PEOPLE OF THE DREAM
DR. FRANKLIN, the statesman
JOHN ADAMS
MARIE ANTOINETTE, Queen of France
THE DUCHESS OF BOURBON
MADEMOISELLE DE PERNAN
MADEMOISELLE DE TRESSAU
Ladies in Waiting.
Pages.
Courtiers.
Rose Minuet Dancers.
Shepherdesses and Milkmaids from the Petit Trianon.
Little Flower Girls.
Rose Bearers.
The setting is the lawn of Versailles on a Summer afternoon, 1781.
There are trees at right, left, and background. The entrances of all
taking part in the scene are made from middle background.
The dream music of the previous scene having ceased, a stately march is
played off scene. Queen Marie Antoinette enters, her train held by four
little pages in white satin. She is followed by Mlles. de Pernan and de
Tressau, who wear white brocade with pale yellow roses. Following them
comes a less formal group, ladies in waiting, who wear dark green and
silver-flowered bodices and overskirts over still darker green quilted
petticoats: amber costumes of the same, threaded with gold, and dark
purple over white satin. The Queen, who is in white, with a long train
of scarlet velvet, has the only touch of scarlet that is worn in the
scene. The French courtiers are in flowered coats with buff, blue of a
deep shade, and white and amber-brown predominating.
The Queen, having crossed the sward, stands at right, and the Mlles. de
Pernan and de Tressau stand immediately behind her, and by them the
pages. A little further back, in a stately, yet not too formal a
semicircle, stands the court. Just as they are taking their places
there comes from the background a sedan chair borne by four chairmen in
black velvet, with powdered wigs. This chair is set down in center of
sward. The Duchess of Bourbon alights: approaches the Queen, courtesies
deeply and kisses her Majesty's hand. Then joins the group behind the
Queen. The chair is carried to the back of the group during this
ceremony.
Music off-scene plays "Hail Columbia" and Franklin and Adams appear
from background, Adams following Franklin. Benjamin Franklin is in
black, with unpowdered hair. His famous spectacles are on his nose. The
Queen extends her hand, over which he bows. Adams, with three-cornered
hat on breast, bows just behind him.
QUEEN.
You honor France in honoring us by your presence, Dr. Franklin. Mr.
Adams, we greet you, not only because you come from America, but
because you are the friend of wisdom and sagacity.
FRANKLIN
(bowing low: ditto Adams).
Your Majesty does us too much honor!
QUEEN.
The honor we do you to-day is to be gay, festive, joyous. We have
delighted to plan a fete for your pleasure wherein you shall behold
Versailles and Trianon, court ladies, milkmaids, shepherdesses! But,
first, the verses!
[According to the custom of eighteenth-century France in honoring a
philosopher, the Mlles. de Pernan and de Tressau face Franklin and the
Queen, courtesy deeply, recite a verse, courtesy again, and return to
their places.
MLLE. DE PERNAN.
"We come to honor, one by one,
Benjamin Franklin, Freedom's son,
Who comes to us from oversea,
Champion of light and liberty."
MLLE. DE TRESSAU.
"Learned and just, benignant, wise,
You draw the lightning from the skies:
Printer and Statesman--here we see
What man through his own wit may be!"
[Throughout the revels that follow the Queen and Benjamin Franklin
stand at right, while the dancers enter from left background. As soon
as one group has finished dancing, center, they move to the left, and
stand in a line facing Franklin and the Queen. Thus color is added to
color, till the whole has a rainbow effect.
The first group to enter is the pale-violet group, ladies-in-waiting,
who wear pale-violet bodices and overdresses over white. They dance a
gavotte, and retire to a line at left. The stage on which the dancing
is done must afford ample space, so that there is no crowding.
The second group enters. Court ladies in pale-yellow bodices and looped
overdresses over white. They dance a gavotte, and then stand at left of
stage.
The third group enters. Young maids of the court, dressed as
shepherdesses. Pale sea-foam-green bodices and overdresses over white.
White crooks, with pale-green satin streamers fastened to them. They
dance a minuet, and retire to left.
The fourth group enters. Young maids of the court dressed as milkmaids.
Pale-blue bodices and looped-up overdresses over white. Each milkmaid
carries a small white, wooden milking-pail. They dance a minuet, and
retire to left.
The fifth group enters for the Rose Minuet. First come ten little girls
walking two and two. They wear bodices and overdresses of the very
palest pink, flowered with deep-pink roses. Their fichus and petticoats
are white. Each couple carries between them a half-hoop of pink roses.
When they come to a halt the rose hoops, held high, form a rose bower
through which the rose-dancers approach. They are maids of the court,
who wear rose-pink bodices and overdresses over white. Wreaths of tiny
pink rosebuds on their powdered hair. With the little girls with rose
hoops forming figures and groups in the center of the sward, the minuet
dancers go through a minuet which should differ from the other minuets,
its figures being somewhat more elaborate and complicated.
The final figure of this fete should be a huge minuet, with the
rose-dancers in the center of the sward, the other dancers joining in.
After a figure or two, the tempo of the music should change, and the
dancers, headed by those who have done the rose minuet, should march
off the field into the background. First the pink group, then the blue
group, then the green, yellow, and violet groups. With the same march
music still sounding, the Queen and Franklin, followed in stately
fashion by the court, should leave the field, and thus end the scene.
COSTUMES
The costumes of the first scene have already been indicated in the
text. That of the crystal-gazer can be made of cambric, with the glazed
side turned inward. Her cap and kerchief should be of white lawn.
COSTUMES IN SCENE II
MARIE ANTOINETTE. White satin petticoat. Overdress and bodice of white
silk brocaded with scarlet roses. White lace ruffles and fichu. Long
train of scarlet velvet, lined in white satin. Hair dressed high and
powdered. Gold crown. Shimmering necklace. If a costume as ornate as
this is not procurable, let the young player wear a long white muslin
dress that just touches below the ankle. A bodice and overdress of
white cretonne flowered with red roses. White lawn fichu with ruffles.
A long train of scarlet cambric with the glazed side turned outward to
represent satin. This is lined in white cambric which should also be
satiny-looking. The train is fastened at the shoulders, and borne by
two pages. Crown and jewels of gold and silver paper. White slippers
and stockings. Brilliant buckles.
FRANKLIN. Suit of plain black velvet. Vest of black satin. Stockings
and low shoes of black. Three-cornered black hat which he holds under
his arm. His hair falls to his collar, and is unpowdered. A pair of
square spectacles on his nose.
ADAMS. Suit of plum-colored velvet, trimmed with gold lace. White satin
waistcoat. White stock, and lace jabot, and sleeve-ruffles. Black shoes
with gold buckles. Black stockings. White powdered wig worn in a cue.
With the other costumes, cretonne and cheesecloth can be substituted
for silk and satin; but the color scheme that has been already
described should be strictly adhered to. The Mlles. de Pernan and de
Tressau should wear white dresses, with looped-up paniers of white
cretonne flowered in yellow. The Duchess of Bourbon, a white dress with
looped paniers of pale blue, flowered in pink. White fichu and ruffles.
Very inexpensive yet effective costumes can be made for the dancers by
having each girl wear a white dress that comes below the knee. Over
this dress may be worn a deep girdle of cheesecloth of a solid color.
Then looped-up paniers of cheesecloth of the same color at each side. A
white fichu of cheesecloth or lawn may be worn with this costume, and
all the girls taking part in the dances should have their hair
powdered, and worn in a pompadour fashion. White shoes and stockings
for all the dancers. Older girls taking part should wear their dresses
ankle-length. If a more satiny look than cheesecloth gives is wished,
let the overdresses be of light-colored cambric with the glazed side
turned outward. Cheesecloth is the softest, most pliable material, and
the most easily managed.
The dancers who carry the rose hoops should wear pale-pink cretonne
flowered in deeper pink. The rose hoops may be made of ordinary hoops
of a good size cut in half, covered with green cheesecloth, and then
decorated with pink paper roses, put on so thickly that the green is
almost hidden.
The pages and sedan chair-bearers wear black velvet, with black
waistcoats and white neck-pieces and ruffles. Black stockings and low
black shoes. Hair powdered and worn in a cue. Black suits, basted back
to give the effect of an eighteenth-century coat, white neckcloth and
ruffles of lawn will make good substitutes for the more ornate costume.
For the white wigs, a tight-fitting skull-cap of white muslin. Basted
to this white cotton batting, shaped to fit the head, and having a cue
in the back tied with black velvet ribbon. For the sedan chair, if a
real sedan chair cannot be had, have a chair fastened to a stout
platform of wood. Handles for the bearers to hold should be fastened to
the chair. A boxed-in canopy of heavy white cardboard covers this, the
cardboard fastened to a light framework. Over the cardboard should be
pasted pale-yellow wallpaper, or white-flowered wallpaper. The inside
of the chair should be covered in flowered cretonne. The handles should
be gilded.
