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FOTUlNrD 
 
 TEUE TO THE LAST, 
 
 A Spectacular Drama in Five Acts. 
 
 BT y 
 
 JOSEPH A. BEUCE. 
 
 NEW. YORK : 
 
 C. G. BuRGOYNE, Printer, 29 Rose Street. 
 1881. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j'ear 1881, by 
 
 Joseph A. Bruce, 
 in'^the office of the Librarian of Congre8s,^at Washington, 
 
 A II Rights Reserved. 
 
 £.- 
 
Dramatis Persons. 
 
 Edward St. Leon, (Ferguson's Clerk). 
 
 John Thompson, (Captain of Sea Gull). 
 
 John Hovey, (Count Casino via). 
 
 Tom, (Boatswain of Sea Gull). 
 
 Captain Morton, (Captain of the Kescue). 
 
 George Ferguson, (Merchant). 
 
 Jasper Johj^son, (Cook on Sea Gull). 
 
 Col. Bill, (Manager of Combination). 
 
 SiGNOR Gyptum, (Eoyal Jester). 
 
 Judge Pendleton, 
 
 Captain Belmont, (of Her Majesty's army). 
 
 Lm Servants. 
 
 Mr. Eogers, (Detective). 
 
 Alice Pendleton, (Niece to Judge Pendleton). 
 
 Florence, (Daughter to Judge Pendleton). 
 
 Mrs. Morton, (Captain Morton's Wife). 
 
 Kate, (Daughter Captain Morton). 
 
 Mrs. Pendleton, (Judge's wife). 
 
 Soldiers, Sailors, Cannibals, &c., &c. 
 Dresses, modern. 
 
FOUND; OR/rRUE TO THE LAST. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1st: — Staten Island, Fort Hamilton on L. 
 Path doivn Set Rocks on B. Set Rocks, working 
 wafer, &c. 
 
 [Enter, Count Casinovia and John Thompson]. 
 
 Count. — Now, John, I hope that you are not going 
 to turn coward at this late day? 
 
 J. Thomp. — No, I turned coward the day I let 
 myself be tempted by you, Jack Hovey. 
 
 Count. — Hush, don't mention that name, for here 
 I am the Count. 
 
 J. Thomp. — And why the Count? 
 
 Count. —Because I am wanted by the Bank of 
 England to explain some mysterious transactions, 
 and not having any desire to travel, I must remain 
 here unknown for the present, and I would not have 
 been seen by even you, but that I know I can trust 
 you and I need your help. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, that unlucky hold of yours has 
 ever been my ruin, and from which it seems to be 
 my doom to never escape, until I am dragged down 
 to a felon's grave. Oh! that one rash step, so easily 
 taken, never, never to be retraced. 
 
 Count. — Hush, man! What is the matter with 
 you, are you crazy? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Crazy; yes, yes, I must have been, to 
 have allowed myself to be persuaded by you to do 
 that which has made me an outcast from those 
 whom I loved most dear on earth, and to whorix I 
 must ever remain as dead; even in my dreams I 
 fancy (although it seems too terribly real for fancy) 
 
that I feel your fiendish fingers chitching with a 
 tightening grip my throat, until my bursting eye- 
 balls start from their sockets and I choke, while 
 your mocking voice rings in my ears, remind 'ng me 
 that you will release your hold only after you have 
 succeeded in dragging me down to Hell. 
 
 Count. — Nonsense, nonsense, this is all rank folly. 
 Why, man, it is for your own good that I wished to 
 see you. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Good, did you say? What mockery 
 that sounds coming from such lips as yours. Why, 
 Jack Hov 
 
 Count. — Hush! 
 
 J. Thomp. — Ah! true, I forgot. Count, I should 
 have said, do you know the meaning of good? No, 
 of course not. Why, the nearest you ever came to 
 good was goods, and then you stole them. 
 
 Count. — Damn your prating tongue you are not 
 the John Thompson you used to be. 
 
 J. Thomp. — I was in hopes not, but with your foul 
 influence creeping over me I feel as though I soon 
 would be if I stayed much longer here, and I w^on't 
 tempt fate by remaining, so good day. 
 
 Count. — Hold dear friend Thompson you forget 
 that I need your help, and I know that you have 
 not the heart to refuse me a favor when I ask. 
 
 J. Thomp. — No, because I can't (worse luck to 
 me), well what is it? 
 
 Count. — (rubbing his hands) Oh!' that's more like 
 yourself, a man deserves credit that's game, thief or 
 no thief. 
 
 J. Thomp. — If all men were only game there 
 would be no thieves. 
 
 Count. — Never mind about that John; we won't 
 quarrel over it; but where have you kept yourself 
 these last five years? 
 
 J. Thomp. — On the sea whaling, that was my 
 first step towards reformation, and at that I 
 have remained, until to-day, I stand the owner 
 (and honestly at that) of the staunch-built 
 Brig, The Sea Gull, which you can see lying 
 off shore there. 
 
 Count.— Yes, she's a beauty, -I suppose John, that 
 you make lots of money at that business? 
 
J. Thomp.— No, we don't make very much, but 
 what we get, we work hard and honestly for, then 
 we enjoy it as only those who work for it can. 
 Come Jack, come along with me, let me now tempt 
 you, not as you tempted me, but to do what's right, 
 come and be an honest man, let me tempt yoa by 
 offering half of what I've got, as you did to me, 
 but with this difference, that what I offer is hon- 
 estly mine. 
 
 Count. — I can't John, I am to old at the business 
 now. I would be recognized if I left off this dis- 
 guise, and besides I don't believe in what you call 
 honesty, its all very well if you are rich, but when 
 yoa are not, its a rough road to travel. No John I 
 couldn't be honest if I would, and I wouldn't if I 
 could. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, I fear you speak the truth, by 
 your own perseverance you have succeeded in getting 
 past reformation. If you had but displayed the 
 same amount of talent in honest, legitimate business 
 you might have now been a happy man instead of 
 being a miserable mean scoundrel, afraid to look 
 the honest daylight in the face; an outcast from all 
 that is respectable, and as you have also made me, 
 a se'f-banished exile from your own home. 
 
 Count. — Here, John, take a drop on it, a little of 
 that kind of preaching goes a long way, so let up on 
 it and come to business. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Not to do more harm I hope? 
 
 Count. — No, John, but to give me a chance to es- 
 cape. 
 
 J. Thomp. — In what way? 
 
 Count>.— By carrying off one who is about to in- 
 form on me. 
 
 J. Thomp. — What! more villiany? 
 
 Co Jnt. — Not so; this is a young man who has 
 tracked me down merely to get the reward. Now, 
 John, you surely will not compel me to commit 
 murder to save my own life? 
 
 J. Tiiomp. — Is that all there is in it, and have you 
 spoken truly? 
 
 Count. — Yes, John, on my oath I have. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Well, then to save you from com- 
 
8 
 
 mitting still greater crime I will consent, but he 
 will not be harmed. 
 
 Count. — Oh! no, don't hurt him. I would rather 
 take my chance of escape. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Jack, if you are speaking the truth 
 then your face lies, but I will take him to save him. 
 When and where will I get him? 
 
 Count. — At this place to-night at — let us walk 
 on, I see some one coming. 
 
 [Enter Alice and Florence Pendleton.'] 
 
 Flo. — Why, Alice, what makes you seem so dull 
 to-day? You who are usually so gay and lively. 
 
 Al. — Florence, dear, I know not what it is sad- 
 dens me so, but I seem to have a strange foreboding 
 of something dreadful about to happen to me. I 
 know^ that it sounds very silly, but try how I will, 
 I cannot shake the feeling off. 
 
 Flo. — Alice, my dear, this is something new for 
 you to give away to such foolish fancies. Why, 
 what can you fear when you are under father's care. 
 I am sure both father and mother love you, as if 
 you were their own child, not to mention poor me, 
 who you know loves you with more than a sister's 
 affection. 
 
 Al. — Yes, dear, deav Florence, I know you 
 do, and it is that which has made me so hap- 
 py since I came under your roof, but for- 
 give my tears, cousin. I cannot help thinking 
 of my dear parents sometimes, and when I think of 
 how my dear noble father sacrificed himself that all 
 in his charge should be saved, I cannot restrain my- 
 self. I was, you know, but eight years of age at 
 the time, and it is now nearly twelve years since, 
 yet it seems but yesterday when the dreadful news 
 came to my darling mother that the steamship 
 w^hich my father had commanded for nine years 
 without an accident, had founded on a sunken rock, 
 none of the passengers or crew being lost excepting 
 he, through whose bravery and exalted idea of duty, 
 the safety of the rest was secured; for with heroic 
 devotion he refused to leave the ship until the mean- 
 est one on board was out of peril, then, oh! then,it 
 was too late for him; the ship, which was almost 
 
to the water's edge by that time suddenly parted in 
 two, and my dear, dear father was never seen 
 again; my poor mother, who was in dehcate health 
 at the time, on hearing the fatal news, swooned 
 away, and never recovered consciousness until a few 
 moments before her death, when, while in the act 
 of clasping me to her heart, kissing me and blessing 
 me, her gentle loving spirit tied from earth to join 
 my dear, dear father in Heaven (sobs). 
 
 Flo. — Alice dear, my sweet cousin, come, try to 
 control your feehngs, you know that you have found 
 another father and mother in mine. 
 
 Al. — Yes, Florence; forgive me! they have indeed 
 been more than good to me, only that. I felt so de- 
 pressed in spirit, I should not have acted so selfishly. 
 
 Flo. — I recollect the time of your misfortune, 
 Alice; I was very young, and I won- 
 dered to see my father cry, he told me 
 that his brother was lost at sea, and that the shock 
 had killed your poor mother; forgive me, Alice, you 
 know that I was very young then; when I confess 
 that I felt more joy than grief, foi' my father told 
 me that you, my cousin, should henceforth live with 
 me, and I was to be a sister to you; but I am afraid 
 that I have been a very selfish and cross companion, 
 while you wei'e always so good and 
 
 Al. — Now, Florence: my own darling sister, friend 
 and cousin, I won't listen to your abuse of your 
 ov/n sweet self (kisses her), i^ you will forgive me 
 this time, for my selfish sorrow, I will try to appear 
 more cheerful in future. 
 
 Flo. — I think I know how to make you look more 
 happy. Let us talk about Edward St. Leon. 
 
 Al. — Ah! you sly puss; then you think that I love 
 him? 
 
 Flo. — Oh! no, I don't think so, but I am sure of 
 it. Another thing I know is, that he loves you too. 
 
 Al — Too, eh! not too much, I hope. 
 
 Flo. — Oh! no; that would be impossible, but I am 
 afraid that the Count is almost as much in love with 
 you as Edward is, for even when I look my sweetest 
 on him he seems to have no eyes for any one but 
 you. Now, Alice, what do you think him? 
 
10 
 
 Al. — Why, cousin, I do not think of him at all, 
 but it seems to me that all the thinking of him is 
 done by yourself. 
 
 Flo. — Perhaps, then, when he finds he cannot 
 make any impression on you, he may give your poor 
 cousin a chance. 
 
 AL— The Count? Why, Florence, if he offered 
 you his hand to-morrow you would not accept him, 
 with all his splendid castle, estate and title, for I do 
 not think candidly that he is a very great favorite 
 with you. 
 
 Flo. — Well, dear, to tell the truth, there is some- 
 thing about him I cannot like, Although he has 
 been here about eight months, yet I feel as uncom- 
 fortable in his presence as on the first day he came. 
 His eyes always remind me of a snake's, and 
 
 Al. — Oh, fie! Florence, do not abuse the man on 
 account of his looks, which, of course, he cannot 
 help. I am sure he is always very polite to every 
 one. ^V 
 
 Flo, — Well, dear, the more I see of him the less I 
 want to see. But here comes pa. 
 
 [Enter Judge.] 
 
 Jud. — -Well, well, what are you two conspirators 
 doing here? Plotting against some poor fellow's 
 heart, I'll warrant. 
 
 Flo. — Oh! papa, I never dreamt of such a thing. 
 
 Jud. — Well, judging you by your looks, I find you 
 both guilty, and accordingly sentence you both to 
 come with me. 
 
 Flo. — All light, your honor, but I beg you to re- 
 serve sentence on my poor innocent cousin and 
 allow her to remain to meet Edward, who will soon 
 arrive. 
 
 Al. — Oh! FJorence. 
 
 Jud. — Ah! I see; then I will reserve my decision 
 in her case; but if she is not married by next Christ- ^r"- 
 
 mas, I will sentence her to old maidenhood for life. 
 
 Flo. — Oh! how horrible, you wicked dear old 
 Judge. 
 
 Judge. —Contempt of Court, sentenced to two 
 kisses (^kisses her) and as for you Miss Alice, thank 
 
11 
 
 your good looks for saving you, for I still think you 
 guilty of the original charge. 
 
 [All laugh, and exit Judge and Flo.] 
 
 Al. — Yes, it is almost time for Edward, I had al- 
 most forgotten him, if such a thing were possible. 
 Dear noble Ed., what a cloud of gloomy thoughts 
 his sunny smile dispels, and he, also is an orphan, 
 that bond does indeed seem to attach us more fondly 
 to each other, I wonder if all orphans are attracted 
 to each other. 
 
 [Enter Count quietly]. 
 
 Count.— Certainly Miss Alice, why not, I myself 
 am an orphan and I'm sure I feel your attractions. 
 
 AX.— [Startled]. Oh, Count, I did not know that 
 you were near. 
 
 Count. — You seldom do seem to know that I am 
 near my dear young lady (especially when that Ed. 
 is around) [aside]. 
 
 Al. — Now, Count, you wrong me, for I am sure 
 that no one could fail to notice such a pleasant com- 
 panion as you when present, but what I meant was 
 that you came so quietly that I was not aware of 
 you being here. 
 
 Count. — I know, Miss Alice, that I may appear 
 rather quiet, but I may mean as much as those who 
 make more noise, but as to being a pleasant com- 
 panion I fear you flatter me. 
 
 Al. — No, Count, I do not, as I have been taught 
 from childhood to despise flattery in every form, but 
 I pray, do not let me detain you as you will find 
 Uncle and Cousin Florence up at the house, for they 
 have just left for there a few seconds ago. 
 
 Count. — I will see your Uncle bye and bye, but at 
 present I wish to speak to you Miss Alice. 
 
 AL— To me? 
 
 Count. — Yes, my dear young lady, this oppor- 
 tunity I have long waited for, and it is now time I 
 should speak. 
 
 Al. — Please explain yourself more clearly, County 
 for if I can assist you in any way, I will be most 
 happy to do so. 
 
 Count. — Thanks Miss Alice, you can assist me 
 greatly. 
 
12 
 
 Al. — Can I, then pray do not delay in informing 
 me how. 
 
 Count. — Well, lam in love. 
 
 AL— What! Count; youinlove? 
 
 Count. — Yes, I am in love; deeply; madly in 
 love. 
 
 Al. — What a happy woman she must be who pos- 
 sesses your love. 
 
 Count. — Do you then think so? 
 
 AL— Why not? But who is this sweet lady, and 
 in what manner can I be of assistance, may I 
 ask? 
 
 Count. — Can you not guess dear Miss Alice? 
 
 AL — No, Count, I must say I cannot. 
 
 Count. — Her sweet name is Alice Pendleton. 
 
 Al.^ — [draiving aivay frightened.] What, you sure- 
 ly do not mean 
 
 Count. — Yourself, dearest Alice, and here at your 
 feet I ask you to become my own dear wife. 
 
