The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 17

No, no, Will; you've convicted yourself with your own eloquence.

You've wanted to do this for some reason. But it isn't the one you've told me. No; no.

WHITE (_angrily_). You doubt my sincerity?

HILDA. No; only the way you have read yourself.

WHITE. Well, if you think I've tried to make it easy for myself you are mistaken. Is it easy to pull out of the rut and habit of years? Easy to know my friends will jeer and say I've sold out?

Easy to have you misunderstand? (_Goes to her._) Hilda, I'm doing this for their good. I'm doing it--just as Wallace is--because I feel it's right.

HILDA. No; you shouldn't say that. You are not doing this for the same reason Wallace is. He believes in this war. He has accepted it all simply without a question. If you had seen the look in his eyes, you would have known he was a dedicated spirit; there was no shadow, no doubt; it was pure flame. But you! You believe differently! You can't hush the mind that for twenty years has thought no war ever could henceforth be justified. You can't give yourself to this war without tricking yourself with phrases. You see power in it and profit for yourself. (_He protests._) That's your own confession. You are only doing what is expedient--not what is right. Oh, Will, don't compare your motives with those of our son. I sent him forth, without a word of protest, because he wishes to die for his own ideals: you are killing your own ideals for the ideals of others! (_She turns away._) Oh, Will, that's what hurts. If you were only like him, I--I could stand it.

WHITE (_quietly, after a pause_). I can't be angry at you--even when you say such things. You've been too much a part of my life, and work, and I love you, Hilda. You know that, don't you, dear?

(_He sits beside her and takes her hand._) I knew it would be difficult to make you understand. Only once have I lacked courage, and that was when I felt myself being drawn into this and they offered me the appointment. For then I saw I must tell you. You know I never have wanted to cause you pain. But when you asked me to let Wallace go, I thought you would understand my going, too.--Oh, perhaps our motives are different; he is young; war has caught his imagination; but, I, too, see a duty, a way to accomplish my ideals.

HILDA. Let's leave ideals out of this now. It's like bitter enemies praying to the same G.o.d as they kill each other.

WHITE. Yes. War is full of ironies. I see that: Wallace can't.

It's so full of mixed motives, good and bad. Yes. I'll grant all that. Only, America has gone in. The whole tide was against us, dear. It is sweeping over the world: a brown tide of khaki sweeping everything before it. All my life I've fought against the current. (_Wearily_) And now that I've gone in, too, my arms seem less tired. Yes; and except for the pain I've caused you, I've never in all my life felt so--so happy.

(_Then she understands. She slowly turns to him, with tenderness in her eyes._)

HILDA. Oh, now, Will, I do understand. Now I see the real reason for what you've done.

WHITE (_defensively_). I've given the real reason.

HILDA (_her heart going out to him_). You poor tired man. My dear one. Forgive me if I made it difficult for you, if I said cruel words. I ought to have guessed; ought to have seen what life has done to you. (_He looks up, not understanding her words_). Those hands of yours first dug a living out of the ground. Then they built houses and grew strong because you were a workman--a man of the people. You saw injustice, and all your life you fought against those who had the power to inflict it: the press; the comfortable respectables, like my brother; and even those of your own group who opposed you--you fought them all. And they look at you as an outsider, an alien in your own country. O Will, I know how hard it has been for you to be always on the defensive, against the majority. It is hard to live alone, away from the herd. It does tire one to the bone and make one envious of the comfort and security they find by being together.

WHITE. Yes--but--

HILDA. Now the war comes and with it a chance to get back; to be part of the majority; to be welcomed with open arms by those who have fought you; to go back with honor and praise. And, yes, to have the warmth and comfort of the crowd. That's the real reason you're going in. You're tired and worn out with the fight. I know. I understand now.

WHITE (_earnestly_). If I thought it was that, I'd kill myself.

HILDA. There's been enough killing already. I have to understand it somehow to accept it at all.

(_He stares at her, wondering at her words. She smiles. He goes to a chair and sits down, gazing before him. The music of Over There is now heard outside in the street, approaching nearer and nearer. It is a military band. WALLACE excitedly rushes in dressed in khaki._)

WALLACE. Mother, mother. The boys are coming down the street.

