sure.
MEG.
(Quite believing it.) Goodness!
NANCY.
You daft thing! Where should the blessed baby be, but at the head of the procession? (Comes down stairs.)
MEG.
Came a month before his time, didn’t he?
NANCY.
An’ you’ll go a month before your’s, if you’re not careful.
MEG.
I didn’t mean nothin’, Miss Nancy.
NANCY.
Then, don’t you say nothin’, but get on with your work, woman. (She open door A.) Welcome to the new master, God bless him!
(PETE appears first.)
PETE.
(He speaks gravely.) Quiet a minute, Nancy.
NANCY.
(Alarmed.) Eh? What’s wrong?
(PETE turns to KATE, who is carrying the baby, and whom he helps in, and across to the chair by the fire.)
PETE.
Pluck up, Kate, pluck up! Here we are! Lean heavier. My gough! but you went through that splendid! (To NANCY.) Shove that chair up, Nancy. (To KATE.) There, now, there, there! Now you’re all right. Let Nancy take the baby, Kate.
KATE.
No, no!
(NANCY takes off KATE’S hat and cloak.)
PETE.
All right, all right. Only he mustn’t tire you. Even he mustn’t do that.
(CAESAR and DOCTOR MYLECHREEST have entered, helping in GRANNIE. POSTMAN KELLY and others are seen looking in from outside.) Wasn’t he grand? Did you hear the way he yelled? Gough! but there’s a pair of bellows to him. There! you’re fine now. Doctor, come and feel her pulse. (With a signal to the DOCTOR.) I go bail you’ve never felt a stronger one. Not in this island, anyway.
(The DOCTOR crosses to KATE.) (At door A.) Now, boys and girls, don’t crowd. Let the mother rest five minutes. I’m not turning ye away; but she’s tired. She’ll welcome you herself in five minutes.
VOICES.
(Outside.) Ay, ay, Cap’n Pete. Don’t you hurry, Cap’n — etc., etc.
PETE.
(Quietly to Nancy.) I had to hould her up in church, the bogh —
GRANNIE.
Eh! she’s all right. They’re always that way first time; first wedding and first christening.
(CAESAR has crossed to KATE and is stroking her brow. The DOCTOR leaves her.)
CAESAR.
My brave daughter! My brave daughter!
PETE.
(To DOCTOR.) Tell me she’s well, Doctor. Tell me there’s nothing serious the matter.
DOCTOR.
Nerves, my dear sir — nothing but nerves.
PETE.
Nerves? What’s that at all?
DOCTOR.
(Laughing.) I think you’d have some difficulty in understanding; but woman suffers many things that man is spared.
PETE.
(Earnestly,) God bless me sowl!
DOCTOR.
All she wants is quiet and cheerful company.
PETE.
I give her that, don’t I? (Thinks it over, and adds, with a touch of discouragement.) Try to, anyway.
DOCTOR.
She hasn’t been quite herself for some months, has she?
PETE.
Not since our marriage, Doctor. Up and down. Laughing at nothing, crying at nothing — nothing I could make out at all.
DOCTOR.
Nerves, you see. Young mothers often suffer from it. Always entertain. She wants company. Have people about her who are bright and witty. If that doesn’t answer, let her have a little change.
PETE.
(Startled.) Eh?
DOCTOR.
Send her away for a bit.
PETE.
(Amazed.) Out of the Island?
DOCTOR.
Why not? She’ll come back another woman.
PETE.
I’ll put up with the same one, Doctor. (Crosses to KATE.)
CAESAR.
(Coming to DOCTOR.) Out of the Island, ye say? What for? I’ve been on the Island sixty-seven years, and look at me.
DOCTOR.
(Eyeing him professionally.) Yes — very interesting.
CAESAR.
I don’t believe in earthly medicines, Doctor. My physician is — (He points upwards.)
DOCTOR.
(Tapping him on the chest with his forefinger.) Tell you what; call him in, then.
CAESAR.
(Startled.) Eh? What d’ye mean?
DOCTOR.
Marked tendency to rheumatic arthritis —
CAESAR.
What’s that I’ve got? Arthur — what? Rubbish and nonsense! (Turns away.)
PETE.
(To DOCTOR, indicating door A.) Doctor, shall I send them home?
KATE.
No, no, Pete. Let them come in. I’m quite strong again now.
CAESAR.
(Who has come back anxiously.) Look here, Doctor —
PETE.
(As above.) What do you say, Doctor?
