e sky'd be blazing and winking wid stars. Or the full of the moon
maybe. Then you'd see her driving through the gray night, her sails
stretching aloft all silver and white, not a sound on the deck, the lot
of us dreaming dreams, till you'd believe 'twas no real ship at all you
was on but a ghost ship like the Flying Dutchman they say does be
roaming the seas forevermore widout touching a port. And there was the
days, too. A warm sun on the clean decks. Sun warming the blood of you,
and wind over the miles of shiny green ocean like strong drink to your
lungs. Work--aye, hard work--but who'd mind that at all? Sure, you
worked under the sky and 'twas work wid skill and daring to it. And wid
the day done, in the dog watch, smoking me pipe at ease, the lookout
would be raising land maybe, and we'd see the mountains of South
Americy wid the red fire of the setting sun painting their white tops
and the clouds floating by them! [_His tone of exaltation ceases. He
goes on mournfully._] Yerra, what's the use of talking? 'Tis a dead
man's whisper. [_To Yank resentfully._] 'Twas them days men belonged to
ships, not now. 'Twas them days a ship was part of the sea, and a man
was part of a ship, and the sea joined all together and made it one.
[_Scornfully._] Is it one wid this you'd be, Yank--black smoke from the
funnels smudging the sea, smudging the decks--the bloody engines
pounding and throbbing and shaking--wid divil a sight of sun or a
breath of clean air--choking our lungs wid coal dust--breaking our
backs and hearts in the hell of the stokehole--feeding the bloody
furnace--feeding our lives along wid the coal, I'm thinking--caged in
by steel from a sight of the sky like bloody apes in the Zoo! [_With a
harsh laugh._] Ho-ho, divil mend you! Is it to belong to that you're
wishing? Is it a flesh and blood wheel of the engines you'd be?

YANK--[_Who has been listening with a contemptuous sneer, barks out the
answer._] Sure ting! Dat's me! What about it?

PADDY--[_As if to himself--with great sorrow._] Me time is past due.
That a great wave wid sun in the heart of it may sweep me over the side
sometime I'd be dreaming of the days that's gone!

YANK--Aw, yuh crazy Mick! [_He springs to his feet and advances on
Paddy threateningly--then stops, fighting some queer struggle within
himself--lets his hands fall to his sides--contemptuously._] Aw, take
it easy. Yuh're aw right, at dat. Yuh're bugs, dat's all--nutty as a
cuckoo. All dat