University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—The Vicinity of the Shore.
Enter Wolf and Norris, meeting.
Nor.
Wolf!

Wolf.
Norris!

Nor.
For the shore?

Wolf.
Yes.

Nor.
Whence I've come.
In my o'er-haste, what think you I forgot?
My wrecker's gear! I left them all behind?
My hatchet, boat-hook, grapple, e'en my knife!

[Going.
Wolf.
[Stopping him.]
Tarry a while! Take breath! Your knife and axe,
Boat-hook and grapple, are not needed yet.
'Tis but the first of flood. Until the tide
Shall lift her o'er the outer bank, she'll hold
Together. Tarry here and look at her!
I have heard of fine sights; ay, and seen them too!
Now what's the finest sight a man can see?

Nor.
The finest sight?—a ship that, caught in a bay
Like ours, ten miles and more from any town;
A black sky, a white water, and a shore
All iron-bound, and boiling round with breakers!
No sight like that for me! What tonnage is she?

Wolf.
Four hundred and above. I know a ship,
And not so large a one, you had rather were
Aground than she.

Nor.
I know the ship you mean:
She left the bay at noon. You're right! I hate
That ship! I hate her for the sake of one
She carries. Were my father in that ship,
I'd laugh to see her drown!—One whom they call
A good young man—only another name
For a limb of the devil! No young man can be good!
We are young, and know we not what we are?—Good!
What should make others better?—Better natures?
There's no such thing!—All mankind are the same;
Circumstance makes the difference. Circumstance
Is not the man! Had I that fair-skinn'd girl,
Old Robert's daughter!—her of the dainty limb,
Round swelling form, and dimpled lady-cheek—
Had I that girl for messmate, or could have,
You'd see how soon I'd grow a good young man,—
Though devil at the bottom, still—as he!

Wolf.
You fancy her.—Why not make up to her?

Nor.
I told you, now, the sight which most I love.
Wouldst learn the sight which most I hate? Thou shalt.
The show of good, in man or woman,—but,
In woman most.—That's strange!—I hate the sight
Of a modest woman! 'Tis an eyesore to me!
I never look on one, but straight I fall
To gazing on myself! and then I writhe,
At thought of what I am, and what she seems;
Until I seem, unto myself, a beast!—
Yea, a brute beast!—and stand like one before her,
Gazing, and stupid,—dumb!

Wolf.
'Tis strange!

Nor.
It is.
I have tried to court her—have accosted her,
But ever, as that lady-cheek of hers
She has turn'd to me, my speech has fail'd me, and
I've stood stock-still, confounded at myself;
And like a chid cur, slunk at last away!
Strange! that the only show of goodness should
So daunt a bold man, that he dares not do
The thing he dares to wish!

Wolf.
You mean her fair?

Nor.
I do! but e'en for fair ends cannot take
Fair means;—as smiling, speaking pretty things,
Pretty behaviour, creeping inch by inch!
I'd have her at a bound! That's not the way
She would be won. With opportunity
I'd woo her though.

Wolf.
What do you mean?

Nor.
No matter.
'Tis said they'll marry when this trip is done.
Now would old Robert take a sail, and leave
The girl alone, I'd promise him, that's gone
A merry wedding when his ship comes back.
How goes it on in the bay? She has moved methinks
Since last we look'd.

Wolf.
She will not clear the bank
Before high water, or about it.

Nor.
And
The storm you see holds on! A lovelier
Never yet broke a stranded vessel up!
And plenty on't! 'Twill last till midnight.—Black
As it can look, and right in the wind's eye!
Ay, steady that!—How slow the tide comes in,
And yet the wind to help it! O'er the bank
And on the rough ground, she'll not hold together
The quarter of an hour! I'll be prepared.
Tell them I'm coming! They'll be sure to give
A wide berth to the reef!

Wolf.
I will.

Nor.
Make haste!

[They go out severally.

SCENE II.

