ix thousand of you men were crippled or crushed to death last
year--and that, let me remind you, was only in the port of New York. Why
was it? Why did it have to be? And why will it always have to be until
you make these ships your own? Because, fellow workers, the time of the
ships is worth so much to their owners that the work has got to be
rushed day and night--and in that rush somebody's bound to get hurt--if
he isn't killed he's lucky! And as for the rest, when at last you're
through and dead tired--they point to the saloons and say, 'Now have a
few drinks! We won't need you again till next Tuesday'! Do you know what
all this means in your homes? It means drunks, cripples, sick and poor!
It means such sights as I'll never forget. I've seen 'em all--just
lately!

"I never thought of such things before. I liked my office job on the
dock and all the jobs around me--and when sailing time drew near I liked
the last excitement. I liked the rich furs and dresses and the cute
little earrings and slippers and dogs that were attached to the women
who came. I liked to see them pile out of their motors and laugh and
make eyes at the men they belonged to. I liked to peep into the cabins
they had--get on to all the luxuries there.

"But out of all this magnificence, friends, and this work that keeps it
going--I saw one day a man come on a stretcher. He was dead. And that
started me thinking. That's why I came out when the strike was called.
And in the strike I've gone into your homes. I've seen what those soft
expensive female dolls and all the work that makes them costs. And I've
got a thrill of another kind! It's a thrill that'll last for the rest of
my life! And in yours, too, fellow workers! For I believe that you'll go
right on--that you'll strike and strike and strike again--till you make
these tenements own these ships--and a life won't be thrown away for a
dollar!"

She stopped sharply and stepped back, and there burst out a frenzy of
applause, which died down to be caught up and prolonged and deepened
into a steady roar, as Marsh came slowly forward. He stood there
bareheaded, impassive and quiet, listening to the great voice of the
mass. At last he turned to the chairman. The latter picked up a whistle,
and at that piercing call to order slowly the cheering began to subside.
Faces pressed eagerly closer. Marsh looked all around him.

"Fellow workers," he began, "it's hard for a man to be understood when
he's talkin