The far side of the forecastle is so narrow that it contains only one series of bunks.

  At regular intervals of a minute or so the blast of the steamer’s whistle can be heard above all the other sounds.

  In the lower bunk in the rear a dark-haired, hard-featured man is lying apparently asleep. One of his arms is stretched limply over the side of the bunk. His face is very pale, and drops of clammy perspiration glisten on his forehead.

  COCKY—(a weazened runt of a man. He is telling a story. The others are listening with amused, incredulous faces, interrupting him at the end of each sentence with loud derisive guffaws.) Makin’ love to me, she was! It’s Gawd’s truth! A bloomin’ nigger. Greased all over with cocoanut oil, she was. Gawd blimey, I couldn’t stand ‘Cr. Bloody old cow, I says; and with that I fetched ‘er a buff on the ear wot knocked ‘er silly, an’—(He is interrupted by a roar of laughter from the others.)

  SCOTTY—(a dark young fellow) Ho-ho! Ye werr neverr in New Guinea in yourr life, I’m thinkin’.

  DRISCOLL—(a brawny Irishman with the battered features of a prizefighter) How cud ye doubt ut, Ollie? A quane av the naygurs she musta been surely. Who else wud think herself aqual to fallin’ in love wid a beauthiful, divil-may-care rake av a man the loike av Cocky? (a burst of laughter from the crowd)

  SCOTTY—’Twas a Christmas dinner she had her eyes on.

  DRISCOLL—’Tis lucky for both av ye ye escaped; for the quane av the cannibal isles wad ‘a died av the belly ache the day afther Christmas, divil a doubt av ut. (The laughter at this is long and loud.)

  DRISCOLL—Ssshh! (in a hushed whisper) We’d best not be talkin’ so loud and him tryin’ to have a bit av a sleep. (He tiptoes softly to the side of the bunk.) Yank! You’d be wantin’ a drink av wather, maybe? (Yank does not reply. Driscoll bends over and looks at him.) It’s asleep he is, sure enough. His breath is chokin’ in his throat loike wather gurglin’ in a poipe. (He comes back quietly and sits down. All are silent, avoiding each other’s eyes.)

  DRISCOLL—Stop your croakin’! He’s not dead yet and, praise God, he’ll have many a long day yet before him.

  DAVIS—Lucky he’s alive. Many a man’s light woulda gone out after a fall like that.

  DAVIS—Right next to him. He and me was goin’ down in number two hold to do some chippin’. He puts his leg over careless-like and misses the ladder and plumps straight down to the bottom. I was scared to look over for a minute, and then I heard him groan and I scuttled down after him. He was hurt bad inside for the blood was drippin’ from the side of his mouth. He was groanin’ hard, but he never let a word out of him.

  OLSON—Did the captain know where he iss hurted?

  SCOTTY—(scornfully) He fiddles in his mouth wi’ a bit of glass.

  SCOTTY—(sardonically) He give him a dose of salts, na doot?

  COCKY—(after a pause) Yank was a good shipmate, pore beggar. Lend me four bob in Noo Yark, ‘e did.

  DAVIS—The sleep’ll do him good. He seems better now.

  DRISCOLL—Wud ye have him be eatin’ in his condishun? Sure it’s hard enough on the rest av us wid nothin’ the matther wid our insides to be stomachin’ the skoff on this rusty lime-juicer.

  DAVIS—Plenty o’ work and no food—and the owners ridin’ around in carriages!

  COCKY—Bloody swill! Fit only for swine is wot I say.

  PAUL—(swings his feet Over the side of his bunk, stops playing his accordion, and says slowly) And rot-ten po-tay-toes! (He starts in playing again. The sick man gives a groan of pain.)

  DAVIS—Damn this fog! (reaches in under a bunk and yanks out a pair of seaboots, which he pulls on) My lookout next, too. Must be nearly eight bells, boys. (With the exception of Olson, all the men sitting up put on oilskins, sou’westers, seaboots, etc., in preparation for the watch on deck. Olson crawls into a lower bunk on the right.)

  OLSON—(disgustedly) Nothin’ but yust dirty weather all dis voyage. I yust can’t sleep when weestle blow. (He turns his back to the light and is soon fast asleep and snoring.)

  DRISCOLL—’Twas just such a night as this the auld Dover wint down. Just about this toime ut was, too, and we all sittin’ round in the fo’c’stle, Yank beside me, whin all av a suddint we heard a great slitherin’ crash, and the ship heeled over till we was all in a heap on wan side. What came afther I disremimber exactly, except ‘twas a hard shift to get the boats over the side before the auld teakittle sank. Yank was in the same boat wid me, and sivin morthal days we drifted wid scarcely a drop of wather or a bite to chew on. ‘Twas Yank here that held me down whin I wanted to jump into the ocean, roarin’ mad wid the thirst. Picked up we were on the same day wid only Yank in his senses, and him steerin’ the boat.

  DRISCOLL—Are ye feelin’ any betther, Yank?

  DRISCOLL—Sure, you must be. You look as sthrong as an ox. (appealing to the others) Am I tellin’ him a lie?

