PS 
 3503 
 
 B79w
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Wappin Wharf
 
 Wappin Wharf 
 
 A Frightful Comedy of Pirates 
 
 By 
 CHARLES S. BROOKS 
 
 with pictures by 
 JULIA McCUNE FLORY 
 
 music by 
 GORDON HATFIELD 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922 
 By HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. 
 
 Special Edition 
 Imprinted for 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS BOSTON
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a 
 valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, 
 confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
 publicly or in private for gain or charity. 
 
 In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, and no 
 performance, representation, production, recitation, or public reading, or radio 
 broadcasting may be given except by special arrangement with Walter H. Baker 
 Company, 41 Winter Street, Boston, Mass., or Playhouse Plays, 14 East 38th 
 Street, New York City. 
 
 This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty of 
 Twenty-five Dollars for each performance, payable to Walter H. Baker Com 
 pany, 41 Winter Street, Boston, Mass., or Playhouse Plays, 14 East 38th Street, 
 New York City, one week before the date when the play is given. 
 
 Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all 
 programs, printing and advertising for the play: "Produced by special arrange 
 ment with Walter H. Baker Company." 
 
 Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for any infringement of 
 the author s rights as follows: 
 
 "Section 4966: Any person publicly performing or representing any dramatic 
 or musical composition for which copyright has been obtained, without the 
 consent of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs 
 and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, such damages, in all cases to 
 be assessed at such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty 
 dollars for every subsequent performance, as to the court shall appear to be 
 just. If the unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, 
 such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and upon conviction 
 shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year." U. S. Revised 
 Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3.
 
 PS 
 
 3503 
 
 Wappin Wharf 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 THE DUKE 
 PATCH-EYE 
 THE CAPTAIN 
 RED JOE 
 DARLIN 
 BETSY 
 OLD MEG 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN 
 THREE SAILORS 
 
 SETTING: For details of Stage Set turn to pages 35-6-7.
 
 A PROLOGUE TO BE SPOKEN BY BETSY 
 
 Our scene is the wind-swept coast of Devon. By day there is 
 a wide stretch of ocean far below, and the abutments of our stage 
 arise from a dizzy cliff. 
 
 The time is remote, and ships of forgotten build stand out from 
 Bristol in full sail for the mines of India. But we must be loose 
 and free of precise date lest our plot be shamed by broken fact. 
 A thousand years are but as yesterday. We make but a general 
 gesture to the dim spaces of the past. 
 
 The village of Clovelly climbs in a single street a staircase, 
 really and it is fagged and out of breath half way. But far 
 above, on a stormy crag, clinging by its toes, there stands a pirates 
 hut. To this topmost ledge fishwives sometimes scramble by day; 
 but when a wind shall search the crannies of the night, then no 
 villager would dare to climb so high. 
 
 You will seek today in vain the pirates cabin. Since the 
 adventure of our play a thousands tempests have snarled across 
 these rocks. You must convince your reason that these pinnacles 
 of yesteryear, toppled down by storm, lie buried in the sea. 
 
 We had hoped that our drama s scene might lie on a pirate ship 
 at sea. We had wished for a swaying mast, full-set with canvas 
 a typhoon to smother our stage in wind. We had hoped to walk 
 a victim off the plank, with the sea roaring in the wings. But 
 our plot deals stubbornly with us. Alas, our pirates grow old 
 and stiff. They have retired, as we say, from active practice and 
 live in easy luxury on shore. Yet we shall see that their villany 
 still thrives. 
 
 How shall we select a name for our frightful play? There is 
 a wharf in London that is known as Wapping. In these days 
 that we call the present it has sunk to common use and its rotten 
 timbers are piled with honest unromantic merchandise. But once 
 a gibbet stood on Wapping Wharf, and pirates were hanged upon 
 it. It was the first convenient harborage for inbound ships to 
 dispose of this dirty deep-sea cargo. So it was the somber motif of 
 a pirate s life his moment of reflection after he had slit his 
 victim s throat.
 
 Tonight, although your beards grow long and Time has marked 
 its net of wrinkles tonight, the years spin backwards. Only 
 the young in heart will catch the slender meaning of our play. 
 
 We are too quick to think that childhood passes with the years 
 
 that its fine fancy is blunted with the practice of the world. 
 
 Too long have we been taught that the clouds of glory fade in the 
 
 common day. If a man permits, a child keeps house within his 
 
 heart. 
 
 Our prologue out-stays its time. Already the captain of our 
 pirates puts on his hook. The evil Duke limps for practice on his 
 wooden leg. Presently our curtain will rise. We shall see the 
 pirates cabin, with the lighthouse in the distance, Flint s lantern 
 and the ladder to the sleeping -loft. We shall hear a storm unpar 
 alleled thunder, lightning and a rush of wind, if it can be 
 managed. 
 
 Then our candles burn to socket. Our pasteboard cabin grows 
 dark. The blustering ocean, the dizzy cliffs of Devon, melt like 
 an unsubstantial pageant. Once again, despite the signpost of 
 the years, we have run on the "laughing avenues of childhood."
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 SEVERAL weeks ago an actor-manager re 
 quested me to try my hand at a play for the 
 winter season. The offer was unexpected. 
 "My dear sir," I said, "I am immensely flattered, 
 but I have never written a play." Then I hastened 
 to ask, "What kind of play?" for fear the offer 
 might be withdrawn. He replied with sureness and 
 decision. "I want a play," he said, "with lots of 
 pirates and no poetry." He stressed this with 
 emphatic gesture. "And at least one shooting," 
 he added. It was a slim prescription. He left me 
 to brood upon the matter. 
 
 The proposal was too flattering to be rejected 
 out of hand. 
 
 9
 
 10 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 After a furious week upon a plot and dialogue, 
 I was given an opportunity to display my wares. 
 The manager himself met me in the hallway. "Is 
 there a shooting?" he asked, with what seemed 
 almost a suppressed excitement. I was able to 
 satisfy him and he led me to his inner office, where 
 he pointed out an easy chair. The room was pleas 
 antly furnished w r ith bookshelves to the ceiling. 
 Evidently his former ventures had been prosperous, 
 and already I imagined myself come to fortune 
 as his partner. While I fumbled with embarrass 
 ment at my papers for I dreaded his severe opin 
 ion he himself fetched a basket of coal for a fire 
 that burned briskly on the hearth. Then he sat 
 rigidly at attention. 
 
 It now appeared that he had summoned to our 
 conference several of his associates the subor 
 dinates, merely, of his ventures his manager of 
 finance (with a sharp eye for a business flaw), his 
 costumer and designer, and another person who 
 is his reader and adviser and, in emergency, fills 
 and mends any sudden gap that shows itself. 
 
 My notion of theatrical managers has been that 
 they are a cold and distant race the more sullen 
 cousin of an editor. Is it not considered that on 
 the reading of a play they sit with fallen chin, and 
 that they chill an author to reduce his royalty? 
 It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer. I am 
 told that even the best plays are hawked with 
 disregard from theatre to theatre, until the hun-
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 11 
 
 gry author is out at elbow. They get less civility 
 than greets a mean commodity. Worthless min 
 ing shares and shoddy gilt editions do not kick their 
 heels with such disregard in the outer office. Pop 
 corn and apples Armenian laces, even beg a 
 quicker audience. 
 
 But none of this usual brusqueness appeared. 
 Rather, he showed an agreeable enthusiasm as 
 we proceeded even an unrestraint, which, I must 
 confess, at times somewhat marred his repose and 
 dignity. Manifestly it was not his intention to 
 depreciate my wares. He exchanged frank glances 
 of approval with his subordinates with his cos- 
 turner especially, with whom his relation seems 
 the closest. 
 
 In the first act of my play, when it becomes ap 
 parent that one of my pirates goes stumping on 
 a timber leg, his eye flashed. And when it was 
 disclosed that the captain wears a hook instead of 
 hand, he forgot his professional restraint and cried 
 out his satisfaction. He was soon wrapped in 
 thought by the mysterious behaviour of the fortune 
 teller and he said, if she were short and stout, he 
 had the very actress in his mind. 
 
 But it was in the second act that he threw caution 
 to the winds. As you will know presently, Red 
 Joe one of my pirates seizes his trusty gun and, 
 taking breathless aim, shoots But I must not 
 expose my plot. At this exciting moment (which 
 is quite the climax of my play) Belasco or any of
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 his kind would have squinted for a flaw. He 
 would have tilted his wary nose upon the ceiling 
 and told me that my plot was humbug. What 
 sailorman would mistake a lantern for a lighthouse? 
 Nor were there lighthouses in the days of the buc 
 caneers. He would have scuttled my play in dock 
 and grinned at the rising bubbles. Mark the dif 
 ference! My manager, ignoring these inconsequen 
 tial errors, burst from his chair this is amazing! 
 and turned a reckless somersault between the table 
 and the fire. 
 
 His costumer, who knows best how his eccentricity 
 runs to riot, checked him for this and sent him to 
 his chair. He sobered for a minute and the play 
 went on. Presently, however, when the enraged 
 pirates gathered to wreak vengeance on their vic 
 tim, I saw how deeply he was moved. His exultant 
 eye sought the bookshelves, and I fancy that he 
 was in meditation whether he might be allowed a 
 handstand with his heels waving against the ceiling. 
 His excited fingers obviously were searching for a 
 dagger in his boot. 
 
 You may conceive my pleasure. If his cold and 
 practiced judgment could be so stirred, might I 
 not hope that the phlegmatic pit in shiny shirt- 
 fronts would rise and shout its approval at our 
 opening? And to what reckless license might not 
 the gallery yield? I fancied a burst of somersaults 
 in the upper gloom, and tremendous handsprings 
 both men and women down the sharp-pitched
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 13 
 
 aisle. It would be shocking this giddy flash of 
 lingerie except that our broader times now give 
 it countenance. Peeping Tom, late of Coventry, 
 in these more generous days need no longer sit 
 like a sneak at his private shutter. He has only to 
 travel to the beach where a hundred Godivas crowd 
 the sands. I saw myself on the great occasion of 
 our opening night bowing in white tie from the 
 forward box. 
 
 Our conference was successful. When the read 
 ing of the play was finished and the wicked pirates 
 stood in the shadow of the gibbet, he thanked me 
 and excused himself from further attendance by 
 reason of a prior engagement. Under the stress 
 of selection for his theatre he cannot sleep at night, 
 and his costumer wisely packs him off early to his 
 bed. She whispers to me, however, that although 
 he had hopes for a storm at sea and a hanging at 
 the end, his decision, nevertheless, is cast in my 
 favor for a quick production, whenever a worthy 
 
 company can be as- 
 
 sembled. 
 
 But we have gone 
 still further toward our 
 opening. The manager 
 has already whittled a 
 dozen daggers and they 
 lie somewhere on a shelf, 
 
 awaiting a COat of silver On the tip of each he has bar- 
 paint. On the tip of gained for a spot of red
 
 14 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 each he has bargained for a spot of red. Further 
 more, he owns a pistol a harmless, devicerated 
 thing and he pops it daily at any rogue that may 
 be lurking on the cellar stairs. 
 
 All pirates wear pigtails pirates, that is, of the 
 upper crust (the Kidds and Flints and Morgans) 
 and at first this was a knotty problem. But he ob 
 tained a number of old stockings stockings, of 
 course, beyond the skill of that versatile person 
 who mends the gaps and he has wound them on 
 wires, curling them upward at the end and tieing 
 them with bits of ribbon. The pirate captain is 
 allowed an extra inch of pigtail to exalt him above 
 his fellows. When he first adjusted this pigtail 
 on himself, his costumer cried out that he looked 
 like a Chinaman. This was downright stupidity 
 and was hardly worthy of her perception; but 
 ladies cannot be expected to recognize a pirate so 
 instinctively as we rougher men. The stocking, 
 however, was clipped to half its length, and now 
 he is every inch a buccaneer. 
 
 As for the captain s hook, he is resourcefulness 
 itself. These things are secrets of the craft, but 
 I may hint that there is a very suitable hook in a 
 butchershop around the corner. Surely the butcher 
 warmed to generosity by the family patronage- 
 would lend it for the great performance. I have 
 no doubt but that the manager, from this time 
 forward, will beg all errands in his direction and 
 that his smile will thaw the friendly butcher to
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 15 
 
 His smile will thaw the friendly butcher to his purpose 
 
 his purpose. Certainly two legs of lamb, if whis 
 pered that the drama is at stake, will consent to 
 hang for one tremendous day upon a single hook. 
 Our hook is to be screwed into a block of wood, and 
 there is something about knuckles and a cord around 
 the wrist and a long sleeve to cover up the joining. 
 Anyway, the problem has been met. 
 
 In the furnace room he has found a heavy sheet
 
 16 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 of tin for the thunder storm, and I have suggested 
 that he dig in a nearby gravel pit for a basket of 
 rain to hurl against the pirates window. But hard 
 beans, he says, are better, and he has won the cook s 
 consent. For the slow monotone of water dripping 
 from the roof in our second act, a single bean, he 
 tells me, dropped gently in a pan is a baffling coun 
 terfeit. 
 
 The lightning seems not to bother him, for he 
 owns a pocket flashlight; but the mighty wind that 
 comes brawling from the ocean was at first a sticker. 
 The vacuum cleaner popped into his head, but 
 was put aside. The fireplace bellows were too feeble 
 for any wind that had grown a beard. His manager 
 of finance, however, laid aside his book one night 
 a weary tract upon the law and displayed an ability 
 to moan and whistle through his teeth. The very 
 casement rattled in the blast. He has agreed to 
 sit in the wings and loose a sufficient storm upon 
 a given signal. 
 
 Our stage is cramped. Three strides stretch 
 from side to side. "Can this cockpit" you ask, 
 "hold the vasty fields of France?" It is not, of 
 course, the vasty fields of France that we are trying 
 to hold; but we do lack space for the kind of riot 
 the manager has in mind in the final scene. He 
 wants nothing girlish. Sabers and pistols are his 
 demand a knife between the teeth and more 
 yelling than I could possibly put down in print. A 
 bench must be upset, the beer-cask overturned, a
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 17 
 
 jug of Darlin s grog spilled, and one stool, at least, 
 must be smashed preferably on the captain s head, 
 who must, however, be consulted. Patch-Eye and 
 the Duke are not the kind of pirates that lie down 
 and whine for mercy at a single punch. 
 
 At first our manager was baffled how the pirates 
 were to ascend a ladder to their sleeping loft. They 
 had no place to go. They would crack their ugly 
 heads upon the ceiling. The costumer was positive 
 (parsimony!) that a hole even a little hole 
 should not be cut in the plaster overhead for their 
 disappearance. If the chandelier had been an 
 honest piece of metal they might have perched on 
 it until the act ran out. Or perhaps the candles 
 could be extinguished when their legs were still 
 climbing visibly. At last the manager has con 
 trived that a plank be laid across the tops of two 
 step-ladders, behind a drop so that the audience 
 cannot see. No reasonable pirate could refuse to 
 squat upon the plank until the curtain fell. 
 
 We are getting on. Our company has been selected. 
 We need only a 
 handful of ac 
 tors, but the 
 manager has en 
 listed the street. 
 The dearest lit 
 tle girl has been 
 chosen for Betsy, 
 
 and each day she With uncertain, questing finger
 
 18 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 practices her lullaby at the piano with uncertain, 
 questing finger. A gentle rowdy of twelve will 
 speak the Duke s blood-curdling lines. I under 
 stand that two quarrelsome pirates have nearly 
 come to blows which shall act the captain. The 
 hero, Red Joe, will be played by the manager him 
 self, for it is he who owns the pistol. Is not the 
 boy who has the baseball the captain of his 
 nine? 
 
 I owe an apology to all the mothers of our cast; 
 for the rough language of my lines outweighs their 
 gentler home instruction. Whenever several of 
 our actors meet there is used the vile language of 
 the sea. By the bones of my ten fingers has replaced 
 the anemic oaths of childhood. One little girl has 
 been told she cries as easily as a crocodile. An 
 other little girl was heard to say she would slit her 
 sister s wisdom a slip, no doubt, for wizen. And 
 Blast my lamps! and Sink my timbers! are rolled 
 profanely on the tongue. 
 
 In every attic on the street a rakish craft flies 
 the skull and crossbones, and roves the Spanish 
 Main on rainy afternoons. Innocent victims- 
 girls, chiefly, who will tattle unless a horrid threat 
 is laid upon them are forced blindfold to walk 
 the plank. If the wind blows, scratching the trees 
 against the roof, it is, by their desire, a tempest 
 whirling their stout ship upon the rocks. What 
 ho! We split! Mysterious chalkings mark the 
 cellar stairs and hint of treasure buried in the coal-
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 19 
 
 hole. At every mirror pirates practice their cruel 
 faces. 
 
 Innocent victims . . . are forced blindfold to walk the plank 
 
 And now the daggers are complete, and their 
 tip of blood has been squeezed from its twisted 
 tube. Chests and neighbors have been rummaged
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 for outlandish costumes. From the kindling-pile a 
 predestined stick has become the timber leg of 
 the wicked Duke. The butcher s hook has yielded 
 to persuasion. 
 
 Presently rehearsals will begin 
 
 I have been reading lately, and I have come on 
 a sentence with which I am in disagreement. I 
 shall not tell the name of the book (mere mulish- 
 ness!) but I hope you know it or can guess. It is a 
 tale of children and of a runaway perambulator 
 and of folk who never quite grew up, with just a 
 flick of inquiry a slightest gesture now and then 
 toward precious rascals like our Patch-Eye and the 
 Duke. It s author stands, in my opinion, a better 
 chance of our lasting memory than any writer 
 living. 
 
 If you have read this book, you have known in 
 its author a man who is himself a child one from 
 whom the years have never taken toll. And if you 
 have lingered from page to page, you know what 
 humor is, and love and gentleness. I think that 
 children must have clambered on his familiar knee 
 and that he learned his plot from their trustful 
 eyes. 
 
 Someone has been reading my very copy of this 
 book, for it is marked with pencil and whole chap 
 ters have been thumbed. I would like to know who 
 this reader is a woman, beyond a doubt who 
 has dug in this fashion to the author s heart. But
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 21 
 
 the book is from a lending library. She is only a 
 number pasted inside the cover, a date that warns 
 her against a fine. 
 
 Her pencil has marked the words to a richer 
 cadence. I like to think that she has children of 
 her own and that she read the book at twilight in 
 the nursery, and that its mirth was shared from 
 bed to bed. But the pathetic parts she did not read 
 aloud, fearing to see tears in her children s eyes. 
 Before her own at times there must have floated a 
 mist. She is a gracious creature, I am sure, with a 
 gentleness that only a mother knows who sits with 
 drowsy children. And now that it is my turn to 
 read the book for so does fancy urge me I hear 
 her voice and the echo of her children s laughter 
 among the pages. 
 
