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CD

LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN.

THE

LONELY MAN

OF THE OCEAN; OR, THE

NIGHT BEFORE THE BRIDAL.

A Drama,

IN THREE ACT

BY

THOMAS G. BLAKE, AUTHOR OF

" Our Old House at Rome," " A Spanking Legacy," " The Cattle Stealers," " Life as it Is," &c. &c. &c.

THOMAS HAILES LACY, 89, STRAND,

(Opposite Southampton Street, Covent Garden Market,)

LONDON.

THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN.

As performed at the Olympic Theatre, 1851.

Characters. WYNDHAM BOWYER {the reprobate Squire

of the " Broadlands Manor," and Brother to the Rover) , MR. NORTON.

ARNOLD HltLINGTON "(a reduced Gentle-Gentleman, • now owner of * lF'airtight Downs'?

Farm '. '. MR. SANGER. LIEUTENANT ADAM BASHFORD (a Son

of the Wild and Boundless Waters — the " Lonely Man of the Ocean") .. MR. W. FARREN.

JACK JOLLY (familiarly called Jolly Jack— Boatswain of H.M.S. the Sea Nymph) MR. C. BENDER.

CYRUS BLOOM (a young Husbandman, in love with Becky Bowles, driven by desperation to become a Sailor) MR. W. SHALDERS.

MARK BELL (a Vagrant Gipsy and Bobber in the pay of Squire Bowyer) MR. HARRIS.

RED MARLEY.... MR. KINLOCH. HEATHCOTE MR. CLIFTON. EVE HILLINGTON {the "Flower of Fair-

light" andbeirothed Bride of Adam Bashfor d) Miss FIELDING. BECKY BOWLES {a Village Coquette, icith

certain matrimonial scruples) Miss I. ADAMS. PEG POLLOCK Miss WYNDHAM.

TIME.—Present

COSTUMES.—Modern in style and suited to the station and character of the persons represented.

Programme of Scenery, &c. ACT I.

Scene L—THE EXTERIOR OF THE FARM HOUSE. Fields of ripened Corn; Viaduct and Railroad; with distant View

of the County of Kent. The assembling of the villagers—the night before the bridal—the rustic lovers and their quarrels—expected arrival of Adam Bashford—the twin brothers—the villagers disperse—appearance of Wyndham Bowyer—the newspaper account of his brother, the notorious pirate—the league of villany between Bowyer and Red Marley—diabolical scheme to overturn the railroad train—frustration of the

plot, and the train of carriages traverses the line in safety.

822 B582l

Scene II.—A LANDSCAPE NEAR THE FARM. The ruffians, Mark Bell and Heathcbte, lying in wait to attack Adam Bashford T-he appears—the attack and overthrow of Bashford—his rescue by Jack Jolly, the true British tar—the departure for the Farm—rage of Wyndham Bowyer— the second stratagem concocted to gain possession of Eve Hillington for the

(V*\ libertine Squire.

Y ^ Scene III.—EXTERIOR OP THE FARM (as before). 4.J The happy farmer—the lucky rustic—Cyrus Bloom in his glory—his story of how •h the train ivas saved from destruction—meeting of BaslifpM and Eve—the merryi-;

\ iriakirig—rustic dance—Jack Joliy quite'at home—jealousy of Cyrus—appearance V of the Squire—he demands the hand of Eve in marriage—his rejection and vows

^ of vengeance—Jack Jolly recognises the features of the noted pirate—The like-^ nes$ explained—Cyrus Bloom's gratitude to Adam—Jack Jolly making tbo free

t —Cyrus won't stand it—approach of night—Jack Jolly's Account of his court-** ship with one of the ladies-in-waiting of Queen Tommyrammyrammero—Jack's

alive—the ruffians on the watchr-retiring for the night.

ACT II. Scene I.—THE INTERIOR OF HILLINGTON'S FARM.

The happiness of the family destroyed—the abduction of Eve Hillington—her apparent cruelty to Adam—the sailor, on a lee shore—Bowyer's letter—mystery upon mystery—the commission—Adam promoted to a captaincy—the instant -departure in pursuit of the fugitives-r-Becky's determination only to marry a saUor-^Cyrus's heroic resolve—another hero added to the Navy of Great Britain

Becky's stratagem. '

Scene II.—CHIEF CABIN OF THE EAGLE. Bowyer and his victim—her reproaches, and determination to destroy herself by leaping from the cabin window into the sea if he dares molest her—The pirate's mistress, Helena—another victim of his brutality—story of. her wrongs and shame—her vow to protect Eve Hillington—the Pirate Crew appear and threaten violence—interference of Bowyer—he is defied by his men-—desperate combat;

and heroic conduct of Helena.

Scene / / / . — B E T W E E N DECKS OF THE SEA NYMPH. rus Bloom a Sailor-^—rather indisposed—the ship, not steady^—the new voli >r—Cyrus discovers another rival—the faithless Becky—" Oh 1 these worn

these women!"

Scene IV.—MAIN DECK OF THE SEA NYMPH. Zf Misery of Adam Bashford at the loss of Eve—Jack Jolly tries to cheer him, b u t y in vain—the signal gun—the pirate enemy in sight—preparations for the engage-. ment—desperate sea tight, and general attack—boarding of the vessel by the * pirate—overthrow of Bowyer, and triumph of H.M.S. the Sea Nymph.

£;..... AGTIIL

Scene I.—MAIN DECK OF THE SEA NYMPH (as before). •4" The British sailors' triumph—the prisoners—Bashford's accusation of Eye-r the 4- trial—Bo.wyer - condemned by Bashford to walk the fatal plank—the burning

« pirate ship—accidental death of Helena by the hand of Bowyer—he is precipi-^ , tated into the foaming ocean from the plank.

^ Scene II.—BETWEEN DECKS OF THE SEA NYMPH. 5 More calamities—horrible announcement that the plague is on board the ship—

the doomed crew.

0 Scene III.—-THE DEAD CREW AND DECK BY MOONLIGHT. f? Total annihilation of the ship's company, with the exception of the wretched ; Adam Bashford, T H E LONELY MAN OF T H E OCEAN!—his despair and

* madness—the distant ship—it approaches—the last hope, shivered!

d EXTRAORDINARY AND IMPRESSIVE DENOUEMENT.

THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN.

ACT I. ISossft L—jPictwesgue set Village. Cornfields, t§c, in the distance*

Mnter BECKY BOWLES with VILLAGE MAIDENS, U. B. fc.

Merry and gay let us trip it away, To the home where young Loye makes his dwelling; Let them say what they may,

On the dear bridal day, The heart with its joy is o'er swelling.

Merry and gay, &c. BECKY. Well, this is what I call nice. Jemima Jinks, you look

like an angel—what a pretty cap, and what a duck of ar ribbon! Eve will be delighted.

JEMIMA. At what ? my duck of a ribbon? BECKY. NO, her duck of a sailor,who this day arrives from sea—

weren't they plighted when little things ? and love and constancy has been with them ever since. Ah, me! we poor girls have queer sensations before marriage, but I'm told we soon get accustomed to them afterwards—it must be an awful trial to go through.. I wonder when my time will come ?

Enter CYRUS BLOOM, R. 1 E.

CYRUS. Why now or never—al'us strike the iron when it be hot. Ah, girls, good morning to 'ee, it's a much finer morning this morn­ing than it wur the morning before yesterday morning, but good morning to ye all, however I (shakes hands round)

BECKY. There's familiarity J Hollo! I say, Mr. What-d'ye-call-urn?

CYRUS. Becky, that ben't my name, and well thee know'st it* BECKY. I know nothing, Mr. Thingumbob. CYRUS. Thingumbob, and Mister, too I That girl's doomed to

turn I topsy-turvey. BECKY. Me! I don't know you, you scarecrow. CYRUS. Come, doant'ee fling that for'ard—if I did consent to

frighten away the crows from old Farmer Furrow's field it weren't forsake o' lucre.

BECKY. I t was, you miser, it was.

SC. I.J THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 5

CYRUS. I deny thee words; somebody said she'd come when no­body wur bye, an honest man's word be his bond, and so should be an honest woman's, let me tell'ee that Miss Beck^; and you *on't leave I a soluntary donkey again in a hurry—but we 'on't talk o' that—what the dickens be all you lasses dizened out in your best bibs and tuckers for I should like to know—I can't make it out no how soever.

BECKY. Well, Cy, you're a simple Simon; I'll be charitable and tell you.

CYRUS. That's hearty. BECKY. Do you remember Adam Bash ford ? CYRUS, Remember ! I shall never forget him as lon^ as I live. BECKY. He seems to have made a lasting impression on you,

CYRUS. Aye; many a time he thumped me black and blue: but if he wur to thump me again and again, I'd forgive and thank him from the bottom of my heart.

BECKY. You would? CYRUS. Aye, would I ; for though as lads we were al'us snarling

like curs, yet when poor mother died and there seemed nothing for her but a parish coffin and a pauper grave, Adam stepp'd for'ara> and proved my only friend—I shan't forget the day as long as I live. There sat I, wi' a heart as heavy as lead—the sun's rays wur streaming through the lattice—but they couldn't cheer me—for poor mother lie dead in the shade.

BECKY. Poor Cy I CYRUS. Aye, lass, tis a sad thing when death comes to the dwell­

ing of the poor. But Adam Basliford buried poor mother like a lady, and when I see him again—but that's no matter—what about Adam, lass?

BECKY. What a ninny you are; don't you know that Adam Basliford and Eve Hillington are to be married? and, stupid, don't you know that Adam is this day expected by the train ?

CYRUS. YOU don't say so ! BECKY. And don't you know that to-morrow is settled for the

wedding day. CYRUS. NO. Tol lol lol de rol, &c Od zookers I could lep out of

my skin for joy. Tol lol lol de rol, &c. BECKY. The lout's beside himself. CYRUS. I believe 'ee, lass Tol lol lol de rol, &c* BECKY. And why ? CYRUS. Why, rat it, what a question! When Adam and Eve

marry I shall be a bacheldor no longer. BECKY. La! you don't mean to say so, Cy ! CYRUS. Don't I—but I do. Eh, why drat it, lass, thee bean't un­

mindful o* thy promise, be 'ee ? BECKY, What is the ninny talking about. CYRUS. Ninny! Come none o' that—how often have you said

<xver and over again by the beech tree, that you and I should marry same day as Adam and Eve ?

BECKY. The simpleton's been dreaming.

Q THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT I.

CYBXJS. NO simpleton ain't—a promise be a promise all the world over.

BECKY. Aye, out promises and piecrusts were made to be broken. CYRUS. Aye, and a fond heart may break wi' 'em. Come, I see

thou 'rt but joking, thou sayst this only to flusterify I a bit, ha, ha, ha!

BECKY. I never was more serious in my life. CYRUS. Come, come, none o' that; I'm a passionable loikely

chap—what can you object to ? BECKY. The Cat in Pattens CYRUS. Public house. Be that all, wench ? Then I on't touch a

skittle-ball, or smoke backy any more. BECKY. Well, only be faithful to that promise for the next

twenty-nine months CYRUS Twenty-nine months ! There on't be a mite o' me left

by that time ; I al'us frets if anything goes wrong. Twenty-nine months ! I should be a dead man in the tenth o' that time. Come, come, Becky, don't tantalize—stick to thee word like a man.

BECKY. Co away, you seductive villain I you ought to be ashamed of yourself—to tamper with tender youth and innocence like mine.

CYRUS. Tnno ! drat me if she beant as knowing as a fox. (aloud) But I say, Becky lass, be the thing all settled between Adam and Eve ? for folks do say, young Squire Wyndham Bowyer be over head and ears in love wi' her, and has made her an offer, and surely she can't withstand that—to live in such a fine house as the hall, ha' her own sarvants, her yacht on the water, and such mating and drinking—that be a great temptation.

BECKY. It would be to you, you cormorant. CYRUS. I believe 'ee, my lass—but I say, what pretty names

you ha' been calling I all morning—but never mind they—folks say that Eve Hillington don't dislike the squire.

