KEENEY (_scornfully_). And d' you s'pose any of 'em would believe
that--any o' them skippers I've beaten voyage after voyage? Can't
you hear 'em laughin' and sneerin'--Tibbots 'n' Harris 'n' Simms
and the rest--and all o' Homeport makin' fun o' me? "Dave Keeney
what boasts he's the best whalin' skipper out o' Homeport comin'
back with a measly four hundred barrel of ile?" (_The thought of
this drives him into a frenzy, and he smashes his fist down on
the marble top of the sideboard._) Hell! I got to git the ile, I
tell you. How could I figger on this ice? It's never been so bad
before in the thirty year I been a-comin' here. And now it's
breakin'up. In a couple o'days it'll be all gone. And they's
whale here, plenty of 'em. I know they is and I ain't never gone
wrong yit. I got to git the ile! I got to git it in spite of all
hell, and by God, I ain't a-goin' home till I do git it!
(_There is the sound of subdued sobbing from the door in rear. The
two men stand silent for a moment, listening. Then_ KEENEY _goes
over to the door and looks in. He hesitates for a moment as if he
were going to enter--then closes the door softly._ JOE, _the
harpooner, an enormous six-footer with a battered, ugly face,
enters from right and stands waiting for the captain to notice
him._)
KEENEY (_turning and seeing him_). Don't be standin' there like a
gawk, Harpooner. Speak up!
JOE (_confusedly_). We want--the men, sir--they want send a
depitation aft to have a word with you.
KEENEY (_furiously_). Tell 'em to go to--(_checks himself and
continues grimly_) Tell'em to come. I'll see'em.
JOE. Aye, aye, sir.
(_He goes out._)
KEENEY (_with a grim smile_). Here it comes, the trouble you spoke
of, Mr. Slocum, and we'll make short shift of it. It's better to
crush such things at the start than let them make headway.
MATE (_worriedly_). Shall I wake up the First and Fourth, sir? We
might need their help.
KEENEY. No, let them sleep. I'm well able to handle this alone,
Mr. Slocum.
(_There is the shuffling of footsteps from outside and five of the
crew crowd into the cabin, led by_ JOE. _All are dressed
alike--sweaters, sea-boots, etc. They glance uneasily at the_
CAPTAIN, _twirling their fur caps in their hands._)
KEENEY (_after a pause_). Well? Who's to speak fur ye?
JOE (_stepping forward with an air of bravado_). I be.
KEENEY (_eyeing him up and down coldly_). So you be. Then speak
your say and be quick about it.
JOE (_trying not to wilt before the CAPTAIN'S glance and avoiding
his eyes_). The time we signed up for is done to-day.
KEENEY (_icily_). You're tellin' me nothin' I don't know.
JOE. You ain't p'intin' fur home yit, far's we kin see.
KEENEY. No, and I ain't agoin' to till this ship is full of ile.
JOE. You can't go no further no'the with the ice afore ye.
KEENEY. The ice is breaking up.
JOB (_after a slight pause during which the others mumble angrily
to one another_). The grub we're gittin' now is rotten.
KEENEY. It's good enough fur ye. Better men than ye are have
eaten worse.
(_There is a chorus of angry exclamations from the crowd._)
JOE (_encouraged by this support_). We ain'ta-goin' to work no more
'less you puts back fur home.
KEENEY (_fiercely_). You ain't, ain't you?
JOE. No; and the law courts 'll say we was right.
KEENEY. To hell with your law courts! We're at sea now and I'm
the law on this ship. (_Edging up toward the harpooner._) And every
mother's son of you what don't obey orders goes in irons.
(_There are more angry exclamations from the crew._ MRS. KEENEY
_appears in the doorway in rear and looks on with startled eyes.
None of the men notices her._)
JOE (_with bravado_). Then we're a-goin' to mutiny and take the
old hooker home ourselves. Ain't we, boys?
(_As he turns his head to look at the others_, KEENEY'S _fist
shoots out to the side of his jaw._ JOE _goes down in a heap and
lies there._ MRS. KEENEY _gives a shriek and hides her face in
her hands. The men pull out their sheath knives and start a rush,
but stop when they find themselves confronted by the revolvers
of_ KEENEY _and the_ MATE.)
KEENEY (_his eyes and voice snapping_). Hold still! (_The men
stand huddled together in a sullen silence._ KEENEY'S _voice is
full of mockery._) You've found out it ain't safe to mutiny on
this ship, ain't you? And now git for'ard where ye belong, and
(_he gives_ JOE'S _body a contemptuous kick_) drag him with you.
