The Emperor Jones .............................................................................................................................................1

Eugene O'Neill .........................................................................................................................................1

SCENE ONE ............................................................................................................................................2

SCENE TWO .........................................................................................................................................10

SCENE THREE ....................................................................................................................................12

SCENE FOUR ......................................................................................................................................13

SCENE FIVE ........................................................................................................................................14

SCENE SIX ..........................................................................................................................................15

SCENE SEVEN ....................................................................................................................................16

SCENE EIGHT .....................................................................................................................................17

SCENEThe audience chamber in the palace of the Emperora spacious, highceilinged room with bare,

whitewashed walls. The floor is of white tiles. In the rear, to the left of center, a wide archway giving out on

a portico with white Pillars. The palace is evidently situated on high ground for beyond the portico nothing

can be seen but a vista of distant hills, their summits crowned with thick groves of palm trees. In the right

wall, center, a smaller arched doorway leading to the living quarters of the palace. The room is bare of

furniture with the exception of one huge chair made of uncut wood which stands at center, its back to rear.

This is very apparently the Emperor's throne. It is painted a dazzling, eyesmiting scarlet. There is a brilliant

orange cushion on the seat and another smaller one is placed on the floor to serve as a footstool. Strips of

It is late afternoon but the sunlight still blazes yellowly beyond the portico and there is an oppressive burden

As the curtain rises, a native Negro woman sneaks in cautiously from the entrance on the right. She is very

old, dressed in cheap calico, barefooted, a red bandana handkerchief covering all but a few stray wisps of

white hair. A bundle bound in colored cloth is carried over her shoulder on the end of a stick. She hesitates

beside the doorway, peering back as if in extreme dread of being discovered. Then she begins to glide

SMITHERS is a tall, stoopshouldered man about forty. His bald head, perched on a long neck with an

enormous Adam's apple, looks like an egg. The troPics have tanned his naturally pasty face with its small,

sharp features to a sickly yellow, and native rum has painted his poinJed nose to a startling red. His little,

washyblue eyes are redrimmed and dart about him like a ferret's. His expression is one of unscrupulous

meanness, cowardly and dangerous. He is dressed in a worn Tiding suit of dirty 'white drill, puttees, spIers,

and wears a white cork helmet. A cartridge belt with an automatic revolver is around his waist. He carries a

riding whip in his hand. He sees the woman and stops to watch her susPiciously. Then, making up his mind,

he steps quickly on tiptoe into the room. The woman, looking back over her shoulder continually, does not

see him until it is too late. W hen she does SMITHERS springs forward and grabs her firmly by the shoulder.

SMITHERS [Tightening his grasproughly]: Easy! None o’ that, me birdie. You can't wriggle out now. I

WOMAN [Seeing the uselessness of struggling, gives way to frantic terror, and sinks to the ground,

SMITHERS [With great curiosity]: Tell 'im? [Then scornfully.] Oh, you mean 'is bloamin' Majesty. What's

the gaime, any 'ow? What are you sneakin' away for? Been stealin' a bit, I s'pose. [He taps her bundle with

SMITHERS: Bloody liar! But tell me what's up. There's somethin' funny goin' on. I smelled it in the air first

thing I got up this mornin'. You blacks are up to some devilment. This palace of 'is is like a bleedin' tomb.

Where's all the 'ands? [The woman keeps sullenly silent. SMITHERS raises his whip threateningly.] Ow, yer

WOMAN [Coweringly]: I tell, Mister. You no hit. They goall go. [She makes a sweeping gesture toward

SMITHERS: Run awayto the 'ills? WOMAN: Yes, Mister. Him EmperorGreat Father. [She touches her

forehead to the floor with a quick. mechanical jerk. ) Him sleep after eat. Then they goall go. Me old

SMITHERS [His astonishment giving way to an immense, mean satisfaction]: Ow! So that's the ticket!

Well, I know bloody well wot's in the airwhen they runs orf to the 'ills. The tomtom 'll be thumping out

there bloomin' soon. [With extreme vindictiveness.] And I'm bloody glad of it, for one! Serve 'im right! Put

tin' on airs, the stinkin' nigger! 'Is Majesty! Gawd blimey! I only 'opes I'm there when they takes 'im out to

SMITHERS: 'E's bound to find out soon as 'e wakes up. 'E's cunnin' enough to know when 'is time's come.

[He goes to the doorway on right and whistles shrilly with his fingers in his mouth. The old woman springs to

her feet and runs out of the doorway, rear. SMITHERS goes after her, reaching for his revolver.] Stop or I'll

shoot! [Then stoppingindifferently.] Pop orf then, if yer like, yer black cow. [He stands in the doorway,

[JONES enters from the right. He is a tall, powerfullybuill, fullblooded Negro of middle age. His features

are typically negroid, yet there is something decidedly distinctive about his facean underlying strength of

will, a hardy, selfreliant confidence in himself that inspires respect. His eyes are alive with a keen, cunning

inlelligence. In manner he is shrewd, suspicious, evasive. He wears a light blue uniform coal, sprayed with

brass buttons, heavy gold chevrons on his shoulders, gold braid on the collar, cuffs, etc. His pants are bright

red with a light blue stripe down the side. PatentIeather laced boots with brass spurs, and a bell with a

longbarreled, pearlhandled revolver in a holster complete his make up. Yet there is something not

JONES [N ot seeing anyonegreally irritated and blinking sleepilyshouts]: Who dare whistle dat way in

my palace? Who dare wake up de Emperor? I'll git de hide fravled off some o’ you niggers sho'!

SMITHERS [Showing himsel/in a manner halfafraid and halfdefiant]: It was me whistled to yer. [As

JONES [Putting on his suavest manner, which fails to cover up his contempt /or the white man]: Oh, it's you,

Mister Smithers. [He sits down on his throne with easy dignity.] What news you got to tell me ?

SMITHERS [Coming close to enjoy his discomfiture]: Don't yer notice nothin' funny today?

SMITHERS: Then yer ain't so foxy as I thought yer was. Where's all your court? [Sarcastically.] The

JONES [Imperturbably]: Where dey mostly runs de minute I closes my eyesdrinkin' rum and talkin' big

down in de town. [Sarcastically.] How come you don't know dat? Ain't you sousin' with 'em most every day?