BECKY. The world is given to lying, Cy; she hates the sight of him.

CYRUS. NOW I can't make that out any how; for he, like I, be a very handsome fine fellow.

BECKY. Like you, you ugly monster—but handsome is as hand­some does. Though Mr. Hillington is only a farmer, he is a gentleman bred and born, and I heard him say "his child should never be united to the richest man in the land if there was a blot on his family honour."

CYRUS. NOW what did he mean by that, Becky ? BECKY. Mean, noodle! why if any portion of his family had

disgraced themselves—and don't all the country know that his brother Rupert who went to sea turned out a daring and merciless pirate.

CYRUS. Ay, so they say—I remember Kupert, he wnr as like squire as one pea be like another.

BECKY, He outrival Adam Bashford! no fear o' that—he don't know Eve's heart, for as the song says, the heart that loves truly, loves on to the close.

SC. I.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 7

CYRUS. Horray ! Just like yours and mine, Ha, ha, ha! BECKY. Yours and mine ! well you are the oddest noodle I ever

did see. Come along, girls, let's shew our duty to Eve and our lespect to her choice by being in readiness to receive him.

CYRUS. I'll join ye—but I say, Becky, remember about the skittle ball and the backy, but I on't\vait twenty-nine months—I should become fashionable long afore that.

BECKY. What do you mean ? CYRUS. Mean ! I should commit seduction, as the newspapers

has it, and carry you off. BECKY. Carry me off! D'ye hear that girls ? I should like to

catch you at it. Carry me off! Carry that! (boxes his ears) Exit, L., in a rage, followed by girls—laughing.

CYRUS. Bless her, how she loves me, though she has a queer way of shewing it, and that be truth; I'm on the heel o' ye, lasses.

Buns after them.

Music.—Enter WYNDHAM BOWYER, R. U. E., a newspaper in his hand. WYND. Just when my hopes were strongest, and old Hillington

seemed inclined to favour my suit with the lovely Eve, this cursed paragraph must rise to blight my fondest wishes. Rupert—daring, misguided brother—far, far at sea, you little know your desperate deeds are chronicled at home. What says the infernal paper? (reads) " Desperate encounter between Her Majesty's Ship, The Gipsy, and a Pirate, off the Gut of Gibraltar. Accounts have reached us of a fierce fight between The Gipsy and a Pirate—after a severe contest, The Gipsy was much crippled, and many of her crew killed. The Pirate, although hotly chased, outstripped pursuit The commander of this formidable rover is said to belong to a highly respectable family, named Bowyer, in the West of England." This accursed account has crushed all hope; and to-day returns Lieu­tenant Bashford—returns—hem—doubtful; if Marley has per­formed his promise, his return may be questioned.

Enter MARLEY, R. U. E. MAR. Hist,Squire! WYND. Marley! MAR. I've done it, Squire. WYND. 'Tis a hellish act, I now repent me that you have. MAR. Repent! WYND. I thought only of him—I remembered not I perilled the

lives of others who never did me wrong, MAR. Such things happen every day. What's^ the upsetting of

a train ? Nothing—I glory in it. I like a bit of revenge. WYND. Revenge—for what ? MAR. Didn't the railways ruin my father—who kept the Coach

and Horses ? He was a thriving man once, but since the rail, the Coach and Horses are gone to the devil, and the poor old buffer is in the Union. Ha, ha, ha! If the train hops over that bar oi iron I plaeed across the Kn© it's a miracle to me.

§ THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT I.

WYND. 'Tig a damning deed! MAR. Not a mite on it. People '11 get afraid to go by 'em soon,

and the good old times will come back again—short stages and " Please to remember the coachman." " Guard, guard, yourhonor." Ah ! them blessed times!

WYND. Would that I had adopted my first plan of waylaying and disabling the sailor, so that the marriage might be prevented I — affording me time to seize on the girl and carry her in my yacht to sea.

MAR. That has been cared for—if he escape from the train (which I don't think very likely) I've some pals waiting in his path to give him a welcome home.

WYND. That were enough. Keturn to the spot where yon placed the bar—remove it.

MAR. Easier said than done—I ain't no steam engine—I can't do miles in a minute—besides it wants but little of the time of itsf arrival, and for me to reach Potter's Gate. Look there, it is in sight (points to bach) Aha 1 my screamer, just as you turn that slope by Matson's Mill, won't there be a spill—look—look!

WYND. Not I—the blood curdles round my heart at the very thought in my mad love for her—how many fathers, widows, orphans, will curse him whose fiendish act had made them desolate ? {crosses)

MAR. La, Squire, accident might do that, (pulling out an old-fashioned watch) Seventeen minutes past—now she can't be many seconds, (listeyiing) I fancy I can hear the distant whistle—I do—I do—and look, Squire, look.

WYND. Not I ! the sight would damn me. Fiend! devil that I am, I would give all that I possess could this deed, be recalled.

MAR. Hooray ! It's coming! Ha, ha, ha! WYND. (seizing him) Silence ! to your knees, wretch, and offer up

a prayer for the souls of those you and I are hurrying to eternity. MAR. She's coming past Winham Corner, then Harley's Close

—There! there she is—Now for it. Ha, ha, ha!

Music—A miniature train passes rapidly across the bach

Damnation ! she has passed safely, (dashes down his hat) WYND. Thank heaven! Thank heaven! (falls on his knees)

Tableau—Scene closes.

SCENE II.—Close Wood.

Music—MARK BELL and HEATHCOTE enter, R., armed with Uudgeons. MARK. Come on, Robin, this is the spot where we are bid to wait

the young sailor's coming and ask charity—sailors are very chari­table ; he'll give it—we must be dissatisfied—if he gives us a shil­ling we must want a crown, if he tips us a crowtf we must have & suvrin—he'll call us robbers, then our dignity is hurt and down he goes like a pair of old boots.

HEATH, (R.) I don't much like the job, for I knew Adain Bashfofi

S€. I I . ] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 9

in my boyhood—as kind and generous a lad as ever lived—No, I wash my hands of the business.

MARK. DO, and slink back to your starving wife and children* HEATH. Torture! I left them without food or fire—-Betsy, it i*

for you and our little ones I become a ruffian—I cannot see their pale faces or look in their eager wistful eyes searching my very goul for food.

MARK. And you won't help them when you can. HEATH. I will—but avoid unnecessary violence. MARK, Violence! I've the milk of human kindness about me I

hope; this twig wouldn't do more than break a leg or an arm. Stand back, he's coming, (they retire R. 2 E.)

ADAM BASHFORD sings without, L. 4 The wind that blows, the ship that goes," &c.

Enter ADAM, L.

ADAM. Well here I am, all taut and trim, at home again after a two years' cruise, about to enter the port of matrimony, and cas$ anchor for life—no—no—not for life—a voyage or two more before I lie up hi dock. My little Eve ! Shall I find her the same fond heart I left her ? Has not time worn away the memory of her sailor boy ? My life on't—no ! Hollo, Jack Jolly ! Jolly Jack, ahoy! I forgot the rough honest seaman hangs aback to gaza upon the mound where lies his mother.

MARK, (aside to HEATHCOTE) We must be speedy then, (thef advance) Charity, charity, noble sir.

ADAM. Eh! what crippled craft are these ? MARK. Honest industrious chaps, sir, farm labourers—willing

to work, can't get it to do—I've seventeen children at home ana my pardner has twelve and a half.

ADAM. Twelve and a half? MARK. Yes—that is—he's already got twelve and there's another

on the stocks. Charity, sir, charity, (to HEATHCOTE) You ain't got a lock jaw have you ?

ADAM. Seventeen and twelve and a half! Lies! But I'll give them the benefit of a doubt.

MARK, (loudly) Charity, sir, charity! ADAM. My friend, you are most importunate, MARK. Yes, sir, wery unfortinit. ADAM, YOU solicit alms most earnestly while your companion

has nothing to say. MARK. Bless you, grief and trouble has turned him speechless

for many a day, (aside—to HEATHCOTE) You're a lending a helping hand, I don't think, ain't you ?

HEATH, (faintly) Charity, noble sir. ADAM. There's a dollar for you—home to your wives and

children and relieve their present wants. MARK. Seventeen and twelve and a half, and counting our twa

precious selves makes up'ards of a score and a half, and only fiv» oob among the heap, it's too little.

10 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT I.

ADAM. Too little! Ruffian, would you dictate to a generous donor how to mete out his charity ? Be satisfied, and be gone!

MARK. Think of the precious babbies, you've lots of tin, and a trifle more won't hurt you.

ADAM. Begone! I regret I gave so much, I'll give no more. MARK. Then we must make so bold as to take it. ADAM. What, robbers! stand back—move not a step towards

me, no common strength lies in these arms braced by the ocean's wind—you'll find I've nerve of iron. Go your ways, I would not mine should be the hand to drag you to justice.

MARK. Pooh! give up the blunt I ADAM. Never!

Music. They aim with tJieir bludgeons at ADAM who catches their arms and renders them powerless, a trial of strength ensues, and ADAM after a time falls, they lift their bludgeons to strike him wlien

• JACK JOLLY enters L. 2 E. and shields him.

MARK, (through music) Strike! JACK. If you do I'm d d! Cut your cable,"or I'll sink yon

before you can say pea soup ! MARK. We are two! JACK. If you were twenty, you warmint, I'd rake you fore and

aft—why, you cowardly lubbers, didn't you see he'd struck his flag ? Wheugh, here goes for a Morgan Rattier!

Music. He attacks lhem1 knocks MARK'S hat over Ms eyes—both fiy, R.

3ACK. Sink me, but this is a pretty sheave-o to be boarded by a brace of infernal land sharks ! I warrant me that warmint's ribs rattled like peas in a bag. What's the bearing of this scrimmidge, your honour ?

ADAM. I was musing of home, Eve, and coming days, when those rascals solicited charity. I was foolish enough to display a well-filled purse, 'twas a temptation I suppose not to be resisted.

JACK. It was lucky I hove in at the minute, or my life to a mite of pigtail they'd have stove in your head rails. Only let me come athwart 'em again, damme I'll sink 'em.

ADAM. Your arrival was fortunate or the consequences might indeed have been fatal. What delayed you so long, Jack ?

JACK. I couldn't pass the churchyard where poor mother takes the long sleep—this must be a healthy spot, your honour, for how beautifully the wild flowers and the green grass shoots above her grave, (vnpes his eyes with his cuff) Poor soul! poor soul!

ADAM. Tears, Jack? JACK. When the spray dashes from the port-holes the craft

lightens. The grim admiral, Death, has been busy here, for around poor mother's grave ax"e the tombstones of many dear old friends I knew when a youngster—but pitch grief with the plumb line, its the will of the great Commander aloft, and mortal flesh must be i©ath«n to murmur, and yet I can't help being melancholy, only

SC. II.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 11

to think that your honour, a lieutenant, on the eve of being promoted to a captaincy should think o' quitting the service to be spliced,

ADAM. From my early days, Jack, I've been a rover far from friends, from earliest love, A fond girl, firm to her faith has waited many a weary year for him she loves—time and absence may exhaust the brightest flame—why should I plod onwards till age creeps on, while youth and love are now before me ?

JACK. Ah! I always said it, and now I'll swear it—there's as much danger in a petticoat as a fire ship. I knows 'em—I knows 'em!

ADAM. Come, let's get under weigh, for I'm on fire till I drop along side the pretty Eve.

JACK. Pretty Eve! He thinks more of her than promotion. Belay, your honour!

ADAM. What's in the wind now, Jack ? JACK. I ax pardon, your honour, and I know you'll grant it, fqr

you and I were boys together—when first we went to sea I was a leather-headed lubber, you taught me to hand, reef, and steer, and in time made me an able seaman.

ADAM. Well, well! JACK. Oh I I ain't going to spin a long yarn, mine shall be clean

off the reel in a minute. I say, its a burning shame you should quit the service when you're going to be made an admiral.

