ACT II.
[Same Room. Time—Early Afternoon.]
Jo.
[By the table.] Hey!
Marietje.
[Entering.] They haven’t come yet?
Simon.
No, they haven’t come yet. [Starting to go.]
Jo.
Are you running away again?
Simon.
That is to say——
Marietje.
Good gracious, father, do stay awhile.
Simon.
Yes—I won’t go far—I must——
Marietje.
You must nothing——
Simon.
Well, Salamander, am I a child? I must—I must——[Abruptly off.]
Marietje.
Stop it if you can. It begins early in the morning.
Jo.
Is he bad again?
Marietje.
You should have seen him day before yesterday—half the village at his heels. Ach! Ach! When Mother was living he didn’t dare. She used to slap his face for him when he smelled of gin—just let me try it.
Jo.
[Bursting into a laugh.] You say that as though—ha ha ha! Mees ought to hear that.
Marietje.
I never have seen Mees drinking—and father very seldom formerly. Ah well—I can’t put a cork in his mouth, nor lead him around by a rope. [Looks through the window.] Gone, of course—to the Rooie. Horrid old drunkard. How old is Kneirtje today?
Jo.
Sixty-one. Young for her years, isn’t she, eh? Sit down and tell me [Merrily.] when are you going to be married?
Marietje.
That depends on the length of the voyage. You know we would like to marry at once [Smiles, hesitates.] because—because——Well, you understand. But Mees had to send for his papers first—that takes two weeks—by that time he is far out at sea; now five weeks—five little weeks will pass quickly enough.
Jo.
[Joyfully confidential.] We shall be married in December.
Marietje.
That’s about the same——Are you two!——Now?——I told you everything——
[Jo shrugs her shoulders and laughs.]
Kneir.
[Entering.] Laughing as usual.
Marietje.
[Kissing her.] May you live to be a hundred——
Kneir.
God forbid!—a hundred years. I haven’t the money for that! [Opening a bag.] You may try one—you, too—gingerbread nuts—no, not two, you, with the grab-all fingers! For each of the boys a half pound gingerbread nuts—and a half pound chewing tobacco—and a package of cigars. Do you know what I’m going to give Barend since he has become so brave—look——
Jo.
Now—you should give those to Geert——
Kneir.
No, I’m so pleased with the lad that he has made up his mind I want to reward him.
Marietje.
Did you buy them?
Kneir.
No, indeed! These are ever so old, they are earrings. My husband wore them Sundays, when he was at home.
Marietje.
There are little ships on them—masts—and sails—I wish I had them for a brooch.
Jo.
Why give them to that coward? That’s not right.
Marietje.
You had a time getting him to sign—Eh!
Kneir.
Yes—yes. But he was willing to go with his brother—and now take it home to yourself—a boy that is not strong—not very strong—rejected for the army, and a boy who heard a lot about his father and Josef.
Jo.
I just can’t stand that! First you curse and scold at him, and now nothing is too good.
Kneir.
Even so, no matter what has been. In an hour he will be gone, and you must never part in anger. Have a sweet dram, Marietje. We have fresh wafers and ginger cakes all laid in for my birthday—set it all ready, Jo. Saart is coming soon, and the boys may take a dram, too.
Cobus.
[Through the window. Daantje with him.]
A sweet young Miss
And a glass of Anis—
I shall surely come in for this.
Kneir.
Throw your chew away before you come in.
Cob.
Indeed I’ll not! [Hides it in his red handkerchief.] No—now—you know what I want to say.
Daan.
Same here. Same here.
Jo.
I don’t need to ask if——[Pours the dram.]
Cob.
No—no—go ahead—just a little more.
Jo.
There!—now it is running over.
Cob.
No matter, I shan’t spill a drop. [Bends trembling to the table. Lips to the glass, sucks up the liquor.] He, he, he!
Daan.
Ginger cake? If you please. [Yawns.]
Marietje.
