plays [61]
(AS HE KNEELS AND DRAINS THE
GLASS, GAUNT ENTERS, AND HE SCRAMBLES TO HIS FEET.)
SCENE IV
TO THESE, GAUNT
GAUNT. Arethusa, this is no place for you.
ARETHUSA. No, father.
GAUNT. I wish you had been spared this sight; but look at him,
child, since you are here; look at God's image, so debased. And
you, young man (TO KIT), you have proved that I was right. Are
you the husband for this innocent maid?
KIT. Captain Gaunt, I have a word to say to you. Terror is your
last word; you're bitter hard upon poor sinners, bitter hard and
black - you that were a sinner yourself. These are not the true
colours: don't deceive yourself; you're out of your course.
[GAUNT. Heaven forbid that I should be hard, Christopher. It is
not I; it's God's law that is of iron. Think! if the blow were
to fall now, some cord to snap within you, some enemy to plunge a
knife into your heart; this room, with its poor taper light, to
vanish; this world to disappear like a drowning man into the
great ocean; and you, your brain still whirling, to be snatched
into the presence of the eternal Judge: Christopher French, what
answer would you make? For these gifts wasted, for this rich
mercy scorned, for these high-handed bravings of your better
angel, - what have you to say?
KIT. Well, sir, I want my word with you, and by your leave I'll
have it out.
ARETHUSA. Kit, for pity's sake!
KIT. Arethusa, I don't speak to you, my dear: you've got my
ring, and I know what that means. The man I speak to is Captain
Gaunt. I came to-day as happy a man as ever stepped, and with as
fair a look-out. What did you care? what was your reply? None
of your flesh and blood, you said, should lie at the mercy of a
wretch like me! Am I not flesh and blood that you should trample
on me like that? Is that charity, to stamp the hope out of a
poor soul?]
GAUNT. You speak wildly; or the devil of drink that is in you
speaks instead.
KIT. You think me drunk? well, so I am, and whose fault is it
but yours? It was I that drank; but you take your share of it,
Captain Gaunt: you it was that filled the can.
GAUNT. Christopher French, I spoke but for your good, your good
and hers. 'Woe unto him' - these are the dreadful words - 'by
whom offences shall come: it were better - ' Christopher, I can
but pray for both of us.
KIT. Prayers? Now I tell you freely, Captain Gaunt, I don't
value your prayers. Deeds are what I ask; kind deeds and words -
that's the true-blue piety: to hope the best and do the best,
and speak the kindest. As for you, you insult me to my face; and
then you'll pray for me? What's that? Insult behind my back is
what I call it! No, sir; you're out of the course; you're no
good man to my view, be you who you may.
MRS. DRAKE. O Christopher! To Captain Gaunt?
ARETHUSA. Father, father, come away!
KIT. Ah, you see? She suffers too; we all suffer. You spoke
just now of a devil; well, I'll tell you the devil you have: the
devil of judging others. And as for me, I'll get as drunk as
Bacchus.
GAUNT. Come!
SCENE V
PEW, MRS. DRAKE, KIT
PEW (COMING OUT AND WAVING HIS PIPE). Commander, shake! Hooray
for old England! If there's anything in the world that goes to
old Pew's 'art, it's argyment. Commander, you handled him like a
babby, kept the weather gauge, and hulled him every shot.
Commander, give it a name, and let that name be rum!
KIT. Ay, rum's the sailor's fancy. Mrs. Drake, a bottle and
clean glasses.
MRS. DRAKE. Kit French, I wouldn't. Think better of it, there's
a dear! And that sweet girl just gone!
PEW. Ma'am, I'm not a 'ard man; I'm not the man to up and force
a act of parleyment upon a helpless female. But you see here:
Pew's friends is sacred. Here's my friend here, a perfeck
seaman, and a man with a 'ed upon his shoulders, and a man that,
damme, I admire. He give you a order, ma'am: - march!
MRS. DRAKE. Kit, don't you listen to that blind man; he's the
devil wrote upon his face.