 Al. — Oh, Count! I am sure this is but ; o me 
 thoughtless jest. 
 
 Count. — No, it is not. Oh, Alice! I have tried 
 hard to conquer my love for you, only to find in what 
 a hopeless task I was engaged. 
 
 AL — Count, I feel surprised and sorry for what 
 you have said, pray leave me now and think no 
 more of what has passed. 
 
 Count. — No, dearest Alice, my love is that of an 
 honest man, and here on my bended knees, I offer 
 you my title and fortune. Nay, dear Alice, I will not 
 rise until I know my fate. 
 
 AL — An honest man's love should not be trifled 
 with, and I wish with all my heart, Count, that you 
 had bestowed your affections on a more worthy ob ~ 
 ject, as, although I sincerely sympathize wit" 
 you, I must tell you that 1 can never be you^ 
 wife. 
 
 Count. — Thank you for your frankness, dear 
 young lady, and as you cannot give me your love, I 
 hope you will still allow me to remain your friend. 
 
 AL — Certainly, with pleasure, Count. 
 
 [Exit Count ivlio hides and ivatches.'] 
 [Scene gradually changes to tiuilight.] 
 
13 
 
 AL— Poor fellow, although I never could fancy 
 him much, I am very sorry to have been the means 
 of causing him any unhappiness. Hark! — Yes, that 
 is Eel. comhig; how glad I am that he has come at 
 this moment; I feel my nerves all unstrung. 
 
 [Eater Edward St. Leon.] 
 
 Ed. — Ah! Alice, darling, my own sweet love, wait- 
 ing for me, eh? it seems an age since I gazed on 
 your loving eyes, but you look pale and frightened, 
 dear, — has anything happened to annoy you, tell me 
 sweet one. 
 
 AL — Oh! Ed., I feel so glad that you have come. 
 I have had a strange feeling over me all day, that 
 depressed and made me feel very dull. I have also 
 been ti'oubled about something, but I will tell you 
 all another time. 
 
 Ed. — Dear Alice, do not fear, I am by you. 
 
 AL — Oh! Ed. when you are nigh me all my trou- 
 ble vanishes; all then seems joyful and bright. 
 
 Ed. — Well, dear one, I have good news to tell you. 
 
 AL — About who? 
 
 Ed. — About myself. 
 
 AL — Oh, then tell it to me, for any news concern- 
 ing you is indeed good news to me. 
 
 Count. — [sotto voce]. She will think differently 
 this time to-morrow. [Steamship passes, fires gun.] 
 
 Ed. — Alice dear, you have promised to be my wife, 
 and I will soon be in a position to warrant my ask- 
 ing you to fulfil that promise, as I will soon be com- 
 paratively rich. 
 
 AL — bo not mention that, dear Edward, for when 
 I come of age I will have more than enough for both. 
 
 Ed. — Spoken like the dear generous-hearted girl 
 that you are; but Alice; dear, you will not keep me 
 waiting until that time, surely? 
 
 AL — A year from next Christmas I shall be of age, 
 then, if you wish, I will be your loving wife. 
 
 Ed. — Then, Alice, God willing, I will make you 
 my v/ife on that joyful holiday; but how long the 
 time seems to that happy moment, when I can call 
 you mine. 
 
 AL — Oh, no, Edward; when you are busy you 
 
14 
 
 will find the time short, and you will find plenty to 
 do between this and then. 
 
 Ed. — Yes, Alice, perhaps I will, for you know 
 that I am supposed to be an orphan, but of that 
 there is nothing certain; all I know is that I am told 
 that I was picked up on the ocean, fastened to a . 
 piece of a wreck, adopted by a Frenchman and wife 
 by the name of St. Leon and brought up by them, 
 as their own until death; they were poor [moon grad- 
 ually rising] but true, honest people, with hearts of 
 gold, and when they died they had nought to leave 
 me but their name and blessing. The only clue to 
 my identity was a locket w^hich was clutched tight- 
 ly in my hand when found — my adopted parents 
 said that there weje two minatures, a lady and gen- 
 tleman inside, also the monogram '^E. M" on the 
 outside, but, alas I even that was lost in the confu- 
 sion of our leaving the ship. I was only about two 
 years old then, so of course I recollect nothing about 
 it myself. 
 
 Al. — How strange to think that the same sea that 
 took from me a father should give me a 
 
 Ed. — Husband, as I hope soon to be; but first I 
 will endeavor by every means in my power to obtain 
 further clues to my parentage. 
 
 Al. — And for your sake, dear Edward, I hope you 
 will succeed. 
 
 Ed. — See, the moon is up and 5^ou may take cold 
 in this chilly night -air, so you had better go up to 
 the house. 
 
 Al. — But you will come, also? 
 
 Ed. — Certainly, dear, to see you there, but I can- 
 not stay as I have business to attend to this evening. 
 [Exit talking]. 
 
 [Enter Count from behind rocks.'] 
 
 Count. — ^And so have I. Ah ! she talks quite dif- ^^ 
 ferently to him, but as far as the girl is concerned, 
 to the devil with her, what I want is her money, and 
 like a chromo she goes with it, so if I would get it I 
 must first get the girl; money I must have and 
 plenty of it, too, or my game is up; then, there is a 
 disagreeable chance of my going up, too (on the end 
 
 I 
 
15 
 
 of a rope) but I must not think of that, it a kind of 
 chokes my flow of spirits. 
 
 I wish John would hurry up as I expect that 
 pampered brute back every moment. Let me once 
 get him away and I will manage to weave such a 
 plausible network of guilt around him that he dare 
 not return if he could. Oh, here comes some one. 
 Sailors, perhaps they are Thompson's. I will just 
 step aside until I make sure. [Hides behind rock.'] 
 
 1st Sail. — Come ahead me harties, we are shipped 
 for the night, sure, for not a lubber's son of yer can 
 slip his cable while the skipper bears hard down on 
 the starn. 
 
 2d Sail. — Yer right, mate, luck's agin us to-night, 
 and it ain't no use to grumble no how, as I knows 
 on. 
 
 \ Enter Count ivitli luig off; speaks to 1st Sail. ] 
 
 Count.— Good evening, gentlemen. 
 
 1st Sail. — The same to yourself, says I. 
 
 Count. — Who is your captain, and w^here can I 
 find him? 
 
 1st Sail. — Well, yer honor, as to our captain, his 
 name's Thompson, Captain Thompson, E. S. Q, and 
 I reckon a better never stood on quarterdeck; bean't 
 I right, Bill? 
 
 2d Sail. — Yer right, Jack, 'cepting he's werry 
 strict against drinkin'. 
 
 1st Sail. — Yes, werry, wefry. 
 
 Count. — But where is he now? 
 
 1st Sail. — That's wot I wer a comin' ter, sir; you 
 will find him astarn, or elst you wouldent find us 
 here; ain't I right. Bill? 
 2d Sail. — I reckon as how yer be. Jack. 
 [^Exit Count.'] 
 
 1st Sail. — Say, Bill, I cant say as how I likes the 
 looks of that land shark sort or fellow. 
 
 2d Sail. — No more does I, Jack. 
 
 1st Sail. — He's up to somethin' mean, I wager, 
 cos no one ever seed a real gentleman that waid call 
 two foremast lads like unto us gentlemen. 
 
 2d Sail. — No, no more they wudent, Jack. 
 [Enter other Sailors folloiued by J. Thompson and 
 
 Count.] 
 
16 
 
 J. Thomp. — All hands attention ! (cries of aye^ 
 aye, sir) String out in a line. Now, men, this gen- 
 tleman has informed me that one of our new men is 
 trying to desert in disguise, and as we are already 
 short of hands it would be dangerous to lose one, so 
 lie in wait behind these rocks,. until he comes along^ 
 as he will soon do. Then, when I order you, all 
 hands seize him and bring him aboard the boat. 
 Now, then, hide [sailors hide.] Say, Jack Hovey, 
 I don't like this work and I am [clouds obscure the 
 moon] heartily sorry that I promised to do it; and 
 only that Iknow of no other way to save him from 
 you, I would back out even now. 
 
 Count.— Hush ! he comes; hide. I will accost 
 him, then you seize him from behind [J. T. hides]. 
 [Enter Edward.] 
 
 Count. — [disguised] Ah ! dear sir, may I trouble 
 you to tell me the way to Tompkinsville? 
 
 Ed. — Certainly, sir; I will show you the way with 
 pleasure, as I am going past there now. [Ed. is 
 seized from behind, but breaks loose and knocks 
 down Count; is again seized and overpoiuered and 
 carried off, Count helping and returns with coat.] 
 
 Connt. — [looking through pockets of coat.] Let me 
 see what I have here, a bunch of keys and a photo- 
 graph of Alice. Ah, I bet they are the keys of the 
 safe, for I know that he has charge of them. Yes, 
 they will prove of some value to me, and as for that 
 [looking at photo], well, I guess I will find some use 
 for it. Now for New York. Let me see [looks at 
 watch], too late, too late, the last boat will have 
 left by the time I could get there; what am I to do? 
 Stay here and lose all? No, not without a trial any. 
 how. I wonder if- 1 could row up against this ebb 
 tide? I will try at any rate. [Exit.] 
 
 Scene Second — Merchants Office. 
 
 [Enter Count.] 
 
 Count.— Ah ! I reckon I've done it pretty neat, and 
 I don't think I have been recognized in this disguise; 
 now, my boy, you are in for a desperate game, but 
 
 H-:' 
 
17 
 
 it is not the first by long odds, nor do I want it to 
 be my last; but, confound it, that devilish boat took 
 up so much time that I will have to work up lively. 
 I w^onder w^hat time it is [looks at watcli]. It's now 
 half j)ast seven. They don't arrive here before nine; 
 that gives me one hour and a half. Well, dearest 
 Edward is now out to sea, and I suppose he is quite 
 sea sick already, and he is going to marry Alice on 
 Christmas, too. Ha, ha, ha! Eather a long voy- 
 age for him to start on then. I'm kind of skeared 
 there will be some disappointments yet. To the 
 arctic regions; rather a cold place, but it may cool 
 down his fiery young blood. Well, never mind if 
 he does find it rather cold abroad. I will make it 
 up by making it red hot for him at home. 
 
 Now for the safe. I do admire these old fashion- 
 ed gentlemen, who stick to the good old time safe. 
 Safe, because you don't have to injure it to get at 
 its contents, [opens safe.] Ah! this is enough to 
 make a dead man grin with pleasure [counts 
 money'] one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in 
 bills and bonds, and one thousand in small bills. 
 These I will put in my pocket in case I should need 
 change. Now for my trap. I will first write Alice 
 a note from dear Edward. I must copy his hand- 
 writing [looks in hook and ivrites.] I guess that 
 will do it. [Beads.] Dear Alice — Although 
 I love you, I love another still better with whom 
 I am now going away, so of course I release you 
 from your engagement and return you your photo' 
 think of me and still love me and if I get tired of 
 her (whom I now adore) I will let you know and 
 you can come to me. Yours lovingly, Edward 
 (puts in photo' and seals envelope). That will 
 raise a picnic I bet? 
 
 Now for his coat, that I will leave here, as though 
 he had dropped it in a hurry, hark! — what was that; 
 can it be some one coming? yes, it is, they are com- 
 ing to the door, the money [takes money ^ puts it in 
 his hat hurriedly runs to the luindow, puts it up 
 and while half out his hat is knocked off by the win- 
 dow and falls into room] curses on it, the money [at- 
 tempts to get hack hut key is turned in door] Damn 
 it, lost, lost. 
 
18 
 
 [Enter Mr. Ferguson.'] 
 
 Fur.— So Ed. you are ahead of me after all? [looks 
 around] what Ed. not here and his ooat on the 
 ground, something strange [sees safe open] 
 Good Heaven's can it be that I am robbed? 
 [goes to telephone] connect to Pinkertons. Send 
 good man to Ferguson, commission merchant, 
 Broad street. — I am robbed ruined for a second 
 time, and those who have trusted in me also 
 ruined; poor Ed., this will be a sorry day for him 
 also, for to-day he was to have got his partnership 
 papers, Oh! what's that [goes to hat] the money, 
 yes, the money, thank Heavens I am saved from 
 ruin and from ruining others [goes to safe] all here 
 except a few hundred dollars. — This is the most 
 mysterious thing I ever heard of, I wonder what 
 detains Ed. [looks at ivatch] its now half-past eight 
 and I have never known him to be after eight, and 
 his coat here, that's what mystifies me, to say the 
 least, its perfectly unaccountable. I am positive 
 that Ed. locked up all safely last night, for if any- 
 thing he was too careful, if there is such a thing. 
 Why 1 have known him to come back when blocks 
 away, if the slightest idea struck him that he had 
 not left all perfectly secure. 
 
 [Detective arrives.] 
 
 Det. — Good morning, sir? 
 
 Fer. — Good morning. 
 
 Det.— Your name, sir. 
 
 Fer. — George Ferguson. 
 
 Det. — I am from Pinkerton. 
 
 Fer. — All right, sir : then I will come to business 
 at once. There is some mystery which I cannot 
 understand. However, when I left last night at 
 five, everything was secure ; but when 1 came this 
 morning the door was open, and the safe robbed. 
 
 Det. — You arrived at what time [writes]. 
 
 Fer. — At twenty-five minutes past eight exactly. 
 
 Det. — And it is now a quarter to nine. Have you 
 disturbed anything since you arrived ? 
 
 Fer.— Nothing, except to look over the contents 
 of the safe, to find out what was missing. ^The safe 
 was already open. 
 
19 
 
 Det. — What have you missed ? 
 
 Fer. — The thief or thieves got away with but a 
 few hundred dollars, having dropped the rest in an 
 old hat, w4iich I found lying by the window, from 
 -which I have no doubt they escaped. 
 
 Det. — Have you clerks ? . 
 
 Fer. — Yes, six. 
 
 Det. — Has one full charge, and the keys of the 
 safe? 
 
 Fer. — Yes, sir ; his name is Edward St. Leon. 
 He lives with me on Staten Island, and to-day he 
 was to have been made a full partner. I don't see 
 what's ke ping him so late. 
 
 Det. — Have you any reason to suspect him of the 
 robbery ? 
 
 Fer. — ^VVhat, Edward ! Heaven forbid ! I would 
 trust him with my life. Oh, no, no ! 
 
 Det.— The hat. 
 
 J'er. — [Hands it to Mm.'] Here it is. 
 
 Det. — \ Picks up coat.] Do you recognize any of 
 these articles ? 
 
 Fer. — Yes, the coat is Ed's. 
 
 Det.— The hat : is that his ? 
 
 Fer. — No : I don't think that I ever saw it before 
 to-day. 
 
 Det. — [Looks in hat.] John T. is in it. Do you 
 know who that is ? 
 
 Fer.— No ; I do not. 
 
 Det — I Makes bundle of coat and hat.] Here is a 
 letter in the pocket addressed to Miss Alice Pendleton, 
 are you acquainted with her ? 
 
 Fer. — Yes, I understand Edward is engaged to 
 her, she is the niece of Judge Pendleton, and a 
 beautiful young lady she is. 
 
 Det. — Then we had better go to the house. This 
 letter may furnish some clue. [Both exit.] 
 Scene 3d. [Parlor in Judge Pendleton'' s House. S. I. 
 
 [Seivant shows Fer., Det. and Count into room.] 
 
 Fer. — James, do not announce us until I tell you 
 to. 
 