ADAM. An admiral! JACK. Aye, ain't a skipper the first step to it? Besides, we've so

many lavender lubbers in the service, we can ill spare one who has proved himself heart of oak to the core. Damme if I wouldn't forfeit my pay grog and for the next six months if I could only step on the quarter deck and hail you Captain Bashford. My dear eyes, the very thought of them blessed words makes me as happy as a middy ashore with lots of rhino in his locker.

ADAM. Who told you it was my intention to quit the service ? JACK. Eh ! ADAM. NO, Jack, I love the service from my soul, the wild and

"boundless sea is dearer to me than the palace of a prince could be; there we are free as the eagle, he is king of the air—we, the happy children of the deep.

JACK, {flinging tcp his hat) Huzza! Long life to your honour! ADAM. Talk of the dull and cheerless shore where life veers on

in one round of dreary sameness. Give me the rising gale, the rattling breeze, the peril of the storm, the morn that ushers in the calm—talk of home and friends afar; at sea the sailor frames his heaven of love that bums with brighter force than ever landsmen knew, for then he fondly thinks of those he may ne'er see again I Give me the night watch with the moon upon the waters, that mirrors home and kindred, truer than limner's art could draw them, and then when homeward bound to watch the star that lights him where his heart lies sleeping, that is a joy a landsman never knew.

JACK. I'm a Dutchman if it ain't—many's the time I've thought of mother and Peg Pollock.

ADAM. No, Jack, after old Spintext has tacked me to the girl of

12 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT 1.

xhy heart, she will he mine, for weal or woe, ashore or afloat, and the woman who loves truly will share her husband's fortune in sun­shine or storm—on land or sea. Come, crowd sail!

JACK. Then the service won't looijsyu, and I shan't lose you—if I ain't as happy as the Fope o' Kome,hegger me.

' Musics—exeunt, R. 1 E.

Enter WYNDHAM BOWYER and MARK, 2 E. E.

WYND. My curse go with you, Bashford, you go to win a prize my heart had fancied mine. You were courageous truly, to suffet ^im to proceed on his way unharmed,

MARK. Why, the lieutenant is as strong as Hercules, and a blow •from the sailor is like the kick of a horse.

WYND. TO lose her, to yield her up to one of common birth, the thought distracts me—my offer rejected—my love scorned. Oh! (Could I compass revenge.

MARK. You may. WYND. HOW? JMARK. At night, when all are sleeping fire the farni. WYND. Wretch! villain! I have already told you 1 seek re­

venge on him alone, 'twere a damning thought to obtain it at the sacrifice of others.

MARK. Then lose her. WYND. IS there no other way ? MARK. Aye ! if your heart be firm enough. WYND. Firm ! 'Tis rock, speak on. MARK. All will be mirth and jollity to welcome the sailors

Return. During the bustle of the festival how easy were it to steal into the house, lie there concealed until all are at rest-^a rope ladder-^a chaise—your yacht on the beach—if the girl resists, gag her to stifle all alarm—before the dawn of morning she would be far at feea,'and who so wise as to track your course?

WYND. Were it practicable ? MARK. Practicable! Where there's a will you know—leave all

t^itte. But, I say, governor, you'll pay handsomely for this ? WYND. TO your utmost desire. MARK. Conclude it done. WYND. Yes, Eve HillingtOn, scorned and reviled, I seek revenge

^and my stepping stone is thee. Music—^exit, R. 1 B.

SCENE III.—Set Farm; distant picturesque Country. Tables laid 'or a feast. Benches.

BECKY BOWLES and VILLAGERS discovered arranging tables

Enter HILLINGTON, L. U. E.

HILL. That's right, lads and lasses, bustle about—Have every­thing in apple-pie order; 'tis past the time, but Adam will be sure to come by the next train. What can detain the boy ? My little JSre will be in dudgeon at this seeming slight; but she a

SC. III .] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 1 3

forgiving little soul, and will be easily pacified when she learns the cause of the delay. (CYRUS BLOOM sings without) Heyday, what's stirring now ?

Enter CYRUS, E. U. E.

CYRUS. Tol loi de rol de rol, &e., I be a made man—I be a made man. Tol lol de rol, &c. (dancing)

BECKY. Why, what has happened, Cy ? CYRUS. Good luck, lass, good luck—I can't contain myself.

Tol, lol, &c. BECKY. Don't make a fool of yourself—stand still and tell us. CYRUS. Well, I will, (dances) Tol lol lol, &c. (they check him)

Well, I on't. You must know I sent brother Jacob over to next town to draw my little savings out o' Bank—cause you know a man wants brass when he's going to be married—" How much will you gi' I," says Jacob, " for the job ?" u Haifa crown,'' says I. •" Done," says he. " Cy," says he, " you're a prince, and al'us kind to your brother," says he, " and as you're going to be married I only hope some luck may cross me—that I may pick up a purse o' gold, or some'at o' that sort, hang me if you shouldn't share it," says he. Little Jacob's word be al'us his bond,—luck did lie in his road, and he ha' brought I ten pounds. Tol lol lol, &c. (dances)

ALL. Ten pounds 1 How did he get it ? CYRUS. All along o' the rail; Jacob and some of the workmen

were trudging along, when all of a sudden he spies a large bar of !ron clapped right across the line—it were placed there by some c d villain to upset the train—he carried it to the directors, V* ho happened to be sitting, and they gi'd Jacob twenty pounds. Jacob stuck to his word, and so you see it's an ill wind that blows nobody no good. Tol lol, &c. (dances)

HILL. Of what could the miscreant's heart be composed who could thus peril human life ?

VILLAGERS. Huzza! Here comes Adam, and Miss Eve! Huzza!

Music—enter ADAM-, EVE, and JACK, R. U. E.

ALL. Welcome, welcome home ! Huzza! ADAM. Thanks, Mends. Farmer, your baud, you see the rover

has returned to his moorings, to the girl of his heart. EVE. Flatterer! They say in every port the sailor finds both

home and mistress. JACK. Aye, here to-day and gone to-morrow. What's a sailor

without a sweetheart? Why, he's like a ship without a rib—like a mast without stays—like a lanyard without a dead eye—like a binnacle without a compass, or a block without a sheaveo, pretty dears; they're the main-top of a sailor's heart. I've seen 'em of all colours and shapes, from the Hoppingtops of the Cape, to the Axqimos near the North Pole, but there's none to beat our own countrywomen. All the Wenusses of Italy—all the beauties of Barsalony—all the brilliant black eyes of Spanish Amerikey can't box the compass with the dear Utile lasses of our own native land.

B

1 4 T H E LONELY MAN OF T H E OCEAN. [ACT I .

ADAM. J ack says truly, dear Eve . {embracing her) JACK. My dear eyes, I can't stand that—I must grapple some­

body, (goes to embrace BECKY—CYRUS slips in her place) Shiit your helm, you kangaroo.

CYRUS. What , don't 'ee know me ? J A C K . What , Cyrus Bloom ! give us your daddle, old tar. (grips

it, CYRUS bawls) I didn't hur t you, did 1? CYRUS. Didn't yon though—oh ! JACK. Lord, wha t a whifflegig you must be—you should only

have spliced fins with my messmate, Tom Sampson—-he'd a grip t ha t could squeeze a lemon as dry as a biscuit (they go up)

ADAM. After years of absence how dearly prized is home again, to meet the honest grasp of old friends, to gaze upon the love-lit eyes of her whose image, when seas rolled wide between us, was ever by the sailor-—his hope—his anchor.

E V E . And think you, Adam, she felt less ? Each gust of wind tha t blew around us conjured up a prayer for your safety—when our neighbours nestled round the cheering fire, talking of the storm without, they would often say, u 'Twill be a terrible night at sea S " then my fears arose for thee, dear Adam; when they spoke of sad mishaps and wrecks, each word fell upon my hear t as a dread augury of death, and I felt that I should never see you more —but I do see you, Adam, alive and wel l ; I did not pray in vain to Him who rules the storm on land and sea.

ADAM. My own—my dearest. H I L L . Come, come, my turtles, if you can feast on love, our

neighbours here need more substantial fare—our meal is homely, bu t it is hearti ly given-—stint not, neighbours ; and Luke tap the ale tha t was brewed the day my little Eve was born.

VILLAGERS. H u z z a !

Music.—A number of LADS and LASSES bring on eatables from House, which they place on tables—A FARM SERVANT taps the barrel of ale which stands conspicuous and fills from it several brown jugs.

H I L L . And now be seated all. (fiddle heard without) Ah, here comes Bob Lloyd, and after our repast we'll have a jolly dance.

JACK. Belay, belay ! there ain't a man in the sarvice could take in ballast, and that running through his ear ports to his h e e l s -Human nater can't stand it, 'specially arter a long cruise.

Enter B O B LLOYD.

SO bowse up, Captain of the Catgut, and step for'ard, my blue-ej-ed beauty—will ye. (JACK singles out a lass, the FIDDLER plays— Double Nautical Hornpipe, at the end of which JACK hisses his lass)

Enter WSTNDHAM BOWYER, R. U. E .

W Y N D . (R.) One more effort, if only to veil the deed tha t will be done to-night, (aloud) A word with Farmer Hilliugton.

H I L L , (C.) Bowyer here ! E V E . (at table) The Squire here, at such a moment,

t;C. Til.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 15

WYND. Hillington, my visit may be ill-timed, but the love that is ardent owns no time or season. Weigh well the disparity of those who seek the hand of your charming daughter—I can give her wealth, position in society——

: HILL. I know it, Squire, and so I told her, but women will be headstrong, and she fancies Adam Bashford can give her a dearer state.

WYND. And that is—— HILL. Happiness, Squire, without which, all else is worthless. WYND. I see 'tis a hopeless suit and 'twere folly to pursue it.

(aside) This night she shall be mine, (turns to go, JACK JOLLY, L., meets him, stares and gives a long whistle) Fellow, this rudeness— we have never met before.

JACK. That's too heavy to be hoisted in—Lieutenant, Lieutenant, clap your glim athwart this craft.

ADAM. (L. C.) What would you, Jack? (starts, sees WYNDIIAM) Ha! WYND. What mummery is this ? Whom do you take me for ? JACK. Whom do I take you for ? Why palaver argifies nothing,

I take you for a piratical cruiser. WYND. Insolent! ADAM. The very semblance of the buccaneer we boarded off

Cape Finisterre, HILL, (aside to ADAM) His brother doubtless. ADAM. His name ? HILL. Bowyer. ADAM. I see, a family likeness—Jack! JACK. Your honour, (they converse apart) WYND. (aside) They have met with Kupert at sea—the name of

Bowyer is disgraced for ever—I will leave this place, and Eve shall be the partner of my flight, (aloud) Farewell, Miss Hillington, joy be with you. (aside) Come night, your joy shall change to tears.

Mxit, E. u. B.

JACK. I tell your honour it's impossible—I'll take my davy it's the very identical, (looks round) What, cut his cable ? Damme, I'm sorry for that, or I'd have brought the lubber to the wind, if I wouldn't never mind—clear the gangway, will ye.

BECKY. Mr. Sailor, I declare you've not tasted a morsel. JACK. Bless your blue eyes, I'll be alongside before you can say

pea-soup—that piratical swab! (goes to table) ADAM. The likeness between them is indeed wonderful; had we

met elsewhere without explanation, it would have been a somewhat difficult task to convince me I was mistaken in identity.

CYUUS. (comes forward, R.) Measter Bashford, I've a word or two to say to you, if you please.

ADAM. What, Cyrus, old schoolfellow? CYBUS. Ah, thee han'na forgotten the school, nor I neither—nor

theTarrupings you used to gi? I—but drat it, never mind they. Here, please to take that, (offers money hag) " ADAM. What for?

16 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT I*

CYRUS. What for! Ah, now thee should'st remember, thee hast forgotten!