—The Sea-shore. Thunder, Lightning, and Wind.
Enter Marian.
Mari.
I cannot light on him, and not a soul
I pass'd but I have question'd!—Where is he?
My brain will burst!—a horrible oppression
Hangs on my heart, foreboding, sure, of ill!
Like what I felt, that day my mother died!
I hear—I see—
Things that I should not—Forms are flitting by me!
Voices are in mine ears, as if of things
That are—and yet I know are not!—Each step
I fear to tumble o'er the body of
Some drownéd man!—There's one!—A heap of weeds!
O what wild work do fear and fancy make!
Did some one cry?—Well?—What?—Where are you?—No!
'Tis nobody! What is't that still keeps up
This moaning in my ears, as if of words
Utter'd in agony? 'Tis not the sea!
'Tis not the wind!—I hear them both. 'Tis not
The wreckers on the shore!—They utter nought
But sounds of gladness. 'Tis not the ship!—She's out
Of hearing. Am I growing mad?—What spot
Is this I stand upon?—What brought me here?
'Tis here they say a girl one time went mad,
Seeing a murder done!—she was in quest
Of her brother; and she saw a scuffle, and
Approach'd the struggling men, just as the one
Did cast the other down. Although 'twas night,
She saw a knife gleam in the lifted hand
Of the uppermost! She tried to call—so she said,
When reason did at last return—but power
Of utterance was gone. Thrice it descended,
With a dull, griding sound;—and then, a voice,
Which stabb'd her heart and brain, exclaim'd—“He's dead!”
It was her brother's voice. 'Tis strange that fear
Should be a thing almost as strong as death!
Should shut the lips up—and deprive the limbs
Of motion!—Yet have I a feeling how
The thing may come to pass. The girl alone—
The men upon the ground—one 'bove the other—
The knife in his uplifted hand—it falls!
I feel myself a sense of choking; and
My feet do seem to cleave unto the ground.
My tongue doth stiffen!—Ha!— [Shrieks.]
—I have broke the spell!
I'm by myself!—Another minute,—not
The girl more mad than I!—They are gone!—All gone!
The earth, and air, so thick awhile ago,
With things that neither earth nor air do own,
Are empty now! Mine ears, and eyes, take note
Of nothing but what is—the booming sea—
The yelling wind—the rattling shingles, as
The waves do roll them up and down again;
And back my wand'ring thoughts return, to that
Which brought me 'midst their uproar—to persuade
My poor, misguided father to return
And from his lawless work restrain his hands.
I have traversed all the westward shore in vain,
I'll search the eastward now.
[Starts again at the same heap of weeds.
Not yet myself!—
'Tis the same heap of weeds I saw before!

[Goes out.

SCENE III.

—Another Part of the Shore.
Enter Robert, followed by Norris.
Nor.
Old Robert!—Hoa!—Stop!—Art afraid of me?

Rob.
I never fear'd a man.

Nor.
Why shun me then?

Rob.
I like thee not.

Nor.
“Two of a trade!” Is't so?
Well! I'm the luckiest wrecker of you all.
I cannot help it! Fortune bear the blame!
That has her favourites, as all men know
She has long made one of me! Is it right to hate
A man for his good luck?

Rob.
It isn't that.

Nor.
It isn't that!—What else?—What can you say
Against me else? A splinter'd spar the waves
Do throw to you—a lockfast chest to me!
To me the breakers slue the captain in;
Mate—passenger from the Indies, West or East.
A foremast man to you—you know 'tis so,
And like the rest, do bear me envy; most
Unlike a man! But fortune ever turns
The evil you do wish me, into good.
I have no partner in my gains—what comes
To hand is all my own! “Afraid of me!”
I said it but in sport. I know you're not
Afraid of me, or any other man,
Or anything!—Have I not seen you leap
Into a boiling sea, to save a wretch
When his boat founder'd! 'Twas a feat I doubt
If any other of the craft would do!
Wilt go, or tarry? Nay, there's time enough;
She holds together yet. There's lots of time.
What speed didst come when drove the last on shore?

Rob.
Some coils of cordage; and a spar or two.

Nor.
What then did fortune, think you, throw to me?

Rob.
I cannot tell.