SMITHERS [Stung but pretending indifferencewith a wink]: That's part of the day's work. I gottterain't

SMITHERS [Imprudently enraged]: Gawd blimey, you was glad enough for me ter take yer in on it when

JONES [His hand going to his revolver like a ftashmenacingly]: Talk polite, white man! Talk polite, you

heah me! I'm boss heah now, is you fergettin'? [The Cockney seems about to challenge this last statement

JONES [Condescendingly]: I accepts yo' apology. [Lets his hand fall from his revolver.] No use'n you rakin'

up ole times. What I was den is one thing. What I is now's another. You didn't let me in on yo' crooked work

out o’ no kind feelin's dat time. I done de dirty work fo' youand most o’ de brain work, too, fo' dat

SMITHERS: Well, blimey, I give yer a start, didn't Iwhen no one else would. I wasn't afraid to 'ire yer like

JONES: No, you didn't have no s'cuse to look down on me fo' dat. You been in jail you'self more n once.

SMITHERS [Furiously]: It's a lie! [Then trying to pass it off by an attempt at scorn.] Garn! Who told yer

JONES: Dey's some tings I ain't got to be tole. I kin see 'em in folk's eyes. [Then after

a pausemeditatively.] Yes, you sho' give me a start. And it didn't take long from dat time to git dese fool,

woods' niggers right where I wanted dem. [With pride.] From stowaway to Emperor in two years! Dat's goin'

SMITHERS [With curiosity] : And I bet you got yer pile o’ money 'id safe some place.

JONES [With satisfaction] : I sho' has! And it's in a foreign bank where no pusson don't ever git it out but me

no matter what come. You didn't s'pose I was holdin' down dis Emperor job for de glory in it, did you? Sho'!

De fuss and glory part of it, dat's only to turn de heads o’ de lowflung, bush niggers dat's here. Dey wants de

big circus show for deir money. I gives it to 'em an' I gits de money. [With a grin.] De long green, dat's me

every time! [Then rebukingly.] But you ain't got no kick agin me, Smithers. I'se paid you back all you done

for me many times. Ain’t I pertected you and winked at all de crooked tradin' you been doin' right out in de

broad day? Sho' I has and me makin' laws to stop it at de same time! [He chuckles.]

SMITHERS [Grinning]: But, meanin' no 'arm, you been grabbin' right and left yourself, ain't yer? Look at

SMITHERS [Smiling at his secret thought]: They're dry right now, you'll find out. [Chang ing the subject

abruptly.] And as for me breakin' laws, you've broke 'em all yerself just as fast as yer made 'em.

JONES: Ain't I de Emperor? De laws don't go for him. [Judicially.] You heah what I tells you, Smithers.

Dere's little stealin' like you does, and dere's big stealin' like I does. For de little stealin' dey gits you in jail

soon or late. For de big stealin' dey makes you Emperor and puts you in de Hall o’ Fame when you croaks.

[Reminiscently.] If dey's one thing I learns in ten years on de Pullman ca's listenin' to de white quality talk,

it's dat same fact. And when I gits a chance to use it I winds up Emperor in two years.

SMITHERS [Unable to repress the genuine admiration of the small fry for the large]: Yes, yer turned the

bleedin' trick, all right. Blimey, I never seen a bloke 'as 'ad the bloomin' luck you 'as.

SMITHERS: I Suppsee you'll say as that swank about the silver bullet ain't luckand that was what :first got

JONES [With a laugh]: Oh, dat silver bullet! Sho' was luck! But I makes dat luck, you heah? I loads de dice!

Yessuh! When dat murderin' nigger ole Lem hired to kill me takes aim ten feet away and his gun misses fire

SMITHERS: You said yer'd got a charm so's no lead bullet'd kill yer. You was so strong only a silver bullet

could kill yer, you told 'em. Blimey, wasn't that swank for yerand plain, fat'eaded luck?

SMITHERS: Yer know they wasn't 'ardly liable to get no silver bullets. And it was luck 'e didn't 'it you that

JONES [Laughing]: And dere all dem fool, bush niggers was kneelin' down and bumpin' deir heads on de

ground like I was a miracle out o’ de Bible. Oh Lawd, from dat time on I has dem all eatin' out of my hand. I

JONES: Ain't a man's talkin' big what makes him biglong as he makes folks helieve it? Sho', I talks large

when I bin't got nothin' to hack it up, but I ain't talkin' wild just de same. I knows I kin fool 'emI knows

itand dat's backin enough fo' my game. And ain't I got to learn deir lingo and teach some of dem English

befo' I kin talk to 'em? Ain't dat wuk? You ain't never learned ary word er it, Smithers, in de ten years you

been heah, dough yo' knows it's money in yo' pocket tradin' wid 'em if you does. But you'se too shiftless to

SMITHERS [Flushing]: Never mind about me. What's this I've heard about yer really 'avin' a silver bullet

JONES: It's playin' out my bluff. I has de silver bullet moulded and I tells 'em when de time comes I kills

myself wid it. I tells 'em dat's 'cause I'm de on'y man in de world big enuff to git me. No use'n deir tryin'. And

dey falls down and bumps deir heads. [He laughs.] I does dat so's I kin take a walk in peace widout no jealous

JONES: Sho' did. Heah she be. [He takes out his revolver, breaks it, and takes the silver bullet out of one

chamber.] Five lead an' dis silver baby at de last. Don't she shine pretty? [He holds it in his hand, looking at it

JONES [Harshly]: : Keep yo' hands whar dey b'long, white man. [He replaces it in the chamber and puts the

JONES: No, 'tain't dat. I knows you'se scared to steal from me. On'y I ain't 'lowin' nary body to touch dis

SMITHERS [Sneering]: A bloomin' charm, wot? [Venomously.] Well, you'll need all the bloody charms you

JONES [Judicially]: Oh, I'se good for six months yit 'fore dey gits sick o’ my game. Den, when I sees

JONES: I ain't no fool. I knows dis Emperor's time is sho't. Dat why I make hay when de sun shine. Was you

thinkin' I'se aimin' to hold down dis job for life? No, suh! What good is gittin' money if you stays back in dis

raggedy country? I 'wants action when I spends. And when I sees dese niggers gittin' up deir nerve to tu'n me

out, and I'se got all de money in sight, I resigns on de spot and beats it quick.

JONES [Suspiciously]: Why don't I? [Then with an easy laugh.] You mean 'count of dat story 'bout me

SMITHERS [Hastily]: No, Gawd strike me! I was only thinkin' o’ the bloody lies you told the blacks 'ere

SMITHERS: You'd 'ave been in jail if you 'ad, wouldn't yer then? [With venom.] And from what I've 'eard, it

ain't 'ealthy for a black to kill a white man in the States. They burns 'em in oil, don't they?