MUSIC (for band, orchestra, or piano):
For the Dream Music: Minuet, by L. Boccherini
Gavotte: Gavotte Favorite de Marie Antoinette (1774), by Charles
Neustedt.
Minuet: Minuet from Don Juan, by Mozart.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN EPISODE
LINCOLN CABIN SCENE
CHARACTERS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
NANCY LINCOLN
JOHN LINCOLN
AMY ROBY
TOM BUSH
FRANCOIS, a young French-Canadian
ANDREW SMITH, a fiddler
RED PLUME, the chieftain of a small Indian tribe
DARK CLOUD, an Indian brave
SKY-OF-DAWN, an Indian maiden
Other young people, friends of Lincoln, Indian braves, Indian maidens
SCENE: A clearing beyond the Lincoln cabin, Little Creek, Indiana,
1823.
When the boys and girls who are to take part in the outdoor merrymaking
begin to appear, it is seen that the boys wear moccasins, and buckskin
is bound in strappings to their knees. They wear, for the most part,
dark knee-breeches. Their shirts are dark-blue, dark-red, and dark-plum
flannel--any dark flannel shirt will do. These shirts are open at the
neck, and a gay handkerchief is twisted about them, tied with loose
ends. Francois betrays his French ancestry by a red sash tied at the
side.
The girls wear short dark calico, homespun, or woollen dresses of solid
color, dark-blue, dark-brown, dark-gray. These dresses should have
square necks, which show the throat. The dresses themselves are not
much seen, because each girl wears an old-fashioned cloak, gathered at
the neck, and falling to the edge of the dress. The cloaks are gay in
color--forest-green, red, bright blue; in shape something like the
well-known "Shaker" cloaks. Some of the cloaks have hoods that lend an
air of quaintness. Several of the girls wear bead chains, evidently the
work of their own fingers.
The scene opens with the entrance of Nancy and John Lincoln, and Tom
Bush. The rest follow from background. It is evident from their attire
and smiling faces that this is a gala occasion. Tom Bush carries a
kettle to right, near a fallen log. Then he and the other boys kindle a
fire, erect a rude tripod, and swing the kettle not far from where the
log lies. Much business of blowing, lighting, etc. A battered tin
coffee-pot is produced, ready for making the coffee.
TOM BUSH
(calling back over his shoulder, as the preparations begin).
Come, Nancy, we've found a fine place to swing the kettle.
AMY ROBY
(at right, stooping over basket).
And here's a splendid spot for unpacking the baskets!
[Nancy Lincoln runs first to the fire, to see how the work is going
forward, and then returns to Amy, who is busily unpacking baskets, with
the assistance of the other girls. Nancy takes some of the contents of
the baskets, and then hurries to Tom Bush with them.
NANCY LINCOLN.
Here are some potatoes and corn-dodgers to put on the ashes.
FRANCOIS
(to Andrew Smith).
It is mos' time that you had better be tuning up your fiddle, Andrew!
AMY ROBY
(to Nancy, who stands center, shielding her eyes, and looking towards
background).
Isn't Abe coming?
NANCY LINCOLN
(shaking her head).
No, Abe isn't even in sight yet. But he'll surely be here as soon as he
has finished splitting those rails.
ONE OF THE LITTLE GIRLS
(joyfully).
Andrew is beginning to play!
[Andrew Smith's fiddle gives out the first notes of a reel. Those who
are bending at their various occupations begin to nod and trip. In an
instant everything is dropped, and the young people are all for
merriment. They begin, center of sward, a grand right and left. Andrew
Smith stands at right fiddling with the greatest possible gusto.
As the dance ends, Andrew Smith points with his fiddle-bow to a figure
seen approaching from the background, a tall, lank, kindly-faced boy,
dressed like the others but with an ax over his shoulder.
ALL
(with a loud cry--intense delight--at the very top of their lungs).
Lincoln! Abe Lincoln!
[They run to meet him. He comes down center with an admiring group on
each side.
NANCY LINCOLN
(looking up at Abe).
It wasn't really a holiday till you came.
[Lincoln smiles at her, and then turns to Tom Bush.
LINCOLN
(as he and Nancy and Tom Bush form a group at fire: the rest up stage,
left).
What have you been doing, Tom?
TOM BUSH.
Fixing the fire, and now I'm going to see about getting the right sort
of wood for the floor of a squirrel-cage. I caught a squirrel
yesterday, and I------Oh, I forgot! You wouldn't be interested in that.
You said yesterday that if you were me you would let the squirrel go.
LINCOLN
(looking straight before him to something far beyond the narrow world
of Little Creek).
I don't like to see things in cages: I like to see 'em _free_. I
believe in freedom for everything living!
AMY ROBY
(breaking in upon the group).
Come, Tom, there's another dance beginning!
[Lincoln sits on log, near fire, and begins to roast some ears of corn
which the boys have stacked near by. The young people beckon Lincoln.
He shakes his head, watches them, smiling. A Virginia Reel is started
at left. Lincoln, who is still seated on log, and those who are dancing
the reel, are so absorbed that they are oblivious of a group of Indians
stalking down from right. The Indians draw near to Lincoln, and stand
motionless, watching the dance, their beads and headgear glittering in
the sun, their blankets a brilliant blotch of color against the green.
When the dance ends, Lincoln and his companions are aware of the
Indians. But the Indians, although their desire is to trade the skins
and furs they are carrying, cross to left, feigning entire
indifference, and seat themselves in a semicircle. Red Plume in passing
Lincoln has given him a grave "How!" to which Lincoln has returned
"How!" with equal gravity. The settlers stand in a group at right, a
little towards the background, watching the Indians. The Indians
continue to sit in a grave circle. An old Indian smokes. Two of the
Indian maidens appear to chatter. Finally Dark Cloud rises with a
bundle of skins in his hand. The young settlers come down to right
foreground. Dark Cloud puts the bundle of skins on the ground. Asks
them, by gesture: "What will they give?"
Tom Bush offers a penknife for one of the skins. Dark Cloud stands with
arms haughtily folded. Tom Bush adds a gay handkerchief to the
penknife. Dark Cloud shakes his head, and stalks back to his circle.
Sits with his brother Indians. Much conferring and shaking of heads.
Equal pantomime on part of settlers. Lincoln is keenly watching the
scene, but still apart from it all. Suddenly Red Plume rises and, with
slow dignity, approaches Lincoln.
RED PLUME.
How!
LINCOLN.
How!
RED PLUME
(with indicatory pantomime).
Red Plume know Lincoln. Lincoln heap square. Lincoln heap just. Honest
Abe decide.
[Lincoln rises, and comes to center foreground. Dark Cloud rises from
his circle and brings skins. He stands at Lincoln's left. The other
Indians rise slowly, cross, and stand behind Dark Cloud. At Lincoln's
right stands Tom Bush, and back of Tom Bush the youthful settlers. They
have gathered together things they wish to trade, such as a fine
blanket that was brought with the picnic blankets, hatchets, etc. Tom
Bush is the first to start the trading. He adds to the handkerchief and
penknife which he showed before a small hatchet. Both Dark Cloud and
Tom Bush, after they have laid their possessions on the grass, look at
Lincoln. Lincoln nods. The trade is made. Through all that follows
Lincoln stands center, as a court of appeal. No trades are consummated
until he has given the signal of an affirmative nod.
The Indians offer furs of various descriptions.
Francois trades off his red sash to Red Plume.
Amy Roby trades her chain of beads for an Indian basket.
Red Plume signifies interest in Andrew Smith's fiddle. He takes it up.
At this the Indian maidens laugh amongst themselves. Red Plume tries
the fiddle. It makes a very hideous squeak. At this two of the Indian
maidens laugh outright. But Red Plume continues to be enamored of the
instrument. He offers to exchange more and more skins for the fiddle,
but Andrew Smith shakes his head. So no trade is made. Red Plume
reluctantly relinquishes the fiddle. A backwoods lad trades off a
blanket for some of Red Plume's furs, and the chieftain appears
mollified. Now that the trading is over both settlers and Indians
appear to be pleased with their possessions. Through all that has
transpired, Lincoln has been the central figure, appealed to again and
again. The Indians solemnly exeunt with their new possessions towards
background.
NANCY LINCOLN
(turning to Abe).
You don't know how proud I am to hear them call you "Honest Abe." I
shouldn't be surprised if someday you did something wonderful and
splendid!
LINCOLN
(smiling at her enthusiasm).
"Someday's" a long way off, Nancy!
