Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1957 page)

Clara
(
still standing motionless, and speaking in low, dreamy tones
). I see them in the icy wilderness. I am following them over the frozen deep. Frank — Frank — Frank, rise on the iceberg and defend yourself. Richard Wardour knows the truth. Richard Wardour has sworn to have your life.

(
As the last words fall from her lips, long rays of red light shoot up from behind the iceberg over the dark sky, and, spreading themselves gradually, suffuse, first the sky, then the iceberg, then the two figures on it. As this effect of light, from the aurora borealis, gathers and overspreads the scene,
CLARA
speaks again, still standing motionless, still in the same dreamy tones.
)

Clara.
The crimson stain. The crimson stain. It floods the dreary sky. It reddens the dreadful ice. Downward, downward till it reaches the two men. Downward, downward till it touches
me.

(
As she speaks, a ray of the red light reaches her, and shows her immovable face and figure, leaving the women round her, and all the objects in the room in total darkness. After a moment, the light is seen to fade slowly downward over the scene of the iceberg, leaving the back of the stage once more in darkness. The light over
CLARA
vanishes the next instant. At the moment when the whole stage is again obscured, CLARA’S hands are seen to wave to and fro as if seeking mechanically for some support. A faint cry escapes her, and she sinks into
LUCY’S
arms.
)

THE END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II

SCENE. —
A Hut in the Arctic Regions. A door at the back, opening on the bleak Polar prospect, where the snow is seen to fall incessantly, as often as the door is opened. Through an aperture in the roof, the snow falls drearily, at intervals, on the floor throughout the Act. On one side of the Hut, two sleeping-berths and a rude fire. On the other side a doorway, with a piece of an old sail hanging across it, communicating with an inner Hut. Hanging from the roof, a hammock. Icicles have formed in the interstices of the walls. On the stage is placed an old cask, to serve for a table, with a pestle and mortar on it. Also a chest or two.

BATESON
discovered, dozing at the fire.

Enter
LIEUTENANT CRAYFORD,
from the inner Hut.

Cray.
Jump up, Bateson! It’s your turn to be relieved. Darker! (
A Sailor enters from the inner Hut.
) It’s your watch. Look lively, my man — look lively. Anything to report, Bateson?

(
Walks about.
)

Bate.
Nothing, your honour, except that it’s pinching cold.

(
Exit into inner Hut.
)

Cray.
And that’s no news in the Arctic regions, with the thermometer below zero in-doors. My poor dear sister Lucy! what would she say, with her horror of cold, if she knew what our temperature was here? Look out, Darker, and report what weather we have this morning.

(DARKER
opens the door. The snow is seen falling heavily.
)

Darker.
The usual weather, sir.

(
Shuts the door, and retires to the inner Hut.
)

Cray.
Ah! the usual weather! No changes in these dreary regions! Well, well — duty, duty! Let me see. What have I to do? (
Looks round, and sees the pestle and mortar.
) Oh, here are these wretched bones to be pounded for soup. I must rouse the cook (
calling
), John Want! That fellow little thinks how useful he is in keeping up my spirits. No matter how the cold pinches, he always amuses me. John Want! — the most inveterate croaker and grumbler in the world, and yet, according to his own account, the only cheerful man in the whole ship’s company. John Want! John Want!

John Want
(
speaking from the hammock
). Give me some more sleep!

Cray.
Not a wink, you mutinous rascal! Rouse up!

John Want
(
peeping out
). Lord! Lord! here’s all my breath on my blanket. Icicles, if you please, sir, all round my mouth and all over my blanket. Every time I’ve snored, I’ve frozen something. (
Gets out and goes to the fire.
) When a man gets the cold into him to that extent that he ices his own bed, it can’t last much longer. But
I
don’t grumble!

Cray.
Come here, sir, and set to work on this mortar. What are you doing there?

John Want
(
holding his chin over the fire
). Thawing my beard, sir.

Cray.
Come here, I say! What the devil are you about now?

John Want
(
at the fire with a watch in his hand
). Thawing my watch, sir. It’s been under my pillow all night, and the cold has stopped it. Cheerful, wholesome, bracing sort of climate to live in, isn’t it, sir? But
I
don’t grumble!

Cray.
No, we all know that. You are the only cheerful man of the ship’s company. Look here. Are these bones pounded small enough.

John Want
(
taking the pestle and mortar
). You’ll excuse me, sir, but how very hollow your voice sounds this morning.

Cray.
Keep your remarks about my voice to yourself, and answer my question about the bones.

John Want.
Well, sir, they’ll take a trifle more pounding. I’ll do my best with them to-day, sir, for your sake.

Cray.
What do you mean?