GLASS, GAUNT ENTERS, AND HE SCRAMBLES TO HIS FEET.)
SCENE IV
TO THESE, GAUNT
GAUNT. Arethusa, this is no place for you.
ARETHUSA. No, father.
GAUNT. I wish you had been spared this sight; but look at him,
child, since you are here; look at God's image, so debased. And
you, young man (TO KIT), you have proved that I was right. Are
you the husband for this innocent maid?
KIT. Captain Gaunt, I have a word to say to you. Terror is your
last word; you're bitter hard upon poor sinners, bitter hard and
black - you that were a sinner yourself. These are not the true
colours: don't deceive yourself; you're out of your course.
[GAUNT. Heaven forbid that I should be hard, Christopher. It is
not I; it's God's law that is of iron. Think! if the blow were
to fall now, some cord to snap within you, some enemy to plunge a
knife into your heart; this room, with its poor taper light, to
vanish; this world to disappear like a drowning man into the
great ocean; and you, your brain still whirling, to be snatched
into the presence of the eternal Judge: Christopher French, what
answer would you make? For these gifts wasted, for this rich
mercy scorned, for these high-handed bravings of your better
angel, - what have you to say?
KIT. Well, sir, I want my word with you, and by your leave I'll
have it out.
ARETHUSA. Kit, for pity's sake!
KIT. Arethusa, I don't speak to you, my dear: you've got my
ring, and I know what that means. The man I speak to is Captain
Gaunt. I came to-day as happy a man as ever stepped, and with as
fair a look-out. What did you care? what was your reply? None
of your flesh and blood, you said, should lie at the mercy of a
wretch like me! Am I not flesh and blood that you should trample
on me like that? Is that charity, to stamp the hope out of a
poor soul?]
GAUNT. You speak wildly; or the devil of drink that is in you
speaks instead.
KIT. You think me drunk? well, so I am, and whose fault is it
but yours? It was I that drank; but you take your share of it,
Captain Gaunt: you it was that filled the can.
GAUNT. Christopher French, I spoke but for your good, your good
and hers. 'Woe unto him' - these are the dreadful words - 'by
whom offences shall come: it were better - ' Christopher, I can
but pray for both of us.
KIT. Prayers? Now I tell you freely, Captain Gaunt, I don't
value your prayers. Deeds are what I ask; kind deeds and words -
that's the true-blue piety: to hope the best and do the best,
and speak the kindest. As for you, you insult me to my face; and
then you'll pray for me? What's that? Insult behind my back is
what I call it! No, sir; you're out of the course; you're no
good man to my view, be you who you may.
MRS. DRAKE. O Christopher! To Captain Gaunt?
ARETHUSA. Father, father, come away!
KIT. Ah, you see? She suffers too; we all suffer. You spoke
just now of a devil; well, I'll tell you the devil you have: the
devil of judging others. And as for me, I'll get as drunk as
Bacchus.
GAUNT. Come!
SCENE V
PEW, MRS. DRAKE, KIT
PEW (COMING OUT AND WAVING HIS PIPE). Commander, shake! Hooray
for old England! If there's anything in the world that goes to
old Pew's 'art, it's argyment. Commander, you handled him like a
babby, kept the weather gauge, and hulled him every shot.
Commander, give it a name, and let that name be rum!
KIT. Ay, rum's the sailor's fancy. Mrs. Drake, a bottle and
clean glasses.
MRS. DRAKE. Kit French, I wouldn't. Think better of it, there's
a dear! And that sweet girl just gone!
PEW. Ma'am, I'm not a 'ard man; I'm not the man to up and force
a act of parleyment upon a helpless female. But you see here:
Pew's friends is sacred. Here's my friend here, a perfeck
seaman, and a man with a 'ed upon his shoulders, and a man that,
damme, I admire. He give you a order, ma'am: - march!
MRS. DRAKE. Kit, don't you listen to that blind man; he's the
devil wrote upon his face.