And remember, the first man of ye I see shirkin' I'll shoot dead
as sure as there's a sea under us, and you can tell the rest the
same. Git for'ard now! Quick! (_The men leave in cowed silence,
carrying_ JOE _with them._ KEENEY _turns to the_ MATE _with a
short laugh and puts his revolver back in his pocket._) Best get
up on deck, Mr. Slocum, and see to it they don't try none of
their skulkin' tricks. We'll have to keep an eye peeled from now
on. I know 'em.
MATE. Yes, sir.
(_He goes out, right._ KEENEY _hears his wife's hysterical
weeping and turns around in surprise--then walks slowly to her
side._)
KEENEY (_putting an arm around her shoulder--with gruff
tenderness_). There, there, Annie. Don't be afeard. It's all past
and gone.
MRS. KEENEY (_shrinking away from, him_). Oh, I can't bear it! I
can't bear it any longer!
KEENEY (_gently_). Can't bear what, Annie?
MRS. KEENEY (_hysterically_). All this horrible brutality, and
these brutes of men, and this terrible ship, and this prison cell
of a room, and the ice all around, and the silence.
(_After this outburst she calms down and wipes her eyes with her
handkerchief._)
KEENEY (_after a pause during which he looks down at her with a
puzzled frown_). Remember, I warn't hankerin' to have you come on
this voyage, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. I wanted to be with you, David, don't you see? I
didn't want to wait back there in the house all alone as I've
been doing these last six years since we were married--waiting,
and watching, and fearing--with nothing to keep my mind
occupied--not able to go back teaching school on account of being
Dave Keeney's wife. I used to dream of sailing on the great,
wide, glorious ocean. I wanted to be by your side in the danger
and vigorous life of it all. I wanted to see you the hero they
make you out to be in Homeport. And instead--(_her voice grows
tremulous_) all I find is ice--and cold--and brutality!
(_Her voice breaks._)
KEENEY. I warned you what it'd be, Annie. "Whalin' ain't no
ladies' tea party," I says to you, "and you better stay to home
where you've got all your woman's comforts." (_Shaking his head_)
But you was so set on it.
MRS. KEENEY (_wearily_). Oh, I know it isn't your fault, David. You
see, I didn't believe you. I guess I was dreaming about the old
Vikings in the story-books and I thought you were one of them.
KEENEY (_protestingly_). I done my best to make it as cozy and
comfortable as could be. (MRS. KEENEY _looks around her in wild
scorn._) I even sent to the city for that organ for ye, thinkin'
it might be soothin' to ye to be playin' it times when they was
calms and things was dull like.
MRS. KEENEY (_wearily_). Yes, you were very kind, David. I know
that. (_She goes to left and lifts the curtains from the porthole
and looks out--then suddenly bursts forth._) I won't stand it--I
can't stand it--pent up by these walls like a prisoner. (_She runs
over to him and throws her arms around him, weeping. He puts his
arm protectingly over her shoulders._) Take me away from here,
David! If I don't get away from here, out of this terrible ship,
I'll go mad! Take me home, David! I can't think any more. I feel
as if the cold and the silence were crushing down on my brain.
I'm afraid. Take me home!
KEENEY (_holds her at arm's length and looks at her face
anxiously_). Best go to bed, Annie. You ain't yourself. You got
fever. Your eyes look so strange like. I ain't never seen you
look this way before.
MRS. KEENEY (_laughing hysterically_). It's the ice and the cold
and the silence--they'd make anyone look strange.
KEENEY (_soothingly_). In a month or two, with good luck, three at
the most, I'll have her filled with ile and then we'll give her
everything she'll stand and p'int for home.
MRS. KEENEY. But we can't wait for that--I can't wait. I want to
get home. And the men won't wait. They want to get home. It's
cruel, it's brutal for you to keep them. You must sail back.
You've got no excuse. There's clear water to the south now. If
you've a heart at all, you've got to turn back.
KEENEY (_harshly_). I can't, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. Why can't you?
KEENEY. A woman couldn't rightly understand my reason.
MRS. KEENEY (_wildly_). Because it's a stupid, stubborn reason. Oh,
I heard you talking with the second mate. You're afraid the other
captains will sneer at you because you didn't come back with a
full ship. You want to live up to our silly reputation even if
you do have to beat and starve men and drive me mad to do it.
KEENEY (_his jaw set stubbornly_). It ain't that, Annie. Them
skippers would never dare sneer to my face. It ain't so much what
anyone'd say--but--(_He hesitates, struggling to express his
meaning._) You see--I've always done it--since my first voyage as
skipper. I always come back--with a full ship--and--it don't seem
right not to--somehow. I been always first whalin' skipper out o'
Homeport, and--Don't you see my meanin', Annie? (_He glances at
her. She is not looking at him but staring dully in front of her,
not hearing a word he is saying._) Annie! (_She comes to herself
with a start._) Best turn in, Annie, there's a good woman. You
ain't well.
