Gold

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS BY EUGENE G. O’NEILL BONI AND LIVERIGHT PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Gold Copyright, 1920, by Boni & Liveright, Inc. Printed in the United States of America

SCENES OF ACTS

Time of the play—About the year 1900

CHARACTERS

{1}

ACT ONE

Scene—A small, barren coral island on the southern fringe of the Malay Archipelago. The coral sand, blazing white under the full glare of the sun, lifts in the right foreground to a long hummuck a few feet above sea-level. A stunted coco palm rises from the center of this elevation, its bunch of scraggly leaves drooping motionlessly, casting a small circular patch of shadow directly beneath on the ground about the trunk. About a hundred yards in the distance the lagoon is seen, its vivid blue contrasting with the white coral beach which borders its circular outline. The far horizon to seaward is marked by a broad band of purplish haze which separates the bright blue of the water from the metallic grey-blue of the sky. The island bakes. The intensity of the sun’s rays is flung back skyward in a quivering mist of heat-waves which distorts the outlines of things, giving the visible world an intangible eerie quality, as if it were floating submerged in some colorless molten fluid.

As the curtain rises, Abel is discovered ly{2}ing asleep, curled up in the patch of shade beneath the coco palm. He is a runty, under-sized boy of fifteen, with a shrivelled old face, tanned to parchment by the sum. He has on a suit of dirty dungarees, man’s size, much too large for him, which hang in loose folds from his puny frame. A thatch of brown hair straggles in limp wisps from under the peaked canvas cap he wears. He looks terribly exhausted. His dreams are evidently fraught with terror, for he twitches convulsively and moans with fright. Butler enters hurriedly, panting, from the right, rear. He is a tall man of over middle age, dressed in the faded remainder of what was once a brown suit. The coat, the buttons of which have been torn off, hangs open, revealing his nakedness beneath. A cloth cap covers his bald head, with its halo of dirty thin grey hair. His body is emaciated. His face, with its round, blue eyes, is weathered and cracked by the sun’s rays. The wreck of a pair of heavy shoes flop about his bare

feet. He looks back cautiously, as if he were afraid of being followed; then satisfied that he is not, he approaches the sleeping boy, and bending down, puts his hand on Abel’s forehead. Abel groans and opens his eyes. He stares about furtively, as if seeking someone whose presence he dreads to find.

{3}

Abel—[In a husky voice.] Where’s Capt’n and the rest, Butts?

Butler—[In a hoarse, cracked whisper.]—On the beach—down there. [He makes an exhausted gesture, right, and then sinks with a groan at the foot of the tree, leaning back against the trunk, trying vainly to hunch his long legs up so as to be completely in the shade.]

Abel—What’re they doin’? [With avid eyes.] They ain’t found no water yet?

Butler—[Shaking his head, his eyes closing wearily.] No. How would they—when there ain’t any—not on this devil’s island—dry as a bone, my sonny—sand and sun—that’s all.

Abel—[Remonstratingly—his lips trembling a little.] Aw—maybe—you don’t know no different.

Butler—No. Might as well look the devil in the face, sonny. There’s no water here. Not a damn drop. No—nor a scrap to eat, neither. Only the damn sun. [Weakly—touching the skin of his face with trembling fingers.] God! My face is like the raw inside of a wet hide! If it’d only rain! [After a pause—kindly.] But how are you, eh? Had a good sleep?

Abel—I was dreamin’ awful. [With a sudden, shrill agony—his lips twitching.] I need a drink of water—something awful! My mouth’s burnin’ up. [With tremulous pleading.] Say, ain’t you got ’nother drink left?—honest, ain’t you?{4}

Butler—[Looking around him cautiously.] Not so loud! [Fixing his eyes sternly on the boy.] This is a dead secret, mind! You’ll swear you won’t blab—not to him?

Abel—Sure, Butts, sure! Gawd strike me dead!

Butler—[Takes a pint bottle from the hip-pocket of his pants. It is about half full of water.] He don’t know I’ve got this, remember! He—and the rest—they’d kill me like a dog—and you too, sonny—remember that!

Abel—Sure! I ain’t goin’ to tell ’em, Butts. [Stretching out his hands frenziedly.] Aw, give it to me, Butts! Give me a drink, for Christ’s sake!

Butler—No, you don’t! I’ll hold it for you. Only a few drops. You’d have it all down your throat. And we’ve got to be careful. It’s got to last ’til the ship comes past that’ll pick us up. That’s the only hope. [Holding the bottle at arm’s length from the boy.] Hands down, now—or you don’t get a drop! [The boy lets his hands drop to his sides. Butler puts the bottle carefully to his lips, and allows the boy two gulps—then snatches it away.] That’s all now. More later. [He takes one gulp himself, and making a tremendous effort of will, jerks the bottle from his lips, and corking it quickly, thrusts it back in his pocket and heaves a shuddering sigh.]

