THE TERRIBLE MEEK

A ONE-ACT STAGE PLAY FOR THREE VOICES: TO BE PLAYED IN DARKNESS

BY CHARLES RANN KENNEDY AUTHOR OF “THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE”

“For they shall inherit the earth”

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON

ALL STAGE, RECITATION, PUBLICATION, TRANSLATION AND OTHER RIGHTS RESERVED. APPLICATION SHOULD BE MADE TO MESSRS. HARPER & BROTHERS

Books by CHARLES RANN KENNEDY

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1912. BY CHARLES RANN KENNEDY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO MY MOTHER

A NEWER COURAGE. MORE LIKE WOMAN’S. DEALING WITH LIFE, NOT DEATH. IT CHANGES EVERYTHING

PERSONS OF THE PLAY A PEASANT WOMAN AN ARMY CAPTAIN A SOLDIER THE TIME A TIME OF DARKNESS THE PLACE A WIND-SWEPT HILL

THE TERRIBLE MEEK

Before the curtain rises, a bell from some distant place of worship tolls the hour. Nine brazen notes, far off, out of tune. Then a heavy peal of thunder, and the sharp, cracking strike of a bolt; yet, above all, one other sound, more piercing—a strange, unearthly Cry. There follows a mighty howling of wind, blended with a confused clamour of voices and the hurrying of many feet. The noises have almost all died away, when the Curtain rises upon inky darkness.

A sudden hush. The silence deepens. There is a sense of moorlands and desolate places.

Far off, a cow lows in her stall. Some lost sheep down in the valley bleats dismally. Silence again.

It is broken by the Voice of a Woman, weeping bitterly. A Peasant Woman.

Woman. Oh!...

Another Voice: the gentlemanly, well-bred voice of an army man, now under some stress of emotion. A Captain.

Captain. My God, this is awful. I can’t stand it.

Woman. Oh!...

Captain. Come, my good woman, it’s all over now. There’s no earthly help for it. You can’t remain here, you know.

Woman. Leave me be. Leave me be.

Captain. All the others left long ago. They hurried off home the moment—the moment the storm came....

Come, it’s bleak and quite too dreadful for you up on this hill. Let me send you back to the town with one of the soldiers.

Woman. One of the—soldiers!...

Captain. Yes: come, come now....

Woman. Leave me be. Don’t touch me. There’s the smell of death on you.

Captain. Well, since you.... And, after all....

The clank and rattle of his sword and uniform mark his moving away. He sits.

The smell of death. My God, it’s true.

A bitter wind comes soughing up from the valley. The sheep bleats once, piteously. Then all is quiet again.

Some one else is coming. He is heard stumbling blindly up over the hill, the steel butt of his weapon ringing among the stones. A Soldier.

Groping in darkness, he collides suddenly with the Captain. His Voice is that of a common man, city-bred;

Soldier. Gawd blimey, wot the ’ell....

Oh, beg pawdon, sir. Didn’t know it was you, Captain.

Captain. That’s all right, sentry.

Soldier. ’Pon my word, sir, you give me a start, fust go orf. Wot with the storm an’ the darkness, an’ this ’ere little job we been doin’, I tek my oath I thought for a moment as you was ... well, summat else.

Wasn’t quite a nice thing wot ’appened up ’ere just nah, sir, was it?

Captain. It wasn’t.

Soldier. I’m on guard myself, sir; or I don’t know as I’d ’a’ come up, not for choice.

You bin ’ere all the time, Captain?

Captain. Have I? Yes, I suppose I have. I’ve been here ... ever since.

Soldier. It’s not exackly the place ter spend a pleasant arternoon, is it, sir?

Captain. No, I suppose not.

Soldier. O’ course, there’s company, as you might say; but not quite congenial company, eh wot?

Captain. That depends entirely upon the point of view.

Soldier. Dam’ creepy, I call it!...

Well, we done for ’im good an’ proper, any’ah.

Captain. My God, yes. We builders of empire know how to do our business.

Soldier. Pretty bloody business, too, ain’t it, sir?

