The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. Ladies and gentlemen, here is a special announcement. Beginning next week, Monday, March 31st, our regular broadcast of the Cavalcade of America will come to you on Monday. Please consult your newspapers and radio logs for the station and local time to hear the broadcast. Among America's most brilliant authors is Herman Melville, whose novel, Moby Dick, has become a world classic. And we now bring you his story in Down to the Sea, an original radio drama written by Robert Tallman. Starring in the role of Herman Melville is William Johnstone of the Cavalcade Players. Our orchestra and the original musical score are under the direction of Don Voorhees. DuPont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, presents William Johnstone as Herman Melville on the Cavalcade of America. In New Bedford, Massachusetts, the year 1841, along a busy wharf lined by sailing vessels of America's far-flung Atlantic and China trade, three citizens, a matron, a young girl, and a young man in sailor's togs, are hurriedly making their way. Come along, Elizabeth, come along. Yes, mother. We must be getting there soon. What did you say the name of the ship was, Mr. Melville? The occultionate, ma'am. There she is now, Mrs. Shaw, just ahead. Oh, she's beautiful, Herman. She's really beautiful. But that smell, what's that smell, Mr. Melville? Well, you see, ma'am, she's a whaling ship. They cut up the whales on the deck to get the oil. Oh, don't say any more, Mr. Melville. Hear me, I can't understand why you didn't get a position somewhere. But don't you understand, mother? He wants to see the world. Oh, I'd love to be going myself on such a beautiful ship with blubber or whatever it is all over the deck. Tosh child. Oh, there you blithering blubber. You're shipping with us, huh? Who's that ruffian? Is he speaking to you, Mr. Melville? It's our captain, ma'am. Aye, sir. Coming lively, sir. Well, Elizabeth, this is goodbye. I'll be waiting for you, my dear. I hope you'll come back as Christian, Mr. Melville. Goodbye, ma'am. Bye, Elizabeth. Goodbye. Bye. Where are the lines, I say? Where's the mate? On the jump, all of you. Bring your eyes out. Push the top, push the top. I made it. Hi, lad. I'm Melville. I'm Newt. I was wondering about storing my kit here. Stay in the open whilst you can, lad. It stinks below. It stinks mightily. Oh. Toby's my name, lad. Stick close to me at first. Is this your first wheeling voyage? Aye. Then the Lord help you, lad. The Lord help you. Eight men are on my board. How about it? Eight men's there. Let me call the watch. Oh, what a night for snoozing. A bad chance for that. Lights in the old model's cabin. Did you see the buttons flying out of the portal? Who keep us awake, then? Melville, what's with you? I'm hungry. What about the rest of us? Since Lemur there hasn't been an operation, we're supposed to stop a tree code. What do you think? There's so few of us now. The desertion's important. The others? The dead ones? Yes, the dead ones. If I was ten years younger and of sound wind, I'd pray to meet Captain Valentine Peasor Shaw one day. I've sailed on rotten ships before. When you're after waves, you've got the rottenest job any seafaring man can tackle. No wailing vessels and excursion, but this. Remember the boy who got his leg crushed last trip out? Shorty? The little harpooner? What became of him, Toby? Peas put him in irons for jumping the boat. And he should have been in the hospital. Gangrene set in. The doctor was sick when he had a look at it. I tell you, there's one more flogging of suicide aboard. This ship is headed for Mutiny. And it won't be any gentleman's Mutiny. It'll be our bloody Mutiny, no mistake. Well, well, well. So it's Mutiny, you blithering fools are talking now, is it? Well, come on, Mutiny. Mutiny. Why, you scurvy lice couldn't run this tub from one marketer to the other. In my day, I was as good a navigator as they make them, Captain Peas. And I ran my ship without, well, why not call it by its name? It's murder. That's what it is. Mr. Laughlin, you see these boots of mine? I call these my sea legs. They have spikes in the heels for rough weather. And for old fools who talk too much. Mutiny, huh? Ha ha ha ha ha. Melville, Melville. Toby, what is it? Duck around here. What happened? The old fellow, he died after the flogging. Oh, the crew is going to mutiny out of the next port. What's the next port? No port, a cannibal island. Cannibals? The ship's taboo, they won't touch us. Oh, that's comforting. Look, I've got a plan. When the ship puts in, some of the natives and the women swarm on board. That's our chance. We grab one of their canoes and row round the point to a little cove, I know. It'll be easy to live on the island until another ship comes. But do you know any of their lingo? Yeah, a little. The chiefs and their families know some English from trading with the missionaries. All right, Toby, I'm with you. If we are caught, we'll be hanged, you know. I'd rather be hanged than live under the heel of Captain Pease. That's the old spirit. Here comes the mate. Keep a weather eye out, sailor. Aye, mate, that I will. MUSIC Another full