ADAM. Forgotten, what ? CYRUS. A poor lad wi' a bursting heart, weeping over his dead

mother—feyther had gone long afore, and left us to struggle on— and bad enough things went sometimes, often no food or fire—poor mother would sit and weep, and, boy as I wur, I'd tell her to dry her eyes and hope for brighter days. Mother said, hope had fled from her heart. I said no, things would mend, and so they did—I got a pleace, five shilling a week—that were lucky, weren't it ?— things went a trifle better, but I wur a strong, growing, hearty chap, and worked hard, and often I've since thought the poor soul stinted herself for me—bless her!—at last she sickened, and were given up—I came one day from work and called her by neame, there wur no answer—her breath wur fled, (weeps)

ADAM. 'Twas a hard trial for you, Cyrus. CYRUS. Ah ! none can tell what it is to lose a good parent save

those who've felt it—I thought my heart would split—neighbours came around, but they, like I, wur poor, and words of kindness couldn't lay mother in the earth—I flew to feyther's old friends, told 'em what had happened—I might as well ha' preached to stones—overseer came, and talked of a workhouse shell—feyther had paid scot and lot, thought I, and when he left us every friend on earth went with him—I was stung to the quick at the bare idea of a pauper's grave, you came and—and

ADAM. Tears, Cyrus—come, man, come. CYRUS. I can't help it—you didn't know the load you lifted from

my heart that day. Ah, thought I, now I can walk through the village and folks can't say, " That's Cy Bloom, whose mother were buried by parish." I'll work night and day, and, heaven willing, I 'ont die Adam Bashford's debtor. There, (offers bag)

ADAM. Pooh, pooh, man, ship it in your locker, I need it not— besides, Cy, you'll be looking for a wife.

CYRUS. Bless you, L ha' done that ever sin' I were breeched. ADAM. Well, have you found her ? CYRUS. That's for sartin, and a nice wench she be—one Becky

Bowles, the discreetest and morallist girl of any in these parts. (turns round to point out BECKY—at the moment JACK hisses her) Eh! Come, I say, none o' that.

BECKY. Thanke'e, Mr. Sailor. JACK. Bless those lovely glims! (offers to hiss her again, CYRUS

throws his hat at them) CYRUS. Come, dang it, there's enow o' that. Odd zookers, afore

my feace I I say, you salt-sea-sailoring fellow, come here, I've a exow to pluck wi' you.

JACK. What ship? CYRUS. NO ship. What be thee mislisting that lass for? (to

BECKY) And you to take it so quietly. BECKY. He didn't hurt me. EVE. Come, Cyrus, no anger, you do not know the hearts of

sailors • estranged so long from womankind, the volatility of their

SC. I I I . ] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN* 17

natural spirits carries them away, and that which you may deent rudeness, is by them no more than a mark of civility.

JACK. Nothing more, jigger me. BECKY. Come now, Cy, don't make a fool of yourself, if the

handsome young man did offer a bit of civility I don't see why you should make such a fuss about it—he is so interesting, and has been telling me such stories about reefing, and steering, and splicing, and boarding, and cutting out.

CYRUS. But he 'out cut me out, I can tell him that. BECKY. Well, I do admire a sailor. CYRUS. Come, none o' that. Admire a sailor! Why weren't I a

sailor? If I ha' known that, I'd ha' gone for one, for you know, Becky lass, I'd do anything in life to pleasure you.

HILL. Come, evening is setting, Adam tells me he has been up all night and must need repose. Early to bed, early to rise—you all know the proverb. To-morrow, children, will bring a happy day to both, I shall rejoice to see it, for the love that has held so long must strengthen, not diminish.

CYRUS. D'ye hear that, Becky, the love that has held so long! Think o' mine—nineteen year and three quarter!

BECKY. Yes, yes, butr-— {Looking at JACK who is blowing her a hiss)

CYRUS. Come, I say, none o' that, mister. HILL. Come, neighbours, the dance, the dance, and then to rest.

Adam, everything is prepared for you within, when you feel disposed to retire.

ADAM. Thank you, farmer, Eve and I must be partners in the dance, ere we become partners for life.

EVE. Certainly! Dear father, the evening is yet young —part­ners—partners!

JACK. Come along, my little water wagtail. CYRUS. Come, none o' that, she must be my partner in the

dance, ere we become partners for life. Strike up! Bustic dance by the Cluxracters^ at the close of which the stage

darkens.

ADAM, V faith I am somewhat weary, sleepless nights and anxious days have passed with me, and who can wonder recollecting past peril and the nappy future ?

EVE. Good night, dear Adam, sweet be your slumbers, {tltey embrace)

ADAM. Good night, friends, good night! Music—exit into house with HILLINGTON.

OMNES. Good night! Good night! EVE. I must away, for I have a hundred things to do against

to-morrow. To-morrow, my bridal day! A day that can never be forgotten while life remains with us. Happy, happy, Eve! after doubt and fear, the object of thy love has come at last to gladden thee. Good night, friends, good night t

Music—mil into home.

i g T H E LONELY MAN. OF T H E OCEAN. [ACT I ,

JACK. Come, hold up your truck, man, and don't look so down in the mouth—I meant no harm. A sailor always gets out of his soundings ashore, and without knowing his hearings and distances generally runs upon a false reckoning.

CYRUS. I reckon he does. Well , say no more about it. JACK. That 's hearty—give us your flipper ! CYRUS. NO need o' that , my squeezer o' lemons. BECKY. La, Cy, how can you be so cantankerous and unfriendly?

W h e n you interrupted us, he was going to tell me the first time lie fell in love.

JACK. Aye, and you shan't have a short allowance of the yarn. I fell in love by tumbling down the main hatchway, ' twas when I was cruising in the Sandwich Islands, where King Tommy Rammy Baiimieroo, and his wife come from—d'ye see, we had been refitting the rigging, and one of the ladies of Owayhee got precious sweet on me, so she lent hie a hand to tar the parcelling and pass the ball, and we were as kind and as loving as two turtle doves. Wel l , I was walking near the hatchway when somehow or other I capsized, and Lowtowchinchowch oily chow, (that was her name) in t iy ing to save me gave me a shove, I cotched hold of her and away we went, Lowtowehmchowchollyehow and I, down the main hold like a couple of cherry bums from the clouds—the hatchway was full of logs, and there we lay like the babes in the wood, as natural as life. Hpwsomever, there were no bones broke, so t hey hauled us up again, and how could I help falling in love wi th her after t h a t ? On, we used to ta lk together, she in her lingo and I in mine, like two cats in a gutter. But what was the use of it ? the fore-topsail was sheeted homewards, and away we went, I promised to wri te by the first post, but she didn't understand me and so I forgot all about it the next morning.

OMNES. Ha, ha, ha ! JACK* But come, my hearties, though the lieutenant has turned

into hammock we musn ' t have a dead calm right in our teeth— bowse up and all hands for fun—fire away old Morgan Bat t l e r !

Music. The dance is resumed—during which MARLEY is seen watching behind—he conceals himself between the wall and door as HILLINGTON opens the latter; when the FARMER comes

forward MAULEY slips into the house, beckoning WYNDHAM BOWYER, who follows.

H I L L . H u s h ! H u s h ! The lieutenant sleeps; wake not the weary. JACK. Never fear, commodore, we'll soon bring our cable to the

clinch. Music plays very piano—the dance noiselessly proceeds as drop

falls.

END OP ACT I.

SC. l.j THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 19

ACT II. SCENE I.—Interior of Hillington's Farm.

Tableau.—ABAM BASHFORD with his face buried in his hands; HILL­ING-TON by his side; BECKY, ORUS, and JACK loohing sorrowfully on; the VILLAGERS at back depressed. HILL. Cease, Adam, cease; 'tis folly to sorrow for the worthless. ADAM. This blow has crushed me never to rise again. My hope,

my heart was set on her from the days of our childhood—she was my sole thought—ever, ever with me—in calm and storm, in the battle and the breeze—still there was Eve, false, cruel, heartless Eve!

CYRUS. Lard, lard, who'd a thought i t! To run away before marriage—now had it been afterwards, I shouldn't ha' wondered.

BECKY. Hold your stupid tongue, do! JACK. Poor lieutenant—there he sits like a stranded wreck that

will never more spread canvas to the breeze. ADAM. Fool! fool! I fondly hoped she would have made my

home a paradise. What has she made life and home to me ?-—a desert dark and drear.

HILL. I cannot utter a word of comfort, for she has robbed me of the power. Base, base girl!

ADAM. And she had another, richer suitor ? 'Twas well concealed from me—no breath to wake a fear, no word, no sign—oh, 'twas duplicity deeply coloured to fool me on for years, and on the night before the bridal, to drop the mask and fly the ruin she had made.

JACK. Don't be hove down, your honour; bowse up your heart, you'll weather the storm yet.

ADAM. Strip a man of his dearest affections, and bid his heart be light—'tis mockery to nature.

HILL It is. She who seemed so good, so artless—the viper! BECKY. La, I had quite forgot. When you bade me call Miss

Eve to get ready to be married, I was so thunderstruck seeing her chamber empty, I forgot to give you the letter I found.

ADAM. A letter! HILL, (reads) " To Farmer Hillington—I have requited your

refusal and your daughter's scorn; you should have honoured my condescension, not despised it; I was determined to possess her at any hazard. Ere you peruse this, we shall be far at sea, and let your nautical hero track us if he can.—Bowyer."

JACK. Then that d d piratical rascal has her in tow. ADAM. Your daughter's scorn, says he ? Then she loved him

not, was not his willing partner in flight; yet how could she leave us, unless willingly, at the silent hour of night, when the slightest noise would have created alarm and brought assistance. Fool! I cheat myself into a belief—she was willing or she would not have fled.

JACK. Sink me if I believe it, your honour—in the hour of fear and peril woman is a weak vessel—she may have fainted, been bound and ragged, and couldn't use her trumpet.

20 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT II.

BEICKY. Bless that dear sailor, I declare he's our sex's champion. Oh ! you duck !

CYEUS. Come, come, I say, none o' that. But, Becky, lass, as one marriage can't take place, that's no reason another shouldn't.

BECKY. Why you unfeeling, unnatural monster, to think of such a thing at sucn a moment, (a knock)

HILL. Come in.

Enter SPEED (a messenger), p. D.

SPEED. A letter for Lieutenant Bashford—printed on it "Ad­miralty."

ADAM. The captaincy! Beyond my hopes—for her sake I would have declined it : but she is lost to me now, and why should I linger on the land when all that made it lovely never can be mine? Jack, get under weigh.

JACK. Hooray, your honour! The sarvice won't lose him, I shan't lose him—if it warn't for the little pinnace cutting her cable, J. could dance for glee.

CYRUS, {advancing) What wait twenty-nine months for a wife! I be whipped if I do.

BECKY, {who has been talking with him) You must. CYRUS. I 'ont!—human nater couldn't last out so long, {aside)

I'll put her to her tether, {aloud) Oh, very well, very well, wi' all my heart—and as you seem to be so mortal fond of 'em, just to kill time drat me but I'll turn sailor, and mayhap you may like me better when I come back.

BECKY. DO, Cyrus, do—for I love a sailor. JACK. Glory to you, my hearty !—only you put yourself under

my convoy, I'll teach you to splice, knot, reef, and steer, and to cast away starboard and larboard afore a cat could lick her ear—if I don't, jigger me.

CYRUS. I'll go. JACK. Tip us your fin on it. CYRUS. Come, none o' that, I arn't forgot the lemon squeezer. ADAM. Farmer, although we cannot refrain from sorrowing over

our bereavement, 'tis a Christian's duty to meet with fortitude every visitation, be it good or evil. I cannot ask you to forget her who has so far forgotten herself; past thoughts of bygone days will come to picture what she was, and lend to fancy strength to paint what she may be—she may return to you a happy, wedded wife— heaven grant it!—or she may come a poor, penitent, spiritless thing —as either, tell her the slighted seaman never can forget her, although his hopes were blighted, his heart almost broken.

HILL. Oh, Adam, the staff of my life is gone. ADAM. Be comforted, pray—time, aided by Christian resignation,

will serve you better than the sympathy of one who feels the blow as keenly as yourself—your neighbours will come to condole with you; my presence, coupled as 1 had hoped would have been my destiny with hers, will only bring her more vividly to your memory.

8C. I.] THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. 2l

HILL. YOU are right, Adam, I will place my trust in Heaven to yield me strength against this cruel blow.