Abel—Aw, more! Just another swaller——

Butler—[Determinedly.] No!{5}

Abel—[Crying weakly.] Yuh dirty mut!

Butler—[Quietly.] There! Don’t get riled. It only makes you hotter—and thirstier. [The boy sinks back exhausted and closes his eyes. Butler begins to talk in a more assured voice, as if the sip of water had renewed his courage.] That’ll save us yet, that bit of water. A lucky notion of mine to think of it—at the last moment. They were just lowering the boots. I could hear you calling to me to hurry and come. They didn’t care if I went down with that stinking whaling ship or not, damn them! What did the dirty cook matter to them? But I thought of filling this bottle. It’d been lying there in the galley for two years almost. I’d had it on my hip, full of whiskey, that night in Oakland when I was shanghied. So I filled it out of a bucket before I ran to the boat. Lucky I did, son—for you and me—not for them—damn ’em!

Abel—[Struggling to a sitting posture, evidently strengthened by his drink.] Gee if the Old Man was wise you got it——

Butler—He won’t know—nor Horne, nor Cates, nor Jimmy Kanaka, neither. [As if in self-justification.] Why should I tell ’em, eh? Did I ever get anything better than a kick or a curse from one of them? [Vindictively.] Would they give it to me if they had it? They’d see me in hell first! And besides, it’s too late for them. They’re mad as hatters right now, the four of them. They ain’t had a drop{6} since three nights back, when the water in the cask gave out and we rowed up against this island in the dark. Think of it, and them out walking and roasting in the sun all day, looking for water where there ain’t any. Wouldn’t you be crazy? [Suddenly he laughs queerly.] Didn’t you hear them shouting and yelling like lunatics just before I came?

Abel—I thought I heard something—on’y maybe I was dreamin’.

Butler—It’s them that are doing the dreaming. I was with them. I had to go. [With rising anger.] He kicked me awake—and every time I tried to get away he beat me back. He’s strong yet—[With threatening vindictiveness.]—but he can’t last long, damn him! [Controlling himself, goes on with his story excitedly.] Well, we went looking for water—on this sand pile. Then Jimmy Kanaka saw a boat sunk half under down inside the reef—a Malay canoe, only bigger. They got down in her the best way they could, up to their waists in water. They thought there might be something to drink on her. I was trying to sneak off, scared to go in on account of sharks. All of a sudden they gave an awful yell. I thought they’d found something to drink and ran back. They was all standing about a box they’d forced open, yelling and cursing and out of their heads completely. When I looked I seen the box was full of all sorts of metal junk—bracelets and bands and necklaces that I guess the Malays wear.{7} Nothing but brass and copper, and bum imitations of

diamonds and things—not worth a dam; and there they were, shouting with joy and slapping each other on the back. And that hellion of a skipper shouts at me: “Get out of this! No share here for a stinking cook!” he yells. I didn’t say nothing but just picked up some of the stuff to make sure. Then I told him straight. “This ain’t gold. It’s brass and copper—not worth a damn.” God, he got wild! I had to run, or he’d knifed me—then and there. That was when I woke you up.

Abel—And ain’t it worth nothin’, honest? How’d you know it ain’t?

Butler—D’you think I ain’t learned to know gold in my time? And polished enough copper and brass to know them, too? Just as if it was gold it’d do ’em any good! You can’t drink gold, can you? [With sudden violence.] It serves ’em right, all that’s happened and going to happen. Kicks and smacks in the face if I even winked an eye—two years of it! And me shanghied when I was drunk—taken away from a good job and forced to cook the swill on a rotten whaler. Oh, I’ll pay him back for it! His damn ship is wrecked and lost to him—that’s the first of it. I’ll see him rot and die—and the three with him! But you and me’ll be saved! D’you know why I’ve let you go halves on this water, instead of hogging it all myself? It’s because you were the only one on board that did{8}n’t treat me like a dog—and they kicked and beat you, too. We were in the same boat. And now we’ll get even! Them and their dirty box of junk! [He sinks back, exhausted by this outburst.]

Abel—[Suddenly, in a piteous voice.] Gee, I wisht I was back home again!

Butler—You’ll get back. We both will. [He closes his eyes. After a pause—weakly.] When I close my eyes, everything gets to rocking under me, like I was in that open boat again. I won’t forget these four days in a hurry. Up and down—— Nothing but sun and water. [They are both silent, leaning with closed eyes against the bole of the tree, panting exhaustedly. A murmur of men’s voices comes from the right, rear, and gradually get nearer.]

