 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
169
FIREARMS
- Characters: Mrs. Houston
- Georgiana, her daughter
- A Federal Lieutenant
- Uncle Mote, a former slave of the Houstons
Scene: Entrance hall of Houston House in the State of Kentucky. Large doorway, center, opening on a pillared verandah, visible in part from hall through large window to left of door. Colonial stairway to right, a doorway back and beyond stairway leading to dining-room, etc. Another doorway, left, leading to drawing-room. As the curtain rises enter from drawing-room Mrs. Houston, Georgiana, and Uncle Mote, all three very much agitated; the old negro gesticulating and explaining vehemently:
Mote:
Yass 'um; Miss' Sally, dey's dun fotched 'um all—
Tuh de las' hoss; an' ebery pig and keow—
Dey neber lef' us one ob all dat herd.
Ut's a-gwine to break dis here ole nigger's heart:
Ut's almos' broke ut now, indeed ut has.
Ole Bess wuz de las'—de las' keow; she's de las'—
De las' ob twenty head.—Hit ain't no use!
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An', an'—kill a pa'cel o' Yankeemen; Ah c'u'd;
If Ah jus' had a gun!—Gimme a gun, Miss Sally!
Gimme a gun, er pistul—anythin'—
An'—an'—Ah 'ull show 'um.
Mrs. Houston
(greatly distressed):
Cows and horses gone!
Oh, what shall we do, Georgiana, what shall we do?
Georgiana
(desperately):
I wish there were a gun about the place
I'd bushwhack them—at least I'd get revenge
On one or two. A pistol'd do.
Mote
(eagerly):
Yass 'um. Dat's hit!
Georgiana:
They're bad as Sherman's men. Insulting hounds!—
Robbers of women!
Mrs. Houston:
Thieves! hateful thieves and bandits!—Georgiana,
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Or cow to milk!—All gone you say, Mote?—gone?
Mote
(with tears in his voice):
Yass 'um, Miss' Sally, nary a one wuz lef'.
Georgiana
(more desperately than before):
I wish I were a man! Oh to be a man!
To face these cowards that make war on women!
Military footsteps are heard on the verandah, and the jingle of accoutrements. Old Mote hurries to the window, peers out cautiously, and then hurries back to Mrs. Houston and Georgiana, who have remained in the background, near the stairway, whither they fled at the sound of soldiers' approach.
Mote
(huskily):
Dey's dar, Miss' Sally; an' de Cap'un's wid 'um.—
Yuh'd better hide yuhself. No tellin' now
Whut's hup. De Cap'un-man is wid 'um.
Georgiana
(despairingly):
More shame! disgrace!—Oh, God! were I a man!
Mrs. Houston
(weepingly):
Another outrage! Not a day goes by
But that some new affront or insult's offered.
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Mrs. Houston
(breathlessly):
What can they want now! oh, what can they want?
Georgiana
(still desperately):
To be a man! to be a man right now!
Armed with some sort of weapon.—I would give
My soul. ...
The door is flung violently open and a Lieutenant, with a squad of Federal soldiers in soiled uniforms, is discovered in the doorway. The Lieutenant is a man of about five and twenty, of an assured military bearing, and a handsome manner. Saluting he advances unsmilingly towards the two ladies, his soldiers filling the doorway.
Lieutenant
(courteously):
I might have knocked again.
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(scornfully):
And why?
You could not enter here except by force.
You overwhelm us with your courtesies.
Mrs. Houston
(very rapidly):
'T is not enough that you have robbed us, sir,
But you must march your ruffians to our door,
And through our house perhaps. Is't not sufficient
That you have stripped our barns and pastures of
The last of all our herds? Needs must you now
Add outrage unto outrage; insult to injury?
Why have you come here? and are twenty men
Required for the arresting of two women?
This must be Yankee bravery.
Lieutenant
(courteously):
Pardon, Madam!
Georgiana
(interrupting him furiously):
Pardon indeed!—When thieves and thugs win pardon
For deeds like yours, honor will be a name,
And honesty a by-word. Why are you here?
And back of you these bristling bayonets?
Are we then spies? and would you hang us now?
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As Sherman does in Georgia? What would you here?
Lieutenant
(quietly, half smilingly):
I was about to tell you when I entered.
No outrage is intended, and no insult.