ADAM. Your prayers will be heard, old man, for honour and goodness have marked each passage of your life—I shall think ever of you as a father, though fate denied me that blessing. Come with me for a while; I have something to impart in private.

TJie ViLLACEnsfottoio off ADAM and HILLINGTON, D. in r.

JACK. My dear eyes, ain't I as proud as a peacock ? When you touch at this port again the little pinnace wont know you, you'll be quite another guess sort o' thing.

CYRUS. Shall I though ? JACK. I warrant, when you've breakfasted on a whale with the

Axquimos, dined on an elephant with the Hoppingtops, supped upon a snake sixty feet long with the Red Indians, bearded a lion, shook paws with a tiger, and rode a race with an alligator.

CYRUS. Ecod, that will be what I call seeing life! and then, when snugly seated at home by one's own fireside to tell long tales of battles and storms and that like—fegs! neighbours will open their eyes and mouths with wonder, I'm thinking.

JACK. And the little pinnace will rate you a second Captain Cook, who made a voyage round the world.

BECKY. Aye, but suppose you should be wrecked—only think o' that.

CYRUS. Ay, only think o' that. JACK. Time enough to think of danger when it nears you. You

shall never be wrecked on a lee shore while I can keep you afloat -—but get under weigh, there's the Lieutenant bowling along, Seven knots an hour—ship your cargo, and let's weigh anchor.

CYRUS. Ay, I know what that means, get my traps and be off— Bless you all my valuables be tied up in a cotton handkerchief—I'll be with you in a twinkling.

Buns off^ D. in v. JACK. Well, my lass, you certainly have the most loving and

dutiful sweetheart I ever came athwart in all my cruisings—what! start the lad to sea, when most women try their hardest to tie 'em to their apron strings ashore.

BECKY. La, who'd marry a man who knows nothing, has seen nothing, and can do nothing.

JACK. What a sensible little skipper it is—I only wish I wag connohilly inclined, you're just the lass I'd strike my flag to and say, u There, take me prisoner for life, will yer ? "

BECKY. La, Mr. Sailor. JACK. Bless those bright lights! {hisses her) there's summat to

freshen your way arter we're gone. BECKY. Thank'ee, Mr. Sailor.

Be-enter CYRUS with a bundle, D. in P . CYRUS. NOW I be ready—good bye t'ye, Becky; twenty-nine

months 'il soon skip over, and then I shall come back another sort of

22 THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. [ACT IT.

chap wi' lots o' prize money ; then hey for a cot and we'll be as happy as grigs—heave-a-head, Mr Sailor.

JACK. Ha, ha, ha ! Good-bye, my lass. Exeunt., D. in P. BECKY. Well I'm sure, Mr. Cy, that's cool, but don't fancy

I'm going to part with you so easily, not I indeed. There's a suit of Cousin William's at home, I'll put it on, and be near you when you least expect it.

•Exity D. in F .

SCENE 11.—Chief Cabin of " The Eagle."

Musie.—^WY^miAM BOWYER leads on EVE HILLINGTON, L.

EVE. Monster, unhand me! the anger of heaven will pursue you for this cruel act. An old man's curse is cleaving to you—night and day he will implore vengeance on him who has made his white hairs wretched—his happy home desolate.

WYND. I have braved all, and now there's no retreating. Eve Hillington, armed with birth and fortune, I came an honourable suitor—rhow was. I received? I was scorned, rejected. Your beauty dazzled me—I determined to possess you—you know the sequel.

EVE. . Villain! thrice-dyed villain! to steal a helpless girl from her home and friends, from those who loved her.

WYND. {satirically) Aye, from Adam Bashford, he could not love you more devotedly than I ; you must strive to forget him.

EVE. Forget him! It must be in death then—we loved as children, and the passion strengthened with our strength, we owned no other thought. Little know you of our sex—the heart that woman gives, she gives for ever.

WYND. Time works wonders; the day will come when when this ill-placed affection will be no more remembered, save as an act of folly.

EVE. Hope not, dream not of it—even were it possible, could I look with favour on one who dastard-like descended to such un­worthy means to compass his desires? the very act denotes the heart of the wealthy Sqaire Bowyer.

WYND. Taunt on—what avails this railing? We are at sea, here you must become subservient to my will—here you will reign sole mistress of the Eagle and queen of my soul.

EVE. YOU may triumph on the deep, but the laws of the land--— WYND. Land ! Maiden, you have trod your last of land. EVE. And my home^-my father—shall I see them no more? WYND. This craft shall be your home, I will be father, friend, all

to you. EVE. Monster! WYND. Beauty in a pet becomes most enchanting—one kiss, my

pretty one. EVE. Defile me not by thy accursed touch. WYND. There's no retreating! EVE. There is—in death! (dashing open the cabin window and

hoping on the sill) Move not—stir not—or the deep rolling wave

SC. II.] THE. LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 2$

WYND. {staggered) Eve! EVE. Move not—rather death than dishonour. WYM>. Pause, pause ! I will offer no violence. EVE. Swear it, or you look your last on the wretched Eve.

. WYND. I do—I do, most solemnly ! f aside) I must wait a more fitting opportunity, {aloud) I will leave you, Miss Hillington, as proof of my obedience to your wishes, {aside) This storm of passion past, she must be resigned to her fate. Adieu!

' JEJxit, L. EVE. {watches Ms departure, descends and fatrsts into a flood, of

tears) Are these human trials? Alone and unprotected, in the power of this wretch, torn from home, from all that loved me^-my poor father's heart will break, Adam, too, what'will will be his feelings ? tlie morn that should have ilsheied in a happy day will be one of bitterest misery—ere this, they will have called for Eve, and called in vain—my poor Adam, is this thy reward for years of constancy? My fate unknown, he will deem me a consenting party in this accursed act, and the lips that last night blessed me, to-day, in the bitterness of their desolation will curse. Oh no, they will never curse—they will pray for the wretched Eve, while; wondering at her fate.

Miter HELENA STANTON, K., and regards her in silence. A woman! Thank heaveny I am not friendless.

HEL. Cheat not thyself with that that belief—woman as I am, I may prove thy direst foe. A long and weary life of solitude has deadened in my heart all of woman's nature.

EVE. "Who art thou ? H E L . I am the scorned mistress of the captain of this pirate ship. EVE. Pirate! f

HEL. Ay, think'st thou 'tis a pleasure yacht—poor girl! So was1

I deceived. EVE. I am lost! HEL. Did he win you from the shore, from: home and friends- by

a honied tale of love and never-dying constancy ? I know his arts? &nd have lived to repent the listening. He did! not tell yon, thai OB board you would find a being that once was counted beautiful, who once was the sunlight of her fond parents' hearts, who broke those hearts by heeding the vows of a villain, who sold her good name for shame, and forfeited her hope of heaven for a life of sin! speak, did he tellyou that ?

EVE. NO, he was not so honest—he stole me from my home in the dead hour of night, when all around were sleeping.

HEL. You have turned me from my purpose—the knife intended^ to drink thy blood shall find its rest in his heart.

EVE. Horror! Art thou human ? . HEL. I was, but insult and cruelty have changed me; had I

found thee his willing partner thy death were certain; as it is, thou shalt find a firmer friend in me, than thy fondest hopes could fancy —fear no ruffian touch, no brutal taunt, in the moment of peril I will be near—thy sentinel, thy safeguard.

2 4 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT I I .

EVE. This kindness—— HEL. Call it hy another name—hate! not to thee, poor maiden,

but towards him, that fiend, who, spurning the laws of heaven and man, roams earth, scattering misery and desolation around him !— There was a time when he swore by every solemn oath he prized me more than all the world beside—he lured me from a poor but happy home—he taught me to forget the being I had sworn to honour and obey—he taught me to forget my children—the monster had wound his coil so firmly around my bewildered sense he taught me to forget myself!

EVE. And your husband—your children HEL. They are dead to me—home and land to me has faded—

this bark of crime is my floating prison, it is doomed to be my death place—for once on board all hope of escape is vain.

EVE. And shall I never again behold those from whom I have been so cruelly separated ?

HEL. Never! EVE. Oh, heaven, how have I merited this persecution ? HEL. Nature had made thee fair—'twas meant for a blessing, it

has proved a curse—yet fear not, no harm shall reach you while I live, when I am gone thou wilt have no protector—yet ere I die thou shalt be freed at least from his power, with the ruthless crew thou must battle for thyself.

EVE. What a destiny is mine! HEL. Aye, so thought I, when like thee I quitted home and

friends. I would have foregone existence to have retraced my path for a little hour, to have heard that sweet word pardon, and died happy and in peace—bat fate denied that bliss—for years have I lingered with the barb of remorse at my heart, insult and scorn have placed a fiercer tenant there—revenge! Alone, in night's silent hour, home and its joys have been with me—I h-we been taught to feel the anguish that awaits the one false step—I have seen the face of honesty joyless and careworn—the forms of my deserted little ones, their voices ringing in the air, asking each other. "Who has made our home so wretched, poor father so miserable?" The silent monitor answered with terrible conviction, 41 Wyndham Bowyer"—for Wyndham Bowyer I abandoned all—-for him I linger in a prison, a despised wretch—while he, forgetful of all his vows, has brought another to share my hapless fate. "When I first heard of thee, I said—J will free that poor girl from her living tomb, for death to her were mercy—life, only endless misery.

EVE. And your purpose was my destruction ? HEL. Aye ; had I found thee a consenting party thou hadst not

lived so long, but the current of my revenge is changed, thou art safe—but the ruthless libertine, the trafficker in broken hearts, shall feel an injured woman's vengeance—he shall no more wreck happy homes, no more turn smiles to tears—his doom is cast.

Music.—Enter RED MARLEY and BAXTER, L. E.

How now, what intrusion is this ?

SC. I I I . ] THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. 2 5

MAR. (aside) She here! Damnation! ; HEL. Your business—speak!

MAR. IS with you—the Captain requires your presence on deck. EVE. (terrified) Oh, do not leave me, HEL. Fear not—villains, begone, I read your purpose-—offer no

outrage to this poor entrapped girl, or it were better the ocean's depths had swallowed you, than you had lived to see this hour.

MAR. Hie thee to the Captain, content thyself in his embrace— Baxter and I have diced for chance, and yon fair one's mine. (rushes towards her, HELENA seizes him by the tfiroat, EVE clings to HELENA)

HEL. Dog of a mutineer, stand back—thou shalt not harm her, even in thought.

MAR. Who shall stay me ?

Music.—BOWYER rushes in. WYND. Your Captain, villain. What madness is this ? Keturn to

your duty—I command you. MAR. I own no command. WYND. Ha, mutiny! MAR. . Aye,, and no fear of a court martial—the crew murmur,—

our brave barque was never intended for a harem—thou hast one mistress, let her content thee—this new comer's mine.

WYND. Not while I live. MAR. TO your shrift then, since it must be so—your moments

are numbered. WYND. Cowardly miscreants!

Music.—MARLEY and BAXTER attach BOWYER—HELENA draws a sword from the belt of BAXTER, and confronts him—Combat of four—during which, the PIRATES gain the advantage— BOWYER is thrown and HELENA disarmed—they are about to rush on them, as EVE seizes pistols from tJie cabin seat, levels and keeps them at bay,

EVE. Advance a step, and die!

Tableau*

SCENE III.—Between DecJcs of the Sea Nymph.

Enter CYRUS BLOOM, attired as a sailor, R.

CYRUS. Well, here I be, and a pretty fool I ha' made o' myself to turn salt-sea sailor man, and all to pleasure a wench I'm afeard is as fickle as a weathercock. I don't stomach this life no how, for I can keep nought on mine. Lord, lord, how mortal sick I ha* been surely, and them sailor chaps grinning and jeering a body; calling one loblolly-boy, swab, and such loike—Oh, I'm just thinking I've made a precious ninnyhammer o' myself. Madam Becky, I suspect, has another bachelor, and only persuaded I to turn sailor, to get .1 clean out o' way—-onjy let me get home and

c

26 THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. [ACT II.

iind it so, drat me if I don't turn Becky and her new swain topsy­turvy in a crack. Wait twenty-nine months for a wife! Ah, I should have shewn a little hit1 of independence and threatened to marry Sukey Slattern, then Becky would have sung to another tune, I warrant.