MRS. KEENEY (_resisting his attempts to guide her to the door in
rear_). David! Won't you please turn back?
KEENEY (_gently_). I can't, Annie--not yet awhile. You don't see my
meanin'. I got to git the ile.
MRS. KEENEY. It'd be different if you needed the money, but you
don't. You've got more than plenty.
KEENEY (_impatiently_). It ain't the money I'm thinkin' of. D'you
think I'm as mean as that?
MRS. KEENEY (_dully_). No--I don't know--I can't
understand--(_Intensely_) Oh, I want to be home in the old house
once more and see my own kitchen again, and hear a woman's voice
talking to me and be able to talk to her. Two years! It seems so
long ago--as if I'd been dead and could never go back.
KEENEY (_worried by her strange tone and the far-away look in her
eyes_). Best go to bed, Annie. You ain't well.
MRS. KEENEY (_not appearing to hear him_). I used to be lonely when
you were away. I used to think Homeport was a stupid, monotonous
place. Then I used to go down on the beach, especially when it
was windy and the breakers were rolling in, and I'd dream of the
fine free life you must be leading. (_She gives a laugh which is
half a sob._) I used to love the sea then. (_She pauses; then
continues with slow intensity._) But now--I don't ever want to see
the sea again.
KEENEY (_thinking to humor her_). 'Tis no fit place for a woman,
that's sure. I was a fool to bring ye.
MRS. KEENEY (_after a pause--passing her hand over her eyes with a
gesture of pathetic weariness_). How long would it take us to
reach home--if we started now?
KEENEY (_frowning_). 'Bout two months, I reckon, Annie, with fair
luck.
MRS. KEENEY (_counts on her fingers--then murmurs with a rapt
smile_). That would be August, the latter part of August, wouldn't
it? It was on the twenty-fifth of August we were married, David,
wasn't it?
KEENEY (_trying to conceal the fact that her memories have moved
him--gruffly_). Don't you remember?
MRS. KEENEY (_vaguely--again passes her hand over her eyes_). My
memory is leaving me--up here in the ice. It was so long ago. (_A
pause--then she smiles dreamily._) It's June now. The lilacs will
be all in bloom in the front yard--and the climbing roses on the
trellis to the side of the house--they're budding.
(_She suddenly covers her face with her hands and commences to
sob._)
KEENEY (_disturbed_). Go in and rest, Annie. You're all wore out
cryin' over what can't be helped.
MRS. KEENEY (_suddenly throwing her arms around his neck and
clinging to him_). You love me, don't you, David?
KEENEY (_in amazed embarrassment at this outburst_) Love you? Why
d'you ask me such a question, Annie?
MRS. KEENEY (_shaking him--fiercely_). But you do, don't you,
David? Tell me!
KEENEY. I'm your husband, Annie, and you're my wife. Could there
be aught but love between us after all these years?
MRS. KEENEY (_shaking him again--still more fiercely_). Then you do
love me. Say it!
KEENEY (_simply_). I do, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. (_Gives a sigh of relief--her hands drop to her
sides._ KEENEY _regards her anxiously. She passes her hand across
her eyes and murmurs half to herself._) I sometimes think if we
could only have had a child. (KEENEY _turns away from her, deeply
moved. She grabs his arm and turns him around to face
her--intensely._) And I've always been a good wife to you,
haven't I, David?
KEENEY (_his voice betraying his emotion_). No man ever had a
better, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. And I've never asked for much from you, have I,
David? Have I?
KEENEY. You know you could have all I got the power to give ye,
Annie.
MRS. KEENEY (_wildly_). Then do this, this once, for my sake, for
God's sake--take me home! It's killing me, this life--the
brutality and cold and horror of it. I'm going mad. I can feel
the threat in the air. I can hear the silence threatening me--day
after gray day and every day the same. I can't bear it.
(_Sobbing._) I'll go mad, I know I will. Take me home, David, if
you love me as you say. I'm afraid. For the love of God, take me
home!
(_She throws her arms around him, weeping against his shoulder.
His face betrays the tremendous struggle going on within him. He
holds her out at arm's length, his expression softening. For a
moment his shoulders sag, he becomes old, his iron spirit weakens
as he looks at her tear-stained face._)
KEENEY (_dragging out the words with an effort_). I'll do it,
Annie--for your sake--if you say it's needful for ye.
