Defenders of Democracy Part 7

(Covers his eyes and groans. In a little while he looks up at Dartrey and touches his left eye)

This. Gone. Gulls.

(Dartrey draws his breath in sharply and turns a little away)

In a few hours the cuts opened. The salt-water had kept them closed.

DARTREY

Cuts?

GILRUTH

(Nods) Her head. And her face. Cuts. Blood after all that time.

(He clenches and unclenches his hands nervously and furiously. He gets up slowly, walks over to the fireplace, shivers, then braces himself trying to shake off the horror of his thoughts. Then he begins to speak brokenly and tremblingly endeavoring to moisten his lips with a dry tongue)

Never saw anything to equal the kindness of those poor peasants.

They gave the clothes from their bodies; the blankets from their beds. And took nothing. Not a thing. "We're all in this," they said. "We're doing our best. It's little enough." That's what they sayd. Pretty find the Irish of Queenstown. Eh?

(Dartrey nods. He does not trust himself to speak)

A monument. That's what the Irish peasants of Queenstown should have. A monument. Never slept, some of them. Wrapped the soaking woman in their shawls--and the little children. Took off their wet things and gave them dry, warm ones. Fed them with broths they cooked themselves. Spent their poor savings on brandy for them.

Stripped the clothes off their own backs for them to travel in when they were well enough to go. And wouldn't take a thing. Great people the Irish of Queenstown. Nothing much the matter with them.

A monument. That's what they should have. And poetry.

(Thinks for a while, then goes on)

Laid out the bodies too; just as reverently as if they were their own people. They laid her out. And prayed over her. And watched with me over her until she was put into the--. Such a tiny sh.e.l.l it was, too. She had no father or mother or brother or sisters.

I was all she had. That's why I buried her here. Kensal Green.

She'll rest easy there.

(He walks about distractedly. Suddenly he stops and with his hands extended upwards as if in prayer, he cries)

Out of my depths I cry to Thee. I call on you to curse them.

Curse the Prussian brutes made in Your likeness, but with hearts as the lowest of beasts. Curse them. May their hopes wither. May everything they set their hearts on rot. Send them pestilence, disease and every foul torture they have visited on Your people.

Send the Angel of Death to rid the earth of them. May their souls burn in h.e.l.l for all eternity.

(Quickly to Dartrey)

and if there is a G.o.d they will. But is there a good G.o.d that such things can be and yet no sign from Him? Listen. I didn't believe in war. I reasoned against it. I shouted for Peace. And thousands of cravens like me. I thought G.o.d was using this universal slaughter for a purpose. When His end was accomplished He would cry to the warring peoples "Stop!" It was His will, I thought, that out of much evil might come permanent good. That was my faith. It has gone. How can there be a good G.o.d to look down on His people tortured and maimed and butchered? The women whose lives were devoted to Him, defiled. His temples looted, filled with the filth of the soldiery, and then destroyed. And yet no sign. Oh, no. My faith is gone. Now I want to murder and torture and ma.s.sacre the foul brutes.... I'm going out, Dartrey. In any way. Just a private.

I'll dig, carry my load, eat their rations. Vermin: mud: ache in the cold and scorch in the heat. I will welcome it. Anything to stop the gnawing here, and the throbbing here.

(Beating at his head and heart)

Anything to find vent for my hatred.

(Moving restlessly about)

I'm going through Ireland first. Every town and village. It's our work now. It's Irishmen's work. All the Catholics will be in now. No more "conscientious-objecting." They can't. It's a war on women and little children. All right. No Irish-Catholic will rest easy; eat, sleep and go his days round after this. The call has gone out. America too. She'll come in. You watch. She can't stay out. She's founded on Liberty. She'll fight for it. You see. It's clean against unclean. Red blood against black filth.

Carrion. Beasts. Swine.

(Drops into a chair mumbling incoherently. Takes a long breath; looks at Dartrey)

I'm selling out everything back home.

DARTREY

Why?

GILRUTH

I'm not going back. I'm bringing everything over here. England, France, Russia, Belgium, Serbia--they can have it. All of it.

They've suffered. Only now do I know how much. Only now.

(Fiercely) I want to tear them--tear them as they've torn me. As they mangled her.

(Grits his teeth and claws with his fingers) Tear them--that's what I want to do. May I live to do it. May the war never end until every dirty Prussian is rotting in his grave. Then a quick end for me, too. I've nothing now. Nothing.

(Gets up again wearily and dejectedly; all the blazing pa.s.sion burnt out momentarily)

This was to have been my wedding-day; our wedding-day. Now she's lying there, done to death by Huns. A few days ago all youth and freshness and courage and love. Lying disfigured in her little coffin.

I know what you meant now by wanting to go back for a third time.

I couldn't understand it the other day. It seemed that every one should hate war. But you've seen them. You know them. And you want to destroy them. That's it. Destroy.... The call is all over the world by now. Civilization will be in arms.... To h.e.l.l with your Pacifists. It's another name for cowards. They'd lose those nearest them: the honor of their women; the liberty of their people--and never strike a blow. To h.e.l.l with them. It's where they should be. I was one of them. No more. Wherever I meet them I'll spit in their faces. They disgrace the women they were born of; the country they claim.... To h.e.l.l with them.

DARTREY

(Tries to soothe him) You must try and get some grip on yourself.

GILRUTH

(His fingers ceaselessly locking and unlocking) I'll be all right.

It's a relief to talk to you. (Sees the preparations for Dartrey's departure) Are you off?

DARTREY

Yes. To-night.

GILRUTH

I envy you now. I wish I were going. But I will soon. Ireland first. I must have my say there. What will the "Sinn Feiners"

say to the LUSITANIA murder? I want to meet some of them. What are our wrongs of generations to this horror? All humanity is at stake here. I'll talk to them. I must. They'll have to do something now or go down branded through the generations as Pro-German. Can a man have a worse epitaph? No decent Irishman will bear that; every loyal Irishman must loathe them.... I'll talk to them--soul to soul.... Sorry, Dartrey. You have your own sorrow.... Good of you to put up with me. Now I'll go....

(Goes to the door, stops, takes out wallet)

Just one thing. If it won't bother you.

(Tapping some papers)