Captain. Yes, that’s the word.

They consider it for a moment. Presently the Soldier laughs at some amusing recollection;

Soldier. It’s an ill wind wot blows nobody any good. I got summat aht o’ this, orl said an’ done.

Captain. What’s that?

Soldier. I got some of ’is togs.

Captain. His togs. How do you mean?

Soldier. Why, I’ll tell yer. ’E didn’t want no more togs, not the way ’e was goin’; nah did ’e? So me an’ the boys, we got our ’eds together, and arter we’d undressed ’im an’ put ’im to bed, so to speak, we pitched an’ tossed for the ’ole bag lot, one by one, till they was orl bloomin’ well divided aht. I got ’is boots.

Captain. You got his boots, did you?

Soldier. Yes, pore devil. ’E don’t want them no more. Not quite my fit; but they’ll do to tek ’ome for a keepsake—that is, if we ever do get ’ome aht of this ’ere stinkin’ ’ole. My little missis ’ll think a lot of them boots.

Captain. They will be a pleasant memento.

Soldier. Just wot I say, sir. Oh, my missis, she got an ’oly nose for ’orrors: she reely ’ave. Tellin’ abaht them boots ’ll last ’er a lifetime.

Captain. She must be an attractive young woman, your—missis.

Soldier. Oh no, sir, just ordinary, just ordinary. Suits me, orl right....

Some memory holds him for a moment;

Funny thing, Captain, ’ow this ’ere foreign service keeps you—well, sort of thinkin’, don’t it? S’pose it’s the lonely nights an’ the long sentry duties an’ such like....

Captain. You’ve felt that too, then, have you?

Soldier. Yessir; meks me think abaht my missis. ’Er was in the family way when I left ’ome, sir—expectin’ just a couple of month arter I sailed....

The little beggar ’ll be gettin’ on by nah—that is, if ’e come orl right.

Captain. You’ve made up your mind for a boy then, eh?

Soldier. She allus ’oped for a boy, sir. Women’s like that. S’pose it’s orl right; it’s men wot’s wanted these days, wot with the Army an’ the Spread of Empire an’ orl that.

Captain. Yes, they make better killing.

The Soldier is rather stupid, or he would have laughed. He goes on;

Soldier. Yessir, ’er’s bin ’ankerin’ arter a kid ever since we was married six year ago; but some-’ow or other it never seemed to come orf. ’Ealthy woman, too, sir. You unnerstand ’ow these things is, Captain: there’s no tellin’. Little beggars come by guess an’ by Gawd, it seems to me....

I wonder if it’s a boy. There’s no gettin’ no news aht in this blarsted....

Good Gawd, wot’s that?...

Captain. What?

Soldier. Be’ind us. Summat sort of.... There, ’ark!

The Woman’s Voice rises, sighing like wind;

Woman. Oh!...

Soldier. My Gawd, wot is it?

Captain. It’s a woman.

Soldier. A woman! Up ’ere?

Captain. She has every right to be here. This is her place.

Soldier. But does she know? Does she know wot’s ... danglin’ up yonder, over ’er ’ed?

Captain. She knows more than we do. She belongs to him. She is his mother.

Soldier. ’Is mother!...

Captain. Yes, he was her baby once.

The Soldier is affected by this. He speaks with real compassion;

Soldier. Pore devil!

Their minds go wandering through many troubled by-paths of thought. Presently the Soldier speaks again;

Wot was it ’e done, Captain?

Captain. Don’t you know?

Soldier. Not exackly. I got enough to look arter with my drills an’ vittles withaht messin’ abaht with politics an’ these ’ere funny foreign religions.

Captain. And yet you, if I mistake not, were one of the four men told off to do the job.

Soldier. Well, I ’ope I know my duty, sir. I on’y obeyed orders. Come to that, sir, arskin’ your pawdon, it was you as give them orders. I s’pose you knew orl right wot it was ’e done?

Captain. No, I don’t know exactly, either. I am only just beginning to find out. We both did our duty, as you call it, in blindness.