[Imitating his yawn.] Ah! Thanks!
Daan.
When you have my years!—Hardly slept a wink last night—and no nap this afternoon.
Jo.
Creep into the bedstead.
Cob.
That’s what he would like to do——
Marietje.
Better take a hot bottle, Daan!
Cob.
Now, if I had my choice——
Kneir.
Hold your tongue—Story teller! The Matron at the Home has to help dress him. And yet he——
Jo.
Ha, ha, ha! Oh, Uncle Cobus!
Marietje.
Oh! Oh! Hahaha!
Cob.
Tja! the Englishman says: “The old man misses the kisses, and the young man kisses the misses.” Do you know what that means?
Jo.
Yes, that means, “Woman, take your cat inside, its beginning to rain.” Hahaha! Hahaha!
Saart.
[Through door at left.] Good day! Congratulations everybody!
Cob.
Come in.
Saart.
Good day, Daantje; day, Cobus; and day, Marietje; and day, Jo. No, I’ll not sit down.
Kneir.
A dram——
Saart.
No, I’ll not sit down. My kettle is on the fire.
Jo.
Come now!
Saart.
No, I’m not going to do it—my door is ajar—and the cat may tip over the oil stove. No, just give it to me this way—so—so—many happy returns, and may your boys—Where are the boys?
Kneir.
Geert has gone to say good bye, and Barend has gone with Mees to take the mattresses and chests in the yawl. They’ll soon be here, for they must be on board by three o’clock.
Saart.
Hey, this burns my heart out. [Refers to the anisette.] Were you at Leen’s yesterday?
Kneir.
No, couldn’t go.
Saart.
There was a lot of everything and more too. The bride was full,—three glasses “roses without thorns,” two of “perfect love,” and surely four glasses of “love in a mist.” Well! Where she stowed it all I don’t know.
Cob.
Give me the old fashioned dram, brandy and syrup—eh! Daantje?
Daantje.
[Startled.] What?
Kneir.
He’s come here to sleep—you look as if you hadn’t been to bed at all.
Cob.
In his bed—he, he, he!
Daan.
[Crossly.] Come, no jokes.
Cob.
Hehehe! [Takes out his handkerchief.]
Kneir.
No, I say, don’t take out your chew.
Saart.
Old snooper!
Cob.
Snooper? No, you’d never guess how I got it. Less than ten minutes ago I met Bos the ship-owner, and he gave me—he gave me a little white roll—of—of tissue paper with tobacco inside. What do you call the things?
Marietje.
Cigarettes.
Cob.
Yes, catch me smoking a thing like that in—in paper—that’s a chew with a shirt on.
Saart.
And you’re a crosspatch without a shirt. No, I’m not going to sit down.
Jo.
It’s already poured out.
Simon.
[Drunk.] Day.
Kneir.
Day, Simon—shove in, room for you here.
Simon.
[Plumps down by door at left.] I’ll sit here.
Cob.
Have a sweet dram?
Marietje.
No.
Simon.
[Huskily.] Why no?
Marietje.
You’ve had enough.
Simon.
Have I? Salamanders!
Marietje.
No, I won’t have it.
Kneir.
Did you see Geert?
Simon.
[Muttering.] Wh—wh—Geert!
Cob.
Give him just one, for a parting cup.
Marietje.
[Angrily.] No! No!
Simon.
[Thickly.] No? I’ll be damned! [Lights a nose warmer.]
Kneir.
Is there much work in the dry dock, Simon?
Simon.
That stands fast.
Saart.
Well—I’m going.
Jo.
Hey! How unsociable! They’ll soon be here. Come sit down——
Saart.
No, if I sit down I stay too long. Well then, half a glass—no—no cookies.
Geert.
[Through door at left.] It looks like all hands on deck here! Good day, everybody! [Pointing to Simon.] Lazarus! Eh, Simon?
Simon.
[Muttering.] Uh—ja——
Marietje.
