BEN (solemnly).  Aye.

THE STEWARD.  The two years we all signed up for are done this day.  Blessed Christ!  Two years o’ this dog’s life, and no luck in the fishin’, and the hands half starved with the food runnin’ low, rotten as it is; and not a sign of him turnin’ back for home! (Bitterly) Home!  I begin to doubt if ever I’ll set foot on land again. (Excitedly) What is it he thinks he’s goin’ to do?  Keep us all up here after our time is worked out till the last man of us is starved to death or frozen?  We’ve grub enough hardly to last out the voyage back if we started now.  What are the men goin’ to do ’bout it?  Did ye hear any talk in the fo’c’s’le?

BEN (going over to him—­in a half-whisper).  They said if he don’t put back south for home to-day they’re goin’ to mutiny.

THE STEWARD (with grim satisfaction).  Mutiny?  Aye, ’tis the only thing they can do; and serve him right after the manner he’s treated them—­’s if they weren’t no better nor dogs.

BEN.  The ice is all broke up to s’uth’rd.  They’s clear water’s far’s you can see.  He ain’t got no excuse for not turnin’ back for home, the men says.

THE STEWARD (bitterly).  He won’t look nowheres but no’th’rd where they’s only the ice to see.  He don’t want to see no clear water.  All he thinks on is gittin’ the ile—­’s if it was our fault he ain’t had good luck with the whales. (Shaking his head) I think the man’s mighty nigh losin’ his senses.

BEN (awed).  D’ you really think he’s crazy?

THE STEWARD.  Aye, it’s the punishment o’ God on him.  Did ye hear ever of a man who wasn’t crazy do the things he does? (Pointing to the door in rear) Who but a man that’s mad would take his woman—­and as sweet a woman as ever was—­on a stinkin’ whalin’ ship to the Arctic seas to be locked in by the rotten ice for nigh on a year, and maybe lose her senses forever—­for it’s sure she’ll never be the same again.

BEN (sadly).  She useter be awful nice to me before—­(his eyes grow wide and frightened) she got—­like she is.

THE STEWARD.  Aye, she was good to all of us.  ’T would have been hell on board without her; for he’s a hard man—­a hard, hard man—­a driver if there ever was one. (With a grim laugh) I hope he’s satisfied now—­drivin’ her on till she’s near lost her mind.  And who could blame her?  ’T is a God’s wonder we’re not a ship full of crazed people—­with the damned ice all the time, and the quiet so thick you’re afraid to hear your own voice.

BEN (with a frightened glance toward the door on right).  She don’t never speak to me no more—­jest looks at me’s if she didn’t know me.

THE STEWARD.  She don’t know no one—­but him.  She talks to him—­when she does talk—­right enough.

BEN.  She does nothin’ all day long now but sit and sew—­and then she cries to herself without makin’ no noise.  I’ve seen her.