Wappin' Wharf Part 12

_He retires to the rear of the cabin and strokes the parrot's head. He jerks away his hand for fear of being nipped. The ungrateful world has turned against him._)

DUKE: Yer a spiteful bird. Yer as mean as women. Ninnies I calls 'em.

It must ha' been the moon. I should ha' waited fer a moon.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Yer as mean as women"]

(_He sits on the chest at the rear of the cabin and whittles a little ship. Women are a queer lot._

_The Captain and Patch-Eye have climbed down the ladder. They burst with jest. The Captain sits on the chair by the fire, mimicing the posture of the Duke. Patch-Eye perches on his knee._)

PATCH: Darlin' loves yer, Duke.

CAPTAIN: Course she does. They all does. Youngsters, too--winkin' and givin' me the snuggle-up.

PATCH: Yer has lovely whiskers, Duke.

CAPTAIN: Yer can pull one, Betsy, fer the locket that yer wears.

(_But the Duke ends the burlesque by upsetting the chair. The Captain and Patch-Eye, chuckling at their jest, sit to a game of cards. The Duke returns to the chest. Once in a while he lays down the ship and seems to be thinking. The broken crystal of the fortune-teller lies on the floor. He picks it up and puts it to his eye, as if the future may still show upon its face. He is preoccupied with his disappointment and his bitter thoughts._

_Darlin', meantime, is heard singing in the kitchen with her dishes._)

Fer griddle cakes I 've a nimble wrist And I tosses 'em 'igh on a spoon.

And the Duke and Patch yer can hardly match Fer their breakfast they stretch till noon.

And I heaps the fire and I greases the iron, And the Duke, he kisses me thumb.

Me Darlin', me dear, it 's perfectly clear I 've lovin' yer better than rum.

_Patch, also sings._

She 's cooked fer sailors worn down to the bone, Till they rolls like the Captain's gig.

At soup and stew we are never through, But our fav'rite dish is pig.

And she cuts off slabs and pa.s.ses 'em 'round, And the Duke, he takes her hand.

Me Darlin', me love, by the G.o.ds above, Yer a cook fer a pirate band.

_And now Darlin' again._

Me grog is the best. It is made o' rum, And I stirs in sugar, too.

And a hogshead vast will hardly last A merry evenin' through.

And I fills the cups till mornin' comes, And the Duke, he talks like a loon.

Me Darlin', me life, will yer be me wife, And elope by the light o' the moon.

(_Let all the tinware crash!_)

CAPTAIN: (_as he throws down his cards_). There! I done yer. Yer a child at cards, Patch. How ain 't it that yer never learnt? Did n't yer ever play black-ace at the Rusty Anchor down Greenwich way? Crack me hook, I 've played with ol' Flint hisself, settin' in the leetle back room. With somethin' wet and warmin' now and then, jest ter keep the stomich cozy. Never stopped till Phoebus's fiery eye looked in the winder.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Did n't yer ever play Black-ace at the Rusty Anchor?"]

PATCH: Poor ol' Flint! I never sees his clock up there but I drops a tear.

CAPTAIN: Yer cries as easy as a crocodile. And yer as innercent at cards as--as a baby bitin' at his coral, a cooin' leetle pirate.

PATCH: It 's frettin' does it, Captain.

CAPTAIN: What 's frettin' yer?

PATCH: It 's what the ol' lady said last night. She hung me ter a gibbet, jest like ol' Flint. There 's a gibbet, Captain, on Wappin'

wharf, jest 'round the corner from the Sailors' Rest. Does yer remember it, Captain? It makes yer grog belch on yer.

CAPTAIN: (_to tease and frighten Patch_). Aye. There was two sailormen hangin' there when I comes in a year ago.

PATCH: Horrers!

CAPTAIN: Jest swingin' in the wind, and tryin' ter get their toes down comfertable. (_He has hooked two empty mugs and he rocks them back and forth._) Jest reachin' with their footies ter ease theirselves.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Jest swingin' in the wind"]

PATCH: The ol' lady last night made me a wee bit creepy. Gibbets and Wappin' wharf ain 't nothin' ter talk about.

CAPTAIN: I never see a flock o' crows but I asks their pardon fer keepin' 'em waitin' fer their supper. Crows, Patch, is fond o' yer as yer are, without neither sauce ner gravy--jest pickin' 'appy, soup ter nuts, at yer dry ol' bones. Here 's ol' Patch, they says, waitin'

in the platter fer his 'ungry guests ter come.

PATCH: Me stomich 's turned keel up.

CAPTAIN: Patch, yer ain 't got s.p.u.n.k ter be a pirate. Yer as soft as Petey's p.u.s.s.ycat.

PATCH: I ain 't, ain 't I? Was n't it me as nudged the Captain o' the Northern Star off his p.o.o.p--when he were n't lookin'? Him with a pistol in his boot! Did n't I hit Bill, the bos'n, with a marline-spike--jest afore he woke up? Sweet dreams, I says, and I tapped him gentle. I got a lot o' s.p.u.n.k. Bill did n't wake up, he did n't. Was n't it me, Captain, that started that mutiny? Was n't it me?

I 'm askin' yer.

CAPTAIN: Still braggin' o' that ol' time. It was more 'n four years ago. What yer done since? Jest loadin' yer stomich--jest gruntin' and wallerin' in the trough--jest braggin'.

PATCH: I ain 't 'fraid o' nothin'--'cept a gibbet. (_For a moment the ugly word sticks in his gullet._) But the ol' lady kinder got me. Yer looked down yer nose yerself, Captain--askin' yer pardon.

CAPTAIN: Struck me, Patch, she was jest a wee bit fl.u.s.tered by Red Joe. Did yer notice how she sat and looked at the gla.s.s? And would n't say nothin'? Jest nothin' at all.

PATCH: And then the ol' dear's fingers slipped and the gla.s.s was broke.

CAPTAIN: It looks almost as if she done it a purpose.

(_The Duke has been thinking all of this time with necessary contortions of the face. It is amazing how these help on a knotty problem._)

DUKE: Course she done it a purpose. It was ter stop me lookin' 'cross her shoulder in the gla.s.s.

CAPTAIN: What does yer think she saw?

PATCH: Was it blood drippin'?

DUKE: I 'll tell yer. I 'll tell yer.

(_But he continues whittling._)