 It is a book about a great many things about 
 David and about a sausage machine, about a little 
 dog which was supposed to have been caught up 
 by mistake. But when the handle was reversed 
 out he came, whole and complete except that his 
 bark was missing. A sausage still stuck to his tail, 
 which presently he ate. And it proved to be his 
 bark, for at the last bite of the sausage his bark re 
 turned. And David took his salty handkerchief 
 from his eyes and laughed. There is a chapter on 
 growing old marked in pencil a subject which 
 the author of this book knew nothing about, never 
 having grown old himself. And there is another 
 chapter about a spinster, also marked. This chap-
 
 22 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 ter sings with exquisite melody, but breaks once 
 to a sob for a love that has been lost. But the book 
 is chiefly about children. 
 
 There is one particular sentence in this book 
 with which I am not in agreement. ". . . down 
 the laughing avenues of childhood, where memory 
 tells us we run but once. ..." I cannot believe 
 that. I cannot believe we run but once. In the 
 heart of the man who wrote the book there lives a 
 child. And a child dwells in the heart of the woman 
 of the lending library. 
 
 We are too ready to believe that childhood passes 
 with the years that its fine imagination is blunted 
 with the hard practice of the world. Too long 
 have we been taught that the clouds of glory fade 
 in the common day that the lofty castles of the 
 morning perish in the noon-day sun. The magic 
 vista is golden to the coming of the twilight, and 
 the sunset builds a gaudy tower that out-tops the 
 dawn. If a man permits, a child keeps house within 
 his heart to the very end. 
 
 And therefore, as I think of those whittled dag 
 gers with their spot of blood, of that popping pistol, 
 of the captain s horrid hook, of the black craft 
 flying the skull and crossbones in the attic, I know, 
 despite appearance, that I am young myself. I 
 snap my fingers at the clock. It ticks merely for 
 its own amusement. I proclaim the calendar is 
 false. The sun rises and sets but makes no chilling 
 notch upon the heart. Once again, despite the
 
 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 weary signpost of the years, I run on the laughing 
 avenues of childhood. 
 
 My preface outstays its time. Even as I write 
 our audience has gathered. Limber folk in front 
 squat on the floor. Bearded folk behind perch on 
 chairs as on a balcony. Already, behind the scenes, 
 the captain of the pirates has assumed his hook and 
 villainous attire. Patch-Eye mumbles his lines 
 against a loss of memory. Paint has daubed him 
 to a rascal. The evil Duke limps for practice on 
 his timber leg. Presently our curtain will rise. 
 We shall see the pirate cabin, with the lighthouse 
 blinking in the distance, the parrot, Flint s lantern 
 and the ladder to the sleeping loft. We shall hear 
 a storm unparalleled, like a tempest from the ocean- 
 hissed through the teeth. We shall see the pirates 
 in tattered costume and in pigtails made of stock 
 ings. 
 
 And now to bring this tedious explanation to a 
 close, permit me to hush our orchestra for a final 
 word. I have a most important announcement. 
 It is the sum and essence of all these pages. This
 
 24 BY WAY OF EXPLANATION 
 
 play of pirates doctored somewhat with fiercer 
 oaths and lengthened for older actors this play 
 and my other play of beggars I dedicate with my 
 love to John Abram Flory, who, as Red Joe, was 
 the most frightful pirate of them all.
 
 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 
 
 I FIND difficulty in selecting a name for my 
 pirate play. Children seem so easy in com 
 parison John or Gretchen, or Gwendolyn for 
 parents of romantic taste. Gwendolyn I myself 
 dislike, and I have thought I would give it to a 
 cow if ever I owned a farm. But this is prejudice. 
 To name a child, I repeat, one needs only to run 
 his finger down the column of his acquaintance, 
 or think which aunt will have the looser purse- 
 strings in her will. 
 
 An unhappy choice, after all, is rare. Here and 
 there a chocolate Pearl or a dusky crinkle-headed 
 Blanche escapes our logic; but who can think of a 
 sullen Nancy? Its very sound, tossed about the 
 nursery, would brighten a maiden even if she were 
 peevish at the start. I once knew an excellent 
 couple of the name of Bottom, who chose Ruby for 
 their offspring; but I have no doubt that the in- 
 
 25
 
 26 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 
 
 felicity was altered at the font. The fact is that 
 most of our names grow in time to fit our figure and 
 our character. Margaret and Helen sound thin 
 or fat, agreeable or dull, as our friends and neigh 
 bors rise before us; and any newcomer to our affec 
 tion quickly erases the aspect of its former ugly 
 tenant. I confess that till lately a certain name 
 brought to my fancy a bouncing, red-armed crea 
 ture; but that by a change of lease upon our street 
 it has acquired an alien grace and beauty. Perhaps 
 a scrawny neighbor by the name of Falstaff might 
 remain inconsequent, but I am sure that if a lady 
 called Messilina moved in next door and were of 
 charming manner, a month would blur the bad sug 
 gestion of her name; which presently if our gar 
 dens ran together would come to sound sweetly 
 in my ears. 
 
 But a play (more than a child or neighbor) is 
 offered for a sudden judgment to sink or swim 
 upon a first impression and its christening is an 
 especial peril. I have fretted for a month to find a 
 title for my comedy. 
 
 My first choice was A Frightful Play of Pirates. 
 In the word frightful lay the double meaning that 
 I wanted. It held up my hands, as it were, for 
 mercy. It is an old device. Did not Keats, when 
 a novice in his art, attempt by a modest preface to 
 disarm the critics of his Endymion? "It is just," 
 he wrote, "that this youngster should die away." 
 Yet my title was too long. I could not hope, if
 
 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 
 
 my comedy reached the boards, that a manager 
 could afford such a long display of electric lights 
 above the door. It would require more than a barrel 
 of lamps. 
 
 The Pirates of Clovelly was not bad, except for 
 length, but it was too obviously stolen from Gil 
 bert s opera. I could feel my guilty fingers in his 
 pocket. 
 
 S Death was suggested, but it was too flippant, 
 too farcical. S Blood, although effective in red 
 lights, met the same objection. The Spittin Devil, 
 named for our pirate ship, lacked refinement. Cer 
 tainly no lady in silk and lace would admit ac 
 quaintance with so gross a personage. 
 
 Darliri was offered to me the name of the old 
 lady with one tooth who cooks and mixes the grog 
 for my sailormen. And I still think that with better 
 spelling it would be an excellent title for musical 
 comedy. But it was naught for a pirate play. Its 
 anemia would soften the vigor of my lines. One 
 could as well call the tale of Bluebeard by the name 
 of his casual cook. 
 
 Then Clovelly seemed enough. At the very least 
 if my publisher were energetic it ensured a brisk 
 sale of the printed play among the American tourists 
 on the Devon coast, who travel by boat or char-a- 
 banc to this ancient fishing village where we set our 
 plot. For even a trivial book sells to trippers if 
 its story is laid around the corner. Would it not be 
 pleasant, I thought, when I visit the place again,
 
 28 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 
 
 to see them thumbing me as they waited for the 
 steamer to see a whole window of myself placed 
 in equal prominence with picture postal cards? 
 When I registered at the inn alongside the wharf 
 might I not hope that the landlady would recognize 
 my name and give me, as an honored guest, a front 
 room that looks upon the ocean? Perhaps, as I 
 had my tea and clotted cream on the village stair 
 case, I might mention casually to a pretty tourist 
 that I was the author of the book that protruded 
 from her handbag and fetch my dishes to her 
 table. 
 
 It is so seldom that an obscure author catches 
 anyone flagrante dilicto on his book. Will no one 
 ever read a book of mine in the subway, that I may 
 tap him on the shoulder? Do travelers never put 
 me in their grips? Must everyone read in public 
 the latest novel, and reserve all plays and essays 
 for their solitary hours? At the club I shuffle to 
 the top any periodical that contains my name, but 
 the crowded noon buries me deep again. 
 
 At best, maybe, in a lending library, I see a date 
 stamped inside my cover; but, although I linger 
 near the shelf, no one comes to draw me down. 
 I think that hunters must look with equal hunger 
 on the bear s tread. T is here! T is there! But 
 the cunning creature has escaped. Blackmore s 
 pleasant ghost frequents the shadowy church at 
 Porlock where he married Lorna and John Ridd, 
 or roams the Valley of the Rocks to see the studious
 
 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 29 
 
 pilgrims at his pages. Stevenson haunts the gloomy 
 inlet where the Admiral Benbow stood and where 
 old Pew came tapping in the night. In the flesh 
 I shall join their revels as an equal comrade. Clovelly, 
 however, although its lilt was pleasant to the ear, 
 was an insufficient title. 
 
 Skull and Crossbones was too obvious, and my 
 next choice was The Gibbet. But there was the 
 disadvantage of scaring the timid. Old ladies would 
 pass me by. It would check the sale of tickets. 
 My nephew, who is fourteen and not at all timid, 
 was stout in its defense. He pronounces it as if the 
 g were the hard kind that starts off gurgle. Gibbet! 
 He asked me if I had a hanging in the piece. If 
 so, he knew how the business could be managed 
 without chance of accident an extra rope fastened 
 to the belt behind. I told him that it was none of 
 his business how I ended up the pirates. I would 
 hang them or not, as I saw fit. He would have to 
 pay his quarter like anybody else and sit it through. 
 
 He suggested From Dish-Pan to Matrimony 
 obviously a jest. The sly rogue laughs at me. I 
 must confess, however, that he has given me some 
 of my best lines. "Villainy s afoot!" for example, 
 and "Sink me stern up!" His peaceful school 
 breeds a wealth of pungent English. 
 
 I was in despair. Revenge! Would that have 
 done? I see a maddened father stand with smok 
 ing revolver above the body of a silky-whiskered 
 villain. "Doris," the panting parent cries, "the
 
 30 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 
 
 butcher boy knows all and wants you for his bride." 
 And down comes the happy curtain on the lovers. 
 The Wreckers belongs to Stevenson. The Pirates 
 Nest! It is too ornithological. The Natural History 
 Museum might buy a copy and think I had cheated 
 them. 
 
 And then Channel Lights! It sends us sharply 
 to the days of the older melodrama days when we 
 exchanged a ten-cent piece for a gallery seat and 
 hissed the villain. Do you recall the breathless 
 moment when the heroine implored the villain to 
 give her back her stolen child? For answer the 
 cruel fellow tied the darling to the buzz-saw. Or 
 that darker scene when he tossed the lady to the 
 black waters of the Thames, with the splash of a 
 dipper up behind? Hurry, master hero! Your 
 horse s hoofs clatter in the wings. Gallop, Dobbin! 
 A precious life depends upon your speed. Our 
 dangerous plot hangs by a single thread. 
 
 It is quite a task to find a sufficient title. I have 
 wavered for a month. 
 
 But now my efforts seem rewarded. 
 
 There is a wharf in London below the Tower, 
 not far from the India docks. It has now sunk to 
 common week-day uses, and I suppose its rotten 
 timbers are piled with honest, unromantic mer 
 chandise. But once pirates were hanged there. 
 It was the first convenient place for in-bound ships 
 to dispose of this dirty, deep-sea cargo. Doubtless 
 hereabout the lanes and building-tops were crowded
 
 ON CHOOSING A TITLE 31 
 
 with an idle throng as on a holiday, and wherries 
 to the bankside and the play paused with suspended 
 oar for a sight of the happy festival. Did Hamlet 
 wait upon this ghastly prologue? Shakespeare 
 himself, unplayed script in hand, mused how tragedy 
 and farce go hand in hand. In those golden days 
 with which our comedy concerns itself, a gibbet 
 stood on Wapping wharf and pirates stepped off 
 the fatal cart to a hangman s jest. We may hear 
 the shouts of the prentice lads echoing across the 
 centuries. 
 
 I cannot hope that many persons except dusty 
 scholars will know of the district s ancient ill- 
 repute, yet Wapping wharf figures often in my 
 dialogue as the somber motif of a pirate s life. It 
 conveys to the plot the sense of mystery. It needs 
 but a handful of electric lamps. 
 
 If no one offers me a better title I shall let it 
 stand.
 
 Wappin Wharf 
 A Frightful Comedy of Pirates 
 
 33
 
 First produced in January, 1922, at the Play House, Cleveland, 
 under the direction of Frederic McConnell. The settings and 
 costumes were designed by Julia McCune Flory. The cast was 
 as follows: 
 
 THE DUKE William C. Keough 
 
 PATCH-EYE Howard Burns 
 
 THE CAPTAIN Ewart Whitworth 
 
 RED JOE K. Elmo Lowe 
 
 DARLIN Mary Gilson 
 
 BETSY Jeanette Geoghegan 
 
 OLD MEG Emma Tilden 
 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN Ganson Cook 
 
 SAILORS Vance Stewart, Alvin Shulman, 
 
 Arthur Kraus
 
 Wappin Wharf 
 
 A Frightful Comedy of Pirates 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Our scene is the wind-swept coast of Devon. By day 
 there is a wide stretch of ocean far below. The 
 time is remote and doubtless great ships of forgotten 
 build stand out from Bristol in full sail for western 
 shores. Their white canvas winks in the morning 
 sun as if their purpose were a jest. They seek a 
 northwest passage and the golden mines of India. 
 But we must be loose and free of date lest our plot be 
 shamed by broken fact. A thousand years are but 
 as yesterday. We shall make no more than a gen 
 eral gesture toward the wide spaces of the past. 
 
 The village of Clovelly climbs in a single street a stair 
 case, really from tJie shore to the top of the cliff, 
 and is fagged and out of breath half way. But on a 
 
 35
 
 36 WAPPIW WHARF 
 
 still dizzier crag, storm-blown, clinging by its toes, 
 there stands the pirates cabin. To this top-most 
 ledge fishwives sometimes scramble by day to seek a 
 belated sail against Lundy s Isle. But after twi 
 light a night wind searches the crannies of the rock 
 and whines to the moon of its barren quest, and then 
 no villager, I think, chooses to walk in that direc 
 tion. I have visited Clovelly and have kicked a 
 sodden donkey from the wharf to the top of the 
 street, past the shops of Devon cream and picture 
 postal cards, but have sought in vain the pirates 
 cabin. Since our far-off adventure of tonight ten 
 thousand tempests have snarled across these giddy 
 cliffs and we must convince our reason that these 
 highest crags where we pitch our plot have long 
 since been toppled in a storm. Where yonder wave 
 lathers the shaggy headland, as if Neptune had 
 turned barber, we must fancy that the pinnacles 
 of yesteryear lie buried in the sea. 
 
 We had hoped for a play upon the sea, with a tall mast 
 rocking from wing to wing and a tempest roaring 
 at the rail. Alas! Our pirates grow old and stiff. 
 They have retired, as we say, from active practice 
 and live in idle luxury on shore. Yet we shall see 
 that their villainy still thrives. 
 
 Our scene is tJieir cabin on the cliff. It is a rough stone 
 building with peeling plaster and slates that by 
 day are green with moss. But it is night and the 
 wind is whistling its rowdy companions from the 
 sea. Until the morning they will play at leap-frog
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 37 
 
 from cliff to cliff. Far below is the village of 
 Clovelly, snug with fire and candles. 
 We enter the cabin without knocking like neighbors 
 through a garden and poke about a bit before our 
 hosts appear. A door,, forward at the right, leads 
 to the kitchen. Back stage, also, at the right, a 
 ladder rises to a sleeping loft. On the left wall are a 
 chimney and fireplace with a crane and pot for 
 heating grog, and smoky timbers above to mark 
 the frequent thirst. On a great beam overhead are 
 bags of clinking loot and shining brasses from 
 wrecked ships. Peppers hang to dry before the 
 fire, and a lighted ship s lantern swings from a 
 hook. At the rear of the cabin, to the left, a row of 
 mullioned windows looks at sea and cliffs in a 
 flash of lightning. Below is a seaman s chest. 
 Above, on the broken plaster, is scrawled a ship. 
 In the middle, at the rear, there is a clock with 
 hanging pendulum and weights. A gun of antique 
 pattern leans beside the clock. To the right the 
 cabin is recessed, with a door right-angled in the 
 jog and other windows looking on the sea. A 
 parrot sits on its perch with curbed profanity. 
 The gaudy creature is best if stuffed, for its noisy 
 tongue would drown our dialogue. Like Hamlet s 
 player it would speak beyond its lines and raise a 
 quantity of barren laughter. Our furniture is a 
 table and three stools, and a tall-backed chair be 
 side the hearth. On the table a candle burns, bespat 
 tered with tallow. The cabin glows with fire light.
 
 38 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 At the lifting of the curtain there is thunder and light 
 ning, and a rush of wind if it can be managed. 
 Two pirates are discovered, drinking at the table. 
 By the smack of their lips it is excellent grog. One 
 
 Two pirates are discovered drinking at a table
 
 WAPPIW WHARF 39 
 
 of them Patch-Eye has lost an eye and he 
 wears a black patch. His hair curls up in a pig 
 tail, like any sailor before Nelson. It looks as 
 stiff as a hook and he might almost be lifted by 
 it and hung on a peg. But all of our pirates wear 
 pigtails except one, Red Joe. 
 
 The other pirate at the table is called the Duke, for no 
 apparent reason as he is a shabby rogue. We 
 must not run our finger down the peerage in hope 
 of finding him, or think that he owns a palace on 
 the Strand. He has only one leg, with a timber 
 below the knee. He wears a long cloak so that the 
 actor s rusticated leg can be folded out of sight. 
 The Duke has a great red nose grog and rum 
 and that sort of thing. His whiskers are the bush 
 that marks the merry drinking place. 
 
 Patch-Eye is melancholy almost sentimental at times. 
 He would stab a man, but grieve upon a sparrow. 
 At heart we fear he is a coward, and stupid. The 
 Duke, on the contrary, is shrewd and he does a 
 lot of thinking. He has heavy eyebrows. He is 
 the kind of thinker that you just know that he is 
 thinking. Both pirates are very cruel and pro 
 fane, but we must be careful. 
 
 And now we hush the melancholy fiddlers. If this 
 comedy can stir the croaking bass-viol to any show 
 of mirth, our work tops Falstaff. Glum folk with 
 beards had best withdraw. Only the young in 
 heart will catch the slender meaning of our play. 
 Let s light the candles and draw the curtain!
 
 40 WAPPIN* WHARF 
 
 PATCH: Darlin ! Darlin ! (He lolls back in his 
 chair and stretches out his legs for comfort.} Darlin ! 
 
 (At this a dirty old woman with one tooth appears 
 from the kitchen. She is called Darlin 1 just for 
 fun, as she is not at all kissable. A sprig of 
 mistletoe, even in the Christmas season, would 
 beckon vainly.} 
 
 PATCH: Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Will yer 
 fill the cups? Hurry, ol dear! And squeeze in jest a 
 bit o lemon. It sets the stomich. 
 
 DARLIN : Yer sets yer stomich like it were hen s 
 eggs. Alers coddlin it. 
 
 (She stirs and tastes the pot of grog, and hoists her 
 wrinkled stockings.} 
 
 DUKE: There s no one like Darlin fer mixin grog. 
 
 DARLIN : Fer that kind word I m lovin yer. (She 
 looks at him with admiration.} Ain t he a figger o a 
 man? Wenus was nothin . Jest nothin at all. 
 
 PATCH: It s grog beats off the melancholy. As 
 soon as me pipes go dry, I gets homesick fer the 
 ocean. Here we be, Duke, thrown up at last ter rot 
 like driftwood on the shore. No more sailin off to 
 Trinidad! No tackin round the Hebrides! We is 
 ships as has sprung a leak. It was appy days when 
 we sailed with ol Flint on the Spanish Main. 
 