MRS. KEENEY (_with wild joy--kissing him_). God bless you for that,
David!
(_He turns away from her silently and walks toward the
companionway. Just at that moment there is a clatter of footsteps
on the stairs and the_ SECOND MATE _enters the cabin._)
MATE (_excitedly_). The ice is breakin' up to no'th'rd, sir.
There's a clear passage through the floe, and clear water beyond,
the lookout says.
(KEENEY _straightens himself like a man coming out of a trance._
MRS. KEENEY _looks at the_ MATE _with terrified eyes._)
KEENEY (_dazedly--trying to collect his thoughts_). A clear
passage? To no'th'rd?
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY (_his voice suddenly grim with determination_). Then get her
ready and we'll drive her through.
MATE. Aye, aye, sir.
MRS. KEENEY (_appealingly_). David!
KEENEY (_not heeding her_). Will the men turn to willin' or must we
drag 'em out?
MATE. They 'll turn to willin' enough. You put the fear o' God
into 'em, sir. They're meek as lambs.
KEENEY. Then drive 'em--both watches. (_With grim determination_)
They's whale t' other side o' this floe and we're going to git
'em.
MATE. Aye, aye, sir.
(_He goes out hurriedly. A moment later there is the sound of
scuffing feet from the deck outside and the_ MATE'S _voice shouting
orders._)
KEENEY (_speaking aloud to himself--derisively_). And I was a-goin'
home like a yaller dog!
MRS. KEENEY (_imploringly_). David!
KEENEY (_sternly_). Woman, you ain't a-doin' right when you meddle
in men's business and weaken 'em. You can't know my feelin's. I
got to prove a man to be a good husband for ye to take pride in.
I got to git the ile, I tell ye.
MRS. KEENEY (_supplicatingly_). David! Aren't you going home?
KEENEY (_ignoring this question--commandingly_). You ain't well. Go
and lay down a mite. (_He starts for the door._) I got to git on
deck.
(_He goes out. She cries after him in anguish, "David!" A pause.
She passes her hand across her eyes--then commences to laugh
hysterically and goes to the organ. She sits down and starts to
play wildly an old hymn._ KEENEY _reënters from the doorway to the
deck and stands looking at her angrily. He comes over and grabs
her roughly by the shoulder._)
KEENEY. Woman, what foolish mockin' is this? (_She laughs wildly,
and he starts back from her in alarm._) Annie! What is it? (_She
doesn't answer him._ KEENEY'S _voice trembles._) Don't you know me,
Annie?
(_He puts both hands on her shoulders and turns her around so that
he can look into her eyes. She stares up at him with a stupid
expression, a vague smile on her lips. He stumbles away from her,
and she commences softly to play the organ again._)
KEENEY (_swallowing hard--in a hoarse whisper, as if he had
difficulty in speaking_). You said--you was agoin' mad--God!
(_A long wail is heard from the deck above: "Ah bl-o-o-o-ow!" A
moment later the_ MATE'S _face appears through the skylight. He
cannot see_ MRS. KEENEY.)
MATE (_in great excitement_). Whales, sir--a whole school of
'em--off the starb'd quarter 'bout five mile away--big ones!
KEENEY (_galvanized into action_). Are you lowerin' the boats?
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY (_with grim decision_). I'm a-comin' with ye.
MATE. Aye, aye, sir. (_Jubilantly_) You'll git the ile now right
enough, sir.
(_His head is withdrawn and he can be heard shouting orders._)
KEENEY (_turning to his wife_). Annie! Did you hear him? I'll git
the ile. (_She doesn't answer or seem to know he is there. He
gives a hard laugh, which is almost a groan._) I know you're
foolin' me, Annie. You ain't out of your mind--(_anxiously_) be
you? I'll git the ile now right enough--jest a little while
longer, Annie--then we'll turn hom'ard. I can't turn back now,
you see that, don't ye? I've got to git the ile. (_In sudden
terror_) Answer me! You ain't mad, be you?
(_She keeps on playing the organ, but makes no reply. The_ MATE'S
_face appears again through the skylight._)
MATE. All ready, sir.
(KEENEY _turns his back on his wife and strides to the doorway,
where he stands for a moment and looks back at her in anguish,
fighting to control his feelings._)
MATE. Comin', sir?
KEENEY (_his face suddenly grown hard with determination_). Aye.
(_He turns abruptly and goes out._ MRS. KEENEY _does not appear to
notice his departure. Her whole attention seems centred in the
organ. She sits with half-closed eyes, her body swaying a little
from side to side to the rhythm of the hymn. Her fingers move
faster and faster and she is playing wildly and discordantly as
the Curtain falls._)