Soldier. That’s strange langwidge to be comin’ from your lips, Captain.

Captain. Strange thoughts have been coming to me during the last six hours.

Soldier. It’s difficult to know wot’s wot in these outlandish places. It’s not like at ’ome, sir, where there’s Law an’ Order an’ Patriotism an’ Gawd’s Own True Religion. These blarsted ’eathens got no gratitude. ’Ere’s the Empire sweatin’ ’er guts aht, tryin’ ter knock some sense inter their dam’ silly ’eds; an’ wot do you get aht of it, orl said an’ done? Nuthin’! Nuthin’ but a lot of ingratitude, ’ard words, insurrections, an’ every nah an’ then a bloody example like this ’ere to-day! Oh, these foreigners mek me sick, they do reely!

Captain. Yes, perhaps that has been the real mistake all along.

Soldier. Wot ’as, Captain?

Captain. Taking these people—men like this one, for instance—for foreigners.

Soldier. Well, you’ll excuse me, sir, but wot the ’ell else are they?

Captain. I’m not quite sure; but supposing they were more nearly related? Supposing, after all, they happened to be made of the same flesh and blood as you and me? Supposing they were men? Supposing, even, they were—brothers?

Soldier. Brothers! Why, that’s exackly wot ’e used ter say—’im up there....

Did you ever ’ear ’im, sir?

Captain. Once. Did you?

Soldier. Once.

They remain silent for a little.

It was politics when I ’eard ’im. On’y it sahnded more like some rummy religion.

Captain. When I heard him it was religion—sounding curiously like politics.

Soldier. Them two things don’t ’ardly seem to go together, do they, sir?

Captain. They don’t. Perhaps they ought to.

Soldier. I don’t know. Seems to ’ave led ’im into a pretty mess....

It’s a queer world!...

I wonder wot it was ’e reely done.

Captain. It’s rather late in the day for us to be considering that, seeing what we have done, isn’t it?

Soldier. Well, I don’t know. P’r’aps it’s funny of me, but I never done a job like this yet withaht thinkin’ abaht it arterwards.... An’ I done a few of ’em, too.

If you arsk me, sir, it was them—well, them long-faced old jossers dahn there as begun the ’ole beastly business. You know ’oo I mean.

Captain. Yes, I know whom you mean. But haven’t they a name?

Soldier. Well, I ’ardly know wot ter call them, sir. They’re like a lot of old washerwomen. Allus jawin’. We got nuthin’ exackly like that sort at ’ome, sir.

Captain. Oh, I don’t know that there’s all that difference.

Soldier. They was allus naggin’ the pore fellow, one way an’ another. Couldn’t leave ’im alone. They started the ’ole business.

Captain. Why, what fault did they find with him? What was it they said he did?

Soldier. It wasn’t nuthin’ ’e done, far as I could mek aht. It was summat as ’e said, wot riled them.

Captain. Something he said?

Soldier. Yes, summat ’orrible; that’s wot they said. Summat too bad ter be spoken, summat they wasn’t a-goin’ ter stand from anybody. Least, that’s wot I ’eard....

Wasn’t so very ’orrible, neither. Not ter me. Sahnded a bit mad, that’s orl.

Captain. Oh, then you know what it was?

Soldier. Yessir. They ’ad a name for it, too: on’y I can’t quite remember. One of them big jaw-crackers, you unnerstand. Seems a bit orf for a bloke ter come ter this, just for usin’ a few words.

Captain. There is great power in words. All the things that ever get done in the world, good or bad, are done by words.

Soldier. Well, there’s summat in that, too. On’y this thing ’e said—blimey, it was nuthin’! There ain’t a loony alive wot doesn’t say the same thing ’e said, an’ more, a thahsand times a day, when ’e’s reel bad in ’is ’ead. At the most, it sahnded like a bit of langwidge, that’s orl.

Captain. And you don’t mind that, do you?

Soldier. Me? ’E could ’a’ done it till ’e was blue in the face an’ welcome, far as I’d care.

Captain. You yourself, of course, had nothing at all against him? Nothing personal, nothing political, I mean. No more than I had.