NANCY LINCOLN
(with conviction).
Well, I believe that even if a boy _is_ poor, and was born in a cabin,
if he's as honest and hard-working as you are, Abe, he's sure to come
out finely. Now, let's go home!
[Lincoln, ax on shoulder, exits towards middle background, Nancy and
John and all the rest following, with the fiddler playing gaily.
The merrymaking is over, the grassy stage is left vacant, and the scene
ends.
COSTUMES
The costumes for the young settlers have already been indicated in the
episode itself. Francois, the young French-Canadian, wears a cotton
khaki suit, cut on Indian lines. That is, the breeches of the suit are
fringed, and he wears moccasins. He wears a tan shirt, open at the
neck, and a scarlet sash belt.
The costumes for the Indians are of cotton khaki, cut on simple Indian
lines. (See description of Indian costumes of "Princess Pocahontas.")
Gay painting at neck. Beads. Shells. Wampum. The Indian maidens and
some of the braves have blankets. They should be striped in gay
colors--red and green, orange and blue--the stripes very wide. A few
blankets of solid color. Long pipes for the Indians to smoke.
Headdresses of brown and gray feathers. Dark Cloud wears a black
feather head-dress. Red Plume wears a headdress of brilliant scarlet
feathers.
LIBERTY DANCE
This dance is for a pageant given on a very large scale. It is formed
of commingled groups of the young people of all nations, and is
symbolic of the Old World coming to the New. The peasant costumes of
Germany, Russia, Italy, Ireland, Scotland, France and Sweden should be
worn, and the dances should be the folk dances of the various nations,
with their appropriate music.
PAGEANT DIRECTIONS
Care should be taken in choosing the pageant site. The actual stage
should be a level sward, with close-clipped grass that will make it as
easy as possible for the dancers. It is ideal if the background and
sides of this stage can be picturesquely wooded, and present a vista
through which the pageant players can be seen approaching. It will be
well if the pageant stage itself has a tree or so. This stage should
vary in size according to the number of people in the cast. A small
cast requires a smaller and more intimate stage. In this way scenes in
which a crowd of supernumeraries are needed will give the effect of
having more people than are actually there. On the other hand, a large
stage is needed for big effects, where a great number of people are
used. Too small a stage makes a great number of players seem a huddled
mass, and through this pantomimic effects are lost.
The pageant players should, if possible, have the sun at the side. It
is very difficult to play facing a strong light. Choice of the time of
day in which the pageant is given has much to do with its
effectiveness. Late afternoon (from four o'clock on) is by far the best
time for outdoor drama. The earlier hours are somewhat garish,--the
light too high, the contrasts too sharp and unvaried. But from four
o'clock on the light mellows, the shadows become long and sweeping, the
outdoor effects grow more and more beautiful. It is as if the first
hint of sunset were the signal for ringing down a magic curtain on a
scene where nature herself was pageant mistress. This is true of all
outdoor plays as well as pageants.
Those who direct the pageant should see to it that the youthful players
make a finished exit; that is, that one scene and set of players
disappear entirely from view before another set of players begin to
come on. Off stage the players should be in groups, arranged in the
order in which they are to appear, so that as one group leaves the
stage, the next is ready to appear, and confusion is avoided. No talk
should be allowed off stage. On a still Summer day sounds carry: a
murmur is confusing to the players.
The players should not be dependent on words alone for their cues. Very
often a word may fail to carry out of doors; but a gesture can always
be seen. Therefore, _gesture cues_ can be used at many of the climaxes.
These cues can be quite simple and natural, and while perfectly
understandable to the players themselves, need not be at all obvious to
the audience. The players and their director can decide upon the cues,
and will find them of immense help. Thus, by an upraised arm, or by
tossing back a braid of her hair, Pocahontas can signal to Powhatan
that her talk with John Smith is finished. Washington shielding his
eyes with his hand can be a signal to Carey that it is time for him to
enter, etc., etc. Of course, in many cases the ending or beginning of a
dance, or the entrance of some principal character will be cue enough
in itself.
In the final procession (if the players choose to have a procession),
The Spirit of Patriotism should march first, and behind her should
follow the other players in the order of their scenes. This preserves
the order of the epochs also, and makes an excellent color scheme--the
tawny yellows and reds of the Indian garb, the dark Puritan costumes,
the pinks and blues of the Colonial period as against the more somber
colors of the settler's homespun, etc., etc. In order to give such a
procession its full effect it should not seem too stiff and
premeditated. Let some of the players march two and two, and then have
some important character walking alone. Sometimes it may be possible to
have a group of three, or a tall young player with two smaller and
younger players, following her. Or again a line of Indians single file.
The properties should be carried in the procession to add to its
effectiveness. The canoe, as if it were still a matter of portage; the
sedan chair of the Duchess of Bourbon; the Indian war-drum used in
"Princess Pocahontas," etc., etc. Needless to say these properties are
carried in the group and epoch in which they belong. If the pageant is
given on a very large scale which includes the Liberty Dance at the
end, all those who took part in the dance should form the end of the
procession. There should be a space between them and the last of the
settlers, as there is between the past and the present. In this space
should walk a figure symbolizing Hope and Joy--a young girl in
draperies of the palest green, and hair bound with a Greek fillet. In
her hands she carries a great laurel wreath.
When the Pageant of Patriots had its first production in Prospect Park,
Brooklyn, the youthful players marched around the great oval outside
which the audience sat, and having circled it once, marched off the
scene. If, however, the future producers of this pageant wish to
reverse this order, it can easily be done, by having the march end in
the final tableau. It is merely a matter of choice.
In the Final Tableau The Spirit of Patriotism should stand on the stage
in the middle foreground, center, and grouped about her should be the
young folk of the various centuries. This scene should be well mapped
out and rehearsed beforehand, so that the ensemble will be splendidly
significant and glowing in its effect, and there should be no clashes
in the color scheme. The notes of "America" should be sung with
tremendous fervor and power.
In many cases the pageant will, of necessity, have to be rehearsed
indoors. Outdoor places to rehearse in are not always obtainable, nor
weather always propitious; moreover, with young people the out-of-doors
has too many distractions. Armories or halls are excellent places to
rehearse in; so are gymnasiums. The episodes should be rehearsed
separately. Rehearsing in a small room is fatal. It gives the youthful
performers a tendency to huddle, from which they seldom recover. Their
motions are cramped, and they lose all sweep and freedom. There should
be understudies for all the principal parts, and there must be at least
one full-dress rehearsal. The ages of the young people taking part in
the pageant should be from eight to eighteen. The principal parts will,
of course, be intrusted to the older boys and girls where the occasion
demands. John Smith, Powhatan, and others need a certain amount of
height and dignity.
The number of young people taking part in The Pageant of Patriotism
will be determined by circumstances. From two hundred to five hundred
young people may take part in it.
It should be kept in mind that a Children's or Young People's pageant
differs widely from a pageant given by older actors. It should have
about it an atmosphere of entire simplicity. There should be no
striving for effect. Naivete is to be desired rather than ornateness.
Scenes filled with crowds of young players should alternate with scenes
where solitary little figures appeal by their quaint remoteness, their
suggestion of innocence and candor. The Pageant of Patriots is not only
a pageant of country but of life's springtime, and interwoven with its
episodes should be the glamor of the youth of the world.
THE PAGEANT OF PATRIOTS
(Indoor)
THE PAGEANT OF PATRIOTS
(Arrangement of Indoor Episodes)
1. PROLOGUE BY THE SPIRIT OF PATRIOTISM
2. DRAMATIC SILHOUETTE: LORDS OF THE FOREST
3. THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN (Tableau)
4. PRINCESS POCAHONTAS
5. PRISCILLA MULLINS (Tableau)
6. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, JOURNEYMAN
7. GEORGE WASHINGTON'S FORTUNE
8. THE BOSTON TEA PARTY
9. DRAMATIC SILHOUETTE: THE SPIRIT OF '76
10. ABRAHAM LINCOLN: RAIL-SPLITTER
11. FINAL TABLEAU
12. PROCESSION OF PLAYERS
PROLOGUE
_Spoken by The Spirit of Patriotism_
People of --------, ye who come to see
Enacted here some hours of Pageantry,
Lend us your patience for each simple truth,
And see portrayed for you the Nation's Youth.
Into times dim and far I bid you gaze,
Down the long vista of departed days,
Of hope and aspiration, woe and weal,
Famine and hardship, strife and patriot zeal.
Back further still our march of years shall go
To times primeval: The first scene will show
In shadow silhouette the sagamore,
The braves and chieftains of the days of yore,
Lords of the forest, kings of stream and hill,
Of trail and wigwam: masters of the kill!