JONES [With cool deadliness]: You mean lynchin' 'd scare me? Well, I tells you, Smithers, maybe I does

kill one white man back dere. Maybe I does. And maybe I kills another right heah 'fore long if he don't look

SMITHERS [Trying to force a laugh]: I was on'y spoofin' yer. Can't yer take a joke? And you was just

JONES [In the same toneslightly boastful]: Maybe I goes to jail dere for gettin' in an argument wid razors

ovah a crap game. Maybe I gits twenty years when dat colored man die. Maybe I gits in 'nother argument wid

de prison guard was overseer ovah us when we're wukin' de roads. Maybe he hits me wid a whip and I splits

his head wid a shovel and runs away and files de chain off my leg and gits away safe. Maybe I does all dat.

An' maybe I don't. It's a story I tells you so's you knows I'se de kind of man dat if you evah repeats one word

SMITHERS [Terrified]: Think I'd peach on yer? Not me! Ain't I always been yer friend?

SMITHERS [Recovering his composureand with it his malice]: And just to show yer I'm yer friend, I'll tell

SMITHERS [Warningly]: Maybe it's gettin' time for you to resignwith that bloomin' silver bullet, wot? [He

SMITHERS: Ain't noticed any of the guards or servants about the place today, I 'aven't.

JONES [Carelessly]: Dey're all out in de garden sleepin' under de trees. When I sleeps, dey sneaks a sleep,

too, and I pretends I never suspicions it. All I got to do is to ring de bell and dey come flyin', makin' a bluff

SMITHERS [In the same mocking tone]: Ring the bell now an' you'll bloody well see what I means.

JONES [Startled to alertness, but preserving the same careless tone]: Sho' I rings. [He reaches below the

throne and pulls out a big, common dinner bell which is painted the same vivid scarlet as the throne. He

rings this vigorouslythen stops to listen. Then he goes to both doors, rings again, and looks out.]

SMITHERS [Watching him with 1ltalicious satisfaction, after a pausemockingly]: The bloody ship is

JONES [In a sudden fit of anger flings the bell clattering into a corner]: Lowflung, woods' niggers! [Then

catching Smithers' eye on him, he controls himself and suddenly bursts into a low chuckling laugh.] Reckon I

overplays my hand dis once! A man can't take de pot on a bobtailed flush all de time. Was I sayin' I'd sit in

six months mo'? Wen, I'se changed my mind den. I cashes in and resigns de job of Emperor right dis minute.

SMITHERS [With real admiration]: Blimey, but you're a cool bird, and no mistake.

JONES: No use'n fussin'. When I knows de game's up I kisses it goodbye widout no long waits. Dey've all

JONES: Den de revolution is at de post. And de Emperor better git his feet smokin' up de trail. [He starts for

SMITHERS: Goin' out to look for your 'orse? Yer won't find any. They steals the 'orses first thing. Mine was

gone when I went for 'im this mornin'. That's wot first give me a suspicion of wot was up.

JONES [Alarmed for a second, scratches his head, then philosophically]: Well, den I hoofs it. Feet, do yo'

duty! [He pulls out a gold watch and looks at it.] Threethuty. Sundown's at sixthuty or dereabouts. [Puts

SMITHERS: Don't be so bloomin' sure of it. They'll be after you 'ot and 'eavy. Ole Lem is at the bottom o’

this business an' 'e 'ates you like 'ell. 'E'd rather do for you than eat 'is dinner, ‘e would !

JONES [Scornfully]: Dat fool nocount nigger! Does you think I'se scared o’ him? I stands him on his thick

head niore'n once befo' dis, and I does it again if he come in my way... [Fiercely.] And dis time I leave him a

SMITHERS: You'll 'ave to cut through the big forestan' these blacks 'ere can sniff and follow a trail in the

dark like 'ounds. You'd 'ave to 'ustle to get through that forest in twelve hours even if you knew all the

JONES [With indignant scorn]: Lookaheah, white man! Does you think I'se a natural bo'n fool? Give me

credit fo' havin' some sense, fo' Lawd's sake! Don't you s'pose I'se looked ahead and made sho' of all de

chances? I'se gone out in dat big forest, pretendin' to hunt, so many times dat I knows it high an' low like a

book. I could go through on dern trails wid my eyes shut. [With great contempt.] Think dese ign'rent bush

niggers dat ain't got brains enuff to know deir own names even can catch Brutus Jones? Huh, I s'pects not!

Not on yo' life! Why, man, de white men went after me wid bloodhounds where I come from an' I jes' laughs

at 'em. It's a shame to fool dese black trash around heah, dey're so easy. You watch me, man! I'll make dem

look sick, I will. I'll be' cross de plain to de edge of de forest by time dark comes. Once in de woods in de

night, dey got a swell chance o’ findin' dis baby! Dawn tomorrow I'll be out at de oder side and on de coast

whar dat French gunboat is stayin'. She picks me up, take me to Martinique when she go dar, and dere I is

SMITHERS [Maliciously]: But s'posin' somethin' 'appens wrong an' they do nab yer?

JONES [Frowning]: I'se got five lead bullets in dis gun good enuff fo' common bush niggersand after dat

SMITHERS [Jeeringly]: Ho, I was fergettin' that silver bullet. You'll bump yourself orf in style, Won't yer?

JONES [Gloomily]: You kin bet yo whole roll on one thing, white man. Dis baby plays out his string to de

end and when he quits, he quits wid a bang de way he ought. Silver bullet ain't none too good for him when

he go, dat's a fact [Then shaking off his nervousnesswith a confident laugh.] Sho'! What is I talkin' about?

Ain't come to dat yit and I never willnot wid trash niggers like dese yere. [Boastfully.] Silver bullet bring me

luck anyway. I kin outguess, outrun, outfight, an' outplay de whole lot o’ dem all ovah de board any time o’

de day er night! You watch me! [From the distant hills comes the faint, steady thump of a tomtom, low and

vibrating. It starts at " rate exactly corresponding to normal pulse beat72 to the minuteand continues at a

gradually accelerating rate from this point uninterruptedly to the very end of the play.]

[JONES starts at the sound. A strange look of apprehension creeps into his face for a moment as he listens.

Then he asks, with an attempt to regain his most casual manner.] What's dat drum beatin' fo'?

SMITHERS [With a mean grin]: For you. That means the bleedin' ceremony 'as started. I've 'eard it before

SMITHERS: The blacks is 'oldin' a bloody meetin', 'avin' a war dance, get tin' their courage worked up b'fore

SMITHERS: And they're there 'oldin' their 'eathen religious servicemakin' no end of devil spells and

charms to 'elp 'em against your silver bullet. [He guffaws loudly.l Blimey, but they're balmy as 'ell!