Let him alone.
Geert.
The deuce, but you’re touchy! We’ve got a quarter of an hour, boys! Pour out the drinks, Jo. [Sits between Kneir. and Jo.] Here’s to you, Mother! Prost! Santy, Jo! Santy, Daantje! Santys!
Jo.
Hahaha! Fallen asleep with a ginger nut in his hand.
Kneir.
Isn’t he well?
Cob.
No. Sick in the night—afraid to call the matron; walked about in his bare feet; got chilled.
Geert.
Afraid of the Matron! Are you eating charity bread?
Cob.
It’s easy for you to talk, but if you disturb her, she keeps you in for two weeks.
Geert.
Poor devils—I don’t want to live to be so old.
Jo.
Oh, real sweet of you. We’re not even married yet—and he’s a widower already!
Geert.
[Gaily.] There’s many a slip! Hahaha! Shall I give him a poke? I don’t need a belaying pin——[Sings.]
“Sailing, sailing, don’t wait to be called;
Starboard watch, spring from your bunk;
Let the man at the wheel go to his rest;
The rain is good and the wind is down.
It’s sailing, it’s sailing,
It’s sailing for the starboard watch.”
[The others join him in beating time on the table with their fists.]
Hahaha! [General laugh.]
Daan.
[Awakes with a start.] You’ll do the same when you’re as old as I am.
Geert.
Hahaha! I’ll never be old. Leaky ships must sink.
Jo.
Now, Geert.
Saart.
Never be old! You might have said that a while back when you looked like a wet dish rag. But now! Prison life agreed with you, boy!
Cob.
Hehehe! Now we can make up a song about you, pasting paper bags—just as Domela—he he he! [Sings in a piping voice.]
My nevvy Geert pastes paper bags,
Hi-ha, ho!
My nevvy Geert——
Saart.
Pastes paper bags.
Daan., Jo., Marietje and Cobus.
Hi—ha—ho!
Geert.
[Laughing.] Go to thunder! You’re making a joke of it!
Kneir.
[Anxiously.] Please don’t be so noisy. It isn’t best.
Jo.
Oh! I expected that! This is your birthday, see! Do take a chair, Saart.
Saart.
Chair. I’m blest if I see——
Marietje.
I don’t mind standing.
Saart.
No—there’s room here. [Squeezes in beside Cobus.]
Cob.
I’ll be falling off here!
Marietje.
[Standing beside her dazed father.] Father!
Simon.
[Muttering.] They must—they must—not—not—that’s fast.
Marietje.
Come, now!
Geert.
Let the man sail his own mast overboard! He isn’t in the way.
Simon.
[With dazed gesture.] You must—you must——
Marietje.
[Crossly.] What’s the matter now?
Simon.
[Mumbling.] The ribs—and—and——[Firmly.] That’s fast!——
Geert, Jo., Cobus, Daantje and Saart.
Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!
Mees.
[Enters.] Salute!
Kneir.
[Anxiously.] Are you alone? Where’s Barend?
Mees.
I don’t know.
Kneir.
You went together to take the mattresses and chests——
Mees.
Row with the skipper! He’s no sailor!
Jo.
A row? Has the trouble begun already?
Mees.
Can’t repeat a word of it—afraid—afraid—always afraid——[To Marietje, who has induced her father to rise.] Are you coming along?
Jo.
No, take a dram before you go. It’s Aunt’s birthday.
Mees.
You don’t say! Now—now—Kneir, many happy returns.
Kneir.
You have made me anxious.
Jo.
[Laughing.] Anxious!
Kneir.
Yes, anxious! She’s surprised at that. I’ve taken an advance from Bos.
Geert.
He’s signed, hasn’t he? Don’t worry, Mother!
Cob.
Perhaps he’s saying good-bye to his girl. [Sound of Jelle’s fiddle outside.] Ta, de, da!
Saart.
Do sit still—one would think you’d eaten horse flesh.