 DUKE: Appy days, Patch! (They drink.) 
 
 PATCH: Aye! The blessed, dear, ol roarin hulk. 
 No better pirate ever lived than Flint. Smart with 
 his cutlass. Quick at the trigger. Grog! A sloppin 
 pail o it was jest a sip.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 41 
 
 DUKE: I used ter tell him that his leg was holler. 
 
 PATCH: He was a vat, was Flint jest a swishin 
 keg. 
 
 DUKE: Grog jest sizzled and disappeared, like 
 when yer drops it on a red-hot sea-coal. 
 
 PATCH : Fer twenty year and more me and you has 
 seen ol Flint march his wictims off the plank. 
 
 DUKE: "Step lively!" he d say. "Does n t yer 
 hear Davy callin to yer?" There was never a 
 sailorman ever sat in the Port Light at Wappin 
 wharf which could drink with Flint. 
 
 "Port Light" at Wappin Wharf
 
 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 PATCH: Wappin wharf and gibbets is nothin ter 
 talk about. Funerals even is cheerfuller. 
 DUKE: There s his parrot. 
 
 PATCH: She used ter cuss soft and gentle to her 
 self appy all the day. She ain t spoke since Flint 
 was took. Peckin at yer finger and broodin . 
 DUKE: There s his ol clock. 
 
 PATCH: As hung in the cabin o the Spittin Devil. 
 DUKE: With the pendulum gettin tangled in a 
 storm. A ell of a clock fer a 
 bouncin ship. 
 
 PATCH: She was tickin peaceful 
 the day Flint was hanged. But she 
 stopped does yer 
 remember it? the 
 very minute they 
 pushed him off the 
 ladder. 
 
 DUKE: She ain t 
 ticked since. 
 
 PATCH : It makes 
 yer stitious. And 
 she won t never 
 run agin that s 
 alers said till his death s re- 
 
 "A ell of a clock fer a bouncin 
 ship" 
 
 what Flint 
 venged. 
 
 DUKE : He told us never ter wind her says she d 
 start hisself without no windin when the right time 
 came. 
 
 PATCH : If I was ter look up and see that pendulum
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 43 
 
 swingin Horrers! Yeller elephants would be noth- 
 
 m 
 
 DUKE: Pooh! I d give a month o grog jest ter 
 hear the ol dear tickin , and ter know that Flint 
 was restin easy in his rotten coffin swappin 
 stories with the pretty angels. 
 
 PATCH: I loved Flint like a brother. (He is quite 
 sentimental about this.) It was him knocked this out. 
 (Pointing to his missing eye.) But it was jest in the 
 way o business. We differed a leetle in the loot. 
 He was very persuasive, was ol Flint. 
 
 DUKE: Yer talks like a woman. They loves yer to 
 cuff em. Them was appy days, Patch. 
 
 PATCH: Blast me gig what s left, Duke, but me 
 and you has seen a heap o sights. I suppose I ve 
 drowned meself a hundred men. It s comfertin 
 when yer lays awake at night. I feels I ain t wasted 
 meself. I ve used me gifts. I ain t been a foolish 
 virgin and put me shinin talent inside a bushel. 
 But me and you is driftwood now, Duke. 
 
 DUKE: Aye. But it ain t no use snifflin about it, 
 ol crocodile. Darlin is certainly handy at mixin 
 grog. And we ve a right smart cabin with winders 
 on the sea. Since I stuffed yer ol shirt in the roof 
 it hardly leaks. 
 
 PATCH: My shirt! Next week is me week fer 
 changin . How could yer ha done it? I m a kinder 
 perticerler dresser. I likes ter wash now and then 
 if it ain t too often. 
 
 DUKE: Darlin , me friend Patch is thirsty. And
 
 44 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 a drop meself. (T lie cups are filled.} Yer a precious 
 ol lady, and I loves yer. 
 
 DARLIN : Yer spoils me, Duke. 
 
 (Lightning and a crash of thunder.} 
 DUKE: It s foul tonight on the ocean. How the 
 wind blows! It be spittin up outside. The chan 
 nel s as riled as a wampire when yer scorns her. 
 How she snorts! 
 
 PATCH: The devil hisself is hissin* through his 
 teeth. 
 
 DUKE: There 11 be sailormen tonight what s 
 booked fer Davy Jones s locker. I m not kickin 
 much ter be ashore. I rots peaceful. 
 
 (Patch-Eye has opened the door to consult the night. 
 It slams wide in the wind and the gust bloios out the 
 candle.) 
 
 DUKE: Hi, there, for ard! Batten yer hatch! Yer 
 
 blowin the gizzard 
 out o us. 
 
 (He hobbles on tim 
 ber leg to the 
 warm chair by 
 the fire. Patch 
 closes the door 
 and sits. Dar- 
 lin relights the 
 candle.) 
 
 PATCH: Poor Flint! 
 He was took on 
 
 "Yer blowin the gizzard out o us" jest SUch a night.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 Dropped inter the Port Light fer somethin wet and 
 warmin . Jest ter kinder say goodby. Ship all 
 fitted out. He d got three new sailormen fine 
 fellers as had been sentenced ter be hanged fer cuttin 
 purses, but had been let go, as they had reformed 
 and wanted ter be honest pirates. 
 
 DUKE: I remembers the night, ol sea-nymph. It 
 was rainin ter put out the fires o hell with the 
 leetle devils stoakin in the sinners. It s sinners, 
 Patch, as is used fer kindlers, ter keep the devils in a 
 healthy sweat. 
 
 PATCH: He was ter sail when the tide ran out. 
 Lord a Goody ! How the tide runs down the Thames, 
 as if it were homesick fer the ocean! 
 
 DUKE: But someone squealed. 
 
 PATCH: Squealers is worse n hissin reptiles. 
 They ketched Flint and they strung him to a gibbet. 
 Poor ol dear! I never touches me patch, but I 
 thinks o Flint. 
 
 DUKE: This here life is snug and easy. We has 
 retired from practice, like store-keepers does who has 
 made a fortin. Ain t we settin here in style and 
 comfert, and jest waitin fer the treasure ships ter 
 come ter us? We gets the plums without chawin 
 at the dough. We blows out the lighthouse, and we 
 sets our lantern so as ter fool em on the course, and 
 when they smashes on the rocks, well all we does is 
 stuff our pokes with the treasure that washes up. I 
 prays meself fer fog and dirty weather. Now I lay 
 me, says I, and will yer send it thick and oozy?
 
 46 WAPPIN* WHARF 
 
 PATCH: I ain t disputin yer. (He cheers up a bit.) 
 And we robs landlubbers once in a while. 
 
 DUKE: Now yer talkin , oP sea-lion. I m tellin 
 yer it were a good haul we made last night on Castle 
 Crag. 
 
 PATCH: Who s disputin yer? 
 
 DUKE: I m tellin yer. Silver candles! And 
 spoons! Never seen such a heap o spoons. 
 
 PATCH: What s anyone want more n one spoon 
 fer? Yer cleans it every bite agin the tongue. 
 
 DUKE: Yer disgusts me, Patch. Yer ain t no 
 manners. Fer meself I spears me food tidy on me 
 knife. 
 
 (The Duke sits looking at the seaman 1 s chest at the 
 rear of the cabin. He is deep in thought.) 
 
 DUKE: There s jest one leetle thing I does n t 
 understand. I asks yer. (He goes to the chest, opens 
 it and drains out a rich velvet garment. He holds it up.) 
 What s the meaning o this here loot we took at 
 Castle Crag? I asks yer. Ain t we been by that 
 castle a hundred times? The Earl, he don t wear 
 clothes like this. None o the arstocky does, cept 
 when they struts on Piccadilly. I asks yer, Patch. 
 I asks yer who wears a thing like that. 
 
 (He puts the garment around Patch s shoulders.) 
 
 DARLIN : Yer looks like the Archbishop o Canter 
 bury. 
 
 PATCH: (with strut and gesture). His Grice takin 
 the air pluckin posies. 
 
 DUKE: Lookin* like a silly jackass.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 PATCH: Yer hurts me feelin s, Duke. 
 
 ( The Duke folds the cloak and puts it back again in 
 the chest. He sits at the table in meditation.} 
 
 DUKE: I does n t like it, Patch. I does n t under 
 stand it. And what I does n t understand, I does n t 
 like. 
 
 PATCH 
 
 Who owned em, I 
 
 What? 
 
 DUKE: Them gay clothes, 
 asks yer, afore we stole em. 
 
 PATCH: Darlin ! Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. 
 Yer had better mix another pot. Our cups is low. 
 Yer does n t want ter be a foolish virgin and get 
 ketched without no grog. 
 
 DUKE: With this bit o slop what s left I drinks to 
 yer shinin lamps Wenus s flashin gigs. 
 DARLIN : I loves yer, Duke. 
 (She fills, 
 mixes and 
 stirs the pot. 
 She tastes it 
 like a prac 
 ticed house 
 wife. Her 
 apron is 
 maid of all 
 work. It is 
 towel, dust- 
 rag, mop 
 and hand 
 kerchief.} 
 
 Her apron is towel, dust rag, mop and handker 
 chief
 
 48 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 DUKE: What does yer make, ol Cyclops, o the 
 new recruit? 
 
 PATCH: Red Joe? 
 
 DUKE: Him. 
 
 PATCH : He s a right smart pirate, I says. I never 
 seen a feller as could shoot so straight. 
 
 DUKE: I says so. But he s a wee bit nobby 
 kinder stiff in the nose. 
 
 PATCH : Looks as if he knowed he was kinder good. 
 
 DUKE: It s queer how he come ter us. Jest 
 settin on top his dory on the beach, when we found 
 him. And what he said about his ship goin down! 
 Blast me ol stump, but it were queer. 
 
 PATCH. Queer? 
 
 DUKE: Yer said it, Patch. Queerer than mer 
 maids. Did we ever see a stick o that ship? I m 
 askin yer, Patch. 
 
 PATCH : Ain t I listenin ? 
 
 DUKE: Ain t I tellin yer? Nary a bit washed in. 
 Did yer ever know a wreck long here where nothin 
 washed in jest nothin ? I m askin yer. 
 
 PATCH: You and me would starve if it happened 
 regular. 
 
 DUKE : It s what we lives by pickin s on the beach. 
 
 PATCH: He s a right smart pirate, s Red Joe. 
 The Captain the most ticerler man I know he 
 took ter him at once. He s a kinder good-lookin 
 feller. 
 
 DARLIN : (stirring at the pot). He ain t got whis 
 kers like the Duke.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 (She spits must I say it? she spits into the 
 fire.) 
 
 DUKE: Queer that never a stick washed in. 
 
 PATCH: I m not denyin yer, Duke. Where s 
 Red Joe now? It s gettin on. I 11 jest take a look 
 fer him. (He takes the lantern from its hook and 
 stands at the open door.) It ain t blowin so hard. OF 
 Borealis I speaks poetical ain t strainin at his 
 waistcoat buttons like he was. 
 
 DUKE: Igerence! I pities yer. Borealis ain t 
 wind. He s rainbows. 
 
 (Patch-Eye goes into the night. The Duke sits to 
 a greasy game of solitaire.) 
 
 DUKE: It s queer, I says. Nary a stick! Jest 
 Red Joe on top his dory ! (He sings abstractedly.)
 
 50 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 Bill Bones used ter say, on many a day, 
 When takin a ship fer its loot, 
 That a blow on the head was quickest dead 
 And safest and best ter boot. 
 But a wictim s end, fer meself I contend- 
 There s a hundred been killed by me 
 Is a walk, I 11 be frank, on a slippery plank, 
 And a splash in the roarin sea. 
 
 (He turns and surveys the drawing above the win 
 dows. He cocks his head like a connoisseur, 
 critically with approval.} 
 
 DUKE: I m the artist o that there masterpiece. 
 The Spittin Devil! I done it on a rainy mornin . 
 Genius is queer. (Then he sings again.} 
 
 Ol Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk 
 His choice was a jab in the dark 
 
 (He is engaged thus, fumbling with his cards, when 
 Darlin, crossing from the fire, interrupts him.} 
 
 DARLIN : Duke, will yer 
 have a nip o grog? It 
 eases yer pipes. Yer 
 sounds as if yer had 
 crumbs in yer gullet. 
 (The Duke pushes for 
 ward his cup.} 
 DUKE: It s a lovely 
 tune, and I wrote the 
 words meself. (He con- 
 
 It eases yer pipes" tinues his SOng.}
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 51 
 
 Old Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk 
 
 His choice was a jab in the dark 
 
 And Morgan s crew, twixt me and you, 
 
 Considered a rope a lark. 
 
 But a prettier end, I repeat and contend 
 
 And I Ve sailed on every sea 
 
 Is a plunge off the side in the foamin tide. 
 
 It tickles a sailor like me. 
 
 DARLIN : Duke, does yer happen ter have a wife? 
 DUKE: (deeply engaged}. Some tunes is hard, so I 
 jest makes em up as I goes along. 
 
 Blackbeard had a knife which he stuck in his wife. 
 Fer naggin , says he ter me 
 
 DARLIN : Has yer a wife? A wife as might turn 
 up, I mean. 
 
 DUKE: Say it agin, Darlin . 
 
 DARLIN : Most sailors has wives o course, strewed 
 here and there from Bristol to Guinea jest ter make 
 all ports cozy. So s yer goin home ter a appy 
 family, no matter where yer steers. 
 
 DUKE: It s comfertable, Darlin I 11 not deny 
 it when yer heads ter harbor to see a winkin 
 candle in a winder on a hill, and know that a faithful 
 wife and a couple o leetle pirates is waitin ter hug 
 yer. 
 
 DARLIN : I says so, Duke. I Ve been a wife me- 
 self on and off, with husbands sailin in and out 
 kissin yer and oistin sail. Roundabout, I says,
 
 52 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 makes appy marriages. Has yer a wife, Duke 
 livin , as yer can remember? 
 
 DUKE: Yer a bold, for ard creature. Are yer 
 proposin ter me? 
 
 (Something like a wink shows in the bush.) 
 
 DARLIN : I blush fer yer bad manners, Duke. I m 
 a lady and I waits patient fer the appy question. 
 I lets me beauty do the pleadin . I was a flamin 
 roarer in me time. Lovers was nothin . Dozens! 
 There was a sea-captain once (She smiles dreamily, 
 tfien seems to cut her throat with her little finger.) 
 Positive! Jest cause we tiffed. And a stage-coach 
 driver! I had ter cool his passion with a rollin pin. 
 He brooded hisself inter drink. Appy days ! (She is 
 lost for a moment in her glorious past, then blows her 
 nose upon her apron and returns to us.) Duke 
 askin yer pardon I was noticin lately that you 
 was castin yer eyes on leetle Betsy. 
 
 DUKE: As washes the dishes? 
 
 DARLIN : Her. 
 
 DUKE: Go long! 
 
 DARLIN : And I thought yer might be drawn to 
 her. 
 
 DUKE: Darlin , I m easy riled. 
 
 DARLIN : Yer can have her, Duke, on one condi 
 tion. 
 
 DUKE: She s a pretty leetle girl. 
 
 DARLIN : Yer must set me up in a pub in Bristol 
 with brass beer-pulls. 
 
 DUKE: I 11 not deny I Ve given her a thought.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 53 
 
 Usual, wives is nuisances naggin at yer fer six 
 pences. But sometimes I does get lonesome on a 
 wet night when there are nothin ter do. I need 
 someone ter hand me down me boots. Betsy d 
 make a kinder cozy wife. Could yer learn her ter 
 make grog? 
 
 DARLIN : Aye. 
 
 DUKE: I might do worse. And roast pig that 
 crackles? 
 
 DARLIN : I could learn her. 
 
 DUKE: I might do worser. I d marry you, 
 Darlin - 
 
 DARLIN : Dearie! 
 
 DUKE: But yer gettin on. Patch might marry 
 yer. He s only got one eye. 
 
 DARLIN : (with scorn). Patch! 
 
 DUKE: I 11 not deny I Ve been considerin leetle 
 Betsy. I was thinkin about it this mornin as I was 
 cleanin me boot. Wives cleans boots. I m the 
 sort o sailorman she would be sure ter like. 
 
 DARLIN : And what about the pub? 
 
 DUKE: Blast me stump, Darlin , I 11 not ferget 
 yer. 
 
 DARLIN : Does I get brass beer -pulls in the tap? 
 
 DUKE: Everythin shiny. 
 
 DARLIN : I m lovin yer. 
 
 DUKE: Betsy would kinder jump at me. There s 
 somethin tender about a young girl s first love 
 cooin in yer arms. 
 
 DARLIN : Easy, Duke!
 
 64 WAPPIW WHARF 
 
 DUKE: I alers was a fav rite with the ladies. I 
 think it s me whiskers. 
 
 DARLIN : Vast there, Duke! There s a shoal 
 ahead. Red Joe s a right smart feller. 
 DUKE: Red Joe? 
 
 DARLIN : Him. He sets and watches her. 
 DUKE: What can she see in a young feller like 
 that? 
 
 DARLIN : Women s queer folks. They re wicious 
 wampires. Jest yer watch em together. Red Joe s 
 snoopin in on yer. 
 
 DUKE: Yer can blast me. He ain t got whiskers. 
 DARLIN : I m tellin yer, Duke. If I was you I d 
 tumble that Red Joe off a cliff. I m hintin to yer, 
 Duke. Off a cliff! (She sniffs audibly.) It s the 
 pig. I clean fergot the pig. It s burnin on the 
 fire. Off a cliff! I m hintin to yer. 
 
 (She runs to the kitchen.) 
 
 DUKE: Red Joe! Women s queer queerer than 
 mermaids. A snooper! Jest a prentice pirate! No 
 whiskers ! Nothin ! 
 
 (At this moment there is a stamping of feet outside 
 
 and Patch-Eye enters with Red Joe. 
 If Red Joe were born a gentleman we might expect 
 silver buckles and a yellow feather to trail across his 
 shoulder, for he bears a jaunty dignity. His is a 
 careless grace the swagger of a pleasant vaga 
 bond a bravado that snaps its fingers at danger. 
 His body has the quickness of a cat, his eye a flash 
 of humor kindly, unless necessity sharpens it.
 
 WAPP1W WHARF 55 
 
 As poets were thick in those golden days we suspect 
 that the roar of the ocean sets rhymes jingling in his 
 heart. He is, however, almost as shabby as tfie 
 other pirates, although he wears no pigtail. His 
 collar is turned up. He wrings the water from his 
 hat. 
 
 Patch-Eye throws himself on tlie seaman s chest and 
 falls asleep at once. He snores an obligato to our 
 scene. Just once an ugly dream disturbs him 
 and we must fancy that a gibbet has crossed tJie 
 frightful shadow of his thoughts.} 
 DUKE: Evenin , ol sea-serpent! Where has you 
 been? 
 
 JOE: Up at the lighthouse. It s as mirky as hell s 
 back door. 
 
 DUKE: See Petey? 
 
 JOE: I did. He was puttering with his light and 
 meowing to his tabby cat. 
 