  COCKY—You’ll be ‘avin your pint of beer in Cardiff this day week.

  YANK—(peevishly) What’re yuh all lyin’ fur? D’yuh think I’m scared to—(He hesitates as if frightened by the word he is about to say.)

  YANK—(in an agony of fear) Don’t leave me, Drisc! I’m dyin’, I tell yuh. I won’t stay here alone with everyone snorin’. I’ll go out on deck. (He makes a feeble attempt to rise, but sinks back with a sharp groan. His breath comes in wheezy gasps.) Don’t leave me, Drisc! (His face grows white and his head falls back with a jerk.)

  COCKY—Right-o. (Cocky, Davis and Scotty go out quietly.)

  DRISCOLL—Are ye satisfied now, Yank? (Receiving no answer, he bends over the still form.) He’s fainted, God help him! (He gets a tin dipper from the bucket and bathes Yank’s forehead with the water. Yank shudders and opens his eyes.)

  DRISCOLL—(with forced gayety) Is it wishful for heaven ye are?

  DRISCOLL—(crossing himself involuntarily) For the love av the saints don’t be talkin’ loike that! You’d give a man the creeps. It’s chippin’ rust on deck you’ll be in a day or two wid the best av us. (Yank does not answer, but closes his eyes wearily. The seaman who has been on lookout, Smitty, a young Englishman, comes in and takes off his dripping oilskins. While he is doing this the man whose turn at the wheel has been relieved enters. He is a dark burly fellow with a round stupid face. The Englishman steps softly over to Driscoll. The other crawls into a lower bunk.)

  DRISCOLL—Betther. Ask him yourself. He’s awake.

  SMITTY—Glad to hear it, Yank. (He crawls to an upper bunk and is soon asleep.)

  YANK—(wearily) Yes, Ivan.

  YANK—(after a pause broken only by snores—with a bitter laugh) Good-by and good luck to the lot of you!

  YANK—It hurts like hell—here. (He points to the lower part of his chest on the left side.) I guess my old pump’s busted. Ooohh! (A spasm of pain contracts his pale features. He presses his hand to his side and writhes on the thin mattress of his bunk. The perspiration stands out in beads on his forehead.)

  YANK—(sitting up in his bunk, frantic with fear) Don’t leave me, Drisc! For God’s sake, don’t leave me alone! (He leans over the side of his bunk and spits. Driscoll comes back to him.) Blood! Ugh!

  YANK—No, no, don’t leave me! If yuh do I’ll git up and follow you. I ain’t no coward, but I’m scared to stay here with all of them asleep and snorin’. (Driscoll, not knowing what to do, sits down on the bench beside him. He grows calmer and sinks back on the mattress.) The captain can’t do me no good, yuh know it yourself. The pain ain’t so bad now, but I thought it had me then. It was a buzz-saw cuttin’ into me.

  (The captain and the second mate of the steamer enter the forecastle. The captain is an old man with gray mustache and whiskers. The mate is clean-shaven and middle-aged. Both are dressed in simple blue uniforms.)

  YANK—(feebly) All right, sir.

  YANK—It still hurts, sir, worse than ever.

  THE MATE—(after a pause) Isn’t this your watch on deck, Driscoll?

  THE CAPTAIN—That’s all right.

  THE CAPTAIN—(stares at his watch for a moment or so; then takes the thermometer from Yank’s mouth and goes to the lamp to read it. His expression grows very grave. He beckons the mate and Driscoll to the corner near the doorway. Yank watches them furtively. The captain speaks in a low voice to the mate.) Way up, both of them. (to Driscoll) Has he been spitting blood again?

  THE CAPTAIN—A great deal?

  THE CAPTAIN—He hasn’t eaten anything?

  THE CAPTAIN—Did he drink that medicine I sent him?

  THE CAPTAIN—(shaking his head) I can’t do anything else for him. It’s too serious for me. If this had only happened a week later we’d be in Cardiff in time to—

  THE CAPTAIN—(impatiently) But, my good man, I’m not a doctor. (more kindly as he sees Driscoll’s grief) You and he have been shipmates a long time?

  THE CAPTAIN—I see. Well, don’t let him move. Keep him quiet and we’ll hope for the best. I’ll read the matter up and send him some medicine, something to ease the pain, anyway. (goes over to Yank) Keep up your courage! You’ll be better tomorrow. (He breaks down lamely before Yank’s steady gaze.) We’ll pull you through all right—and—hm—well—coming, Robinson? Dammit! (He goes out hurriedly, followed by the mate.)

  YANK—Don’t lie, Drisc. I head what he said, and if I didn’t I c’d tell by the way I feel. I know what’s goin’ to happen. I’m goin’ to—(He hesitates for a second—then resolutely) I’m goin’ to die, that’s what, and the sooner the better!

  YANK—It ain’t no use, Drisc. I ain’t got a chance, but I ain’t scared. Gimme a drink of water, will yuh, Drisc? My throat’s burnin’ up. (Driscoll brings the dipper full of water and supports his head while he drinks in great gulps.)

