Many bottles are passed from hand to hand. All are dressed in dungaree pants, heavy ugly shoes. Some wear singlets, but the majority are stripped to the waist. Score: 3. This concise study guide includes plot summary; character analysis; author biography; study questions; historical context; suggestions for further reading; and much more. For any literature project, trust Drama For Students for all of your research needs.
Purpose of this study is also to discover the effects of negative perception upon them as positive perception plays a significant role in building strong personality characteristics. Developing positive sense of self is an essential part of every individual becoming a mature person as it develops strong character. They perceive and believe that generation to generation they belong to low class, it is in fate and not possible to bring change in their lives.
Whole life they remain unable to think positively and change progressively. Though they do hard work, most of them remain failure in improving poor financial status. In anger sometimes they blame fate while brood and complain against close people and society, on another time. Question is what the causes behind their self-identity crisis are and who is responsible of their deprivation and alienation. It is also to explore the causes which force central character to follow instincts and also the aspects of weak evaluation of his characterization, as a crew member in the play.
Besides they are not given due rights and due to poor financial status they are not considered respectable citizens in society. Generally these books are created from careful scans of the original. But we belong, see! We gotter feed de baby! Come on! 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! 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—. 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.
Oh, the filthy beast! 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! 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.
Yank's watch has just come off duty and had dinner. Their faces and bodies shine from a soap and water scrubbing but around their eyes, where a hasty dousing does not touch, the coal dust sticks like black make-up, giving them a queer, sinister expression. Yank has not washed either face or body. He stands out in contrast to them, a blackened, brooding figure. He is seated forward on a bench in the exact attitude of Rodin's "The Thinker.
Py golly, a fallar gat gat grub in him. Divil a lie. Yank feeda da fire, no feeda da face. He ain't even washed hisself. He's forgot. Hey, Yank, you forgot to wash. It'll get under your skin. Give yer the bleedin' itch, that's wot. It makes spots on you—like a leopard.
Like a piebald nigger, you mean. Better wash up, Yank. You sleep better. Wash up, Yank. Wash up! YANK—[ Resentfully.
Lemme alone. Can't youse see I'm tryin' to tink? ALL—[ Repeating the word after him as one with cynical mockery. It is followed by a chorus of hard, barking laughter. YANK—[ Springing to his feet and glaring at them belligerently. Tink, dat's what I said! Yank sits down again in the same attitude of "The Thinker.
He's got a grouch on. Why wouldn't he? He's fallen in love, I'm telling you. YANK—[ With a contemptuous snort. Hate, dat's what. I've fallen in hate, get me? Sure what else but love for us poor bastes in the stokehole would be bringing a fine lady, dressed like a white quane, down a mile of ladders and steps to be havin' a look at us? Hinsultin' us, the bloody cow!
And them bloody engineers! What right 'as they got to be exhibitin' us 's if we was bleedin' monkeys in a menagerie? Did we sign for hinsults to our dignity as 'onest workers? Is that in the ship's articles? You kin bloody well bet it ain't!
But I knows why they done it. I arsked a deck steward 'o she was and 'e told me. And you and me, comrades, we're 'is slaves! And the skipper and mates and engineers, they're 'is slaves!
And she's 'is bloody daughter and we're all 'er slaves, too! And she gives 'er orders as 'ow she wants to see the bloody animals below decks and down they takes 'er!
YANK—[ Blinking at him bewilderedly. Is all dat straight goods? LONG—Straight as string! The bleedin' steward as waits on 'em, 'e told me about 'er. And what're we goin' ter do, I arsks yer?
It ain't in the ship's articles. I tell yer we got a case. We kin go ter law—. LONG—[ Feeling the ground slipping from under his feet—desperately. LONG—[ Hysterically. ALL—Sit down! Damn fool! We roast them in their own sweat—and be damned if you won't hear some of thim saying they like it! PADDY—And there was Yank roarin' curses and turning round wid his shovel to brain her—and she looked at him, and him at her—. If you'd seen the endearin' look on her pale mug when she shrivelled away with her hands over her eyes to shut out the sight of him!
