't
know the sea at all, where the people have never heard about the sea--a
thousand miles away, five thousand miles away!"

"There is no such land."

"There is, Khorre. Let us drink and laugh, Khorre. That organist lies.
Sing something for me, Khorre--you sing well. In your hoarse voice I
hear the creaking of ropes. Your refrain is like a sail that is torn by
the storm. Sing, sailor!"

Khorre nods his head gloomily.

"No, I will not sing."

"Then I shall force you to pray as they prayed!"

"You will not force me to pray, either. You are the Captain, and you
may kill me, and here is your revolver. It is loaded, Noni. And now I am
going to speak the truth, Captain! Khorre, the boatswain, speaks to you
in the name of the entire crew."

Haggart says:

"Drop this performance, Khorre. There is no crew here. You'd better
drink something."

He drinks.

"But the crew is waiting for you, you know it. Captain, is it your
intention to return to the ship and assume command again?"

"No."

"Captain, is it perhaps your intention to go to the people on the coast
and live with them?"

"No."

"I can't understand your actions, Noni. What do you intend to do,
Captain?"

Haggart drinks silently.

"Not all at once, Noni, not at once. Captain, do you intend to stay in
this hole and wait until the police dogs come from the city? Then they
will hang us, and not upon a mast, but simply on one of their foolish
trees."

"Yes. The wind is getting stronger. Do you hear, Khorre? The wind is
getting stronger!"

"And the gold which we have buried here?" He points below, with his
finger.

"The gold? Take it and go with it wherever you like."

The sailor says angrily:

"You are a bad man, Noni. You have only set foot on earth a little while
ago, and you already have the thoughts of a traitor. That's what the
earth is doing!"

"Be silent, Khorre. I am listening. Our sailors are singing. Do you
hear? No, that's the wine rushing to my head. I'll be drunk soon. Give
me another bottle."

"Perhaps you will go to the priest? He would absolve your sins."

"Silence!" roars Haggart, clutching at his revolver.

Silence. The storm is increasing. Haggart paces the room in agitation,
striking against the walls. He mutters something abruptly. Suddenly he
seizes the sail and tears it down furiously, admitting the salty wind.
The illumination lamp is extinguished and the flame in the fireplace
tosses about wildly--like Haggart.

"W