ntraband.

YOUNG FISHERMAN--God wouldn't bother with such trifles. The abbot thinks
a while:

"No; hold on. I think contraband tobacco is not quite so good. That's an
inferior grade. Look here; you better drop your pipe meanwhile, Mathias;
I'll think the matter over later. Now, silence, perfect silence. Let God
take a look at us first."

All stand silent and serious. Only a few have lowered their heads. Most
of the people are looking ahead with wide-open, motionless eyes, as
though they really saw God in the blue of the sky, in the boundless,
radiant, distant surface of the sea. The sea is approaching with a
caressing murmur; high tide has set in.

"My God and the God of all these people! Don't judge us for praying, not
in Latin but in our own language, which our mothers have taught us.
Our God! Save us from all kinds of terrors, from unknown sea monsters;
protect us against storms and hurricanes, against tempests and gales.
Give us calm weather and a kind wind, a clear sun and peaceful waves.
And another thing, O Lord! we ask You; don't allow the devil, to
come close to our bedside when we are asleep. In our sleep we are
defenceless, O Lord! and the devil terrifies us, tortures us to
convulsions, torments us to the very blood of our heart. And there
is another thing, O Lord! Old Rikke, whom You know, is beginning to
extinguish Your light in his eyes and he can make nets no longer--"

Rikke frequently shakes his head in assent.

"I can't, I can't!"

"Prolong, then, O Lord! Your bright day and bid the night wait. Am I
right, Rikke?"

"Yes."

"And here is still another, the last request, O Lord. I shall not ask
any more: The tears do not dry up in the eyes of our old women crying
for those who have perished. Take their memory away, O Lord, and give
them strong forgetfulness. There are still other trifles, O Lord, but
let the others pray whose turn has come before You. Amen."

Silence. Old Dan tugs the abbot by the sleeve, and whispers something in
his ear.

ABBOT--Dan is asking me to pray for those who perished at sea.

The women exclaim in plaintive chorus:

"For those who perished at sea! For those who died at sea!"

Some of them kneel. The abbot looks tenderly at their bowed heads,
exhausted with waiting and fear, and says:

"No priest should pray for those who died at sea--these women should
pray. Make it so, O Lord, that they should not weep so much!"

Silence. The incoming tide roars more loudly