Soldier. Lor’ bless you, no, sir. Rawther liked ’im, the bit I saw of ’im.

Captain. Only they—the long-faced gentlemen—found him guilty. So, of course, they had to hand him over to the magistrate.

Soldier. Yes, blarst them. What did they want ter go an’ do that for?

Captain. It was perhaps their—duty, don’t you see?

Soldier (taken aback on the sacred word). Oh, was it? Well, since you put it in that way, o’ course....

Captain. Then, again, came the magistrate’s duty. I suppose he found he had some duty in the matter? Did he very much object to this horrible thing that had been said?

Soldier. Not much! ’E ain’t that sort, not this fellow!...

That’s the funny thing abaht it. Far as I could ’ear, there weren’t no mention of that, by the time the case come into ’is ’ands. No, it was riotin’ an’ stirrin’ people up agen the government, as ’e on’y ’ad ter deal with.

Captain. Was that charge proved against the prisoner?

Soldier. They ’ad witnesses, I suppose. On’y you know wot witnesses are, in a case like this, sir. Got their orders, you unnerstand.

Captain. And, of course, they all did their duty. That sacred obligation was attended to. They obeyed.

Soldier. I don’t know. Don’t arsk me. I know nuthin’ abaht it.

He is a little nettled at the turn the conversation is taking.

Captain. Was there no one, from among all those crowds that followed him, to stand up and say a word for him?

Soldier. Well, wot do you think? Them greasy blighters! You saw ’ow they be’aved just nah, when we done the job.

Captain. Their duty, as voicers of public opinion, I suppose.

Soldier (sullenly). I don’t know.

Captain. Had they any very strong feelings against this monstrous thing he said? Were they so stirred with affection for the government? Or didn’t their duty cover those unessential points?

Soldier. I don’t know.

Captain. Well then, this magistrate? Having examined this poor wretch in the presence of all that exemplary, patriotic, obedient mob of people, he soon found out where his duty lay? It was his duty to hand him over to us—to you and me.

Soldier (shortly). Yessir.

Captain (insisting). To you and me.

Soldier. I said, Yessir.

Captain. Whereupon, though we were practically ignorant as to the charge upon which this man was convicted: though we had grave doubts as to whether he were guilty at all; and while it is perfectly certain that we had nothing against him personally, that we even liked him, sympathized with him, pitied him: it became our duty, our sworn, our sacred duty, to do to him—the terrible thing we did just now.

Soldier. I can’t see wot you’re drivin’ at, sir. You wouldn’t ’ave a man go agen ’is duty, would you?

Captain. I’m trying to make up my mind. I don’t know. I’m blind. I don’t think I know what duty is.

Soldier. It’s perfectly plain, sir. Arter all, duty is duty, ain’t it?

Captain. Yes, it doesn’t seem to be very much else.

Soldier. ’Ow do you mean, sir?

Captain. Well, for instance, it doesn’t seem to be love or neighborliness or pity or understanding or anything that comes out hot and fierce from the heart of a man. Duty! Duty! We talk of duty! What sort of devil’s duties are there in the world, do you think, when they lead blindly, wantonly, wickedly, to the murder of such a man as this!

Soldier. Well, far as I’m concerned, I on’y obeyed my orders.

Captain. Orders! Obeyed orders!

Soldier. Well, sir, it was you as give them to me.

Captain. Good God, man, why didn’t you strike me in the blasphemous teeth, the hour I gave them?

Soldier. Me, sir? Strike my superior orficer!

Captain. You struck this defenceless man. You had no scruples about his superiority. You struck him to the death.

Soldier (hotly). I on’y did my duty!

Captain. We have murdered our brother. We have destroyed a woman’s child.

Soldier. I on’y obeyed my orders. When my superior orficer says, Kill a man, why, I just kill ’im, that’s orl. O’ course I kill ’im. Wot’s a soldier for? That’s duty! (With sudden lust.) Blood an’ ’ell! I’d kill ’im soon as look at ’im, yes, I would, if ’e was Gawd aht of ’Eaven, ’Imself!...