John Want.
I don’t think I shall have the honour of making much more bone soup for you, sir. Do you think yourself you’ll last long, sir? I don’t, saving your presence. I think about another week or ten days will do for us all. (BATESON
approaches from the inner Hut.
) This man looks bad, too, don’t he, sir? He was half an hour cutting one log of wood yesterday. His legs are swelling (
touches
BATESON’S
legs:
BATESON
indignantly pushes him away
), and he loses his temper at trifles. I give
him
another day or two. I give the best of us a week. (
Looks up.
) Here’s the snow beginning to trickle through the roof now, and if we don’t all die a natural death of frost, we shall be buried alive.

Cray.
(
to
BATESON). Now then, my man, what is it?

Bate.
A message from Captain Ebsworth, sir.

Cray.
Well?

Bate.
Captain Ebsworth is worse than ever with his freezing pains, sir, this morning. He wants to see you, and give you some important directions immediately.

Cray.
I will go at once. Rouse the Doctor. We shall want all the help he can give us.

(
Exit, followed by
BATESON.)

John Want
(
pounding the bones
). Rouse the Doctor? Suppose the Doctor should be frozen? He hadn’t a ha’porth of warmth in him last night, and his voice sounded like a whisper in a speaking-trumpet. (
Pours the bones into a saucepan.
) In with you, and flavour the hot water, if you can! When I remember that I was once an apprentice at a pastrycook’s — when I think of the gallons of turtle-soup that this hand has stirred up in a jolly hot kitchen, and when I find myself now mixing bones and hot water for soup, and turning into ice as fast as I can, if I wasn’t of a cheerful disposition, I should feel inclined to grumble. John Want! John Want! whatever had you done with your natural senses when you made up your mind to go to sea?

Frank Aldersley
(
speaking from his bed-place
). Who’s that croaking over the fire?

John Want.
Croaking? You don’t find your own voice at all altered for the worse, do you, Mr. Frank? (
Aside
) I don’t give
him
more than another six hours. He’s one of your grumblers.

Frank.
What are you doing there?

John Want.
Making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to sea.

Frank.
Oh! it’s John Want. Well, and why did you go to sea?

John Want.
I’m not certain, sir. Sometimes I think it was natural perversity; sometimes I think it was false pride at getting over sea-sickness; sometimes I think it was reading “Robinson Crusoe,” and books warning of me
not
to go to sea.

Frank
(
composing himself to sleep again
). Everybody gets over sea-sickness.

John Ward
(
stirring up the soup
). Not as
I
did, sir.
I
got over sea-sickness by dint of hard eating. I was a passenger on board a packet-boat, sir, when first I saw blue water. A nasty lopp of a sea came on just at dinner-time, and I began to feel queer the moment the soup was put on table. “Sick?” says the captain. “Rather, sir,” says I. “Will you try my cure?” says the captain. “Certainly, sir,” says I. “Is your heart in your mouth yet?” says the captain. “Not quite, sir,” says I. “Mock-turtle soup!” says the captain, and helps me. I swallow a couple of spoonfuls, and turn as white as a sheet. The captain cocks his eye at me. “Go on deck, sir,” says he, “get rid of the soup, and then come back to the cabin.” I got rid of the soup, and came back to the cabin. “Cod’s head and shoulders,” says the captain, and helps me. “I can’t stand it, sir,” says I. “You must,” says the captain, “because it’s the cure.” I crammed down a mouthful, and turned paler than ever. “Go on deck,” says the captain, “get rid of the cod’s head, and come back to the cabin.” Off I go, and back I come. “Boiled leg of mutton and trimmings,” says the captain, and helps me. “No fat, sir,” says I. “Fat’s the cure,” says the captain, and makes me eat it. “Lean’s the cure,” says the captain, and makes me eat it. “Steady?” says the captain. “Sick,” says I. “Go on deck,” says the captain, “get rid of the boiled leg of mutton and trimmings, and come back to the cabin.” Off I go, staggering — back I come, more dead than alive. “Devilled kidneys,” says the captain. I shut my eyes, and got ‘em down. “Cure’s beginning,” says the captain. “Mutton chops and pickles.” I shut my eyes and got
them
down. “Broiled ham and cayenne pepper,” says the captain. “Glass of stout and cranberry tart. Want to go on deck again?” “No, sir,” says I. “Cure’s done,” says the captain. “Never you give in to your stomach, and your stomach will end in giving in to
you.
”

(
Exit into inner Hut with the soup.
)

Enter
CRAYFORD.

Cray.
Steventon!

Stev.
(
rising from his bed-place
). Here! Anything wanted?

Cray.
The captain is too ill to get up. He has been giving me some very important and very unexpected directions. There is to be a change, at last, in our wretched lives here.

Stev.
A change! What change?

Cray.
The crew of the Sea-Mew here, and the crew of the Wanderer on the other side of the hillock yonder, are to be united to-day in this hut. Send a man with that message to Captain Helding, of the Wanderer.