 James. — All right, sir. 
 
 Fer.— My dear Count I am so glad that I met you, 
 
20 
 
 as there is bad news to be told to the family, and, to 
 tell you the truth, I cannot do it. 
 
 Count. — Bad news, Mr. Ferguson, w^hy you shock 
 me. I hope that it does not concern the family. 
 
 Fer. — That's the w^orst of it, it does, and I thought 
 that you, being a friend of the family, you w^ould 
 be more delicate in breaking the unwelcome new^s 
 to them, for I could never doit, that I am sure; foul 
 work, foul work, somewhere. 
 
 Count. — Yes, Mr. Ferguson, I w^as taking my 
 constitutional on the beach when you met me, and 
 I am glad that you did, if I can assist you in this 
 matter; but I am sorry to hear that it concerns this 
 worthy family; pray allow me to ask what the 
 trouble is ? 
 
 Fer. — True, dear Count, I forgot that I had not 
 told you, but, but, well to save my life I do not 
 kuow how to explain it — Mr., 
 
 Det. — Eogers. 
 
 Fer. — Well, Mr. Rogers, please explain the case 
 to this gentleman. 
 
 Det. — Mr. Ferguson's office has been robbed and 
 there is no clue to the thieves except this hat and 
 coat, also a letter addressed to Miss Alice Pendleton. 
 
 Count. — Believe me, gentlemen, I am very sorry, 
 very sorry, indeed, to think that Edward should do 
 such a thing; this will break poor Alice's heart, and 
 he engaged to marry her on Christmas. [Det. 
 watches Count shajyly.'] 
 
 Fer. — Marry her on Christmas; when did you 
 hear that ? 
 
 Count. — Oh, I heard it; that is — I did not exactly 
 hear it, but I was led to suppose it, by his bearing 
 towards her. 
 
 Fer. — \^Loo'ks at Count sharply.'] Strange. 
 
 Count. — Yes, very strange; I xlon't see what 
 could have tempted him to do such a thing. 
 
 Fer. — Edward never did it, take my w^ord for it ; 
 he was not that kind of man: but supposing he was, 
 what motive could he have for doing it, as he would 
 have been made partner to-day? 
 
 Count. — Why the letter explains his motive. 
 
 Fer.— Does it ? ^ 
 
21 
 
 Count. — Yes; does it not? 
 
 Fer. — I am not aware that it does, as it is a sealed 
 letter addressed to Miss Alice Pendleton, and I am 
 not acquainted with its contents. 
 
 Count. — Oh, I did not know that. 
 
 Fer. — James, inform the Jud^e and Miss Alice 
 that we are here and wish to see them at their con- 
 venience. 
 
 Fer. — I tell you. Count, to speak plain, there is 
 some dark villainy afloat, you may depend upon it, 
 and Ed. is the victim. 
 
 [Enter Judge and Alice.] 
 
 Judge. — Good morning, gentlemen. 
 
 Fer. — Mr. Rogers, Judge. 
 
 Judge. — Happy to meet you, Mr. Eogers. 
 
 Fer. — We do not feel much pleasure in visiting 
 you this morning. Judge, as we have disagreeable 
 news, especially for Miss Alice. 
 
 Count. [Sigh.s.~\ — Yes, indeed, disagreeable. 
 
 Judge. — Something wrong, eh? 
 
 Al. — Yes, yes^ I can see it by your faces. Oh, tell 
 me what it is. 
 
 Fer. — There, now, Alice dear, calm yourself; it 
 will all come out right yet, I am sure. 
 
 Al. — What will? Oh, what is wrong? 
 
 Fer. — ^Count^ please explain, but make it easy, 
 make it easy. 
 
 Count. — Everything, Miss AUce, ever3^thing is 
 wrong. 
 
 Al. — Is it concerning Edward? 
 
 Fer. — Yes, that is kind of; there now, Alice, my 
 girl, don't look so grieved. Oh, I can't tell her. 
 
 Judge. — What trouble about Edward? Not dan- 
 gerously ill, I hope. 
 
 Fer. — No, no. 
 
 Count. — Worse, worse. 
 
 Al. — What, worse! For Heaven's sake, do not 
 tell rae he is dead. 
 
 Fer. — No, Alice, no. 
 
 Count. — Oh, no, but it would be better if he were. 
 Mr. Ferguson has been robbed, and — and — I cannot 
 tell it to Miss Alice. 
 
 Det. — And suspicion points to Edward, his clerk. 
 
22 
 
 Al. — Oh, no, 'tis false. Mr. Ferguson, you surely 
 do not believe such a thing; that Edward, so truth- 
 ful, so noble hearted, would stoop to steal. It is too 
 ridiculous; 'tis some vile plot to injure him, by 
 some cowardly enemies. But w^ait until he comes,, 
 and I will stake my life that he will put his shame- 
 less accusers to the blush, if they have so much 
 sense of shame left in their traitorous breasts. 
 
 [Det hands letter addressed to Alice. \ Oh ! a let- 
 ter, heaven be praised. This, then, wall explain 
 everything satisfactorily. \_She reads, drops letter 
 and faints; Det catches her.] 
 
 [Judge picks letter up and reads.] 
 
 Judge.— Gentlemen, this is some rascally conspir- 
 acy against Edward ; for; believe me, he is a high- 
 minded noble youth, incapable of anything deroga- 
 tory to a gentleman. 
 
 Count. — Yes, Judge ; but you forget that he's a 
 thief. 
 
 Fer. — And you're a damned scoundrel [knocking 
 him doivn.] 
 
 Judge. — And this letter is a forgery. 
 
 Tableau. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene First. Arctic Regions-^ Icebergs; Ship in dis- 
 tance near berg. 
 
 [Enter Ed. and Old Tom, the Boatswain.] 
 
 Ed. — Well, Tom, this is pretty hard luck — if you 
 can call it luck, — first seized by mistake as a sailor 
 and carried off to sea without even so much as a 
 word of explanation to those I. left behind; then jV 
 getting caught in the ice, with no prospect of ever 's 
 
 getting out for months to come, if we ever get out 
 at all; then, as if our cup of misery was not full, 
 we are short of provisions, with half the men down 
 v^ith scurvy, and with but a slim chance of our 
 bettering their condition with any fresh meat which 
 
23 
 
 we can procure. To say the least, the prospect be- 
 fore us is not very mviting. 
 
 Tom. — Lor' bless you, sir, you'r right; no doubt, 
 but if as how you'd allow an old hulk like me, 
 wats tossed in many a sea, weathered many a gale 
 and generally com'd out about right, to give yer a 
 bit of ad wise. 
 
 Ed. — Certainly, friend, and thank you for it, too. 
 
 Tom. — Then I'll heave ahead till I cum ter anchor 
 longside. My adwise, which is, "in the midst of 
 perwersity keep a stiff upper lip." 
 
 Ed. — Thanks, my friend, thanks; but it is not for 
 myself that I grieve, but for those whom I have left 
 behind me (perhaps forever) without even a good-bye 
 word for those I love best on earth. Tom, I dare 
 not think of it or I should go distracted. I hope 
 you will not think meanly of me for giving wa}^ to 
 my feelings, but although I try to bear it like a 
 man, I cannot but feel it like a man. 
 
 Tom. — Ah, sir, I kin feel fur yer there, as I knows 
 what it is myself. I left one ons't too. She werent 
 wery young, nor may be not as wot yer might call 
 purty, but she were good to me, and, in my old 
 eyes, wery purty, indeed. I left her ons't. an it 
 were ons't too often, fer it wer forever [luipes eyes 
 ivith sleeve']. I didn't know it at the time, bnt wen 
 I cumed home to the little cottage, where I left her, 
 she weren't there, and them as wer, wer strangers 
 to me, and they told me as how my poor wife, 
 Betsey, were dead and buried, and as how her last 
 words wer: Poor Tom, tell him as not to forget me, 
 fur I will always watch over him, until we meet in 
 Heaven. Then she left a kiss for me, as wot, of 
 course, I didn't git. Then she died. This cold air, 
 sir, makes my old eyes wery watery. 
 
 Ed. — Poor fellow, I am, indeed, very sorry for 
 you. I see that you have had your own share of 
 troubles in this world; but, Tom, life at the best is 
 short, and, when your time comes to leave, think of 
 the happiness and joy it will be to you to meet your 
 dear wife once more, never, never to part. Yes, 
 Tom, you must, indeed, have missed your good wife 
 greatly. 
 
24 
 
 To m.^ Yes, sir, yer right I did; but, Lor' bless 
 yer, I never expects, as an qld hulk like me, would 
 ever be allowed in such a glorious place as wot 
 Betsey said Heaven wer. No, no, it couldent be; 
 all I ever asks is, to be allowed a glimpse, now and 
 then, a sort of a look in, as it wer, to git a sight of 
 my dear Betsey. 
 
 Ed. — Did you say that you never expected to go 
 to Heaven, Tom? 
 
 Tom. — Oh, Lord bless yer, sir, I never expects to, 
 cause when I wer young, and orter been good. I wer 
 wild, and everything that werent good, and now, 
 when I've got old, it seems ter me as wot it wer a 
 worry mean sort of thing to try to pass off as good. 
 No, no, I'm too w;icket, 
 
 Ed. — Too wicked; did, did you commit any very 
 great crime — robbery or murder? 
 
 Tom. — Oh, no; I never dun no one no harm as I 
 knows on, but I dident go to church when I orter. 
 
 Ed. — Well, Tom, I am glad to hear that it is no 
 worse, athough, of course, you did very wrong in 
 neglecting your church ; but there is still hope for 
 you, for you know that our Saviour died for all sin- 
 ners, and if you sincerely repent your sins, and ask 
 for mercy, you will certainl}^ be forgiven; but when 
 we return to the ship I will explain some of the 
 Bible to you, if you would like it. 
 
 Tom. — Like it ; why. Lord bless yer, dear sir, I 
 don't know no way as how I can thank yer enough ; 
 yer have made my old heart gladder ter day ner it 
 has bin since poor Betsey died. She wer abvers trying 
 ter lead me, but, yer see, I wer young, and didn't 
 walue it then; but if yer will be so kind as ter teach 
 me, I will never forgit it, sir. 
 
 Ed. — I won't forget to teach you, Tom ; but here 
 comes the Captain with Jasper. [Enter Cap. J. ^ 
 Thomp^ and Jasper Johnson. ^^ ^^ 
 
 J. Thomp. — Well, men, did you have the luck to 
 come across any game ? 
 
 Ed. — No, Captain, I have not seen the sign of any 
 as yet, but I think we had better try in another 
 direction ; have you had any luck, Captain ? 
 
 J. Thomp. — No, I have not ; but it won't do to 
 
25 
 
 give up yet; we must find fresh meat of some kind, if 
 nothing more than a fox or two. In fact, our lives 
 depend upon it, for nearly half the crew are now 
 down with the scurvy, and in a few days more, 
 without we can get some relief, even the strongest 
 among us will have to succumb to that deadly foe, 
 leaving nothing but our whitened bones to tell our 
 fate. 
 
 Jas. — Captain. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Well, what is it, Jasper? 
 
 Jas. - If'er, if 'er we don't find something dat is 
 game or somthin. will we, will 
 
 J. Thomp.— Will what ? 
 
 Jas. — Will we hab to draw chances to see who's 
 ter be eat ? 
 
 J. Thomp. — [Smiling.'] Certainly, certainly; why 
 not? 
 
 Jas. — I spose ebery body knows nigger no good, 
 not fit ter eat ; fact is, Captain, dem wots tried it 
 says nigger's wus ner pison. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Well, Jasper, one nigger, you know, 
 wouldn't be much among the whole crew, and 
 when the amount is so small the stronger it is the 
 better, I should think. But don't be so skared, 
 Jasper ; you might not be the party drawn to be 
 eaten. 
 
 Jas. — Oh, Captain, dem white folks would be sure 
 to put up a job on dis poor colored child. 
 
 Ed. — Look! look! Captain, there must be some- 
 thing wrong with the ship; there seems to be a 
 great commotion on board. 
 
 J. Thomp.— Yes, there goes a signargun for our 
 return; what can be the matter? 
 
 Ed. — Look! look! For Heaven's sake, the ice- 
 bergs. 
 
 Tom.— They are breaking up, Captain. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, yes; that's it. Good God! will 
 they never get the ship clear? Come, men, what 
 are we doing here. Come, come, I say; our ship's 
 our life. [Berg breaks.] What! [Breaks again 
 and sinks ship.] Too late; too late. My God, we 
 are all lost; our doom is sealed. [Staggers.] 
 
 Ed. — Captain, Captam, let us hasten over; per- 
 haps we may succeed in saving some of our friends. 
 
26 
 
 Tom. — It aren't no use, Ed. ; it would take us more 
 nor an hour to git there, and they wer killed in- 
 stantly. God forgive um ther sins! 
 
 Ed. — But some might still live. 
 
 J. Thomp.— No, it is of no use; they are all lost — 
 sank v^ith the ship, our only home, down to the 
 bottom of the Arctic Ocean. Oh! would to Heaven 
 we had all sunk with her, for a far worse fate 
 awaits us. 
 
 Ed. — No, Captain; remember, ''while there is 
 life there is hope." 
 
 Tom. — And that's wot I says, Captain, "in the 
 midst of perwersity keep a stiff upper lip." 
 
 Jas. — I dun think, as Massa Tom knows, what 
 he's talking bout. Who eber hered ob a stiff upper 
 lip saving any body? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Ah! my friends, you know not of 
 what you are talking. We are lost beyond recov- 
 ery for ever; we cannot «ave our lives. Let us, 
 then, make our peace with God and try to save our 
 souls. 
 
 Ed. — Captain, it is our duty to both God and man 
 to try to preserve our lives. 
 
 Jas. [^Looking shared.'] — Puiserve us; dis chile 
 don wunt to be pickled. 
 
 Tom.^ — Yer right, Ed. Yes, Captain, he's right. 
 
 Ed. — Captain, how far are we from the nearest 
 place that we can reckon on for help? 
 
 J. Thomp. — I am not quite sure, as I have no 
 chart; but it is all of six hundred miles, and it 
 might as well be six thousand, for we could never 
 reach there. No, it's worse than useless to move a 
 step. Here we can stop until we die; by trying to 
 save ourselves we but prolong our misery. 
 
 Jas. — Oh, Lor. I doesn't want to leaf my bones 
 to whiten here. I sooner take um wid me, even if 
 dey is black, 
 
 Ed. —God helps those who help themselves, so 
 while we have life let us struggle like men. 
 
 Tom. — Them ere's my sentiments too. 
 
 Jas. — If ever I sees home again, dats all de sea 
 dat /ever wants. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Well, comrades, if you wish to try, 
 
27 
 
 let us start, this is the way. May God in His mercy 
 help us. 
 
 Ed. — Amen. 
 
 Tom. — Aye, aye, sir. 
 
 [All exit.'] 
 
 Scene 2nd — Flat of Snowy Rocks. 
 [Enter Captain and Ci^ew.] 
 
 J. Thomp. — I think that it is useless, men, we 
 can never hold out, we are only killing ourselves in 
 a more painful manner : it's death, death, stares us 
 in the face, look where we will. 
 
 Ed. — Oh, Alice ! I cannot die without seeing your 
 dear face again. I must, I will live. 7, for one, 
 will keep on while there is a breath in my body. 
 
 Jas. — [Jumping around, shrieking.'] Look, look ! 
 glory to de Lord. [All rush over.] 
 