 DUKE: We re a blessin ter ol Petey. I m bettin 
 me stump he d get lonesome up there cept fer us. 
 (He points to the window to the rigM, where the light 
 house shows.} There s ol Petey, starin at the 
 ocean. Yer ain t never seen a light at that t other 
 winder, has yer Joe? We waits fer a merchantman 
 which he knows has gold aboard. Then we jest tips a 
 hint ter Petey, and he douses his light. Then we 
 sets up our lantern ol Flint s lantern outside on 
 the rocks, jest where she shows at t other winder. 
 The ship sticks her nose agin the cliff. Smash ! 
 (At this point, after a few moments of convulsion,
 
 56 
 
 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 Patch-Eye falls off the chest, 
 his eyes.) 
 PATCH : 
 
 He sits up and rubs 
 
 I dreamed o gibbets! 
 DUKE: Yer is lucky, ol keg o rum, yer does n t 
 dream o purple rhinoceroses. Go back ter bed. 
 
 (Then to Joe.) Smash! I 
 
 "And we jest as innercent as babies 
 in a crib" 
 
 says. On comes Petey 
 agin. And we jest as 
 innercent as babies in 
 a crib. It was me own 
 idear. Brains, young 
 feller. Jest yer wait, 
 Joey, till yer sees a 
 light at t other win 
 der. 
 
 (Betsy is heard sing 
 ing in the kitchen. 
 The Duke stops 
 and listens. A 
 dark thought runs 
 His shrewd eye quests from 
 
 through his head, 
 kitchen door to Joe.) 
 
 DUKE: Darlin ! Darlin ! (She thrusts in her head.) 
 
 DUKE: Where s Betsy? 
 
 DARLIN : She s washin dishes. 
 
 DUKE: I m wonderin if she would lay off a bit 
 from her jolly occerpation, and sing us a leetle song. 
 
 DARLIN : (calling) . Betsy ! I wants yer. 
 
 PATCH : I never knowed yer cared fer music, Duke. 
 Usually yer goes outside. Yer jest boohs. 
 
 DUKE: I does usual, Patch. Tonight s perticerler.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 57 
 
 Red Joe ain t never heard Betsy sing. Does yer like 
 music, Joe? 
 
 JOE : I like the roaring of the ocean. I like to hear 
 the trees tossing in the wind. 
 
 PATCH: Wind ain t music. Yer should hear 
 Betsy. She s got a leetle song that makes yer feel as 
 good and peaceful 
 as a whinin par 
 son. 
 
 DARLIN : (beck 
 oning at the kitchen 
 door) . Betsy! 
 Stop sloppin with 
 the dishes! 
 
 Betsy enters. 
 
 She is a pretty 
 
 girl. Our 
 
 guess at her 
 
 age is but it 
 
 is better not to 
 
 gue s s. 
 have in 
 
 We 
 
 our 
 
 own expen- 
 ( nee made sev 
 eral humiliat 
 ing blunders. 
 Let us say that 
 Betsy is young 
 enough to be a 
 crand-daugh- 
 
 Betsy enters
 
 58 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 ter. Plainly she is a pirate by accident, not in 
 heritance, for she is clean and she wears a pretty 
 dress.) 
 
 DUKE: (as fie rises and makes a sfww of manners). 
 
 Betsy, yer is welcome ter the parlor. We wants 
 
 Red Joe ter hear yer sing. That leetle song o yers. 
 
 (He returns to the recess at the rear of the cabin and 
 
 covertly watches Joe. Patch-Eye is lost in heavenly 
 
 meditation. Joe s attention is roused before the 
 
 first stanza of the song is finished. By the third 
 
 stanza Betsy sings to him alone.) 
 
 J^ullaby 
 
 BETSY: (sings). 
 
 The north wind s cheeks are puffed with tunes: 
 It whistles across the sky.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 59 
 
 It s song is shrill and rough, until 
 
 The hour of twilight s nigh. 
 
 Rest, my dear one, rest and dream. 
 
 The winds on tip-toe keep. 
 
 In the dusk of day they hum their lay, 
 
 And weary children sleep. 
 
 The waves since dawn roared on the rocks: 
 
 They snarled at the ships on the deep. 
 
 But at twilight hour they chain their power 
 
 And little children sleep. 
 
 Rest, my dear one, rest and dream. 
 
 The ships in a cradle swing, 
 
 And sailormen blink and children sink 
 
 To sleep, as the wavelets sing. 
 
 The sun at noon was red and hot: 
 
 It stifled the east and west. 
 
 But at even song the shadows long 
 
 Have summoned the world to rest. 
 
 Rest, my dear one, rest and dream. 
 
 The sun runs off from the sky. 
 
 But the stars, it s odd, while children nod, 
 
 Are tuned to a lullaby. 
 
 (She sings slowly, to a measure that might rock a 
 cradle. This can be managed, for I have tried it 
 with a chair. Once, Patch-Eye blows his nose to 
 keep his emotions from exposure. But make him 
 blow softly soto naso, shall we say? so as not to 
 disturb the song. In Red Joe the song seems to
 
 60 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 have stirred a memory. At the end of each stanza 
 Betsy pauses, as if she, too, dwelt in the past.) 
 PATCH : When I hears that song I feels as if I were 
 rockin babies in a crib blessed leetle pirates, pullin 
 at their bottles, as will f oiler the sea some day. 
 
 (He blows his sentimental nose. A slighter structure 
 
 would burst in the explosion.} 
 
 DUKE: Yer ol nose sounds as if it were tootin fer a 
 fog. Yer might be roundin the Isle o Dogs on a 
 mirky night. 
 
 (He goes to the door and stretches out his hand for 
 
 raindrops.) 
 
 DUKE: Joe, you and me has got ter put ile in the 
 lantern. Come on, ol sweetheart. When yer sees 
 this lantern blinkin at that there winder, yer will 
 know that willainy s afoot. 
 
 (He comes close to Darlin and whispers.) 
 
 DUKE: Yer said it, Darlin . Yer said it. Red 
 
 Joe s castin his eye on Betsy. Off a cliff! Tonight! 
 
 Now! If I gets a chance. Off a cliff! Come on, 
 
 Joey! 
 
 (He goes outdoors with Red Joe, singing Betsy s 
 song. The lullaby fades in the distance. Patch- 
 Eye and Betsy are left together, for the roast pig 
 again calls Darlin to the kitchen.) 
 PATCH: Will yer wait a bit, Betsy askin yer 
 pardon while I talks to yer? 
 BETSY: Of course, Patch. 
 
 PATCH : I don t suppose, dearie, I m the kind o 
 pirate as sets yer thinkin of fiddles tunin up, ner
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 parsons. No, yer says. Ner cradles and leetle devils 
 bitin at their coral. And I don t suppose yer has a 
 kind o hankerin and yearnin . Yer never sets and 
 listens to me comin . Course not, yer says. Betsy, 
 if I talk out square you 11 not blab it all round the 
 village, will yer? They would point their fingers at 
 me, and giggle in their sleeves. I want ter tell yer 
 somethin o a wery tender nater. There s a leetle 
 word as begins with L. L, I mean, not ell. I would n t 
 want yer to think, Betsy, I m cussin . Ell is 
 cussin . That leetle word is what s ailing me. It s 
 love, Betsy. It s me heart. Smashed all ter bits! 
 Jesus, yer asks, what done it? It s a pretty girl, I 
 answers yer, as has smashed it. Does yer foller, 
 Betsy? A pretty girl about your size, and with eyes 
 the color o yourn. What does yer say, Betsy? Yer 
 says nothin . 
 
 BETSY: I never meant to, Patch. I m sorry. 
 
 PATCH : Course you are. Jest as sorry as the care 
 less feller as nudged Humpty Dumpty off the wall. 
 But it did n t do no good. There he was, broke all ter 
 flinders. And all the King s horses and all the King s 
 men could n t fix him. Humpty Dumpty is me, 
 Betsy. Regularly all split up, fore and aft, rib and 
 keel. I mopes all day fer you, Betsy. And I mopes 
 all night. Last night I did n t get ter sleep, jest 
 fidgettin , till way past leven o clock. And I woke 
 agin at seven, askin meself, if I loves you hopeless. 
 Yer is a lump o sugar, Betsy, as would sweeten oF 
 Patch s life. If we was married I d jest tag round
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 behind yer and hand yer things And now yer tells 
 me there ain t no hope at all. 
 
 BETSY: No hope at all, Patch. 
 
 PATCH: Yesterday I was countin the potaters in 
 the pot, sayin ter meself : She loves me She don t 
 love me. But the last potater did n t love me, Betsy. 
 There was jest one too many potaters in the pot. 
 No, yer says, yer could n t love me. Cause why? 
 Cause Patch is a shabby pirate with only one eye. 
 
 BETSY: I am sorry, Patch. 
 
 (She offers him her hand.) 
 
 PATCH: Blessed leetle fingers, as twines their 
 selves all round me heart. Patch, yer says, yer 
 sorry. There ain ? t no hope at all. Yer nudges him 
 off the wall, but yer can t fix him. But I never 
 heard that Humpty Dumpty did a lot o squealin 
 when he bust. He took it like a pirate. And so 
 does Patch. I does n t sulk. If yer will pardon me, 
 Betsy, I 11 leave yer. Me feelin s get lumpy in me 
 throat. I 11 take a wink o sleep in the loft. 
 
 (He climbs the ladder, but turns at the top.) 
 
 PATCH: There was jest one too many potaters in 
 the pot. 
 
 (He disappears through the hole in the wall. Betsy 
 arranges the mugs on the table, then stands listening. 
 Presently there is a sound of footsteps. Red Joe 
 enters at the rear.) 
 
 JOE : I slipped the Duke in the dark. I came back 
 to talk with you. (Then bluntly, but with kindness.) 
 How old are you, my dear?
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 63 
 
 BETSY: I don t know. 
 
 JOE: You don t know? How long -have you lived 
 here? 
 
 BETSY: In this cabin? Three years. 
 
 JOE: And where did you live before? 
 
 BETSY: In the village in Clovelly. 
 
 JOE: Did your parents live there? 
 
 BETSY: Y-e-s. I think so. I don t know. Old 
 Nancy, they called her she brought me up. But 
 she died three years 
 ago. 
 
 JOE: Who was old 
 Nancy? 
 
 BETSY: She did wash 
 ing for the sailormen. 
 
 JOE: Was she good 
 to you? 
 
 BETSY: Oh yes. I <<shedid Washin 8 for thesailormen>> 
 
 think I do not know that she was not my mother. 
 
 JOE: And Darlin ? 
 
 BETSY: Yes. She has been good to me. And the 
 others, too. I seem to remember someone else. How 
 long have you been a pirate? 
 
 JOE: A pirate? Years, it seems, my dear. But I 
 am more used to a soldier s oaths. I have trailed a 
 pike in the Lowland wars. The roar of cannon, and 
 seige and falling walls, are gayer tunes than any 
 ocean tempest. What is this that you remember, 
 Betsy? 
 
 BETSY: It is far off. Some one sang to me. It
 
 64 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 was not Nancy. When Nancy died, Darlin took me 
 and brought me up. That was three years ago. But 
 last year the Captain and Duke and Patch-Eye came 
 climbing up the rocks. They were sailormen, they 
 said, who had lost a ship. And these cliffs with the 
 sea pounding on the shore comforted them when they 
 were lonely. So they stayed. And Darlin and I 
 cook for them. 
 
 JOE: Do you remember who it was who sang to 
 you? 
 
 BETSY: No. 
 
 JOE: That song you just sang where did you 
 learn it? 
 
 BETSY: I have always known it. It makes me sad 
 to sing it, for it sets me thinking thinking of some 
 thing that I have forgotten. (She stands at the win 
 dow above the sea.) Some days I climb high on the 
 cliffs and I look upon the ocean. And I know that 
 there is land beyond where children play but I 
 see nothing but a rim of water. And sometimes the 
 wind comes off the sea, and it brings me familiar 
 far-off voices voices I once knew voices I once 
 knew fragments from a life I have forgotten. Why 
 do you ask about my song? 
 
 JOE: Because I heard it once myself. 
 
 (Betsy sits beside him at the table.) 
 
 BETSY: Where? Perhaps, if you will tell me, it 
 will help me to remember. 
 
 JOE: I heard the song once when I was a lad 
 when I was taken on a visit.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 65 
 
 BETSY: Were your parents pirates? 
 
 JOE: It was a long journey and all day we bumped 
 upon the road, seeking an outlet from the tangled 
 hills. Night overtook our weary horses and blew out 
 the flaming candles in the west; and shadows were a 
 blanket on the sleeping world. Toward midnight 
 I was roused. We had come to the courtyard 
 of a house this house where I was taken on a 
 visit. 
 
 BETSY: Was it like this, Joe a cabin on a cliff? 
 
 JOE : I remember how the moon peeped around the 
 corner to see who came so late knocking on the door. 
 I remember I remember (He stops abruptly}. Do 
 you remember when you first came to live with 
 Nancy? 
 
 BETSY: I dreamed once you will think me silly- 
 Are there great stone steps somewhere, wider than 
 this room, with marble women standing motionless? 
 And walls with dizzy towers upon them? 
 
 JOE: Go on, Betsy. 
 
 BETSY: In Clovelly there are naught but cabins 
 pitched upon a hill, and ladders to a loft. And, at 
 the foot of the town, a mole, where boats put in. 
 And I have listened to the songs of the fishermen as 
 they wind their nets. And through the window of 
 the tavern I have heard them singing at their rum. 
 And sometimes I have been afraid. I have stuffed 
 my ears and ran. But the ugly songs have followed 
 me and scared me in the night. The shadows from 
 the moon have reeled across the floor, like a tipsy
 
 66 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 sailor from the Harbor Light. Joe, are you really a 
 man from the sea? 
 
 JOE: Why, Betsy? 
 
 BETSY: The sea is never gentle. It never sleeps. 
 I have stood listening at the window on breathless 
 nights, but the ocean always slaps against the rocks. 
 Even in a calm it moves and frets. Is it not said that 
 the ghosts of evil men walk back and forth on the 
 spot where their crimes are done? The ocean, per 
 haps, for its cruel wreckage, haunts these cliffs. It is 
 doomed through all eternity with a lather of break 
 ing waves to wash these rocks of blood. And the 
 wind whistles to bury the cries of drowning men that 
 plague the memory. Joe 
 
 JOE: Yes, my dear. 
 
 BETSY: You are the only one Patch-Eye, Duke 
 and the Captain you are the only one who is always 
 gentle. And I have wondered if you could really be a 
 pirate. 
 
 JOE: Me? (Then with sudden change.) Me? 
 Gentle? The devil himself is my softer twin. 
 
 BETSY: Don t! Don t! 
 
 JOE: What do you know of scuttled ships, and 
 rascals ripped in fight? Of the last bubbles that 
 grin upon the surface where a dozen men have 
 drowned? 
 
 BETSY: Joe! For God s sake! Don t! 
 
 JOE: Is it gentleness to plunge a dagger in a man 
 and watch for his dying eye to glaze? 
 
 BETSY: It is a lie. Tell me it is a lie!
 
 WAPPIW WHARF 67 
 
 JOE: My dear. (Gently he touches her hand.) 
 
 BETSY: It is a lie. 
 
 JOE: We 11 pretend it is a lie. 
 
 (They sit for a moment without speaking.) 
 
 BETSY: How long, Joe, have you lived with 
 us? 
 
 JOE: Two weeks, Betsy. 
 
 BETSY: Two weeks? So short a time. From 
 Monday to Monday and then around again to Mon 
 day. It is so brief a space that 
 a flower would scarcely droop 
 and wither. And yet the day 
 you came seems already long 
 ago. And all the days before 
 are of a different life. It was "coj^ 
 
 another Betsy, not myself, who "^Monday to Mon- 
 
 day, and then around 
 
 lived in this cabin on a Sunday aga i n to Monday" 
 before a Monday. 
 
 JOE: It is so always, Betsy, when friends suddenly 
 come to know each other. All other days sink to 
 unreality like the memory of snow upon a day of 
 August. We wonder how the flowering meadows 
 were once a field of white. Our past selves, Betsy, 
 walk apart from us and, although we know their 
 trick of attitude and the fashion of their clothes, they 
 are not ourselves. For friendship, when it grips the 
 heart, rewinds the fibres of our being. Do you 
 remember, dear, how you ran in fright when you 
 first saw me clambering up these rocks? 
 
 BETSY: I was sent to call the Duke to dinner and
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 carried a bell to ring it on the cliff. I was afraid 
 when a stranger s head appeared upon the path. 
 JOE : Yet, when I spoke, you stopped. 
 BETSY: At the first word I knew I need n t be 
 afraid. And you took my hand to help me up the 
 slope. You asked my name, and told me yours was 
 Joe. Then we came together to this cabin. And 
 each day I have been with you. Two weeks only. 
 JOE: I shall be gone, Betsy, in a little while. 
 BETSY: Gone? 
 
 JOE: I am not, my dear, the master of myself. 
 We must forget these days together. 
 BETSY: Joe! 
 
 JOE: May be I shall return. Fate is captain. The 
 future shows so vaguely in the mist. Listen! It is 
 the Duke. 
 
 (In the distance the Duke is heard singing the 
 
 pirates song.} 
 
 JOE: We must speak of these things together. 
 Another time when there is no interruption. 
 
 (Gently she touches his fingers.) 
 BETSY: I shall be lonely when you go. 
 (There is loud stamping at the door. Betsy goes 
 
 quickly to the kitchen. 
 
 The Captain enters, followed by the Duke. Patch- 
 Eye enters by way of the ladder. The Captain has a 
 hook hand. This is the very hook mentioned in 
 my preface if you read prefaces got from the 
 corner butcher. The Captain would be a frightful 
 man to meet socially. I can hear a host saying
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 69 
 
 "Shake hands with the Captain." One quite 
 loses his taste for dinner parties. There is a sabre 
 cut across the Cap 
 tain s cheek. He 
 is even more 
 reputable in 
 
 The Captain would be a frightful 
 man to meet socially 
 
 dis 
 ap 
 pearance than his 
 followers,, with a 
 bluster that marks 
 his rank.} 
 
 CAPTAIN : There s 
 news! There s news, 
 me men! I ve brought big news from the village. 
 (lie wrings the water from his hat. He is provok- 
 ingly deliberate. All of the pirates crowd around.} 
 CAPTAIN: By the bones of me ten fingers, it s a 
 blythe night fer our business. It s wetter than a 
 crocodile s nest. When I smells a fog, I feels good. 
 I tastes it and is appy. 
 
 PATCH: What s yer news, Captain? 
 CAPTAIN: News? Oh yes, the news. I Ve jest 
 hearn I ve jest hearn blast me rotten timbers! 
 How can a man talk when he s dry! A cup o grog! 
 (Darlin has slipped into the room in the excitement. 
 Old custom anticipates his desire. She stands at 
 his elbow with the cup, like a dirty Ganymede. 
 The Captain drinks slowly.) 
 CAPTAIN: There s big news, me hearties. 
 DUKE: What s yer news, Captain? We asks yer. 
 CAPTAIN: I m telling* yer. It s sweatin with
 
 70 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 curiosity that kills cats. (He yawns and stretches 
 his legs across the hob.} Down in the village I learnt 
 I was jest takin a drop o rum at the Harbor Light. 
 It s not as sweet as Darlin s. They skimps their 
 sugar. Yer wants ter keep droppin it in as yer 
 stirs it. I thinks they puts in too much water. 
 Water s not much good cept fer washin . And 
 washin s not much good. 
 