Daan.
They give us meat? Not even a dead cat!
Jelle.
[Playing the old polka.] If you please!
Geert.
Come on in, old man!
Jo.
Poor old fellow, gets blinder every day.
Jelle.
[Playing.] I come regular once a week.
Geert.
Another tune first, Old Man! Not that damned old polka.
Jo.
Yes, play that tune of—of—what do you call ’em?
Cob.
Yes, the one she mentions is fine.
Saart.
You know, Jelle, the one—that one that goes [Sings.] “I know a song that charms the heart.”
Mees.
Say! Give us——[Jelle begins the Marseillaise.] That’s better fare. [Sings.] “Alloose—vodela—bedeije—deboe—debie—de boolebie.”
Marietje.
Hahaha! That’s the French of a dead codfish!
Jo.
Hahaha!
Mees.
Laugh all you please! I’ve laid in a French port—and say, it was first rate! When I said pain they gave me bread—and when I said “open the port,” they opened the door. Great!
Geert.
All Gammon! Begin again, Jelle. Why the devil! Let’s use the Dutch words we’ve got for it.
[Jelle begins again. Geert roars.]
“Arise men, brothers, all united!
Arise burgers, come join with us!
Your wrongs, your sorrows be avenged”—
Bos.
[Who has stood at the open window listening during the singing, yells angrily.] What’s going on here? [Scared hush over all.] Damn it! It’s high time you were all on board! [Goes off furious.]
Kneir.
[After a long pause.] Oh—Oh—how he scared me—he! he!
Jo.
What’s the matter with him?
Mees.
I couldn’t think where the voice came from.
Saart.
How stupid of you to roar like a weaned pig, when you know Meneer Bos lives only two doors away.
Marietje.
Lord, wasn’t he mad.
Cob.
Hehehe! You’ll never eat a sack of salt with him.
Kneir.
What business had you to sing those low songs, anyway?
Geert.
Well, I’ll be damned! Am I in my own house or not? If he hadn’t taken me by surprise! An old frog like that before your eyes of a sudden. I’d cleaned out his cupboard! Play on, Jelle!
[Jelle begins again.]
Kneir.
Ach, please don’t, Geert. I’m afraid that if Meneer Bos——[Motions to Jelle to stop.]
Geert.
This one is afraid to sail, this one of the Matron of the Old Men’s Home, this one of a little ship owner! Forbids me in my own house! Commands me as though I were a servant!
Saart.
Fun is fun, but if you were a ship owner, you wouldn’t want your sailors singing like socialists either.
Kneir.
When he knows how dependent I am, too.
Geert.
[Passionately.] Dependent! Don’t be dependent! Is it an honor to do his cleaning! Why not pay for the privilege! Thank him for letting you scrub! Dependent! For mopping the office floor and licking his muddy boots you get fifty cents twice a week and the scraps off their plates.
Jo.
Don’t get so angry, foolish boy!
Kneir.
Oh, what a row I’ll get Saturday!
Geert.
A row, you? Why should he row with you? If you hadn’t all your life allowed this braggart who began with nothing to walk over you and treat you as a slave, while father and my brothers lost their lives on the sea making money for him, you’d give him a scolding and damn his hide for his insolence in opening his jaw.
Kneir.
I—I—God forbid.
Geert.
God forbids you to bend your neck. Here—take it—Jelle. Next year Mother will give you pennies to play. “Arise men, brothers, all unite-e-ed”——
Kneir.
Please, Geert, please don’t. [Lays her hand on his mouth.]
Jo.
Hey! Stop tormenting your old mother on her birthday. [Jelle holds out his hand.] Here, you can’t stand on one leg.
Cob.
Do you want money from me? It’s all in the bank. [Pointing to Daan.] He’s the man to go to.
Daan.
[Crossly, drinking.] Peh! Don’t make a fool of me.
Jelle.
Well, thanks to you both. [Off.]
Mees.
