Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:
Now we come to Eugene O’Neill. Yay! The first collection of plays I have is entitled Seven Plays of the Sea
There are seven one-act plays here, all (duh) having to do with the sea.
I am smiling right now … just because these plays will always make me think of my friend David, one of the best friends I have on this earth. My college did a production of 3 or 4 of these “plays of the sea” – and he was in Bound East for Cardiff – and it was his first play at the college, and nobody really knew who he was – he wasn’t a Theatre major at that point, but he made this huge splash. He was amazing. He’s this big beefy football player, a frat boy [New Englanders who watch NESN – you will recognize him from his commercials where he plays Larry, the over-eager next door neighbor to Tim Wakefield … and other athletes, too]- but man. He’s so open, so willing, so fearless on stage. People were blown away by him. It was raw talent.
The first play in the collection is called Moon of the Caribees. It takes place on a British tramp steamer called “Glencairn”. They’re at anchor off an island in the West Indies. It takes place way before the outbreak of World War I. Just to give you some context. The play opens, and all the seamen are lounging around on the deck, not in their uniforms, smoking pipes, listening to the singing of the “natives” on the island. They talk about them, they have heard rumors that the natives eat their dead. Driscoll, one of the sailors, has made a deal with a West Indian woman – that she will bring booze to the boat (even though the Captain has forbidden alcohol on board his ship). Driscoll is jones-ing for a drink. They all are. They wait for her to show up. Once she (and other women) do show up … things, of course, get ugly pretty quick.
One of the things I find so incredible at Eugene O’Neill is his ear for dialects. He writes it down as he hears it – that’s why some of his stuff is so hard to read. Ever try to make it through The Hairy Ape? If you have, then you know what I mean. It helps to read it out loud. The accent is THERE, in the words on the page.
For example: one of the sailors in this play says “Cheerio, ole dear! Don’t be ser dawhn in the marf, Duke. She loves yer.” See what I mean? Down in the mouth?
The sailors on the ship all have different accents – English (multiple dialects), Irish, Dutch … O’Neill writes them all down phonetically.
This excerpt is from the start of the play, as they sit around and wait for the women.
EXCERPT FROM Moon of the Caribees by Eugene O’Neill.
[Three bells are heard striking]
DAVIS. Three bells. When’s she comin’, Drisc?
DRISCOLL. She’ll be here any minute now, surely. [To Paul, who has returned to his position by the bulwark after hearing Driscoll’s news.] D’you see ’em comin’, Paul?
PAUL. I don’t see anyting like bumboat. [They all set themselves to wait, lighting pipes, cigarettes, and making themselves comfortable. There is a silence broken only by the mournful singing of the negroes on shore.]
SMITTY. [slowly — with a trace of melancholy] I wish they’d stop that song. It makes you think of — well — things you ought to forget. Rummy go, what?
COCKY. [slapping him on the back] Cheerio, ole love! We’ll be ‘avin’ our rum in arf a mo’, Duke. [He comes down to the deck, leaving Smitty alone on the forecastle head.]
BIG FRANK. Sing something, Drisc. Den ve don’t hear dot yelling.
DAVIS. Give us a chanty, Drisc.
PADDY. Wan all av us knows.
MAX. We all sing in on chorus.
OLSON. “Rio Grande”, Drisc.
BIG FRANK. No, ve don’t know dot. Sing “Viskey Johnny.”
CHIPS. “Flyin’ Cloud”.
COCKY. Now! Guv us “Maid o’ Amsterdam”.
LAMPS. “Santa Anna” is a good one.
DRISCOLL. Shut your mouths, all av you. [Scornfully] A chanty is ut ye want? I’ll bet me whole pay day there’s not wan in the crowd ‘ceptin’ Yank here, an’ Ollie, an’ meself, an’ Lamps an’ Cocky, maybe, wud be sailors enough to know the main from the mizzen on a windjammer. Ye’ve heard the names of chanties but divil a note av the tune or a loine av the words do ye know. There’s hardly a rale deep-water sailor lift on the seas, more’s the pity.
YANK. Give us “Blow The Man Down”. We all know some of that. [A chorus of assenting voices: Yes! — Righto! — Let ‘er drive! Start ‘er, Drisc! etc.]
DRISCOLL. Come in then, all av ye. [He sings] As I was a-roamin’ down Paradise Street —
ALL. Wa-a-ay, blow the man down!
DRISCOLL. As I was a-roamin’ down Paradise Street —
ALL. Give us some time to blow the man down!
Blow the man down, boys, oh, blow
the man down!
Wa-a-ay, blow the man down!
As I was a -roamin’ down Paradise Street —
Give us some time to blow the
man down!
DRISCOLL. A pretty young maiden I chanced for to meet.
ALL. Wa-a-ay, blow the man down!
DRISCOLL. A pretty young maiden I chanced for to meet.
ALL. Give us some time to blow the man down!
Blow the man down, boys, oh, blow
the man down!
