(_His face convulses and he cries out, terribly--straining
in his chair to rise._)
--for holy God, that band!
Why don't they stop that band!
POLLY
(_going_)
I'll run and tell them.
Sit quiet, dear. I'll be right back.
(_Glancing back anxiously,_ POLLY _disappears outside. The
approaching band begins to play "John Brown's Body."_
LINK _sits motionless, gripping his chair._)
LINK
_Set quiet!_
Dead folks don't set, and livin' folks kin stand,
and Link--he kin set quiet.--God a'mighty,
how kin he set, and them a-marchin' thar
with old John Brown? Lord God, you ain't forgot
the boys, have ye? the boys, how they come marchin'
home to ye, live and dead, behind old Brown,
a-singin' Glory to ye! Jest look down:
thar's Gettysburg, thar's Cemetery Ridge:
don't say ye disremember them! And thar's
the colors. Look, he's picked 'em up--the sergeant's
blood splotched 'em some--but thar they be, still flyin'!
Link done that: Link--the spry boy, what they call
Chipmunk: you ain't forgot his double-step,
have ye?
(_Again he cries out, beseechingly_)
My God, why do You keep on marchin'
and leave him settin' here?
(_To the music outside, the voices of children begin to sing
the words of "John Brown's Body." At the sound,_
LINK'S _face becomes transformed with emotion, his
body shakes, and his shoulders heave and straighten._)
No!--I--_won't_--set!
(_Wresting himself mightily, he rises from his chair, and stands._)
Them are the boys that marched to Kingdom-Come
ahead of us, but we keep fallin' in line.
Them voices--Lord, I guess you've brought along
Your Sunday choir of young angel folks
to help the boys out.
(_Following the music with swaying arms_)
Glory!--Never mind
me singin': you kin drown me out. But I'm
goin' t' jine in, or bust!
(_Joining with the children's voices, he moves unconsciously
along the edge of the woodpile. With stiff steps--his
one hand leaning on the hoe, his other reached as
to unseen hands, that draw him--he totters toward
the sunlight and the green lawn, at back. As he does so,
his thin, cracked voice takes up the battle-hymn where
the children's are singing it._)
"--a-mould'rin' in the grave,
John Brown's body lies a-mould'rin' in the grave.
John Brown's body lies a-mould'rin' in the grave,
But his soul goes--"
(_Suddenly he stops, aware that he is walking, and cries
aloud, astounded_)
Lord, Lord, my legs!
Whar did Ye git my legs?
(_Shaking with delight, he drops his hoe, seizes up the
little flag from the woodpile, and waves it joyously._)
I'm comin', boys!
Link's loose agin: Chipmunk has sprung his trap.
(_With tottering gait, he climbs the little mound in the
woodpile._)
Now, boys, three cheers for Cemetery Ridge!
Jine in, jine in!
(_Swinging the flag_)
Hooray!--Hooray!--Hooray!
(_Outside, the music grows louder, and the voices of old
men and children sing martially to the brass music._
_With his final cheer_, LINK _stumbles down from the
mound, brandishes in one hand his hat, in the other
the little flag, and stumps off toward the approaching
procession into the sunlight, joining his old cracked
voice, jubilant, with the singers:_)
"--ry hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah,
His truth is marchin" on!"
[CURTAIN]