[Quietly darning.] My husband was a fisherman. One out of a thousand. When the lead was dropped he could tell by the taste of the sand where they were. Often in the night he’d say we are on the 56th and on the 56th they’d be. And what experiences he had sailing! Once he drifted about two days and nights in a boat with two others. That was the time they were taking in the net and a fog came up so thick they couldn’t see the buoys, let alone find the lugger. Two days and nights without food. Later when the boat went to pieces—you should have heard him tell it—how he and old Dirk swam to an overturned rowboat; he climbed on top. “I’ll never forget that night,” said he. Dirk was too old or tired to get a hold. Then my husband stuck his knife into the boat. Dirk tried to grasp it as he was sinking, and he clutched in such a way that three of his fingers hung down. Yes! yes! It all happened. Then at the risk of his own life, my husband pulled Dirk up onto the overturned boat. So the two of them drifted in the night, and Dirk—old Dirk—from loss of blood or from fear, went insane. He sat and glared at my husband with the eyes of a cat. He raved of the devil that was in him. Of Satan, and the blood, my husband said, ran all over the boat—the waves were kept busy washing it away. Just at dawn Dirk slipped off, insane as he was. My man was picked up by a freighter that sailed by. But it was no use, three years later—that’s twelve years ago now—the Clementine—named after you by your father—stranded on the Doggerbanks with him and my two oldest. Of what happened to them, I know nothing, nothing at all. Never a buoy, or a hatch, washed ashore. Nothing more, nothing. You can’t realize it at first, but after so many years one can’t recall their faces any more, and that’s a blessing. For hard it would be if one remembered. Now, I’ve told my story. Every sailor’s wife has something like this in her family, it’s not new. Truus is right: “The fish are dearly paid for.” Are you crying, Miss?
Clementine.
[Bursting out.] God! If any ships should go down tonight.
Kneirtje.
We are all in God’s hands, and God is great and good.
Jo.
[Springing up wildly.] Ships go down! Ships go down! The one howls. The other cries. I wish I’d sat alone tonight. [Beating her head with her fists.] You’re all driving me mad, mad, mad!
Clementine.
[Amazed.] Jo, what ails you?
Jo.