Nor.
One hundred guineas, all
But one, lapp'd here and there, in various coin,
In the heavy vest and trowsers of a man—
I mean, a body—that was wash'd ashore.
Here's one of them.

Rob.
A broad doubloon.

Nor.
How much
Brought you your spars and cordage? How I laugh'd
To see you, heavy laden, toiling home
With a few crowns' worth, and I going light
With a good hundred guineas, all but one!
And you don't like me!—Why?—I'm a rough man;
And low'ring as they say!—but has all fruit
A fair outside? How ill-favour'd a one
A walnut has—a chestnut—cocoa-nut!
And yet how sweet within!—Yea there is milk
Within the cocoa-nut!—You never know
Some men by their outsides!—Prove them, and then
You'll know them. Here's another piece more broad,
And heavy than the first. Know you the coin?

Rob.
No!—it is strange to me.

Nor.
Examine it.
There's something now that I would be about;
Yet know not what it is!—Ne'er heed! The devil
Will prompt me when 'tis time!

[Aside.
Rob.
I cannot tell
The coin.

Nor.
Here; take a look at this.

Rob.
Another!

Nor.
Ay!—Will you believe me now?

Rob.
Black Norris, you're
A lucky man!

Nor.
“Black Norris!” Well!—it is
My nick-name. You may give it me—more black
May go by fairer name!

Rob.
I meant no harm.

Nor.
I know you didn't'!—There's none! I tell you what—
There's not a man of all the crew, but one,
I do not hate. The best were first to peach,
When my old father, seven long years ago,
Did something which he could not do by law;
And was transported, for the lack of learning.
He didn't know 'twas wrong!—Well, as I said,
I hate them all, but one! and which is he?—
Yourself—I say no more!—Believe it, or
Believe it not!

Rob.
Nay, rather I'd believe it.
I never thought before, you were so frank.

Nor.
How could you think?—Grew samphire on yon cliff,
Who'd know't, if no one went to seek it there?
You keep aloof, and—strange!—you know me not!
You, none of you, consort with me, except
Young Wolf, another hang-dog, as they say.
He's a wrong'd man, and so am I—we are friends;
For common wrongs make friends of those that share them.

Rob.
'Tis natural.

Nor.
'Tis right!—as common fortunes,
So likewise doth a common vein, make friends,
My greatest enemy allows me brave!
I cared for thee no more than I did care
For any other of the churlish set;
But, when I saw thee venture thy own life,
With ten to one against thee, for that man,
I took a liking to thee!—That, you may
Believe, or not, as well as the other.

Rob.
Nay,
But I believe it.

Nor.
You can do no good
To me!—I have nothing to get by you!

Rob.
Nothing!

Nor.
Have I not? What a silly adage that
About old birds and chaff!

[Aside.
Rob.
Here—here's thy gold.

Nor.
Nay, keep it, an thou wilt.

Rob.
Not so, good Norris.

Nor.
A rare bird I, to turn from black to white!
[Aside.
Why, I believe you're right; 'Tis doubtful gain,
To keep a thing that's not one's own! The ship
Is now on the rough ground!—How fair she lies!—
Her broadside to the sea, that not a wave
But tells upon her!—What a cloud of surf
Keeps flying over her!—Look!—There's a sea!
'Twill take her right a-midships—Hurra!—Hurra!—
She has parted in the waist!—Old Robert, where
The use of words, when man can talk by deeds!
Yon reef you know is mine—they call it mine,
Because I make it mine—So far it runs
Into the bay, it makes a kind of eddy,
Whose swirl doth sweep all kinds of lumber in
That come within its reach—as prove my gains;
'Tis thine to-day! Go try thy luck upon it.
I'll help thee, if thou need'st—but not to touch
A stiver, though ten bodies should float in,
With pockets cramm'd with gold. There's something! haste!
The waves do snatch as readily as give.
The tide is on the turn—the shore doth shelve
A foot in every nine!

Rob.
I thank thee, Norris.