moon. Ah, Melville, wonder if we'll ever get off this island. You don't see moons like this in New Bedford. Oh, I guess you don't. Well, I'm walking down to the village. You and Fairway coming along? No, you go on. We'll see you later on. Farewell. Good night, then. WHISTLING White man. Yes, Fairway? You are silent tonight. What are your thoughts, White man? Oh, I was wondering. How many times have I watched the full moon rise over that mountain, just like tonight? I have not count the moon since you come to Taipei, White man. For I fear everyone may be the last. Well, you can stop worrying, Fairway. I'm not going back. Not even if a ship comes tomorrow. You do not like your own tribe across the seas, White man? I hate it. I'm not used to it. But now, since I've seen this valley and the way your people live, without wars or strife of any kind, can you imagine a people who think of even their daily lives in terms of struggle? Struggle? I have not heard these words, White man. Well, it means... Well, just struggle. I don't know how to explain it. Look, White man, Mr. Toby, he's coming back, running. Melville, Melville, it's happened at last. Happened? What's happened, Toby? Speak up. Just heard. A ship, the Julia. Captain's friendly, needs a crew. Pack your kit, Melville. We're sailing out of here in the morning. You, uh... You mean you're sailing, Toby. I'm staying here. You're mad. I'm packing my kit and carrying out pronto. You'd better change your mind. You want to sail with him, don't you, White man? Why, leave Paradise of my own free will? Not me. In type, we say, he who enter Paradise must first cast his heart into the abyss. That is what I did when you come among us. Now I go in search of my heart again. But I'm not leaving, I tell you. Do not talk any more, White man. I give you my flowers for happy voyage. Goodbye. But sail away. Sail away. Well, Melville, it's goodbye, I guess. She left me, Toby. She went away. Well, Melville, she's wiser than you are. Well, I... Oh, you're right, Toby. I'm going with you. Tell the master that Julia will be signing on. Sit down, child. Stop fretting so. One would think you were expecting royalty instead of only Herman Melville. Mother, do you think he'll be changed much? Well, if it's done to his language, what it did to your uncle's, I shall leave the room. Mother, come here to the window. Is that he coming up the walk? Wait till I get my black. Oh, Mother, it is, it is. Gracious. Black is an aborigine, too. Sit down a little. Oh. Try to conceal your agitation a little. I'll answer the door. Well, Mr. Melville. Hello, Mrs. Shaw. Where's Elizabeth? Well, I like that. Darling, it is you. Elizabeth. Let me look at you, Elizabeth. Oh, a mighty, handsome wench you brought into the world, Mrs. Shaw. Oh, Herman, please. Tell me, Mr. Melville, have you decided to settle down and take a position somewhere? No, ma'am. I'm writing a book. It's about some cannibals I live with in the South Seas. Cannibals? Yes. As a matter of fact, Harpers have already agreed to publish it. Harpers? Publishing a book about cannibals? What's the world coming to? But you are right, Mr. Melville. I have in mind to write something on whaling. Then I hope you'll say something about the quality of the whale oil we're getting nowadays. The last we got in quite smoked up my best beaded lampshade. And when you think of the prices they... Madam, you haven't got the price of a pint of whale oil. What? No. Not you, nor anyone else of your kind. Because the price of a pint of whale oil is blood and agony and human lives. And courage. And the kind of human dignity you wouldn't understand. Mr. Melville! I shock you, do I? Well, maybe you'd like to hear about a boy of 17 with a gangrene leg amputated without chloroform so you can light your stuffy houses and complain because it's smoked up your best beaded lampshade. Maybe you'd like to hear about... Mr. Melville, you've said quite enough. I can't remain in the room and be insulted in this manner. Good day, Mr. Melville. Come, Elizabeth. Elizabeth! I'm not coming with you, Mother. What's that? I'm not coming with you. I'm going with Mr. Melville. If you'll have me. Elizabeth! Elizabeth! What is it, darling? What is it? The reviews of a new book. They've just come. Oh, what do they say? They like it. Harp was already getting out a new edition and he's offered me a new contract. Oh, thank heaven. Now we can pay off a few bills. Tell me about the contract, Herman. Well, it's not as grand as the other one. We may have to draw in a bit of sale. But I thought you said... Well, darling, you see, it's this way. If I wanted to go on writing South Sea stories, why, I could sell them, of course. But I want to write something bigger than an adventure story. But we have to eat, Herman. And the children... Well, then let's go to the farm. If worse comes to worse, I've got my health. I can work on the farm and write at night. Oh, Elizabeth, believe me. I've got to write this book. I've got to. Well, Herman, you must do what you must do. But I won't say yes. I won't say no, mind you. But be careful. Do be careful. Careful? Sailing with the wind and not a patch of foam in sight? Oh, Elizabeth, steady