 DUKE: Now then, Captain, hold hard on yer 
 tiller agin wobblin , and get ter port. 
 
 DARLIN : We re hangin on yer lips. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Yer need n t keep shovin me. I kicks 
 up when I m riled. They say down in the village 
 
 (It is now a sneeze that will not dislodge. He has 
 hopes of it for a breathless moment, but it proves 
 to be a dud.) 
 
 CAPTAIN: There s Petey 
 
 PATCH : We re jest fidgettin fer the news. 
 
 CAPTAIN: The news? Oh, yes. Now yer hears it. 
 (He draws the pirates near.) A great merchantman 
 has jest sailed from Bristol. The Royal Arry. It s 
 her. With gold fer the armies in France. She s a 
 brig o five hundred ton. This night, when the tide 
 runs out, she slips away from Bristol harbor. With 
 this wind she should be off Clovelly by this time ter- 
 morrer night. 
 
 DARLIN : Glory ter God ! 
 
 DUKE: And then Petey will douse his glim. And 
 we 11 set up the ship s lantern. 
 
 PATCH: Smash!
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 71 
 
 DUKE: Then Petey will light hisself. 
 PATCH: And we 11 be jest as innercent as babies 
 rockin in a crib. 
 
 "The Royal Airy. It s her." 
 
 DUKE: And lay it on the helmsman fer bein 
 sleepy. 
 
 CAPTAIN: And I Ve other news. Down in the 
 village they say fer a fishin sloop brought the 
 word that his Ighness, the Prince o Wales, left 
 London a month ago. 
 
 DUKE: And him not givin me word. I calls that 
 shabby. He was me fag at Eton. 
 
 PATCH: Does yer think, Captain, he 11 spend a 
 week-end with us, ridin to the ounds, jest tellin us 
 the London gossip how the pretty Duchesses is 
 cuttin up? 
 
 DUKE: I thought he was settin in Whitehall,
 
 72 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 tryin on crowns, so as ter get one that did n t scratch 
 his ears. 
 
 CAPTAIN: They say he s incarnito. 
 
 PATCH: What? Is it somethin yer ketches like 
 woliygogs in the stomich? 
 
 DUKE: Igerence. I m shamed o yer, Patch. 
 Ain t yer been ter school? Ain t yer done lessons on 
 a slate? Ain t yer been walloped so standin s been 
 comfertabler. The Captain and me soils ourselves 
 talkin to yer. Incarnito is dressed up fancy, so as 
 no one can know him. 
 
 DARLIN : Like Cindereller at the party. 
 
 DUKE: If yer wants Patch ter understand yer, 
 Captain, yer has got to use leetle words as is still 
 pullin at their bottles. 
 
 DARLIN : When words grow big and has got 
 beards they jest don t say nothin to Patch. 
 
 CAPTAIN: This here Prince o Wales is journeyin 
 down Plymouth way. 
 
 DUKE: What s that ter us? I m askin yer. His 
 Ighness cut me when I passed him in Piccadilly. 
 The bloomin swab ! I pulled me hat, standin in the 
 gutter, but he jest seemed ter smell somethin . 
 
 PATCH: It were n t roses, I m tellin yer. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Silence! They say he has sworn an 
 oath to break up the pirate business on the coast. 
 
 PATCH: And let us starve? It s unfeelin . 
 
 DUKE: No pickin s on the beach? 
 
 JOE: I d like to catch him. I d slit his wizen. 
 
 DARLIN : I d put pizen in the pig I feeds him.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 73 
 
 DUKE: I d nudge him off the cliff jest like he 
 were a sneakin snooper. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Well, there s yer news! I m dry. 
 Darlin ! Some grog! 
 
 (He crosses to the table and draws the pirates around 
 
 him.) 
 
 CAPTAIN : Here s to the Royal Arry ! 
 DUKE: And may the helmsman be wery sleepy! 
 DARLIN : And we as innercent as leetle pirates 
 suckin at their bottles! 
 ALL: The Royal Arry! 
 
 (While the cups are still aloft there is a loud banging 
 at the door. An old woman enters old Meg. 
 We have seen her but a minute since pass the win 
 dows. Perhaps she is as dirty as Darlin . A 
 sprig of mistletoe, even at the reckless New Year, 
 would wither in despair. She is a gypsy in gor 
 geous skirt and shawl, and she wears gold ear 
 rings. Any well-instructed nurse-maid would 
 huddle her children close if she heard her tapping 
 up the street. Meg walks to the table. She sniffs 
 audibly. It is grog her weakness. She drinks 
 the dregs of all three cups. She rubs her thrifty 
 finger inside the rims and licks it for the precious 
 drop. She opens her wallet and takes from it a 
 fortune-tellers crystal.) 
 
 MEG: I tells fortins, gentlemen. Would n t any 
 o yer like ter see the future? I sees what s comin in 
 this here magic glass. I tells yer when ter set yer 
 nets and of rising storms. Has any o yer a kind o
 
 74 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 hankerin fer matrimony? I can tell yer if the lady 
 be light or dark. It will cost yer only a sixpence. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Yer insults me. Fer better and fer 
 worse is usual fer worse. Does yer think yer can 
 anchor an ol sea-dog like me to a kennel as is made 
 fer landlubbery lap dogs? I Ve deserted three 
 wives. And that s enough. More s a hog. 
 
 (He retires to the fireplace in disgust.} 
 
 DARLIN : Husbands is nuisances, as I was tellin 
 the sea-captain, jest afore he cut his throat. 
 
 DUKE: Thank ye, ol lady, I docs n t need yer. 
 When the ol Duke is willin , he knows a leetle dear 
 as will come flutterin to his arms. 
 
 PATCH: What can yer do fer an ol sailorman like 
 me? I d like someone with curlin locks, as can 
 mix grog as good as Darlin s. And I likes roast pig 
 crackly, as Darlin cooks it. (He offers his hand.) 
 I has a leetle girl in mind, but she s kinder holdin 
 off. What does yer see, dearie? Does yer hear any 
 fiddles tunin fer the nupshals? Is there a pretty 
 lady waitin fer a kiss? 
 
 MEG: I sees the ocean. And a ship. I sees inside 
 the cabin o that ship. 
 
 PATCH: Does yer see me as the captain o that 
 ship? Jest settin easy, bawlin orders jest feedin 
 on plum duff. 
 
 MEG: I sees yer in irons. 
 
 PATCH: Mother o goodness! Now yer done it! 
 
 MEG: I sees Wappin wharf. I sees a gibbet. I 
 sees
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 I sees a gibbet. I sees
 
 70 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 PATCH: Horrers! 
 
 MEG: I sees you swingin on that gibbet stretch- 
 in with yer toes swingin in the wind. 
 
 PATCH : Yer makes me grog sour on me. 
 
 (He goes to the rear of the cabin and looks discon 
 solately over the ocean.} 
 
 MEG: (as she looks in the glass). I sees misfortin 
 fer everyone here cept one tragedy, the gibbet. 
 Go not upon the sea until the moon has turned. Ha ! 
 Leetle glass, has yer more to show? Has yer any 
 comfert? The light fades out. It is dark. 
 
 DUKE: Ain t yer givin us more n a sixpence 
 worth o misery? Yer gloom is sloppin over the 
 brim. 
 
 MEG: Ah! Here s light agin at last. There s a 
 red streak across the dial. It drips! It s blood! 
 
 CAPTAIN : Ain t yer got any pretty picters in that 
 glass? 
 
 PATCH: Graveyards are cheerfuller n gibbets. 
 
 MEG: Peace! I sees a man in a velvet cloak. It s 
 him that swings yer to a gibbet. It s him that 
 strangles yer till yer eyes is poppin . That man 
 avoid like a pizened snake. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Avoid? By the rotten bones o Flint, 
 if I meets that man in a velvet cloak I hooks out his 
 eye. 
 
 DUKE: Captain, yer sweats yerself unnecessary. 
 (Slyly.) Here s Red Joe, ol dear. Joe s a spry 
 young feller. He looks as if he might be hankerin 
 fer a wife. Hey, Darlin ?
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 77 
 
 DARLIN : He s the kind as wampires makes their 
 wictims. 
 
 (With a laugh but unwillingly Joe holds out his 
 
 hand.) 
 
 MEG : (as she looks in the glass her face brightens) . 
 I sees a tall buildin with gold spires. I hears a shout 
 o joy and I hears stately music, like what yer hears 
 in Bartolmy Fair arter the Lord Mayor has made his 
 speech. I sees a man in a silk cloak. He swaggers 
 to the music. I sees I sees 
 
 (She looks long in the glass and seems to see great 
 and unexpected things. Her eyes are as wide as a 
 child s at a tale of fairies. It is no less a moment 
 but how different! than when Lady Bluebeard 
 peeped in the forbidden door. Scarcely was Little 
 Red Riding Hood more startled when she touched 
 the strange bristles on her grandmother s chin. 
 But Meg is not frightened. She smiles. She 
 bends intently. She is about to speak. Then she 
 sinks into the chair behind the table.) 
 MEG : I sees I sees nothin ! The glass is blank ! 
 CAPTAIN: Nothin ? Jest nothin at all? 
 PATCH : Ain t there no blood drippin ? 
 DARLIN : Ner gibbets? 
 
 CAPTAIN: Ner sailormen swingin in the wind? 
 (Old Meg is visibly affected by what she has seen. 
 The Duke, with a suspicious glance at Red Joe, 
 moves forward to look over her shoulder at the glass. 
 Slyly she sees him. She pushes the crystal forward 
 and it breaks upon the stones. Then she rises
 
 78 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 abruptly. She lifts a portentous finger. She 
 advances to Red Joe.) 
 
 MEG: I sees danger fer yer, Joe. Who can tell 
 whether it be death? T is beyond my magic. But 
 beware a knife! Go not near the cliff! (Then, in a 
 lower tone.) You will see me agin. And in your 
 hour o danger. When yer least expects it. 
 
 (She is about to curtsy, but turns abruptly and leaves 
 the cabin. Darlin , with shaken nerves, runs to 
 bolt the door. There is silence except for the 
 monotone of rain.) 
 
 PATCH : Nice cheerful ol lady, I says. 
 CAPTAIN: Yer can pipe the devil up, but she give 
 me shivers. 
 
 JOE: For just a minute I thought some old lady 
 had died and left me her money box. 
 
 (The Duke picks up a fragment of the crystal and puts 
 it to his eye. He examines it at the candle, and 
 turns it round and round. He makes nothing of 
 it, and shakes his head.) 
 
 PATCH : Yer can dim me gig that s left, I m clean 
 upset. 
 
 CAPTAIN: I ain t been so down in the boots since 
 the blessed angels took Flint ter ell. 
 
 DUKE: Captain, you and Patch is melancholier n 
 funerals. Weepin widders is jollier. Will yer let a 
 hanted, thirsty, grog-eyed grand-daughter o a 
 blinkin sea-serpent upset yer appy dispersitions? 
 Stiffen yerself ! Keep yer nose up, Captain! We has 
 sea enough. We re not thumpin on the rocks.
 
 WAPPIN* WHARF 79 
 
 CAPTAIN: Yer said it, Duke. I sulks unnecessary. 
 There s ol Petey shinin up there. Termorrer night, 
 if the wind holds, we 11 see his starin eye go out, and 
 our lantern shinin at t other winder. (He takes a 
 pirate flag from his boot. He smoothes it with affection. 
 Then he waves it on his hook.} The crossbones as hung 
 on the masthead o the Spittin Devil. Ol Flint s 
 wery flag. Him as they hanged on a gibbet on Wap- 
 
 Flint s wery flag" 
 
 pin wharf. It was a mirky night like this, with 
 prentices gawpin in the lanterns and Jack Ketch 
 unsnarlin his cursed ropes. I spits blood ter think 
 o it. 
 
 DUKE: I 11 die easy when I ve revenged his death 
 and the ol clock is tickin peaceful and Flint sleepin 
 appy in his rotten coffin. 
 
 CAPTAIN: A drink all round. We 11 drink the
 
 80 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 health o this here flag. You 11 drink with us, 
 Darlin . 
 
 DARLIN : Yer spoils me, Captain. 
 
 (Everyone drinks.) 
 
 CAPTAIN: And now we 11 drink confusion to the 
 swab that s settin on the English throne. 
 
 (All drink except Red Joe. He makes the pretense, 
 but pours his grog out covertly. Our play is nothing 
 if not subtle.) 
 
 DUKE: Here s to ol Flint! 
 ALL: Here s to ol Flint! 
 
 (It is bed-time. They all stretch and yawn. The 
 Captain climbs the ladder to the sleeping loft. 
 Patch follows with the candle, warming the Cap 
 tain s seat for speed. The Duke comes next, carry 
 ing his one boot which he has removed before the 
 fire. Darlin kisses her hand to the Duke and 
 retires to the kitchen. We suspect that she curls up 
 inside the sink, with a stewpan for a pillow. Red 
 Joe lingers for a moment and stands gazing at the 
 ocean.) 
 
 JOE: My memory fumbles in the past. I, too, hear 
 familiar voices lost for many years. A dark curtain 
 lifts and in the past I see myself a child. There are 
 strange tunes in the wind tonight. Methinks they 
 sing the name of Margaret. 
 
 (lie climbs the ladder. And now, with an occasional 
 dropping boot, the pirates prepare for bed. Pres 
 ently we hear the Duke up above, singing 
 vigorously at first, until drowsiness dulls the tune.)
 
 WAPPLN* WHARF 
 
 81 
 
 It is said in port by the sailor sort, 
 As they swig all night at their rum, 
 That a jolly grave is the ocean wave, 
 But a churchyard bell s too glum. 
 I agrees ter this and ter give em bliss 
 From Pew I learned the trick 
 I push em wide o the wessel s side 
 And poke em down with a stick. 
 
 Darlin warms her old red stockings
 
 82 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 (Darlin enters. With a prodigious yawn she sits 
 at the fire. She kicks off her slippers and warms 
 her old red stockings. She comforts herself with 
 grog and spits across the hearth. She sleeps and 
 gently snores. The Duke continues with his 
 song.) 
 
 Ol Flint had a fist and an iron wrist, 
 
 And he thumped on the nose, it is said, 
 
 Till a wictim s gore ran over the floor 
 
 And he rolled in the scuppers dead. 
 
 But, Patch, there s a few, I m tellin ter you, 
 
 Who s nice and they hates a muss, 
 
 And a plank, I contend, is a tidier end. 
 
 No sweepin , nor scrapin , nor fuss. 
 
 Captain Kidd, when afloat, put the crew in a boat, 
 And he shoved em off fer to starve. 
 On a rock in the sea, says he ter me on a rock 
 In the sea, says he ter me on a rock 
 
 (The singer s voice fails. Sleep engulf s him. Silence! 
 Then sounds of snoring. The range of Caucasus 
 hath not noisier winds. Let s draw the curtain on 
 the tempest!}
 
 ACT II 
 
 It is the same cabin on the following night. There is no 
 thunder and lightning, but it is a dirty night of 
 fog as wet as a crocodile s nest and you hear 
 the water dripping from the trees. The Duke, 
 evidently, has had an answer to his "Now I lay 
 me." The lighthouse, as before, shows vaguely 
 through the mist. 
 
 In this scene we had wished to have a moon. The Duke 
 will need it presently in his courtship; for mar- 
 velously it sharpens a lover s oath. T is a silver 
 spur to a halting wooer. Shrewd merchants, I am 
 told, go so far as to consult the almanac when 
 laying in their store of wedding fits; for a cloudy 
 June throws Cupid off his aim. What cosmetic 
 what rouge or powder so paints a beauty! If the 
 moon were full twice within the month scarcely a 
 bachelor would be left. I pray you, master car- 
 
 83
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 penter, hang me up a moon. But our plot has put 
 its foot down. "Mirk," it says, "mirk and Jog 
 are best for our dirty business." 
 
 We had wished, also, to place one act of our piece on the 
 deck of a pirate ship, rocking in a storm. Such 
 high excitement is your right, for your payment at 
 the door. It required but the stroke of a lazy pencil. 
 But our plot has dealt stubbornly with us. We are 
 still in the pirates cabin in the fog. 
 
 We hear Darlin singing in the kitchen, as the curtain 
 rises. 
 
 Oh, I am the cook fer a pirate band 
 And food I never spoil. 
 Cabbage and such, it sure ain t much, 
 Till I sets it on ter boil.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 86 
 
 And I throws on salt and I throws on spice, 
 And the Duke, he says ter me, 
 Me Darlin , me pet, I m in yer debt, 
 And he sighs contentedlee. 
 
 (There is a rattle of tinware. Patch-Eye sings the 
 next stanza in the loft.} 
 
 On the Strand, it s true, I m tellin ter you, 
 
 The Dukes and the Duchesses dwell. 
 
 And they dines in state on golden plate 
 
 Eatin and drinkin like ell. 
 
 But I says ter you, and it s perfectly true, 
 
 They stuffs theirselves too much; 
 
 And a mutton stew, when yer gets it through, 
 
 Is better than peacocks and such. 
 
 (More tinware in the kitchen. And now Darlin 
 again!} 
 
 I ve cooked in a brig to a dancin jig 
 
 Which the sea kicks up in a blast. 
 
 And me stove s slid round until I ve found 
 
 A rope ter make it fast. 
 
 But I braces me legs and the Duke, he begs 
 
 Fer puddin with sweets on the side. 
 
 Me Darlin , it s rough, and I likes yer duff. 
 
 I 11 marry yer, Darlin , me bride. 
 
 (In her reckless joy at this dim possibility she over 
 turns the dishpan. During the song the Duke s
 
 86 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 legs have appeared on the ladder. He descends, 
 fetching with him a comb and mirror. 
 He brushes his hair. This is unusual and he finds a 
 knot that is harder than any Gordian knot what 
 soever. He smoothes and strokes his 
 whiskers. He goes so far as to slap 
 himself for dust. He puts a sprig of 
 flowers amazing! in the front of his 
 cloak. He practices a smile and gesture. 
 He seems to speak. He claps his hand 
 pray you, u P on his heart. Ah, my dear sir, we 
 master car- have guessed your secret. The wind, as 
 P e n t e r, hang y e ^ bl ows from the south, but a pirate 
 me up a moon" , , 7 TT . 7 , 
 
 waits not upon the spring. His lover s 
 
 oath pops out before the daffodil. I pray you, 
 master carpenter, hang me up a moon. 
 And now the Duke stands before us the King of smiles. 
 His is the wooer s posture. He speaks, but not 
 with his usual voice of command. Oberon, as it 
 were, calls Titania to the woodland when stars are 
 torch and candle to the sleeping world.) 
 
 DUKE: Betsy! Betsy! 
 
 (She appears. The Duke wears a silly smile. But 
 did not Bottom in an ass s head win the fairy 
 princess? A moon, sweet sir! And now sud 
 denly! the magic night dissolves into coarsest 
 day.) 
 