The white man's coming next--while curiously
A youthful Indian, pausing, peers to see
What strangers tread the shores that he calls home,
What white-winged ships have braved the wild sea-foam.
Prows of the Norsemen, etched against the blue!
Helmets agleam! Faces of wind-bronzed hue!
On roll the years, and in a forest green
The Princess Pocahontas next is seen;
And then in prim white cap and somber gown
Lovely Priscilla, Maid o' Plymouth Town.
Benjamin Franklin supping at an Inn,
A 'prentice lad with all his world to win.
Then Washington encamped before a blaze
O' fagots, swiftly learning woodland ways.
Next the brave times of 1773
When Boston folk would pay no tax on tea.
And then with urge of fife and roll of drum
In shadow silhouette behold them come--
The Patriot lads who for their country died,
Who rose and followed when my name was cried--!
Leaving the farm and forge and village street--
Our hearts still echo to those marching feet!
Spirit of '76! Thy deathless fame
Burns for us yet, a sacrificial flame!
Years pass. Behold a cabin in the West
Where on an Autumn night, with mirth and zest,
Lincoln's companions take their simple cheer.
These are the scenes to be enacted here.
Shown to you straightway in a simple guise:
Youthful the scenes that we shall here devise
On which the beads of history are strung.
Remember that our players, too, are young.
All critic knowledge, then, behind you leave,
And in the spirit of the day receive
What we would give, and let there come to you
The Joy of Youth, with purpose high and true.
DRAMATIC SILHOUETTE: LORDS OF THE FOREST
A white curtain of sheeting, or other similar material. A strong light
placed behind the curtain throws into high relief the figures as they
pass in significant procession. They are shadow silhouettes of a time
long gone, of a race who now are shadows. Care should be taken that
they move in exactly the right space, so that the shadows will not vary
greatly in height or in bulk. First a chieftain passes, wonderful in
feathers. Next a young brave, who, standing alone a moment, tries the
taut string of his bow. Next an Indian maid, with a basket poised on
her head. Then two young braves with fish slung on a pole between them.
Then a group of Indian maidens. An Indian child or two. A squaw with
fagots on her back. Another with a papoose. Then two Indians with a
canoe, representing the portage of a canoe. Then a final group of young
braves. The music, which begins as the chief passes, continues
throughout the procession until the last Indian has passed, then ebbs
and dies, growing fainter and fainter, till it ceases. Mac-Dowell's
"From an Indian Lodge" is suitable for this.
THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN: TABLEAU
This tableau represents a woodland scene, and is supposed to symbolize
the coming of the Norseman. A young Indian brave, with skins about his
shoulders and hips, his black hair flying, his brown arms barbarically
braceleted, stands poised, listening, and looking at a spot where the
Norsemen are supposed to be making a landing, off stage. With one hand
he shields his eyes. With the other he holds his bow. The tableau
should suggest the wild freedom of an untamed spirit. For music, some
bars of Grieg's Norse airs.
PRINCESS POCAHONTAS
For this pageant episode see page 12 of the Outdoor Arrangement of the
Pageant of Patriots.
PRISCILLA MULLINS SPINNING: TABLEAU
The same woodland setting as has been used for Pocahontas. In the
center of the stage Priscilla and her spinning-wheel. The scene is
outside her dooryard at Plymouth, Mass., in the Spring of 1621. The
tableau should be held a full minute. Appropriate music: Senta's
"Spinning Song"; or Solvig's "Spinning Song" from Grieg's "Peer Gynt
Suite."
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: JOURNEYMAN
CHARACTERS
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, a young printer
ROGER BURCHARD, a Quaker
ELIZABETH BURCHARD, his wife
DEBORAH READ WILLIAM, an inn boy
SCENE: A room in a tavern. Place: Philadelphia. Time, October, 1723.
The room is a private one in the tavern known as The Crooked Billet. It
has a neat, cheerful, welcoming aspect. At left a small fire glimmers
on the brass andirons of a well-kept hearth. A brass kettle rests on a
hob. On the shelf above the hearth candles are alight.
All across the background are a series of small windows curtained in
chintz. By these windows a table set for supper, with a white linen
cloth and delicately sprigged china. Quaint chairs with spindle legs.
Against the right wall a secretary with a shelf full of handsomely-
bound books. Near this two chairs with high backs that would screen
from view any one sitting in them.
There is a door at right background opening into the hall.
Another door at left near background, opening into another room.
At the rise of the curtain Roger Burchard is discovered seated at the
table, on which a generous supper lies spread; while Elizabeth, his
wife, is bending at the hearth.
ELIZABETH.
The kettle hath not yet boiled for thy second cup, Roger. 'Tis slow,
yet I do not worry, for 'tis only twilight, and there is a good hour
yet ere we are due at the special meeting of the Friends, and Deborah
Read is to come with us. Does thee know, Roger, I sometimes think that
for all her saucy ways Mistress Deborah Read is half a Friend at heart.
When I do speak she listens to me most attentively.
ROGER.
Thee should not _force_ belief upon another, Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH
(demurely).
I did not force: I did but talk to her, Roger. Thee knows I sun not
over eloquent. How should a worldly maid of Philadelphia give ear to
me?
[Crosses to Roger: the kettle lies forgotten.
ROGER.
How, indeed! Does thee know, Elizabeth, that in so quiet a room as this
I can scarce believe that a great city lies about us? 'Tis so still
that I can hear the ticking of the clock.
ELIZABETH.
For myself, I am glad of a little rest after our journey up from
Brookfield to the city. I find myself scarce used to city ways.
ROGER.
No more do I, Elizabeth, no more do I. I cannot think this lavish life
is seemly. This table, now! Does thee note its profusion? More bread
and honey and cheese and chicken pie than we can eat. Sheer waste--
unless we can share it. If there was but some poor traveler in this inn
whom we might bid to supper, and----
[A knock on the door leading to hall.
ELIZABETH.
'Tis William, the inn boy, with tea cakes.
[Elizabeth opens the door. William enters with tea cakes on tray. He
deposits the plate of cakes on table.
ROGER.
As I was saying--if there was but some traveler in this inn to share
our evening meal--some one with pockets that were well-nigh empty----
ELIZABETH.
Perhaps the inn boy knows of such a one. (To William.) Does thee not,
William? Some one whose purse is not too over-burdened?
WILLIAM
(sturdily).
Aye, that I do. A lad came here this noon from Boston. A journeyman
printer so he says he is, and I'll warrant he has not above four
shillings with him. (To Roger.) He's come to search for work in
Philadelphia, and says he was directed to this tavern by a--by a
Quaker, sir.
ELIZABETH.
Directed here by a Quaker--! (To Roger.) Then, Roger, all the more
reason why we should bid him in. What is his name?
WILLIAM.
He says his name is Franklin.
ROGER.
Then ask friend Franklin if he'll sup with us. Tell him we, too, would
hear the news from Boston--that he'll confer a favor if he'll come. And
mind, no hint about an empty purse! I fear at first I put the matter
clumsily. Give him my later message. That is all.
WILLIAM.
I will, sir.
[Exit, with a flourish, right background
ROGER. I hope he comes.
ELIZABETH
(fondly).
'Tis ever like thee, Roger, to have a care for the friendless and
forlorn.
WILLIAM
(knocking, opening door from hall, and announcing).
Benjamin Franklin, Journeyman!
[Enter Franklin, shabby, travel-stained, and boyishly appealing. Exit
William.
ROGER
(stepping hospitably forward).
I bid thee welcome, friend Franklin. I hear thee is from Boston, and
come to search for work in Philadelphia. Will thee not sup here? We are
ever anxious for news such as travelers may bring. This is my wife,
Elizabeth Burchard, and she will make thee welcome. I mind me of the
time when I was once a stranger. Will thee not do us the pleasure to
sup with us?
FRANKLIN.
I scarcely, sir, know how to thank you for such kindness. All Quakers
must be kind, I think, for it was a Quaker who directed me hither.
[Franklin crosses to fire, Roger taking his hat from him. In brief
pantomime behind Franklin's back Roger has indicated that Franklin is
to take his place at table, and that he himself will sup no further.
During the conversation that follows Elizabeth is taking fresh silver
out of a quaint basket that is on the table, Franklin stands at fire,
and Roger is seated at right.
ELIZABETH.
Perhaps my husband can advise thee further where best to look for work
upon the morrow.
FRANKLIN.
I thank you. I will hear him gladly. He that cannot be counseled cannot
be helped.
[Footnote: From Franklin's "Poor Richard's Almanac".]
ROGER.
Thee means to seek for work at once, I see.
FRANKLIN.
Lost time is never found again, and since time is of all things the
most precious, I am loth to lose it.
