PEW (_trying new coin between his teeth_). In course you didn't, my dear; but I did, and I thought I'd mention it. Is that my supper, hey?
Do my nose deceive me? (_Sniffing and feeling_.) Cold duck? sage and onions? a round of double Gloster? and that noggin o' rum? Why, I declare if I'd stayed and took pot-luck with my old commander, Cap'n John Gaunt, he couldn't have beat this little spread, as I've got by act of parleyment.
MRS. DRAKE (_at knitting_). Do you know the captain, sailor?
PEW. Know him? I was that man's bos'un, ma'am. In the Guinea trade, we was known as 'Pew's Cap'n,' and 'Gaunt's Bo'sun,' one for other like. We was like two brothers, ma'am. And a excellent cold duck, to be sure; and the rum lovely.
MRS. DRAKE. If you know John Gaunt, you know his daughter Arethusa.
PEW. What? Arethusa? Know her, says you? know her? Why, Lord love you, I was her god-father. ['Pew,' says Jack Gaunt to me, 'Pew,' he says, 'you're a man,' he says; 'I like a man to be a man,' says he, 'and damme,' he says, 'I like _you_; and sink me,' says he, 'if you don't promise and vow in the name of that new-born babe,' he says, 'why damme, Pew,' says he, 'you're not the man I take you for.'] Yes, ma'am, I named that female; with my own 'ands I did; Arethusa, I named her; that was the name I give her; so now you know if I speak true. And if you'll be as good as get me another noggin of rum, why, we'll drink her 'elth with three times three. (_Exit_ MRS. DRAKE: PEW _eating_. MRS. DRAKE _re-entering with rum_.)
[MRS. DRAKE. If what you say be true, sailor (and I don't say it isn't, mind!), it's strange that Arethusa and that godly man her father have never so much as spoke your name.
PEW. Why, that's so! And why, says you? Why, when I dropped in and paid my respecks this morning, do you think she knew me? No more'n a babe unborn! Why, ma'am, when I promised and vowed for her, I was the picter of a man-o'-war's man, I was: eye like a eagle; walked the deck in a hornpipe, foot up and foot down; v'ice as mellow as rum; 'and upon 'art, and all the females took dead aback at the first sight, Lord bless 'em! Know me? Not likely. And as for me, when I found her such a lovely woman-by the feel of her 'and and arm!-you might have knocked me down with a feather. But here's where it is, you see: when you've been knocking about on blue water for a matter of two-and-forty year, shipwrecked here, and blown up there, and everywhere out of luck, and given over for dead by all your messmates and relations, why, what it amounts to is this: nobody knows you, and you hardly know yourself, and there you are; and I'll trouble you for another noggin of rum.
MRS. DRAKE. I think you've had enough.
PEW. I don't; so bear a hand. (_Exit_ MRS. DRAKE; PEW _empties the glass_.) Rum, ah, rum, you're a lovely creature; they haven't never done you justice. (_Proceeds to fill and light pipe_; _re-enter_ MRS. DRAKE _with rum_.)] And now, ma'am, since you're so genteel and amicable-like, what about my old commander? Is he, in a manner of speaking, on half pay? or is he living on his fortune, like a gentleman slaver ought?
MRS. DRAKE. Well, sailor, people talk, you know.
PEW. I know, ma'am; I'd have been rolling in my coach, if they'd have held their tongues.
MRS. DRAKE. And they do say that Captain Gaunt, for so pious a man, is little better than a miser.
PEW. Don't say it, ma'am; not to old Pew. Ah, how often have I up and strove with him! 'Cap'n, live it down,' says I. 'Ah, Pew,' says he, 'you're a better man than I am,' he says; 'but dammne,' he says, 'money,'
he says, 'is like rum to me.' (_Insinuating_.) And what about a old sea-chest, hey? a old sea-chest, strapped with brass bands?
MRS. DRAKE. Why, that'll be the chest in his parlour, where he has it bolted to the wall, as I've seen with my own eyes; and so might you, if you had eyes to see with.
PEW. No, ma'am, that ain't good enough; you don't bam old Pew. You never was in that parlour in your life.
MRS. DRAKE. I never was? Well, I declare!
PEW. Well then, if you was, where's the chest? Beside the chimbley, hey? (_Winking_.) Beside the table with the 'oly Bible?