 DUKE: Would yer like ter be the Duchess? 
 
 (This is abrupt and unusual, but nice customs curtsy 
 to Dukes as well as Kings.)
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 87 
 
 DUKE: I in askin yer, Betsy. Yer ol Duke is 
 askin yer. I m lovin yer. Yer ol Duke is lovirT 
 yer. I 11 do the right thing by yer. I 11 marry yer. 
 There! I Ve said it. When yer married yer can 
 jest set on a cushion without nothin ter do (reflec 
 tively) nothin cept cookin and washin and darnin . 
 Does yer jump at me, Betsy? 
 
 (/ confess, myself, a mere man, unable to analyze 
 Betsy s emotions. She stands staring at the Duke, 
 as you or I might stare at a hippopotamus in the 
 front hall. I have bitten my pencil to a pulp 
 the maker s name is quite gone but I can think 
 of no lines that are adequate. Her first surprise, 
 however, turns to amusement.) 
 
 DUKE : Ain t yer a kind o hankerin fer me? Come 
 ter me arms, sweetie, and confess yer blushin love. 
 I m askin yer. I m askin yer ter be the 
 Duchess. 
 
 BETSY: But I do not love you, Duke. 
 
 (In jest, however, the little rascal perches on his 
 
 knee.) 
 
 DUKE : Make yerself comfertable. Yer husband s 
 willin . When I cramps, I shifts yer. Kiss me, when 
 yer wants. 
 
 BETSY: You are an old goose. 
 DUKE: Did I hear yer? Does yer hold off fer me 
 ter nag yer? The ol Duke s waitin ter fold yer in his 
 lovin arms. 
 
 BETSY: I do not love you, Duke. 
 
 (The Captain and Patch-Eye have thrust their heads
 
 88 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 through the opening above the ladder, and they 
 listen with amusement.) 
 
 DUKE: I m blowed. I m a better man than 
 Patch. I m tellin yer. Is it me stump, Betsy? 
 I has n t a hook hand like the Captain. Yer has got 
 ter be linked all round. There s no fun, I says, in 
 bein hugged by a one-armed man. Yer would be 
 lop-sided in a week. 
 
 BETSY: It s just that I do not love you, Duke. 
 
 DUKE: Yer wounds me feelin s. Does n t I ask 
 yer pretty? Should I have waited fer a moon and 
 took yer walkin ? And perched with yer on the 
 rocks, with the ol moon winkin at yer, shovin yer 
 on? The Duke s never been refused before. A 
 number o wery perticerler ladies, arter breakfast 
 even, has jest come scamperin . T ain t Patch, is it 
 Betsy? A pretty leetle girl would n t love a feller as 
 has one eye. It ain t the Captain. He ain t no hand 
 with the ladies. Yer not goin ter tell me it s Petey? 
 I would n t want yer ter fall in love with a blinkin 
 light. 
 
 BETSY: You have lovely whiskers, Duke. 
 
 DUKE: Yer can pull one fer the locket that yer 
 wears. Are yer makin fun o me? 
 
 BETSY: I would n t dare. 
 
 DUKE: Does yer mean it, Betsy? Are yer re- 
 lentin ? Are yer goin ter say the appy word as 
 splices us from keel to topsail? Yer ain t jest a cruel 
 syren are yer, wavin me on, hopin I 11 smash me- 
 self ? Are yer winkin at me like ol Flint s lantern
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 89 
 
 me thinkin it s love I see, shinin in yer laughin 
 eyes? 
 
 BETSY: Why don t you marry Darlin ? 
 
 DUKE: Her with one tooth? Yer silly. I boohs 
 at yer. Ol ladies with one hoof inside a coffin 
 does n t make good brides. Yer wants someone 
 kinder gay and spry, as yer can pin flowers to. 
 
 BETSY: She loves you, Duke. 
 
 DUKE: Course she does. So does the oP lady as 
 keeps the tap at the Harbor Light, and one-eyed Pol 
 as mops up the liquor that is spilt. And youngsters, 
 too. A pretty leetle dear jest a cozy armful was 
 winkin at me yesterday kinder givin me the 
 snuggle-up. I pities em. It s their nater, God 
 elp em, ter love me; but the oP Duke is perticerler. 
 Yer has lovely eyes, Betsy blessed leetle mirrors 
 where I sees Cupid playin . They shines like the 
 lights o a friendly harbor. 
 
 BETSY: Darlin cooks roast pig that crackles. 
 
 DUKE : I sets me heart on top me stomich. Ain t 
 yer comfertable, sett in on me knee? Shall I shift 
 yer to me stump? Betsy, I calls arter we are mar 
 ried, fetch me down me slipper and lay it on the 
 hearth ter warm. Yer husband s home. And I 
 tosses yer me boot, all mud fer cleanin . And then 
 yer passes the grog. And arter about the second cup 
 I limbers up and kisses yer. And then yer sets upon 
 me knee. It will be snug on winter evenin s when 
 the blast is blowin . And when we re married yer 
 can kiss me pretty near as often as yer please. And
 
 90 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 I won t deny as I won t like it. The ol Duke ain t 
 slingin the permission round general. Darlin nags 
 me. What yer laughin at? 
 
 BETSY: You silly old man! 
 
 DUKE: Yer riles me. Once and fer all, will yer 
 marry me? I 11 not waste the night argyin with yer. 
 I m not goin ter tease yer. I Ve only one knee and 
 it ain t no bench fer gigglin girls as pokes fun at 
 their betters. I 11 jolt yer till yer teeth rattles. Is 
 it someone else? Has yer a priory tachment? 
 Red Joe? Is it Red Joe, Betsy? Is he snoopin 
 round? 
 
 (Betsy rises with sobered mood, and walks away.) 
 
 DUKE: There s somethin about that young 
 feller I does n t like. He s a snooper. Betsy, does 
 yer get what I m talkin about? I have offered ter 
 make yer the Duchess. I 11 buy I 11 steal yer a 
 set o red beads. I 11 give yer a sixpence \vithout 
 no naggin every time yer goes ter town, jest ter 
 spend reckless. I 11 marry yer. I 11 take yer ter 
 Minehead and get the piousest parson in the town. 
 Would yer like Darlin fer a bridesmaid and grog 
 and angel-cake? Me jest settin ready ter kiss yer 
 every time yer passes it. I m blowed! You are 
 wickeder than ol Flint s lantern. It must be Red 
 Joe. Him with the smirk! There s a young feller 
 round here, Betsy, as wants ter look out fer his 
 wizen. 
 
 (But Betsy has run in panic to the kitchen.) 
 
 DUKE: I does n t understand em. I m thinkin
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 91 
 
 the girl s a fool. A ninny I calls her. It s Red Joe. 
 Off a cliff! Yer said it, Darlin . Off a cliff ! 
 
 (He removes the sprig of flowers and tosses it into 
 
 the fire. 
 
 Bough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer s lease hath all too short a date: 
 He retires to the rear of the cabin and strokes the 
 parrot s head. He jerks away his hand for fear of 
 being nipped. The ungrateful world has turned 
 against him.} 
 
 DUKE: Yer a spiteful bird. Yer as mean as women. 
 Ninnies I calls em. It must ha been the moon. 
 I should ha waited fer a moon. 
 (He sits on the chest at the rear 
 of the cabin and whittles a little 
 ship. Women are a queer lot. 
 The Captain and Patch-Eye have 
 climbed down the ladder. They 
 burst with jest. The Captain sits 
 on the chair by the fire, mimic- 
 ing the posture of the Duke. 
 Patch-Eye perches on his knee.) 
 PATCH: Darlin loves yer, Duke. 
 CAPTAIN: Course she does. They 
 all does. Youngsters, too winkin 
 and givin me the snuggle-up. 
 
 PATCH: Yer has lovely whiskers, 
 Duke. 
 
 CAPTAIN : Yer can pull one, Betsy, Yer as mean as 
 fer the locket that yer wears. women" 
 
 J.F.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 (But the Duke ends the burlesque by upsetting the 
 chair. The Captain and Patch-Eye, chuckling 
 at their jest, sit to a game of cards. The Duke 
 returns to the chest. Once in a while he lays 
 down the ship and seems to be thinking. The 
 broken crystal of the fortune-teller lies on the floor. 
 He picks it up and puts it to his eye, as if the future 
 may still show upon its face. He is preoccupied 
 with his disappointment and his bitter thoughts. 
 
 Darlin , meantime, is heard singing in the kitcfien 
 with her dishes.) 
 
 Fer griddle cakes I ve a nimble wrist 
 
 And I tosses em igh on a spoon. 
 
 And the Duke and Patch yer can hardly match 
 
 Fer their breakfast they stretch till noon. 
 
 And I heaps the fire and I greases the iron, 
 
 And the Duke, he kisses me thumb. 
 
 Me Darlin , me dear, it s perfectly clear 
 
 I Ve lovin yer better than rum. 
 
 Patch, also sings. 
 
 She s cooked fer sailors worn down to the bone, 
 
 Till they rolls like the Captain s gig. 
 
 At soup and stew we are never through, 
 
 But our fav rite dish is pig. 
 
 And she cuts off slabs and passes em round, 
 
 And the Duke, he takes her hand. 
 
 Me Darlin , me love, by the gods above, 
 
 Yer a cook fer a pirate band.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 93 
 
 And now Darlin again. 
 
 Me grog is the best. It is made o rum, 
 
 And I stirs in sugar, too. 
 
 And a hogshead vast will hardly last 
 
 A merry evenin through. 
 
 And I fills the cups till mornin comes, 
 
 And the Duke, he talks like a loon. 
 
 Me Darlin , me life, will yer be me wife, 
 
 And elope by the light o the moon. 
 
 (Let all the tinware crash!} 
 
 CAPTAIN: (as he throws down his cards). There! 
 I done yer. Yer a child at cards, Patch. How ain t 
 it that yer never learnt? Did n t yer ever 
 play black-ace at the Rusty Anchor down 
 Greenwich way? Crack me hook, I ve 
 played with ol Flint hisself, settin in the 
 leetle back room. With somethin wet 
 
 and warmin now and then, jest ter keep "Did n t 
 
 the stomich cozy. Never stopped till Phce- yer ever 
 
 bus s fiery eye looked in the winder. Black-ace 
 
 PATCH: Poor ol Flint! I never sees his at the 
 clock up there but I drops a tear. Rusty 
 
 n -\T Anchor?" 
 
 CAPTAIN: Yer cries as easy as a croco 
 dile. And yer as innercent at cards as as a baby 
 bitin at his coral, a cooin leetle pirate. 
 
 PATCH: It s frettin does it, Captain. 
 
 CAPTAIN: What s frettin yer? 
 
 PATCH : It s what the ol lady said last night. She 
 hung me ter a gibbet, jest like ol Flint. There s a
 
 94 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 gibbet, Captain, on Wappin wharf, jest round the 
 corner from the Sailors Rest. Does yer remember 
 it, Captain? It makes yer grog belch on yer. 
 
 CAPTAIN: (to tease and frighten Patch}. Aye. 
 There was two sailormen hangin there when I comes 
 in a year ago. 
 
 PATCH: Horrers! 
 
 CAPTAIN: Jest swingin in the wind, and tryin 
 ter get their toes down comfertable. (He has hooked 
 
 "Jest swingin in the wind" 
 
 two empty mugs and he rocks them back and forth.) 
 Jest reachin with their footies ter ease their- 
 selves. 
 
 PATCH: The ol lady last night made me a wee bit 
 creepy. Gibbets and Wappin wharf ain t nothin 
 ter talk about. 
 
 CAPTAIN: I never see a flock o crows but I asks 
 their pardon fer keepin em waitin fer their supper. 
 Crows, Patch, is fond o yer as yer are, without
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 95 
 
 neither sauce ner gravy jest pickin appy, soup 
 ter nuts, at yer dry ol bones. Here s ol Patch, tkey 
 says, waitin in the platter fer his ungry guests ter 
 come. 
 
 PATCH: Me stomich s turned keel up. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Patch, yer ain t got spunk ter be a 
 pirate. Yer as soft as Petey s pussycat. 
 
 PATCH: I ain t, ain t I? Was n t it me as nudged 
 the Captain o the Northern Star off his poop 
 when he were n t lookin ? Him with a pistol in his 
 boot! Did n t I hit Bill, the bos n, with a marline- 
 spike jest afore he woke up? Sweet dreams, I 
 says, and I tapped him gentle. I got a lot o spunk. 
 Bill did n t wake up, he did n t. Was n t it me, 
 Captain, that started that mutiny? Was n t it me? 
 I m askin yer. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Still braggin o that ol time. It was 
 more n four years ago. What yer done since? Jest 
 loadin yer stomich jest gruntin and wallerin in 
 the trough jest braggin . 
 
 PATCH: I ain t fraid o nothin cept a gibbet. 
 (For a moment the ugly word sticks in his gullet.) But 
 the ol lady kinder got me. Yer looked down yer 
 nose yerself, Captain askin yer pardon. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Struck me, Patch, she was jest a wee 
 bit flustered by Red Joe. Did yer notice how she 
 sat and looked at the glass? And would n t say 
 nothin ? Jest nothin at all. 
 
 PATCH: And then the ol dear s fingers slipped 
 and the glass was broke.
 
 96 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 CAPTAIN: It looks almost as if she done it a pur 
 pose. 
 
 (The Duke has been thinking all of this time with 
 necessary contortions of the face. It is amazing 
 how these help on a knotty problem.) 
 DUKE: Course she done it a purpose. It was ter 
 stop me lookin cross her shoulder in the glass. 
 CAPTAIN: What does yer think she saw? 
 PATCH: Was it blood drippin ? 
 DUKE: I 11 tell yer. I 11 tell yer. 
 
 (But he continues whittling.) 
 CAPTAIN: Well, ain t we listenin , Duke? 
 PATCH : Jest strainin our ears. 
 DUKE: I 11 tell yer. I squinted in the glass, 
 meself, arter it was broke. 
 
 CAPTAIN and PATCH: W 7 hat did yer see? 
 ( There is intense silence. The Duke comes forward 
 to the table. He taps his fingers sagely. He looks 
 mysteriously at his fellow pirates. They put their 
 heads together. The Duke sinks his voice. In such 
 posture and accent was the gunpowder plot hatched 
 out.) 
 DUKE: Nothin ! Jestnothin ! 
 
 (The strain is over. They relax.) 
 CAPTAIN: The Duke, he jest seen nothin . 
 PATCH: Jest nothin at all. 
 
 DUKE: That s what gets me. If the ol lady d 
 seen nothin , she would n t took ter fidgettin . Aiid 
 therefore she seen something Does yer f oiler? You, 
 Captain? I spects nothin from Patch.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 I spects nothin from 
 Patch" 
 
 PATCH : Yer hurts me feelin s, Duke. 
 
 DUKE: Somethin s wrong. Somethin s wrong 
 with Red Joe. 
 
 PATCH: Red Joe s a right 
 smart feller, I says. 
 
 CAPTAIN: He can shoot as 
 straight as ol Flint. Barin 
 meself, Joe s as straight a 
 shot as I ve seen in many a 
 year. Patch, agin him, is jest 
 a crooked stick. 
 
 PATCH: Pick on the Duke 
 jest once, why does n t yer? 
 
 DUKE: Ease off, mates! Red Joe ain t goin ter 
 hang on no gibbet. Cause why? Cause I m tellin 
 yer. I 11 tell yer what the ol lady seen in the 
 glass. 
 
 (Once more the Duke draws the pirates around him. 
 He is Guy Faux and the wicked Bothwell rolled 
 together.} 
 
 CAPTAIN: We re listenin , Duke. 
 
 PATCH: Like kittens at a mouse-hole. 
 
 DUKE: Captain, it s deuced strange that Red 
 Joe s ship nary a stick o her never come ter shore. 
 Does yer remember a wreck long here where nothin 
 washed ter shore? 
 
 CAPTAIN: Yer right, Duke. I never did. 
 
 DUKE: Does you remember one, stoopid? 
 
 PATCH: I does n t remember one this minute, 
 Duke.
 
 98 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 DUKE: Ol Flint, he had a pigtail, did n t he? And 
 you Ve a pigtail, Captain, has n t yer? And Patch- 
 Eye, he s got what he calls a pigtail. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Spinach, I calls it. 
 
 DUKE: And oP Pew, he d got a pigtail, ain t he? 
 And every blessed man as sailed with him. I m 
 tellin yer, Captain. 
 
 PATCH : The sea-cook, he did n t have one. 
 
 DUKE : Sea-cooks ain t sailormen. They re swabs. 
 Jest indoor swabs. Did yer ever see a pirate snipped 
 all round like a landlubber, with nary a whisp 
 behind? 
 
 CAPTAIN: Yer can rot me keel, Duke, I never did. 
 
 PATCH: I agrees with the Captain. 
 
 DUKE: Red Joe, he ain t got a pigtail. 
 
 CAPTAIN : No more he ain t. 
 
 PATCH: Was n t it Noah, Captain; as got his pig 
 tail cut by some designin woman? Does yer think 
 Red Joe s gone and met a schemin wixen? 
 
 CAPTAIN: I scorns yer igerence. Yer thinks o 
 Jonah. 
 
 DUKE: Well? Well? I Ve told yer Red Joe ain t 
 got a pigtail. Does n t yer smell any thin ? 
 
 CAPTAIN: (as he turns his head and sniffs audibly}. 
 I can t say as I sniffs nothin leastways, nothin 
 perticerler. I smells a bit o grog, perhaps. 
 
 PATCH : I gets a whiff o garlic from the kitchen. 
 
 DUKE: The two o yer never can smell nothin 
 when there s garlic or grog around. I m askin yer 
 pardon, Captain. Does Red Joe talk like a pirate?
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 99 
 
 Sink me, he can t rip an oath. Did yer ever know a 
 pirate which could n t talk fluent? 
 
 CAPTAIN: What s bitin yer, Duke? 
 
 DUKE: Ain t I tellin yer? 
 
 CAPTAIN: Ain t we listenin ? 
 
 PATCH: Jest hangin on yer tongue? 
 
 DUKE: Captain, you and me and Patch has seen a 
 heap o sights. We knows the ocean. We knows 
 her when she s blue and when she s kickin igher 
 than a gallow s tree. 
 
 CAPTAIN: We has been ter Virginy. 
 
 PATCH: We has traded slaves at the Barbadoes. 
 
 DUKE: And does n t we set around o nights and 
 swap the sights we seen mermaids and sea-serpents 
 and such? Did yer jest once ever hear Red Joe tell 
 what he s seen? Yer can sink me stern up with all 
 lights burnin , if I think the feller s ever been beyond 
 the Isle o Dogs. 
 
 CAPTAIN: What s bitin yer, Duke? 
 
 DUKE: It s jest this. Red Joe ain t no pirate. 
 He s a landlubber. 
 
 (He says this as you or I might call a man a 
 snake.) 
 
 CAPTAIN : (And now a great light comes to him. He 
 is proud of his swift perception. He leans across the 
 table to share his secret with Patch.) I seem ter get 
 what Duke means. He s hintin , Patch, that Red 
 Joe ain t a pirate. 
 