JACK, (without L.) Heave-a-head, my hearty.

CYRUS. Why, who the dickens he this youngster ? I han'na seen he afore.

Enter BECKY, in sailor's clothes, followed by JACK, L. 2 E.

BECKY. Ho, yeo-ho-hoy, my hearty, (to JACK) Am I right in my bearings ? sail in ship-shape—eh, Commodore ?

JACK. If you ain't a first rater, jigger me. BECKY, (slapping CYRUS on the shoulder) What cheer, mate?

Don't stand there with a face as long as a purser's account; run up your jib, fill your mainsail, and pay off your head.

CYRUS. Come, none o' that—if you speak English I'll answer you—-I never lamed Latin.

BECKY. Latin, you swab! It's pure English, the ship's English —why, what a know-nothing lubber you must be to let your laming slip through your fingers like a greased marlinspike.

JACK. My dear eyes, that youngster takes in his eddication quicker than I could one-water grog.

CYRUS. La, ha' marsy! I ha' surely seen you afore ! ain't I ? BECKY. Seen you afore! ain't I!—to be sure you have, many a

time, in tow with the pretty Becky Bowles. CYRUS, (aside) The murder be coming out surety—that wench

has made I a martyr. BECKY. She's as trim a little craft as ever sailed before the wind!

All beauty from stem to stern—we were to have been spliced only for a lubberly clodhopper who was always crowding in her wake.

CYRUS, (aside) Be I standing on my head or my elbows V She didn't tell 'ee the neame o' the clodhopper, did she ?

BECKY. Yes, she did; I've shipped it in my log—one Cyrus Bloom.

CYRUS. Oh, it was Cyrus Bloom, was it ? (aside) The she crocodile ! drat me but I'll rate her when I get home again.

BECKY. Yes, a lubberly lout of a fellow—dear heart, how she did overhaul his points. Ha, ha; ha !

CYRUS. Overhaul him, did she! He, he, he ! (aside) 1'iii choking.

BECKY. Yes, the rum yarn she spun about the griffin, would make a chaplain laugh in his sermon.

CYRUS. Ha, ha! he, he, he! (aside) I'm choking, (aloud) What was the yarn about ?

BECKY, Would you like to hear it ? CYRUS. Hugely, (aside) I'm swelling up like a turkey cock. JACK. NOW for a raking broadside—this is as good as a yam round

the galley fire. Get under weigh, youngster, let's have -

SC. III.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN 27

Abr'am—go-a-head with the yarn, slew it end for end, and then you'll have the right bearing of it.

BECKY. Well, then, the little pinnace, bless her, described this kangaro of a lover of hers, as a paltry, insignificant, know-nothing swab ! Says Becky—love her heart—says she, " he has an open countenance, for he has got a monstrous mouth, that stretches as wide as a turnpike gate, and his nose hangs down as if to see that nothing went through without paying toll—but his glims "——

CYRUS. What be they ? BECKY. His eyes, you swab—"they were a pair of odd ones, that

gave him the most agreeable squint in the world, and made him see two ways at once—many a chawbacon got a starting for quizzing him, thinking he was looking another way"—Ha, ha, ha!

CYRUS. He, he, he ! He got a starting, did chawbacon ? Dang it if I don't start you, or my neame's not Cy Bloom, (prepares to pull off his coat)

BECKY. Cy Bloom! JACK. The wery identical craft, with the odd glims and the

turnpike mouth— Ha, ha, ha I CYRUS. Come, I say, Measter Jack, none o'that—not that I mind

a bit of a quiz between old friends; but a little hop-o'my-thumb whipper-snapper like that.

BECKY. Whipper-snapper! D—me, you'll find me a sailor every inch o' me. If you don't clap a stopper on your jawing tackle, I'll button up your eyes to keep 'em warm, in the turning of a log glass, (hitches up her troivsers, and squares)

CYRUS. Od rat it—human nater can't stand that—you'll button I up, will 'ee? we'll try that in a crack, (strips)

JACK. Belay, Delay I don't open your mouth to wind'ard, it's as bad as the mizen topsail aback—if the skipper only caught a hint of this sheave-o, my mother's a Dutchman if he wouldn't order you both under hatches and give you a round dozen, just by way of a cooler.

CYRUS. Lard! lard! here's a precious plight Madam Becky ha* got I in. She villinesmy parsonable accomplishments, makes l a laughing stock for a young monkey, and when I offer to gi' he a good larruping, I'm to skip wi' a round dozen by way of a cooler.

BECKY. Well, we'll bring this serimmidge to a clinch till we can see our way ahead—she's a rum craft, that Becky Bowles. " When shall we ask the chaplain to splice us ?" says I. " In twenty-nine months," says she. " My dear eyes,'' says I, "that 's as bad as a fellow on a long voyage, night and day at the pumps;'' but it was no use boxing about, she was as fast to her point as a muscle to a ship's bottom-—" for," says she, " I've promised a worthy, hand­some, honest lad"

CYRUS. Ay, that wur I, she meant—chap, wi' queer thingumbobs {pointing to his eyes) were somebody else.

BECKY. YOU ! you ugly hippopotamus ! " I've promised," says she, " a worthy, handsome fellow," says she, " if he will but take a turn to sea, just by way of rubbing off the rust; and in twenty-nine months, when he returns, and I come in for my fortm''——

28 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. LACT II*

CYRUS. Fortin! BECKY. Aye, the rhino left her by her grandmother. CYRUS. Oho! and she al'us said Margery Mumps died as poor as church mouse. BECKY. "When I come in for my fortune, he who holds constant

and true, and is most to my mind, shall have me for better or worse.

CYRUS. Huzza! She beant so bad as I thought arter all, tol d© rol, &c. I be the lad for her money—she wants a sailor husband, does she, only let her wait a bit and I'm the chap, from top to toe. D me!

Hitches up his trowsers, taps his hat, and exit, r.. JACK. Ha, ha, ha! Split me but this is a rum rig; but we must

veer round upon another tack now. Duty, mate, duty; every man to his station. My dear eyes, what griffins these petticoats do make of us to be sure—there's a poor swab takes to the sea for twenty-nine months to please his craft; and there's the skipper above as melancholy as a sick marine, 'cos as how his little pinnace has cut and run with the enemy. Sink or swim's my motto, and the girl that won't hold true to her colours ain't worthy a sailor's thought. If she sticks fast to her cable, she's a trump—and if she cuts, let her go and be — What argifies patter when the gunner's sponge rubs out all scores ? Heave ahead, mate I

Exit, »•

SCENE IV.—Main Deck of the Sea Nymph

Enter ADAM BA&KFQRD from cabin.

ADAM. Again I'm afloat on the main. Why did I ever turn my thoughts towards land—that charmless land, that she, false, faith­less as she is, has made hateful ? No more I'll seek it—my home henceforth shall be on the wave, it's cold deep bosom my grave. In vain I try to banish her from memory—the more I struggle, more forcibly she comes, and with her the remembrance of a hunr dred bygone happy days. 'Sdeath ! to hold firm to her faith from childhood, and then turn traitor! 'Tis enough to shake a heart of iron, and mine I find is human. Can I ever forget her artless smiles, her looks of innocence and love ? Psha! I was a dreaming boy, she found upon the land another more suited to her choice— she forgot her plodding sailor on the sea, whose only thought was her happiness, whose only study was to store up all for her—and on the eve of my long-promised joy to leave her home, her aged father. Let me read again this hated scrawl, (reads) " Ere you peruse this, we shall be far at sea, and let your nautical hero track us if he can." Heaven grant me that I—there is a solace in revenge, even if death were the sacrifice.

Enter JACK, up hatchway. JACK, (overhearing) Death ! Splinters and spars! The grim Com­

modore is always atnwart the Captain's upper works. Marsy on

SO. IY.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 29

me, he looks as white in the fore as a slip of new canvas on an old sail. Your honour-

ADAM. Well, Jack ? JACK. You'll excuse me, your honour, for letting out the cable of

my mind; I ain't going to spin a yarn as long as the maintop bow­line, but it cuts me to the quick to see your honour so hove down in the port of melancholy. Our chaplain always said, " Pitch care overboard if he comes to the fore." What, though your hopes be stranded on the shore, look a-head, your honour, there's sartin pro^ motion in the sarvice of your country; you'll find work enough to start her from memory, or, mayhap, you find some one more worthy;

ADAM. Never, Jack, never! Trust rather to a quicksand than to woman's love. From our earliest days we were plighted; at end of every voyage, our vows of love and constancy were renewed, both seemed to live for the moment that was to render two hearts one. Where are those hearts now ? 'Tis womanish to say it—one almost broken, the other revelling afar.

JACK. Sink me, but it was a heartless trick, and your honour Bailing like the wind to reach port, fancying yourself about to be laid up in lavender for life, and then to fall from the mast head bang into the hold! But I'm glad on it! I'm glad on it 1

ADAM. Glad! JACK. If I ain't, jigger me! Suppose old Spliceum had tacked

you together, and as you hadn't given up all idea of another cruise, you might have been at sea, and if she had taken it into her fancy to cut and run then ?

ADAM. She would have borne my name, and I should have shared a portion of her shame ; now the crime is all her own. I could not remain at her birthplace to endure the cold glance of pity, unwedded as she was; had she been my wife--the thought is madness J

JACK. Call me an hignoramus if all hasn't happened for the best. Why 'twould have been a loss to the service, if your honour a young and brave seaman, had left it, when your foot was on the ladder of promotion—time enough to anchor in the haven of matri­mony after twenty years' honorable and glorious service, and then to lie up in comfort, mayhap a lord high admiral, with plenty of shot in the locker, instead of wasting a young life with a pretty wife and, mayhap, a whole crew of young tars, (a distant gun)

VOICE, (above) A sail in the offing! ADAM. See where she rides.

, (a miniature ship worJcs on in the distance) JACK, AS smoothly as a duck on full water, (handing glass to

ADAM) Clap your glim athwart her, your honous, and see what sort o' cretur it is.

ADAM, (looking through glass) What do I see ? Can I be mis­taken ? No!—tliere is not another like her on the main—'Tis she 1

JACK. Who's she, your honour ? ADAM. The Eagle—the pirate craft we encountered off Cape

Finis terre. JACK. Oh, there ain't no such luck, (aside) He's sprung a bit of

a leak aloft, and his upper works are damaged. Let's have a squint,

3 0 THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. [ACT I I .

your honour? I'd know her itom a whole fleet, aye, were it a million strong, {holes through glass) Hooray! if it ain't the same ugly-built varmint, call me a hignoramus, will yer ? She's crowding all sail towards us; my old shoes to a marine's button, Miss Hilling-ton's aboard.

ADAM. What say you ! on board! it cannot be. Hillington said that Bowyer's brother was the daring pirate, and so much resem­bling him, 'twere difficult to tell one from the other. Be that as it may, 'tis a lawless craft. • JACK. And we'll have a cut at her! Huzza! D e, I hate doing nothing, and having a whole crew to help me. Crowd all sail and come alongside us, you beauty, and we'll let daylight through your ribs.

ADAM. Pipe all hands, Jack. (JACK blows whistle)

Music—The GREW man the deck, among them CYRUS and BECKY.

Here's work for you, my lads—an enemy lies in our wake. SAILORS Huzza! CYRUS, {very faintly) Hoo—ray! I'm getting mortal queer again. BECKY. What did he say, an enemy ? then there'll be a battle.

Oh me, I wish I was snug at home. ADAM, {looking through glass) She makes head bravely; clap on

all stress of sail—brace the yards up—and let her come to the wind on the larboard tack.

SAILORS. Aye, aye, sir. {distant gun) BECKY. I shall faint. CYRUS. Oh, why did I turn sailor? ADAM. Topmen, away aloft—keep snugly to leeward—see that

all your studding-sail gear is properly rove, and everything ready for shaking out a reef and setting the royals.