[Footnote: From Franklin's "Poor Richard's Almanac".]
ROGER.
There is a wise head upon thy shoulders, friend. (Indicates table, and
rises.) Sit thee down, lad. Sit thee down.
ELIZABETH
(hurrying to hearth where kettle stands).
Alas! I have forgotten the kettle! The tea is not yet ready. (To
Roger.) Do thee and Benjamin Franklin talk while I prepare it. Show him
the volumes lately come from London. Thee knows the print and paper is
most pleasing.
[Roger Burchard and Benjamin Franklin sit at right in the high-backed
chairs, the volumes upon their knees. That they are true book-lovers is
instantly apparent. They are lost to everything that goes on about
them. They sit with their backs towards the door at left, quite
screened from the view of any one entering there. There is a pause.
Then Deborah Read taps softly at the door at left. Elizabeth turns and
opens the door.
DEBORAH
(finger on lip).
S-ssh! Not a word! (Glances towards the back of Roger's chair.) I've
crept up the stairs on tip-toe!
ELIZABETH.
Sweet rogue! Thee startled me to the point of dropping the kettle!
Yonder is my husband so deep in a book that the crack o' doom would
scarce rouse him. And with him is a young printer whom we have bid to
be our guest. Roger and I have finished our evening meal, so perhaps
thee will keep our young guest company while I prepare for meeting.
DEBORAH
(holding up warning finger).
Primp not too much for meeting, fair friend Elizabeth! A grave demeanor
goes with Quaker bonnets! (Laughs.) Yes, yes, I'll serve your printer,
play hostess, or aught else that will please you, and you can call me
when 'tis time to leave him. (Throws off her cloak, and sits by hearth
on footstool.) La! such a day! This very morn I saw the strangest
sight! I went to the door to get a breath of air, and as I stood there
what should I see approaching down the street but a lad with dusty
clothes and bulging pockets--nay, wait, Elizabeth! The drollest part is
yet to come! I vow he had stuffed one pocket full of stockings, and
from the other protruded a loaf of bread! And in his hand was a great
fat roll, and he was eating it! Gnawing it off, an you please, as if
there were no one to see him! Then he looked up, and----
ELIZABETH
(shocked).
Deborah! Thee did not laugh at him! Thee did not mock at him!
DEBORAH
(wiping tears of mirth from her eyes).
Mock at him? Oh, lud! I laughed till my sides ached! (Rises, as she
happens to see that Roger Burchard and his guest are rising, yet
continues gaily.) And when he caught sight of my face----
[Just as Deborah utters these words she and Franklin perceive each
other. Deborah is utterly taken aback and quite speechless.
ROGER
(seeing nothing amiss).
Welcome, Deborah Read. I present to thee Benjamin Franklin.
[Franklin bows. Deborah drops a fluttering courtesy, and then clings to
Elizabeth Burchard.
DEBORAH
(quaveringly).
I--I feel somewhat faint, Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH
(seeing nothing amiss).
Then sit at the table, dear Deborah, and a cup of tea will revive thee.
DEBORAH
(protesting).
No--! No--! I--I will help you to dress.
ELIZABETH.
Then who will serve Benjamin Franklin? Thee promised that thee would be
hostess, so unless aught is amiss----
DEBORAH
(recovering herself, and suddenly displaying a haughty self-
possession).
Naught is amiss, Elizabeth. I will serve tea if you bid me.
[Deborah sits at one end of the table, Franklin at the other.
ELIZABETH.
Thee knows the Friends' special meeting to-night is at the same hour as
that of the other churches, so when thee hears the church-bells ringing
'twill be time to prepare, sweet Deborah.
DEBORAH
(with a gleam).
I'll not forget the time. I promise you that, Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH.
Come, Roger. Thee must wear a fresh neck-cloth.
[Roger and Elizabeth exeunt left. There is a very long pause.
DEBORAH.
Will you have tea, Master Franklin?
FRANKLIN.
If it pleases you, Mistress Read.
DEBORAH.
Cream? Sugar?
FRANKLIN.
I thank you.
[She passes him his cup. There is another long pause.
FRANKLIN
(with a great sigh).
'Tis a silent place, Philadelphia!
[Another pause.
FRANKLIN.
Will you have some bread, Mistress?
DEBORAH
(coldly).
I thank you, no.
FRANKLIN
(bluntly).
Have you ever pondered, Mistress, that pride that dines on vanity sups
on contempt?
[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]
DEBORAH
(outraged).
Master Franklin!
FRANKLIN.
I know right well that my poor coat offends you; yet in truth, Mistress
Deborah, why should I dress in finer cloth when silks and satins put
out the kitchen fire.
[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]
DEBORAH.
'Tis not your coat offends me, 'tis----
FRANKLIN.
'Tis that I am neither the son of a gold-laced governor nor a wealthy
merchant but only a poor journeyman printer. Then, Mistress, you have
yet to learn that he who hath a trade hath an estate, and he who hath a
calling hath an office of profit and honor.
[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]
DEBORAH
(with spirit).
There you read me wrong, Master Franklin. I have supped with printers
before this.
FRANKLIN.
Then 'twas the printer's loaf you mocked this morning, Mistress
Deborah; and not the printer. Yet in truth, why should eating in the
street displease you, since 'twas a matter of necessity. Ere fancy you
consult, consult your purse, and my purse was not over full. But--
diligence is the mother of luck, and heaven gives all things to
industry.
[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]
DEBORAH
(with a toss).
You speak as if you and Industry were boon companions.
FRANKLIN.
And what better companion could I have? Heaven helps them that help
themselves.
DEBORAH
(witheringly).
'Tis a fine thing to have high hopes, I doubt not.
FRANKLIN
(blithely).
Oh, I have more than hopes, Mistress Deborah; for he that lives upon
hope will die fasting. To apply one's self right heartily is to do more
than hope. Sloth makes all things difficult; but industry all things
easy. You are not eating, Mistress Deborah. (She rises.) Have my blunt
ways offended you? Have I again displeased you?
[Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]
DEBORAH
(with chilling dignity).
You could not an you tried, Master Franklin. I was but going to fetch
the tea-kettle.
FRANKLIN
(starting up).
If I can help you--
DEBORAH
(still frostily).
I thank you, I am in no need of help. A-ah!
[With a cry she drops the kettle.
FRANKLIN.
You have burned yourself, Mistress Deborah! The poor little hand! (He
tears up his handkerchief.) Let me bandage it for you! It is sorely
blistered!
DEBORAH
(tears in her voice the while she submits her hand to him).
I can tolerate blisters, Master Franklin. They are far less irksome
than--than----
FRANKLIN
(gravely bandaging her hand).
Than journeymen printers who eat their bread in the street. Perhaps you
are right, Mistress Deborah. I trust that the blisters will soon heal;
and that the memory of the journeyman printer will not trouble you
further.
DEBORAH
(as the church-bells begin to ring without).
The memory of a chance traveler is easily forgot, Master Franklin.
ELIZABETH
(outside door, left).
Come, Deborah, we shall be late! Come quickly, child! (Deborah snatches
up her cloak.) Bid Benjamin Franklin to wait my husband's return. He
would talk to him further concerning books. Come, Deborah!
[Exit Deborah, left, without a glance at Franklin.
FRANKLIN
(dropping into chair by secretary, right).
Do blisters burn as keen as words, I wonder? "Chance travelers...easily
forgot!" (Sits with bowed head.)
[Deborah stands again in doorway at left, sees him, comes to him
swiftly and remorsefully.
FRANKLIN
(raises his head; sees her).
Is it--
DEBORAH.
'Tis naught--naught but Deborah Read come to say to you--to say to
you--that she should have remembered that you were a stranger in a city
full of strangers. (Pleadingly.) Indeed, indeed I did not mean to hurt
you! I do not mind your rusty clothes; I do not mock your--your faded
hat. I--I have been full of foolish pride. Will you forgive me?
FRANKLIN
(rising; amazed).
Deborah!
DEBORAH
(hurrying on).
I had not meant to laugh at you this morning. Will you forgive that,
too?
FRANKLIN
(moved).
Deborah!
DEBORAH.
I know I sometimes judge by foolish standards. Will you forgive?
FRANKLIN.
With all my heart, my friend. (They clasp hands on it.) And will you,
Deborah, forgive me my blunt speeches? I knew not how to please you. I
meant no harm.
DEBORAH
(earnestly).
I forgive all.
FRANKLIN.
And we are friends for life--for all our lives, Deborah.
ELIZABETH
(speaking somewhat impatiently from beyond the door at left).
Deborah! Child!
DEBORAH
(prettily).
Yes! Yes! I'm coming!
