The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1927-06-25
Men Who Feed the Beast
ge Of his bunk.

Mat rose on the edge of his bunk.
tits hell of a life, Ell Yank?"
Mat was too sick to answer. His face was pallid
He felt sinking feeling at the pit Of his stomach
another first-trpper Swede looked at him
alphabetically Don't smear the fo'c'ste," he
counselled and pointed to the bucket the door
way.
Mat lurched toward it. He was in the first spell
of sea-sckness. The ship was still in the bay. 1t
rolled lightly on the SWELL The movement sent Mat
staggering uncertainty to the doorway.
"Cut out your bloody groans," the cockney
growled on being Weakened.
"Shut your face" the Swede answered sharply
The cockney turned over and pulled the blanket
over his head
The stokers ate from the pans of food on the
table in the center of the focstle Mat sat on the
edge of his bunk. The sight of food again sent him
reeling to the doorway
The third engineer appeared. Time was up. They
reached for their jackets and sweatrags. The Swede
nodded to Mat.
"Your watch, Yank."
Mat followed up the stairway and across the
deck Thru the galley, then down ladder into
hellish pit from which the heat rose and wrapped
him in a fiery, suffocatng blanket The steel rungs
of the ladder scorched his hands. The pit of his
stomach felt sickening. He lurched thru the door
way to the bunkers, bullying with coal.
"Tale your time now" the Swede advised. "This
amt office" He pointed to his shovel. Better
get used to it while the coal is only step away
It'll be worse when you have to wheel it from the
bunkers"
The Swede threw the furnace door wide open with
his shovel.
His hardened muscles rippled under his glisten-
ing skin he pushed the long slicing bar under
the red Goals. He leaned on the bar Pulled it out
smoking and tossed it aside without effort He
threw heaping shovefu after shoveful of coal into
the furnace with an ease and grace that Mat, tho
sckened and weak, watched with admiration. In
few moments the coal-pile at his feet disappeared
into the fiery He changed the door shut with
his shovel. He wiped his sweat-dripping face with
his rag and nodded to Mat pointing to the spot the
coal was on.
"Now don't hurry" he coached Then with
glance at the gauge, There's plenty of steam up
for while"
Mat heaped his wheel-barrow to ride it a few
yards to the feet of the fiery mooch he must feed
for eight hours everyday. For twenty days and
until the trip Then back again. He
stopped half way to the furnace. Seasick.
you'll get over it, Yank Here, get under the
ventiator"
For four days all the misery of the world was
conferred in the pit of Mats stomach Every day for
four hours, beginning at noon, and four hours be-
ginning at midnight, he plodded doggedly in the
heat of the stoke-hole where men were damned to
turn their blood into steam that sped the ship
The ship pitched and tossed now like maddened
bull. The crashed the bow and tossed
the muscle-weary stoker against the iron-work of
the deck. Bruises added to burns. Every move
sent deep-rooted ache from his body. His mind
was listless void uncontrolled and distant. After
four weary hours he climbed the ladder out of the
hellish hole and swallowed in gulps the wind that
rode the sea- trained parrot sat in a cage on the
forward deck At the sight of every coal-blacked