Abel—[Opening his eyes with a start.] Butts! I hear ’em comin’!

Butler—[Listening, wide-eyed, for a moment.] Yes, it’s them. [He gets to his feet weakly.] Come, let’s get out of this. [Abel staggers to his feet. They both move to the left. Butler shades his eyes with his hands and looks toward the beach.] Look! They’re dragging along that box of junk with ’em, the damn fools! [Warningly.] They’re crazy as hell. Don’t give ’em no chance to pick on you, d’you hear? They’d stop at nothing when they’re this way. [There is a scuffling of heavy footsteps in the sand, and Captain Bartlett appears,{9} followed by Horne, who in turn is followed by Cates and Jimmy Kanaka. Bartlett is a tall, huge-framed figure of a man, dressed in a blue double-breasted coat, pants of the same material, and rubber sea-boots turned down from the knees. In spite of the ravages of hunger and thirst there is still a suggestion of immense strength in his heavy-muscled body. His head is massive, thickly covered with tangled, iron-grey hair. His face is large, bony, and leather-tanned, with a long aquiline nose

and a gash of a mouth shadowed by a bristling grey mustache. His broad jaw sticks out at an angle of implacable stubbornness. Bushy grey brows overhang the obsessed glare of his sombre dark eyes. Silas Horne is a thin, parrot-nosed, angular old man, his lean face marked by a life-time of crass lusts and mean cruelty. He is dressed in grey cotton trousers, and a singlet torn open across his hairy chest. The exposed skin of his arms and shoulders and chest has been blistered and seared by the sun. A cap is on his head. Cates is squat and broad-chested, with thick, stumpy legs and arms. His square, stupid face, with its greedy pig’s eyes, is terribly pock-marked. He is gross and bestial, an unintelligent brute. He is dressed in dungaree pants and a dirty white sailor’s blouse, and wears a brown cap. Jimmy Kanaka is a tall, sinewy, bronzed young Islander. He wears only a loin cloth and a leather belt with a sheath-knife. The last two are{10} staggering beneath the weight of a heavy inlaid chest. The eyes of the three white men are wild. They pant

exhaustedly, their legs trembling with weakness beneath them. Their lips are puffed and cracked, their voices muffled by their swollen tongues. But there is a mad air of happiness, of excitement, about their scorched faces.]

Bartlett—[In a crooning, monotonous voice.] It’s heavy, I know, heavy—that chest. Up, bullies! Up with her! [He flings himself in the shade, resting his back against the tree, and points to the sand at his feet.] Put ’er there, bullies—there where I kin see!

Horne—[Echoing his words mechanically.] Put’er there!

Cates—[In thick, stupid tones.] Aye-aye, sir! Down she goes, Jimmy! [They set the chest down.]

Bartlett—Sit down, lads, sit down. Ye’ve earned your spell of rest. [The three men throw themselves on the sand in attitudes of spent weariness. Bartlett’s eyes are fixed gloatingly on the chest. There is a silence suddenly broken by Cates, who leaps to a kneeling position with a choked cry.]

Cates—[His eyes staring at the Captain with fierce insistence.] I want a drink—water! [The others are startled into a rigid, dazzed attention. Horne’s lips move painfully in a soundless repetition of the word. There is a pause. Then Bartlett strikes the side of his head with his fist, as if to drive{11} this obsession from his brain. Butler and Abel stand looking at them with frightened eyes.]

Bartlett—[Having regained control over himself, in a determined voice, deep-toned and menacing.] If ye speak that word ever again, Ben Cates—if ye say it once again—ye’ll be food for the sharks! Ye hear?

Cates—[Terrified.] Yes, sir. [He collapses limply on the sand again. Horne and the Kanaka relax hopelessly.]

Bartlett—[With heavy scorn.] Are ye a child to take on like a sick woman—cryin’ for what ye know we’ve not got? Can’t ye stand up under a little thirst like a man? [Resolutely.] There’ll be water enough—if ye’ll wait and keep a stiff upper lip on ye. We’ll all be picked up today. I’ll stake my word on it. This state o’ things can’t last. [His eyes fall on the chest.] Ye ought to be singin’ ’stead o’ cryin’—after the find we’ve made. What’s the lack of water amount to—when ye’ve gold before you? [With mad exultation.] Gold! Enough of it in your share alone to buy ye rum, and wine, and women, too, for the rest o’ your life!

Cates—[Straightening up to a sitting posture—his small eyes staring at the box fascinatedly—in a stupid mumble.] Aye—aye—rum and wine!

