SCENE--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.
As the curtain rises, the furnace doors are shut. The men are taking a
breathing spell. One or two are arranging the coal behind them, pulling
it into more accessible heaps. The others can be dimly made out leaning
on their shovels in relaxed attitudes of exhaustion.
PADDY--[_From somewhere in the line--plaintively._] Yerra, will this
divil's own watch nivir end? Me back is broke. I'm destroyed entirely.
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 somewhere overhead 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--[_In an exultant tone of command._] Come on, youse guys! Git into
de game! She's gittin' hungry! Pile some grub in her! Trow it into her
belly! Come on now, all of youse! Open her up! [_At this last all the
men, who have followed his movements of getting into position, throw
open their furnace doors with a deafening clang. The fiery light floods
over their shoulders as they bend round for the coal. Rivulets of sooty
sweat have traced maps on their backs. The enlarged muscles form
bunches of high light and shadow._]
YANK--[_Chanting a count as he shovels without seeming effort._]
One--two--tree--[_His voice rising exultantly in the joy of battle._]
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 the gallery gods at the six-day bike race. He
slams his furnace door shut. The others do likewise with as much unison
as their wearied bodies will permit. The effect is of one fiery eye
after another being blotted out with a series of accompanying bangs._]
PADDY--[_Groaning._] Me back is broke. I'm bate out--bate--[_There is a
pause. Then the inexorable whistle sounds again from the dim regions
above the electric light. There is a growl of cursing rage from all
sides._]
YANK--[_Shaking his fist upward--contemptuously._] Take it easy dere,
you! Who d'yuh tinks runnin' dis game, me or you? When I git ready, we
move. Not before! When I git ready, get me!
VOICES--[_Approvingly._] That's the stuff!
Yank tal him, py golly!
Yank ain't affeerd.
Goot poy, Yank!
Give him hell!
Tell 'im 'e's a bloody swine!
Bloody slave-driver!
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 follow his lead. At this instant
the Second and Fourth Engineers enter from the darkness on the left
with Mildred between them. She starts, turns paler, her pose is
crumbling, she shivers with fright in spite of the blazing heat, but
forces herself to leave the Engineers and take a few steps nearer the
men. She is right behind Yank. All this happens quickly while the men
have their backs turned._]
YANK--Come on, youse guys! [_He is turning to get coal when the whistle
sounds again in a peremptory, irritating note. This drives Yank into a
sudden fury. While the other men have turned full around and stopped
dumfounded by the spectacle of Mildred standing there in her white
dress, Yank does not turn far enough to see her. Besides, his head is
thrown back, he blinks upward through the murk trying to find the owner
of the whistle, he brandishes his shovel murderously over his head in
one hand, pounding on his chest, 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 at
something directly behind his back. He whirls defensively with a
snarling, murderous growl, crouching to spring, his lips drawn back
o'ver his teeth, his small eyes gleaming ferociously. He sees Mildred,
like a white apparition in the full light from the open furnace doors.
He glares into her eyes, turned to stone. As for her, during his speech
she has listened, paralyzed with horror, terror, her whole personality
crushed, beaten in, collapsed, by the terrific impact of this unknown,
abysmal brutality, naked and shameless. As she looks at his gorilla
face, as his eyes bore into hers, she utters a low, choking cry and
shrinks away from him, putting both hands up before her eyes to shut
out the sight of his face, to protect her own. This startles Yank to a
reaction. His mouth falls open, his eyes grow bewildered._]
MILDRED--[_About to faint--to the Engineers, who now have her one by
each arm--whimperingly._] Take me away! Oh, the filthy beast! [_She
faints. They carry her quickly back, disappearing in the darkness at
the left, rear. An iron door clangs shut. Rage and bewildered fury rush
back on Yank. He feels himself insulted in some unknown fashion in the
very heart of his pride. He roars:_] God damn yuh! [_And hurls his
shovel after them at the door which has just closed. It hits the steel
bulkhead with a clang and falls clattering on the steel floor. From
overhead the whistle sounds again in a long, angry, insistent command._]
[_Curtain_]