at the helm, girls. Steady at the helm. The The The The The The Oh, there. Whoa. Good morning, Mrs. Melville. Oh, Mr. Harper. We didn't expect you quite so soon. Well, I thought I'd never get here over these roads. People certainly have tucked yourselves away up here. Yes. I'm afraid we've done just that. And your husband about? He was over in the field there plowing. Oh, he's... he's seen you. He's coming over the stile there. I'll leave you with him, Mr. Harper. I do wish you'd talk to him about moving back to town. His health won't stand much more of this, you know. I'll do my best, Mrs. Melville. Mr. Harper, have you got the proofs? Where are the proofs? Let me see the proofs. The first half of Moby Dick. And I've brought you a small check. Not much, but the best I could do under the circumstances. Moby Dick. Or the White Whale. Nice looking title page, Mr. Harper. I'm glad you like it. I certainly do. In his chapter one, call me Ishmael. Some years ago, never mind how long ago. Wait a minute. Don't start reading proof this minute. Something I must talk to you about. Your wife tells me you're not in the best of health. What will another year and a half of this strain doing manual labor all day and writing all night do? What will it bring you? The greatest satisfaction of my life. If I can finish Moby Dick. Melville, unless you want this to be your last book, you'd better come down to New York. Turn out a few things we know we can sell, and... then come back to Moby Dick. No. No, I couldn't. I've put everything I've got into this book. Oh, look, Mr. Harper. You... you don't think it won't sell? Frankly, I'm afraid it won't. It's good, but I'm afraid it will have a limited appeal. Think over what I said, Melville. I will, Mr. Harper. But my answer won't be any different. Well, I can't stop and persuade you now, because I'm due at the Hawthorns. Good luck anyway, and send those proofs along when you can. All right, Mr. Harper. Goodbye. Goodbye, sir. Well, Herman, what did he say? He wants me to stop work on Moby Dick and write another South Sea book. Will he give us an advance? I'm not going to do it. Listen, Elizabeth, this book is like a devouring spirit inside of me that I've got to release. When it's finished, I promise you, I'll go back to New York and write the other things for the rest of my life. I promise. You made a promise to me when we were married, Herman Melville. When we had children, you made another promise. Not a spoken promise, but a promise. To look after your family to the best of your ability. Your promises don't mean anything to me anymore. Oh, it's you. What a house. What an exemplary household, Elizabeth. Beaded lampshades. Tell me, madam, do you find they smoke less with this new coal oil than your poor mothers did with the evil oozings of the whale? Neither I nor my daughter are amused with your attempts at humor, Mr. Melville. I apologize. May I offer you a glass of port, ladies? Or will you take Claret in the office's mess? Oh, mother, will you make him stop? Really, Herman, you should be ashamed. Bringing wine into the house when your own daughter hasn't a stitch to put on her back. No clues. Now, that is shocking. And why? Because we're on East 26th Street on the island of Manhattan. I do believe modesty is a matter of climate. Now, take the island of Taipi... No, thank you. I took the island of Taipi once, for better or for worse. That's the trouble with marrying a writer. You marry his work, too. You sailed to Taipi, and then were shipwrecked by Moby Dick. It's fate. Fate? It's your obscenity, you mean? I warned you against spending so much time on a book that was doomed to failure from the start. What? I told you... Very well. Very well. Now, tell me how to unwrite Moby Dick, and all will be well. Well, the least you can do is try and get a position somewhere. Position? I seem to have heard those words before somewhere. Long, long time ago. Position. Very well, Elizabeth. For once, I shall take your advice. I'll get a position. A grand position. Something to make you proud of me. Something where I, uh... I wear a grand uniform, maybe. I know. A customs inspector. How would you like that, Elizabeth? A grand uniform. Any old papers, please? I thought I had them in his pocket. I must have left them in this small box. May I look, please? I'm afraid this is rather a mess. I keep all sorts of things, my own manuscripts, baggage invoices, and... a few books I'm extra fond of. I'd like to have them handy. You're a writer? Yes, as a matter of fact, this is my first trip to America. I took you for a writer by the cut of your giblet. I took you for a seafaring man. I was once. Shipped on a whaler. Had a new bed with me. I'm afraid that was considerably before your time. I know about whaling, though. I'm a great fancier of your great American writer, Herman Melville. You see? See? Here's one of the books I was telling you about, Moby Dick. Have you ever read it? Yes. Yes, I've read it. Now whoever do so. Oh, here's the blasted thing. I thought you wanted to have a look over my papers. Oh, yes, yes. They seem to be all in order. Oh, thank you. And by the way, I'd like to have a talk with you sometime