dere! Vhat's trouble?

THE VOICE—[This time sounding nearer but up forward toward the bow.] Heave a rope when we come alongside. [Then irritably.] Where are ye, ye scut?

CHRIS—Ay hear dem rowing. Dey come up by bow, Ay tank. [Then shouting out again.] Dis vay!

THE VOICE—Right ye are! [There is a muffled sound of oars in oar-locks.]

ANNA—[Half to herself—resentfully.] Why don't that guy stay where he belongs?

CHRIS—[Hurriedly.] Ay go up bow. All hands asleep 'cepting fallar on vatch. Ay gat heave line to dat fallar. [He picks up a coil of rope and hurries off toward the bow. ANNA walks back toward the extreme stern as if she wanted to remain as much isolated possible. She turns her back on the proceedings and stares out into the fog. THE VOICE is heard again shouting "Ahoy" and CHRIS answering "Dis way" Then there is a pause—the murmur of excited voices—then the scuffling of feet. CHRIS appears from around the cabin to port. He is supporting the limp form of a man dressed in dungarees, holding one of the man's arms around his neck. The deckhand, JOHNSON, a young, blond Swede, follows him, helping along another exhausted man similar fashion. ANNA turns to look at them. Chris stops for a second—volubly.] Anna! You come help, vill you? You find vhiskey in cabin. Dese fallars need drink for fix dem. Dey vas near dead.

ANNA—[Hurrying to him.] Sure—but who are they? What's the trouble?

CHRIS—Sailor fallars. Deir steamer gat wrecked. Dey been five days in open boat—four fallars—only one left able stand up. Come, Anna. [She precedes him into the cabin, holding the door open while he and JOHNSON carry in their burdens. The door is shut, then opened again as JOHNSON comes out. CHRIS'S voice shouts after him.] Go gat oder fallar, Yohnson.

JOHNSON—Yes, sir. [He goes. The door is closed again. MAT BURKE stumbles in around the port side of the cabin. He moves slowly, feeling his way uncertainly, keeping hold of the port bulwark with his right hand to steady himself. He is stripped to the waist, has on nothing but a pair of dirty dungaree pants. He is a powerful, broad-chested six-footer, his face handsome in a hard, rough, bold, defiant way. He is about thirty, in the full power of his heavy-muscled, immense strength. His dark eyes are bloodshot and wild from sleeplessness. The muscles of his arms and shoulders are lumped in knots and bunches, the veins of his forearms stand out like blue cords. He finds his way to the coil of hawser and sits down on it facing the cabin, his back bowed, head in his hands, in an attitude of spent weariness.]

BURKE—[Talking aloud to himself.] Row, ye divil! Row! [Then lifting his head and looking about him.] What's this tub? Well, we're safe anyway—with the help of God. [He makes the sign of the cross mechanically. JOHNSON comes along the deck to port, supporting the fourth man, who is babbling to himself incoherently. BURKE glances at him disdainfully.] Is it losing the small wits ye iver had, ye are? Deck-scrubbing scut! [They pass him and go into the cabin, leaving the door open. BURKE sags forward wearily.] I'm bate out—bate out entirely.

ANNA—[Comes out of the cabin with a tumbler quarter-full of whiskey in her hand. She gives a start when she sees BURKE so near her, the light from the open door falling full on him. Then, overcoming what is evidently a feeling of repulsion, she comes up beside him.] Here you are. Here's a drink for you. You need it, I guess.

BURKE—[Lifting his head slowly—confusedly.] Is it dreaming I am?

ANNA—[Half smiling.] Drink it and you'll find it ain't no dream.

BURKE—To hell with the drink—but I'll take it just the same. [He tosses it down.] Aah! I'm needin' that—and 'tis fine stuff. [Looking up at her with frank, grinning admiration.] But 'twasn't the booze I meant when I said, was I dreaming. I thought you was some mermaid out of the sea come to torment me. [He reaches out to feel of her arm.] Aye, rale flesh and blood, divil a less.

ANNA—[Coldly. Stepping back from him.] Cut that.

BURKE—But tell me, isn't this a barge I'm on—or isn't it?

ANNA—Sure.

BURKE—And what is a fine handsome woman the like of you doing on this scow?

ANNA—[Coldly.] Never you mind. [Then half-amused in spite of herself.] Say, you're a great one, honest—starting right in kidding after what you been through.

BURKE—[Delighted—proudly.] Ah, it was nothing—aisy for a rale man with guts to him, the like of me. [He laughs.] All in the day's work, darlin'. [Then, more seriously but still in a boastful tone, confidentially.] But I won't be denying 'twas a damn narrow squeak. We'd all ought to be with Davy Jones at the bottom of the sea, be rights. And only for me, I'm telling you, and the great strength and guts is in me, we'd be being scoffed by the fishes this minute!

ANNA—[Contemptuously.] Gee, you hate yourself, don't you? [Then turning away from him indifferently.] Well, you'd better come in and lie down. You must want to sleep.

BURKE—[Stung—rising unsteadily to his feet with chest out and head thrown back—resentfully.] Lie down and sleep, is it? Divil a wink I'm after having for two days and nights and divil a bit I'm needing now. Let you not be thinking I'm the like of them three weak scuts come in the boat with me. I could lick the three of them sitting down with one hand tied behind me. They may be bate out, but I'm not—and I've been rowing the boat with them lying in the bottom not able to raise a hand for the last two days we was in it. [Furiously, as he sees this is making no impression on her.] And I can lick all hands on this tub, wan be wan, tired as I am!

ANNA—[Sarcastically.] Gee, ain't you a hard guy! [Then, with a trace of sympathy, as she notices him swaying from weakness.] But never mind that fight talk. I'll take your word for all you've said. Go on and sit down out here, anyway, if I can't get you to come inside. [He sits down weakly.] You're all in, you might as well own up to it.

BURKE—[Fiercely.] The hell I am!

ANNA—[Coldly.] Well, be stubborn then for all I care. And I must say I don't care for your language. The men I know don't pull that rough stuff when ladies are around.

BURKE—[Getting unsteadily to his feet again—in a rage.] Ladies! Ho-ho! Divil mend you! Let you not be making game of me. What would ladies be doing on this bloody hulk? [As ANNA attempts to go to the cabin, he lurches into her path.] Aisy, now! You're not the old Square-head's woman, I suppose you'll be telling me next—living in his cabin with him, no less! [Seeing the cold, hostile expression on ANNA's face, he suddenly changes his tone to one of boisterous joviality.] But I do be thinking, iver since the first look my eyes took at you, that it's a fool you are to be wasting yourself—a fine, handsome girl—on a stumpy runt of a man like that old Swede. There's too many strapping great lads on the sea would give their heart's blood for one kiss of you!

ANNA—[Scornfully.] Lads like you, eh?

BURKE—[Grinning.] Ye take the words out o' my mouth. I'm the proper lad for you, if it's meself do be saying it. [With a quick movement he puts his arms about her waist.] Whisht, now, me daisy! Himself's in the cabin. It's wan of your kisses I'm needing to take the tiredness from me bones. Wan kiss, now! [He presses her to him and attempts to kiss her.]