A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

By FOXHALL DAINGERFIELD, JR.

Produced at Opera House, Lexington, Ky., April 13, 1909, for benefit of Morgan Monument.

Copyright 1909. PRESS OF J.L. RICHARDSON & Co. LEXINGTON. KY.

TO THE MEMORY OF GENERAL JOHN HUNT MORGAN. —F.D.

THE PEOPLE OF THE PLAY.

GORDON CABELL MR. McCOMAS

CARTER HILLIARY (Charlotte's brother) MR. HARBISON

COL. PHILIP STUART MR. OBERCHEIN

GEORGE STUART (his son) MR. H. YANCEY

BEVERLY STUART (called "Bev.") MR. ROACH

STEPHEN WINTHROP (of the 12th Mass.) MR. McCONNELL

MAURICE HOPKINS (of his command) MR. SALLEE

CORPORAL EVANS (also of the 12th Mass.) MR. THORNTON

BILL (a turnkey at the prison) MR. MOORE

CUPID (an old negro servant) MR. ADDY

THE FIRST SOLDIER MR. YANCEY

THE SECOND SOLDIER MR. McGEEVER

THE THIRD SOLDIER MR. THIESING

FAIRFAX STUART (called "Fair") MISS WHITE

MRS. STUART MISS DAINGERFIELD

CHARLOTTE HILLIARY (her niece) MISS BUCKNER

AUNT MARTHY (Cupid's wife) MRS. BENNETT

Soldiers of the 12th Massachusetts.

A guard at the prison.

SYNOPSIS.

ACT I. OUTSIDE THE STUART HOME, MAY 11, 1864. "If love were all!"

ACT II. THE PARLOUR OF THE STUART HOME. ON THE FOLLOWING NIGHT. "The Signal."

ACT III. THE PRISON AT COLUMBUS. ONE HOUR BEFORE MIDNIGHT, MAY 22. "The heart of a soldier."

ACT IV. THE BANKS OF THE ASPEN RIVER, SIX MONTHS AFTERWARD. LATE IN NOVEMBER. "Once more we pass along this way; Once more, 'tis where at first we met!"

Time—1864. Scene—A Southern State. Production under the personal direction of Miss Julia Connelly.

[1]

ACT I.

Outside the Stuart home, May, 1864. The large beautiful lawn of a typical Southern home. On the left and partly at the back stands the house, of colonial build, a wide porch running the entire length of the house, with three broad, low steps leading down to the garden. Many vines, mostly wisteria, in full bloom, cover the walls and some climb around the banisters. The porch has four white pillars reaching to the second story. On the right is a green garden bench, and at the back may be seen a road leading past the house, a low picket fence between many trees; box-bushes and shrubs are near the right. It is near twilight of an afternoon in May. On the right and through the picket fence a small gate leading to the garden and thence to the family graveyard. Over the whole scene there is a half look of decay: the grounds are not in order, the bushes are untrimmed, as though poverty had come suddenly to its occupants. At rise of curtain Aunt Marthy, an old negro mammy of the familiar Southern type, is discovered by the gate leading into the garden; in her hands she holds some roses

and other flowers she has been gathering.

Marthy. 'Clare hit don't seem natural—it suttenly don't. Dis hyer place ain't what it was; look at dat fence and at dem bushes! It's gittin run down, dat's what's the matter; it's gittin run down.

[Enter Cupid from the gate at back, leading into the lane. He is an old negro of about the same age as Marthy. His clothes are very old and worn, yet there is a pathetic suggestion of neatness in his ragged dress.

Cupid. Marthy, is you seen dem chullen?

[2]

Marthy. Nor I ain't seen um since lunch. Mars Bev and Miss Fair don suttenly tek dis place since de war brek out. I hear um say dey gwine down to de mill.

Cupid. How dey go?

Marthy. I hear Miss Fair say she was gwine ter walk, and den Mars Bev say hit too far for her; dat she got ter ride de mule: and she up an tell him ef it too far fer her ter walk, she ain't gwine, 'cause it suttenly too far fer old Jack.

