The Emperor Jones by Eugene O'Neill (shoe dog free ebook txt) 📕

dance has entered into him, has become his spirit. Finally the theme of the pantomime halts on a howl of despair, and is taken up again in a note of savage hope. There is a salvation. The forces of evil demand sacrifice. They must be appeased. The witch-doctor points with his wand to the sacred tree, to the river beyond, to the altar, and finally to Jones with a ferocious command. Jones seems to sense the meaning of this. It is he who must offer himself for sacrifice. He beats his forehead abjectly to the ground, moaning hysterically_)

Mercy, Oh Lawd! Mercy! Mercy on dis po’ sinner.

(_The witch-doctor springs to the river bank. He stretches out his arms and calls to some God within its depths. Then he starts backward slowly, his arms remaining out. A huge head of a crocodile appears over the bank and its eves, glittering greenly, fasten upon Jones. He stares into them fascinatedly. The witch-doctor prances up to him, touches him with his wand, motions with hideous command toward the waiting monster. Jones squirms on his belly nearer and nearer, moaning continually_)

Mercy, Lawd! Mercy!

(_The crocodile heaves more of his enormous hulk onto the land. Jones squirms toward him. The witch-doctor’s voice shrills out in furious exultation, the tom-tom beats madly. Jones cries out in a fierce, exhausted spasm of anguished pleading_)

Lawd, save me! Lawd Jesus, hear my prayer!

(_Immediately, in answer to his prayer, comes the thought of the one bullet left him. He snatches at his hip, shouting defiantly_)

De silver bullet! You don’t git me yit!

(_He fires at the green eyes in front of him. The head of the crocodile sinks back behind the river bank, the witch-doctor springs behind the sacred tree and disappears. Jones lies with his face to the ground, his arms outstretched, whimpering with fear as the throb of the tom-tom fills the silence about him with a somber pulsation, a baffled but revengeful power._)

SCENE EIGHT

Dawn. Same as Scene Two, the dividing line of forest and plain. The nearest tree trunks are dimly revealed but the forest behind them is still a mass of glooming shadow. The tom-tom seems on the very spot, so loud and continuously vibrating are its beats. Lem enters from the left, followed by a small squad of his soldiers, and by the Cockney trader, Smithers. Lem is a heavy-set, ape-faced old savage of the extreme African type, dressed only in a loin cloth. A revolver and cartridge belt are about his waist. His soldiers are in different degrees of rag-concealed nakedness. All wear broad palm leaf hats. Each one carries a rifle. Smithers is the same as in Scene One. One of the soldiers, evidently a tracker, is peering about keenly on the ground. He grunts and points to the spot where Jones entered the forest. Lem and Smithers come to look.

SMITHERS—(_after a glance, turns away in disgust_) That’s where ‘e went in right enough. Much good it’ll do yer. ‘E’s miles orf by this an’ safe to the Coast damn ‘S ‘ide! I tole yer yer’d lose ‘im, didn’t I?—wastin’ the ‘ole bloomin’ night beatin’ yer bloody drum and castin’ yer silly spells! Gawd blimey, wot a pack!

LEM—(_gutturally_) We cotch him. You see. (_He makes a motion to his soldiers who squat down on their haunches in a semi-circle._)

SMITHERS—(_exasperatedly_) Well, ain’t yer goin ‘in an’ ‘unt ‘im in the woods? What the ‘ell’s the good of waitin’?

LEM—(_imperturbably—squatting down himself_) We cotch him.

SMITHERS—(_turning away from him contemptuously_) Aw! Garn! ‘E’s a better man than the lot o’ you put together. I ‘ates the sight o’ ‘im but I’ll say that for ‘im. (_A sound of snapping twigs comes from the forest. The soldiers jump to their feet, cocking their rifles alertly. Lem remains sitting with an imperturbable expression, but listening intently. The sound from the woods is repeated. Lem makes a quick signal with his hand. His followers creep quickly but noiselessly into the forest, scattering so that each enters at a different spot._)

SMITHERS—(_in the silence that follows—a contemptuous whisper_) You ain’t thinkin’ that would be ‘im, I ‘ope?

LEM—(_calmly_) We cotch him.

SMITHERS—Blarsted fat ‘eads! (_then after a second’s thought—wonderingly_) Still an’ all, it ‘might ‘appen. If ‘e lost ‘is bloody way in these stinkin’ woods ‘e’d likely turn in a circle without ‘is knowin’ it. They all does.

LEM—(_peremptorily_) Sssh! (_The reports of several rifles sound from the forest, followed a second later by savage, exultant yells. The beating of the tom-tom abruptly ceases. Lem looks up at the white man with a grin of satisfaction._) We cotch him. Him dead.

SMITHERS—(_with a snarl_) ‘Ow d’yer know it’s ‘im an’ ‘ow d’yer know ‘e’s dead?

LEM—My mens dey got ‘urn silver bullets. Dey kill him shore.

SMITHERS—(_astonished_) They got silver bullets?

LEM—Lead bullet no kill him. He got urn strong charm. I cook urn money, make urn silver bullet, make urn strong charm, too.

SMITHERS—(_light breaking upon him_) So that’s wot you was up to all night, wot? You was scared to put after ‘im till you’d moulded silver bullets, eh?

LEM—(_simply stating a fact_) Yes. Him got strong charm. Lead no good.

SMITHERS—(_slapping his thigh and guffawing_) Haw-haw! If yer don’t beat all ‘ell! (_then recovering himself—scornfully_) I’ll bet yer it ain’t ‘im they shot at all, yer bleedin’ looney!

LEM—(_calmly_) Dey come bring him now. (_The soldiers come out of the forest, carrying Jones’ limp body. There is a little reddish purple hole under his left breast. He is dead. They carry him to Lem who examines his body with great satisfaction._)

SMITHERS—(_leans over his shoulder—in a tone of frightened awe_) Well, they did for yer fight enough, Jonsey, me lad! Dead as a ‘erring! (_mockingly_) Where’s yer ‘igh an’ mighty airs now, yer bloornin’ Majesty? (_then with a grin_) Silver bullets! Gawd blimey, but yer died in the ‘eighth o’ style, any’ow!

(_Curtain_)