Sure, 'twas as if she'd seen a great hairy ape escaped from the Zoo! It put the touch of home, swate home in the stokehole. Hug me tight, darlin', for I'm afeerd in the dark and me mother's on deck makin' eyes at the skipper! YANK—[ Threateningly. What yuh tryin' to do, kid me, yuh old Harp? YANK—[ Fiercely. I'll brain her yet, wait 'n' see!
YANK—[ Grinning horribly. Dat's de way she looked at me, aw right. Hairy ape! So dat's me, huh? Yuh white-faced bum, yuh! I'll show yuh who's a ape! I was bawlin' him out for pullin' de whistle on us. You heard me. And den I seen youse lookin' at somep'n and I tought he'd sneaked down to come up in back of me, and I hopped round to knock him dead wit de shovel.
And dere she was wit de light on her! Christ, yuh coulda pushed me over with a finger! I was scared, get me? I tought she was a ghost, see? She was all in white like dey wrap around stiffs. You seen her. Kin yuh blame me? She didn't belong, dat's what. And den when I come to and seen it was a real skoit and seen de way she was lookin' at me—like Paddy said—Christ, I was sore, get me? I don't stand for dat stuff from nobody.
And I flung de shovel—on'y she'd beat it. I wished it'd knocked her block off! LONG—And be 'anged for murder or 'lectrocuted? She ain't bleedin' well worth it. YANK—I don't give a damn what! I'd be square wit her, wouldn't I?
Tink I wanter let her put somep'n over on me? Tink I'm goin' to let her git away wit dat stuff? Yuh don't know me! Noone ain't never put nothin' over on me and got away wit it, see!
I'll fix her! Maybe she'll come down again—. YANK—I scared her? Why de hell should I scare her? Who de hell is she? Ain't she de same as me? Hairy ape, huh? I belong and she don't, see! I move and she's dead!
Twenty-five knots a hour, dats me! Dat carries her but I make dat. She's on'y baggage. Did yuh pipe her hands? White and skinny. Yuh could see de bones trough 'em. And her mush, dat was dead white, too. And her eyes, dey was like dey'd seen a ghost. Me, dat was! Ghost, huh? Look at dat arm! What is she? What's she come from?
Who made her? Who give her de noive to look at me like dat? Dis ting's got my goat right. I don't get her. She's new to me. What does a skoit like her mean, huh? She don't belong, get me! I can't see her. Youse all kin bet your shoits I'll git even wit her. I'll show her if she tinks she—She grinds de organ and I'm on de string, huh?
Let her come down again and I'll fling her in de furnace! She'll move den! She won't shiver at nothin', den! Speed, dat'll be her! She'll belong den! She's had her belly-full, I'm telling you.
She'll be in bed now, I'm thinking, wid ten doctors and nurses feedin' her salts to clean the fear out of her. YANK—[ Enraged. Just lookin' at me, huh? I'll tell her where to git off! She'll git down on her knees and take it back or I'll bust de face offen her! I'm comin', d'yuh hear? I'll fix yuh, God damn yuh! He'll get shot! He'll murder her! Trip him up! Hold him! He's gone crazy! Gott, he's strong! Hold him down! Look out for a kick!
Pin his arms! Is it payin' attention at all you are to the like of that skinny sow widout one drop of rale blood in her? YANK—[ Frenziedly, from the bottom of the heap. She done me doit, didn't she? I'll git square wit her! I'll get her some way! Git offen me, youse guys! Lemme up! I'll show her who's a ape! A corner of Fifth Avenue in the Fifties on a fine, Sunday morning. A general atmosphere of clean, well-tidied, wide street; a flood of mellow, tempered sunshine; gentle, genteel breezes.
In the rear, the show windows of two shops, a jewelry establishment on the corner, a furrier's next to it. Here the adornments of extreme wealth are tantalizingly displayed. The jeweler's window is gaudy with glittering diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, etc. From each piece hangs an enormous tag from which a dollar sign and numerals in intermittent electric lights wink out the incredible prices. The same in the furrier's. Rich furs of all varieties hang there bathed in a downpour of artificial light.
The general effect is of a background of magnificence cheapened and made grotesque by commercialism, a background in tawdry disharmony with the clear light and sunshine on the street itself.
