DRISCOLL. (trying to conceal his anaiety...

DRISCOLL. (trying to conceal his anaiety) Didn't I tell you you wasn’t half as sick as you thought you was? The Captain’ll have you out on deck cursin’ and swearin’ loike a trooper before the week is out.

YANK. Don’t lie, Drisc. I heard 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!

DRISCOLL. (wildly) No, and be damned to you, you're not. I'll not let you.

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. (priscoiu brings the dipper full of water and supports his head while he drinks in great gulps).

DRISCOLL. (seeking vainly for some word of comfort) Are ye feelin’ more aisy loike now?

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.

DRISCOLL. (with a groan) Lad, lad, don’t be talkin’.

vyANK. This sailor life ain’t much to cry about leavin’—just one ship after another, hard 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.

DRISCOLL. (gloomily) It’s a hell av a life, the sea.

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, Drise.

DRISCOLL. (with a great sigh) It must, surely; but what’s the use av thinkin’ av ut? Such things are not for the loikes av us.

YANK. Sea-farin’ 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.

DRISCOLL. (enthusiastically) Laugh at you, is ut? When I’m havin’ the same thoughts myself, toime afther toime. It’s a grand idea and we'll be doin’ ut sure if you'll stop your crazy notions—about—about bein’ so sick.

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

DRISCOLL. Fog?

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?

DRISCOLL. (with satisfaction) I do that; and so does the piany player. He’ll not be forgettin’ the black eye I gave him in a hurry.

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?

DRISCOLL. I do, surely.

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

DRISCOLL. Cud I forget ut? My head pains me at the menshun av that divil’s brew.

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’?

DRISCOLL. I do so. yank. And that fight on the dock at Cape Town—— (His voice betrays great inward perturbation).

DRISCOLL. (hastily) Don’t be thinkin’ av that now. “Twas past and gone.

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

DRISCOLL. (mystified) Who’s that?

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

DRISCOLL. Av course. Ye stabbed him, and be damned to him, for the skulkin’ swine he was, afther him tryin’ to stick you in the back, and you not suspectin’. Let your conscience be aisy. I wisht I had nothin’ blacker than that on my sowl. I'd not be afraid av the angel Gabriel himself.

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

DRISCOLL. The fever, ut is, that makes you see such things. Give no heed to ut.

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

DRIScoLL. If there’s justice in hiven, no!

(YANK seems comforted by this assurance).

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

DRISCOLL. (putting his hands over his ears) Ssshh! I won’t listen to you. .

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 look at them, and it'd make it easier to go—somehow.

DRISCOLL. For the love av God don’t be talkin’ loike that!

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.

DRISCOLL. But have ye no relations at all to call your own?

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

DRISCOLL. Sure, and who doesn’t?

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 ec’n find in Cardiff. (Breaking down—in a choking voice) It’s hard to ship on this voyage I’m goin’ on— alone! (prRiscoLu 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? (priscoit 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).

DRISCOLL. For the love av God, what is ut, Yank?

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

DRISCOLL. Who? What?

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

DRISCOLL. (pale with horror) Yank! Yank! Say a word to me for the love av hiven! (He shrinks away from the bunk, making the sign of the cross. Then comes back and puts a trembling hand on YANK’s chest and bends closely over the body).