 PATCH: If he ain t a pirate, what is he? I asks yer 
 that.
 
 100 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 DUKE: (as he brings down his fist for emphasis). 
 He s a bloomin spy. 
 
 CAPTAIN : A spy ! (He gives a long-drawn whistle as 
 the truth breaks on him.} 
 
 PATCH: If I thought he was a spy, I d ketch him 
 right here with me dirk. I hates spies worse n empty 
 bottles. 
 
 CAPTAIN : I d scrape him with me hook. 
 
 DUKE: I ve been thinkin , Captain, while you and 
 Patch has been amusin yerselves. Askin yer pardon, 
 Captain, but cards rots the mind. Did yer ever 
 know a pirate that ain t drunk at the Port Light on 
 Wappin wharf? 
 
 CAPTAIN: Not as yet I never did. I never knowed 
 a pirate as did n t have a double-barreled nose fer 
 grog. 
 
 DUKE: Well, when Red Joe comes in, we 11 jest 
 ask him. And we 11 ask him if he ever played black- 
 ace at the Rusty Anchor. 
 
 CAPTAIN: It ain t no night ter have spies about. 
 With the Royal Arry comin on so pretty. 
 
 PATCH: And jest gettin ready ter smash hisself. 
 
 DUKE: That innercent ship will be due in less n 
 half an hour. 
 
 CAPTAIN : If Red Joe is a spy, by the fiery beard o 
 
 Satan, I m tellin yer that dead men tell no tales. 
 
 (He lifts the terrible hook and claws the air.) 
 
 DUKE: Askin yer pardon, Captain, bein as it 
 was me as smelled him out, won t yer let me slit his 
 wizen? I does it pretty, without mussin up the
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 101 
 
 I d scrape him with me hook"
 
 102 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 cabin. I ain t askin favors often, Captain. And 
 I Ve ticerler reasons reasons as touches me heart. 
 (For a moment he is almost sentimental.) Reasons as 
 touches me heart! Red Joe s been snoopin . 
 
 CAPTAIN: I loves yer, Duke. There ain t much as 
 I won t let yer have. And jest ter show yer that I m 
 all cut up by this here snoopin , when I m dead I 11 
 will yer this ol hook o mine, as has scraped a hundred 
 men. 
 
 DUKE: Yer honors me, Captain. And if I is 
 shoveled in first, me stump is yourn. 
 
 CAPTAIN: It s handsome of yer, Duke. And 
 I 11 not be jolly till a year is up jest like a widder. 
 
 DUKE : Yer touches me. I 11 tie a black ribbon on 
 yer hook. 
 
 (At this pathetic moment Darlin is heard singing 
 in the kitchen.) 
 
 And I fills the cups till mornin comes, 
 And the Duke, he talks like a loon. 
 Me Darlin , me life, will yer be me wife, 
 And elope by the light o the moon? 
 
 (There is a stamping of boots outside. The pirates 
 put their fingers on their lips. They are innocence 
 itself. The Duke scratches the head of the parrot. 
 The strange bird declines to taste his grog. Patch- 
 Eye shuffles the cards. The Captain hooks the 
 mugs toward him one by one for the last drops of 
 their precious liquor. Red Joe enters. Also, 
 Darlin from the kitchen.)
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 103 
 
 JOE: Hello, mates! Evening, Captain! Are n t 
 you cozy! As peaceful as old ladies with their darn 
 ing. I ve just come from seeing Petey, up at the 
 lighthouse. Petey says that along in about fifteen 
 minutes the Royal Harry will be showing around the 
 cliff. Is n t it time, Captain, to set up the lantern 
 where s she s useful? 
 
 DUKE: 7s n t it? Did yer hear that, Captain? 
 Ain t it, is what Red Joe means. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Right yer are, Joey. We must be trot- 
 tin . 
 
 DUKE: What s the name o that tavern, Joe, at 
 Wappin w r harf where we gets the uncommon grog? 
 
 JOE: W T appin wharf? I m blessed if the name s 
 not gone from me. The grog s nothing to Darling s. 
 
 DUKE: What does yer call the tavern on the Isle 
 o Dogs? 
 
 JOE: I m remembering the rum. What s the use 
 of looking at the signboard? 
 
 DUKE: How does yer sight ter turn the bar at 
 Guinea? 
 
 JOE: Sorry, Duke. It was my watch below. I 
 was snoring when we turned. 
 
 CAPTAIN: What happened to yer pigtail? 
 
 PATCH: Where does we ship the niggers? 
 
 DARLIN : Ain t yer got a mermaid on yer chest? 
 
 (The pirates have risen and come forward. Their 
 questions are put faster and with insolence. Dirk 
 and hook are drawn. Joe stands in an easy, care 
 less attitude. He seems ignorant of danger. He
 
 104 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 has taken a coal from the fire and slowly, delib 
 erately, with back to the menace, he lights his pipe. 
 Then suddenly he drops it from his teeth. He 
 leaps to action. He draws his knife two knives, 
 one for each hand. He kicks away a chair, for 
 room. He drives the pirates across the cabin. The 
 candle all the mugs upon the table rattle to the 
 stones. He cries out with bravado.) 
 JOE: Who offers me his carcass first? What! Is 
 pirate blood so thin and white? 
 
 (The pirates stand with knives drawn. It is an awk 
 ward moment of social precedence. 
 PATCH : (safe in the farthest corner) . It s me patch, 
 Captain. It s fetched loose. I f oilers yer. 
 
 JOE: Come, Duke, and take your answer! Have 
 you no stomach for my message? Fore God, is there 
 no black ram to lead his sheep to the shearing? 
 (Joe s is a dangerous gayety. His two knives glisten 
 
 in the candle light.) 
 
 PATCH: Scrape him with yer hook, Captain, I 
 follers yer. 
 
 JOE: My knife frets. It is thirsty for thick red 
 wine. Who offers me his cask to tap? I 11 pledge 
 the King, although it is a dirty vintage. Come, 
 Captain, I 11 carve you to a dainty morsel. We 11 
 have fresh meat for the platter. You 11 not be known 
 from scared rabbit-flesh. 
 
 (He drives them around the table. Patch takes 
 refuge behind the door. Darlin s red stockings 
 run up the ladder.)
 
 WAPP1N WHARF 105 
 
 JOE: You bearded hound! 
 
 PATCH: He s tauntin yer, Captain. Hand him 
 the hook! The Duke and me is back o yer. 
 
 JOE: Do you fear to cheat the gibbet on Wapping 
 wharf? A knife s a sweeter end. Who comes first? 
 I 11 help him across the Styx. Or sink or swim! 
 Flint waits in hell for three whelps to join his crew. 
 PATCH: Captain, I m sprized at yer good nater. 
 Scrape him one! 
 
 JOE: Who comes to the barber first? Cowards! 
 I 11 ram your pigtails down your throats. I 11 wash 
 your dirt in blood. 
 
 (The Duke proves to be the strategist. He has edged 
 to the rear of the cabin. He circles behind Red Joe. 
 And now in a flash he leaps on him. Joe is buried 
 under the three pirates, for Patch s valor returns 
 when Joe is down. Joe is tied with ropes and 
 fastened to an upright at the chimneyside. This is 
 the terrible, glorious moment, now that the fight is 
 over, when the actor -manager, as I first read the 
 play as explained in the preface (you really must 
 read the preface) turned his excited somersault 
 down the carpet.} 
 
 PATCH: Did yer notice, Captain, how I took him 
 by the throat? He was squirmin loose when I 
 grabbed him. It was me tripped him. 
 
 DUKE: Captain, I asks yer a favor. Can I stick 
 him now. Dead men tell no tales. 
 
 PATCH: Captain, yer jest makes a pet o the Duke. 
 Ain t it my turn? I gets rusty.
 
 106 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 DARLIN : Let the Duke do it. He has more rea 
 sons than Patch. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Lay off, me hearties! Does n t yer know 
 we re in a hurry? Red Joe s kickin up has wasted a 
 heap o time. The Royal Arry will be showin round 
 the cliff any minute now. Red Joe s safe. He s tied 
 up double. We 11 have a merry party arterward 
 
 with grog and angel cake. It s 
 business afore pleasure. Here, 
 Duke, take the lantern. (He 
 shakes it.} It s full o* ile. 
 Jest stir yer timber stump, 
 Duke. Yer can foller, Patch. 
 Yer follers better n yer leads. 
 Some folks is pussycats. 
 
 DUKE: He s pokin fun at 
 yer, ol lion-heart. 
 
 PATCH: Yer hurts me feel- 
 
 It s full o ile " 
 
 in s. 
 
 DUKE: I 11 hurt yer in a 
 fatter place where yer sits if yer does n t step 
 along. Yer a yeller-livered, maggoty land fish. I 
 curbs me tongue. I scorns yer worse n cow s milk. 
 Go long, afore I loosens up and tells yer what yer 
 are! 
 
 CAPTAIN: In about two minutes that blessed eye 
 o Petey will go out. We must set up the lantern 
 afore the Royal Arry sticks her nose in sight. 
 
 DUKE: By by, Joey. See yer later, ol angel cake. 
 Yer has jest time ter say "Now I lay me."
 
 WAPP1N WHARF 107 
 
 CAPTAIN: How s the night, Duke? 
 DUKE: Blacker than the Earl o Hell s top-boots. 
 DARLIN : I 11 jest stick me apron on me head and 
 go long, too. It ain t proper fer a lady as has me 
 temptin beauty ter be left alone with snoopers. 
 (The cabin is empty except for Red Joe. He strains 
 at his cords, but is tied fast. You hear the voices 
 of the pirates singing in the distance.} 
 I agrees ter this and ter give em bliss 
 From Pew I learned the trick 
 I push em wide o the wessel s side, 
 And poke em down with a stick. 
 (As soon as the pirates have left the cabin Betsy 
 enters. She sees Joe but passes him in fright. 
 She runs to the window and shields her eyes to see 
 into the darkness.} 
 
 BETSY : God help the poor sailormen ! 
 JOE : Betsy ! Betsy ! For the love of God ! 
 (Suddenly the lighthouse light vanishes. And almost 
 at once the ship s lantern shows at the window to 
 the left. All sounds are hushed.} 
 BETSY: The ship s in sight. I see her lights. She 
 has rounded the farther cliff. I see her turning. She 
 heads in from the sea. Her three masts are in line. 
 She steers for the lantern. God have mercy! She 11 
 strike in another minute. (She stuffs her ears and 
 runs from the window.} I can t bear to listen. I can t 
 bear to look. 
 
 JOE: Betsy! Betsy! Do you hear? Margaret! 
 Margaret !
 
 108 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 (At the sound of Margaret she lifts her head, buried 
 in her arms. She runs toward Joe. Her wits seem 
 dazed.} 
 
 JOE: Quick! Margaret! Margaret! That knife! 
 That knife on the stones! Margaret, cut me loose! 
 (Still dazed, moving as if in a dream, Betsy picks up 
 the knife. She cuts Joe s cords. Joe seizes the gun 
 that leans against the clock. He takes deliberate 
 aim through the window. He fires. The window 
 glass is shattered. The ship s lantern is hit. The 
 light vanishes. He replaces the gun. Betsy stands 
 beside him, looking in his face.) 
 BETSY: You Ve hit it! Thank God! The light is 
 shattered. (Then, after a pause.) I seem to remem 
 ber now. My name is Margaret. I remember 
 JOE: What do you remember? 
 BETSY: A great staircase a room, with shadows 
 from a candle. And when I was afraid, a lady sang 
 to me. And she set the candle so that the fearful 
 giant upon the wall ran off, and I was safe. 
 JOE: What else do you remember? 
 BETSY: I remember 
 JOE: Margaret, do you remember me? 
 (Margaret looks at him and a new memory is stirred.) 
 BETSY: Yes, I remember you. Were you not a 
 great tall lad whose crook d elbow was level with my 
 head? And once we climbed a tower or do I recall a 
 dream? You held me so that I might see the waves 
 breaking on the rocks below. Then with level eyes 
 we looked upon the sea, and cried out our discovery
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 109 
 
 of each glistening sail. Are these things real? One 
 morning you mounted horse, and I was held aloft 
 so that you might stoop and kiss me. You rode off 
 with a clatter on the stones. You turned and waved 
 your hat. And now you have come back. You are 
 Hal. We were playmates once. 
 
 JOE : And by luck and God s help we shall be play 
 mates once again. 
 
 (He puts his arms around her and kisses her.} 
 
 BETSY: Quick, Hal! You must escape. Quick! 
 Before the pirates come. Follow the path to the 
 village! You can escape by the Royal Harry. 
 
 (They are running to the door when there is a sound 
 of voices On the path outside. Joe has just time to 
 put himself in the posture in which the pirates left 
 him. The pirates and Darlin enter in dejection. 
 Betsy runs to the kitchen. 
 
 CAPTAIN : Blast me, the lantern s out ! 
 
 PATCH : Rot me, but there were an explosion ! 
 
 DARLIN : Poof! And there were n t no lantern! 
 
 DUKE: What done it? What done it? I asks yer. 
 
 (They stand at the window and look toward the ocean.} 
 
 DUKE: She is still headed on. Her nose is still 
 pointin toward the cliff. 
 
 CAPTAIN: \Vhat s that? 
 
 DUKE: I hears the rattlin o chains. She s drop- 
 pin anchor. She has sniffed the willainy. Her 
 anchor s down. She s saved hisself. Blow me, 
 she s saved hisself. 
 
 CAPTAIN : Yer can hang me ter a gibbet.
 
 110 
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 PATCH : Yer can rot me bones. 
 DARLIN : Me heart s gone palpy . 
 DUKE: What done it? What done it? I asks yer. 
 (At this point let us hope that the curtain does not 
 stick.) 
 
 What done it? I asks yer "
 
 ACT III 
 
 The scene is the same as before. We have given up all 
 hope of a pirate ship rocking on the sea. Our plot 
 still twists us around its little finger. The curtain 
 rises on the tableau of the second act. Old Petey 
 shows again at the window to the right. 
 DUKE: What done it? What done it? I asks 
 yer. 
 
 PATCH: Jest when everythin was goin pretty. 
 CAPTAIN: Jest when she was about ter hit. 
 DARLIN : Me heart near stopped I was that 
 excited. 
 
 (The pirates sit in deep dejection.) 
 DUKE: The mystery o this business is how the 
 blinkin lantern went out. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Ol Petey done his part. 
 PATCH : He doused herself in time. 
 CAPTAIN: It was the lantern done it. 
 DUKE: When there were n t no light at all, the 
 
 m
 
 112 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 Royal Any, she jest sniffed willainy and dropped 
 anchor. 
 
 PATCH: I was repeatin Smash yer devil! Smash 
 yer devil! kinder hurryin her on. 
 
 DARLIN : I was sayin Now I lay me throbbin 
 with excitement. 
 
 DUKE: It was n t ile. I put ile in the lantern 
 meself. Captain, yer seen me put in ile. 
 
 CAPTAIN: I seen yer. And I swished it meself 
 ter be sure. 
 
 PATCH: Nothin s been right since that oF lady 
 hanged me ter a gibbet. 
 
 CAPTAIN: There we was watchin 
 
 PATCH: Pop! 
 
 CAPTAIN: And all of a sudden quicker n seven 
 devils the bloomin lantern went all ter pieces. It s 
 grog, I says. Snakes is next. It were a comfert to 
 the oF Captain ter know that all o yer seen it. I 
 seen a yeller rhinoceros once, runnin along with 
 purple mice all alone I seen it and it kinder sick 
 ened me o rum. 
 
 PATCH: Does yer think the lantern exploded? 
 
 DUKE: Did yer ever hear o a ship s lantern ex- 
 plodin ? I asks yer, Captain. 
 
 CAPTAIN : Yer talks silly, Patch. That lantern has 
 hung fer twenty year on ol Flint s ship swingin 
 easy and contented all round the Horn and it 
 ain t never exploded once. 
 
 DUKE: Swabs lanterns explode, stoopid. Ships 
 lanterns don t. Captain, I feels as mournful as when
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 113 
 
 Flint s clock did n t tick no more and we knowed he 
 
 was took by the blessed angels. 
 
 CAPTAIN: I ain t meself as gay as a cuckoo not 
 
 quite I ain t. 
 
 PATCH : Ever since that ol lady 
 DUKE: Lay off on that ol lady! 
 (They sit in silence, in dejection. All stare stupidly at 
 the floor. For a moment it seems as if nothing more 
 will be said and the audience might as well go home. 
 But presently the Duke sees something at the rear 
 of the cabin. He looks as you or I would look 
 if we saw a yellow elephant taking its after-dinner 
 coffee in the sitting-room; but, as he is a pirate, he is 
 not frightened merely interested and intent. He 
 brushes his hand before his eyes, to make sure it is 
 no delusion not grog or rum. Then he rises 
 softly. He crosses to the window. Very gently he 
 touches the glass. He finds it is really broken. 
 He loosens a piece of the shattered glass. The 
 others are sunk in such melancholy that they do not 
 observe him. 
 
 He gazes through the window, studying the direction of 
 the broken ship s lantern. He traces the angle with 
 his finger. The gesture ends with an accusing 
 finger pointing at Red Joe. He whistles softly. 
 For a moment his eye rests upon the gun, which 
 leans against the clock. He has guessed the riddle. 
 He advances casually, but with dirk in hand. He 
 comes in front of Joe. Suddenly he presses the 
 blade of his dirk against Joe s stomach.)
 
 114 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 DUKE: Captain! Captain! Quick! Tie him up! 
 (Joe is bound again with rope.} 
 
 DUKE: It s him that done it. It s Red Joe. 
 
 CAPTAIN: How did he get loose? 
 
 DUKE: (as he points to the knife on the floor) . Does 
 yer see that knife? Does yer see Joe? I m tellin 
 yer. It was him shot out the lantern. 
 
 PATCH: Did n t I help ter tie him meself? 
 
 DUKE: Askin yer pardon, Captain, but you and 
 Patch has the brains o a baby aligator. A stuffed 
 rhinocopoterus is pos -lutely nothin . Askin yer 
 pardon fer speakin so plain. I does all yer thinkin 
 for yer. There s some folks settin here as are fat- 
 headed, and thinks ships lanterns explode. 
 
 PATCH: Easy now, ol dear. Yer alers pitchin 
 inter me, cause I m good-natered. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Red Joe, I calls yer a dirty spy. A 
 swab! A landlubber! Fer one copper farthin I d 
 ketch yer one with this hook. 
 
 DUKE: It was me discovered him. I asks yer, 
 Captain, ter leave Red Joe ter me. I hates him most 
 perticerler. 
 
 (Betsy enters from the kitchen.} 
 
 BETSY: Did you call, Captain? 
 
 DARLIN : Nobody ain t callin yer, dearie. Now 
 jest toddle back to the kitchen. 
 
 DUKE: This ain t no place fer a leetle girl. It will 
 give yer bad dreams. Mince pie s nothin . 
 
 (Betsy attempts to leave the cabin by the door that 
 leads to the cliffs the door at the rear of the cabin.}
 
 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 115 
 
 DUKE: Where you goin , Betsy? 
 