Up the side street Yank and Long come swaggering. Long is dressed in shore clothes, wears a black Windsor tie, cloth cap. Yank is in his dirty dungarees. A fireman's cap with black peak is cocked defiantly on the side of his head. He has not shaved for days and around his fierce, resentful eyes—as around those of Long to a lesser degree—the black smudge of coal dust still sticks like make-up.
They hesitate and stand together at the corner, swaggering, looking about them with a forced, defiant contempt. LONG—[ Indicating it all with an oratorical gesture. Fif' Avenoo. This 'ere's their bleedin' private lane, as yer might say. Proletarians keep orf the grass! YANK—[ Dully. Yuh could eat a fried egg offen it. The white wings got some job sweepin' dis up.
YANK—Choich, huh? I useter go to choich onct—sure—when I was a kid. Me old man and woman, dey made me. Dey never went demselves, dough. Always got too big a head on Sunday mornin', dat was dem. On Satiday nights when dey bot' got a skinful dey could put up a bout oughter been staged at de Garden. When dey got trough dere wasn't a chair or table wit a leg under it. Or else dey bot' jumped on me for somep'n. Dat was where I loined to take punishment.
Worked along shore. I runned away when me old lady croaked wit de tremens. I helped at truckin' and in de market. Den I shipped in de stokehole. Dat belongs. De rest was nothin'. De Brooklyn waterfront, dat was where I was dragged up. LONG—Not bad? Well, we pays for it wiv our bloody sweat, if yer wants to know!
YANK—[ With sudden angry disgust. I don't see noone, see—like her. All dis gives me a pain. It don't belong. Say, ain't dere a backroom around dis dump?
Let's go shoot a ball. All dis is too clean and quiet and dolled-up, get me! It gives me a pain. YANK—I don't wait for noone. I keep on de move.
Say, what yuh drag me up here for, anyway? Tryin' to kid me, yuh simp, yuh? LONG—Yer wants to get back at her, don't yer? That's what yer been saying' every bloomin' 'our since she hinsulted yer.
YANK—[ Vehemently. Didn't I try to git even wit her in Southampton? Didn't I sneak on de dock and wait for her by de gangplank? I was goin' to spit in her pale mug, see! Sure, right in her pop-eyes! Dat woulda made me even, see? But no chanct. Dere was a whole army of plain clothes bulls around.
Dey spotted me and gimme de bum's rush. I never seen her. But I'll git square wit her yet, you watch! She tinks she kin get away wit moider—but not wit me! I'll tink of a way! LONG—[ As disgusted as he dares to be. Yer been lookin' at this 'ere 'ole affair wrong. Yer been actin' an' talkin' 's if it was all a bleedin' personal matter between yer and that bloody cow.
I wants to convince yer she was on'y a representative of 'er clarss. I wants to awaken yer bloody clarss consciousness. Then yer'll see it's 'er clarss yer've got to fight, not 'er alone. There's a 'ole mob of 'em like 'er, Gawd blind 'em! YANK—[ Spitting on his hands—belligerently. Bring on de gang! LONG—Yer'll see 'em in arf a mo', when that church lets out. Look at that, will yer? Long flies into a fury. Just look at it! Look at the bleedin' prices on 'em—more'n our 'old bloody stokehole makes in ten voyages sweatin' in 'ell!
And they—her and her bloody clarss—buys 'em for toys to dangle on 'em! One of these 'ere would buy scoff for a starvin' family for a year! YANK—Aw, cut de sob stuff! T' hell wit de starvin' family! Yuh'll be passin' de hat to me next.
Bet yuh dey'd hock for a piece of change aw right. Let her have 'em. Dey don't belong no more'n she does. LONG—[ Who has moved to the furriers—indignantly. YANK—[ Who has been staring at something inside—with queer excitement. Give it de once-over! Monkey fur—two t'ousand bucks! What de hell—? LONG—[ Bitterly. YANK—[ Clenching his fists, his face growing pale with rage as if the skin in the window were a personal insult.
LONG—[ Excitedly. Keep yer bloomin' temper. Remember force defeats itself. It ain't our weapon. We must impress our demands through peaceful means—the votes of the on-marching proletarians of the bloody world! YANK—[ With abysmal contempt. Votes is a joke, see. Votes for women! Let dem do it! LONG—[ Still more uneasily. Treat 'em wiv the proper contempt. Observe the bleedin' parasites but 'old yer 'orses. YANK—[ Angrily.