  YANK—Yes—now—when I know it’s all up. (a pause) You mustn’t take it so hard, Drisc. I was just thinkin’ it ain’t as bad as people think—dyin’. I ain’t never took much stock in the truck them sky-pilots preach. I ain’t never had religion; but I know whatever it is what comes after it can’t be no worser’n this. I don’t like to leave you, Drisc, but—that’s all.

  YANK—This sailor life ain’t much to cry about leavin’—just one ship after another, had work, small pay, and bum grub; and when we git into port, just a drunk endin’ up in a fight, and all your money gone, and then ship away again. Never meetin’ no nice people; never gittin’ outa sailor town, hardly, in any port; travelin’ all over the world and never seein’ none of it; without no one to care whether you’re alive or dead. (with a bitter smile) There ain’t much in all that that’d make yuh sorry to lose it, Drisc.

  YANK—(musingly) It must be great to stay on dry land all your life and have a farm with a house of your own with cows and pigs and chickens, ‘way in the middle of the land where yuh’d never smell the sea or see a ship. It must be great to have a wife, and kids to play with at night after supper when your work was done. It must be great to have a home of your own, Drisc.

  YANK—Sea-fain’ is all right when you’re young and don’t care, but we ain’t chickens no more, and somehow, I dunno, this last year has seemed rotten, and I’ve had a hunch I’d quit—with you, of course—and we’d save our coin, and go to Canada or Argentine or some place and git a farm, just a small one, just enough to live on. I never told yuh this ‘cause I thought you’d laugh at me.

  YANK—(sadly) Too late. We shouldn’ta made this trip, and then— How’d all the fog git in here?

  YANK—Everything looks misty. Must be my eyes gittin’ weak, I guess. What was we talkin’ of a minute ago? Oh, yes, a farm. It’s too late. (his mind wandering) Argentine, did I say? D’yuh remember the times we’ve had in Buenos Aires? The moving pictures in Barracas? Some class to them, d’yuh remember?

  YANK—Remember the time we was there on the beach and had to go to Tommy Moore’s boarding house to git shipped? And he sold us rotten oilskins and seaboots full of holes, and shipped us on a skys’l yarder round the Horn, and took two months’ pay for it. And the days we used to sit on the park benches along the Paseo Colon with the vigilantes lookin’ hard at us? And the songs at the Sailor’s Opera where the guy played ragtime—d’yuh remember them?

  YANK—And La Plata—phew, the stink of the hides! I always liked Argentine—all except that booze, caña. How drunk we used to git on that, remember?

  YANK—Remember the night I went crazy with the heat in Singapore? And the time you was pinched by the cops in Port Said? And the time we was both locked up in Sydney for fightin’?

  YANK—And that fight on the dock at Cape Town— (His voice betrays great inward perturbation.)

  YANK—D’yuh think He’ll hold it up agin me?

  YANK—God. They say He sees everything. He must know it was done in fair fight, in self-defense, don’t yuh think?

  YANK—(with a shudder) I c’d see him a minute ago with the blood spurtin’ out of his neck. Ugh!

  YANK—(uncertainly) You don’t think He’ll hold it up agin me—God, I mean?

  YANK—(after a pause) We won’t reach Cardiff for a week at least. I’ll be buried at sea.

  YANK—(as if he had not heard him) It’s as good a place as any other, I s’pose—only I always wanted to be buried on dry land. But what the hell’ll I care—then? (fretfully) Why should it be a rotten night like this with that damned whistle blowin’ and people snorin’ all around? I wish the stars was out, and the moon, too; I c’d lie out on deck and book at them, and it’d make it easier to go—somehow.

  YANK—Whatever pay’s comin’ to me yuh can divvy up with the rest of the boys; and you take my watch. It ain’t worth much, but it’s all I’ve got.

  YANK—No, not as I know of. One thing I forgot: You know Fanny the barmaid at the Red Stork in Cardiff?

  YANK—She’s been good to me. She tried to lend me half a crown when I was broke there last trip. Buy her the biggest box of candy yuh c’n find in Cardiff. (breaking down—in a choking voice) It’s hard to ship on this voyage I’m goin’ on— alone! (Driscoll reaches out and grasps his hand. There is a pause, during which both fight to control themselves.) My throat’s like a furnace. (He gasps for air.) Gimme a drink of water, will yuh, Drisc? (Driscoll gets him a dipper of water.) I wish this was a pint of beer. Oooohh! (He chokes, his face convulsed with agony, his hands tearing at his shirt front. The dipper falls from his nerveless fingers.)

  YANK—(speaking with tremendous difficulty) S’long, Drisc! (He stares straight in front of him with eyes starting from their sockets.) Who’s that?

  YANK—(faintly) A pretty lady dressed in black. (His face twitches and his body writhes in a final spasm, then straightens out rigidly.)

  COCKY—(from the alleyway) Oh, Driscoll! Can you leave Yank for arf a mo’ and give me a ‘and?

  COCKY—(enters, his oilskins and sou’wester glistening with drops of water) The fog’s lifted. (Cocky sees Driscoll and stands staring at him with open mouth. Driscoll makes the sign of the cross again.)

  COCKY—(in a hushed whisper) Gawd blimey!

(The Curtain Falls)