I have received my orders from Headquarters
To search out firearms in this rebel district.
And disinfect it, as it were, of danger.
I'll to the point, however: Weapons, firearms,
Whatever arms you have, or great or small,
Must be delivered up.
Georgiana
(scornfully):
And, pray sir, why?
We are but women. Two against an army.
You seem to think that we are dangerous.
Lieutenant
(calmly):
You are notorious rebels. This is war.
The country all about us here is hostile.
Our sentinels are ambushed in the night.
We have lost many men through such guerillas.
Therefore the Government has issued orders:
“Where any are suspect their homes be searched
And weapons seized, and they, when they are men,
Imprisoned.”—It is known that you have housed
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To search your house unless you willingly
Give up all firearms that you have concealed.—
This I regret. But I obey my orders.
Mrs. Houston
(plaintively):
Have we not had indignities enough
This year from you invaders? Grief, distress
Of mind and body too in death and loss.
My son slain there at Gettysburg: my husband
Wounded,—in prison: then our property
Even to our last cow confiscated.—Now
You would invade our home.
Lieutenant:
'T is hard. But such is war.
Georgiana
(defiantly):
War?—Yes!—But must you level war on women?
If we had arms we might protect ourselves.
But we have none, only our hands,—and hearts,
That build a bulwark 'gainst you. Were I a man
I would wipe out this insult with a sword,
Or die in trying to. Even now, had I a weapon,
I would resist you. But we have no arms.
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(firmly, but courteously):
So much the better since you are for war.
Yet I must search the house to prove it true.
Beckons to the corporal at the door, who, with several men, enters the hall, saluting the Lieutenant, and stands awaiting orders.
Mrs. Houston
(in tears):
We're only women. We can not resist.
Insult us as you please, or slay us here.
Might makes for right. We're helpless to withstand
The many that are back of you. Indignities
We have grown used to, as one may become
Accustomed to diseases when prolonged.—
This man will search our house, you heard, Georgiana?
Georgiana
(impatiently):
I heard him, mother. (To the Lieutenant):
Will you take my word
We have no firearms here, concealed or unconcealed?
Lieutenant
(suavely):
I would not doubt your word, but I must see.
Georgiana
(with sarcasm):
Why not proclaim me liar and be done?
Your very words have put a doubt on truth.—
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The only ones I know of, we may have.
They may be useful to you. As for us—
They're ancient implements we do not need;
Therefore 't is folly to keep them.—I will fetch them
If you'll permit me, and will order these
(Indicating the corporal and his men)
To quit the house. I will deliver all
That I can find, and with them your dismissal.
Lieutenant:
I ask no more. 'T is all that I require.
And I shall thank you, madam, and remove
The cause of this contention.
Georgiana
(scornfully):
You are kind.
(To old Mote who has been hesitating in the background during this colloquy):
Come with me, Mote. I need a little assistance.
(To Lieutenant, as she is about to ascend the stairway respectfully followed by the old darkey):
Give me your word of honor as a man
And officer that you will quit this house
And with you all these raiders.
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(smiling):
If the arms,—
All that you have,—are here delivered me,
I pledge myself as officer and gentleman
Immediately to remove from you the cause
Of your disturbance.
Georgiana
(ironically):
You are kind indeed!
(To Mrs. Houston):
Now, mother, you must calm yourself. You've heard
Him name himself a gentleman. No harm
Will come to any woman from a man,
Even a Yankee, who's a gentleman.
(Exit with Mote up stairway.)
Mrs. Houston
(bewildered):
That we have firearms in the house is more
Than I can understand. Who brought them here?
Georgiana says they're here, and she must know.
But 't is bewildering. I knew of none.
Lieutenant
(affably):
Believe me, madam, I am very sorry
That we have so distressed you. I would rather
Be friends than enemies with Houston House,
Famed for its hospitality throughout the State.
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Unfriendliness is breeder of suspicion,
And all suspects are subject to intrusion.
Mrs. Houston:
But, sir, we have not entertained a Southern soldier
For months. We have not, to my certain knowledge,
A firearm on the place. It is our Cause,
I fear, that's our offence, and your excuse
For this intrusion. Georgiana now,
Unless I am mistaken, will discover
Nothing that you demand. A young girl's pride
In that which she holds sacred, which she'd keep
From desecration, has devised a ruse.
