wonderingly.]
It's nutty for me to feel that way, don't you think?

CHRIS--[A grim foreboding in his voice.] Ay tank Ay'm damn fool for
bring you on voyage, Anna.

ANNA--[Impressed by his tone.] You talk--nutty to-night yourself. You
act's if you was scared something was going to happen.

CHRIS--Only God know dat, Anna.

ANNA--[Half-mockingly.] Then it'll be Gawd's will, like the preachers
say-what does happen.

CHRIS--[Starts to his feet with fierce protest.] No! Dat ole davil,
sea, she ain't God! [In the pause of silence that comes after his
defiance a hail in a man's husky, exhausted voice comes faintly out of
the fog to port.] "Ahoy!" [CHRIS gives a startled exclamation.]

ANNA--[Jumping to her feet.] What's that?

CHRIS--[Who has regained his composure--sheepishly.] Py golly, dat
scare me for minute. It's only some fallar hail, Anna--loose his course
in fog. Must be fisherman's power boat. His engine break down, Ay
guess. [The "ahoy" comes again through the wall of fog, sounding much
nearer this time. CHRIS goes over to the port bulwark.] Sound from dis
side. She come in from open sea. [He holds his hands to his mouth,
megaphone-fashion, and shouts back.] Ahoy, 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
y