Cupid (indignant). Jack's er good mule yet, ef he is de onliest one we got lef. Somehow I don't feel exactly rite wid jes dem two hosses on de place sides dat ole mule; cose he's a good mule yet, onderstan; but den I can't get used to jes dem three. I often set and study 'bout dem hosses and wonder whar de is, and ef de soldiers treat um good and ef dey gits dey feed regular, and ef—

Marthy. Ef dey gits de feed regular hit more dan what we does. Since de soldiers bin comin' what wid de sewin' and de cookin' and gibin' way, I wonder dat we gits on er tall. Not dat I grudge hit ter um—law, no. Wid us got Mars George and dey cousin Mars Carter, and dars Mars Gorden same as one ob de fambily, to say nothin' ob Old Marster in de army.

Cupid. And dars Mars Bev, most pester his mar to def ter let him go; but cose dat chile he too young; he ant more'n fou'teen. But den I'm frade he gwine: fer ef dat chile set his head on er thing, he good es got it.

Marthy. Go on wid you! Dat chile ant no mo' gwine in de army dan what I is. He know hit all but kill Ole Mistis when she let Mars George and Old Marster go; and den—(her voice grows soft, she looks over toward the gate (Right)—dar's Mars Phil's grave over dar. She ant neber bin quite de same since dat ambulance wagen turn in at de gate.

Cupid. Hits bin more'n two years ago; but sometimes hit 'pears like hit was only yestidy. (Marthy starts toward the gate). Whar you gwine wid dem flowers?

Marthy. Deys fer Miss Charlotte; she love ter hab um on de table. 'Pears like hit mek hit sorter brighter fer um.

[Cupid goes to gate at back and stands looking anxiously off down the road (Right).

Cupid. I'm gettin' mighty oneasy 'bout dem chullen. Dey's terbil careless 'bout demselves.

Marthy (stops on the steps and listens). 'Pears like I hears a hoss.

[3]

Cupid. Go on, nigger! Didn't I tell you dey walked to de mill?

[A horse's hoofs are heard.

Marthy (laughs). I hears hit all de same.

Cupid (drops hat in astonishment). Hi! ef dey ant not one er my kerrige hosses! Hi, dar! Mars Bev! Mars Bev!

[Enter at the back by the road Fair and Bev. She is riding on a big brown horse with a bag of meal before her. She is a beautiful young girl of about eighteen, simply dressed in a pink cotton gown; her hair hangs in loose curls about her face: her hat is carried loosely in one hand; with the other she is guiding the old horse. Bev walks at her side, with one hand on the bridle. He is a very handsome boy of about fourteen, with a gay, happy manner. He is barefoot, dressed in a soft white cotton shirt and blue homespun trousers. He is without hat or coat, and seems in the best of spirits. They stop at the gate, laughing.

Fair (from her place on the horse). Take me down, Bev. Here, Cupid, you take the meal.

[Cupid comes forward too surprised to speak, lifts down the bag, then Bev takes her hands and lifts her to the ground.

Cupid. Whar you git dis hoss?

Bev (laughs and winks at Fair). Why, out of the second stall near the door. Where'd you think?

[Marthy and Fair laugh.

Cupid. Dis hoss ant never pack no meal fo' in his life; he's er kerrige hoss.

Fair. Well, Cupid, we had to get the meal, and Jack is so old and stiff I thought Tony here would enjoy the trip, and he did, all except the ferry. I don't believe he ever crossed a stream before, not with me on his back and a bag of meal. Was'nt he funny, Bev? Dear old Tony! (She throws her arms around his neck). I wish I had some sugar for you.

Marthy. Go'long, child! You talkin' 'bout givin' sugar to dat old hoss, when we all has to put 'lasses in de coffee and proud ter git hit.

Cupid. You tell Mistis and Marster dey's come.

[He leads horse off (Left) carrying the meal.