Will you come along now?
Geert.
I’ll wait a few minutes for Barend. What’s your hurry? The boys will come by here any way.
Saart.
Don’t you catch on that those two are—A good voyage.
Mees and Marietje.
[Shaking hands.] Good voyage!
Kneir.
Half past two—I’m uneasy.
Saart.
Half past two? Have I staid so long—and my door ajar! Good voyage. Good day, Kneir. [Off.]
Bos.
[Brusquely coming through the kitchen door.] Are you also planning to stay behind?
Geert.
[Gruffly.] Are you speaking to me?
Bos.
[Angrily.] Yes, to you. Skipper Hengst has my orders. Understand?
Geert.
[Calmly to the others.] Gone crazy——
Bos.
[More angry.] The police have been notified.
Geert.
[With forced calm.] You and the police make me tired. [Cobus and Daantje slink away, stopping outside to listen at the window.] Are you out of your head? Who said I wasn’t going?
Kneir.
Yes, Meneer, he is all ready to go.
Bos.
That other boy of yours that Hengst engaged—refuses to go.
Kneir.
Oh, good God!
Bos.
[To Cobus and Daan.] Why are you listening? [They bow in a scared way and hastily go on.] This looks like a dive—drunkenness and rioting.
Jo.
[Excusing.] It’s Aunt’s birthday.
Geert.
[Angrily.] Mother’s birthday or not, we do as we please here.
Bos.
You change your tone or——
Geert.
My tone? You get out!
Kneir.
[Anxious.] Ach—dear Geert—Don’t take offense, Meneer—he’s quick tempered, and in anger one says——
Bos.
Things he’s no right to say. Dirt is all the thanks you get for being good to you people. [Threatening.] If you’re not on board in ten minutes, I’ll send the police for you!
Geert.
You send—what do you take me for, any way!
Bos.
What I take him for—he asks that—dares to ask——[To Kneirtje.] You’ll come to me again recommending a trouble-maker kicked out by the Navy.
Geert.
[Mocking.] Did you recommend? Hahaha! You make me laugh! You pay wages and I do the work. For the rest you can go to hell.
Bos.
You’re just a big overgrown boy, that’s all!
Geert.
[Threatening.] If it wasn’t for Mother—I’d——
Kneir.
[Throwing her arms about him.] Geert! Geert! [A long pause.]
Bos.
And this in your house! Good day. [At the door.] Kneir, Kneir, consider well what you do—I gave you an advance in good faith——
Kneir.
Ach, yes, Meneer—Ach, yes——
Bos.
Haven’t I always treated you well?
Kneir.
Yes, Meneer—you and the priest——
Bos.
One of your sons refuses to go, the other—you’ll come to a bad end, my little friend.
Geert.
Haul in your fore sheet! On board I’m a sailor—I’m the skipper here. Such a topsy turvy! A ship owner layin’ down the law; don’t do this and don’t do that! Boring his nose through the window when you don’t sing to suit him.
Bos.
For my part, sing, but a sensible sailor expecting to marry ought to appreciate it when his employer is looking out for his good. Your father was a thorough good man. Did he ever threaten his employer? You young fellows have no respect for grey hairs.
Geert.
Respect for grey hairs? By thunder, yes! for grey hairs that have become grey in want and misery——
Bos.
[Shrugging his shoulders.] Your mother’s seen me, as child, standing before the bait trays. I also have stood in an East wind that froze your ears, biting off bait heads——
Geert.
That’ll do. We don’t care for your stories, Meneer. You have become a rich man, and a tyrant. Good!—you are perhaps no worse than the rest, but don’t interfere with me in my own house. My father was a different sort. We may all become different, and perhaps my son may live to see the day when he will come, as I did, twelve years ago, crying to the office, to ask if there’s any news of his father and his two brothers! and not find their employer sitting by his warm fire and his strong box, drinking grog. He may not be damned for coming so often to ask the same thing, nor be turned from the door with snubs and the message, “When there’s anything to tell you’ll hear of it.”