 J. Thomp. — Footsteps, footsteps, at last there is 
 help. 
 
 Tom. — Captain, it sorter strikes me that we 
 cumed by this very place once afore, more ner three 
 days ago. 
 
 J. Thomp. — What, man ; what would you say? 
 Are you a friend to dash our last ray of hope aside? 
 
 Ed. — Our own footsteps, we must have travelled 
 in a circle. Oh, what a weary journey for nought ! 
 Three day's incessant toil to find ourselves back in 
 the same accursed spot. Oh ! Heavens ! is there no 
 help? 
 
 Jas. — Yes, sure dars my footsteps, dass no mis- 
 taken dem. [Cap faints.] 
 
 Ed. — It is useless continuing the struggle, every- 
 thing is against us, our fate seems sealed. Oh, 
 Alice ! must I then give up all hope of ever seeing 
 your dear face on earth again ? Yes. I must indeed 
 say a long good-bye, my dearest one, for ever. 
 
 Tom. — Ed., my friend, remember, "in the midst 
 of perversity keep a stiff upper lip." 
 
 Jas. — Dat's easy enuf. Ise stiff all ober and I 
 don't feel so berry good; de stiff er I gets, de worser 
 I feels. Tom, is the top of my nose white, cos if it 
 
28 
 
 is I'se frozed. Oh, if I cud only seed a fire eben, de 
 sight of one wud warm me, or eben a little fire water. 
 
 Tom. — Captain, if as how I might make so free, I 
 think if we steered straight ahead instead of turning 
 to larboard as we did, w^e would be steering on the 
 right course. 
 
 J. Thomp. [springs up excitedly^. — I have a mis- 
 sion to fulfill. I must keep on. Follow me to life 
 or death. [Exit.'] 
 
 Ed. — I'm afraid the captain's sufferings have 
 affected his head. Come, men, we must follow and 
 watch hira that no harm befalls him. 
 
 Jas. — Well, Massa Ed and Tom, you go ahead. I 
 must take a little sleep, I muss [gapes']. I can't keep 
 dees here eyes open nohow. I will catch up wid 
 yoQ arter I takes a little nap [gapes']. 
 
 Tom. — No, no, man; that ere wud be the sleep of 
 death; you wud never wake again. You musent 
 sleep nohow, man; you must rouse yourself up. 
 
 Ed. — Come, come, we must not lose sight of the 
 captain. Tom, lake one arm of Jasper's and I will 
 take the other until he shakes off this drowsiness. 
 [Exit.'] 
 
 Scene 3d. — Open ice and bergs; seals in distance. 
 [Enter all, straggling and staggering,] 
 
 Jas. [blubbering]. — Oh, Lor! oh, Lor! if I had eben 
 a single red hot coal in dis chile's stomach I tinks it 
 would melt a little of de ice dar, If ebber I Fees a 
 fire agin, eider dat fire gits frozed or I gits thawed, 
 for I'll nebber leave till one or the udder happens. 
 
 J Thomp. — I'm afraid, Ed, that the fox you shot 
 yesterday has only prolonged our misery instead of 
 preserving our lives. 
 
 Ed.- Courage, captain; don't give up yet. God in 
 his mercy may have our rescue near at hand. 
 
 J. Thomp. — No, no, Ed; that is impossible. 
 
 Ed. — To God nothing is impossible, and no man 
 knows what to-morrow may bring forth. 
 
 Tom. — Yes, Ed, that is very true, and Look! 
 
 seals, seals; there's food! 
 
 J. Thomp.— Food! who said it, who said food? 
 
29 
 
 Oh, give me it, oh, give me something to eat! I 
 am starving! 
 
 Ed. — Oh, that I could but use this now useless 
 gun, we might now procure food to keep hfe in us 
 for further trial. 
 
 Tom. — I have the powder and shot, Ed. 
 
 Ed. — Yes, but have you a gun cap ? 
 
 Al.— No, no. 
 
 E.d — Don't say no; look again, search your clothes 
 well. 
 
 Jas.— Here's one, massa Ed; here's one. 
 
 Ed.— Who will fire ? 
 
 All. — You, you are the best shot. 
 
 Ed. — Then Heaven guide my aim. [Aims, slips 
 in hole, gun snaps ; all groan. ^^ The cap is off, look 
 for it. [They look through snoiv in box.'] Look care- 
 fully, [donH find it,] look, men, look. 
 
 Tom. — What's that 'ere thing on your glove? 
 
 Ed. — The cap, the cap. [Puts on gun again.] 
 
 Tom. — Hurry Ed., fire they are moving. 
 
 E. — I can't friends; lam too unfortunate. 
 
 J. Thomp. — [Springs up.] Then /will, give me 
 gun, give it to me. [Takes it aivay, aims at random 
 hut hits seal, rest jump into the water leaving the 
 wounded one struggling ; the men start toivard it, 
 but it rolls into water.] Ha ! ha ! I told you. 
 
 Jas. — Oh, Lord ! Oh, Lord ! dar goes my dinner, 
 afore I tasted it, eben. 
 
 J. Thomp.— Well, men, if you still insist on living; 
 there is nothing for it but to draw chances, and see 
 who shall die that the rest may live. 
 
 Ed. — No, no. Captain ; we will never come to that; 
 we will struggle on so long as we have strength, re- 
 lying on God's protection, then having lived like 
 men, when our Heavenly Father decrees our time 
 has come, we will try to die like men with faith in 
 our hearts, and not like wild beasts devouring each 
 other. 
 
 Tom. — Them ere's my sentiments, just like as 
 how my poor Betsey wud have said, if she wer 
 here. 
 
 J. Thomp.- -Yes, yes ;you'r right, men; I'masham- 
 
30 
 
 ed of myself for beiiig the first to despair; we will 
 try to perform om^ daty to the last — as you say. 
 [Eater Captain Morton, with sailors.] 
 
 [All rush tip to them, asking are you wrecked, too? 
 have you a boat, &c.f] 
 
 Cap. IVE, No, friends; we are not wrecked. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Oh ! who are you, and have you a 
 vessel ? 
 
 Cap. M. — I am Captain Morton, and I own the 
 steam sloop lying behind those bergs: I came here 
 for whales, but having had very poor luck, and the 
 winter coming on, I made up my mind to sail to- 
 day; but who are you, and where from, my friends? 
 
 J. Thomp. — ^I am John Thompson, Captahi of the 
 Sea Griill, and thesa are the remnant of my crew. 
 
 Cap. M. — But Where's your vessel? 
 
 7. Thomp. — At the bottom of the ocean, with 
 nearly all of my crew on board ; crushed and sunk 
 by an iceberg, in an instant, while we were on 
 shore. Since which we have w^andered around 
 without food, I know not how long. 
 
 Cap. M. —Poor fellows, I am indeed glad that I 
 have met you; Providence must have guided you 
 here, for if you had been a few hours later, my ves- 
 sel would have been gone, and you must have per- 
 ished. I was in the act of giving orders preparing 
 for our departure, when I heard the gun and voices, - 
 so I came on shore to see who it was. But while I 
 am talking, perhaps you are starving. I think I 
 have a few biscuits, which I put in my pocket this 
 morning, as I was going shooting, but suddenly 
 making up my mind to sail to-day, I didn't go, 
 [while speaking takes out biscuits and divides them^ 
 they eagerly devour them | they are rather dry, but 
 you appear to have good appetites. 
 
 J as. — Golly, appetite; I tink I'se notink else ner 
 one big appetite. 
 
 Cap.M — [Takes out flask and pours out little and 
 hands to each.] This drop of brandy will take 
 away your faintness; poor fellows, you shall soon 
 have plenty as soon as you get aboard, but where 
 do you belong? 
 
 J. Thomp. — New York is where we started from 
 
31 
 
 and should have returned to, had we not been 
 wrecked. 
 
 Cap. M. — Well, men, as I told you I sail to-day, 
 as I made, very liitle oil here. I am going to the Afri- 
 can coast for Palm Oil and from there to Eng- 
 land. If you choose to go with me 1 will put you 
 on board the first vessel we meet; bound for New 
 York, if you desire it. 
 
 J. Thomp. — I can assure you that both 1 and my 
 men are deeply grateful to you for your kindness, 
 for we were nearly exhausted from fatigue and 
 starvation when Heaven sent you to our rescue. 
 
 Cap. M.^1 am thankful that 1 was the humble 
 means of saving you; but let us to the ship that you 
 may get the food of which you are in so much need. 
 [Enter luife and daughter tuith sailor]. Oh! my 
 wife and my daughter. [Wife starts when she sees 
 Ediuard, and tvatches him.] 
 
 J. Thomp. — What! brhig ladies with you here? 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes; I have them by me always. My 
 wife suffered a great affliction, and by her own 
 desire she and our daughter accompany me wher- 
 ever I go. Oh! there must be a storm coming up; 
 see! the ice is moving. [Distant sounds of ice break- 
 ing]: 
 
 Kate [daughter]. — Oh! father! what a grand sight 
 it must be, if you were only close enough? Can 1 
 not go to yonder rising ground to have a better 
 view ? 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes, Kate, if you are careful. Ben, [to 
 sailor] you had better go with her, to see that she 
 keeps out of danger. Now, Kate, you must come 
 back directly you take a look, as I want to return to 
 the ship at once. 
 
 Kate. — Yes, father; I won't detain you a minute. 
 [Kate and sailor ivalto over to high ground in middle 
 of stage]. 
 
 Cap. M. [to 2nd sailor]. — Jim, go back to the ship 
 as fast as your legs can carry you, and tell the cook 
 to get up a good dinner just as quick as he possibly 
 can, as I have company back with me. 
 
 2nd Sailor. — Aye. aye, sir [running off]. 
 
 Jas. — Oh! Now I looks forward to a good square 
 
32 
 
 meal, good and warm, too, fur sure. Golly, Massa 
 Tom, who wLid tink dat a mancoud feel so starving: 
 when he had an ice breakfast, dinner and supper 
 ebery day, only dat dey was rader cool for my in- 
 digestion. 
 
 \_The noise of the ice has been gettiny nearer-]. 
 
 AIL— Hark! [Loud reports of ice breaking]. 
 
 [Ice begins to break; women scream; confusion 
 all around]. 
 
 1st Sail. — Good Heaven! we are lost. [Seems to 
 loose his senses; das lies over the ice screaming, save 
 yourselves; lie falls through and is lost]. 
 
 Kate— Help! help! Father! Mother! Oh, God! must 
 I die herein sight of all. [They hold Father back; 
 he struggles]. 
 
 Cap. M. — Leave me go, fiends! I say, release' 
 me! Curse you, let me go! Will I see my child die 
 before my eyes without one struggle to save her? 
 
 [Ed. and Jas. rush up, Jas. falls back, Ed. gets 
 over and siezes Kate, returning with her in his 
 arms.] 
 
 All. — Keep back! Keep back! You can't get over. 
 
 Ed. — But I will in spite of all on earth [comes up 
 on last piece with Kate, all cheer, rush, and help. 
 Kate and mother rush to each others arms. Cap. 
 M. embraces Ed. Aurora shines out. Curtain 
 drops, rises to encore, Aurora going, tableau.] Now 
 for the ship and freedom. 
 
 Jas. — And warm grub. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene 1st. Stage set with moving tvater and steam- 
 ship in distance, bearing doivn to footlights, terrific 
 storm takin place, thunder, wind and lightning, 
 wind blows sails loose, lightning strikes ship. 
 
 [Curtain d7^ops and ibises quickly] on scene 2nd. 
 
 Vessel in foreground R. partly sunk; crew rush- 
 ing around. 
 
 Cap. M. — All hands to lower the yawl boat, look 
 
33 
 
 alive there men, look alive, we have not a moment 
 to lose. 
 
 Crew. — Aye, aye, sirt 
 
 Cap. M.— Cut the halyards, work for your lives 
 men, for delay means death. 
 
 Ed. — ■[^Ciits halyards ivith ax] Captain, she's afloat. 
 
 Cap. M. — Man her then, quick, quick. 
 
 Crew. — Aye, aye, sir. 
 
 J. Thomp.— Boat's all read.y. Captain, pass the 
 ladies. 
 
 Cap. M. — Come Kate, my girl, you get in first, 
 mother will follow you. 
 
 J. Thomp. — [Seizes Kate and drags her back] 
 Back all, back with you, for your lives, here comes 
 a mountain w^ave. [Spray flies up, big noise, all 
 screaming. ] 
 
 Cap. M. — Keep her off below [all run to side], 
 
 J. Thomp. — Good God, she has sunk. 
 
 Cap. M. — And all hands with her ; come quick, 
 for heavens sake, there is but once chance left, and 
 that is the life raft, but it will not hold up all. 
 
 Ed. — Captain you take the ladies, I for one will 
 remain. 
 
 J. Thomp. — And I [rest, and J]. 
 
 Cap. M. — No, men; our vessel will not float three 
 minutes longer, and to remain is death. No, I will 
 not accept your sacrifice ; no, we must try some- 
 thing else. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Some wreckage and form a raft, 
 Captain. 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes, friends, that's the way, we will 
 fasten some wreckage to the life raft; quick, cut 
 away the mast [some begin to cut away mast] 
 fasten a hawser to the life raft and launch her. 
 Now, lads, some of you out on to her, aye, aye, 
 sir. 
 
 [Tom and Jasper go on to her.] Clear the rigging, 
 look out, all right below, aye, aye, sir, then over 
 with it [mast goes over] lash her to the raft, now, 
 then pass the women, look sharp [women go over]. 
 All hands over, for I feel her settling. 
 
 Ed. — You first. Captain. 
 
 Cap. M. — No, I am Captain. I leave last [all go 
 
34 
 
 over\ Push off, push off, she's sinking [ship sinks, 
 all dark, thunder, wind, etc.; lightning flashes , storm 
 subsides, daylight begins to appear]. 
 
 Mrs. M. — Father, are we far from land? 
 
 Capt. M. — No, we can't be very far now, but I 
 cannot tell where we may be carried to. 
 
 Tom.— Captain, I think as I hear breakers. 
 
 Kate — Yes, father, Tom is right, I also hear the 
 roar of the surf and its getting louder. 
 
 Cap- M. — Yes, yes, I hear it now, we are near 
 land, but it may prove to be a new danger to us. 
 Oh, if it w^ere only getting light. 
 
 Ed. — It is getting lighter, Captain; we will soon 
 be able to see. 
 
 Jas. — Land ahoy! 
 
 Capt. M. — Where away? 
 
 Ed.— There! There! 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes, you are right; if we can but round 
 that point we will be on a lee shore and can safely 
 land, but if w^e keep on as we are going I am afraid 
 we will drift into that surf, and be dashed to pieces 
 on the rocks. The point is not more than a cable's 
 length away, and our only chance is to get a line 
 ashore, or this wind will soon drive us past the 
 point. 
 
 Ed.— I will carry a rope ashore, captain. 
 
 Tom. — No, allow me, wats used ter it, fur beggin' 
 yer honor's pardin, I thinks as how I'm the best 
 swimmer, and, if I arent, why I aint of much wal- 
 ley, anyhow, so I will go. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Tom speaks true, he is the best swim- 
 mer- here, let him try and if he don't succeed, I will 
 a.iempt to reach there. 
 
 Cap. M. — You are a brave man Tom and I pray 
 that you may succeed. 
 