[Hastens out the door with a friendly backward glance at Franklin. He
stands for a moment where she has left him.
Crosses to secretary, takes book, seats himself, opens it slowly,
looking after her. Then sits a-dream in the fading fireglow. Presently
he looks at the book again, and reads the first line upon which his eye
chances to fall.
FRANKLIN
(reading).
"Count thyself rich when thou hast found a friend."
(The curtain slowly falls.)
COSTUMES
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. Travel-stained suit of dark-brown, guiltless of
braid or ruffles, coat and knee-breeches being of the same color. The
material either of corduroy or homespun (woolen). A white vest flowered
with brown roses. A white neckcloth. Black stockings. Low black shoes.
A three-cornered black hat, which he carries under his arm. Hair worn
long and unpowdered.
ROGER BURCHARD. Coat and knee-breeches of the same style as Franklin's,
made of homespun, and Quaker-gray in color. A Quaker-gray vest. White
neckcloth. Gray stockings. Low black shoes with silver buckles.
Unpowdered hair.
ELIZABETH BURCHARD. Dress of gray satin, simply made, with a crossed
kerchief of snowy white lawn. Gray stockings. Gray slippers with silver
buckles. Hair worn simply, and unpowdered. (Gray glazed cambric for her
dress if satin cannot be had.)
DEBORAH READ. Quilted petticoat of pale-blue satin. Colonial overdress
and bodice of white, brocaded with pale-blue roses. Fichu of white
lawn. Black picture hat with black plume. Black cloth cloak lined in
pale-blue. Black stockings. Low black shoes with gold buckles.
Unpowdered hair, worn pompadour. (If satin and brocade cannot be had,
have blue glazed muslin and cretonne instead. Or flowered muslin worn
over a white dress.) Black patches. Black velvet ribbon at neck. White
lace mitts, or black gloves coming to the elbow.
WILLIAM. Maroon suit, of a heavy woolen material. Gold buttons down the
front and two in back. Cream-colored vest. Neither braiding nor
ruffles. Black stockings. Low black shoes without buckles. A white
neckcloth. Unpowdered hair worn in a cue.
GEORGE WASHINGTON'S FORTUNE
For this pageant episode see page 46 of the Outdoor Arrangement of the
Pageant of Patriots.
THE BOSTON TEA PARTY
CHARACTERS
RICHARD STOCKTON
JOHN COREY
NED PEABODY
PHIL AMESBURY
JEFFERSON WINWOOD
FRANK WHARTON
THOMAS RIGBY, a tavern-keeper
Young British Lieutenants
EGBERT PENROSE
SIDNEY MARSH
SCENE: The tavern known as The Golden Pheasant. Place, Boston.
TIME: Six o'clock on a December evening, 1773.
The tavern-room is low-ceilinged and wainscoted with dark woodwork.
There is a door in middle background, and windows on each side of it.
At the right, towards foreground, a chimney-place, with smoldering
fire. Above is a shelf on which are iron candlesticks and short bits of
candles that show economy. Against the right wall a round mahogany
table. On it another iron candlestick, which has been lighted. A punch-
bowl. Cups. A ladle. Also a brass bowl beneath which a small charcoal
flame burns, keeping hot the lemonade. Beyond this table a dark wooden
chest with a heavy lock. Under the window in left background a similar
chest.
By the hearth, facing audience, a long seat with a high back and pew-
like ends. At the rise of the curtain, Thomas Rigby, the rubicund
landlord, is lighting with a taper the candles that stand on the
mantelshelf, the buttons on his plum-colored waistcoat twinkling in the
gleam. He has only lighted one when the door is pushed open, and there
enter two young British lieutenants, mere lads, whose scarlet cloaks,
exaggerated lace wrist ruffles, and brilliant gold braiding make a fine
showing. But Thomas Rigby shows no look of welcome.
MARSH.
Hey, landlord! Brrrr! It's cold! Give us something to warm us.
PENROSE
(foppishly).
Aye, and be brisk about it. I do not wish to be served in a loitering
fashion.
[Rigby makes as if to speak; but restrains himself, and, with a look of
quiet scorn, serves them hot lemon punch. Penrose is by the fire. Marsh
by the window.
MARSH.
It promises to be a chilly eve after a cloudy morning.
PENROSE
(with a shiver).
More snow and bitter weather!
MARSH
(looking out the window).
Nay, not so bitter. The window-panes are clear and unfrosted. The
twilight gathers quickly. The streets are gray, and there's scarce a
gleam in the darkness of the harbor.
PENROSE
(as Marsh leaves window for fire).
Not e'en a light in the rigging o' Francis Rotch's ships? The sailors
must be supping at the taverns. They're weary now of staying
harborbound. There'll be rejoicing when the tax is paid, and the stiff-
necked Yankees bring the tea to land.
MARSH.
There be some who call themselves patriots, and swear they'll never pay
it.
PENROSE
(sipping).
Not pay it? They'll defy us? Pooh! We could bring them to time with a
twist of the wrist did we but wish to! (Looking with approval at his
own apparel.) A mere handful of men with scarcely any lace for their
ruffles, and tarnished buckles for their shoes! _They_ defy _us_?
You're jesting! No, no, my dear Sidney! In spite of all their protests
and town meetings they'll be glad enough to give in at the end, and to
pay the tax right speedily. For, mark you, in spite of all the rumors
of defiance that we've heard, the town to-night lies as quiet as a
church.
MARSH.
Aye, so it does.
PENROSE
(rising).
Too quiet for my spirits. Let's seek another tavern where there's more
revelry than there is here.
MARSH
(draining his glass).
We'll not find shrewder lemon punch at any. On my way back I'll have
another glass.
[Tosses money at Rigby, who lets it lie where it falls. He shakes a
clenched hand after the retreating figures of the two lieutenants, and
then goes back to lighting his candles on the mantelshelf. Marsh and
Penrose exeunt. After a moment there comes from without the sound of a
halting step, the door is opened, and Richard Stockton enters, a lad
with the eyes of a dreamer, and the bearing of a doer of deeds. Thomas
Rigby, at sound of the entering step, turns, taper in hand.
RICHARD
(coming forward).
'Tis only I. Go on with the candles, landlord.
RIGBY
(joyfully).
Only you, Dick Stockton! Zounds! There's none whom I'd sooner see!
Quick! Tell me the news! These be stirring days, and here am I tied to
this tavern-room, and afraid to leave it lest those brawling red-coats
loot it while I'm gone. To leave a tavern-room empty is to invite
disaster--and yet--what patriot should bide indoors on days like these!
'Faith! I'm torn 'twixt necessities! Come! Your news. Sit by the fire
and out with it! What's to become of the tea we won't pay taxes on?
RICHARD.
Give me breath and I'll tell you! There's news to make your blood boil.
I've been at the town meeting in the Old South Church all day. What
think you--! The governor at Milton has refused a pass to Francis
Rotch, and the tea ships cannot leave the harbor. The British have
sworn they'll make us pay the tax or wring our scurvy necks.
RIGBY
(outraged).
Zounds! There are necks I'd like to have the wringing of! What else,
lad, what else?
RICHARD.
The Old South Church could not hold half the patriots who wish to talk
and listen. Such speeches! Oh, they'd stir your blood if you could hear
them!
RIGBY
(eyes a-gleam).
'Tis stirred enough already! Go on, lad, quickly!
RICHARD.
Josiah Quincy is presiding at the New Old South. 'Twas he who thought
of sending word to the governor. And now the governor has refused, and
if there's nothing done we're _beaten_--beaten, Tom Rigby, we who so
love freedom!
RIGBY.
Tut! Tut! Lad! The night's not done yet. Are they still at the meeting?
RICHARD.
Aye, and are like to be for the next hour. 'Tis scarcely six--just
candle-lighting time.
RIGBY.
You look white, lad. Have you eaten?
RICHARD.
Eaten! On such a day as this!
RIGBY.
Nonsense, lad. You must keep up your strength. (Crosses to serving-
table where bowl stands.) Here! If you will not eat, at least you can
drink a cup of steaming lemon punch. No _lads_ who come to my tavern
get anything stronger--unless, mayhap, a cup of apple juice. Youth is
its own best wine. Cider for you. Burgundy for your betters, eh, lad?
(Gives Richard a cup and takes a cup himself.) Here's to taxless tea!
(Drinks.)
RICHARD
(joining him in the toast).
And the confounding of the British! And now, since there are no red-
coats about, I may tell you that the Old South Church is not the only
place that's to hold a meeting. There's going to be one here.
RIGBY
(surprised).
Here?
RICHARD.
In less than half an hour the lads will meet me. We call ourselves "The
Younger Sons of Freedom."
RIGBY
(somewhat severely).