Bos.
[Roughly.] You lie—I never did anything of the sort.
Geert.
I won’t soil any more words over it. Only to let you know I remember. My father’s hair was grey, my mother’s hair is grey, Jelle, the poor devil who can’t find a place in the Old Men’s Home because on one occasion in his life he was light-fingered—Jelle has also grey hairs.
Bos.
Fine! Reasoning without head or tail. If you hear him or crooked Jacob, it’s the same cuckoo song. [To Kneir.] It’s come out, eh? But now I’ll give another word of advice, my friend, before you go under sail. You have an old mother, you expect to marry, good; you’ve been in prison six months—I won’t talk of that; you have barked out your insolence to me in your own house, but if you attempt any of this talk on board the Hope you’ll find out there is a muster roll.
Geert.
Every year old child knows that.
Bos.
When you’ve become older—and wiser—you’ll be ashamed of your insolence—“the ship owner by his warm stove, and his grog”——
Geert.
And his strong box——
Bos.
[Hotly.] And his cares, you haven’t the wits to understand! Who feeds you all?
Geert.
[Forced calmness.] Who hauls the fish out of the sea? Who risks his life every hour of the day? Who doesn’t take off his clothes in five or six weeks? Who walks with hands covered with salt sores,—without water to wash face or hands? Who sleep like beasts two in a bunk? Who leave wives and mothers behind to beg alms? Twelve head of us are presently going to sea—we get twenty-five per cent of the catch, you seventy-five. We do the work, you sit safely at home. Your ship is insured, and we—we can go to the bottom in case of accident—we are not worth insuring——
Kneir.
[Soothing.] Geert! Geert! Geert!
Bos.
That’s an entertaining lad! You should be a clown in a circus! Twenty-seven per cent isn’t enough for him——
Geert.
I’ll never eat salted codfish from your generosity! Our whole share is in “profit and loss.” When luck is with us we each make eight guilders a week, one guilder a day when we’re lucky. One guilder a day at sea, to prepare salt fish, cod with livers for the people in the cities—hahaha!—a guilder a day—when you’re lucky and don’t go to the bottom. You fellows know what you’re about when you engage us on shares.
[Old and young heads of fishermen appear at the window.]
A Voice.
Are you coming? [Bos is politely greeted.]
Geert.
I shall soon follow you.
Bos.
Good voyage, men! And say to the skipper—no, never mind—I’ll be there myself——[A pause.] Twenty-five minutes past two. Now I’ll take two minutes more, blockhead, to rub under your nose something I tried three times to say, but you gave me no chance to get in a word. When you lie in your bunk tonight—as a beast, of course!—try and think of my risks, by a poor catch—lost nets and cordage—by damages and lightning in the mast, by running aground, and God knows what else. The Jacoba’s just had her hatches torn off, the Queen Wilhelmina half her bulwarks washed away. You don’t count that, for you don’t have to pay for it! Three months ago the Expectation collided with a steamer. Without a thought of the catch or the nets, the men sprang overboard, leaving the ship to drift! Who thought of my interests? You laugh, boy, because you don’t realize what cares I have. On the Mathilde last week the men smuggled gin and tobacco in their mattresses to sell to the English. Now the ship lies chained. Do you pay the fine?
Geert.
Pluck feathers off a frog’s back. Hahaha!
Bos.
If you were talking about conditions in Middelharnis or Pernis, you’d have reason for it. My men don’t pay the harbor costs, don’t pay for bait, towing, provisions, barrels, salt. I don’t expect you to pay the loss of the cordage, if a gaff or a boom breaks. I go into my own pocket for it. I gave your mother an advance, your brother Barend deserts.
Kneir.
No, Meneer, I can’t believe that.
Bos.
