University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The exterior of a small inn by the sea-coast; the Castle of Arundel at a distance; a boat drawn on the beach; a ship at anchor. The door of the inn is open, and discovers Falkner and Sailors carousing within. Before a table in front of the stage— Giles Gaussen seated. Time, forenoon.
LANDLORD
(serving Gaussen, with a flask, &c.)

If this be not the best Canaries on the coast, I give
thee leave to drown me in my own butt. But it is dull
work drinking alone, master;—wilt join the jolly
fellows within?

GAUSSEN.

No.

LANDLORD.

A bluff customer. If his reckonings be as short as

his answers, he is not likely to die in debt to his landlord.

[Exit Landlord within the inn.
GAUSSEN.

Luke should be returned ere this; Sir Maurice
would be eager eno' to see his old friend if he knew
what news in the way of shot I carry in my locker.
Humph! Sir Walter Raleigh is a great man—and
introduced tobacco! (smokes.)

SAILORS
(within).

Ha, ha!

GAUSSEN.

To the foul fiend with those drunken sailors! Had
I known what kind of guests my fat landlord harboured
I should hardly have put into this port: I hate
honest men: what right have men to be honest and
spoil other men's trade?

Enter Luke.

Ha, Luke! what says the old knight?

LUKE.

Mighty little, but he is close at my heels. He carries
back his own answer, to save porterage, I suppose.
Thou mightst well call him a miser—not a tester for
my trouble. His very face is like a board to warn
men off the premises of his breeches' pockets.

GAUSSEN.

Where are our crew?

LUKE.

Rambling through the town yonder, and picking up

stray news of what ships sail and what their cargo.
They are keen scouts.

GAUSSEN.

Go, select twelve of the stoutest; stow them away in
the sea-cave that I told thee of, below the castle yonder.
I may find work for them ere nightfall.—Hark
ye, Luke. If thou hadst done a man such wrong that
thy life lay at his mercy, what wouldst thou?

LUKE.

Take the first dark night for a spring from the bush,
and keep my knife ground.

GAUSSEN.

I like thy advice.—Hence!

[Exit Luke.
Enter Sir Maurice.
SIR MAURICE.

What, Giles Gaussen—bully Gaussen, my heart of
oak; how fares it? Why, it is ten years since we
met. I thought thou wert in another land.— (Aside)

I wish thou wert in another world. You are a little
altered—warlike wounds, eh? All for the better—
more grim, terrible, manly, and seamanlike.

GAUSSEN.

I must thank the boy whom I took out to please
thee for this gash across the brow.

SIR MAURICE.

Ugh! it is by no means a handsome keepsake, bully
Gaussen. What, then? you are quits with him. You

gave him a very large winding-sheet,—one that will not
wear out this many a day, eh?

GAUSSEN.

No; he has escaped—he lives! I saw him yesterday
—a day's journey hence. It is this which brings me
hither. I have tracked news of him. He bears another
name—Norman! He has a goodly ship of his own.
Look yonder (pointing to the ship)
. Does this news
open your purse-strings, Sir Maurice?

SIR MAURICE.

Thou traitor! Hadst thou not five hundred broad
pieces—bright, new, gold broad pieces? I recollect
the face of every one of them as if it were my own
child's;—and all, all that thou mightst never say to
me “He lives.”

GAUSSEN.

Hist!

Enter Falkner and Sailors from the inn.
FALKNER.

Yes, steady, lads, steady. The Captain will be here
anon—it is the hour he fixed. Avast there, messmate!
Thou seem'st one of our cloth. Dost want a berth
in the Royal Eliza, under the bold Captain Norman?

GAUSSEN
(aside to Sir Maurice).

Norman—you hear?

SIR MAURICE.

You serve under Captain Norman, worthy sir?—Do
you expect him soon this way, worthy sir?

FALKNER.

This instant, worthy sir! I am his lieutenant,
worthy sir. Faith, you shall drink his health.

SIR MAURICE.

Zounds, sir! what is his health to me? It is as
much as a man of my age can do to drink his own
health. This way, Gaussen; quick—tell me more—
tell me more. Good day to you, master lieutenant.

[Exeunt Sir M. and Gaussen.
FALKNER.