JONES [A tiny bit awed and shaken in spite of himself]: Huh! Takes more'n dat to scare dis chicken!

SMITHERS [Scenting the other's feelingmaliciously]: Ternight when it's pitch black in the forest, they'll

'ave their pet devils and ghosts, ‘oundin' after you. You 'll :find yer bloody 'air 'll be standin' on end before

termorrow mornin'. [Seriously.] It's a bleedin' queer place, that stinkin' forest, even in daylight. Yer don't

know what might 'appen in there, it's that rotten still, Always sends the cold shivers down my back minute I

JONES [With a contemptuous sniff]: I ain't no chickenliver like you is. Trees an' me,we'se friends, and dar's

a full moon comin' bring me light. And let dem po' niggers make all de fool spells dey'se a min' to. Does yo'

s'pect I'se silly enuff to b'lieve in ghosts an' ha'nts an' all dat ole woman's talk? G'long, white man! You ain't

talkin' to me. [With a chuckle.] Doesn't you know dey's got to do wid a man was member in good standin' o’

de Baptist Church? Sho' I was dat when I was porter on de Pullmans, befo' I gits into my little trouble. Let

dem try deir heathen tricks. De Baptist Church done pertect me and land dem all in hell. [Then with more

confident satisfaction.] And I'se got little silver bullet o’ my own, don't forgit.

SMITHERS: Ho! You 'aven't give much 'eed to your Baptist Church since you been down 'ere. I've 'eard

myself you 'ad turned yer coat an' was takin' up with their blarsted witchdoctors, or whatever the 'ell yer

JONES [Vehemently]: I pretends to! Sho' I pretends! Dat's part o’ my game from de fust. If I finds out dem

niggers believe’s dat black is white, den I yells it out louder 'n deir loudest. It don't git me nothin' to do

missionary work for de Baptist Church. I'se after de coin, an' I lays my Jesus on de shelf for de time bein'.

[Stops a.bruptly to look at his watchalertly.] But I ain't got de time to waste no more fool talk wid you. I'se

gwine away from heah dis secon'. [He reaches in under the throne and pulls out an expensive Panama hat

with a bright multicolored band and sets it jauntily on his head.] So long, white man! [With a grin.] See

SMITHERS: Not me, you won't. Well, I wouldn't be in yer bloody boots for no bloomin' money, but 'ere's

JONES [Contemptuously] : You're de frightenedest man evah I see! I tells you I'se safe's 'f I was in New

York City. It takes dem niggers from now to dark to git up de nerve to start somethin'. By dat time, I'se got a

JONES [Grinning) : If dat ghost got money, I'll tell him never ha'nt you less'n he wants to lose it.

SMITHERS [Flattered]: Garn! [Then curiously.] Ain't yer takin' no luggage with yer?

JONES: I travels light when I wants to move fast. And I got tinned grub buried on de edge o’ de forest.

[Boastfully.] Now say dat I don't look ahead an' use my brains! [With a wide, liberal gesture.] I will all dat's

left in de palace to you and you better grab all you kin sneak away wid befo' dey gits here.

SMITHERS [Gratefully]: Rightoand thanks ter yer. [As JONES walks toward the door in rear

JONES: Does you think I'd slink out de back door like a common nigger? I'se Emperor yit, ain't I? And de

Emperor Jones leaves de way he comes, and dat black trash don't dare stop himnot yit, leastways. [He

stops for a moment in the doorway, listening to the faroff but insistent beat of the tomtom.] Listen to dat

rollcall, will you? Must be mighty big drum carry dat far. [Then with a laugh.] Well, if dey ain't no whole

brass band to see me off, I sho' got de drum part of it. So long, white man. [He puts his hands in his pockets

and with studied carelessness, whistling a tune, he saunters out of the doorway and off to the left.]

SMITHERS [Looks after him with a puzzled admiration]: 'E's got 'is bloomin' nerve with 'im, s'elp me!

[Then angrily.] Hothe bleedin' niggerputtin' on 'is bloody airs! I 'opes they nabs 'im an' gives 'im what's

what! [Then putting business before the pleasure of this thought, looking around him with cupidity.] A bloke

ought to find a 'ole lot in this palace that'd go for a bit of cash. Let's take a look, ‘Arry , me lad. [He darts for

SCENENightfall. The end of the plain where the Great Forest begins. The foreground is sandy, level ground

dotted by a few stones and clumps of stunted bushes cowering close against the earth to escape the buffeting

of the trade wind. In the rear the forest is a wall of darkness dividing the world. Only when the eye becomes

accustomed to the gloom can the outlines of separate trunks of the nearest trees be made out, enormous pillars

of deeper blackness. A somber monotone of wind lost in the leaves moans in the air. Yet this sound serves

but to intensify the impression of the forest's relentless immobility, to form a background throwing into relief

[JONES enters front the left, walking rapidly. He stops as he nears the edge of the forest, looks around him

quickly, peering into the dark as if searching for some familiar landmark. Then, apparently satisfied that he

Well, heah I is. In de nick o’ time, too! Little mo' an' it'd be blacker'n de ace of spades heahabouts. [He pulls

a bandana handkerchief from his hip pocket and mops off his perspiring face.] Sho'! Gimme air! I'se tuckered

out sho' 'nuff. Dat soft Emperor job ain't no trainin' fo' a long hike ovah dat plain in de brilin' sun. [Then with

a chuckle.] Cheah up, nigger, de worst is yet to come. [He lifts his head and stares at the forest. His chuckle

peters out abruptly. In a tone of awe.] My goodness, look at dem woods, will you? Dat nocount Smithers

said dey'd be black an' he sho' called de turn. [Turning away from them quickly and looking down at his feet,

he snatches at a chance to change the subjectsolicitously.] Feet, you is holdin' up yo' end fine an' I sutinly

hopes you ain't blisterin' none. It's time you git a rest. [He takes off his shoes, his eyes studiously avoiding the

forest. He feels of the soles of his feet gingerly.] You is still in de pinkon'y a little mite feverish. Cool

yo'selfs. Remember you done got a long journey yit befo' you. [He sits in a weary attitude, listening to the

rhythmic beating of the tomtom. He grumbles in a loud tone to cover up a growing uneasiness. ] Bush

niggers! Wonder dey wouldn' git sick o’ beatin' dat drum. Sound louder, seem like. I wonder if cey's startin'

after me? [He scrambles to his feet, looking back across the plain.] Couldn't see dem now, nohow, if dey

was hundred feet away. [Then shaking himself like a wet dog to get rid of these depressing thoughts.] Sho',

dey's miles an miles behind. What you gittin’ fidgety about? [But he sits down and begins to lace up his

shoes in great haste, all the time muttering reassuringly.] You know what? Yo' belly is empty, dat's what's de

matter wid you. Come time to eat! Wid nothin' but wind on yo' stumach, o’ course you feels jiggedy. Well,

we eats right heah an' now soon's I gits dese pesky shoes laced up! [He finishes lacing up his shoes.] Dere!