VOICES. Aye, aye, sir. ADAM. Maintop there! stand by to hoist the pennant, and

mind it blows out clear. VOICES, (above) Aye, aye, sir. JACK. Huzza, your honour! she's bearing down upon us like the

wind. Huzza! for the bold buccaneer and Eve Hillington. ADAM. Again prophetic be your words ! heaven grant she may

be aboard, for then I shall have my heart's dearest wish in meeting him, for we shall come band to hand—foot to foot—and there will be death between us. Unfurl the Union Jack, let it float in the breeze. Send forth a volley of defiance, let the iron of Old England boom over the deep, {heavy discharge of guns) Men, stand to your guns; fight for the Queen and the land of your birth, {guns)

CYRUS. I can't stand this, I am so queer—I must go below. BECKY. I'm queer too—take me with you. {they scramble below) JACK, {looking through glass) I can spy him on deck—the werry

identical Warmint. ADAM, {looking through glass) By heavens, 'tis he! Another

raking broadside, {guns—wildly) Ha, ha, ha! this moment is worth a long life. Come, Bawyer, come ! my impatient soul chides each

SC. I.] THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. 31

moment of delay. Eve on board! heaven grant it. Come, Bowyer, come—and stake for death or glory.

JACK. Be calm, be calm, your honour. ADAM. I am, as an infant sleeping. Should I tall, Jack, do not

bear me to the land; give me a sailor's shroud—a seaman's grave. JACK. Aye, aye, sir. She's under our bows; ADAU. Another broadside. Stand to your guns !

{Music—The sea fight—the firing kept up loud and continuous —the PIRATE CREW board the Queen's ship, amidst shouts and heavy firing)

ADAM, (meeting BOWYER) Ha, ha, ha! For the Queen and Eve Hillington.

(Music—Desperate contest by all hands—BOWYER is disarmed and thrown by ADAM—HELENA, on the side of the vessel, levels a pistol at BASHFORD ; EVE, by her side, baulks the aim—-the pistol discharged in the air)

EVE. Adam, dear Adam! (runs forward and faints at his feet) ADAM. Eve! Monster, die!

HELENA catches his arm—the PIRATES crouch under the arms of their conquerors. Tableau,

END OP ACT I I .

ACT III. SCENE l.-^Main Deck of The Sea Nymph, as before.

Music—enter JACK JOLLY, GRAPNELL, and SAILORS.

JACK. Huzza, my hearts! Arter a storm comes a calm, and arter a battle a boose. My dear eyes ! look at yonder crippled craft, her sails riddled like a sieve—the sarcy warmint to grapple with a Queen's ship, and hope to come off without crying peccavi. Why they might as well have looked for soundings in the Falls of Niaggery in Amerikey, or doubled Cape Horn in a cockle shell.

GKAP. But what does the skipper mean, Jack, by delivering up all the captured crew to the Albion that hailed us and keeping th$ pirate captain and the women on board ?

JACK. Call me a hignoramus, if I know; saving as how he's shipped off the crew in the Albion, as she's bound for England, that the piratical lubbers may get their deserts, and dance upon nothing.

GTRAP. But he reported their captain was dead and none of his crew are the wiser—what could that be for?

JACK. I've a guess notion. D'ye see, that lawless buccaneer has been sailing under the black flag for many a year, we once had a scrimmidge with the warmint oft Cape Finisterre, but he somehow or other managed to slip out of our wake and stood out to sea. Our skipper, as every man of you know, crowded all sail for home,

32 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT III.

thinking to be spliced to the girl of his heart—there was his honour and I, as happy as middies ashore on a pay day, when the morning came, the girl had been carried off during the night by Squire Bowyer.

GRAP. Squire! I thought he was a captain ? JACK. Belay, belay, arn't I telling on you ? At homeBthey said

there were two brothers as much alike as two forty-pounders, you couldn't tell one from t'other—one a squire living in a fine house with his yacht on the water— the other a buccaneer on the main— it was a lie ! bless you, the buccaneer was killed just after his scrim-midge with us in the gut of Gibraltar—and the landsman thinking the life of a pirate a profitable one, takes to the trade.

GRAP. How the devil did you hear all this ? JACK. From one of the crew, a fellow named Marley, who it

seems being one day more that half seas over, urged the crew to mutiny, his skipper clapped him in irons, and on a promise of obedience pardoned him.

GRAP. But I want to know what he intends doing with the pirate ?

JACK. I shouldn't wonder if he strung him up to the yard-arm. GRAP. Why not have sent him to England for trial ? JACK. Because there's nothing like having one's ends of a man

who does one a wrong; our captain has as brave and kind a heart as ever handled trumpet, but he's a devil for revenge, and when a " man loses the mainstay of his heart, the lass he loves, he'd go round the world to square the yards with the villain that stole her. Ah, you know-nothing swab! you don't know what it is to lose the girl you love—when my Peg Pollock went off with a drummer, and they told me on it; I swore for a week—got drunk for a month —took to my hammock for a day or two, and got up blessing my lucky stars I'd got rid of a bad bargain—but with our skipper it's quite another guess sort of thing.

GRAP. Steady—he's coming on deck.

Music—Enter CAPTAIN BASHFORD/mw cabin. ADAM* Morning has come again, and the sun is shining in the

west—Bowyer, ere yon bright orb shall set you will be numbered with the dead, for I swore should we ever meet, death only should part us. (to JACK) IS Marline and his men on board that pirate craft?

JACK. Aye, your honour, waiting orders, ADAM. 'Tis well—bring forth your prisoners. JACK. All of 'em, your honour ? ADAM. All! JACK. NOW old curious, you'll soon be satisfied, {to GRAPNELL) ADAM. Why am I not obeyed ? JACK. In the wink of a blind eye, your honour.

Exit JACK and SAILORS—cabin, ADAM. I have snatched her from his grasp, 'tis a sweet revenge

—yet she never can be mine; honour is man and woman's dearest treasure—what a wretched bankrupt is the loser. I must be firm,

SC. I.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 33

no prayers—no tears—must move me; I will think only of the blighted past, nor heed the future. They come!

Music.—JACK and SAILORS return tuith BOWYER in chains; HELENA and EVE follow—the latter runs to ADAM.

EVE. Adam ! dear Adam ! ADAM. Be dumb, madam, I have heard those words before and

fondly heeded them : now they cannot penetrate a heart dead to every feeling, save one—a just—a terrible revenge!

EVE. I never wronged you, Adam, in thought or deed. ADAM, (violently) Not wronged me! (checking himself) We are

not here to speak of that; again, I say, be dumb. Captain Bowyer, after a night of slaughter the calm has set around, save in my heart; you are not unconscious that you have done me a deadly-wrong. In her native village, you beheld a happy seaman—the morn that should have crowned that happiness, you changed to blackest night; for in her a poor old man lost his hope—this fond heart then, it's idol.

EVE. Oh, Adam ! dear Adam! ADAM. I'll speak with you anon, madam, (to BOWYER) You

turned our tide of joy to tears—all my fancied hopes of bliss to sand; I cannot think of this, and bid memory slumber.

WYND. I ask no mercy, I do not expect it—to excuse my mad folly, were vain; but if it be any consolation to you, know that Miss Hillington is as pure as when she left her father's dwelling.

ADAM. Pure? and in thy keeping! ha, ha, hal EVE. AS there is light and hope in heaven, he speaks the truth. HEL. On my soul I swear it. ADAM. Preach to the wind; Bowyer, thou wert prostrate at my

feet, unarmed, defenceless, I could have slain thee then—but 1 spared thee that thou might know the extent of ruin thou hast wrought. Think you the heart of the sailor will ever bound again as when you met him on the shore ? Think you, yon weeping girl, can look upon her home, her father's eyes again, the same Happy being you, hell kite! found her ? Never! never! What punish­ment were adequate to the ruin you have caused ? Speak, sir, I will give thee thy choice of death.

HEL. Oh no, not death! spare him for repentance. EVE. Mercy, Adam, mercy! as at your need you hope to iind it. ADAM. There is a bitter oath upon my soul, that all the world

could not persuade me to forego. Yonder lies your lawless craft; at my signal, she will become a pile of burning ruins. For these, your victims, they shall be borne to England—but they shall be spectators of thy doom. No more happy homes shall be wrecked, no more fond homes blighted by thee, monster.

WYND. Are you a man ? ADAM. I was. If I seem aught else, 'tis you alone have made

me what I am. WYND. This act stamps thee savage and unnatural. ADAM. Indeed ! Does it so? How shall I classify your act?

Was that merciful, or in nature ? The bolt is hanging over you,

3 4 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. [ACT I I I .

and craven like you fear it's fall. We trifle time; choose, sir—the yard-arm or the plank.

EVE. Horror ! Adam, stain not thy soul by taking the life oT a fellow-creature. Give him to the laws; seek not self-revenge.

(ADAM turns away) WYND. For thy generous pity—thanks. I do not shrink from

the doom that awaits me ; but to die the death of a dog—no \ rather in the deep.

ADAM. 'Tis well—prepare the plank. Music.— The plank is affixed to the ship's side—ADAM fires a

pistol in the air—a pause of consternation from all—a red glare rises in the distance.

HEL. The ship is on fire ! ADAM. Aye, madam, the pirate ship. Its commander and the

craft are destined to perish together—Bowyer, to thy fate—come! WYND. One moment's grace, to implore forgiveness for past

errors. You, Miss Hiilington, I feel assured will forgive the misery 1 have caused you, for I have witnessed your generous nature. Helena

HEL. Die, Bowyer, in peace—I will not nourish rancour to one so near eternity. From my soul I forgive you.

WYND. Bless you!, bless you!—I can die— (aside) but not unavenged, (aloud) Death rides on the blast, Bashford; I am not its only victim—perish thou !

Music.— Draws pistol from bosom, fires — the shot strikes HELENA ~ BOWYER rushes along the plank, it tilts, he disappears — the burning of the pirate ship is reflected strongly.

EVE. Hapless woman! HEL. NO—happy, thrice happy!—for he has kept one vow—he

gwore that we should live and die together—he is no perjurer there. Let the same grave hold us—to live were misery, in death there's bliss. Pardon, husband—children o—h ! (dies)

Tableau!—Bed fire at fall.

SCENE II.—Between Decks. Enter CYRUS BLOOM and BECKY, R. J both are very pale,

CYRUS. Dear heart, how mortal bad I be surely—I've beet frightened out of my wits and a year's growth into the bargain. Oh, Becky Bowles! Becky Bowles! I shall never see you no more—I be spoken to—I be booked—-

BECKY. And so am I—I'm half dead with fright. If I'd ha* thought they'd have had a battle, they wouldn't have caught me at sea, among such a set of murdering savages.

CYRUS. I say, 'twur lucky we got out of harm's wky when the fight was on—I should ha' caught a stray bullet in my unlucky carcase, I know I should—it's al'us been my luck to find a thing when I wasn't looking for it. But, I say, how plaguy still every-

SC. II.] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 35

thing is about us—the hammocks are nearly all filled with sailors. What can that mean, I wonder ?

BECKY. Mean! Why that the poor fellows are all tired after their long fighting, and no wonder.

CYRUS. Truly, truly; if I'd ha' been in the thick of it I shouldn't get up for a month, if ever I did again. Oh, I'm an unfortunate gander. Why the dickens was I persuaded to turn sailor? Madam Becky little knows the precious mess she ha' plunged I into. I shall never see her again, or poor mother's grave, or the village church, or the Cat in Pattens ! Oh, Becky! Becky ! this be all your doings!

BECKY, (crying) I know it, Cy, I know it. CYRUS. Eh! Why dang it, if you beant she! Beant'ee ? BECKY. TO be sure l am, CYRUS. Tol lol lol. Oh! I can't sing, I feel so sadly—let's ha' a

look at 'ee, wench. Oh! oh! Becky Bowles in a jacket and thingamy's ! Who'd ha' thought it! Oh! here be ondelicacy, I be quite ashamed o' thee. ' ,,

BECKY. I'm ashamed of myself, Cy. (crying) But it was all thrdugh you.