Nor.
Off to the reef—Have cause, and thank me then!
[Robert goes out hastily.
It is a body that is wash'd ashore!
I'd know it at twice the distance. A fine torch
The lightning! Rain will never put it out!
A body!—I begin to see it now.
Yes, it is done!

Wolf.
[Entering.]
Well, Norris!

Nor.
All is well.
Run to the nearest group of wreckers,—say
You saw old Robert stooping o'er a body—
That you suspect foul play—and bring them to
The reef. He's there—but hold—not quite so fast;
Let me have time to join him.—Go!—don't say
That I am there. Now, pretty Marian,
[Wolf goes out.
Sure as thy lover is this hour at sea,
Thy father takes a trip, and follows him.
Bide there my tackle! I had best go bare!

[Puts his boat-hook, &c., behind a rock, and goes out.

SCENE IV.

The Shore close to the Sea.
Enter Robert, dragging in a body.—Marian in the distance, slowly coming down a path cut out of the cliff—Norris behind a rock, from which he looks, occasionally.
Rob.
The surge won't reach thee there! I warrant me
No fear thou'lt go to it. Thy last—last draught,
In this world, hath it given thee—a cold,
Unwelcome one! Safe bide thou there! The waves
Are in a giving mood! I'd be at hand
To profit by their bounty. I did think
Some one was near me! Fancy!—How it lightens!

[Goes out.
Enter Marian.
Mari.
The storm distracts me with its din! This roar,
This never-ending roar, which round and round,
The heavens keep up!—in which the surges join,
As though the thunder were not loud enough!
No sign, yet, of my father! What with fears
For him, and terror of the tempest, I'm
Bewilder'd! Let me try and look, above,
Beyond the clouds—beyond the stars! No storm
Is there! no wreck!—no raging sea!—no thunder!
But calm, and warmth, and brightness, as befits
The dwellings of the blest!—My mother's there!
O, my poor father! Here's the storm again!
Sea, thunder, lightning—all come back again!

Re-enter Robert.
Rob.
I have lost my knife! Methinks I dropp'd it here!
[Sees Marian.
What's that!—Is it a mortal thing? It makes
My spirit faint within me!—'Tis the form
Of my lost Marian!—Even so she stood
In the storm wherein her life was cast away!
Can she not lie in her grave for me?—Do my sins
Break on her last rest, there, and call her thence?
I sent her thither—on such nights as this
I have often look'd about me with a thought
That she was near me. There at last she is!
It is my Marian risen from her grave!
She comes to me!—O powers of grace, preserve me!

[Kneels.
Mari.
The strength of Heaven!—To see it, yet not feel it!
Within its reach to do what it forbids!
And it in anger!—see the weapons of
Its wrath in motion—feel the earth shake at them!
And never pay it awe!—stand up to it!
Defy it!—'stead of falling on one's knees,
And asking it for mercy.

Rob.
Mercy.

Mari.
Ha!
My father!

Rob.
Marian!

Mari.
On thy knees!—That's right—
Fear not! Thou dost Heaven's bidding!—Do not rise
Until thou risest with its blesséd pardon!

Rob.
[Rising.]
What brought thee here, my child? Thou ne'er before
Cam'st after me.

Mari.
I came to look for thee;
And to persuade thee to come home with me.
Thou tremblest—Thou art pale—as livid as
The lightning! Dost thou hear? 'Tis everywhere!
Not the clouds only, but the very air—
The very sea—the very earth—do thunder!
All—all is din and fire! It is right
For man to tremble!

Rob.
'Tis not that!

Mari.
What then?

Rob.
I took thee for thy mother, Marian!

Mari.
Think me her still, and what she'd have thee do,
Do, by the love thou bearest to her, still!
Forswear this lawless life!—Thou wouldst not rob
A living man!—'Tis manlier to strip
The living, than the dead!

Rob.
This night 's the last!

Mari.
This night!—O, no!—The last night be the last!
Who makes his mind up that a thing is wrong,
Yet says he'll do that thing for the last time,
Commences but anew a course of sin,
Of which that last sin is the leading one,
Which many another, and a worse, will follow!
At once begin! How many, at this hour,
Alive as thou art, will not live to see
To-morrow's light!—If thou shouldst be cut off!
Should thy last sin be done, on thy last night!
Should Heaven avenge itself on that last sin
Thou dost repentingly!—my father, come!—
O! a bad conscience, and a sudden death!
Come home!—Come home!—Come home!