Now le's see. [Gets on his hands and knees and searches the ground around him with his eyes.] White stone,

white stone, where is you? [He sees the first white stone and crawls to itwith satisfaction.] Heah you is! I

knowed dis was de right place. Box of grub, come to me. [He turns over the stone and feels in under itin a

tone of dismay.] Ain't heah! Gorry, is I in de right place or isn't I? Dere's 'nother stone. Guess dat's it. [He

scrambles to the next stone and turns il over.] Ain't heah, neither! Grub, whar is yqu? Ain't heah. Gorry, has I

got to go hungry into dem woodsall de night? [W hile he is talking he scrambles from one stone to another,

turning them over in frantic haste. Finally, he jumps to his feet excitedly.] Is I lost de place? Must have! But

how dat happen when I was fcllowin' de trail across de plain in broad daylight? [Almost plaintively.] I'se

hungry, I is! I gotta git my feed. Whar's my strength gonna come from if I doesn't? Gorry, I gotta find dat

grub high an' low somehow! Why it come dark so quick like dat? Can't see nothin'. [He scratches a match on

his trousers and peers about him. The rate of the beat of the faroff tnmtom increases perceptibly as he

does so. He mutters in a bewildered voice.] How come all dese white stones come heah when I only

remembers one? [Suddenly, with a frightened gasp, he flings the match on the ground and stamps on it.]

Nigger, is you gone crazy mad? Is you lightin' matches to show dem whar you is? Fo' Lawd's sake, use yo'

haid. Gorry, I'se got to be careful! [He stares at the plain behin,l him apprehensively, his hand on his

revolver.] But how come all dese white stones? And whar's dat tin box o’ grub I had all wrapped up in oil

LITTLE FORMLESS FEARS creep out from the deeper blackness of the forest. They are black, shapeless,

only their glittering little eyes can be seen. If they have any describable form at all it is that of a grubworm

about the size of a creeping child. They move noiselessly, but with deliberate, painful effort, striving to raise

themselves on 'nd, failing and sinking prone again. JONES turns about to face the forest. He stares up at the

tops of the trees, seeking vainly to discover his whereabouts by their conformation.]

Can't tell nothin' from dem trees! Gorry, nothin' 'round heah look like I evah seed it befo’. I’se done lost de

place sho’ ‘nuff! [With mournful foreboding.] It’s mighty queer! It’s mighty queer! [With sudden forced

defiancein an angry tone.] Woods, is you tryin’ to put somethin’ ovah on me?

[From the formless creatures on the ground in front of him comes a tiny gale of low mocking laughter like a

rustling of leaves. They squirm upward toward him in twisted attitudes. JONES looks down, leaps backward

with a yell of terror, yanking out his revolver as he does soin a quavering voice.] What's dat? Who’s dar?

[He fires. There is a flash, a loud report, then silence broken only by the faroff

, quickened throb of the tomtom. The formless creatures have scurried back into the forest. JONES remains

fixed in his position, listening intently. The sound of the shot, the reassuring feel of the revolver in his hand,

have somewhat restored his shaken nerve. He addresses himself with renewed confidence.]

Dey're gone. Dat shot fix 'em. Dey was only little animalslittle wild pigs, I reckon. Dey've maybe rooted out

yo' grub an' eat it. Sho', you fool nigger, what you think dey isha’nts? [Excitedly.] Gorry, you give de game

away when you fire dat shot. Dem niggers heah dat fo' su'tin! Time you beat it in de woods widout no long

waits. [ He starts for the foresthesitates before the plungethen urging himself in with manful resolution.]

Git in, nigger! What you skeered at? Ain't nothin' dere but de trees! Git in! [He plunges boldly into the forest.]

SCENENine o'clock. In the forest. The moon has just risen. Its beams, drifting through the canopy of leaves,

make a barely perceptible, suffused, eerie glow. A dense low wall of underbrush and creepers is in the nearer

foreground, fencing in a small triangular clearing. Beyond this is the massed blackness of the forest like an

encompassing barrier. A path is dimly discerned leading down to the clearing from left, rear, and winding

away from it again toward the right. As the scene opens nothing can be distinctly made out. Except for the

beating of the tomtom, which is a trifle louder and quicker than in the previous scene, there is silence,

broken every few seconds by a queer, clicking sound. Then gradually the figure of the negro, JEFF, can be

discerned crouching on his haunches at the rear of the triangle. He is middleaged, thin, brown in color, is

dressed in a Pullman porter's uniform, cap, etc. He is throwing a pair of dice on the ground before him,

picking them up, shaking them, casting them out with the regular, rigid, mechanical movements of an

automaton. The heavy, plodding footsteps of someone approachmg along the trail from the left are heard and

JONES' voice, pitched in a slightly higher key and strained in a cheering effort to overcome its own tremors.

De moon's rizen. Does you heall dat, nigger? You gits more light from dis out. No mo'buttin' yo' fool head

agin' de trunks an' scratchin' de hide off yo' legs in de bushes. Now you sees whar yo'se gwine. So cheer up!

From now on you has a snap. [Ht steps just to the rear of the triangular clearing and mops off his face on his

sleeve. He has lost his Panama hat. His face is scratched, his brilliant uniform shows several large

rents.] What time's it gittin' to be, I wonder? I dassent light no match to find out. Phoo'. It's wa'm an' dat's a

fac'! [Wearily.] How long I been makin' tracks in dese woods? Must be hours an' hours. Seems like fo'evah!

Yit can't be, when de moon's jes' riz. Dis am a long night fo' yo', yo' Majesty! [With a mournful chuckle.]