Good day to you both—and an ill wind go with you!
By the Lord, messmates, a man who refuses to drink,
without a satisfactory explanation, is to my mind a
very suspicious character.

SAILOR.

Hurrah for the Captain! hurrah!

Enter Norman.
NORMAN.

Well met, lads! beshrew me but the sound of your
jolly welcome is the merriest music I've heard since
we parted. Have ye spent all your doubloons?

FIRST SAILOR.

Pretty nearly, Captain.

NORMAN.

That's right—we shall be all the lighter in sailing!
Away to the town—and get rid of these pieces for me.
Off; but be back an hour before sunset.

[Exeunt Sailors.
What should I do with all this prize-money
If it were not for those brave fellows?—faith,
They take a world of trouble off one's hands!
How fares it, Falkner?—thou hast seen thy home?—
All well?—

FALKNER.
All well! my poor old father, bless him,
Had known reverse—he tills another's land,
And crops had fail'd. Oh, man, I was so happy
To pour my Indian gold into his lap,
And cry “Your sailor son has come to drive
Want from his father's door!”

NORMAN.
That hour were worth
A life of toil!—well, and thy mother?—I
Have never known one—but I love to see
A man's eyes moisten and his colour change
When on his lips lingers the sweet name “MOTHER!”
Thy mother bless'd thee!

FALKNER.
Scarce with words;—but tears
And lifted hands, and lips that smiled dear thanks
To the protecting Heaven—these bless'd me!

NORMAN.
Friend,
I envy thee!—

FALKNER.
Eno' of me—now for thyself, what news?
Thy Floweret of the West—thy fair betroth'd—
The maid we rescued from the Afric corsair
With her brave father—in the Indian seas—
Thou'st seen her?—

NORMAN.
No!—I had more wisely, saved
My time and speed. Her sire is dead—the stranger
Sits at his hearth; and with her next of kin
Hard by this spot—this very spot—dear Falkner,
My Violet dwells: look where the sunlight gilds
The time-worn towers of stately Arundel—
Thither my steps are bound;—a happy chance
Our trysting-place should have been chosen here!—
I'd not have gone one bowshot from the path
That leads my soul to bask in Violet's eyes—
No, not for all the lands my journey traversed.
Nor—what is more—for the best ship that ever
Bore the plumed Victory o'er the joyous main.

[Going out.
FALKNER.
Hold—but the priest, thy foster-father, Onslow—
Hast thou sought him?

NORMAN.
Thou dear old man, forgive me!
I do believe as whirlpools to the sea
Love is to life!—Since first I leapt on land
I have had no thought—no dream—no fear—no hope
Which the absorbing waves of one strong passion
Have not engulphed!—Wilt serve me Falkner?—Bear
This letter to the priest—the place inscribed
Scarce two hours' journey hence;—say I will seek him
Perchance this night—if not, the morrow's dawn.
Let all good news be glad upon thy tongue—
How I am well—strong—gay—how every night—
Mark—tell him this—(good men at home are apt
To judge us seamen harshly)—every night
On the far seas his foster-son recall'd
The words he taught my infant lips,—and pray'd
Blessings on that grey head.

FALKNER.
I'll do thy bidding.

NORMAN.
So now to Violet.

FALKNER.
Hark!—thy men are true—
Thy ship at hand: if she say “ay”—hoist sail,
Off with the prize. I prithee, is she rich?—

NORMAN.
Her sire died poor—thank Heaven, she is not rich!

FALKNER.
I'm glad to hear it—Had she lands and beeves,
And gold, you might forswear the sea.

NORMAN.
The sea!
No—not for Beauty's self! the glorious sea—
Where England grasps the trident of a god,
And every breeze pays homage to her flag,
And every wave hears Neptune's choral nymphs
Hymn with immortal music England's name!—
Forswear the sea! My bark shall be our home;—
The gale shall chaunt our bridal melodies;—
The stars that light the angel palaces
Of air, our lamps;—our floors the crystal deep
Studded with sapphires sparkling as we pass;—
Our roof—all Heaven!—my Beautiful, my Own!
Never did sail more gladly glide to port
Than I to thee! my anchor in thy faith,
And in thine eyes my haven.—
Farewell, Falkner.

[Exeunt Norman and Falkner at opposite sides.