Scene 2
Grimes's hut is an upturned boat. It is on the whole shipshape, though bare and forbidding.
Ropes coiled, nets, kegs and casks furnish the place. It is lighted by a skylight.
There are two doors, one (back center) opens on the cliff, the other, downstage, opens on
the road. The boy staggers into the room as if thrust from behind. Peter follows, in a
towering rage. He pulls down the boy's fishing clothes which were neatly stacked on a
shelf.
Peter
Go there!
Here's your sea boots. Take those bright
And fancy buckles off your feet.
(He throws the sea boots down in front of the boy.)
There's your oilskin and sou'wester.
Stir your pins, we must get ready!
There's the jersey that she knitted,
With the anchor that she patterned.
(He throws the clothes to the boy. They fall on the floor around him. The boy is crying
silently. Peter shakes his shoulder.)
Peter
I'll tear the collar off your neck.
Steady. Don't take fright, boy. Stop.
(Peter opens the cliff-side door and looks out.)
Look. Now is our chance!
The whole sea's boiling. Get the nets.
Come, boy!
They listen to money
These Borough gossips,
Listen to money,
Only to money.
I'll fish the sea dry,
Flood the market.
Now is our chance to get a good catch
Get money to choke
Down rumour's throat.
I will set up
With house and home and shop.
I'll marry Ellen,
I'll...
(He turns to see the boy still sitting on the rope coil, weeping. He tears off his coat and
throws the jersey at him.)
Coat off! Jersey on! My boy
We're going to sea!
(He gives the boy a shove, which knocks him over;
he lies sobbing miserably. - Peter changes tone and breaks into another song.)
In dreams I've built myself some kindlier home
Warm in my heart and in a golden calm
Where there'll be no more fear and no more storm.
And she will soon forget her schoolhouse ways
Forget the labour of those weary days
Wrapped round in kindness like September haze.
The learned at their books have no more store
Of wisdom than we'd close behind our door.
Compared with us the rich man would be poor.
I've seen in stars the life that we might share:
Fruit in the garden, children by the shore,
A fair white doorstep, and a woman's care.
But dreaming builds what dreaming can disown.
Dead fingers stretch themselves to tear it down.
I hear those voices that will not be drowned.
Calling, there is no stone
In earth's thickness to make a home,
That you can build with and remain alone.
(Hobson's drum, at the head of the Borough procession, can be heard very distantly
coming towards the hut. Peter doesn't notice.)
Sometimes I see that boy here in this hut.
He's there now, I can see him, he is there!
His eyes are on me as they were that evil day.
Stop moaning, boy. Water?
There's no more water. You had the last yesterday.
You'll soon be home
In harbour calm and deep.
Grimes's hut is an upturned boat. It is on the whole shipshape, though bare and forbidding.
Ropes coiled, nets, kegs and casks furnish the place. It is lighted by a skylight.
There are two doors, one (back center) opens on the cliff, the other, downstage, opens on
the road. The boy staggers into the room as if thrust from behind. Peter follows, in a
towering rage. He pulls down the boy's fishing clothes which were neatly stacked on a
shelf.
Peter
Go there!
Here's your sea boots. Take those bright
And fancy buckles off your feet.
(He throws the sea boots down in front of the boy.)
There's your oilskin and sou'wester.
Stir your pins, we must get ready!
There's the jersey that she knitted,
With the anchor that she patterned.
(He throws the clothes to the boy. They fall on the floor around him. The boy is crying
silently. Peter shakes his shoulder.)
Peter
I'll tear the collar off your neck.
Steady. Don't take fright, boy. Stop.
(Peter opens the cliff-side door and looks out.)
Look. Now is our chance!
The whole sea's boiling. Get the nets.
Come, boy!
They listen to money
These Borough gossips,
Listen to money,
Only to money.
I'll fish the sea dry,
Flood the market.
Now is our chance to get a good catch
Get money to choke
Down rumour's throat.
I will set up
With house and home and shop.
I'll marry Ellen,
I'll...
(He turns to see the boy still sitting on the rope coil, weeping. He tears off his coat and
throws the jersey at him.)
Coat off! Jersey on! My boy
We're going to sea!
(He gives the boy a shove, which knocks him over;
he lies sobbing miserably. - Peter changes tone and breaks into another song.)
In dreams I've built myself some kindlier home
Warm in my heart and in a golden calm
Where there'll be no more fear and no more storm.
And she will soon forget her schoolhouse ways
Forget the labour of those weary days
Wrapped round in kindness like September haze.
The learned at their books have no more store
Of wisdom than we'd close behind our door.
Compared with us the rich man would be poor.
I've seen in stars the life that we might share:
Fruit in the garden, children by the shore,
A fair white doorstep, and a woman's care.
But dreaming builds what dreaming can disown.
Dead fingers stretch themselves to tear it down.
I hear those voices that will not be drowned.
Calling, there is no stone
In earth's thickness to make a home,
That you can build with and remain alone.
(Hobson's drum, at the head of the Borough procession, can be heard very distantly
coming towards the hut. Peter doesn't notice.)
Sometimes I see that boy here in this hut.
He's there now, I can see him, he is there!
His eyes are on me as they were that evil day.
Stop moaning, boy. Water?
There's no more water. You had the last yesterday.
You'll soon be home
In harbour calm and deep.