Force, dat's me! De punch, dat's me every time, see! The women are rouged, calcimined, dyed, overdressed to the nth degree. The men are in Prince Alberts, high hats, spats, canes, etc. A procession of gaudy marionettes, yet with something of the relentless horror of Frankensteins in their detached, mechanical unawareness.
He is so sincere! What was the sermon? I dozed off. About the radicals, my dear—and the false doctrines that are being preached. We must organize a hundred per cent American bazaar. And let everyone contribute one one-hundredth percent of their income tax. What an original idea! We can devote the proceeds to rehabilitating the veil of the temple. But that has been done so many times. YANK—[ Glaring from one to the other of them—with an insulting snort of scorn.
YANK—[ Viciously. Tell it to Sweeney! Tink yuh own de oith? Come away! This wasn't what I meant. Yer'll 'ave the bloody coppers down on us. YANK—[ Savagely—giving him a push that sends him sprawling. LONG—[ Picks himself up—hysterically. This ain't what I meant. And whatever 'appens, yer can't blame me. YANK—T' hell wit youse! How's every little ting? Got anyting on for to-night? I know an old boiler down to de docks we kin crawl into. YANK turns to others—insultingly.
Go hide yuhself before de horses shy at yuh. Gee, pipe de heinie on dat one! Say, youse, yuh look like de stoin of a ferryboat. Paint and powder! All dolled up to kill! Yuh look like stiffs laid out for de boneyard! Aw, g'wan, de lot of youse!
Yuh give me de eye-ache. Yuh don't belong, get me! Look at me, why don't youse dare? I belong, dat's me! See de steel work? Steel, dat's me! Youse guys live on it and tink yuh're somep'n. But I'm IN it, see! I'm de hoistin' engine dat makes it go up!
I'm it—de inside and bottom of it! I'm steel and steam and smoke and de rest of it! It moves—speed—twenty-five stories up—and me at de top and bottom—movin'! Youse simps don't move. Yuh're on'y dolls I winds up to see 'm spin. Yuh're de garbage, get me—de leavins—de ashes we dump over de side! Now, whata yuh gotto say? Rather it is he who recoils after each collision. He keeps growling.
G'wan, yuh bum! Look where yuh're goin,' can't yuh? Git outa here! Fight, why don't yuh? Put up yer mits! Don't be a dog! Fight or I'll knock yuh dead! YANK—[ With a jerk of his head back on his shoulders, as if he had received a punch full in the face—raging.
I see yuh, yuh white-faced tart, yuh! I'll hairy ape yuh! Foiled in this, snarling with passion, he leaps to the lamp-post on the corner and tries to pull it up for a club. Just at that moment a bus is heard rumbling up. A fat, high-hatted, spatted gentleman runs out from the side street. He calls out plaintively: "Bus! Stop there! YANK—[ Seeing a fight—with a roar of joy as he springs to his feet. Bus, huh? I'll bust yuh! But the gentleman stands unmoved as if nothing had happened.
He tries to fight but is clubbed to the pavement and fallen upon. The crowd at the window have not moved or noticed this disturbance. The clanging gong of the patrol wagon approaches with a clamoring din. A row of cells in the prison on Blackwells Island.
The cells extend back diagonally from right front to left rear. They do not stop, but disappear in the dark background as if they ran on, numberless, into infinity. One electric bulb from the low ceiling of the narrow corridor sheds its light through the heavy steel bars of the cell at the extreme front and reveals part of the interior.
A blood-stained bandage is wrapped around his head. YANK—[ Suddenly starting as if awakening from a dream, reaches out and shakes the bars—aloud to himself, wonderingly. Dis is de Zoo, huh? That's a new name for this coop—a damn good name! Steel, eh? You said a mouthful. This is the old iron house. Who is that boob talkin'? He's the bloke they brung in out of his head. The bulls had beat him up fierce. I tought I was in a cage at de Zoo—but de apes don't talk, do dey? A coop! A pen!
A sty! A kennel! Who are you? No, never mind lying. What are you? Yes, tell us your sad story. What's your game? What did they jug yuh for? And I'll bust youse all in de jaw if yuh don't lay off kiddin' me. You're a hard boiled duck ain't you! When you spit, it bounces! He's a regular guy. Ain't you? What did he say he was—a ape? YANK—[ Defiantly. Ain't dat what youse all are—apes?