DOCTOR.
Have them in, by all means. Cheer her up a bit.
(PETE crosses to door A.)
CAESAR.
Seriously, Doctor, what do you advise?
DOCTOR.
I advise —
CAESAR.
Yes, yes — what?
DOCTOR.
Medical advice.
CAESAR.
(Disgusted.) Money-grubber!
PETE.
(Who has opened door A.) Come in, friends and neighbours. Come in, and welcome.
(Enter POSTMAN KELLY, BLACK TOM, CONSTABLE NIPLIGHTLY, WILLIAM, a very old, man, SARAH, his very old wife, MARY the fish-girl, and four of her very pretty fish-lassies and four lads. At first they shyly keep near the door.)
MARY.
Poor thing! But she is pale.
CONSTABLE.
(Coming forward.) Our duty to you, Mrs. Quilliam, and good luck to you. And Postman Kelly and I, we should a been in church, but duty prevented. Him having his letters to carry and me having to lock up Bessie Kinrade, in his Majesty’s name —
CAESAR.
Then you’ve taken that wicked woman?
CONSTABLE.
That we have, sir — and locked her up in Castle Rushen.
KATE.
What had she done?
CAESAR.
Hush! The story is not for the ears of good women, my girl.
PETE.
(Protesting.) Come now, father-in-law!
CAESAR.
Are you defending her, Pete?
PETE.
Her husband beat her, and she ran away —
CAESAR.
But she stole the child —
PETE.
Maybe she did, but it was her child for all.
CONSTABLE.
That’s kidnapping, Mr. Quilliam. If you kidnap, you’re caught.
GRANNIE.
Are we going to have the christening gifts, or are we not?
POSTMAN.
Now, William, speak your piece, man.
WILLIAM.
(Feeling in his pockets.) Wheer’s my salt? (Turns to SARAH.) What have ye done wi’ my christenin’ gift, woman?
SARAH.
Why, you forgetful old toot, I give it ye into your hand, so I did.
WILLIAM.
(Finding a dreadful twist of paper.) Here it is. Here it is, sure enough.
TOM.
Hould on, Billyum! That’s your snuff!
WILLIAM.
(Cackling.) There now! If I wasn’t going to give the blessed infant an ounce of snuff! Can’t spare that. (Finds another twist.) Here’s the salt, though. (He steps forward towards KATE.)
PETE.
(At KATE’S side.) Look, Kirry, here’s the oldest man in the Island come to wish the youngest man in the Island good luck. How old are you, Billy?
WILLIAM.
The Lord knows. Some says more, some less. But a year or two one way or t’other don’t make no sort o’ odds. Now then, gimme the babe’s hand. (He takes the baby’s hand in his right hand, and, while he speaks the saw, pours salt into it with his left hand.)
Little fingers, open wide,
Take what God shall well provide;
Whether good or ill befall,
Here’s the salt that seasons all.
Ay, and an old man’s blessing with it. You’re coming, and I’m going — and well, well! it’s a proud man you are this day, Pete.
PETE.
That’s so, Billy, and thank you kindly.
(To KATE, who sits motionless, lost in thought.)
Kate, we thank — Never mind, dear. Here’s old Sarah.
SARAH.
Eh, Mistress Kate. Well I knows your feelings, woman. But when you’ve had nineteen of ‘em, same as me, and lost ten, the tears won’t be so ready to shed. There, now! there, now! Gimme his lil fingers, the bogh millish.
Here’s a thimble, old and bent,
Given with a good intent;
Bringing luck to him as bears it,
Bringing joy to her as wears it;
Makes you happy all your life,
Crowns you with a virtuous wife.
(Cackling with delight.) It’s a bit early for that, but you can’t begin too soon. And I don’t wish him no better wife than what you’ve got yourself, Pete.
PETE,
You can’t, mother. They don’t make ‘em, nor never will.
TOM.
(Coming forward shyly.) The boys and girls would like to sing the christening carol, if you’re not objecting, Mr. Quilliam.
PETE.
Eh? “Mr. Quilliam!” My gough! I didn’t know myself by that Sunday name. What d’ye say, Kate?
KATE.
(A little impatiently.) Let them, if they’d like to.
TOM.
Not if it’s too much for the mistress, Pete.
PETE.
No, no; she says yes, so go ahead, lads. (Quietly to KATE.) Pluck up, Kirry; pluck up, my lass!
TOM.
We’ve got the wheels outside, Cap’n.
PETE.