All that I have is at your service; yet 'tis only lately that lads have
been allowed to rove past curfew time.
RICHARD.
Such days as these lads grow to men right quickly. Do you think we
waste our time with games and--and snowball forts, Tom Rigby? No! The
Younger Sons of Freedom have learned to fight and fence, to run and
swim, and to swarm up a ship's ladder if need be. How could any lad be
idle these last nineteen days, with fathers and brothers patrolling the
wharves day and night to keep the tea from landing; when patriot
sentinels are stationed in every belfry; and when all Beacon Hill is
topped with tar-barrels ready to blaze out into signals at a moment's
notice. I tell you--my very dreams are of defiance! But my deeds--what
can a lad do when he goes through life halting? A maimed foot makes a
maimed ambition, unless--unless as I would fain believe, the spirit is
stronger than the body. It is the _will_ that counts.
RIGBY.
You're wiser than most lads, Richard. You've a head on your shoulders.
I've known you long; but you have never spoken--until to-night. It was
your will that took you through your puny childhood, fatherless,
motherless, and made your stern old uncle proud of you. Why now be
down-hearted? I've heard you spoken of as a lad of spirit by Dr.
Warren, aye, and by Paul Revere.
RICHARD.
There's a patriot for you! Would I could do such deeds as he can do.
Oh, all I think of is to serve my country--my city and my country!
RIGBY.
That's all I think on, too.
RICHARD
(amazed).
You, Tom Rigby?
RIGBY
(somewhat bitterly).
Did I seem to you only a waistcoat with buttons? Nay, don't protest!
'Tis how most folks think of me. What have I to do with valor? I'm Tom
the landlord, Tom the tapster, Tom the tavern-keeper! How should they
guess in me Tom the patriot, Tom the hero-worshiper? And yet there's
not one bit of my country's past, not one smallest Indian war but what
has meaning for me. What do you think those chests are full of?
Trophies!
RICHARD.
Trophies!
RIGBY.
From all the wars we've had. (Unlocks chest at right wall, excitedly.)
Look! Tomahawks. Headdresses. (Taking things out of chest.) Feathers. A
war-knife. An Indian robe taken in Philip's war.
RICHARD.
(delighted: interested).
In Philip's war.
RIGBY.
(with emotion).
They're more to me than a king's ransom!
[He pauses, looking over contents of chest.
RICHARD
(going back to seat by fire, and speaking to himself as he sits by it).
A king's ransom! What have we to do with kings, who cannot even thwart
the tyrant who would rule us! If there was but some way----
[Sits, lost in thought.
RIGBY
(putting trophies back in chest, looking at them fondly, and singing
softly for the sheer joy of touching them).
"Oh, a seaman's life is a jolly life--Trol de rol, de rol!" Wampum. A
woven blanket. A peace-pipe. (Sings.)
I had a goodly old sea-chest,
Twas filled with--India dyes.
Oh, wide the harbor, deep the sea,
Five fathoms down it lies!
Five fathoms down it lies!
RICHARD
(half-hearing Tom's voice, and repeating to himself).
"Five fathoms deep it lies----" (In a suddenly electrified voice.) Tom!
Tom Rigby! I have the way! Your song has given it to me! I have the
way!
[He has rushed to Rigby.
RIGBY
(as sounds of approaching footsteps are heard without).
Hush! Here come the Sons of Freedom! (Door is flung open. Rigby's
professional manner asserts itself.) Welcome, my lads. Come in! Come
in!
WINWOOD
(to Richard).
Are we on time? What have you planned for us, Dick? My hands and heart
are ready for a night's work! (Offering his portion of cider in loving-
cup fashion.) Some cider?
RICHARD.
No. I've supped on revolution!
WINWOOD.
Would there were something stirring!
RICHARD
(throughout with growing excitement).
Are folk still in the Old South Meeting-house?
WINWOOD
(impatiently).
Aye, still talking of what's to be done. Hancock and Paul Revere are at
a coffee-house.
COREY
(as the lads gather about table).
Come, Dick, you've heard the governor's reply. How would _you_ deal
with the taxers?
RICHARD
(at table, center, one foot on table and one on chair).
I'd set their tea to brew!
ALL
(amazed).
What!
RICHARD.
In a monstrous teapot!
PEABODY
(jesting).
As big as Rigby's bowl.
RICHARD
(flaming with excitement).
Oh, larger! Larger!
AMESBURY
(indicating large cockade).
Or as Frank Wharton's hat.
RICHARD
(inspired).
Larger by far!
AMESBURY.
You mean----
RICHARD
(impassioned).
I'd take the ocean!
ALL.
The ocean!
Zounds!
The harbor!
Does he mean it?
RICHARD.
Overboard--all of it! Listen. The ships are deserted: the sailors on
shore drinking at different taverns. If we can go disguised, we can
slip to the water front unnoticed. You know how many Indians roam our
streets, and no one ever heeds them. We'll all be braves and
chieftains.
AMESBURY.
But where are our disguises?
RIGBY
(opening his chests, tossing out his treasures, wild with delight).
Here! Here and here!
RICHARD.
Wait. We must have other followers. Followers, said I? _Leaders_--with
sagacity. Run, Winwood! Speak to John Hancock, Paul Revere, and Dr.
Warren. You know the coffee-house they sup at. Tell them there are
disguises for us all. But let no red-coat hear you. Quick! The time is
passing.
[Exit Winwood, on the run.
RIGBY
(half-overcome with his emotion).
Richard!
RICHARD
(helping him and the rest to dress, assisting first one and then
another).
Be quick. Let me help you. Here are feathers. Beads. A knife. Hatchets.
A Frenchman's sash-belt. A head-dress.
AMESBURY
(hurriedly fastening on his disguise).
Where are yours, Dick?
RICHARD.
Hush! (Touches his knee.) I cannot scale a ladder. Listen! Here's
Winwood.
WINWOOD
(bursting in).
Paul Revere, John Hancock, Dr. Warren--all come with us. I've run ahead
to tell you they'll meet us on the way. Give me disguises. (They clap
an Indian robe across his shoulders, and he takes an armful of Indian
finery.) John Hancock says there's a boat and oars at the foot of the
wharves, and Paul Revere will lead us. Come quickly, lads!
[He dashes out the door, with his armful of finery. The others follow
one by one, as their readiness of costume determines.
RICHARD
(to himself).
And Paul Revere will lead them!
RIGBY
(his hand on Richard's shoulder).
Richard, you've been the brains, and we are but the fingers! We toss
the tea: but 'twas your heart that planned it. Will you not serve us--
serve us here on land? If any British come, see they don't go a-roving.
The fewer on the streets the better. D'ye catch my meaning? And,
Richard, one word more. You can see the ships from here. The work we'll
do will take but twenty minutes. If we succeed, I'll send you a signal.
I'll wave this lantern three times in the darkness.
RICHARD.
Bless you, Tom Rigby.
[Richard is left alone, and goes to seat by fire.
RICHARD
(dreaming aloud).
First they'll go to the wharves...stealing quietly through the
darkness. Then there'll be the muffled dip of oars...and then----Oh,
would that I could aid them in this hour! But I am impotent, impotent!
PENROSE
(querulously, as he and Marsh enter).
This tavern's still deserted. Is there naught alive in this town save
the half-dozen Indians we've met a-prowling the streets! Where's the
landlord?
RICHARD
(mock-humble).
He's absent, sir, on business of importance. But he will soon return.
If I may serve you--some cider, sir, or steaming lemon punch?
PENROSE
(haughtily).
Let it be punch, and see that it is steaming.
RICHARD
(busying himself).
At once, sir.
PENROSE
(languidly).
Mark how importantly he takes the landlord's place. How old are you,
young tapster?
RICHARD.
About your own age, sir, I have been thinking.
MARSH
(with a laugh).
Zounds! You're well answered, Penrose.
RICHARD
(seeing that Penrose starts up angrily).
Indeed 'twas truth I meant, sir, and no insult.
MARSH.
Sit down. Sit down. He is a simple fellow. (Taps his forehead.) He
means no wrong. We might have sport with him.
RICHARD
(still mock-humble).
If I can serve you, sir, to anything?
MARSH.
Suppose we call for tea?
RICHARD
(simply).
We do not serve it.
MARSH
(amused).
Oho! Oho! This is a rebel tavern. And so--no tea. You Yankees do not
serve it.
RICHARD.
No; but we sometimes brew it--with salt-water.
MARSH
(more and more amused).
'Tis as I said. Simple. Let's try him further. This tea you brew. It
must have a new flavor?
RICHARD.
Aye, a new flavor. Some will find it bitter. It is a brew that will be
long remembered.
MARSH.
I doubt not, if 'tis made as you have said.