Marthy. Yo' pa bin askin' 'bout you; he say he gwine way ter morrow.

[4]

Fair (anxious). To-morrow!

Bev. Where is he?

Marthy. He an' you ma done gone for walk round de quarters.

[Exit Marthy into the house.

Bev. Fair, did you know father was going back to his regiment to-morrow?

Fair. I was afraid of it. The wound is almost healed, but mother can't bear to have us mention his leaving us again.

Bev. Why, I had hoped to go back with him; I hate to be young. Why, Fair, do you know sometimes I feel so crazy to go off with the army I believe I'll run away, except—

Fair. Yes, I know; you mean mother. When father and George are gone, we're all she's got.

Bev. I wish I'd been twins; then one of me could go.

[Fair laughs.

Fair. But if you had been, 'twould be just twice as hard for us to give you up.

Bev. I say, let's go find father. They're walking in the lane down past the quarters.

[Fair hesitates.

Fair. You go, Bev; I'll meet you near the gate. (She smiles at him). I'm tired, I reckon.

Bev (slightly disappointed). I won't go unless you come.

Fair (sits quietly for a moment, then looks up quickly at him). Go on, Bev, don't mind if I stay here. (A slight pause). Was there any news to-day?

Bev. Nothing new. But won't it be splendid if General Morgan brings his camp near enough for George and Carter and Gordon all to come by and see us. Gee! I wish they'd come.

Fair. Oh, Bev, do you think they could? 'Twould seem too good to be true. (She is silent for a moment). Bev, did you know Stephen Winthrop and his command had been ordered to the South? Doesn't it seem strange for a man with Southern blood to fight against his people? Of course he is our cousin, and that ought to make some difference, and then he was raised in the North with only visits here. And I suppose—I suppose its natural, but then—I wish—Oh, I wish it were different.

Bev. I don't feel like he was our cousin any more. Didn't it seem strange that he and Mr. Hopkins should have visited here just before the war? I liked them fine. I believe I liked Hopkins best. I was awful sorry when they went away.

Fair (quietly, without looking at him). Does that seem very long ago to you, Bev?

Bev (surprised). Why, no: not longer than it was.

[5]

Fair. I was thinking—I can't help wondering if we shall ever see him again.

Bev. Who do you mean, Hopkins?

Fair (softly). No; Steve!

Bev. We may, though I hope not.

Fair (surprised). Why?

Bev. He'd be our enemy now.

[Fair seems greatly troubled.

Fair. Somehow I can't help thinking that we shall see him again. I often wonder if he's changed. He seemed so different from our boys—so very different, somehow.

Bev. I wonder why you never like to walk down through the lane any more? I don't believe you've been down there for a long time, not since Hopkins and Winthrop were here.

Fair (quickly). Oh, yes, I have, lots of times. When Aunt Sally was sick and when Uncle Joe died, don't you remember?

Bev. So you have; but I was thinking of the last walk we took down there. Hopkins and I went off through the woods hunting, and you and Winthrop walked down to the bars and waited for us. 'Twas night when we got back, and you and he were still standing near the bars. The moon made you look so white, I was afraid you were sick. That's why I remember.

Fair (with an effort). Don't let's talk about that any more, will you, Bev?

Bev. Of course; I didn't know you minded. Was that why you didn't want to walk there just now?

Fair (rising). Let's go and look for Charlotte: perhaps she's heard some news.

Bev. I reckon she's in the house; I'll call her.

[He runs towards the house, calling "Charlotte! Charlotte!" Exit into house.

Fair (sits quietly on the bench looking off before her, greatly troubled). I couldn't, someway I couldn't go there—to-day. Two years ago this night! And yet how long, how terribly long ago it seems! He told me he'd come back. I often wonder why I care: but it was such a happy time!

[Her head sinks wearily down on her arm on the back of the bench, covering her face.