 Tom — Thankee Captain, thankee, but don't you be 
 aferad on me, for in the micist of perwersity 1 allers 
 keeps a stiff upper lip [goes over, shark appears, 
 all cry shark, sharks &c]. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Back Tom, back for your life, ashark, 
 my God he will be seized, how slow he moves, hurry 
 Tom, hurry [they go to pidl him out, but shark bites 
 off leg, all scream, biz.] 
 
35 
 
 Tom. — Captain, I hope you'll excuse me for fail- 
 ing as I hadn't orter, but see as how that wona- 
 cious shark shattered my timbers, I could'nt help 
 it. 
 
 Jas.— I will go Captain, I ain't 'fraid of sharks, 
 give me a knife [inits a knife in Ms mouth], look out 
 shark I'se coming, I'se shark myself, I'se shark deb- 
 ble [jumps over']. 
 
 Tom. — Now, ladies, please don't take on so that 
 way, cans I arent one as was ever used to it, and I 
 never felt so content like as wot I feels now. I will 
 be all right in a day or two, that scratch on my led 
 will soon be all right. Ed Ed., please ter kinder 
 Sjraighten out my led, fur it feels a sort of cramped 
 [_Ed. fixes it], no not that one, the other [they look 
 at him surprised.] Is some of the bones broken — is 
 they? 
 
 Jas. — All right Captain, all right, Ise got her 
 fast. 
 
 Cap. M. — Thank God for our timely deliverance. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene 1st.: Tropical flat. 
 
 [Enter crowd hearing Tom on a litter]. 
 
 Tom. — Easy mates, easy, let me rest here 
 awhile. 
 
 Ed. — Poor Tom, how he must suffer, poor fellow. 
 
 Tom. — Ah! I feels as how I've made my worry last 
 cruise. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Don't say that Tom, we can't spare 
 such a good, faithful man. 
 
 Tom. — Thankee Captain, thankee, but it arent of 
 my desire I leave you, although I shouldent ort to 
 say as I warent satisfied to go when God calls on me 
 ter. 
 
 Mrs. M. — This is only a faint spell, my poor man, 
 and with a little careful nursing, which we will do 
 
36 
 
 all in our power to give you. I am sure you will 
 soon get well. 
 
 Tom. — Ah, mum, I'm sorry as to differ with a 
 lady, but Lor' bless yer, I feels as how I am going 
 worry, worry soon. This old hulk aren't no- good 
 no more anyhow. 
 
 Kate. — Poor Tom, is there anything that we can 
 do for you? 
 
 Tom. — Aye, mum, begging your ladyship's par- 
 don; I wishes to speak to Mr. Ed., to axe him a 
 question. 
 
 Ed. — Here I am, Tom. What is it you wish, my 
 dear brave friend? 
 
 Tom.- — Captain Morton, you be a bit of- a doctor, 
 and don't yer think my cable's nearly run? 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes, Tom; there is no use in disguising 
 the fact. I am sorry indeed to have to say it, but 
 — we must soon part. So if you have anything on 
 your mind that you want to tell, or any favor to 
 ask, do so at once, and make your peace with God. 
 
 Tom.— Yes, captain. I feel as wot yer say is 
 true. Ed, my boy, give me yer hand. 
 
 Ed. — Here, Tom. Here. 
 
 Tom. — Unhitch my belt and hand it here. 
 
 Ed. — Here it is, Tom. 
 
 Tom. — Open it, Ed, and hand wot's in it to Cap- 
 tain Thompson. 
 
 Ed. — Yes, Tom, yes. [^Hands something rolled up 
 to captain.] 
 
 Cap. M. — Well, Tom, I am sorry to tell you it, but 
 you must spin a short yarn, as you have not long 
 to live. 
 
 Tom.— I feel it, captain; I feel it. Wot I would 
 say is this ere: the package wot Mr. Ed handed to 
 Captain Thompson contains a locket which wer fas- 
 tened on the neck of a child which we picked up on 
 the ocean, on a piece of wreck. There weren't no 
 clue as to who he were, and there being a French 
 woman and her husband on board as took quite a 
 fancy to the wee little thing, our captain gave it to 
 them to bring up; but they was to tell it how they 
 cummed by it, if so be as how it lived to grow up; 
 but soon after they left the ship at France with it, 
 
' 37 
 
 I found this ere locket, which had dropped off it 
 one day and was given up as lost. Ed. 
 
 Ed.— Yes, Tom. 
 
 Tom. — A mouthful of water, please? 
 
 Jas. — Let me go for it, I'se done notink for poor 
 Massa Tom \_rims after it]. 
 
 Tom. — Aye, poor Jasper; I had nig:h forgotten 
 him, poor lad, his face are black, but his heart are 
 in the right place. [Enter Jas.] 
 
 Jas. — Here, poor Massa Tom, driak [drinks]. 
 
 Tom. — Thankee, Jasper my boy, thankee. 
 
 Jas. — Don't speak 'bout it, Tom [blubbers]. 
 
 Tom. — I aren't used to bein' ashore much, so I 
 have always ter wet my whistle; well, captain, as I 
 were a saying, soon after the French folks left the 
 ship, I found that there locket, and I have ever since 
 tried to find 'em to give it to them, for the young 
 one's sake, 'cause it had two pictures inside and 
 some letters outside on it; but all as wot I could 
 learn on, was as they'd* left for America, and being 
 as how my cruise is nearly run, I want to give it to 
 whoever will promise to keep up the seach. 
 
 Ed. — Tom, Tom, the name of the French people, 
 wasn't St. Leon, was it? 
 
 Tom. — Yes, but it were Ed, it were. 
 
 Ed. — And the vessel that saved the child, was — 
 
 Tom. — The " Benefactoress." 
 
 Ed.— And the initials? 
 
 Tom.— Ther wot, Ed? 
 
 Ed.— The letters on the locket were " E. M." 
 
 Tom. — Yes, yes. 
 
 Ed.— Then, Tom, I was that child. 
 
 Tom. — You, Ed I then thank God as how I've 
 found yer. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Here Ed. is your is your locket then. 
 
 'Ed.—lOpeiis locket.] Then these minatures must 
 be of my dear parents. Oh! if I could only clasp 
 that dear mother to my heart, and hear her sweet 
 voice, even for a moment; but alas! I can never, 
 never see her on earth. 
 
 Mrs. M.— Let me look [Ed. gives her the locket.] 
 Oh! heaven, can it be, do I see aright; yes, my 
 God! it is, my son, my darling son, come to your 
 mother's arms. 
 
38 
 
 Ed. — Mother, oh dearest mother, is this some 
 heavenly dream, or is it possible that my fondest 
 hopes are reahzed? 
 
 Cap. M.— Mother, what is this? 
 
 Mrs. M. — The locket which was your wedding 
 gift to me, and which was around our child's neck 
 when we were separated in the wreck, is now re- 
 turned with my darling bo v. 
 
 Cap. M.— What can this" be, Tom— Tom? 
 
 Tom. — Aye, aye, sir; it be sure as death. 
 
 Cap. M. — Where did you pick up this child? 
 
 Tom. — On the Atlantic, close on half ways be- 
 tween Ameriky and France. 
 
 Mrs. M. — Yes, my heart whispered this to me 
 when first I saw you, for it seemed your father 
 stood before me in his youth again. 
 
 Cap. M. — Wait, mother, one moment, until we 
 are sure; how long is it since you picked up this 
 child? Tom, do you remember? 
 
 Tom. — Aye, aye. Captain, I do that; next month 
 it would be just twenty-two years. 
 
 Cap. M- — We lost our child .then and he had this 
 locket on his neck. 
 
 J. Thomp. — There can be no doubt, Captain, but 
 that Edward is your son. 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes, yes, he is indeed Edward my 
 son. [Mutual embrace betiveen Ed. and father and 
 Kate, his sister.] 
 
 Kate. — Oh, Edward! my dear, dear, brave broth- 
 er, who, at the risk of your own life saved me from 
 a fearful death. Oh, how joyful it makes my heart 
 to see dear mother and father made so happy, their 
 gi'eat sorrow suddenly turned to bliss. 
 
 Mrs. M. — Father, look! See your picture. [Shows 
 locket] its our son's very image. [Embraces Ed. 
 again.] Oh, God! give me strength to bear so much 
 happiness! 
 
 [Tom groans. All rush to Mm.] 
 
 Ed. — Oh, Tom, forgive me my selfishness for for- 
 getting you in my own happiness, and all through 
 your means, too, dear Tom. 
 
 Tom. — Don't mention it, Ed., it makes me old 
 
39 
 
 heart weiy, wery glad; now wot I had to do is did, 
 and I can die happy, Ed. 
 
 Ed. — Well, dear, good friend, what is it? 
 
 Tom. — Come here, my boy, let me see you onst 
 afore I dies. [Ed. sits in front of him and takes his 
 hand.] 
 
 Ed. — No, Tom, you must not die, I will 
 
 Tom. — Its no use, as how I'de fight agin it for I 
 knows my times cum, but I've did my duty as far 
 as I know'don, and can now die happy. Ah, Ed. It's 
 now nearly twenty-two years ago that I carried you 
 from the wreck (where I first spied yer) to our ship, 
 and yer put yer little chubby arms around of my 
 neck and laughed and crowed and called me papa, 
 all of which made me wery happy to think as how 
 any one loved me so, even though it were one as was 
 too young ter know better, and now to think, to-day 
 I gives 3'er back to your father and mother agin. 
 
 Ed. — Yes, my faithful, true-hearted friend, I can- 
 not find words to thank you, but your own kind 
 heart knows how mine feels. 
 
 Tom. — No thanks, Ed., no thanks; it were only 
 my dooty, and I only wish as how I coud do it agin 
 for yer, which, of course, that is sunthin as wot I 
 can't, Ed., where are you? 
 
 Ed. — Here I am, Tom; here I am. 
 
 Tom. — Yes, I feel yer, Ed, but I can't see yer, all 
 is getting so dark; my time's getting short; give me 
 yer hand, Ed. 
 
 Ed. — Here it is, Tom, my dear, dear friend. 
 
 Tom. — Ed, does 3^er think as there is any chance 
 of heaven for me? I've prayed very hard to the 
 Lord to have mercy on me. 
 
 Ed. — Yes, my dear, true friend, through your re- 
 pentance and our Savior's sacrifice, the loving and 
 merciful God will indeed receive you, dear old Tom, 
 into Heaven. 
 
 Tom. — Ah, Ed, you as I loves so, has made me 
 die wery, wery happy; friends all pra}^ for me. I'm 
 fast agoing. Ah, its getting lighter. Theix's Betsy 
 a calling ter me. I must go ter her. I'm coming, 
 I'm coming. Good-bye, friends; good-bye. Ed, 
 Ed, boy, I sees the glorious place [Dies.] 
 
40 
 
 J. Thomp. — He's dead, poor Tom; he was as fine 
 a sailoi' as ever trod a deck, but he's shpped his cable 
 at last. Jasper is now all that is left of my once 
 fine crew. 
 
 Cap. M. — Yes, it is only too true; poor, honest, 
 faithful Tom; he is dead, poor fellow; although but 
 a poor sailor, he was, indeed, a nobleman by nature, 
 and all that we can now do for him is to bury him 
 by the sea he loved so well; let us, my friends, find 
 some pretty s^^ot near the sea, where there is a palm 
 tree to shelter his grave; there let us bury and pray 
 for him, hoping that when our own time comes, we 
 may be as fit to go as poor Tom was [exit carrying 
 Tom, li'omen crying]. 
 
 Scene 2d. {Cut Tropical Wood Scene. Numbers 
 of monkeys gliding around, but disappear, tuhen en- 
 ter Col. Bill and Signor Gyptum.'] 
 
 Sig. — Say, Bill, whereabouts are we agoing to 
 show? I don't see nobody around ere. 
 
 Bill. — That's all right, Sig.; we will strike it heavy 
 when we get to the diamond mines. 
 
 Sig. — When we gets there; but when do we? 
 
 Bill. — Oh I we will soon get there; they told me at 
 the last j)lace that it was not far; but, Sig. — 
 
 Sig.— What? 
 
 Bill. — Have you got your credentials with you? 
 
 Sig. — Yes, there all right, you bet. 
 
 Bill. — Then you are the real, genuine, original Si- 
 mon-pure, and no mistake — Queen Victoria's Royal 
 Nursery Jester? 
 
 Sig. — 'Ears me papers. [Opens and reads.'] No- 
 tice to all what it concerns; that this Royal Dockay- 
 ment is to prove that the gentleman what holds this 
 is the genuine " Right Honerable Mr. Signor G-yp- 
 tuili, Esq., P. J." 
 
 Bill.— P. J.: what's that stand for? 
 
 Sig. — Punch and Judy, better known as Queen 
 Victoria's Royal Nursery Jester, and his troupe of 
 lilliputian wooden-headed mimics, in their original 
 operatic Comical Tradgedy of Punch and Judy. P. 
 S. Please excuse blots and bad spelling. In 'aste, 
 yours, truly, Queen Victoria, Emperer of the In- 
 dias. 
 
 
41 
 
 Bill. — Something like; something like; that will 
 catch them every time. There's lots of English at 
 the Diamond mines, and every man of them will 
 give a diamond to see the Queen's own Jester. 
 Hello! here comes some one. [Enter Cap. Bel- 
 inont.'] 
 
 Cap. Belm. — Ah! good day, gentlemen. 
 
 Bill and Sig. — Good day, sir. 
 
 Bill. — Who have I the honor of addressing? 
 
 Cap. Belm. — I am Captain Belmont of her Ma- 
 jesty's Army. 
 
 Bill. — Then allow me to present to your notice, 
 Signor Gyptum her Majesty's Royal Jester. 
 
 Cap. Belm [siirpi^ised]. — Happy to meet you, Sig- 
 nor Gypter. 
 
 Sig. — Ditto Cap; ^iiio [they shake hands]. Cap- 
 tain, this 'ere gentleman is Colonel Bill. [Cap. and 
 Bill boiu to each othiv, Sig. bcnvs to both.] 
 
 Bill. — Happy to meet you, Captain. Shake old 
 hoy, shake. [They shake.] 
 
 Cap. Belm. — Colonel, may I he so hold as to ask 
 to what service you belong? 
 
 Bill.— Why, to the great American and European 
 Transatlantic Quadruple Amusement and Novelty 
 Combination. 
 
 Cap. Belm [5??zz7mg]. — Ah! I see; well, gentlemen, 
 my company is marching to the Cape and I just 
 strayed ahead a little to see if I could get some shoot- 
 ing, so I will have to bid you good day and rejoin 
 them. 
 
 Bill. — All right, Cap; here's a pass; drop in and 
 see the show. [Exit Cap. Belm.] 
 
 Sig. — Say, Bill, my being a Jester is what fetched 
 him; didn't it brake 'im all up. 
 
 Bill. — I don't know; say, Sig, why the deuce 
 didn't you ask the w^ay? 
 
 Sig. — I don't know; but, why didn't you? 
 
 Bill. — I'm blamed if I know. 
 
 [Two monkeys have hold of the same cocoanut and 
 jump up and down, screaming.] 
 
 Bill. — Say, Sig., twig the monks. 
 
 Sig. — I say. Bill, we're rich, we are. 
 
 Bill. — Now, Sig.; on a rough guess, what do you 
 
42 
 
 think these monks are worth when we get them to 
 New York ? 
 
 Sig. — 'ow many do you think we have got ? 
 
 Bill. — Well, there's more nor a million to get. 
 
 Sig. — And they are worth $10 each at least ? 
 