(_Sees father._) Dad! Mother has told you?

HILDA (_calmly_). Yes; I've told him.

WALLACE. And you're going to let me go, Dad?

HILDA. Yes.

WALLACE. Oh, thanks, Dad (_grasping his hand_).

I knew mother would make you see. (_Music nearer._) Listen! Isn't that a great tune? Lifts you up on your feet and carries you over there. Gee, it just gets into a fellow and makes him want to run for his gun and charge over the top. (_He goes to balcony._) Look!

They're nearing here; all ready to sail with the morning tide.

They've got their helmets on. You can't see the end of them coming down the avenue. Oh, thank G.o.d, I'm going to be one of them soon. Thank G.o.d! I'm going to fight for Uncle Sam and the Stars and Stripes. (_Calls off_) Hurrah! (_To them_) Oh, I wish I had a flag. Why haven't we got a flag here?--Hurrah!!

(_As he goes out on the balcony the music plays louder. HILDA has gone to WHITE during this, and stands behind him, with her arms down his arms, as he sits there, gazing before him._)

HILDA (_fervently_). Oh, Will, if I could only feel it as he does!!

(_The music begins to trail off as WHITE tenderly takes hold of her hands._)

[CURTAIN]

ILE

Eugene O'Neill

SCENE: CAPTAIN KEENEY'S cabin on board the steam whaling s.h.i.+p Atlantic Queen--a small, square compartment, about eight feet high, with a skylight in the centre looking out on the p.o.o.p deck.

On the left (_the stern of the s.h.i.+p_) a long bench with rough cus.h.i.+ons is built in against the wall. In front of the bench, a table. Over the bench, several curtained portholes.

In the rear, left, a door leading to the captain's sleeping-quarters. To the right of the door a small organ, looking as if it were brand-new, is placed against the wall.

On the right, to the rear, a marble-topped, sideboard. On the sideboard, a woman's sewing-basket. Farther forward, a doorway leading to the companion way, and past the officers' quarters to the main deck.

In the centre of the room, a stove. From the middle of the ceiling a hanging lamp is suspended. The walls of the cabin are painted white.

There is no rolling of the s.h.i.+p, and the light which comes through the skylight is sickly and faint, indicating one of those gray days of calm when ocean and sky are alike dead. The silence is unbroken except for the measured tread of someone walking up and down on the p.o.o.p deck overhead.

It is nearing two bells--one o'clock--in the afternoon of a day in the year 1895.

At the rise of the curtain there is a moment of intense silence.

Then the STEWARD enters and commences to clear the table of the few dishes which still remain on it after the CAPTAIN'S dinner.

He is an old, grizzled man dressed in dungaree pants, a sweater, and a woolen cap with ear-flaps. His manner is sullen and angry.

He stops stacking up the plates and casts a quick glance upward at the skylight; then tiptoes over to the closed door in rear and listens with his ear pressed to the crack. What he hears makes his face darken and he mutters a furious curse. There is a noise from the doorway on the right, and he darts back to the table.

BEN enters. He is an over-grown, gawky boy with a long, pinched face. He is dressed in sweater, fur cap, etc. His teeth are chattering with the cold and he hurries to the stove, where he stands for a moment s.h.i.+vering, blowing on his hands, slapping them against his sides, on the verge of crying.

THE STEWARD (_in relieved tones--seeing who it is_). Oh, 'tis you, is it? What're ye s.h.i.+verin' 'bout? Stay by the stove where ye belong and ye'll find no need of chatterin'.

BEN. It's c-c-old. (_Trying to control his chattering teeth--derisively_) Who d' ye think it were--the Old Man?

THE STEWARD. (_He makes a threatening move--BEN shrinks away._) None o' your lip, young un, or I'll learn ye. (_More kindly_) Where was it ye've been all o' the time--the fo'c's'le?

BEN. Yes.

THE STEWARD. Let the Old Man see ye up for'ard monkey-s.h.i.+nin'

with the handstand ye'll get a hidin' ye'll not forget in a hurry.