Majesty! Der ain't much majesty 'bout dis baby now. [With attempted cheerfulness.] Never min'. It's all part

o’ de game. Dis night come to an end like everything else. And when you gits dar safe and has dat bankroll in

yo' hands you laughs at all dis. [He starts to whistle but checks bintself abruptly.] What yo' whistlin' for, you

po' dope! 'Want all de worl' to heah you? [He stops talking to listen.] Heah dat ole drum! Sho' gits nearer

from de sound. Dey're packin' it along wid 'em. Time fo' me to move. [He takes a step forward, then

stopsworriedly.] What's dat odder queer clickety sound I heah? Dere it is! Sound close! Sound likesound

like fo' God sake, sound like some nigger was shootin' crap! [Frightenedly.] I better beat it quick when I gits

dem notions. [He walks quickly into the clear spacethen stands transfixed as he sees JEFFin a terrified

gasp.] Who dar? Who dat? Is dat you, Jeff? [Starting toward the other, forgetful for a moment of his

surroundings and really believing it is a living man that he sees in a tone of happy relief.] Jeff! I'se sho'

mighty glad to see you! Dey tol' me you done died from dat razor cut I gives you. [Stopping suddenly,

bewilderedly.] But how you come to be heah, nigger? [He stares fascinatedly at the other who continues his

mechanica1play with the dice. JONES' eyes begin to roll wildly. He stutters.] Ain't you gwinelook upcan't

you speak to me? Is youis youa ha'nt? [He jerks out his revolver in a frenzy of terrified rage.] Nigger, I

kills you dead once. Has I got to kill you again? You take it den. [He fires. W hen the smoke clears away

JEFF has disappeared. JONES stands tremblingthen with a certain reassurance.] He's gone, anyway. Ha'nt

or no ha'nt, dat shot fix him. [The beat of the faroff tomtom is perceptibly louder and more rapid. JONES

becomes conscious of itwith a start, looking back over his shoulder.] Dey's gittin' near! Dey's comin' fast!

And heah I is shootin' shots to let 'em know jes' whar I is. Oh, Gorry, I'se got to run. [Forgetting the path he

SCENEEleven o'clock. In the forest. A wide dirt road runs diagonally from right, front, to left, rear. Rising

sheer on both sides the forest walls it in. The moon is now up. Under its light the road glimmers ghastly and

unreal. It is as if the forest had stood aside momentarily to let the road pass through and accomplish its veiled

purpose. This done, the forest will fold in upon itself again and the road will be no more.

JONES stumbles in from the forest on the right. His uniform is ragged and torn. He looks about him with

numbed surprise when he sees the road, his eyes blinking in the bright moonlight. He flops down exhaustedly

I'm meltin' wid heat! Runnin' an' runnin' an' runnin'! Damn dis heah coat! Like a straitjacket! [He tears off

his coat and flings it away from him, revealing himself stripped to the waist.] Dere! Dat's better! Now I kin

breathe! [Looking down at his feet, the spurs catch his eye.] And to hell wid dese highfangled spurs. Dey're

what's been atrippin' me up an' breakin' my neck. [He unstraps them and flings them away disgustedly.]

Dere! I gits rid o’ dem frippety Emperor trappin's an' I travels lighter. Lawd! I'se tired! [After a pause,

listening to the insistent beat of the tomtom in the distance.] I must 'a put some distance between myself an'

demrunnin' like datand yitdat damn drum sound jes' de samenearer, even. Well, I guess I a'most holds

my lead anyhow. Dey won't never catch up. [With a sigh.] If on'y my fool legs stands up. Oh, I'se sorry I

evah went in for dis. Dat Emperor job is sho' hard to shake. [He looks around him suspiciously.] How'd dis

road evah git heah? Good level road, too. I never remembers seein' it befo'. [Shaking his head

apprehensively.] Dese woods is sho' full o’ de queerest things at night. [With a sudden terror.] Lawd God,

don't let me see no more o’ dem ha'nts! Dey gits my goat! [Then trying to talk himself into confidence.]

Ha'nts! You fool nigger, dey ain't no such things! Don't de Baptist parson tell you dat many time? Is you

civilized, or is you like dese ign'rent black niggers heah? Sho'! Dat was all in yo' own head. Wasn't nothin'

dere. Wasn't no Jeff! Know what? You jus' ger seein' dem things 'cause yo' belly's empty and you's sick wid

hunger inside. Hunger 'fects yo' head and yo' eyes. Any fool know dat. [Then pleading fervently. J But bless

God, I don't come across no more o’ clem. whatever dey is! [Then cautiously.] Rest! Don't talk! Rest! You

needs it. Den you gits on yo' way again. [Looking at the moon.] Night's half gone a'most. You hits de coast in

[From the right forward a small gang of Negroes enter. They are dressed in striped convict suits, their heads

are shaven, one leg drags limpingly, shackled to a heavy ball and chain. Some carry Picks, the others shovels.

They are followed by a white man dressed in the uniform of a prison guard. A Winchester rifle is slung across

GUARD they stop on the road opposite where JONES is sitting. JONES, who has been staring up at the sky,

unmindful of their noiseless approach, suddenly looks down and sees them. His eyes pop out, he tries to get to

his feet and fly, but sinks back, too numbed by fright to move. His voice catches in a choking prayer.]

Lawd Jesus! [The PRISON GUARD cracks his whipnoiselesslyand at that signal all the convicts start to

work on the road. They swing their picks, they shovel, but not a sound comes from thcir labor. Their

movements, like those of JEFF in the preceding scene, are those of automatons,rigid, slow, and mechanical.

The PRISON GUARD points sternly at JONES with his whip, motions him to take his place among the other

shovelers. JONES gets to his feet in a hypnotized stupor. He mumbles subserviently.]

Yes, suh! Yes, suh! I'se comin'. [As he shuffles, dragging one foot, over to his place, he curses under his

[As if there were a shovel in his hands he goes through weary, mechanical gestures of digging up dirt, and

throwing it to the roadside. Suddenly the GUARD approaches him angrily, threateningly. He raises his whip

and lashes JONES viciously across the shoulders with it. JONES winces with pain and cowers abjectly. The

GUARD turns his back on him and walks away contemptuously. Instantly JONES straightens up. With arms

upraised as if his shovel were a club in his hands he springs murderously at the unsuspecting GUARD. In the

act of crashing down his shovel on the white man's skull, JONES suddenly becomes aware that his hands are

Whar's my shovel? Gimme my shovel till I splits his damn head! [Appealing to his fellow convicts.] Gimme a

GUARD seems to wait expectantly. his back turned to the attacker. JONES bellows with baffled, terrified

I kills you, you white debil, if it's de last thing I evah does! Ghost or debil, I kill you again!

[He frees the revolver and fires point blank at the GUARD'S back. Instantly the walls of the forest close in

from both sides, the road and the figures of the convict gang are blotted out in an enshrouding darkness. The

only sounds are a crashing in the underbrush as JONES leaps away in mad flight and the throbbing of the

tomtom, still far distant, but increased in volume of sound and rapidity of beat.]