 Bill. — Yes ; bankrupt prices at that. 
 
 Sig. — Let me see, one million, at $J0 each ; why. 
 Bill, that must be more than a hundred thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 Bill. — My English friend, the total abstinence of 
 mathematical inspiration incorporated inyourunin- 
 tellectual system is truly astonishing. 
 
 Sig.— What is it, Bill ? 
 
 Bill. — Come, let us get our monkeys. 
 
 Sig. — How ? 
 
 BiU. — Do you see this bottle ? [Holds up bottle.'] 
 
 Sig. — I should smile. 
 
 Bill. — Well, you aint going to smile out of this, 
 but you can get me a cocoanut instead. 
 
 Si^- — ore's one. Bill ; now, what are you going to 
 do with it ? 
 
 Bill. — I'll show you ; but first break it in half. 
 
 Sig. — No sooner done than said. 
 
 Bill. — [Pouts liduor into cocoanut from bottle.'] 
 There, that will do it. 
 
 Sig. — Ah! yum, yum ; that smells good. 
 
 Bill. — Yes ; that smell catches monks as well as 
 Punch and Judy men. 
 
 Sig. — Ah ! I should like to see the creetur as it 
 wouldn't catch ; but how will it catch monks ? 
 
 Bill. — Why, we will make believe diink it, and 
 then put it down and go away. Here, what are you 
 doing ? [Seizes bottle from Sig., ivho tvas drinking.] 
 
 Sig. — Making believe drink it, and putting it down. 
 
 Bill. — [Looks at bottle.] Yes, I see you've been 
 putting it down pretty lively. Sig., I fine you five 
 dollars for breaking the rules [marks down on book\ 
 of this company, by drinking intoxicating liquor. 
 
 Sig. — Oh, Lord ! all the time fined ; I can't never 
 get a new stitch of clothes even for Punch. Say, 
 Bill, how much is there coming to me now ? 
 
 Bill. — Let me see : [looks at book] you are now in 
 my debt four dollars. 
 
43 
 
 Sig. — Jimeny ! I'm getting rich fast. But how 
 about catching our monks ? 
 
 Bill. — Oh, yes, I was telling you how to catch 
 them; well you see we make out drink the liquor, 
 then put it down and come away? 
 
 Sig.— What then? 
 
 Bill. — Why the monks will do the same as if I 
 came away and left you. 
 
 Sig.— What's that? 
 
 Bill. — Why, get drunk, of course. 
 
 Sig. — Now, Bill, I 'as my feelings, and I don't 
 like nobcdy to insinevate. 
 
 Bill. — Oh, I'm not insinuating; come along with 
 me [puts doivn liquor and then hide]. 
 
 Bill. — Say, Sig., what are you emptying them 
 mimics out of the bag for? 
 
 Sig. — Why, to put the monks in. 
 
 Bill. — Put the monks in, why, that's not large 
 enough to hold one. 
 
 Sig. — That's so, Bill, you'r right. Well, I'll fix 
 them up while we are waiting. Say, Bill? 
 
 Bill.— What? 
 
 Sig. — Say, Bill, what am I going to have out of 
 this 'ere spec? 
 
 Bill. — Oh, I'll do what's right; there's nothing 
 mean about me. 
 
 Sig. — Look, Bill! if there ain't monkeys a rowing 
 a boat ! 
 
 Bill. — They ain't monkeys, they're nigs; say, Sig., 
 wipe off them figures' faces; they are too dirty, even 
 to look natural. 
 
 Sig.— All right. Bill. 
 
 Bill. — Put a little red on that cop's nose; who ever 
 saw a cop without a red nose? 
 
 Sig. — Yes, I'd like to know that. But, say. Bill, 
 I think that stuff is too weak to make them monks 
 drunk. 
 
 Bill. — Why, they're not copper lined like you. 
 There they are, off their kerbase allready; come, let 
 us gather them while they are ripe. [They gather 
 monkeys. Cannibals sneak in and fire spear. It 
 sticks near Bill. He turns and sees Cannibals. 
 Monkeys all escape. More spears are fired and Bill 
 
44 
 
 jumps around to avoid them and hallooes while S£g. 
 hides behind rock. Cannibals commence to laugh 
 at Bill] 
 
 Sig. — Keep it up Bill — keep it up Bill while I 
 screetches for 'elp. Keep it up or we are goners, 
 sure. 
 
 [Bill gets tilled and tries sloiv dance. Cannibals 
 then throw another spear.'] 
 
 Bill. — Sig., Try them on punch, and see if that 
 will hold them. I'm nearly done up. [Sig. puts up 
 figure. Cannibals laugh, but after atvhile they get 
 tired and begin to yell.] 
 
 Bill. — Sig., Sig., they 're getting tired; come, dance; 
 dance for your life; if you don't you will be eaten 
 raw. [Sig. joins in dance, same time working fig- 
 ures. They get tired and try Pat Rooney biz. Can- 
 nibals i^ush at them. One snatches figure from Sig. 
 and trys to knock its brains out against a tree. Sig. 
 knocks Cannibal doion and beats him ivith figure, 
 while Billfioors one after another, but they are over- 
 powered and tied to trees. Punch being also tied 
 to tree. Cannibals dance and showmen yell. In 
 rushes Ed. and croiud, fight Cannibcds, bid are over- 
 powered. Some are tied to trees, others hand and 
 feet — the tiuo women to trees.] 
 
 Bill. — Sig., Sig., tell them that you are the Queen's 
 Eoyal Jester, that may stop them. 
 
 Sig. — Ah, Col. Bill, as I expects soon to die I con- 
 fesses I am not a genuine, but I am as good as 
 though I was. 
 
 Bill. — Then we are lost. 
 
 Mrs. M. — Oh. Heavenly Father, have I not suf- 
 fered enough? Oh, what have I done that I should 
 be tortured like this, parted from my darling child 
 for more than twenty )^ears, twenty years of terri- 
 ble heartrending sorrow and uncertainty, then after 
 having him unexpectedly restored to me, grown to 
 manhood, the image of his father, high minded, 
 true loving, everything my fondest hopes could wish, 
 to have him again ruthlessly torn from my arms, 
 almost before his first welcome kiss has grown cold 
 on my lips, God help me! 
 
 Ed. — Oh, mother, dearest mother, do not despair; 
 
45 
 
 God who has watched over and protected us so lon^ 
 will not desert us now. 
 
 Kate. — Dear Brother, oh, that these savages 
 would be satisfied with my life and let you live for 
 ray poor mother. [so65.] 
 
 Ed.— Kate, if I could only get my limbs free I 
 think there might still be hope of escape. 
 
 Mrs. M. — Ob, God, my heart will burst. 
 
 Cap. M.^-There, mother, my dear wife, do not 
 give up hope, you who have kept up for so many 
 years of misery will surely not succumb now\ 
 
 Mrs. M. — Yes, father, I have kept up through 
 supreme effort in the almost hopeless search for tid- 
 ings of my lost child, but after the joy of having 
 my wildest hopes more than realized, this new mis- 
 fortune (from which there seems no escape), has 
 dashed aside my new born happiness; my burthen 
 is too heavy; forgive me father, I cannot help it; I 
 sink beneath it. [faints.] 
 
 Ed. — Can Heaven still look so calm while these 
 fiends of Hell torture that saint like fo2^m; oh, God, 
 forgive me for losing faith; my brain's on fire; I 
 cannot endure this anguish, I shall go mad, mad. 
 [di^ojJS struggling. | 
 
 Cap M. — Forget not my dear children that there 
 is a higher power than all on earth, who can deliver 
 us from our dreadful fate. My children and friends, 
 let us pray to the all powerful God for his help: 
 
 Jas. — Massa Ed., Massa Ed., I understand wot 
 des say, and deys going fur ter 
 
 Ed. — All right friend Jasper, don't tell it. 
 
 Jas. — Yes, but Massa Ed, deys going fur 
 
 J. ThomiD. — It don't matter Jasper, it don't mat- 
 ter. 
 
 Jas.^ — It does matter, deys going ter kill Massa 
 Ed. 
 
 Ed. — Hush Jasper, hush, I say. 
 
 Kate. — Oh, brother, I can see by their wicked 
 glances that these savages intend to do us some ter- 
 rible harm. Oh, is there no hope of rescue? 
 
 Bill. — Yes, Miss, but it's a mighty slim one. 
 
 Kate. -Oh, what is it? 
 
 Bill. — I heard just before you came that a com- 
 
46 
 
 pany of English soldiers would soon pass near here 
 on their way to the Cape, if we could let them know 
 the trouble, we would receive help. 
 
 J. Thonip. — What^ did you say there was help 
 near? 
 
 Bill. — Yes; soldiers. 
 
 J. Thomp.— Where? 
 
 Bill. — In that direction, and they can't be far 
 away now. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Oh, God, I must get free [tries]. Oh, 
 these terrible thongs they cut my flesh to the bones. 
 Heaven pray give me strength to burst my bonds, 
 no matter what torture, I must get free [_gets loose\\ 
 friends, I am loose; keep up your courage, I will 
 make a dash for liberty and help [dashes off, Canni- 
 bals folloiu, but return without him; they then dance 
 around and lead out Ed]. 
 
 Mrs. M. — [who has just revived]. Oh, Edward, Ed- 
 ward, my darling son, it cannot be that the Lord 
 will allow these fiends in human form to murder 
 my darling before his mother's eyes. 
 
 Kate. — Hark! I hear a sound of drums; yes, and 
 it is coming this way. 
 
 Jas. — Yes, Missy Kate heard right, der's drums, 
 and dey's coming dis way fast [all cry for help, an- 
 swers from distance; Cannibals make Ed kneel 
 down, while one dances around tvith club; he goes 
 to strike, but Ed jumps up, knocks Cannibal 
 down and seizes club; he swings club around 
 keejnng. them at bay, tvhen one gets be- 
 hind and is about to stab him in the 
 back, luhen the mother shrieks. Cannibal stops 
 for moment, and as he again goes to strike, J. 
 Thomp^ rushes in, seizes knife and stabs Cannibal. 
 Savages are about to rush at him, when some shots 
 are fired and the soldiers rush in with fixed bayonets 
 with Cap. Belm. at their head, they kill aud disperse 
 the savages, while some release prisoners, mother, 
 daughter and father and Ed. embrace, while sol- 
 diers, savages, d:c., form tableau. 
 
 Curtain Falls. 
 
47 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 Scene 1st. {Room in Mr. Fergnson^s house. Mr. 
 Feiguson discovered in chair, looking cd porti^ait 
 of Ed. 
 
 [Enter Thomas.^ 
 
 Thom. — Two gentlemen down stairs, sir, wish to 
 see you. 
 
 Fer. — Their names ? 
 
 Thom. — I asked them for their names, sir, and 
 they said that they could not spare them; but here 
 they are coining up. \_He goes to stop them, hid is 
 pushed aside, and Ed. runs to Ferguson, seizing his 
 hand and nearly crushing it. Fer. looks surprised 
 and offended, draiving his hand away.'] 
 
 Ed. — Why, it cannot be possible that you have 
 forgotten me ? 
 
 Fer. — Eh, ah no, it camiot be; it is not you, is it, 
 Ed.? 
 
 Ed. — Yes, yes, it is me; did you forget me, my 
 dear friend ? 
 
 Fer. — Forget you, no indeed, Ed. ; but you have 
 changed so in appearance that I did not know you 
 at first; give me your hand, my boy; ha! ha! so it is 
 actually you. 
 
 Ed. — Yes, dear friend, I know that I have changed, 
 but, believe me, it is only outwardly; but, excuse 
 me, I was forgetting, allow me to introduce my 
 friend. Captain Thompson, Mr. Ferguson. [They 
 shake hands, &c.] 
 
 Ed. — I have not asked after my friends yet. I 
 feel— 
 
 Fer. — They are well, Ed., you need not fear. 
 
 Ed.— And Alice. 
 
 Fer.— Is well, too, but looks rather pale and care- 
 worn, but you are the doctor to cure all that; the 
 rest of the family are all enjoying good health. 
 
 Ed. — I have news, dear friend, that I think will 
 please all. 
 
 Fer.— What is it, Ed.? 
 
 Ed. — I have found my father, mother and sister. 
 
 Fer. — What? is it possible, Ed.; when and where 
 did you find them, and where are they now, Ed. ? 
 
48 
 
 Ed. — The,y are now in New York City, we just 
 arrived to-day, and I immediately came over 
 here to se3 you and the rest of my friends, and also 
 to clear np the mystery that mAist have attended my 
 sudden disappearance. 
 
 Fer. — Well, Ed., I am heartily glad that you have 
 come back, and I cannot say that I am sorry for 
 what has happened, as it has been for the best, after 
 all. 
 
 Ed. — What did you think had become of me ? 
 
 Fer. — Well, my dear boy, I can honestly say that 
 from the first I have protested in your innocence, 
 notwithstanding the evidence was unexplainable 
 and certainly not in your favor. 
 
 Ed. — Evidence not in my, favor; why, my dear 
 friend, I do not understand you; what do you 
 mean ? 
 
 Fer. — Why, Ed., you surely are aware that on 
 the night you disappeared my office was robbed. 
 
 Ed.— What! robbed, did you say ? 
 
 Fer. — Yes, did you uot know of that ? 
 
 Ed. — No, how could I; but tell me all about it. I 
 cannot fathom this. 
 
 Ferg. — Well, as I said before, the night of your 
 disappearance the safe was robbed. I was going to 
 Washington early that morning, and called into the 
 office to leave a note for you, but when I got to the 
 door it was open, and when I entered I found every- 
 thing in confusion, and the safe open, which, upon 
 examination, I discovered was robbed of over 
 $150,000. 
 
 Ed. — Great Heavens ! how could that have hap- 
 pened ? for I remember as distinctly as though it 
 was but this minute that I securely locked the safe 
 the night before, then put the key in my pocket. 
 Ah ! the keys in my pocket ; how was the safe 
 opened ? 
 
 Ferg. — With our keys. 
 
 Ed. — Our keys ! Why I lost them the night I 
 was seized by mistake as being one of this gentle- 
 man's crew ; they were in the pocket of my coat ; so 
 then it was the keys that caused suspicion of me as 
 being the guilty party. 
 
49 
 
 Ferg. — And your coat. 
 
 Ed. — What ! my coat also ; oh ! who could it have 
 been that has attempted to brand me as a thief ? 
 
 Ferg.— Never mind, Ed. ; it is not worth troubhng 
 yourself about it now ; the thief only succeeded in 
 taking $1,000, after all. 
 
 Ed.— Only $1,000 taken. Why, I thought you 
 said there was over $150,000 taken ? 
 
 Ferg. — Yes, so there was from the safe, but it 
 was all recovered except $1,000. 
 
 Ed.— Where? how-? 
 
 Ferg. — In a hat which was lying on the floor near 
 the window, from which it is supposed the burglars 
 escaped. 
 
 Ed. — The money in the hat ? 
 
 Ferg. — Yes, with the name of John T. on it. 
 
 J. Thomp.— What ! my hat ? 
 
 Ferg. — Your hat. 
 
 Ed. — Oh, friend Thompson, can you not explain 
 some of this mystery? Yes, yes, 1 can see by your face 
 that you can ; then, for Heaven's sake, do so ; re- 
 member when you were shot with poisoned arrows 
 in Africa how I sucked the wounds at the risk of 
 my own life, and I would have risked it again a 
 hundred times, if need be, to save yours; so, if you 
 know aught of this robbery, speak and save my 
 honor, which to me is even more precious than life 
 itself ; tell them what you know and clear me from 
 all suspicion ; remember that you promised to clear 
 all up when we arrived here. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, Ed and I will if I have to lose my 
 life in doing so. 
 
