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قراءة كتاب Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy of Pirates
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Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy of Pirates
yer make, ol' Cyclops, o' the new recruit?
Patch: Red Joe?
Duke: Him.
Patch: He 's a right smart pirate, I says. I never seen a feller as could shoot so straight.
Duke: I says so. But he 's a wee bit nobby—kinder stiff in the nose.
Patch: Looks as if he knowed he was kinder good.
Duke: It 's queer how he come ter us. Jest settin' on top his dory on the beach, when we found him. And what he said about his ship goin' down! Blast me ol' stump, but it were queer.
Patch: Queer?
Duke: Yer said it, Patch. Queerer than mermaids. Did we ever see a stick o' that ship? I 'm askin' yer, Patch.
Patch: Ain 't I listenin'?
Duke: Ain 't I tellin' yer? Nary a bit washed in. Did yer ever know a wreck 'long here where nothin' washed in—jest nothin'? I 'm askin' yer.
Patch: You and me would starve if it happened regular.
Duke: It 's what we lives by—pickin's on the beach.
Patch: He 's a right smart pirate, 's Red Joe. The Captain—the most 'ticerler man I know—he took ter him at once. He 's a kinder good-lookin' feller.
Darlin': (stirring at the pot). He ain 't got whiskers like the Duke.
(She spits—must I say it?—she spits into the fire.)
Duke: Queer that never a stick washed in.
Patch: I 'm not denyin' yer, Duke. Where 's Red Joe now? It 's gettin' on. I 'll jest take a look fer him. (He takes the lantern from its hook and stands at the open door.) It ain 't blowin' so hard. Ol' Borealis—I speaks poetical—ain 't strainin' at his waistcoat buttons like he was.
Duke: Igerence! I pities yer. Borealis ain 't wind. He 's rainbows.
(Patch-Eye goes into the night. The Duke sits to a greasy game of solitaire.)
Duke: It 's queer, I says. Nary a stick! Jest Red Joe on top his dory! (He sings abstractedly.)
PIRATE CHANTY
| Bill Bones used ter say, on many a day, When takin' a ship fer its loot, That a blow on the head was quickest dead And safest and best ter boot. But a wictim's end, fer meself I contend— There 's a hundred been killed by me— Is a walk, I 'll be frank, on a slippery plank, And a splash in the roarin' sea. |
(He turns and surveys the drawing above the windows. He cocks his head like a connoisseur, critically—with approval.)
"It eases yer pipes" Duke: I 'm the artist o' that there masterpiece. The Spittin' Devil! I done it on a rainy mornin'. Genius is queer. (Then he sings again.)
| Ol' Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk— His choice was a jab in the dark— |
(He is engaged thus, fumbling with his cards, when Darlin', crossing from the fire, interrupts him.)
Darlin': Duke, will yer have a nip o' grog? It eases yer pipes. Yer sounds as if yer had crumbs in yer gullet.
(The Duke pushes forward his cup.)
Duke: It 's a lovely tune, and I wrote the words meself. (He continues his song.)
| Old Pew had a jerk with a long-handled dirk— His choice was a jab in the dark— And Morgan's crew, 'twixt me and you, Considered a rope a lark. But a prettier end, I repeat and contend— And I 've sailed on every sea— Is a plunge off the side in the foamin' tide. It tickles a sailor like me. |
Darlin': Duke, does yer happen ter have a wife?
Duke: (deeply engaged). Some tunes is hard, so I jest makes 'em up as I goes along.
| Blackbeard had a knife which he stuck in his wife. Fer naggin', says he ter me— |
Darlin': Has yer a wife? A wife as might turn up, I mean.
Duke: Say it agin, Darlin'.
Darlin': Most sailors has wives o' course, strewed here and there from Bristol to Guinea—jest ter make all ports cozy. So 's yer goin' home ter a 'appy family, no matter where yer steers.
Duke: It 's comfertable, Darlin'—I 'll not deny it—when yer heads ter harbor to see a winkin' candle in a winder on a hill, and know that a faithful wife and a couple o' leetle pirates is waitin' ter hug yer.
Darlin': I says so, Duke. I 've been a wife meself on and off, with husbands sailin' in and out—kissin' yer and 'oistin' sail. Roundabout, I says, makes 'appy marriages. Has yer a wife, Duke—livin', as yer can remember?
Duke: Yer a bold, for'ard creature. Are yer proposin' ter me?
(Something like a wink shows in the blush.)
Darlin': I blush fer yer bad manners, Duke. I 'm a lady and I waits patient fer the 'appy question. I lets me beauty do the pleadin'. I was a flamin' roarer in me time. Lovers was nothin'. Dozens! There was a sea-captain once—(She smiles dreamily, then seems to cut her throat with her little finger.) Positive! Jest 'cause we tiffed. And a stage-coach driver! I had ter cool his passion with a rollin' pin. He brooded hisself inter drink. 'Appy days! (She is lost for a moment in her glorious past, then blows her nose upon her apron and returns to us.) Duke—askin' yer pardon—I was noticin' lately that you was castin' yer eyes on leetle Betsy.
Duke: As washes the dishes?
Darlin': Her.
Duke: Go 'long!
Darlin': And I thought yer might be drawn to her.
Duke: Darlin', I 'm easy riled.
Darlin': Yer can have her, Duke, on one condition.
Duke: She 's a pretty leetle girl.
Darlin': Yer must set me up in a pub in Bristol—with brass beer-pulls.
Duke: I 'll not deny I 've given her a thought. Usual, wives is nuisances—naggin' at yer fer sixpences. But sometimes I does get lonesome on a wet night when there