 BETSY: I ve an errand in the village. 
 
 DUKE : Well, yer ain t goin . It ain t no night fer a 
 leetle girl ter be out. I ain t goin ter have me 
 Duchess snifflin with a cold. Go to grandma! It 
 was me discovered him, Captain. I m askin yer a 
 favor. He s a snooper. 
 
 PATCH: Captain, I gets rusty. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Lay off, me hearties. Duke! Patch! 
 I loves both o yer. I loves yer equal, like two mugs 
 o grog as is full alike. Yer can pitch dice ter see 
 which does it. 
 
 (He places the dice cup on the table beside the candle. 
 The Duke and Patch take their places. Betsy, 
 under cover of this centered interest, runs to Red 
 Joe, who whispers to her.) 
 
 DUKE: I drops em in me mug, so s they can get a 
 smell o rum. The leetle bones is me friends. I 
 never throws less n a five spot. 
 I makes a pint o shakin the 
 bones till they rattles jolly. I 
 likes the sound o it even better n 
 the blessed scrapin o a spoon 
 what s stirrin grog. Write it on 
 me tombstone if I rots ashore 
 He was the kinder feller as never 
 throwed less n a five spot. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Go long, Duke. Bones, as is 
 waitin , sulks. 
 
 PATCH: One or three? 
 
 The leetle bones is me 
 friends" 
 
 kept
 
 116 WAPP1N WHARF 
 
 DUKE: One s enough. I m talkin to yer, bones. 
 I wants sixes, sweeties. 
 
 (As he throws Betsy jostles the candle with her arm. 
 It overturns and falls. The cabin is dark. You 
 can see her run from the cabin and pass the windows 
 to the left.} 
 
 DUKE: Now yer done it! 
 
 PATCH: You is all thumbs, Betsy. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Easy, mates! It were jest an accident. 
 Betsy, fetch a seacoal from the hearth! Betsy! 
 We ain t goin ter wallop yer. Where are yer, 
 Betsy? 
 
 DARLIN : Come out o yer hidin ! 
 
 CAPTAIN: I 11 light the candle meself. 
 
 (He takes it to the fire, lights it and returns to the 
 table.} 
 
 CAPTAIN: There yer are blazin like ol Petey. 
 Yer had better sit down, Betsy. Crack me stump, 
 where is the girl? 
 
 PATCH: Kinder silly o* her ter run away. We 
 ain t never walloped her. 
 
 DUKE: Women s silly folks. I calls em ninnies. 
 It don t do no good tryin ter understand em. Now 
 then, ol lionheart, are yer ready? (He throws.} 
 Two fives ! I ve done yer, Patch. 
 
 (It is Patch s turn. He kisses the cubes.} 
 
 PATCH : Yer as sweet as honey. Tell me yer loves 
 me. Me dirk is itchin fer yer answer. Luck s a 
 lady as dotes on me. (He throws.} A pair o sixes! 
 Does yer see it, Duke? Stick yer blinkin eye right
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 117 
 
 down agin the table! It s me, Captain. (He rises 
 and draws his knife.} Joey are yer ready? 
 
 JOE: God, if I were loose I d take you by the 
 dirty gullet and twist it until you roared. I d kick 
 you off my path like a snarling cur. Of what filth 
 does nature sometimes compound a man! Shall a 
 skunk walk two-legged to infect the air? Three 
 cowards will hang on Wapping wharf before the 
 month is up. 
 
 PATCH: Are n t meanin us, are yer Joey? 
 
 JOE: And I 11 tell you more. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Ain t we listenin to yer? Yer can talk 
 spry, as Patch here has a leetle job ter do, and it s 
 nearin bed time. 
 
 DUKE: We does n t want ter sit up late and lose 
 our beauty sleep jest listenin to a speech. 
 
 JOE: A pirate takes his chance of death. You 
 guard your dirty skins by wrecking ships upon the 
 rocks. You dare not pit yourselves against a breath 
 ing victim. Like carrion-crows you sit to a vile and 
 bloated banquet. 
 
 PATCH: Tip me the wink, Captain, when yer has 
 heard enough. 
 
 JOE : Stand off, you whelp ! The King of England 
 fights in France 
 
 DUKE : Ain t yer shamed that you is not there ter 
 help? 
 
 JOE: I 11 tell you why I am not in France. I 
 swore to his majesty that I would clear his coast of 
 pirates. My plans are made. The channel is swept
 
 118 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 by gunboats. They will close in on you tomorrow 
 you and all the dirty vermin that befoul these cliffs. 
 
 DUKE: He talks so big, ye d think he was the 
 King himself. 
 
 (Everyone laughs at this. The Duke takes the cloak 
 from the chest. In derision he hangs it across Red 
 Joe s shoulders.) 
 
 DUKE : We 11 play ch rades. Here s yer costume, 
 Joey. There! It fits yer like the skin o a snake. 
 We makes yer King. Yer looks like yer was paradin 
 in St. James s park, lampin a Duchess. 
 
 PATCH: Does yer majesty need a new igh chan 
 cellor. I asks yer fer it. I wants a fine house in 
 London town, runnin ter the Strand, and peacocks 
 struttin in the garden. 
 
 CAPTAIN: King, I asks yer ter cast yer gig on me. 
 I d be a right smart Archbishop o Canterbury. Me 
 whiskers is clesiastical. 
 
 DUKE: I offers meself, King, as Lord Igh Admiral 
 o the Navy. I swears fluent. 
 
 DARLIN : Has yer a Princess vacant? I lolls 
 graceful on a throne. (The horrid creature spits.) 
 
 CAPTAIN: Vast there, me hearties! I m thinkin 
 I m hearin the sound o footsteps. 
 
 DUKE: (to Patch). Did yer lordship hear any 
 sound? 
 
 PATCH: Askin your Grice s pardon, I did n t 
 ketch a thing. Did you hear anythin , Princess? 
 
 DARLIN : There s nothin come ter me pearly 
 ears.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 119 
 
 CAPTAIN: Silence! I wants ter listen. 
 
 (No sound is heard.} 
 
 CAPTAIN: Well, Patch, yer had better get yer dirk 
 ready. I m uncommon sleepy. I wants ter get ter 
 bed. 
 
 DARLIN : Ketch him a deep one, Patch. 
 
 PATCH: I takes it mighty kind o you, Captain. 
 Yer has alers been a lovin father ter me. Joey, I 11 
 tell yer what yer are. Yer the kind o feller I hates 
 most perticerler. Yer a spy! Say yer prayers, you 
 hissin snake! 
 
 (He sharpens his dirk and gayly tests it on his whis 
 kers.} 
 
 JOE: My wasted day is done. In the tempest s 
 wrack the stars are dim and faith s the only com 
 pass. Now or hereafter, what matters it? The 
 sun will gild the meadows as of yesteryear. The 
 moon will fee the world with silver coin. And all 
 across the earth men will traffic on their little errands 
 until nature calls them home. I am a stone cast in a 
 windy pool where scarce a ripple shows. Life s but a 
 candle in the wind. Mine will not burn to socket. 
 
 DUKE : He s all wound up like a clock jest tickin 
 words. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Patch, Joe is tellin us poetical that his 
 wick has burned right down to the bottle. Yer had 
 better put it out, without more hesitatin . 
 
 (And now, as they are intent for the coming blow- 
 suddenly! quietly! a woman s hand and arm a 
 claw, rather, with long, thin, shrivelled fingers
 
 120 WAPPLN WHARF 
 
 have come in sight at the window with the broken 
 glass. 
 
 It quite terrifies me as I write. My pencil shakes. 
 Old ladies will want to scream. 
 
 The fingers grope along the silL They fumble on the 
 wall. They stretch to reach the gun which stands 
 beside the clock. Another inch and they will grasp 
 it and Red Joe will be saved. The arm rubs 
 against the pendulum of the clock. It swings and 
 the clock starts to tick. And still no one has seen 
 the terrible hand. And now the fingers are thrust 
 blindly against the gun. It falh with a clatter on 
 the stones. The hand and arm disappear. But 
 Darlin has seen the swinging pendulum and 
 shrieks.) 
 
 DUKE: Does yer see it, Captain? 
 
 PATCH: Horrers! 
 
 DUKE: It s never went since Flint was hanged. 
 
 CAPTAIN: And would n t run till his death s 
 revenged and him layin peaceful in his coffin. 
 
 PATCH: Does yer think it s grog? Does all o yer 
 see it? 
 
 DUKE: What done it? 
 
 (From the distance is heard a long-drawn whistle.) 
 
 CAPTAIN: What s that? 
 
 PATCH : It makes me jumpy. 
 
 DUKE: It ain t a night when folks whistles jest fer 
 cows and such. Finish yer job, Patch. 
 
 PATCH: Are yer feared o somethin special, 
 Duke?
 
 WAPPIW WHARF 
 
 121 
 
 DUKE: Feared? If we ain t quick, there 11 be a 
 gibbet fer all o us. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Ain t the clock tickin peaceful? 
 
 PATCH : She ain t got no right ter tick. It s like a 
 dead man talkin . 
 
 DUKE: Quick! Give me the knife! I 11 stick it in 
 him. And when I m done, we scatters. There s 
 trouble brewin . Termorrer 
 night, when the tide is out, 
 we meets at the holler cave. 
 And may the devil lend a 
 helpin hand. Snooper, are 
 yer ready? Does yer see 
 this here blade shinin in 
 the candle? In about one 
 minute I 11 be wipin off 
 a streak o red upon me 
 breeks. Flint blessin on 
 yer gentle soul! yer can 
 rest in peace! 
 
 (He approaches Joe with upraised knife. Suddenly 
 he cries out.} 
 
 DUKE: It s him the fortin-teller mentioned. It s 
 the man in a velvet cloak! 
 
 CAPTAIN: It s him! Me God! Me hook! 
 
 (With a growl of rage the pirates leap forward toward 
 Joe, but are arrested by the sound of running feet. 
 Into the cabin rushes the sailor captain, followed 
 by three sailors. The sailor captain cries " Vast 
 there!" and the pirates turn to face his men. They 
 
 I ll be wipin off a streak o red 
 upon me breeks "
 
 122 WAPPIW WHARF 
 
 put up a fight worthy of old Flint. Darlin , to 
 escape the rough-and-tumble runs half way up the 
 ladder. The table is overturned. The stools are 
 kicked across the room. Even the precious grog is 
 spilled. But the pirates valor is insufficient. 
 They are overpowered at last and tied. Red Joe s 
 cords are cut. Into the cabin Betsy comes running, 
 followed by old Meg.} 
 
 BETSY: Joe! Hal! Thank God, you are safe. 
 JOE: Margaret! 
 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN: I am the captain of the Royal 
 Harry. 
 
 JOE: Captain, I charge you to arrest these men. 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN: Yes, your Royal Highness. 
 DUKE: Royal Ighness? Did yer hear what he 
 said? 
 
 DARLIN : Ighness nothin*. He s jest a snooper. 
 (She sits on the floor, with her head on the Duke s 
 knee. She is staunch to the last a true cook for a 
 pirates band.) 
 
 JOE: You will transport them in chains to London 
 to wait their sentence by a court of law. 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN: Yes, your majesty. 
 JOE: You mistake me, Captain. My father is the 
 King of England. I am but the Prince of Wales. 
 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN: Alas, sire, we bring you heavy 
 
 news. Your Royal Father, the King of England, has 
 
 been killed, fighting gloriously on the soil of France. 
 
 JOE: Bear with me. My grief has leaped the 
 
 channel. My thought is a silent mourner at my
 
 WAPP1N WHARF 123 
 
 father s grave. Shall a King sink to the measure of a 
 mound of turf for the tread of a peasant s foot? 
 Where is now the ermine robe, the glistening crown, 
 the harness of a fighting hour, the sceptre that 
 marked the giddy office, the voice, the flashing eye 
 that stirred a coward to bravery, the iron gauntlet 
 shaking in the pallid face of France? All all covered 
 by a spadeful of country earth. Captain, has Calais 
 fallen to our army s seige? Are the French lilies 
 plucked for England s boutoniere? 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN: Calais has fallen. 
 JOE: Then God be praised even in this hard hour. 
 By heaven s help I throw off the idle practice of my 
 youth. The empty tricks and trivial habits of the 
 careless years, I renounce them all. A wind has 
 scoured the sullen clouds of youth. My past has 
 been a ragged garment, stained with heedless hours. 
 Tonight I cast it off, like a coat that is out at elbow. 
 My father henceforth lives in me. 
 
 (Meg,, at her entrance, has sniffed the wasted grog. 
 Her nose, surer than a hazel wand, inclines above 
 the hearth. She bends to the lovely puddle. She 
 employs and tastes her dripping finger covertly, 
 with mannerly regard to the Prince s rhetoric- 
 sucking in secret his good health and happy returns, 
 so to speak. The liquor warms her tongue not to 
 drunkenness, but to ease and comfort. The 
 hearth-stone is her tavern chair.} 
 MEG: (not boisterously with just a flip of her 
 trickling finger, as if it were a foaming cup). Hooray!
 
 124 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 I wants ter be the first, yer Majesty, ter swear alle 
 giance to yer throne. I saw yer future in the glass. 
 Ol Meg knowed yer, like she had rocked yer in the 
 cradle. I told yer I would come in yer hour o 
 danger. It was me reached through the winder fer 
 the gun ter save yer. It was me whistle that yer 
 heard, dearie, hurryin up the sailormen as Betsy 
 went ter fetch. 
 
 JOE: Thanks my good woman. We grant you a 
 pension for your love. 
 
 (She quests back to her pool of grog. She finds a 
 spoon. SJie sits to the delicious salvage, with back 
 against the chimney and woolen legs out-stretched. 
 Speeches to her are nothing now. We cannot 
 expect her help in winding up our play. The 
 burden falls on Joe. We must be patient through a 
 sentimental page or two. 
 
 JOE: Ha! My velvet cloak, which I left at Castle 
 Crag when I laid aside the Prince and took disguise. 
 These unintentioned ruffians by their dirty jest have 
 clothed me to my office. 
 
 SAILOR CAPTAIN: I swear my allegiance, your 
 Majesty. 
 
 JOE: I rely on my sailors to clear the coast and 
 seas. But first I want your allegiance in another high 
 concern. Some fourteen years ago, when I was a 
 lad of ten, I journeyed with my royal father to the 
 castle of the Duke of Cornwall, which stands high 
 on the wind-swept coast. Its giddy towers rise sheer 
 above the ocean until the very rooks nesting in the
 
 WAPPIW WHARF 
 
 battlements grow dizzy at the height. It is the outer 
 bastion of the world, laughing to scorn the ocean s 
 seige. 
 
 In that castle, Captain, there lived a little girl; and 
 she and I romped the sounding corridors together. 
 And once I led her to an open brasure in the steep- 
 pitched wall, and held her so that she might see the 
 waves curling on the rocks below. And tales of 
 mermaids I invented, and shipwreck and treasure 
 buried in the noisy caverns of the rock, where twice a 
 day the greedy tide goes in and out to seek its for 
 tune. And far afield we wandered and stood waist- 
 deep in the golden meadows, until the weary twilight 
 called us home. 
 
 And I remember, when tired with play, that her 
 mother sang to us an old song, a lullaby. Her voice 
 was soft, with a gentleness that only a mother knows 
 who sits with drowsy children. 
 
 And to that little girl I was betrothed. It was 
 sworn with oath and signature that some day I would 
 marry her and that, when I became king of England 
 in the revolving years, she would be its queen. 
 
 BETSY: By what miracle did you know me, Hal? 
 
 JOE: It was the song you sang. Your voice was 
 the miracle that told the secret. With unvarnished 
 speech I woo you. I love you, Margaret, and I ask 
 you to be my wife. 
 
 MEG: (faintly floating in a golden sea of grog] 
 Hooray ! 
 
 (Joe takes Betsy in his arms and kisses her.)
 
 126 WAPPIN WHARF 
 
 JOE : The magic of your lips, my dear, is the miracle 
 that answers me. My loyal sailors, I present you. 
 Margaret, Duchess of Cornwall, Countess of Devon, 
 Princess of the Western Marches, by right and title 
 possessor of all land twixt Exeter and Land s End. 
 And now, by her consent and the grace of God, the 
 wife of Harry, King of England. 
 
 CAPTAIN: Leetle Betsy, I fergives yer. 
 
 DUKE: I asks yer health, though I swings ter- 
 morrer. 
 
 PATCH: And may yer live long and appy! 
 
 DARLIN : We re lovin yer, Betsy. 
 
 BETSY: My gracious lord, for these three years 
 this cabin has been my home. These are my friends 
 the only friends I have ever known. They fed me 
 when I had no food and they kept me warm against 
 the cold. Must they hang? I ask you to pardon them. 
 
 DARLIN : Glory ter God! 
 
 JOE: The pardon is granted. Captain, strike off 
 their irons! 
 
 DARLIN : We loves yer, Betsy. 
 
 CAPTAIN: We are fonder of yer than grog and 
 singin angels. 
 
 PATCH: I thanks yer, King. 
 
 DUKE: It were jest an hour ago, settin in that 
 chair, I asks ter splice yer, Betsy, keel ter topsail. 
 The ol Duke never thought the Countess of all them 
 places, and the Queen o England, ter boot, would 
 ever be settin on his knee, pullin at his whiskers 
 him askin her ter name the appy day.
 
 WAPPIN WHARF 127 
 
 BETSY: It was a prior attachment, Duke. 
 CAPTAIN: We 11 serve yer, King, like we served oP 
 Flint. 
 
 PATCH: Top and bottom, fore and aft. 
 DUKE: We 11 brag how the King o England and 
 us has drunk grog together, and how the Queen 
 washed up the mugs. 
 
 MEG: (in a whisper). Hooray! 
 JOE: And now, Captain, lead the way. We must 
 speed to London. 
 
 BETSY: Good by, Duke. Some day you will find a 
 girl who cooks roast pig that crackles. 
 
 DUKE: A blessin , Betsy, on yer laughin eyes! 
 CAPTAIN: A health ter King Hal and his blushin 
 bride ! 
 
 ALL: King Hal! Leetle Betsy! 
 (With a wave of the hand Joe departs, and with him, 
 Betsy, who kisses her fingers to the pirates in fare 
 well. The sailors follow. The pirates and Darlin 
 are left. The pirates sit at the table. They ex 
 change glances of satisfaction. They unbutton for a 
 quiet evening at home. Kings are but an episode 
 in a pirate s life. They return to the happy routine 
 of their lives. Our adventure has circled to its start.) 
 PATCH: Darlin ! Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. 
 Yer had better mix another pot o grog. Yer does n t 
 want ter be a foolish virgin and get ketched without 
 no grog. 
 
 DARLIN : (at the fire). Yer coddles yer stomich, 
 Patch.
 
 R 
 
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 (5 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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 Our candles have burned to socket. Our pasteboard 
 cabin is bare and dark. No longer do pirate flags flaunt 
 the ghostly seas. The stormy ocean, the dizzy cliffs of 
 Devon, melt like an unsubstantial pageant. Let s put 
 away our toys the timber leg, the patch, the frightful 
 hook. Once again, despite the weary signpost of the 
 years, we have run on the laughing avenues of childhood.