Wa-a-ay, blow the man down!
A pretty young maiden I chanced for to meet.
Give us some time to blow the
man down!
PAUL. [Just as Driscoll is clearing his throat preparatory to starting the next verse] Hey, Drisc! Here she come, I tink. Some bumboat comin’ dis way. [They all rush to the side and look toward the land.]
YANK. There’s five or six of them in it — and they paddle like skirts.
DRISCOLL. [wildly elated] Hurroo, ye scuts! ‘Tis thim right enough. [He does a few jig steps on the deck]
OLSON. [After a pause during which all are watching the approaching boat] Py yingo, I see six in boat, yes, sir.
DAVIS. I kin make out the baskets. See ’em there amidships?
BIG FRANK. Vot kind booze dey bring — viskey?
DRISCOLL. Rum, foine West Indy rum wid a kick in ut loite a mule’s hoind leg.
LAMPS. Maybe she don’t bring any; maybe skipper scare her.
DRISCOLL. Don’t be thrown’ cold water, Lamps. I’ll skin her black hoide off av her if she goes back on her worrd.
YANK. Here they come. Listen to ’em gigglin’. [Calling] Oh, you kiddo! [The sound of women’s voices can be heard talking and laughing.]
DRISCOLL. [calling] Is ut you, Mrs. Old Black Joe?
A WOMAN’S VOICE. ‘Ullo, Mike! [There is loud feminine laughter at this retort.]
DRISCOLL. Shake a leg an’ come abord thin.
A WOMAN’S VOICE. We’re a-comin’.
DRISCOLL. Come on, Yank. You an’ me’d best be goin’ to give ’em a hand wid their truck. ‘Twill put ’em in good spirits.
COCKY. [as they start off left] Ho, you ain’t ‘arf a fox, Drisc. Down’t drink it all afore we sees it.
DRISCOLL. [over his shoulder] You’ll be havin’ yours, me sonny bye, don’t fret. [He and Yank go off left]
COCKY. [licking his lips] Gawd blimey, I can do wiv a wet.
DAVIS. Me too!
CHIPS. I’ll bet there ain’t none of us’ll let any go to waste.
BIG FRANK. I could trink a whole barrel mineself, py chimminy Christmas!
COCKY. I ‘opes all the gels ain’t as bloomin’ ugly as ‘er. Looked like a bloody organ-grinder’s monkey she did. Gawd, I couldn’t put up wiv the likes of ‘er!
PADDY. Ye’ll be lucky if any of thim looks at ye, ye squint-eyed runt.
COCKY. [angrily] Ho, yus? You ain’t no bleedin’ beauty prize yeself, me man. A ‘airy ape, I calls yer.
PADDY. [walking toward him, truculently] Whot’s thot? Say ut again if ye dare.
COCKY. [his hand on his sheath knife, snarling.] ‘Airy ape! That’s wot I says! [Paddy tries to reach him but the others keep them apart.]
BIG FRANK. [pushing Paddy back] Vot’s the matter mit you, Paddy. Don’t you hear vat Driscoll say — no fighting?
PADDY. [grumblingly] I don’t take no back talk from that deck-shrubbin’ shrimp.
COCKY. Blarsted coal-puncher! [Driscoll appears wearing a broad grin of satisfaction. The fight is immediately forgotten by the crowd who gather around him with exclamations of eager curiosity: How is it, Drisc? Any luck? Vot she bring, Drisc? Where’s the gels? etc.]
DRISCOLL. [with an apprehensive glance back at the bridge] Not so loud, for the love av hivin! [The clamor dies down] Yis, she has ut wid her. She’ll be here in a minute wid a pint bottle or two for each wan av ye — three shillin’s a bottle. So don’t be impashunt.
COCKY. [indignantly] Three bob! The bloody cow!
SMITTY. [with an ironic smile] Grand larceny, by God! [They all turn and look up at him, surprised to hear him speak.]
OLSON. Py yingo, we don’t pay so much!
BIG FRANK. Tamn black tief!
PADDY. We’ll take ut away from her and give her nothin’.
THE CROWD. [growling] Dirty thief! Dot’s right! Give her nothin’. Not a bloomin’ ‘apenny! etc.
DRISCOLL. [grinning] Ye can take ut or lave ut, me sonny byes. [He casts a glance in the direction of the bridge and then reaches inside his shirt and pulls out a pint bottle] ‘Tis foine rum, the rale stuff. [He drinks] I slipped this wan out av wan av the baskets whin they wasn’t lookin’. [He hands the bottle to Olson who is nearest him] Here ye are, Ollie. Take a small sup an’ pass ut to the nixt. ‘Tisn’t much but ’twill serve to take the black taste out av your mouths if ye go aisy wid ut. An’ there’s buckets more av ut comin’. [The bottle passes from hand to hand, each man taking a sip and smacking his lips with a deep “Ah-ah” of satisfaction.]
