The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 20

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 h.e.l.l 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. Sloc.u.m, 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.