Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 259

KEENEY. It's too cold, Annie. You'd best stay below. There's nothing to look at on deck--but ice.

MRS. KEENEY [_monotonously_]. I know--ice, ice, ice! But there's nothing to see down here but these walls.

[_She makes a gesture of loathing._]

KEENEY. You can play the organ, Annie.

MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. I hate the organ. It puts me in mind of home.

KEENEY [_a touch of resentment in his voice_]. I got it jest for you!

MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. I know. [_She turns away from them and walks slowly to the bench on left. She lifts up one of the curtains and looks through a porthole; then utters an exclamation of joy._] Ah, water!

Clear water! As far as I can see! How good it looks after all these months of ice! [_She turns round to them, her face transfigured with joy._] Ah, now I must go up on deck and look at it, David!

KEENEY [_frowning_]. Best not to-day, Annie. Best wait for a day when the sun s.h.i.+nes.

MRS. KEENEY [_desperately_]. But the sun never s.h.i.+nes in this terrible place.

KEENEY [_a tone of command in his voice_]. Best not to-day, Annie.

MRS. KEENEY [_crumbling before this command--abjectly_]. Very well, David.

[_She stands there, staring straight before her as if in a daze.--The two men look at her uneasily._]

KEENEY [_sharply_]. Annie!

MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. Yes, David.

KEENEY. Me and Mr. Sloc.u.m has business to talk about--s.h.i.+p's business.

MRS. KEENEY. Very well, David.

[_She goes slowly out, rear, and leaves the door three-quarters shut behind her._]

KEENEY. Best not have her on deck if they's goin' to be any trouble.

MATE. Yes, sir.

KEENEY. And trouble they's going to be. I feel it in my bones. [_Takes a revolver from the pocket of his coat and examines it._] Got your'n?

MATE. Yes, sir.

KEENEY. Not that we'll have to use 'em--not if I know their breed of dog--jest to frighten 'em up a bit. [_Grimly._] I ain't never been forced to use one yit; and trouble I've had by land and by sea s'long as I kin remember, and will have till my dyin' day, I reckon.

MATE [_hesitatingly_]. Then you ain't goin'--to turn back?

KEENEY. Turn back! Mr. Sloc.u.m, did you ever hear o' me pointin' s'uth for home with only a measly four hundred barrel of ile in the hold?

MATE [_hastily_]. But the grub's gittin' low.

KEENEY. They's enough to last a long time yit, if they're careful with it; and they's plenty of water.

MATE. They say it's not fit to eat--what's left; and the two years they signed on fur is up to-day. They might make trouble for you in the courts when we git home.

KEENEY. Let them make what law trouble they kin! I don't give a d.a.m.n 'bout the money. I've got to git the ile! [_Glancing sharply at the Mate._] You ain't turnin' no sea lawyer, be you, Mr. Sloc.u.m?

MATE [_flus.h.i.+ng_]. Not by a h.e.l.l of a sight, sir.

KEENEY. What do the fools want to go home fur now? Their share o' the four hundred barrel wouldn't keep them in chewin' terbacco.

MATE [_slowly_]. They wants to git back to their old folks an' things, I s'pose.

KEENEY [_looking at him searchingly_]. 'N you want to turn back too.

[_The Mate looks down confusedly before his sharp gaze._] Don't lie, Mr.

Sloc.u.m. It's writ down plain in your eyes. [_With grim sarcasm._] I hope, Mr. Sloc.u.m, you ain't agoin' to jine the men agin me.

MATE [_indignantly_]. That ain't fair, sir, to say sich things.

KEENEY [_with satisfaction_]. I warn't much afeard o' that, Tom. You been with me nigh on ten year and I've learned ye whalin'. No man kin say I ain't a good master, if I be a hard one.

MATE. I warn't thinkin' of myself, sir--'bout turnin' home, I mean.

[_Desperately._] But Mrs. Keeney, sir--seems like she ain't jest satisfied up here, ailin' like--what with the cold an' bad luck an' the ice an' all.

KEENEY [_his face clouding--rebukingly, but not severely_]. That's my business, Mr. Sloc.u.m. I'll thank you to steer a clear course o' that.

[_A pause._] The ice'll break up soon to no'the'ard. I could see it startin' to-day. And when it goes and we git some sun Annie'll pick up.

[_Another pause--then he bursts forth._] It ain't the d.a.m.ned money what's keepin' me up in the Northern seas, Tom. But I can't go back to Homeport with a measly four hundred barrel of ile. I'd die fust. I ain't never come back home in all my days without a full s.h.i.+p. Ain't that true?

MATE. Yes, sir; but this voyage you been ice-bound, an'--

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._] 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 acomin' 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 h.e.l.l, and by G.o.d, I ain't agoin' 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 hawk, Harpooner. Speak up!

JOE [_confusedly_]. We want--the men, sir--they wants to 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. Sloc.u.m, and we'll make short s.h.i.+ft 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.

Sloc.u.m.