[Enter from the back Col. and Mrs. Stuart. Col. Stuart is a large, handsome, soldierly man of about fifty the typical Southern Colonel. He wears his uniform and walks with a slight limp. Mrs. Stuart is a pretty, dignified, matronly-looking woman, same few years [6] younger than her husband. She is dressed in a simple black dress of good material, that has evidently seen better days. Fair rises quickly, going to them. She places a chair for her father, who sits.

Fair (slipping one arm around his neck and pressing her cheek to his). Dear father, Bev and I were just coming to look for you.

Mrs. S. Did you and Bev go to the mill?

Fair. Yes, to get the meal; and 'twas such fun! I rode on Tony. And if you could have seen old Cupid when we got back; he thought of course we'd take old Jack.

[She laughs.

Col. S. Dear little girl, what would we do without you? It's hard for us to see you do the work meant for the slaves. You go to mill and help them cook and work and sew; and if you and Charlotte ever grieve or worry—why, we don't find it out.

Fair. Oh, you're praising us too much. We girls can't fight; I sometimes wish we could. But we can work, and when that work's for General Morgan, there's nothing that's too hard for us to do.

Mrs. S. We seem to give so little to the cause; we have so little left, only our work. That's such a comfort to feel we can do something. When the fighting's near, and all night long we hear the musketry and cannon, and when the thought comes that you and George are going to the front, it seems more than we can bear. I fix a light out there on the front porch, and wonder how the fighting's going on. Bev always stands out by the gate and listens for the sound of firing coming near. 'Tis hard to keep him then, he wants so terribly to fight with you and George. But through those nights that come so often to us now we have our work, and all night long we sit and sew and knit and listen. Oh, then the work's a comfort to feel and know we're doing it for you.

Col. S. And we out there, who fight, are called the heroes.

Fair. Father, must you go to-morrow? The wound can't quite be well. Stay for a few more days. Why, I feel as though I'd hardly seen you for a moment.

Mrs. S. (who has quietly taken his hand in both her own during Fair's last speech). To-morrow, dear, and we should thank God he can go. But let's think of to-night; to-morrow's not here yet, and we have still to-night.

Fair (rising, starts to the house). I'll go and look for Bev and Charlotte and bring them here.

[Exit into house.

Mrs. S. (softly, with a great effort). To-morrow—it must be then!

[7]

Col. S. To-morrow. (A pause). Yes, then I must go. Word came to us that Morgan's camp was moving on this way, and as we fight in battles there, so must you here. Perhaps before so very long I'll come again, and bring the boys home, too. Why, George is Morgan's right hand man. They say when Morgan wants a man of special courage, he always calls on George. When you think of all the trust that Morgan puts in him, it ought to make us glad we have our boy to give him.

Mrs. S. Yes, glad; I am glad, Phillip. I'm proud of every way we help the South. And what of Gordon Cabell and Carter Hillary? Are they with Morgan, too?

Col. S. They're Morgan's scouts. They, with five other men, have saved the army more than once. They know the roads for miles and miles. Sometimes they are away for weeks, and then they turn up with some news that means the life of Morgan's army.

Mrs. S. (looking up). But Phil, the sun has almost set, the dew is falling: we'd best go in. You musn't take a cold and on the last day here.

[They rise.

Col. S. We'll walk down through the garden; we must go there.

Mrs. S. I left that for the last. I knew you wanted to go down to—the grave.

Col. S. (quiet for a moment, then with an effort). He loved this home, didn't he, mother?

Mrs. S. Yes, he was very happy here. That tree near by the gate—the one we call "Phil's tree"—is the place I love best now.

[She takes his hand and quietly they exit (Right) by gate leading to graveyard.

[Enter from the house Aunt Marthy with a small bell in in her hand. She looks about as though to ring the bell. Stops, as she glances toward the graveyard.

