Well
den, we belong, don't we? We belong and dey don't. Dat's all. [_A loud
chorus of approval. Yank goes on_] As for dis bein' hell--aw, nuts! Yuh
lost your noive, dat's what. Dis is a man's job, get me? It belongs. It
runs dis tub. No stiffs need apply. But yuh're a stiff, see? Yuh're
yellow, dat's you.

VOICES--[_With a great hard pride in them._]

Righto!

A man's job!

Talk is cheap, Long.

He never could hold up his end.

Divil take him!

Yank's right. We make it go.

Py Gott, Yank say right ting!

We don't need noone cryin' over us.

Makin' speeches.

Throw him out!

Yellow!

Chuck him overboard!

I'll break his jaw for him!

[_They crowd around Long threateningly._]

YANK--[_Half good-natured again--contemptuously._] Aw, take it easy.
Leave him alone. He ain't woith a punch. Drink up. Here's how, whoever
owns dis. [_He takes a long swallow from his bottle. All drink with
him. In a flash all is hilarious amiability again, back-slapping, loud
talk, etc._]

PADDY--[_Who has been sitting in a blinking, melancholy daze--suddenly
cries out in a voice full of old sorrow._] We belong to this, you're
saying? We make the ship to go, you're saying? Yerra then, that
Almighty God have pity on us! [_His voice runs into the wail of a keen,
he rocks back and forth on his bench. The men stare at him, startled
and impressed in spite of themselves._] Oh, to be back in the fine days
of my youth, ochone! Oh, there was fine beautiful ships them
days--clippers wid tall masts touching the sky--fine strong men in
them--men that was sons of the sea as if 'twas the mother that bore
them. Oh, the clean skins of them, and the clear eyes, the straight
backs and full chests of them! Brave men they was, and bold men surely!
We'd be sailing out, bound down round the Horn maybe. We'd be making
sail in the dawn, with a fair breeze, singing a chanty song wid no care
to it. And astern the land would be sinking low and dying out, but we'd
give it no heed but a laugh, and never a look behind. For the day that
was, was enough, for we was free men--and I'm thinking 'tis only slaves
do be giving heed to the day that's gone or the day to come--until
they're old like me. [_With a sort of religious exaltation._] Oh, to be
scudding south again wid the power of the Trade Wind driving her on
steady through the nights and the days! Full sail on her! Nights and
days! Nights when the foam of the wake would be flaming wid fire, when
th