|
|
| The stokehole. In the rear, the dimly-outlined bulks of |
|
|
| the furnaces and boilers. High overhead one hanging electric bulb |
|
|
| sheds just enough light through the murky air laden with coal dust |
|
|
| to pile up masses of shadows everywhere. A line of men, stripped |
|
|
| to the waist, is before the furnace doors. They bend over, looking |
|
|
| neither to right nor left, handling their shovels as if they were |
|
|
| part of their bodies, with a strange, awkward, swinging rhythm. |
|
|
| They use the shovels to throw open the furnace doors. Then from |
|
|
| these fiery round holes in the black a flood of terrific light and |
|
|
| heat pours full upon the men who are outlined in silhouette in the |
|
|
| crouching, inhuman attitudes of chained gorillas. The men shovel |
|
|
| with a rhythmic motion, swinging as on a pivot from the coal which |
|
|
| lies in heaps on the floor behind to hurl it into the flaming |
|
|
| mouths before them. There is a tumult of noise—the brazen clang |
|
|
| of the furnace doors as they are flung open or slammed shut, the |
|
|
| grating, teeth-gritting grind of steel against steel, of crunching |
|
|
| coal. This clash of sounds stuns one's ears with its rending |
|
|
| dissonance. But there is order in it, rhythm, a mechanical |
|
|
| regulated recurrence, a tempo. And rising above all, making the |
|
|
| air hum with the quiver of liberated energy, the roar of leaping |
|
|
| flames in the furnaces, the monotonous throbbing beat of the |
|
|
| engines. |
|
|
|
|
| YANK: |
|
|
| —[From the center of the line—with exuberant scorn.]Aw, yuh |
|
|
| make me sick! Lie down and croak, why don't yuh? Always beefin', |
|
|
| dat's you! Say, dis is a cinch! Dis was made for me! It's my meat, |
|
|
| get me![A whistle is blown—a thin, shrill note from somewhereoverhead in the darkness. Yank curses without resentment.]Dere's |
|
|
| de damn engineer crakin' de whip. He tinks we're loafin'. PADDY— |
|
|
|
[Vindictively.]
God stiffen him!
|
|
|
|
|
| YANK: |
|
|
| —[Chanting a count as he shovels without seeming effort.] |
|
|
| One—two—tree—[His voice rising exultantly in the joy ofbattle.]Dat's de stuff! Let her have it! All togedder now! Sling |
|
|
| it into her! Let her ride! Shoot de piece now! Call de toin on |
|
|
| her! Drive her into it! Feel her move! Watch her smoke! Speed, |
|
|
| dat's her middle name! Give her coal, youse guys! Coal, dat's her |
|
|
| booze! Drink it up, baby! Let's see yuh sprint! Dig in and gain a |
|
|
| lap! Dere she go-o-es[This last in the chanting formula of thegallery gods at the six-day bike race. He slams his furnace doorshut. The others do likewise with as much unison as their weariedbodies will permit. The effect is of one fiery eye after anotherbeing blotted out with a series of accompanying bangs.] |
|
|
|
|
| YANK: |
|
|
| —[Contemptuously.]He ain't got no noive. He's yellow, get |
|
|
| me? All de engineers is yellow. Dey got streaks a mile wide. Aw, |
|
|
| to hell wit him! Let's move, youse guys. We had a rest. Come on, |
|
|
| she needs it! Give her pep! It ain't for him. Him and his whistle, |
|
|
| dey don't belong. But we belong, see! We gotter feed de baby! Come |
|
|
| on![He turns and flings his furnace door open. They all followhis lead. At this instant the Second and Fourth Engineers enterfrom the darkness on the left with Mildred between them. Shestarts, turns paler, her pose is crumbling, she shivers withfright in spite of the blazing heat, but forces herself to leavethe Engineers and take a few steps nearer the men. She is rightbehind Yank. All this happens quickly while the men have theirbacks turned.] |
|
|
|
|
| YANK: |
|
|
| —Come on, youse guys![He is turning to get coal when thewhistle sounds again in a peremptory, irritating note. This drivesYank into a sudden fury. While the other men have turned fullaround and stopped dumfounded by the spectacle of Mildred standingthere in her white dress, Yank does not turn far enough to seeher. Besides, his head is thrown back, he blinks upward throughthe murk trying to find the owner of the whistle, he brandisheshis shovel murderously over his head in one hand, pounding on hischest, gorilla-like, with the other, shouting:]Toin off dat |
|
|
| whistle! Come down outa dere, yuh yellow, brass-buttoned, Belfast |
|
|
| bum, yuh! Come down and I'll knock yer brains out! Yuh lousey, |
|
|
| stinkin', yellow mut of a Catholic-moiderin' bastard! Come down |
|
|
| and I'll moider yuh! Pullin' dat whistle on me, huh? I'll show |
|
|
| yuh! I'll crash yer skull in! I'll drive yer teet' down yer troat! |
|
|
| I'll slam yer nose trou de back of yer head! I'll cut yer guts out |
|
|
| for a nickel, yuh lousey boob, yuh dirty, crummy, muck-eatin' son |
|
|
| of a— |
|
|
|
|
|
[Suddenly he becomes conscious of all the other men staring atsomething directly behind his back. He whirls defensively with asnarling, murderous growl, crouching to spring, his lips drawnback o'ver his teeth, his small eyes gleaming ferociously. He seesMildred, like a white apparition in the full light from the openfurnace doors. He glares into her eyes, turned to stone. As forher, during his speech she has listened, paralyzed with horror,terror, her whole personality crushed, beaten in, collapsed, bythe terrific impact of this unknown, abysmal brutality, naked andshameless. As she looks at his gorilla face, as his eyes bore intohers, she utters a low, choking cry and shrinks away from him,putting both hands up before her eyes to shut out the sight of hisface, to protect her own. This startles Yank to a reaction. Hismouth falls open, his eyes grow bewildered.]
|
|
|