Bartlett—[Half closing his eyes as if the better to enjoy his vision.] Yes, rum and wine and women for you and Horne and Jimmy. No more hard work{12} on the dirty sea for ye, bullies, but a full pay-day in your pockets to spend each day o’ the year. [The three strain their ears, listening eagerly. Even Butler and Abel advance a step or two toward him, as if they, too, were half hypnotized.] And Cates grumbling because he’s thirsty! I’d be the proper one to complain—if complainin’ there was to do! Ain’t I lost my ship and the work o’ two years with her? And what have ye lost, all three, but a few rags o’ clothes? [With savage emphasis.] I tell ye, I be glad the Triton went down! [He taps the box with his fingers.] They’s more in this than ever was earned by all the whalin’ ships afloat. They’s gold—heavy and solid—and diamonds and emeralds and rubies!—red and green, they be.

Cates—[Licking his lips.] Aye, I seen ’em there—and emeralds be green, I know, and sell for a ton of gold!

Bartlett—[As if he hadn’t heard and was dreaming out loud to himself.] Rum and wine for you three, and rest for me. Aye, I’ll rest to home ’til the day I die. Aye, woman, I be comin’ home now for good. Aye, Nat and Sue, your father be comin’ home for the rest o’ his life! No more stinkin’ blubber on the deck. I’ll give up whalin’ like ye’ve always been askin’ me, Sarah. Aye, I’ll go to meetin’ with ye on a Sunday like ye’ve always prayed I would. We’ll make the damn neighbors open their eyes, curse ’em! Carriages and silks for ye—they’ll{13} be nothin’ too good—and for Sue and the boy. I’ve been dreamin’ o’ this in my sleep for years. I never give a damn ’bout the oil—that’s just trade—but I always hoped on some voyage I’d pick up ambergris—a whole lot of it—and that’s worth gold!

Horne—[His head bobbing up from his chest—drowsily.] Aye, ambergris! It’s costly truck.

Butler—[In a whisper to the boy—cautiously.] There! Wasn’t I right? Mad as hatters, all of ’em! Come on away!

Abel—[Staring at the Captain fascinatedly.] No. I wanter see ’em open it.

Butler—Look out! You’ll be going batty yourself, first thing you know. [But he also stays.]

Bartlett—[His voice more and more that of a somnambulist.] It’s time I settled down to home with ye, Sarah, after twenty years o’ whalin’. They’s plenty o’ big trees on my place, bullies, and shade and green grass, and a cool wind off the sea. [He shakes off the growing drowsiness and glares about him in a rage.] Hell’s fire! What crazy truck be I thinkin’ of? [But he and the others sink back immediately into stupor. After a pause he begins to relate a tale in a droning voice.] Years ago, when I was whalin’ out o’ New Bedford—just after I got my first ship, it was—a man come to me—Spanish-looking, he was—and wanted to charter my ship and me go shares. He showed me a map o’ some island off the coast of South America somewhere. They was{14} a cross marked on it where treasure had been buried by the old pirates. That was what he said. But I was a fool. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t see’s I could take a chance. He got old Scott’s schooner—finally. She sailed and never was heard o’ since. But I’ve never forgot him and his

map. And often I’ve thought if I’d ’a’ went that vige—— [He straightens up and shouts with aggressive violence.] But here she be! Run right into it—without no map nor nothin’. Gold and diamonds and all—all them things he said was there—there they be in front o’ our eyes! [To the now alert Jimmy.] Open ’er up, Jimmy!

Jimmy—[Getting up—in his soft voice.] Aye, Captain. [He reaches down to lift the lid.]

Bartlett—[A sudden change of feeling comes over him, and he knocks Jimmy’s arm aside savagely.] Hands off, ye dog! I’m takin’ care o’ this chest, and no man’s hand’s goin’ to touch it but mine!

Jimmy—[Stepping back docilely—in the same unmoved, soft tone.] Aye, Captain. [He squats down to the left of the chest.]

Bartlett—[Seeming suddenly to notice the cook for the first time.] So there you be, eh? [His voice growing thick with rage.] I ain’t forgot what ye said down by the shore there! Lucky for ye I didn’t catch ye then! “Brass and copper—junk,” ye said—“not gold! Not worth a damn,” ye said! Ye{15} blasted son o’ a liar! No share for ye! I’ll not forget. And keep your distance o’ me if ye want your hide! [Looking at Abel.] Ye’ve been tellin’ that boy your lies too, I kin tell by the look o’ him. [Sternly.] Come here, boy!

Abel—[Advances with faltering steps.] Y-yes, s-sir?