Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 21

THE FIGURE. Me? I'm the paymaster.

ANDREW. I want to serve you--like those others.

THE FIGURE. Slow, slow, boy! n.o.body sarves _me_.

ANDREW. But they died for you--the others.

THE FIGURE. No, 'twa'n't for me; 'twas for him as pays the wages; the one as works through me--the one higher up. I'm only the paymaster; kind of a needful makes.h.i.+ft--his obedient sarvant.

ANDREW. [_With increasing curiosity, seeks to peer in_ THE FIGURE'S _face_.] But the one up higher--who is he?

THE FIGURE. [_Turning his head away._] Would ye sarve him, think, if ye heerd his voice?

ANDREW. [_Ardently, drawing closer._] And saw his face!

[_Drawing his cowl lower and taking_ ANDREW'S _arm_, THE FIGURE _leads him up on the embankment, where they stand together_.

THE FIGURE. Hark a-yonder!

ANDREW. [_Listening._] Is it thunder?

THE FIGURE. Have ye forgot?

ANDREW. The voice! I remember now--Niagara!

[_With awe_, ANDREW _looks toward_ THE FIGURE, _who stands shrouded and still, facing the dawn. From far off comes a sound as of falling waters, and with that--a deep murmurous voice, which seems to issue from_ THE FIGURE'S _cowl_.

THE VOICE. I am the Voice that was heard of your fathers, and your fathers' fathers. Mightier--mightier, I shall be heard of your sons. I am the Million in whom the one is lost, and I am the One in whom the millions are saved. Their ears shall be shut to my thunders, their eyes to my blinding stars. In shallow streams they shall tap my life-blood for gold. With dregs of coal and of copper they shall pollute me. In the mystery of my mountains they shall a.s.sail me; in the majesty of my forests, strike me down; with engine and derrick and millstone, bind me their slave. Some for a l.u.s.t, some for a love, shall desert me. One and one, for his own, shall fall away. Yet one and one and one shall return to me for life; the deserter and the destroyer shall re-create me.

Primeval, their life-blood is mine. My pouring waters are pa.s.sion, my lightnings are laughter of man. I am the One in whom the millions are saved, and I am the Million in whom the one is lost.

ANDREW. [_Yearningly, to_ THE FIGURE.] Your face!

[THE FIGURE _turns majestically away_. ANDREW _clings to him_.

ANDREW. Your face!

[_In the shadow of the flag_ THE FIGURE _unm.u.f.fles for an instant_.

[_Peering, dazzled_, ANDREW _staggers back, with a low cry, and, covering his eyes, falls upon the embankment_.

[_From away, left, the thrumming of a jew's-harp is heard, playing "The Star-Spangled Banner."_

[_From the right enter_ JOEL _and_ ELLEN.

[_Descending from the embankment_, THE FIGURE _stands apart_.

JOEL. Well, Colonel Average, time's up.

ELLEN. [_Seeing_ ANDREW'S _prostrate form, hastens to him_.] Andy!

What's happened?

ANDREW. [_Rising slowly._] Come here. I'll whisper it.

[_He leads her beside the embankment, beyond which the dawn is beginning to redden._

JOEL. Yonder's the sergeant's jew's-harp. That's our signal, Nell. So long, colonel.

THE FIGURE. [_Nodding._] So long, sonny.

ANDREW. [_Holding_ ELLEN'S _hands, pa.s.sionately_.] You understand? You _do_?

ELLEN. [_Looking in his eyes._] I understand, dear.

[_They kiss each other._

JOEL. [_Calls low._] Come, you married turtles. The road's clear. Follow me now. Sneak.

[_Carrying his knapsack_, JOEL _climbs over the embankment and disappears_.

[_The thrumming of the jew's-harp continues._

[ELLEN, _taking the strip of silk flag from her shoulders, ties it to the standard_.

ANDREW. [_Faintly._] G.o.d bless you!

ELLEN. [_As they part hands._] Good-by!

[THE FIGURE _has remounted the embankment, where--in the distincter glow of the red dawn--the gray folds of his cloak, hanging from his shoulders, resemble the half-closed wings of an eagle, the beaked cowl falling, as a kind of visor, before his face, concealing it_.

THE FIGURE. Come, little gal.

[ELLEN _goes to him, and hides her face in the great cloak. As she does so, he draws from it a paper, writes on it, and hands it to_ ANDREW, _with the powder-horn_.

THE FIGURE. By the by, Andy, here's that s'curity. Them here's my initials; they're all what's needful. Jest file this in the right pigeonhole, and you'll draw your pay. Keep your upper lip, boy. I'll meet ye later, mebbe, at Lundy's Lane.

ANDREW. [_Wistfully._] You'll take her home?

THE FIGURE. Yes; reckon she'll housekeep for your uncle till you get back; won't ye, Nellie? Come, don't cry, little gal. We'll soon git 'quainted. 'Tain't the fust time sweethearts has called me _Uncle_.

[_Flinging back his great cloak, he throws one wing of it, with his arm, about her shoulders, thus with half its reverse side draping her with s.h.i.+ning stripes and stars. By the same action his own figure is made partly visible--the legs clad in the tight, instep-strapped trousers (blue and white) of the Napoleonic era.

Holding the girl gently to him--while her face turns back toward_ ANDREW--_he leads her, silhouetted against the sunrise, along the embankment, and disappears_.

[_Meantime, the thrumming tw.a.n.g of the jew's-harp grows sweeter, mellower, modulated with harmonies that, filling now the air with elusive strains of the American war-hymn, mingle with the faint dawn-twitterings of birds._

[ANDREW _stares silently after the departed forms; then, slowly coming down into the intrenchment, lifts from the ground his gun and ramrod, leans on the gun, and--reading the paper in his hand by the growing light--mutters it aloud_:

_U. S. A._

[_Smiling sternly, he crumples the paper in his fist, makes a wad of it, and rams it into his gun-barrel._