MRS. DRAKE. No, sailor, you don't get any information out of me.
PEW. What, ma'am? Not to old Pew? Why, my god-child showed it me herself, and I told her where she'd find my name-P, E, W, Pew-cut out on the starn of it; and sure enough she did. Why, ma'am, it was his old money-box when he was in the Guinea trade; and they do say he keeps the rhino in it still.
MRS. DRAKE. No, sailor, nothing out of me! And if you want to know, you can ask the Admiral himself! (_She crosses_, _L._)
PEW. Hey? Old girl fly? Then I reckon I must have a mate, if it was the parish bull.
SCENE II
_To these_, KIT, _a little drunk_
KIT (_looking in over half-door_). Mrs. Drake! Mother! Where are you?
Come and welcome the prodigal!
MRS. DRAKE (_coming forward to meet him as he enters_; PEW _remains concealed by the settle_, _smoking_, _drinking_, _and listening_). Lord bless us and save us, if it ain't my boy! Give us a kiss.
KIT. That I will, and twenty if you like, old girl. (_Kisses her_.)
MRS. DRAKE. O Kit, Kit, you've been at those other houses, where the stuff they give you, my dear, it is poison for a dog.
[KIT. Round with friends, mother: only round with friends.
MRS. DRAKE. Well, anyway, you'll take a glass just to settle it, from me. (_She brings the bottle_, _and fills for him_.) There, that's pure; that'll do you no harm.] But O, Kit, Kit, I thought you were done with all this Jack-a-shoring.
KIT. What cheer, mother? I'm only a sheet in the wind; and who's the worse for it but me?
MRS. DRAKE. Ah, and that dear young lady; and her waiting and keeping single these two years for the love of you!
KIT. She, mother? she's heart of oak, she's true as steel, and good as gold; and she has my ring on her finger, too. But where's the use? The Admiral won't look at me.
MRS. DRAKE. Why not? You're as good a man as him any day.
KIT. Am I? He says I'm a devil, and swears that none of his flesh and blood-that's what he said, mother!-should lie at my mercy. That's what cuts me. If it wasn't for the good stuff I've been taking aboard, and the jolly companions I've been seeing it out with, I'd just go and make a hole in the water, and be done with it, I would, by George!
MRS. DRAKE. That's like you men. Ah, we know you, we that keeps a public-house-we know you, good and bad: you go off on a frolic and forget; and you never think of the women that sit crying at home.
KIT. Crying? Arethusa cry? Why, dame, she's the bravest-hearted girl in all broad England! Here, fill the glass! I'll win her yet. I drink to her; here's to her bright eyes, and here's to the blessed feet she walks upon!
PEW (_looking round the corner of the settle_). Spoke like a gallant seaman, every inch. Shipmate, I'm a man as has suffered, and I'd like to shake your fist, and drink a can of flip with you.
KIT (_coming down_). Hullo, my hearty! who the devil are you? Who's this, mother?
MRS. DRAKE. Nay, I know nothing about him. (_She goes out_, _R._)
PEW. Cap'n, I'm a brother seaman, and my name is Pew, old David Pew, as you may have heard of in your time, he having sailed along of 'Awke and glorious Benbow, and a right-'and man to both.
KIT. Benbow? Steady, mate! D'ye mean to say you went to sea before you were born?
PEW. See now! The sign of this here inn was running in my 'ed, I reckon. Benbow, says you? no, not likely! Anson, I mean; Anson and Sir Edward 'Awke: that's the pair: I was their right-'and man.
KIT. Well, mate, you may be all that, and more; but you're a rum un to look at, anyhow.
PEW. Right you are, and so I am. But what is looks? It's the 'art that does it: the 'art is the seaman's star; and here's old David Pew's, a matter of fifty years at sea, but tough and sound as the British Constitootion.
KIT. You're right there, Pew. Shake hands upon it. And you're a man they're down upon, just like myself, I see. We're a pair of plain, good-hearted, jolly tars; and all these 'longshore fellows cock a lip at us, by George. What cheer, mate?
ARETHUSA (_without_). Mrs. Drake! Mrs. Drake!
PEW. What, a female? hey? a female? Board her board her, mate! I'm dark. (_He retires again behind_, _to table_, _R._, _behind settle_.)
ARETHUSA (_without_). Mrs. Drake!