Then a furious rattling of bars from down the corridor. Can de noise! You'll have the guard down on us! YANK—[ Scornfully. Yuh mean de keeper, don't yuh? He's off his nut from the beatin'-up he got. Say, you guy! We're waitin' to hear what they landed you for—or ain't yuh tellin'? Why de hell not? On'y—youse won't get me. Nobody gets me but me, see? I started to tell de Judge and all he says was: "Toity days to tink it over.
Christ, dat's all I been doin' for weeks! Your goil, huh? Give yuh the double-cross, huh? That's them every time! Did yuh beat up de odder guy? Sure dere was a skoit in it—but not what youse mean, not dat old tripe.
Dis was a new kind of skoit. She was dolled up all in white—in de stokehole. I tought she was a ghost. Let him rave. It's fun listenin'. YANK—[ Unheeding—groping in his thoughts. Dere was a million miles from me to her—twenty-five knots a hour.
She was like some dead ting de cat brung in. Sure, dat's what. She didn't belong. She belonged in de window of a toy store, or on de top of a garbage can, see! She lamped me like she was seein' somep'n broke loose from de menagerie. Christ, yuh'd oughter seen her eyes! And if I can't find her I'll take it out on de gang she runs wit. I'm wise to where dey hangs out now. I'll show her who belongs! I'll show her who's in de move and who ain't. You watch my smoke! Take her for all she's got!
What was this dame, anyway? Who was she, eh? YANK—I dunno. First cabin stiff. Her old man's a millionaire, dey says—name of Douglas. That's the president of the Steel Trust, I bet. I seen his mug in de papers. He's filthy with dough. If you want to get back at that dame, you better join the Wobblies. You'll get some action then. I been readin' about 'em to-day in the paper. The guard give me the Sunday Times. There's a long spiel about 'em. It's from a speech made in the Senate by a guy named Senator Queen.
There is a rustling of paper. YANK—[ With vengeful satisfaction. Me for dem! Give him the boid, fellers—the raspberry! For they represent an ever-present dagger pointed at the heart of the greatest nation the world has ever known, where all men are born free and equal, with equal opportunities to all, where the Founding Fathers have guaranteed to each one happiness, where Truth, Honor, Liberty, Justice, and the Brotherhood of Man are a religion absorbed with one's mother's milk, taught at our father's knee, sealed, signed, and stamped upon in the glorious Constitution of these United States!
Pass de hat! All togedder now—one—two—tree—[ A terrific chorus of barking and yapping. YANK—[ With growling rage. I'd loin him some trute!
Here's where he gits down to cases on the Wobblies. They stop not before murder to gain their ends, nor at the outraging of defenceless womanhood. They would tear down society, put the lowest scum in the seats of the mighty, turn Almighty God's revealed plan for the world topsy-turvy, and make of our sweet and lovely civilization a shambles, a desolation where man, God's masterpiece, would soon degenerate back to the ape! YANK—[ With a growl of fury.
So dey blow up tings, do dey? Dey turn tings round, do dey? Hey, lend me dat paper, will yuh? Give it to him. On'y keep it to yourself, see. We don't wanter listen to no more of that slop.
YANK—[ Reaching out. I can't read much but I kin manage. Several snores from down the corridor. Suddenly YANK jumps to his feet with a furious groan as if some appalling thought had crashed on him—bewilderedly. Christ [ He shakes the bars of his cell door till the whole tier trembles.
Irritated, protesting exclamations from those awakened or trying to get to sleep. IT don't belong, dat's what! Cages, cells, locks, bolts, bars—dat's what it means! But I'll drive trou! Fire, dat melts it! I'll be fire—under de heap—fire dat never goes out—hot as hell—breakin' out in de night—[ While he has been saying this last he has shaken his cell door to a clanging accompaniment. As he comes to the "breakin' out" he seizes one bar with both hands and, putting his two feet up against the others so that his position is parallel to the floor like a monkey's, he gives a great wrench backwards.
The bar bends like a licorice stick under his tremendous strength. Got the D. Well, I'll cure 'em.
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