Hengst telephoned me from the harbor, else I wouldn’t have been here to be insulted by your oldest son, who’s disturbing the whole neighborhood roaring his scandalous songs! I’m going to the ship! [Angrily.] If you’re not on board on time I’ll apply “Article Sixteen” and fine you twenty-five guilders.
Geert.
Yes, why not? I can stand it!
Bos.
[Turning to Kneir.] As for you, my wife doesn’t need you at present, you’re all a bad lot here.
Kneir.
[Anxiously.] Ach, Meneer, it isn’t my fault!
Geert.
Must you punish the old woman too?
Bos.
Blame your own sons for that! After this voyage you can look for another employer, who enjoys throwing pearls before swine better than I do!
Geert.
And now, get out! Get out! [Pushes the door shut after Bos.]
Kneir.
What a birthday! What a birthday!
Jo.
Don’t hang your head so soon, Aunt! Geert was in the right——
Kneir.
In the right! What good does that do?
Geert.
You’re not running after him?
Kneir.
No, to look for Barend. Great God, if he should desert—if he deserts—he also goes to prison—two sons who——
Geert.
Aren’t you going to wish me a good voyage—or don’t you think that necessary?
Kneir.
My head is queer. I’m coming to the harbor. Yes, I’m coming——
Jo.
I’m sorry for her, the poor thing.
Geert.
He’s a hound, that fellow!
Jo.
Where’s your sou’wester? Hope it isn’t mislaid. You gave him a talking to, didn’t you? It was drunken Simon that set him going. Now don’t look so solemn. Here it is. [Picks a geranium from a flower pot.] There! And you keep it on, so. [On his knee.] And you will think of me every night, will you? Will you? [Springing up.] What, are you back so soon?
Kneir.
[Enters.] Isn’t he in here?
Geert.
He’s in the pocket of my jacket! Hahaha!
Kneir.
Truus saw him hanging around the house. Ach! Ach! Ach!
Geert.
We’re going! Come along with us. If that coward refuses to go, your sitting at home won’t help a damn.
Kneir.
No, no, no.
Jo.
Follow after us, then!
Kneir.
[Anxiously.] Yes, yes, yes! Don’t forget your chewing tobacco and your cigars——
Geert.
[Gaily.] If you’re too late—I’ll never look at you again!
[Exeunt Geert and Jo.]
Bar.
[Entering quickly from left.] S-s-s-st!
Kneir.
You miserable bad boy!
Bar.
S-ssst!
Kneir.
What sssst! I’ll shout the whole village together if you don’t immediately run and follow Geert and Jo.
Bar.
[Panting.] If you can keep Geert from going—call him back!
Kneir.
Have you gone crazy with fear, you big coward?
Bar.
[Panting.] The Good Hope is no good, no good—her ribs are rotten—the planking is rotten!——
Kneir.
Don’t stand there telling stories to excuse yourself. After half past two! March!——
Bar.
[Almost crying.] If you don’t believe me!
Kneir.
I won’t listen. March! or I’ll slap your face.
Bar.
Strike me then! Strike me then! Ah, God! keep Geert from going! Simon the ship carpenter warned me.
Kneir.
Simon, the ship carpenter—that drunken sot who can’t speak two words. You are a disgusting bad boy. First you sign, then you run away! Get up!
Bar.
Me—you may beat me to death!—but I won’t go on an unseaworthy ship!
Kneir.
What do you know about it? Hasn’t the ship been lying in the dry docks?
Bar.
There was no caulking her any more—Simon——
Kneir.
Shut your mouth with your Simon! March, take your package of chewing tobacco.
Bar.
[Yelling.] I’m not going—I’m not going. You don’t know—you didn’t see it! The last voyage she had a foot of water in her hold!
Kneir.
The last voyage? A ship that has just returned from her fourth voyage to the herring catch and that has brought fourteen loads! Has it suddenly become unseaworthy, because you, you miserable coward, are going along?
Bar.
[With feverish anxiety.] I looked in the hold—the barrels were floating. You can see death that is hiding down there.