Aunt M. Dey's down dar by Mars Phil's grave. I know'd dey'd go dar las' thing, fo' de come in fo' de night. 'Pears like Mistis got ter go dar every evenin' 'bout sunset. 'Pears like hit comfort her mightily, arter she set dar fer a while by de grave and smove down the grass wid her hands and spred out de fresh flowers she bring him. It seems like she happier den she bin all day. She just come out smilin' ter herself, like she ant smile since fo' de war brek out. I reckon de supper kin wait.

[Exit by side of the house.

[Enter from the house Fair, Bev, and Charlotte Hillary. She is a young girl of some twenty-two or three years, tall, slender, and very pretty, with somewhat premature dignity. She is dressed in a [8] soft blue cotton dress, much like Fair's. She enters smiling and evidently inspired by the gay mood of Fair and Bev.

Charlotte (laughing). So I'm to be told the great secret, am I? What can it be? A new dress for Fair, or have some of your soldier friends made you happy with some trophy of the fight. Bev?

Fair. She came near it, didn't she, Bev? But you couldn't really guess, not if you tried all night.

Bev. Remember you promised not to say a word to any one.

Char. I promise. But really I can't wait another minute; do tell me, quick.

Bev (who is searching behind a bush near the house). I say, Fair, where'd you put it? 'Twas here last night.

Fair. I found Cupid digging round that bush and I knew he'd find it and tell, so I hid it here. (She reaches under the steps, drawing out a small paper parcel. She unrolls the paper, drawing out the half finished coat of a boy's uniform. It is made from pale-blue flannel, very soft, and evidently from some dress of her own. The armlets are embroidered in red cotton). Here it is. Now guess, Charlotte, before we tell you?

Char. I've seen the cloth before—the dress you had last winter. But what—I don't quite see—what is it now?

Bev (who has been trying to contain himself, comes nearer, speaking in a glad, excited voice). It's my uniform. I'm going to fight before so very long, and Fair is making it for me.

Char (taking the little coat tenderly in her hands). But your mother, Bev!

Fair. Oh, we're going to tell her, but not now. She'll let Bev go when he is needed, and so I am making this to have it ready. It isn't very nice, I know. You see, I never made a coat before, and the cloth is old and thin and not the right color; but it's all I have. I wish I had the finest uniform in the world for Bev, but this will have to do. (Her voice falters for a second). And—I'm making it myself.

Bev. Why, Fair, you know I wouldn't wear any uniform but this, even if I had a dozen. The buttons are those the boys gave me off their coats, and the rank on the sleeve is all embroidered. I wouldn't trade with any of them—not even General Morgan.

Char. (putting her arm around Fair). You precious little Fair, there's not a better uniform in all the South than this, but can't I help you with it? I'd love to; may I, dear?

Fair. If you'll show me how to put in the sleeve, I'd love it; but I'd rather do the work all by myself, please. You see, Bev's going to be such a great, brave soldier in this coat. I'd like to think [9] I'd made it all myself.

[She begins to sew on the coat.

Char. I suppose I needn't ask in whose command you are going? I know you will say Morgan's. But how about your rank—will you be just a private?

Bev. Not just a private; though, of course, I'll be that if I can be nothing else. George told me when all was ready and my mother said I might, that I could come with him. I'd be one of the scouts, the color bearer; that's the place I want—(he grows more and more excited)—to hold the flag; to feel it was my own, my very own; to feel and touch and carry. Do you know, Charlotte, I believe I'd think George most as great a man as Morgan if he'd take me with him in his company and let me have the flag.

Char. Perhaps he will. I'll speak for you; he loves to do the things I want; and, yes, I'm sure he'll take you for his color-bearer.

Bev. Where's father, Fair? I must go tell him now before he goes away. He'll say that I can go; I know he will. And mother: I'll tell her, too. Where are they?

Fair (quietly). I think they're in the garden by Phil's grave. They always go there near this time.

[Exit Bev through gate.

Char. Oh, Fair, it's hard, hard for us all, and most of all for you. I sometimes wonder how you can be so brave. We've given Phil, and now your father and George and Carter and Gordon—all of them in the army. Now that Bev wants to go, I don't see how we can bear that.