But then she may have at some time discovered,
There in the attic, gun or old horse-pistol,
Useless and harmless now. We had a flintlock
And powder-horn, both relics of old days,—
'T was said they once belonged to Daniel Boone,—
Hung up there o'er the doorway to that room
Upon those antlers, but they disappeared
Some months ago and with them a young slave.
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With him, our runaway.—We are not now
What once we were. The war has taken much,
And will take all, perhaps, before it end.
Lieutenant
(sympathetically):
War is not kind to any. Least of all
To women, who must stay at home and brood.
War is not kind to women's hearts, dear lady.
Men glory in war, and to them all the glory. ...
The mothers and the sweethearts have to bear
The heavier burden—sorrow and despair.
They sit or busy themselves at home and wait
For tidings of their loved ones: battles fought,
Or battles to be fought. Anxiety
Sits with them or goes at their side forever.
The pathos of it! In the bivouac
Or battle men know nothing at all of this.
The eyes of danger lure them on to deeds
And death perhaps; and deprivations only
Turn their male thoughts to home and wife and sweetheart,
And comforts that they miss. But at the bugle
Their hearts are fire again with dreams of battle,
And victory, bright in a cloud of banners,
And smoke of cannon, glittering ranks of steel,
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War is not kind, war is not kind to women.
Why have I spoken words like these to you?—
Perhaps because I have a mother and sister.—
But here's your daughter.
(Enter Georgiana on the stairway, followed by Mote, both of them fairly loaded down with a miscellaneous collection of hearth utensils: such as andirons, fire-tongs, ash-shovels, pokers, etc.)
Georgiana
(advancing rapidly and defiantly, with flushed face and flashing eyes, clashing her armful of iron and brass down at the feet of the Lieutenant):
Here are your firearms!
There! take them all away. We have no others.—
Now quit our house.—
(Old Mote advances chuckling and deposits his armful carefully on top of Georgiana's.)
Mote
(grinning):
An' dar's de rest un 'um.
Lieutenant
(astonished; then reddening with confusion at the smiles of his soldiers):
What's this?—your firearms, madam?—True!—
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They might prove deadly weapons in desperate hands.
Mrs. Houston
(who has begun to like the young Lieutenant since her tête-à-tête with him a moment ago):
Why, Georgiana! child, how could you?
Georgiana
(still defiant):
Well!
He said he wanted them, and there they are.
They are the only firearms that we have.
Now let him take them, all of them away,
And himself too.—All we desire is peace.
Lieutenant
(smiling, mockery and admiration in his face):
Indeed! an iron argument for peace, dear lady.—
But, pray you, now retain your arms. And let
Peace be declared between us.
(Turning to his amused squad):
Attention. Face.
Salute the ladies. Right about. March.
(Exit bowing.)
Mrs. Houston
(forlornly; while old Mote, exploding with laughter, retires by doorway, center):
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And he so kind.
Georgiana
(surprised at her mother's tone):
So kind?—And do you call it kindness
To force your way, with arms, into our house,
And search out reasons to confirm suspicions?
I call it outrage! Never call it kindness.—
(A little mollified):
I hope we've seen the last of him and all
Who wear his hateful uniform.—Oh dear!
Mrs. Houston
(in a gentle voice):
He had his orders, Georgiana, dear.
You must not blame him too much. War's at fault.
Georgiana
(suddenly despondent):
I do not blame him, mother. He was nice.
But that he should come prying here awoke
A rage in me I can not understand.
If it had been another man, why, I—
Would not have cared at all. But he aroused
An angry opposition here in me
I can not well explain. I'd rather have died
Than let him search the house.—Oh, I am tired
Of this long war.—When will it end? oh, when!
The grief, the heartbreak of it all! the waiting,
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Mother, he, too, is young; may have a sister,
A sweetheart, maybe. And he may be killed,
Next week, to-night.—Oh, mother, war's so cruel.—
I am unhappy, mother, so unhappy.
Mrs. Houston
(taking her soothingly into her arms):
There, there, my child! my little Georgiana!
Have patience yet awhile. We must be brave.
And trust in God. All will come right with time.
Georgiana
(sighing):
He had kind eyes; and when he smiled I thought
He looked like brother. Had he come to us
In any way but this, I could have—liked him.
But he is gone now, never to return.
War is so cruel, mother, Love unkind.
Curtain
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