about this whaling business. Here's my card. Russell's my name. May I ask your, sir? Call me Ishmael. You're... Herman Melville. Oh, you're not. I'm afraid so, then. But you're one of the greatest writers in the English language. What are you doing here? Why? Why? Hand me that book, land. What I want to say, I've said already, and here it is. I'll read it. This august dignity that I treat of is not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity in the arm that wields a pick or drives a spike, that democratic dignity, which on all hands radiates without end from the center and circumference of all democracy. If, then, to meanest mariners and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark, weave around them tragic graces, if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts, if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light, if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun, then against all mortal critics, bear me out in it, thou just spirit of equality, which has spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind. The Cavalcade of America thanks William Johnstone and the Cavalcade players for their performance of Down to the Sea, the story of Herman Melville. And now DuPont brings you news of chemistry at work in our world. When you've seen one green field, remarks Samuel Johnson, you've seen them all. Old Samuel was also the man you may remember who said there was nothing in the theory of matter when he stubbed his toe on a stone. The old cross patch was wrong on both counts. The farmer's green fields are undergoing tremendous far-reaching changes. The Seventh Annual Conference of the National Farm Commergic Council meeting in Chicago is most significant at this time because it calls attention to a new stage in the evolution of the farm, the growing of raw materials for industry. The chemist has become the farmer's partner in production. No longer does he merely act as assistant, supplying the man in the field with explosives for stump removal with fertilizers, weed killers, and insecticides. Today farmer and chemist work hand in hand, turning crops into hundreds of things that you and I use every day. Take two ordinary farm products, corn and cotton. What do we do with corn and cotton today? Corn yields cornstarch, and from cornstarch the chemist makes butyl alcohol. Butyl alcohol is a solvent used in fine lacquers that protect wood and metal. It goes into paper, too, into automobile finishes, even into nail polish. Cotton and wood are sources of cellulose, from which we get cellophane cellulose film, Duco finishes, pyrrolein and plasticine cellulose plastics, motion picture and X-ray films, rayon yarn, cellulose sponges, tontine washable window shade material, table cloths that can be cleaned with a damp sponge, and the cello-sealed cellulose bands that seal bottles and jars. From cellulose comes the fabricoid peroxilin-coated fabric that goes into waterproof book bindings, ladies handbags, upholstery, even gold and silver evening slippers. Samuel Johnson, who went by the evidence of his big toe, would have found it hard to believe that fluffy cotton could end up in a dancing slipper on a ballroom floor or in a windshield for an airplane. Forty-seven hundred years ago, the Chinese emperor Shen Neng praised a vegetable called by the Chinese the little honorable plant. We call it the soybean, and an honorable plant it is. To get the oil out of the soybeans economically, it was first necessary to find a solvent that would drink it up almost to the last drop. DuPont chemists found the solvent in trichlorethylene. How did they make trichlorethylene? Out of common salt. In other words, they had to manufacture one compound out of another in order to get still a third compound. Last year, over 156 million pounds of soybean oil went into paints and other products, thanks to the modern partnership between farmer and chemist. Wheeler Macmillan, president of the National Farm Commergy Council, says, from the standpoint of national security, the clear objective of research should be the production from domestic sources of every item essential to our national welfare. The farmer and chemist together provide a potential source of self-sufficiency for America. This goal, the welfare of our country, the DuPont chemists have ever recognized as an important part of the pledge, better things for better living through chemistry. And now Ted Joyt of the Cavalcade players to tell you about next week's program. Next Monday, March 31st, the Cavalcade of America presents Paul Muny. You have seen his great characterizations in the theater and on the screen. On our broadcast next Monday, you will hear him in the role of one of the greatest actors in the history of the American theater, Edwin Booth. So that you will not miss Paul Muny's performance on the Cavalcade of America, may we again remind you that beginning next week, our broadcast comes to you on Mondays. Please consult your newspapers and radio logs for the station and time of the broadcast. Thank you. On the Cavalcade of America, your announcer is Clayton Collier, sending best wishes from DuPont. Applause This is the National Broadcasting Company.
