Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 21

THE FIGURE. Me? I'm the paymaster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FIGURE. Hark a-yonder!

ANDREW. [_Listening._] Is it thunder?

THE FIGURE. Have ye forgot?

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

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

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

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

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

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

ANDREW. Your face!

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

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

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

[_From the right enter_ JOEL _and_ ELLEN.

[_Descending from the embankment_, THE FIGURE _stands apart_.

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

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

What's happened?

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_They kiss each other._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FIGURE. Come, little gal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_U. S. A._

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