Wappin' Wharf Part 6

DARLIN': She 's was.h.i.+n' dishes.

DUKE: I 'm wonderin' if she would lay off a bit from her jolly occerpation, and sing us a leetle song.

DARLIN': (_calling_). Betsy! I wants yer.

PATCH: I never knowed yer cared fer music, Duke. Usually yer goes outside. Yer jest boohs.

DUKE: I does usual, Patch. Tonight 's perticerler. Red Joe ain 't never heard Betsy sing. Does yer like music, Joe?

JOE: I like the roaring of the ocean. I like to hear the trees tossing in the wind.

PATCH: Wind ain 't music. Yer should hear Betsy. She 's got a leetle song that makes yer feel as good and peaceful as a whinin' parson.

DARLIN': (_beckoning at the kitchen door_). Betsy! Stop sloppin' with the dishes!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Betsy enters]

(_Betsy enters. She is a pretty girl. Our guess at her age is--but it is better not to guess. We have in our own experience made several humiliating blunders. Let us say that Betsy is young enough to be a grand-daughter. Plainly she is a pirate by accident, not inheritance, for she is clean and she wears a pretty dress._)

DUKE: (_as he rises and makes a show of manners_). Betsy, yer is welcome ter the parlor. We wants Red Joe ter hear yer sing. That leetle song o' yers.

(_He returns to the recess at the rear of the cabin and covertly watches Joe. Patch-Eye is lost in heavenly meditation. Joe's attention is roused before the first stanza of the song is finished. By the third stanza Betsy sings to him alone._)

[Music: Betsy's Lullaby]

[Transcriber's Note: Misspelled "Betsey" in original music t.i.tle.]

BETSY: (_sings_).

The north wind's cheeks are puffed with tunes: It whistles across the sky.

Its song is shrill and rough, until The hour of twilight 's nigh.

Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.

The winds on tip-toe keep.

In the dusk of day they hum their lay, And weary children sleep.

The waves since dawn roared on the rocks: They snarled at the s.h.i.+ps on the deep.

But at twilight hour they chain their power And little children sleep.

Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.

The s.h.i.+ps in a cradle swing, And sailormen blink and children sink To sleep, as the wavelets sing.

The sun at noon was red and hot: It stifled the east and west.

But at even song the shadows long Have summoned the world to rest.

Rest, my dear one, rest and dream.

The sun runs off from the sky.

But the stars, it 's odd, while children nod, Are tuned to a lullaby.

(_She sings slowly, to a measure that might rock a cradle. This can be managed, for I have tried it with a chair. Once, Patch-Eye blows his nose to keep his emotions from exposure. But make him blow softly--_soto naso_, shall we say?--so as not to disturb the song. In Red Joe the song seems to have stirred a memory. At the end of each stanza Betsy pauses, as if she, too, dwelt in the past._)

PATCH: When I hears that song I feels as if I were rockin' babies in a crib--blessed leetle pirates, pullin' at their bottles, as will foller the sea some day.

(_He blows his sentimental nose. A slighter structure would burst in the explosion._)

DUKE: Yer ol' nose sounds as if it were tootin' fer a fog. Yer might be roundin' the Isle o' Dogs on a mirky night.

(_He goes to the door and stretches out his hand for raindrops._)

DUKE: Joe, you and me has got ter put ile in the lantern. Come on, ol'

sweetheart. When yer sees this lantern blinkin' at that there winder, yer will know that willainy 's afoot.

(_He comes close to Darlin' and whispers._)

DUKE: Yer said it, Darlin'. Yer said it. Red Joe 's castin' his eye on Betsy. Off a cliff! Tonight! Now! If I gets a chance. Off a cliff!

Come on, Joey!

(_He goes outdoors with Red Joe, singing Betsy's song. The lullaby fades in the distance. Patch-Eye and Betsy are left together, for the roast pig again calls Darlin' to the kitchen._)

PATCH: Will yer wait a bit, Betsy--askin' yer pardon--while I talks to yer?

BETSY: Of course, Patch.

PATCH: I don 't suppose, dearie, I 'm the kind o' pirate as sets yer thinkin' of fiddles tunin' up, ner parsons. No, yer says. Ner cradles and leetle devils bitin' at their coral. And I don 't suppose yer has a kind o' hankerin' and yearnin'. Yer never sets and listens to me comin'. Course not, yer says. Betsy, if I talk out square you 'll not blab it all 'round the village, will yer? They would point their fingers at me, and giggle in their sleeves. I want ter tell yer somethin' o' a wery tender nater. There 's a leetle word as begins with _L_. _L_, I mean, not 'ell. I would n't want yer to think, Betsy, I 'm cussin'. 'Ell is cussin'. That leetle word is what 's ailing me.

It 's love, Betsy. It 's me heart. Smashed all ter bits! Jesus, yer asks, what done it? It 's a pretty girl, I answers yer, as has smashed it. Does yer foller, Betsy? A pretty girl about your size, and with eyes the color o' yourn. What does yer say, Betsy? Yer says nothin'.

BETSY: I never meant to, Patch. I 'm sorry.

PATCH: Course you are. Jest as sorry as the careless feller as nudged Humpty Dumpty off the wall. But it did n't do no good. There he was, broke all ter flinders. And all the King's horses and all the King's men could n't fix him. Humpty Dumpty is me, Betsy. Regularly all split up, fore and aft, rib and keel. I mopes all day fer you, Betsy. And I mopes all night. Last night I did n't get ter sleep, jest fidgettin', till way past 'leven o' clock. And I woke agin at seven, askin'

meself, if I loves you hopeless. Yer is a lump o' sugar, Betsy, as would sweeten ol' Patch's life. If we was married I 'd jest tag 'round behind yer and hand yer things. And now yer tells me there ain 't no hope at all.

BETSY: No hope at all, Patch.

PATCH: Yesterday I was countin' the potaters in the pot, sayin' ter meself: She loves me--She don 't love me. But the last potater did n't love me, Betsy. There was jest one too many potaters in the pot. No, yer says, yer could n't love me. Cause why? Cause Patch is a shabby pirate with only one eye.

BETSY: I am sorry, Patch.

(_She offers him her hand._)

PATCH: Blessed leetle fingers, as twines their selves all 'round me heart. Patch, yer says, yer sorry. There ain 't no hope at all. Yer nudges him off the wall, but yer can 't fix him. But I never heard that Humpty Dumpty did a lot o' squealin' when he bust. He took it like a pirate. And so does Patch. I does n't sulk. If yer will pardon me, Betsy, I 'll leave yer. Me feelin 's get lumpy in me throat. I 'll take a wink o' sleep in the loft.

(_He climbs the ladder, but turns at the top._)

PATCH: There was jest one too many potaters in the pot.

(_He disappears through the hole in the wall. Betsy arranges the mugs on the table, then stands listening. Presently there is a sound of footsteps. Red Joe enters at the rear._)

JOE: I slipped the Duke in the dark. I came back to talk with you.

(_Then bluntly, but with kindness._) How old are you, my dear?

BETSY: I don 't know.