Scene I.—PORT ST. JULIAN, PATAGONIA.
Rugged rocks of the coast. Small plain with scanty vegetation. Black snow-clad hills around. Gibbets and gallows, with skeletons suspended to them, the remains of Magellan’s sailors executed for mutiny. Doughty, with Fletcher the Chaplain, sitting on a rock. Doughty pensive and melancholy looks down upon the ground.
Enter Drake, Winter, and the other members of the Court Martial with crews of the different vessels. They range themselves in order.
Captain Winter holding a paper, is about to read the sentence.
Doughty (starting up with energy and emotion). You need not read! (surprise on all) already sentence is pronounced. Conscience in her own court—Herself the judge—who only knows the deep-dyed guilt of dark sedition, hath decreed my doom! (Abruptly). You’ll bear me witness! I die thus self-condemned. I dare not live! Life would be a Hell! where worms unseen, the viper tooth of fell remorse would ceaseless gnaw the ever waking mind. I could not face my country brave men’s contempt, the multitudes ferocious scowl. Death is my sole relief and refuge. Thus would I whet your vengeance, or your justice. I have conspired your ruin, worse than death, to foil your project, give you up to Spain—(Great excitement and indignation). To fire and faggot, tortures inflicted on the brave before you! the Cadiz galleys, dungeons of Seville—burnings in the plazas of Mexico and Madrid—the yelling crowd—the vengeful monks gloating over the writhings of your agony. In self defence you have the right to slay me! Sentence is idle form. Self doomed I choose to die: I only ask that unrecorded I may pass away, and Silence be my epitaph! (a conference between Drake and Winter aside)
Winter (turning to Doughty). Thus then let it be. To morrow we have fixed for execution.
Crew. So say we all!
Winter. Till then, Mr. Fletcher, he is in your charge. The task of preparation for his end be thine. (Exeunt the court.)
Doughty. Here my life must end, where I thought it had but well begun! Ambition’s bright mirage with hope deceitful lured. Its distant plains glowed in the sunshine of a feigned success. Success!—by what instruments? The base, the dastards—traitors to treason’s self.—The means? Murder of brave companions, with whom I vowed to live or die. Dethronement of a noble Queen, to whom I swore allegiance. For what end? To set a foreign tyrant on her throne—thus to enslave my country, which I love. Foul! Faithless! Traitor! (he rushes about in distraction, beating his head with his fists). Crime against nature!—against God!—’gainst England—’gainst myself!—for I am, or was, an Englishman! Reason! Judgement! Honour! Great nature’s guardians of the heart and conduct. Where were you, when I was tempted thus? Like drunken sentinels—deserters from your duly when needed most. Oh guilt! beyond all law to constitute a crime, or court to punish! (writhing under remorse, looking upward) Doughty, I try you here. (Striking his heart.) Thou shall not live—Doughty decrees your death! Could I but die outright, and leave no name! (he looks at the dismal prospect distractedly) Place—suggestive of eternal death!—Where life itself in cold obstruction!—Icy apathy!—Ye rugged rocks, and snow-clad hills, bleak, barren plains—where nature sleeps in frost. Waste, howling, wilderness—a living tomb! Huge walls of mountain—strange birds—strange beasts—wild men, more savage still, than the sterility that bounds their lives. Ye savage winds—fierce angry gusts to howl one’s requiem. All looks like silence and forgetfulness! (his eye catches sight of the skeletons) Hah! Magellan’s Traitors! There swing your mouldering bones. Fit place for execution. Ye paid your debt. Would the penalty had blotted treason from the world! Now, death, I welcome thee! (He takes a bottle from his bosom—holds it up—drinks the contents and throws the bottle away. The Chaplain rushes forward to arrest his hand.) Fletcher, I was prepared for this. Who plots should count the cost. So perish treason! The tyrant’s tool—the curse of liberty—that foils the patriot in his hour of might!—And. This poison’s quick!—Fletcher, thou art my friend! (He looks at him imploringly.) You’ll see me decently interred and let my crime be buried with my bones. England thou art avenged. Be free and happy! (He begins to stagger—Fletcher supports him.) Friend—the end is near.—Oh! I have much to say; and speech deserts me! (He totters.) I—I—(he sinks down holding Fletcher—and making an effort to speak dies—.)
Scene changes.