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Updated: June 7, 2025
But there were also many of the more intelligent artisan class, discontented with their lot; labourers and dockers who had tramped up after a hard day's work, a young artist who looked rather of the Social Democratic type, a cabman, a few stray gentlemen, a clever but never-sober tanner, a labour agitator, a professional stump-orator, and one or two fishy and nondescript characters of the Hebraic race.
And closer still, from that "vile saloon" directly under the garden, I could hear wild shouts and songs and roars of laughter that came, I learned, not only from dockers, but from "stokers" and "drunken sailors," men who lived right inside the ships and would soon be starting for heathen lands!
But their faces were still eager and excited; and they themselves; when they approached the light they always burned themselves in it, like the moths, they were so chilled! "All the same, that's a queer invention, when one thinks about it," said one of the dockers, nodding toward the Christmas-tree. "But it's fine. God knows what it really is supposed to mean!"
Possibly these arrangements, such as they are, are the ones the dockers are trying to make with Lord Devonport now. The docker is trying to get through hungering for something to eat, to arrange gradually to have his hungers move on. All the virtues are hungers. A vice is the failure of desire.
Letters from Rome on the Occasion of the Oecumenical Council. Lord Acton. Letters. H. L. Smith and V. Nash. The Story of the Dockers' Strike. Florence Nightingale EVERY one knows the popular conception of Florence Nightingale.
In the great court-yard of The Working Man building the dockers were assembled to answer the roll. The president of their Union met Pelle in the doorway; he was the very man whom Pelle and Howling Peter had rescued down by the harbor now he was working for the new ideas! "Well, how goes it?" asked Pelle, shaking his hand. "Splendid! A thousand men all but seven!" "But where's the joyful Jacob?
I went into saloons full of dockers and stokers, and out of the low harsh hubbub there the word "strike!" came repeatedly to my ears, recklessly from drunken tongues. Wherever I went I heard that word. I heard it spoken in many languages, in many tones. Anxious old women said "strike!" with fear. Little street urchins shouted it joyously. Even the greenest foreigner understood its meaning.
What he thinks about how the world should be run, about what other people want, what labour and capital want, cannot be taken seriously. I will not yield place to any one in my sympathy with the dockers. I like to think that I too, given the same grandfathers, the same sleeping rooms and neighbours, the same milk, the same tincture of religion, would dare to do what they have done.
Men with the blue jersey and peaked cap of the boatman, or the white ducks of the dockers, began to replace the corduroys and fustian of the laborers. Shops with nautical instruments in the windows, rope and paint sellers, and slop shops with long rows of oilskins dangling from hooks, all proclaimed the neighborhood of the docks.
I mean where you leave yourself and look back and see your own body behind you." "Yes in bed in Brooklyn when I was quite little." "Where did you go from your bed?" "I went to the end of the garden. I heard drunken sailors and dockers shouting in that vile saloon below." This was not true. What I had really done was to lie in bed and whisper, "Suppose I were out there" which is very different.
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