SCENEOne o'clock. A large circular clearing, enclosed by the serried ranks of gigantic trunks of tall trees

whose tops are lost to view. In the center is a big dead stump worn by time into a curious resemblance to an

auction block. The moon floods the clearing with a clear light. JONES forces his way in through the forest on

the left. He looks wildly about the clearing with hunted, fearful glances. His pants are in tatters, his shoes cut

and misshapen, flapping about his feet. He slinks cautiously to the stump in the center and sits down in a

tense position, ready for instant flight. Then he holds his head in his hands and rocks back and forth,

Oh Lawd, Lawd! Oh Lawd, Lawd! [Suddenly be throws himself on his knees and raises his clasped hands to

the skyin a voice of agonized pleading.] Lawd Jesus, heah my prayer! I'se a po' sinner, a po' sinner! I knows

I done wrong, I knows it! When I cotches Jeff cheatin' wid loaded dice my anger overcomes me and I kills

him dead! Lawd, I done wrong! When dat guard hits me wid de whip, my anger overcomes me, and I kills

him dead. Lawd, I done wrong! And down heah whar dese fool bush niggers raised me up to the seat o’ de

mighty, I steals all I could grab. Lawd, I done wrong! I knows it! I'se sorry! Forgive me, Lawd! Forgive dis

po' sinner! [Then beseeching terrifiedly.] And keep dem away, Lawd! Keep dem away from me! And stop

dat drum soundin' in my ears! Dat begin to sound ha'nted, too. [He gets to his feet, evidently slightly

reassured by his prayerwith attempted confidence.] De Lawd'll preserve me from dem ha'nts after dis. [Sits

down on the stump again.] I ain't skeered o’ real men. Let dem come. But dem odders...[He shudders then

looks down at his feet, working his toes inside the shoeswith a groan.] Oh, my po' feet! Dem shoes ain't no

use no more 'ceptin' to hurt. I'se better off widout dem. [He unlaces them and pulls them offholds the wrecks

of the shoes in his hands and regards them mournfuiiy.] You was real, Aone patin' leather, too. Look at you

[He sits dejectedly and remains with bowed shoulders, staring down at the shoes in his hand as if reluctant to

throw them away. While his attention is thus occupied, a crowd of figures silently enter the clearing from all

are dressed in Southern costumes of the period of the fifties of the last century. There are middleaged men

who are evidently welltodo planters. There is one spruce, authoritative individualthe AUCTIONEER.

There is a crowd of curious spectators, chiefly young belles and dandies who have come to the slavemarket

for diversion. All exchange courtly greetings in dumb show and chat silently together. There is something

stiff, rigid, unreal, marionettish about their movements. They group themselves about the stump. Finally a

batch of slaves are led in from the left by an attendantthree men of different ages, two women, one with a

baby in her arms, nursing. They are placed to the left of the stump, beside JONES.

The white planters look them over appraisingly as if they were cattle, and exchange judgments on each. The

dandies point with their fingers and make witty remarks. The belles titter bewitchingly. All this in silence

AUCTIONEER holds up his hand, taking his place at the stump. The group strain forward attentively. He

touches JONES on the shoulder peremptorily, motioning for him to stand on the stumpthe auction block.

JONES looks up, sees the figures on all sides, looks wildly for some opening to escape, sees none, screams

and leaps madly to the top of the stump to get as far away from them as possible. He stands there, cowering,

paralyzed with horror. The AUCTIONEER begins his silent spiel. He points to JONES, appeals to the

planters to see for themselves. Here is a good field hand, sound in wind and limb as they can see. Very strong

still in spite of his being middleaged. Look at that back. Look at those shoulders. Look at the muscles in his

arms and his sturdy legs. Capable of any amount of hard labor. Moreover, of a good disposition, intelligent

and tractable. Will any gentleman start the bidding? The PLANTERS raise their fingers, make their bids.

They are apparently all eager to possess JONES. The bidding is lively, the crowd interested. W hile this has

been going on, JONES has been seized by the courage of desperation. He dares to look down and around

him. Over his face abject terror gives way to mystification, to gradual realizationstutteringly.]

What you all doin', white folks? What's all dis? What you all lookin' at me .fo’? What you doin' wid me,

anyhow? [Suddenly convulsed with raging hatred and fear.] Is dis a auction? Is you sellin' me like dey uster

befo' de war? [Jerking out his revolver just as the AUCTIONEER knocks him down to one of the

plantersglaring from him to the purchaser.] And you sells me? And you buys me? I shows you I'se a free

nigger, damn yo' souls! [He fires at the AUCTIONEER and at the PLANTER with such rapidity that the two

shots are almost simultaneous. As if this were a signal the walls of the forest fold in. Only blackness remains

and silence broken by JONES as he rushes off, crying with fearand by the quickened, ever louder beat of

SCENEThree o'clock. A cleared space in the forest. The limbs of the trees meet over it forming a low

ceiling about five feet from the ground. The interlocked ropes of creepers reaching upward to entwine the tree

trunks give an arched appearance to the sides. The space thus enclosed is like the dark, noisome hold of some

ancient vessel. The moonlight is almost completely shut out and only a vague, wan light filters through.

There is the noise of someone approaching from the left, stumbling and crawling through the undergrowth.

Oh, Lawd, what I gwine do now? Ain't got no bullet left on'y de silver one. If mo' o’ dem ha'nts come after

me, how I gwine skeer dem away? Oh, Lawd, on'y de silver one leftan' I gotta save dat fo' luck. If I shoots

dat one I'm a goner sho'! Lawd, it's black heah! Whar's de moon? Oh, Lawd, don't dis night evah come to an

end? [By the sounds, he is feeling his way cautiously forward.] Dere! Dis feels like a clear space. I gotta lie

[He is 'lvell forward now where his figure can be dimly made out. His pants have been so torn away that what

is left of them is no better than a breech cloth. He flings himself full length, face downward on the ground,

panting with exhaustion. Gradually it seems to grow lighter in the enclosed space and two rows of seated

JONES. They are sitting in crumpled, despairing attitudes, hunched, facing one another with their backs

touching the forest walls as if they were shackled to them. All are Negroes, naked save for loin cloths. At first

they are silent and motionless. Then they begin to sway slowly forward toward each other and back again in

unison, as if they were laxly letting themselves follow the long roll of a ship at sea. At the same time, a low,

melancholy murmur rises among them, increasing gradually by rhythmic degrees which seem to be directed

and controlled by the throb of the tomtom in the distance, to a long, tremulous wail of despair that reaches

a certain pitch, unbearably acute, then falls by slow gradations of tone into silence and is taken up again.