CYRUS. All through me ! Come, come, none o' that. BECKY. Yes, if you hadn't set your heart on becoming a sailor, t

should never thought of following you. Did you think I intended to wait twenty-nine months for a husband ?

CYRUS. You said so. BECKY. But you should never take a woman at her first word. CYRUS. No ! Then we ha' brought our pigs to a precious market, BECKY. You shouldn't have turned sailor. CYRUS. Why did you give me the notion then ? But it can't be

helped now, lass, so gi* us a buss and say no more about it—why how mortal pale you be, surely

BECKY. And so are you, Cy, you're as white as a turnip. CYRUS. Oh, dear! We shall be both cut off in our olessed

Erime, in the flower of our youth and innocence. Oh, if I only ve to get safe on land they won't catch me at sea again—I've had

enow o' that. BECKY. Don't mention it, I shall hate the name of sea as long as

I live. CYRUS. That won't be long I reckon. BECKY, (crying) Don't say so ! CYRUS. I be sure on't—and what a fool I've been. I bought the

ground where poor mother rests, in hopes when the time should come I might lie beside her. Oh ! folks said at home—a fool and his money were soon parted.

BECKY. Hush! Here's the sailor!

Enter JACK JOLLY, L.

JACK. It's all too true—'tis a doomed ship. Yellow Jack's on board, to grapple every mother's son.

BECKY. Then he won't grapple me, that's one comfort. CYRUS. And who the dickens be Yellow Jack ?

3 6 THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN* [ACT I I .

JACK. The yellow fever—the plague! CYRUS. Come, none o> that—you only say so to frighten a body. JACK. It's as true as the light. Go look in the hammocks, or

on the decks strewn with seaman who only a few hours since were alive in health and strength—I tell you, we are all doomed.

CYRUS. Oh! booked—done for, to a certainty! JACK. Why do you anchor here ? Come on the deck. All below

smells like a grave scorched by the sun—air' Air! Bushes off, R.

CYRUS and BECKY look dolefully at each other) tlien burst into a violent flood of grief

CYRUS. Oh, oh! It be all up wi' us! BECKY. Oh, oh! Why did I come to sea to be boarded by a

yellowback. GYRUS. Don't pine, lass, while there be life there be hope, and

all's not lost that's in danger—think o' that. BECKY. Think 1 I can't think of nothing but the yellow

jack. CYRUS. That precious Yellow Jack I BOTH. Oh, oh, oh !

J&xit, R., holding.

SCENE III.—The Deck (set). Tableau. .The dead crew by moonlight

ADAM discovered.

ADAM. Alone, alone in this floating charnel-house—there is not a breath on the waters, and the pale moonlight streams over the features of the dead. Oh! how I dread the dawn, the rising of the sun, beneath whose scorching beams this helpless crew must fester. I have not strength to give their bodies to the deep —Eve, is resting there—'these hands performed that last sad office. Oh! this is retributive justice! Methought the voice of Bowyer mocked me at my work, for an angel bade me spare him and I was deaf to the appeal—madman, that I was—her words were " Mercy, mercy, Adam, as at your need you hope to find it." They will haunt me for ever—I, who have so much need of mercy, and dare not hope it—death's wing has swept all around me, yet I linger on -—I who swore to die upon the waters, to shun for ever the land— 'twas impious. I have called on death, he hears me not. I am doomed to tarry in this region where all is still and desolate—not even a sound to dispel this horrid silence, save the roar of the waters, and the flap of sea bird's wing. I grow strengthless— Strengthless! (supports himself against a gun)

JACK appears up the hatchvmy. 3ACK. Captain—your honour. ADAM. Who calls? Jack! Thank heaven, I hear again a

human voice, (assisting him fortvard) JACK. Ah, Jack's pipes will soon be hushed; a burning fever

rages in my heart, that all the sea could never quench. I see you

ACT II I . ] THE LONELY MAN OF sTHE OCEAN. 3 7

ere I weigh anchor for the last port—there's consolation even in that, for you and I were boys Mgether— we left home together for a life upon -the wave; we have lived—we shall die there.

ADAM. /Say not so, Jack; hope is life. Death will be merciful, he will spare you to cheer me in this region of solitude: we will talk of our early days on land, of our fathers' homes:, of the smiling faces that met us each time we came from sea, our sprees in every port, our happy days afloat. He hears me not. Death ! death is on him. (raises him with difficulty—JACK falls dead) He is dead! I am now alone; in the world—no hand to steer the dead freight—no hand to give it to the deep—'twill fester here in the rays of the sun; oh, hpw I dread it's rising. Alone! alone in this floating abode of deatji—the waves it's helmsman, I, it's only living tenant. The Lonely Man of the Ocean; stripped of every hope, even the sinner's ?;ist*#the endless sleep, when sorrow and suffering cease ; I may linger on for days—perhaps months-—years, and none come to snatch niefSfrom this scene of horrors. Should a sail appear in sight, 'twould shun the doomed ship, on board of which pesti­lence rages. -.There is refuge but in suicide—to leap from the deck into the : deep— to bid farewell to light and life; yet to die the coward's death—the madman's last resource—while reason keeps her seat, and Christian creed bids the sinner yet to hope. I t is His mighty will, and though in deepest wretchedness, I still must suffer oh. I

A distant gun is fired, and a miniature vessel works in sigM, shown byffie moon,

A sail! a sail! Hope dawns again. I'll answer it, they'll hear my signal of distress, and heed it. Ho! a linstock ! Fool! I prate to the dead—there is none to hear me. I—I am strengthless; yet one last effort, 'tis for life or death!

Music.—He rushes to the bach, and returns with a lighted linstock, which he applies to several guns, without effect,

I am lost! all are unloaded ! (reaches another, L. 2 E.) Ah, this is the last glimmering of hope ! (fires it) The last gun, and fired by the last man;©f the crew ! (it is answered by the distant vessel) She hears ! she hears! and spreads her sails towards me. Hope! Life! Joy! Ha, ha, ha ! (falls senseless)

Music.-^Glouds loorh slowly across the front of stage, which dispelling, discover

4, SCENE THE LAST.-#U£ Chamber in Iffllingtori's Farm, Large window

in centre, tlirougli which the sun's rays are streaming; bed in an alcove.

ADAM is discovered on a sofa in troubled sleep.

Music,—A loud faioclcing heard at v. in F. . ADAM. No—hone will come on board. They fear the fever—

they shift their helm—they abandon the doomed ship—they leave me to madness and to death.

D

38 THE LONELY MAN OP THE OCEAN. [SC. lie

The Mocking is repeated. HiLLiNaTON opens the door -with a hey and enters, folhwed^ij s^emt NEIGHBOURS.

HILL. HO, Adam ! Here, 'and dressed !—not in bed all night! Wake, man, wake !-—the sun is high in the heavens I Your bride will be waiting-. P- Wake, man, wake! {shakes him)

ADAM, {waking) Where am I ? (starts up, gazing wildly) I see all—a dream! A horrid dream! (chord) Thank heaven, it was not reality! (falls on his Jcnees)

HILL. But why here, Adam, and not in bed all night ? ADAM. The air was hot and sultry, and the burnings of an over­

charged heart banished sleep—I lingered here in the pale moonlight, thinking of past and future days, and when sleep dame, what a dream of horror flitted o'er my soul—it was the warning of the night to bid me, waking, dsubly prize the treasure that is not lost, (joy bells) .*•'.

Enter EVE, D. in F., attired as a Bride, followed by BRIDESMAIDS and LASSES.

Eve! my own, my dearest! Dost remember, love, our parting words last night ? Was Adam in thy dreaming thoughts ?

EVE. He was. ALDAM. For weal or woe ? EVE. A lot, the brightest!—one round of constancy, of never-

dying love! CYRUS BLOOM sings without, and enters, D. P., with BECKY, both

wearing wedding favors, \ CYRUS. Tol lol, lol de rol. Gi' me joy! Gi' me joy!—Becky

can't hold out nine and twenty months—she be so badly in want of a husband.

BECKY. I ! Don't believe him, neighbours, the wretch has been teazing me to death because I accidentally did make a kind of a sort of a promise to wed the same day as Miss Eve.

CYRUS. And neighbours, she says, I ha' gotten such a wheedling way wi' me, for the life on her she couldn't refuse.

BECKY. Hold your stupid tongue, do! CYRUS, Lard! lard! how happy she ha' made I, to be sure !—I

thought I shouldn't sleep a wink for thinking, ^ u t I did, and dreamt

ADAM. Dreamt? CYRUS. Aye. I say, Farmer, that ale that wur brewed same clay

Miss Eve wur born be famous stuff to set folks drejtming—I dreamt I wur feyther to a step ladder o' little ones, anfl wur in such a fluster cause the girls warn't so tidy as Becky could wish 'em, and all the boys wanted new highlows.

ADAM. H a ! ha! An omen of the cares of matrimony, Cyrus. (joy bells)

HILL. Come to breakfast, and then to church. Adam, you will find my little Eve, as a wife, what she has ever been as a daughter -—beautiful and good.

AC1* l i t ] THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. 39

JACK JOLLY, (without) Belay! belay! don't get under weight till I'm alongside—we're all on us bound for the same port.

Music.—Enters, D. F , wearing a laftfe wedding favour—a buxrnn' country LASS hangs on his arm.

ADAM. What, Jack, taken in tow at last! Ha, lia, ha ! JACK. Aye, your honour may laugh; bless yon, I ain't xmwen*

erable—human nater's human nater. You may dress a pig in a sarplis, but he's a porker arter all. This is my craft, Peg Pollock, as 1 told your honour on. Bob a bit, Peg. (PEG curtseys) And what they said #>out the drummer was all a d - —

EVE. (cheeking him) Aha I JACK. AX pardon—was a libel on the most constantest of all

female women craft. Bob, Peg, and shew 'em your genteel breeding. (PEG curtseys)

HILL. Come, come, we have no time to lose. JACK. (looMng out) Why here's that whifllegig chap of a pirate

bearing down. EVE. Wynclham Bowyer! ADAM, (asid^) My rival in the dream!

Bells and music.—Enter WYNPHAM BOWYER, D. in F.

WYND. (aside) My scheme of last night failed—her door was fastened from within, {aloud) Joy, joy, to all, Miss Hillington, I could not quit : this village, perhaps for ever, without soliciting forgiveness for nast importunities. I sought your hand in honour —there was a disparity of station between us, you wisely observed, i t ; I do not blamef you. You are all on the high road to matrimony it seems.

CYRUS. Yes, and I'm fidgetting myself to fiddle strings till we start.

BECKY. Hold your stupid tongue, do! WYND. I go to the gay metropolis to unite my destiny with a lady

of high birth, yet ere 1 departed, I could not refrain from leaving behind me some token of my respect for Miss Hillington—that in after days as the wife of Lieutenant Bashford, she might not unfiavourablylregard one, who proudly acknowledges he was captivo to her charms, and who now begs her acceptance o£ an humble token of his friendship, (presents casket)

EVE. They shall be received, sir, in the kind spirit with which you offer them. ,

CYRUS. What's he going to give Becky, I wonder ? WYND. Joy, joy to all! CYRUS. Same to you, Squire, till you're tired on it. WYND. Lieutenant Bashford, your hand—rivals no longer—I

congratulate you on the possession of such a treasure. Joy, and farewell to all I

Bows and exit x>. in F. Joy bells again.

CYRUS. What nothing! The stingy beggar! BECKY. Hold your tongue, inatgpio I

AQ THE LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN,

HILD. Gome, come, we shall be. late. JACK. That mustn't happen by no manner o' means, must it, Peg? ADAM. A word or two b^-your leave. Foretop there, (to gallery)

"Here are a small fleet of vessels about to be launched on their first cruise to the port of matrimony—should any of our rigging be badly fitted, let your good nature overlook the fault; and if the waisters [to, the pit) do not carry too heavy a press upon us, with the assistance of the after guard, (to the boxes) and the propitious

-gale of your applause, we trust we may anchor happily in our destined port—if you think favourably of "The Lonely Man of the Ocean."

Cnrtaitt.