wrong; are you not going to get up? If this work is for the sake of your country, then you’ve got to count it like war. You’ve got to risk your lives for it, you bastards.”
The sick men had all their coverings pulled off them and were then pushed up on to the deck. Those with beri-beri banged their toes against the stairs. They climbed up, clutching the rail with one hand, grasping their feet with the other to help them up. At every step each heart would give a horrible kick.
The boss and the foreman tormented the sick men very slyly. When they were working at canning the meat they would be driven out and set to breaking claws on deck. When they had been at that for a little while they would be sent off to paste labels. They were made to stand in the bitter cold until their legs had less feeling than artificial limbs. If they just relaxed their knee-joints would crack like a hinge coming apart and they would almost double up in a heap.
One student started to tap his brow lightly with the back of a hand all dirtied with breaking the crabs. Then just in that position he fell backwards. A pile of empty cans beside him clattered over noisily and nearly buried him. Because of the ship’s slope some of them rolled among the machinery and the cargo. The student’s mates carried him towards the hatchway and ran into the boss. He glanced at them and said, “Who’s stopped their work?”
“Who?” echoed one student, looking as if he would like to strike him.