JONES starts, looks up, sees the figures, and throws himself down again to shut out the sight. A shudder of

terror shakes his whole body as the wail rises up about him again. But the next time, his voice, as if under

some uncanny compulsion, starts with the others. As their chorus lifts he rises to a sitting posture similar to

the others, swaying back and forth. His voice reaches the highest pitch of sorrow, of desolation. The light

fades out, the other voices cease, and only darkness is left. JONES can be heard scrambling to his feet and

running off, his voice sinking down the scale and receding as he moves farther and farther away in the forest.

SCENEFive o'clock. The foot of a gigantic tree by, the edge of a great river. A rough structure of boulders,

like an altar, is by the tree. The raised river bank is in the nearer background. Beyond this the surface of the

river spreads out, brilliant and unruffled in the moonlight, blotted out and merged into a veil of bluish mist in

the distance. JONES' voice is heard from the left rising and falling in the long, despairing wail of the chained

slaves, to the rhythmic beat of the tomtom. As his voice sinks into silence, he enters the open space. The

expression of his face is fixed and stony, his eyes have an obsessed glare, he moves with a strange

deliberation like a sleepwalker or one in a trance. He looks around at the tree, the rough stone altar, the

moonlit surface of the river beyond, and passes his hand over his head with a vague gesture of puzzled

bewilderment. Then, as if in obedience to some obscure impulse, he sinks into a kneeling, devotional posture

before the altar. Then he seems to come to himself partly, to have an uncertain realization of what he is

doing, for he straightens up and stares about him horrifiedlyin an incoherent mumble .

Whatwhat is I doin'? What isdis place? Seems likeseems like I know dat treean’ dem stonesan' de

river. I rememberseems like I been heah befo'. [Tremblingly.] Oh, Gorry, I'se skeered in dis place! I'se

[Crawling away from the altar, he cowers close to the ground, his face hidden, his shoulders heaving with

sobs of hysterical fright. From behind the trunk of the tree, as if he had sprung out of it, the figure of the

CONGO WITCHDOCTOR appears. He is wizened and old, naked except for the fur of some small animal

tied about his waist, its bushy tail hanging down in front. His body is stained all over a bright red. Antelope

horns are on each side of his head, branching upward. In one hand he carries a bone rattle, in the other a

charm stick with a bunch of white cockatoo feathers tied to the end. A great number of glass beads and bone

ornaments are about his neck, ears, wrists, and ankles. He struts noiselessly with a queer prancing step to a

position in the clear ground between JONES and the altar. Then with a preliminary, summoning stamp of his

foot on the earth, he begins to dance and to chant. As if in response to his summons the beating of the

tomtom grows to a fierce, exultant boom whose throbs seem to fill the air with vibrating rhythm. JONES

looks up, starts to spring to his feet, reaches a halfkneeling, halfsquatting position and remains rigidly

fixed there, paralyzed with awed fascination by this new apparition. The WITCHDOCTOR sways, stamping

with his foot, his bone rattle clicking the time. His voice rises and falls in a weird, monotonous croon, without

articulate word divisions. Gradually his dance becomes clearly one of a narrative in pantomime, his croon is

an incantation, a charm to allay the fierceness of some implacable deity demanding sacrifice. He flees, he is

pursued by devils, he hides, he flees again. Ever wilder and wilder becomes his flight, nearer and nearer

draws the pursuing evil, more and more the spirit of terror gains possession of him. His croon, rising to

intensity, is punctuated by shrill cries. JONES has become completely hypnotized. His voice joins in the

incantation, in the cries, he beats time with his hands and sways his body to and fro from the waist. The

whole spirit and meaning of the 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 WITCHDOCTOR 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

WITCHDOCTOR 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 eyes, glittering greenly, fasten upon JONES. He stares into them fascinatedly. The

WITCHDOCTOR 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 WITCHDOCTOR'S voice shrills out in furious exultation, the tomtom beats madly.

Lawd, save me! Lawd Jesus, heah my prayer! [Immediately, in answer to his prayer, comes the thought of the

[He fires at the green eyes in front of him. The head of the crocodile sinks back behind the river bank, the

WITCHDOCTOR 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 tomtom fills the silence about him with a

SCENEDawn. Same as Scene Two, the dividing line of forest and plain. The nearest tree trunks are dimly

revealed but the forest behmd them is still a mass of glooming shadows. The tomtom 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 heavyset, apefaced 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 ragconcealed nakedness. All wear broad palmleaf hats. Each one carries a rifle.

SMITHERS is the same as in Scene Olte. 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

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 'is '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. [H e makes a motion to his soldiers who squat down on their

SMITHERS [Exasperatedly]: Well, ain't yet goin' in an' 'unt 'im in the woods? What the 'ell's the good of

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 followsin a contemptuous whisper]: You ain't thinkin' that would be 'im, I

LEM [Calmly]: We cotch him. SMITHERS: Blarsted fat 'eads! [Then after a second's

thoughtwonderingly.] Still an' all, it might 'appen. If 'e lost 'is bloody way in these stinkin' woods 'e'd likely

LEM [Peremptorily]: Sssh! [The reports of several rifles sound from the forest, followed a second later by

savage, exultant yells. The beating of the tomtom abruptly ceases. LEM looks up at the white man with a

LEM: Lead bullet no kill him. He got ‘um strong charm. I cook um money, make um silver bullet, make um

SMITHERS [Light breaking upon him]: So that's wot you was up to all night, wot? You was scared to put

SMITHERS [Slapping his thigh and guffawing]: Hawhaw! If yer don't beat all 'ell! [Then recovering

himselfscornfully.] I'll bet yer it ain't 'im they shot at all, yer bleedin' looney!

JONES' limp body. There is a little reddishpurpIe hole under his left breast. He is dead. They carry him to

LEM, who examines his body with great satisfaction. SMITHERS leans over his shoulderin a tone of

frightened awe.] Well, they did for yer right enough, Jonsey, me lad! Dead as a 'erring! [Mockingly.] Where's

yer 'igh an' mighty airs now, yer bloomin' Majesty? [Then with a grin.] Silver bullets! Gawd blimey, but yer

died in the 'eighth o’ style, any'ow! [LEM makes a motion to the soldiers to carry the body out left.

SMITHERS: And I s'pose you think it's yer blet:din' charms and yer silly beatin' the drum that made 'im run

in a circle when 'e'd lost 'imself, don't yer? [But LEM makes no reply, does not seem to hear the question,

walks out left after his men. SMITHERS looks after him with contemptuous scorn.] Stupid as 'ogs, thl' lot of'