 Ed. — But why did you not tell me of the robbery 
 before? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Because I did not know of it. 
 
 Ed. — You did not know of it, then you cannot 
 clear me? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, Ed, I will prove you innocent of 
 all yet; I did not know of this robbery before, but 
 now my eyes are opened, I beg-in to see through it 
 all. Oh, why should I be brought into everlasting 
 dishonor, even when I in my weakness think that 
 I am doing right; I wall be so no more but will tell 
 
60 
 
 all; then, though you will abhor me, you will pity 
 me, friend I must no longer c.^ll you. 
 
 Ed.-— That shall not be, f or yOu have proved your- 
 self a friend to me and mine, and that, I shall al- 
 ways be unto you no matter what you are. If what 
 you have to say makes you feel so bad, then tell it 
 not, even though your silence injure me. 
 
 Ferg. — Give me your hand Ed, those are the feel- 
 ings of a genuine man, true, loving and forgiving. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Thank you, Ed, noble, kind hearted 
 fellow that you are, but before I again call you 
 friend (although I will alw^ays remain that to you) I 
 must tell my story, then judge me. Seven years 
 ago Hived in London, where I worked as a junior 
 clerk at a small salary, so small indeed, that it did 
 not serve me for common necessaries, but I could 
 then look in an}'- face with a conscience free from 
 guilt, having the proad knowledge that though 
 poor^ I was an honest man, which to me was a far 
 nobler title than any wealth alone could purchase. 
 Yes, I was then honest, and should have remained 
 so, had not my tempter appeared in the person of a 
 former school mate of mine, whom I had not seen 
 for many years, but who had alw^ays exercised a 
 subtle influence over my rather weak mind, he 
 was well dressed and well fed, and he laughed at 
 me for starving, when I could get plenty by merely 
 helping myself, he said that the world owed me a 
 living, and if it did not give it to me, why, take it 
 of course. Being half starved, I at last was tempt- 
 ed, and helped rob a merchant's office, my share of 
 the plunder being $3,000, which like all ill 
 gotten gains went the way it came, I actu- 
 ally feeling relieved w^hen I stood penniless; since 
 then until this unfortunate affair I have been hon- 
 est, and have managed to save the full amount w-e 
 took with interest, but I have been unable to dis- 
 cover the merchant, as he had left for America soon 
 after the robbery. 
 
 Ferg. — Did you know his name? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, how could I ever forget it? I 
 heard afterward that the robbery completely ruined 
 him; his name was George Ferguson. 
 
51 
 
 Ferg. — And he kept in King street? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, yes. What! did you know him? 
 
 Ferg. — Yes. 
 
 J. Thorn p. — Then tell me where he is, that I may 
 repay him and suffer my just penalty. 
 
 Ferg. — I am he whom you so wronged. 
 
 J. Thomp. — You? Then have me punished as I de- 
 serve. 
 
 Ferg. — No, but I will forgive you all on one con- 
 dition. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Name it, name it; let it be what it 
 may I am content, for I have found you. 
 
 Ferg. — And that condition is, that you shall clear 
 up the mystery surrounding Edward, as much as 
 lies within your power. 
 
 J. Thomp.— I will, I will; Oh, Ed. I must tell you 
 that you were purposely abducted by me. 
 
 Ed. — Purposely abducted by you? No, I cannot 
 believe it, why should you do so? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Because I met my fcrmer partner in 
 guilt, who told me that you were hunting him down 
 for a reward, and that he would be compelled to 
 commit murder to save his own life, if I did not re- 
 move you from his track, which I believing, very 
 foolishly consented to do. 
 
 Ferg. — And the robbery? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Of that I am perfectly innocent, but 
 upon the night of Ed's abduction I lost my hat, and 
 found another, which I think will prove a clue to 
 fasten the crime upon the guilty one, whom I now 
 have good reason to suspect to be he who first 
 tempted me to crime. 
 
 Ferg. — But where can he be found now? 
 
 J. Thomp. — I believe that he's on this island, and 
 not far from here, and if you have the faith to trust 
 me, after hearing what I am, I wiU. do my best to 
 find him. 
 
 Ed. — Go friend Thompson, and may God lead you 
 to success; I put full faith in all you say. 
 
 Ferg. — And so do I; but by the way, here is the 
 address of the detective engaged on the case; if you 
 should call on him you might be of mutual service 
 to each other [hands card]. 
 
52 
 
 J. Thorap. — Thank you, my dearest friends, for 
 that y.ou have proved yourselves to be, but, before 
 I go allow me to return the amount we so merci- 
 lessly stole from you, here it is, the full amount 
 with interest. 
 
 Ferg. — Not now, friend Thompson, when you re- 
 turn we can talk it over. 
 
 J. Thomp. — No, I cannot stir unless you accept 
 what is rightly yours, then I can go about with a 
 light heart for the first time in seven years. [Pays 
 money to Ferg.^ 
 
 Ferg. — John Thompson, there is the making of a 
 good man in you. 
 
 J. Thomp. — I now feel like a man once more; I 
 will succeed, for I will know no such word as fail. 
 I will return here at six to-night. [Exit.'] 
 
 Ferg. — Poor fellow, he has indeed suffered for his 
 one wrong step. Is he rich, Ed? 
 
 Ed. — No, he can't be, for he lost his vessel 
 which was not insured, and he has now given you 
 his money belt with its entire contents, I believe, 
 and which he always guarded most carefully. 
 
 Ferg. — He has, and now has the heart to feel hap- 
 py. Well, Ed., what are thinking of? 
 
 Ed, — I was wondering if Alice also, like others, 
 believe me guilty. 
 
 Ferg. —No indeed, Alice would hear of nothing 
 against you, but insisted that all would yet come 
 out right. 
 
 Ed. — Dear, generous-hearted girl, and I so near 
 her now, I must not delay longer but run over and 
 see her. 
 
 Ferg. — No, Ed., my boy, as a favor to me wait 
 awhile, for I have promised Alice a present on her 
 birthday, which is to day, Christmas. 
 
 Ed. — And was to have been our wedding-day. 
 
 Ferg. — And will too. 
 
 Ed. — Ah! but perhaps Alice — 
 
 Ferg. — Stop Ed, I know what you will say, but 
 she still remains the same to you. I am old, but 
 not too old to see that, eh, Ed., ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Ed. — But why not let me go and see her now? 
 
 Ferg. — Because it would spoil a nice little surprise 
 
53 
 
 that I have in store for her, ha! ha! ha! The pres- 
 ent I am going to give her is that [points to portrait 
 of Ed. in Easel]. 
 
 Ed. — What! my portrait? 
 
 Ferg. — Yes, but as there appears to be some httle 
 difference between it and you as you now appear, I 
 wish to present her with the original to judge the 
 hkeness by, but I want to present them in my own 
 style, do you see, Ed.? 
 
 Ed. — All right, dear friend, whatever you say I 
 will do. 
 
 Ferg. — Well, we have over three hours yet, so let 
 us hasten over after your father and mother. 
 
 Ed.— And sister. Don't forget sister Kate. 
 
 Ferg. — And Kate. Oh, you lucky fellow, Ed., I 
 almost wish that I w^as wrecked, that I might find 
 a sister, too, ha! ha! ha! Well, Ed., come along, 
 and as we go you must tell me all about your ad- 
 ventures [exit together']. 
 
 Scene 2d: — Open country. 
 
 [Enter, Thompson and Jasver]. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Now, Jasper, I v/ant you to take par- 
 ticular notice of the man whom I am going to meet 
 presently, so that you will know him wherever you 
 may see him afterwards, and also to what we may 
 say to each other, so that, if required, you can re- 
 peat every w^ord; you must be sure that you make 
 no mistake. 
 
 Jas. — I ain't a making no mistakes just now, 
 captain. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Then, Jasper, you think that you 
 know exactly what you have to do? 
 
 Jas. — Yes, sar, and by Golly I does it, too. 
 
 J. Thomp. — That's right, but of course you un- 
 derstand that you must not let this man see you, or 
 he would not speak out and give himself away; but 
 hide; 1 see him coming [Jas. hides]. Am I doing 
 aught that is wrong in delivering Hovey up to jus- 
 tice? No, I do not think I am, for even as partners 
 in crime he proved false by leading me into abduct- 
 ing an innocent man- to further his own base 
 schemes. No, he has been my ruin, and if I let him 
 escape through any false idea of mercy he may sue- 
 
54: 
 
 ceed in leading others astray as he did me [enter 
 County. 
 
 Count. — So, John, you have returned, and, I sup- 
 pose, want to be paid for the job. Well, if you wish 
 any money you will have to give me a hand in a 
 little snap that I have laid out for to-night, for I 
 have not got the money yet. 
 
 J. Thomp. — No money; why what did you do with 
 the thousand dollai's you got the night of the abduc- 
 tion? 
 
 Count. — What thousand dollars? 
 
 J. Thomp. — The thousand dollars you got out of 
 the safe? 
 
 Count. — Hush ! how do you know it was me that 
 robbed the safe? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Because you left my hat behind and 
 I had yours. 
 
 Count.— Yes, damn it, if it had not been for that 
 hat of yours I might now have been a rich and high- 
 toned man; you will have to help me still further. 
 
 J. Thomp.— How? 
 
 Count. — By helping me to kidnap a girl. 
 
 J. Thomp. — And if I refuse? 
 
 Count. — I am not afraid of your refusing, for you 
 dare not. 
 
 J. Thomp. —Oh, Jack, pray let me off from assist- 
 ing any more in these crimes which can only lead to 
 prison or something worse. 
 
 Count. — See here John Thompson, if you are be- 
 ginning to snivle at this late day, the next thing 
 you will be peaching. Now, I want you to under- 
 stand that there is no let up in me, so you have to do 
 just as I want you or you'll be a goner in less than 
 no time. Do you hear? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Well, if I must I must, I suppose, but 
 I ask you again. Jack, to have mercy on me, and do 
 not ask me to commit any more crime. 
 
 Count. — Ha! ha! ha! well, you'r a nice chicken; 
 some frightened girl, I think, trying to pass of as ^ 
 man, but John Thompson it won't do, with a word 
 I can send you behind the iron bars for the rest of 
 your miserable life, so you have to do just as I tell 
 you without any furthei' palaver, too. 
 
55 
 
 J. Thomp. — Wellj where does the girl hve that is 
 to he kidnapped? 
 
 Count. — Over in that house with her uncle, Judge 
 Pendleton. She was engaged to that skunk that 
 you took away. 
 
 J. Thomp. — When you get her what do you mean 
 to do with her? 
 
 Count. — Do with her? why bring her to a hiding 
 place that I know of that would never be discovered. 
 The girl's rich and worth a ransom, and I mean to 
 get it; do you understand? 
 
 J. Thomp. — T think I do. 
 
 Count. — Ah ! I will make a man of 5^ou yet. All 
 you have to do in this case is to be outside the house 
 at eight o'clock to-night. This being Christmas 
 they will have a party there, and under some pre- 
 tence I will 2:et her to walk out on the balcony, then 
 you come up behind and we will gag and bind her, 
 then hurry her off in a carriage which I will have 
 in waiting. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Oh, that's the way is it ; then all 
 right. 
 
 Count. — You will be there without fail ? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, I will. 
 
 Count.— All right, I must go ; remember eight 
 o'clock, and see that you'r on time. lExit.'] 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, I will be there, and endeavor to 
 undo some of the villainy which I so unconsciously 
 assisted in accomplishing. Jasper, come, he is out 
 of sight now. 
 
 Jas. — Yes, sar, hab he gone? 
 
 J. Thomp. — He's gone; did you hear what he 
 said, and notice his looks ? 
 
 Jas. — Yes, sar, and T seed him too. Him am the 
 same man what eaid Massa Ed. was a sorter. Isent 
 I right, Captain ? 
 
 J. Thomp. — Yes, Jasper, he is the same one, but 
 tell me how did you recognize him ? 
 
 Jas. — Ise black. Captain, but I isent no fool, I 
 isent. I seed a bit of his led hair sticking out from 
 under his black wig, and I knowed his eyes as soon 
 as I seed him. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Jasper. 
 
56 
 
 Jas. — Yes, sar. 
 
 J. Thornp. — Do you still agree to help Ed. and I 
 to foil this villain to-night ? 
 
 Jas. — Shurel'se born. Captain, I will help, even if 
 Tse killed I don't care, anytime I'se ready fur to 
 help you or Massa Ed. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Thank you, Jasper, you area faithful 
 fellow. Come then let us prepare for to-night, for 
 the man we have to deal with is no coward. 
 
 Jas.— Dis am going to be a black night for some- 
 body shure as you live. Captain, and dis chile am 
 going to hab his share of de fun, you bet. 
 
 Scene 3rd — Parlor in Judge Pendleton^s House. 
 Alice discovered arranging flowers 
 
 Al. — This then is Christmas at last, and I am now 
 of age. This was to have been my wedding day. 
 Alas ! what a sad wreck I feel, instead of the joyful 
 happy bride I should have been ; and Edward, 
 where can he be ? Not the slightest news of him in 
 all these long weary months. What dreadful myst 3ry 
 hangs over his fate. Oh ! my heart fears the worst, 
 kind Heaven, can it be that I will never see my first 
 and only love again? Oh! Father of Mercy, pray re- 
 store him to me; even if guilty, I cannot bat love him. 
 What — What have I said? If he were guilty; 
 guilty — 'tis false; a base slander on the noblest and 
 truest heart that ever beat. 
 
 [Enter Florence.] 
 
 Flo. — Ah, Alice, still grieving after Edward; you 
 must cheer up; the runaway will return one of these 
 days, so don't look so woe-begone. 
 
 Al. — It seems so strange, Florence, if living, his 
 continued silence. He may have been foully dealt 
 with — murdered, perhaps. Oh horror! Horror! 
 His corpse now crying for vengeance, while I, who 
 love him so, instead of avenging his wrongs, am 
 only fretting and crying for his return. 
 
 Flo. — Alice dear, you think too seriously of Ed- 
 ward's absence. Of course it appeais strange that 
 none of us can account for it in any way, but still 
 it is folly imagining that he has been murdered just 
 because he has not made known his whereabouts; 
 
67 
 
 of course I will not pretend to say that nothing has 
 happened to him. 
 
 Al. — Florence, when I think of him being harmed, 
 my weak womanhood vanishes, my arm grows 
 strong and my courage rises to that of the tigress in 
 defence of her young. Oh, Edward, let thy spirit 
 guide me to your destroyers, and they will indeed 
 feel a woman's vengeance for the loss of one dearer 
 to her than her life's blood. 
 
 Flo. — Alice! Alice! What has come over you? I 
 never saw you thus before. You seem to be entirely 
 changed; you, so gentle and loving, to be threaten- 
 ing revenge — it frightens me, Alice, to listen to you. 
 You must not let your feelings overcome you in this 
 way, dear cousin ; besides, you will spoil your sweet 
 face for your birthday party. 
 
 Al. — Oh! I must be losing my senses, Florence, to 
 be crying for vengeance, and this " Christmas, the 
 day of peace and good will unto all" — Oh! I must 
 be mad. Do I not know that Ood above rules all? 
 Yes; Edward's spirit seems to whisper me patience, 
 and put my trust in our Heavenly father, for He 
 never deserts His children who put their full faith in 
 Him. Oh, Lord, forgive me my great wicked- 
 ness — but my love, my darling love, how can I live 
 without him? 
 