Not as I ’ave anythin’ personal agen this pore devil. On’y I do know my duty.

They are silent for a little while. Then the Soldier, feeling that he has gone too far, begins assuaging the situation;

There’s one thing certain: it’s no use cryin’ over spilt milk. ’E’s dead an’ done for nah, wotever comes. Dead as a door-nail, pore cuss.

The Captain, who has risen during his excitement, now sits down again. His sword clatters against a boulder.

A pause.

’E ain’t the fust man I done for, neither; an’ I bet ’e won’t be the last. Not by a long way.

He speaks in an aggrieved tone. It is the way in which shame comes to a soldier.

A pause.

Captain (deeply). So you think he is dead, do you?

Soldier. Well, wot do you think? A man don’t live forever, ’ung up as ’igh as we got ’im yonder. Besides, we did a bit of business with ’is vital parts, arter we’d got ’im up there.

Captain. And all that, you think, means—death.

Soldier. Well, don’t it?

Captain. That’s what I’m wondering.

Soldier. Six hours, mind you. It’s a long time.

Captain. There is something mightier than time.

Soldier. Well, they don’t supply little boys’ playthings, not from our War Office. One of these ’ere beauties....

He rattles his weapon in the darkness and continues;

... when they do start business, generally touch the spot.

Captain. It would have to reach very far, to touch—this man’s life.

Soldier. Nah, wotever do you mean, Captain?

Captain. I mean that life is a terrible, a wonderful thing. You can’t kill it. All the soldiers in the world, with all their hate, can’t kill it. It comes back, it can’t die, it rises again.

Soldier. Good Gawd, Captain, don’t you talk like that!

Captain. Why, what are you afraid of? We have shown great courage to-day, you and I. Soldiers should be brave, you know.

Soldier. That’s orl very well, when it’s a matter of plain flesh an’ blood; but Lor’! Ghosts!...

Do you believe in them, sir?

Captain. What?

Soldier. Ghosts.

Captain. Yes. It came to me to-day.

Soldier (slowly). If I believed there was reely ghosts abaht....

Captain. They are the only realities. Two of them ought to be especially important to you and me just now.

Soldier. Two? Blimey! ’Oose?

Captain. Why, yours, man, and mine. Our ghosts. Our immortal ghosts. This deed of ours to-day should make us think of them forever.

Soldier. Yours an’ mine? I didn’t know we ’ad ghosts, you an’ me.

Captain. It makes a difference, doesn’t it? There have been millions of our sort in the long history of the world. I wonder how many more millions there will be in the years to come. Blind, dutiful, bloody-handed: murderers, all of us. A soldier’s ghost must be a pitiable thing to see.

The cloudy darkness slightly lifts from the ground. Their forms can be dimly discerned—vague shadows upon a deeper gloom. Up above there still dwells impenetrable night.

Tell me, brother murderer, have you ever prayed?

Soldier. Me, sir?... (Ashamed.) Well, sir, nah you arsk me, yes I ’ave—once.

Captain. When was that?

Soldier. Why, sir, abaht a couple of month arter I set sail for this blarsted little ’ole.

Captain. I understand. You prayed then for the birth of an innocent child?

Soldier. Yessir.

Captain. You will have need to pray again to-night. Both of us will have need. This time for the death of an innocent man.

The Soldier is embarrassed. He does not know what to say. Something about “duty” comes into his head; but somehow it seems inappropriate.

A brighter thought occurs to him;

Soldier. Well, it’s time I was dahn yonder, lookin’ arter the boys. Any orders, sir?

Captain. Orders? No, no more—orders.

Soldier. Orl right, sir.

There is heard the rattle of his salute, and the dying away of his footsteps, as he stumbles blindly up and over the hill.

The Captain does not speak until all is still again.

Captain. My God! My God! Oh, my God!

He buries his face in the dirt and stones.

The faintest moaning of wind. The sheep bleats. A dog, disturbed by the sound, barks, far off. Then there is a deep silence, lasting one minute.