CAPTAIN Doubtful it stood,
As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonald–
Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him–from the Western Isles
Of kerns and galloglasses is supplied,
And Fortune on his damnèd quarrel smiling
Showed like a rebel’s whore. (1.2.7-15)
He may be an officer, but this is a fighting man, unfiltered, vivid, properly visceral. It was touch and go, could have gone either way—doubtful it stood, he begins. The fighters (perhaps not even quite armies?) were both exhausted, in a kind of stalemate, like two spent swimmers, so shattered that they cling together, unable to let go, but in so doing choke their art, pull each other under, each preventing the other from getting their way, making their stratagem work. Choke is brilliant here, that momentary sensation of hands at the throat. (This is a play that, again and again, takes things into the body.) Finally a name: Macdonald’s the rebel, leading this revolt, and he’s certainly worthy of that name: the multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him, as if bad qualities, vices, evil are like insects, have a kind of agency, are generative, beget more villainies, which Macdonald is, in his rebellion, entertaining and encouraging. An image of something unnatural, not entirely in control. And he’s merciless; this is a fight to the death, and not a clean one either, by the sound of it. Those insidious, moralised swarms are implicitly identified with Macdonald’s mercenaries: he’s had to pay men to fight for him (this isn’t a popular rebellion, let alone a just cause)—and not just any men, but kerns and gallowglasses, from the Hebrides (the Western Isles) and, even more, from Ireland. Wild men, quite literally outside the pale. Despite that (perhaps because of that; there’s no justice) Macdonald’s winning, and all the luck seems to be on his side. Fortune is smiling on his damnèd quarrel, damned not simply as an intensifier, but as a marker of the infernal: rebellion is the devil’s work, this quarrel is hellish, damned. Fortune, as it were, goes both ways, and is promiscuous with her favours—but for the moment, the whore, she’s favouring the rebel.
The Captain’s role is tiny, but he’s setting up so much. The desperation of rebellion, and treachery. Bodies. Swarming things. Unnaturalness. Hell. And the power of women.
