The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 22

KEENEY (_galvanized into action_). Are you lowerin' the boats?

MATE. Yes, sir.

KEENEY (_with grim decision_). I'm a-comin' with ye.

MATE. Aye, aye, sir. (_Jubilantly_) You'll git the ile now right enough, sir.

(_His head is withdrawn and he can be heard shouting orders._)

KEENEY (_turning to his wife_). Annie! Did you hear him? I'll git the ile. (_She doesn't answer or seem to know he is there. He gives a hard laugh, which is almost a groan._) I know you're foolin' me, Annie. You ain't out of your mind--(_anxiously_) be you? I'll git the ile now right enough--jest a little while longer, Annie--then we'll turn hom'ard. I can't turn back now, you see that, don't ye? I've got to git the ile. (_In sudden terror_) Answer me! You ain't mad, be you?

(_She keeps on playing the organ, but makes no reply. The_ MATE'S _face appears again through the skylight._)

MATE. All ready, sir.

(KEENEY _turns his back on his wife and strides to the doorway, where he stands for a moment and looks back at her in anguish, fighting to control his feelings._)

MATE. Comin', sir?

KEENEY (_his face suddenly grown hard with determination_). Aye.

(_He turns abruptly and goes out._ MRS. KEENEY _does not appear to notice his departure. Her whole attention seems centred in the organ. She sits with half-closed eyes, her body swaying a little from side to side to the rhythm of the hymn. Her fingers move faster and faster and she is playing wildly and discordantly as the Curtain falls._)

CAMPBELL OF KILMHOR[1]

J.A. Ferguson

[Footnote 1: Included by special permission of the publishers, Messrs. Gowans and Gray, Glasgow.]

CHARACTERS

MARY STEWART MORAG CAMERON DUGALD STEWART CAPTAIN SANDEMAN ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL JAMES MACKENZIE

SCENE: _Interior of a lonely cottage on the road from Struan to Rannoch in North Perths.h.i.+re._

TIME: _After the Rising of 1745._

MORAG _is restlessly moving backwards and forwards. The old woman is seated on a low stool beside the peat fire in the centre of the floor._

_The room is scantily furnished and the women are poorly clad.

MORAG is barefooted. At the back is the door that leads to the outside. On the left of the door is a small window. On the right side of the room there is a door that opens into a barn. MORAG stands for a moment at the window, looking out._

MORAG. It is the wild night outside.

MARY STEWART. Is the snow still coming down?

MORAG. It is that, then--dancing and swirling with the wind too, and never stopping at all. Aye, and so black I cannot see the other side of the road.

MARY STEWART. That is good.

(MORAG _moves across the floor and stops irresolutely. She is restless, expectant._)

MORAG. Will I be putting the light in the window?

MARY STEWART. Why should you be doing that? You have not heard his call (_turns eagerly_), have you?

MORAG (_with sign of head_). No, but the light in the window would show him all is well.

MARY STEWART. It would not, then! The light was to be put there _after_ we had heard the signal.

MORAG. But on a night like this he may have been calling for long and we never hear him.

MARY STEWART. Do not be so anxious, Morag. Keep to what he says.

Put more peat on the fire now and sit down.

MORAG (_with increasing excitement_). I canna, I canna! There is that in me that tells me something is going to befall us this night. Oh, that wind! Hear to it, sobbing round the house as if it brought some poor lost soul up to the door, and we refusing it shelter.

MARY STEWART. Do not be fretting yourself like that. Do as I bid you. Put more peats to the fire.

MORAG (_at the wicker peat-basket_). Never since I.... What was that?

(_Both listen for a moment._)

MARY STEWART. It was just the wind; it is rising more. A sore night for them that are out in the heather.

(MORAG _puts peat on the fire without speaking._)

MARY STEWART. Did you notice were there many people going by to-day?

MORAG. No. After daybreak the redcoats came by from Struan; and there was no more till nine, when an old man like the Catechist from Killichonan pa.s.sed. At four o'clock, just when the dark was falling, a horseman with a lad holding to the stirrup, and running fast, went by towards Rannoch.

MARY STEWART. But no more redcoats?

MORAG (_shaking her head_). The road has been as quiet as the hills, and they as quiet as the grave. Do you think will he come?

MARY STEWART. Is it you think I have the gift, girl, that you ask me that? All I know is that it is five days since he was here for meat and drink for himself and for the others--five days and five nights, mind you; and little enough he took away; and those in hiding no' used to such sore lying, I'll be thinking. He must try to get through to-night. But that quietness, with no one to be seen from daylight till dark, I do not like it, Morag. They must know something. They must be watching.

(_A sound is heard by both women. They stand listening._)

MARY STEWART. Haste you with the light, Morag.

MORAG. But it came from the back of the house--from the hillside.