Kneir.
Bilge water, as in every ship! The barrels floating! Tell that to your grandmother, not to an old sailor’s wife. Skipper Hengst is a child, eh! Isn’t Hengst going and Mees and Gerrit and Jacob and Nellis—your own brother and Truus’ little Peter? Do you claim to know more than old seamen? [Fiercely.] Get up! I’m not going to stand it to see you taken aboard by the police——
Bar.
[Crying.] Oh, Mother dear, Mother dear, don’t make me go!
Kneir.
Oh, God; how you have punished me in my children—my children are driving me to beggary. I’ve taken an advance—Bos has refused to give me any more cleaning to do—and—and——[Firmly.] Well, then, let them come for you—you’d better be taken than run away. Oh, oh, that this should happen in my family——
Bar.
[Running to the cooking shed.]
Kneir.
[Barring the way.] You’ll not get out——
Bar.
Let me pass, Mother. I don’t know what I’m doing—I might hurt——
Kneir.
Now he is brave, against his sixty year old mother——Raise your hand if you dare!
Bar.
[Falls on a chair shaking his head between his hands.] Oh, oh, oh—If they take me aboard, you’ll never see me again—you’ll never see Geert again——
Kneir.
The ship is in God’s hands. It’s tempting God to rave this way with fear——[Friendlier tone.] Come, a man of your age must not cry like a child—come! I wanted to surprise you with Father’s earrings—come!
Bar.
Mother dear—I don’t dare—I don’t dare—I shall drown—hide me—hide me——
Kneir.
Have you gone insane, boy! If I believed a word of your talk, would I let Geert go? [Puts a package in his pocket.] There’s a package of tobacco, and one of cigars. Now sit still, and I’ll put in your earrings—look—[Talking as to a child.]—real silver—ships on them with sails—sit still, now—there’s one—there’s two—walk to the looking glass——
Bar.
[Crying.] No—no!——
Kneir.
Come now, you’re making me weak for nothing—please, dear boy—I do love you and your brother—you’re all I have on earth. Come now! Every night I will pray to the good God to bring you home safely. You must get used to it, then you will become a brave seaman—and—and——[Cries.] Come now, Barend, Barend! [Holds the mirror before him.] Look at your earrings—what?——
1st Policeman.
[Coming in through door at left, good-natured manner.] Skipper Hengst has requested the Police——If you please, my little man, we have no time to lose.
Bar.
[Screaming.] I won’t go! I won’t go! The ship—is rotten——
2nd Policeman.
[Smiling good naturedly.] Then you should not have mustered in. Must we use force? Come now, little man. [Taps him kindly on the shoulder.]
Bar.
Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! [Clings desperately to the bedstead and door jamb.]
2nd Policeman.
Must we put on the handcuffs, boy?
Bar.
[Moaning.] Help me, Mother! You’ll never see me again! I shall drown in the dirty, stinking sea!
1st Policeman.
[Crossly.] Come, come! Let go of the door jamb! [Seizes his wrists.]
Bar.
[Clinging harder.] No! [Shrieking.] Cut off my hands! Oh God, Oh God, Oh God! [Crawls up against the wall, beside himself with terror.]
Kneir.
[Almost crying.] The boy is afraid——
1st Policeman.
Then you tell him to let go!
Kneir.
[Sobbing as she seizes Barend’s hands.] Come now, boy—come now—God will not forsake you——
Bar.
[Moaning as he loosens his hold, sobs despairingly.] You’ll never see me again, never again——
1st Policeman.
Forward, march!
[They exeunt, dragging Barend.]
Kneir.
Oh, oh——
Truus.
[With anxious curiosity, at side door.] What was the matter, Kneir?
Kneir.
[Sobbing.] Barend had to be taken by the police. Oh, and now I’m ashamed to go walk through the village, to tell them good bye—the disgrace—the disgrace——
CURTAIN.