PENROSE
(yawning impatiently).
Come! I am weary for adventure! (Draws his cloak about him. Marsh
somewhat reluctantly follows his example.) Let's see if there be sport
about the wharves----
RICHARD
(to himself).
The wharves----
MARSH
(still reluctant).
On such a night as this--! Why, but a moment since you swore it was too
cold! Besides, at the last tavern that we visited that fool of a Barton
took my sword in jest. (Darkly.) He thought 'twas a rare bit of
nonsense; but 'tis one I'll make him pay for! I'll not go roaming
without my sword.
PENROSE
(insisting).
But I have mine. One sword's enough for both. More than enough for any
Yankees we are like to meet. We could give some of them a rare fright,
comrade. Come, then, in search of----
RICHARD
(who has utilized the time in which they were talking by silently
taking a foil from the nearest chest).
Back! Do not come any nearer. You see this door is guarded.
[Stands before it, his mock humility gone, his voice resounding.
MARSH
(angrily).
What does this mean?
RICHARD
(suavely).
One of my crack-brained fancies. I wished to keep you, sirs, for twenty
minutes.
PENROSE
(insulted).
Even a crack-brained lout may go too far.
MARSH.
Have at him! He's but one----
RICHARD
(clearly and passionately, his voice a-thrill).
Behind me are a hundred--a thousand souls--all those who stand for
freedom. Although you do not see them, they are there!
PENROSE
(astounded).
What! Would he challenge us?
MARSH
(scornfully).
A turn of the wrist and the thing is done. Have at him, Penrose.
[Penrose and Richard engage. Richard fights coolly, with his back ever
to the door. Penrose grows more and more flustered. Marsh holds an iron
candelabrum aloft, for the other candles have gutted and the room is
shadowy.
PENROSE
(fear in his voice).
The candles--higher. They're getting low. I cannot see----
[Richard and Penrose engage a second time, and Penrose's foil is flung
across the room to left. Marsh is about to crash the candelabrum on
Richard's sword, when Richard, with a deft movement, seizes it and
hurls it to the floor, where it falls with a dull clatter. Marsh,
discomfited, turns to Penrose, who has picked up his fallen sword, and
is holding his wrist.
PENROSE
(peevishly).
The lout has turned my wrist, and torn my ruffles.
RICHARD
(who has darted to window, and stood looking out for the space of a
second before he turns to them).
A thousand pardons! (Bows ironically.) Go! The play is ended! (With
growing fervor.) Through the black night I've caught my prompter's
signal. I've seen a light--a light that swings in the darkness--a light
that swings three times----
PENROSE
(querulously, leaning on Marsh's arm as they go towards door).
What does he mean? A signal?
RICHARD
(turning on them with passionate triumph).
A signal that a blow is struck for freedom! A signal that your tea is
overboard! A signal that the time will come when liberty will be the
watchword of our nation!
MARSH.
Come! Come! He dreams!
[They go out.
RICHARD
(with face upraised in the waning fire-glow).
May all such dreams come true!
CURTAIN.
COSTUMES
RICHARD STOCKTON. Coat and knee-breeches of dull-blue cloth. Loose
white shirt. Soft white collar turned down on his coat. Black
stockings. Low black shoes. Unpowdered hair.
JOHN COREY. Suit of the same fashion as Stockton's, made of black
cloth. All the lads, unless otherwise indicated, wear low black shoes,
black stockings, and have unpowdered hair. But if the wigs of longish
natural hair which they should wear are too expensive, then they may
have powdered wigs made of white cotton batting stitched to tight-
fitting white skull-caps.
NED PEABODY. Suit of same style in dark-brown.
PHIL AMESBURY. Suit of same style in somewhat shabby black velvet, with
black braiding. It is evident that the suit has been "handed down" to
him.
JEFFERSON WINWOOD. Suit of same style in slate-gray, with buttons and
pockets of cobalt blue.
FRANK WHARTON. Suit of very dark green. Green buttons. Has a black
cloak, and a black three-cornered hat.
THOMAS RIGBY. Well-worn suit of dark plum-color. Plum-colored
waistcoat. Gold buttons on it. White shirt with full soft sleeves. A
white stock. Black stockings. Low black shoes.
PENROSE. Scarlet jacket with gold buttons and epaulets. White
broadcloth breeches tucked into high topboots. White vest. Lace stock.
Lace wrist ruffles. Scarlet cloak with gold braiding. Carries a
sword.
MARSH. The same as Penrose. Carries no sword when he comes in a second
time.
If "The Younger Sons of Freedom" cannot obtain suits of the colors
described, let them wear the usual boys' coats with Colonial pockets
basted on, and let them have full knee-breeches, such as those of
gymnasium suits. For older boys who play the parts, black evening
suits, the coats shaped and basted back to resemble Colonial coats.
White lace stocks and cravats, and lace wrist ruffles, and jabots.
DRAMATIC SILHOUETTE: THE SPIRIT OF '76
Thrown into shadow silhouette by a strong light placed behind a white
curtain, the figures of the young patriots appear. Music of fife and
drum in orchestra, clear, high, blood-stirring. First a small drummer-
boy passes, with a cocked hat, and poised drum-sticks. Then a boy of
the same age carrying a musket that is much too large for him. Then two
taller patriot lads, very soldier-like. Then a country boy with a hoe
over his shoulder. Then two figures, one playing a fife, the other a
drum. Then a lone patriot lad with a cocked hat and musket. Then
another drummer-boy. Then a boy with a flag, and a half dozen patriots
following him. The music grows fainter and fainter, as if with the
tread of marching feet.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN: RAIL SPLITTER
CHARACTERS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
NANCY LINCOLN
TOM BUSH
AMY ROBY
POLLY PRENTICE
JASON BROWN
LUCY BROWN FRANCOIS DURAND
LITTLE JOHN LINCOLN
NOCTAH, an Indian
SCENE: The Lincoln kitchen and living-room. Place: Little Pigeon Creek,
Indiana. Time, 1823.
The room is bright and clean, showing both thrift and poverty. There
are two windows in background, with well-mended, faded curtains of the
cheapest cotton. Between these two windows a stout door, which gives on
the outside road. On the door is tacked a raccoon skin.
By the window at right a plain pine table and chair. The end of the
table is set with a plate, knife, fork, drinking-cup, etc., for one
person, and there are corndodgers in generous quantities, and a jug of
molasses.
In the middle of the right wall there is a wide-mouthed fireplace, with
black andirons, several iron pots, and a skillet. Above the hearth
strips of leather nailed to the wall serve as holders for empty powder-
horns, knives, etc. There is a pine bench by the hearth, placed so that
those sitting on it face the audience. Also a three-legged pine stool.
Beyond the hearth, towards the background, a dresser with a few dishes.
Fastened to the wall, left foreground, is a pine shelf on which stand
Abraham Lincoln's books, well-worn copies of "Robinson Crusoe" "Aesop's
Fables," "Pilgrim's Progress," etc., etc. Above this shelf a clock,
battered yet adequate. A bearskin rug on the floor. The whole scene is
homely, peaceful, intimate.
The embers on the hearth give out a dull glow which leaves the room in
semi-darkness, yet lights up several objects by the hearthstone--
namely, a heap of pine cones, some dried spice-wood bushes, a rude
corn-popper, a snow-shovel, and a neatly-mended tongs.
In the frosty out-of-doors the wind blows gustily from time to time.
Otherwise the room is quite still, save for the ticking of the clock,
which points to half-past seven. For a moment after the curtain's rise
the stage is deserted. Then come two brisk knocks at the door, and it
is opened from without by Polly Prentice, who first thrusts in her
head, looks about, and then crosses the threshold, speaking back over
her shoulder to Amy Roby and Tom Bush. Polly wears a scarlet cloak, and
her cheeks are as red as apples. All carry lanterns.
POLLY.
There's no one home. Wherever can Nancy be? She said if she wasn't here
we were to wait for her. Come in, Amy, and you, too, Tom Bush, and be
careful to close the door. (All enter.) The fire is nearly spent. B-
rrrrrr! It's a cold night for this time of year. My fingers are
tingling. That's right, Tom, put on some spice bushes for a blaze. I'll
put my lantern over here by yours, Amy. What time is it?
AMY.
Half-past seven. I wish that Nancy would hurry. The corn-husking begins
at eight, and we are to call for Jason Brown and Lucy before we start.
TOM
(warming his hands).
Yes, and come back here to have Abe go with us. He's been out in the
woods all day, swinging that ax of his. I could hear him down by the
spring.
POLLY.
There's his supper set out for him--corn-dodgers and molasses.
AMY
(primly).
Polly, it isn't nice to look at things in other people's houses!