Rob.
I'll follow thee.
I'll fetch my boat-hook, and my other gear,
And follow thee.

Mari.
I'll loiter till you come.
I'll rest upon yon rock, and wait for thee;
For what with cares for thee, and terror of
The storm, I'm almost sped!

Enter Norris, cautiously.
Nor.
Now is the time!—Now! while her back's to me.
Is he dead? There's warmth, methinks, about the heart,
More than there should be! 'Tis no matter!—Cowards
May stick at trifles!—Can I find a stone
To knock him on the head?—What's this?—A knife!
'Tis Robert's!

Mari.
[Re-appearing and ascending the cliff.]
What's that you are doing, father?

Nor.
She takes me for her father!—Good! She'll see
What I do, and think it is her father does it,
And when 'tis done, so will I slink away,
She can't discover her mistake!—Now for it!
[He plunges the knife into the body—Marian utters a faint shriek, and falls senseless.
She saw it! Marian 's in my power! She's mine!
What next?—Quick work, and sure!—When he returns,
His daughter out of sight, he'll search the corpse;
Discover'd in the act, the nail is clinch'd!
But other witnesses are needed.—I
Were better out of sight. Wolf is at hand,
Nor yet alone. I'll speed to him and give him
His cue, and he and they will soon be here.

[Goes out.
Rob.
[Re-entering.]
To leave it there!
And the last time! Where's Marian?—Out of sight!
The pockets may be full!—Why did I quit them
Unsearch'd, in greediness for other prey?—
Not now too late! I'm all alone!—A minute
Will serve to rifle them! I were a fool
To leave to others, what of right is mine!
[Goes to the body, and empties one pocket.
What have we here? Some of the bright broad pieces
Black Norris show'd me! What a madness 'twere
To leave them in the pockets of the dead,
And let the living go with empty ones!
I'll count them by-and-by!—And this is full!
[Empties the other pocket.
I'll ease it of its burthen!—Gold! All gold!
Whence comes that glare? Ha!—'Tis the beacon struck
By the lightning, and on fire!

Enter suddenly Wolf, Ambrose, and others; led by Norris.
Amb.
What do you there,
Old Robert?

Rob.
Nothing that I fear to do.

Amb.
What hold you in your hand?

Rob.
Gold!

Amb.
Gold?

Rob.
Ay, gold!

Wolf.
Let's look at the body!—Ha!—What's here—A knife?

Rob.
My knife!

Amb.
Your knife? Why, Robert, it is sticking
In the dead man's breast!

Wolf.
Pull out the knife!

Amb.
'Tis Robert's knife!—How came this, Robert?
See;—he cannot speak!

Phil.
[Descending the cliff.]
What's here?—A woman!—Is she dead?
[Lifts Marian.
'Tis Marian!
She breathes! She's stunn'd; that's all! 'Tis well the ledge
Preserved her from the bottom! She must needs
Have miss'd her footing.

Wolf.
Swoon'd, as likely, at
The sight of what her father did.

[Marian, recovering consciousness, descends, supported by Philip, who brings her towards her father.
Rob.
[Restored to collectedness at sight of his daughter.]
My Marian!

Wolf.
You see she swoons again.
The sight of him recalls the deed of blood!

Rob.
My Marian!

Wolf.
Hold him fast!
Help Norris, while he takes him to his hut;
I'll help you too!

Rob.
My Marian!

Wolf.
She swoons
Away again.

Rob.
Let me go, friends!—I'm innocent! For the love
Of Heaven, don't drag me from my child! I'm innocent!
Marian! My Marian! My Marian!
I'm an old man, lads! Use me gently! No!
Don't drag me from my child!—I'm innocent!
My Marian! My Marian! My Marian!

[They force Robert away, leaving Marian supported by Philip.