 Flo. — Alice, love, I never before saw you act in 
 this manner. Dearest cousin it grieves me to see 
 you in such dis^tress. 
 
 Al. — Florence, dear, pray forgive me, for I feel 
 that my heart must soon break; but I must try to 
 compose myself and not mar the pleasure of my 
 friends by my selfish sorrow; but Florence dear, 
 asleep or awake, Edward is ever present in my 
 thoughts; cheering hopes and despairing grief alter- 
 nate each other in my careworn breast; in my sleep 
 I ever see Edward in some dire danger, on the brink 
 of death, while I stand by and am unable to reach 
 my hand to save him. Oh, merciful father! if this 
 is to continue pray relieve me from my wretched 
 life, for I cannot endure it much longer and retain 
 my senses! [^Drops in chair and covers face with 
 hands.'] 
 
58 
 
 Flo.-- Alice, dear cousin, what anguish you must 
 indeed suffer! Oh, let my love ease your pain. 
 Alice, dear, how happy I should feel to see your 
 face full of smiles and happiness as it once was. If 
 this is being in love keep me out of it. Alice, I see 
 the Count coming up the walk. I do hate that 
 man; I don't see how father can tolerate him. If it 
 depended on me he would never enter this house. 
 [Enter James.'] 
 
 James. — Count Casinovia. [Exit James.] 
 
 Flo.— Then I leave. [Exit.] . 
 
 Al. — Florence, dear. 
 
 [Enter Count, halving.] 
 
 Coimt. — Why, Miss Alice, you look pale and sad, 
 and on this joyful day, too; I hope that you feel 
 well, for I came on purpose to wish you a merry 
 Christmas. 
 
 Al. — Thank you, Count; I hope it will prove a 
 more happy one to you than it is to me. 
 
 Count. — Miss Alice, I assure you that it pains me 
 greatly to see you continue to grieve so for one who 
 from every appearance must be quite unworthy of 
 you. 
 
 Al. — Count, it is useless for me to pretend that I 
 do not understand you, for I do; I know that you 
 allude to Edward, and I beg that you will never 
 speak in this manner to me again. 
 
 Count. — Dear Miss Alice, if I said anything to of- 
 fend you, pray forgive me, for if I spoke too plainly 
 it was only my great love for you forced me to it. 
 [Alice slioius impatience.] Remember how patient 
 and uncomplaining I have been these sixteen months 
 {which seem to me double the number of years) loving 
 you as no man ever loved before, and take pity on 
 me I again offer you my hand with title and wealth. 
 I will be your willing slave if j^ou will only honor 
 me by becoming my Countess. 
 
 Al. — Count, I should think from what I have al- 
 ready said that you would see how worse than use- 
 less it is to make me any such offers, and I hope that 
 this will be the last time. 
 
 Count. — My dear Miss Alice, do not decide rashly, 
 pray consider w-^ at you are refusing, think of the 
 
59 
 
 high social position you would occupy, the titled 
 mistress of my castle, you would have unlimited 
 control over all, the entire population of my vast 
 estates would bow down to you, I and my followers 
 would be too willing to obey your slightest wish. 
 
 Al. — Stop, sir! I wish to hear no more. 
 
 Count. — But, Miss, allow me to finish; there has 
 now elapsed time enough to prove my undying love, 
 and also time enough to prove the falseness of he 
 you still think so much of. 
 
 Al. — Sir, if you do not desist I will leave the 
 room. 
 
 Count . — Alice, pray listen to me, can it be possible 
 Miss, that you insist in following the same course of 
 behaivour, .does it not strike you as at least a very 
 questionable way of acting, to refuse an upright, 
 titled gentleman who adores you, for what? — a 
 young man without fame or fortune, and who has 
 proved himself untrue to you, and whom every un- 
 biased person believes to be an ungrateful thief. 
 
 Al.— Silence, sir; how dare you force me to lis- 
 ten to such vile falsehoods uttered in Edward's ab- 
 sence ; were he here, I am satisfied you would not 
 dare to speak thus. 
 
 Count. — Miss, 5^ou indulge in very plain language, 
 but when you say my assertions are false, pray, have 
 you any proof that they are so, everything that I 
 know of points to the truth of all I say. 
 
 Al. — Unhappily I have no proofs. Oh! that I 
 had. 
 
 Count. — Well, then, Miss Alice, with all respect 
 to you, before I leave I insist upon putting it in 
 clear language, which I do merely in justice to my- 
 self. I should think that any lady, if not perfectly 
 blind, would see that if a young man really loved 
 her, he would never remain absent all these months 
 without corresponding in some way with her, giving 
 him all the benefit of any doubts there can possibly 
 be that he is a thief, it comes to this, either that he 
 cares nothing for you, or that he must be dead. 
 
 Al. — Sir, if you do not leave me of your own ac- 
 cord, I shall be compelled to ring, for I will not 
 listen to another word. 
 
60 
 
 Count. — Well, Miss, since you wish me to leave, 
 of course I obey; but I am sorry that you will not 
 listen to reason. [Retires to back of stage]. 
 [Enter Judge and Florence']'^ 
 
 Jud. — Ah, Count, you here. I wish you a merry 
 Christmas. 
 
 Count. — Thank, you, Judge; and I beg leave to 
 wish both you and Miss Florence the same. 
 
 Jud. — I came in to see if my neice, Miss Alice, 
 would not like to take a ride with us to the village. 
 Come, Alice, my dear, it will do you good; it will 
 bring the roses back to your cheeks again. 
 
 Count. — Yes, I was remarking that Miss Alice 
 looked rather pale. 
 
 Al. — No, I thank you. Uncle; I will remain and 
 assist Aunt. 
 
 Flo. — Oh! Alice, come; it will revive you. We 
 are going to call on Mr. Ferguson to tell him to come 
 early, and we won't be long; there will be plenty of 
 time for every preparation we want to make, and a 
 sleigh ride, in the bracing air, will make you feel 
 yourself again. 
 
 Al. — No, Florence; pray do not think of me, but 
 start at once and enjoy yourself. 
 
 Jud. — Well, Count, as Ahce won't go, we can 
 make room for you if you wish to ride to the village. 
 
 Count. — I will accept your offer with thanks. 
 Judge. 
 
 Jud. — Then, come along; there is plenty of room 
 in the sleigh for all, if you do not mind sitting with 
 Florence, and being a little crowded; I know Flor- 
 ence won't mind it, but if anything rather like it; 
 ha! ha! ha! [All laugh]. 
 
 Flo. — Papa, you know that is not true; you are a 
 great tease. 
 
 Jud. — Ha! ha! Girls always were and always will 
 he the same; so come. Count; but you must not stop 
 there; recollect our party to-night; for we can't get 
 along without you; so you must promise, Count. 
 
 Count. — You flatter me greatly, Judge; but you 
 may rely on me, as it would be a great disappoint- 
 ment to myself to be absent. 
 
 Jud. — Well, let us start before it gets too late. 
 [Exit Count, Florence and Judge]. 
 
61 
 
 Count. — All revoir, Miss Alice. 
 
 Al. — Great Heavens, grant me patience. Is it 
 not enough to suffer as I do, but that I must -en- 
 dure this man's impertinence and calumny of Ed- 
 ward. Such torments, inflicted too, by one whom I 
 detest. 
 
 [^Enter Aunt] 
 
 Ah, dear aunt, you must be tired; how selfish of 
 me to leave you alone so long. 
 
 Aunt. — Not at all, Alice, dear. But why did you 
 not take a sleigh ride with your uncle ? 
 
 Al. — Dearest aunt, I feel too sad. 
 
 Aunt. — Yes, my poor darling, I know you do, and 
 this- day that should have been doubly joyful to you 
 only tends to renew your sorrow. Poor Edward; I 
 wonder where he is at this moment? 
 
 Al. — Yes. If I could only hear that he still lives 
 even, I would be satisfied, but it is this dreadful 
 suspense that is killing me. Oh, aunt, dear, do you 
 really think that there is any hope that I will ever 
 see him again? 
 
 Aunt. — Yes, my dear; I do have grea^ hopes that 
 he is alive and well, and that you will meet him 
 again. 
 
 Al. — Oh, Aunt, you seem to ease my aching heart 
 with your kind words. 
 
 Aunt.— That is right, my dear, cheer up; being 
 so despondent will not make things any better; en- 
 gage your mind in something, dear, and you will not 
 have tiftie to grieve so much; finish arranging 
 the Christmas green for the night, and try to 
 look more cheerful; you know that it would not 
 look nice to meet your friends with such a sorrowful 
 looking face ; they might think their welcome 
 doubtful, so try, darling, for my sake. 
 
 Al. — I will try hard, for I know it is wrong to 
 cause annoyance to my friends on account of my 
 own private grief, especially as they are invited to 
 make merry on this great holiday. 
 
 Aunt. — That's right, Alice; spoken like a brave 
 girl, keep up like that and you will find that time 
 works wonders. Whv who knows but that there 
 
62 
 
 will be some young gentleman at our party to- 
 night that you may like as well as Edward. 
 
 Al. — Oh, Aunt, pray do not speak like that to me. 
 
 Aunt. — Well, well, my dear, it is best always to 
 see first before refusing. But I must leave you to 
 arrange everything here, while I see after the ser- 
 vants. Keep your spirits up, Alice, and remember 
 that the darkest hour is before the dawn. [Exit 
 aunt.'] 
 
 AL — Yes, my dear, kind aunt puts on a gaiety 
 she does not feel, to make me forget my troubles. 
 I must try and do my best to appear cheerful out- 
 wardly, however I may feel in my heart. If I can 
 only conceal my un happiness until the last of our 
 guests are gone, I shall indeed be thankful. Now, 
 I think everythmg is in order. I will rest a little, 
 and try to clear my face of gloom, [Closes curtains 
 and sits down; sings song, gradually falling asleep. 
 Church music very low; gets darker; vision of the 
 Nativity; vision fades away. Alice awakens and 
 seems changed. 
 
 Al. — Oh, what new born joy now fills my soul, 
 all now seems bright hope and rapturous bliss. I 
 dreamt I saw our blessed Saviour, an infant in the 
 manger. His Holy Mother sat beside watching him 
 with heavenly love. The music of angels' voices 
 sounding around his humble cot, I saw his celestial 
 face, one glance of which drove despair and hateful 
 fear from out my heart, and left nought but loving 
 faith and happiness instead. [Enter Florence']. 
 
 Flo.— What! Alice, asleep? 
 
 Al. — Yes, Florence, I suppose I must have been, 
 but it did me good for I feel like myself again. 
 [Opens curtain, shows Church]. 
 
 Flo.— Hark! yes, sleigh bells, Alice, some of our 
 friends are coming, we called on Mr. Ferguson but 
 he was out, gone to New York to bring some 
 mutual friends to our party, so Thomas told me; we 
 left word for him to come as early as possible, 
 [visitors arrive, Mr. Ferguson arives with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Morton and Kate; introduces them as his 
 friends, visitors go off occasionally for refreshments, 
 music strikes up, all call for a dance, in the midst 
 
63 
 
 of the dance, Ferguson luith Alice, Eel is seen peer- 
 ing in the ivincloiv, Ferguson motions him mvay, 
 dance over, Ferguson proposes ^' Blind man's buff,^' 
 agrees to be blind man, checds and ccdches Alice, 
 she is blinded and Ferguson brings in Ed, he pushes 
 Ed in her icay and she catches him, guesses. No. 
 No. Ferg. gets behind Ed, Alice feels iviskers and 
 guesses names of those having iviskers. Ferg. says: 
 If you don't guess my name this time you will have 
 to marry me. Alice says: I know it is you Mr. 
 Ferguson, pidls off her blind and sees Ed, and dratus 
 back.] [All laugh]. 
 
 AL — Excuse me, sir, I must ask your pardon for 
 making so free with a stranger. [Ferg tidies to keep 
 from laughing] but I felt so certain that it was an 
 old friend that — 
 
 Ed. — Weil, Alice, and do you not recognize an old 
 friend when you see mef 
 
 AL — What! that voice, can it be. 
 
 Ed.— Alice darling, have you forgo tt on rrje so 
 soon? 
 
 . AL — Edward, Edward [runs into his arms, he 
 leads her aside]. [Enter County. 
 
 Count. — Good evening ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 [Enter detective]. 
 
 Det. — I am sorry ladies and gentlemen to mar the 
 pleasure of this gathering, but my duty compels me 
 to state that I have an order for the apprehension of 
 the thief who robbed Mr. Ferguson, the same party 
 being w^anted by the Bank of England for forgery. 
 
 Count.— W^ell, why don't you go and find him ; 
 I am sure you won't discover him here. 
 
 Det. — I beg to differ wdth you there, for I am 
 sure he is here [ge^ieral consternation ; Alice clings 
 to Edivard as if she luere cfraid it was him wanted] 
 and I will read a description of him which I have here. 
 
 I Takes oid paper and reads. ] Height feet 
 
 inches; complexion, light; hair, reddish brown, and 
 has very peculiar eyes ; name, John Hovey alias 
 Cockney Jack. 
 
 Count. — Well, you have made a mistake this 
 time, I think. I don't see any one answering that 
 description here. 
 
64: 
 
 Det. — I must be mistaken. Yes, it does seem as 
 if I had made a mistake. [Thompson steps in, hut 
 no one notices Jiijn.] Excuse me, ladies and gentle- 
 men, for interrupting your festivities. I will with- 
 draw. 
 
 J. Thomp. — Hold ! there is your man — John. 
 Hovej alias Cockney Jack, alias Count Casino via. 
 [All start ujJ.] 
 
 Count. — What ! am I, a titled gentleman, to be 
 insulted by some lunatic who I suppose has just 
 escaped from confinement. My friends, you had 
 better remove that madman before he does harm. 
 
 J. Thomp. — What ! Jack Hovey, have you the 
 cool impudence to pretend that you don't know me'^ 
 [Snatches off Count's wig.] There, behold your 
 man. 
 
 Ed. — Ah ! I see it now; it was then you who had 
 me kidnapped ? 
 
 Count. — The devil ! you here too. [Draws pistol 
 and points it at Thompson. Eel. springs in front of 
 Thompson, seizes Hovey's arm and wrenches the 
 pistolfrom him. Hovey then springs to the win- 
 dow, in the act of springing out.] 
 
 Hovey. — Ah ! I will foil you all yet. 
 
 Jasper. — Ise waiting for you boss. [Throws him 
 down.] You must lub me, the way you throwed 
 yourself into my arms. [Butts him when he struggles. 
 Detective handcuffs him and is taking him off.] 
 
 Count. — Good-bye, dear Alice ; I will keep secret 
 our love affairs. [Detective and Jasper run him off'.] 
 
 J. Thomp.— Hold! officer, I will go too; I am also — 
 
 Ferg. — Our dear friend [takes him by hand.] 
 
 Curtain Falls. 
 
 II 
 
FOUND; 
 
 TEUE TO THE LAST, 
 
 A Spectacular Drama in Five Acts, 
 
 JOSEPH A. BRUCE. 
 
 NEW. YOKK ; 
 
 C. It. Brn(WYNE, Printeh, 39 Rose Stiikki' 
 1881. 
 
^^1 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 017 400 450 A ^ 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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