God playing Santa Claus among the pines—
Why ain't you fellows had your stockings up?
Or if you have, what are you doing here
Weighing yourselves out on the same old scales,
Men against bread? Pard, let me ask you this:
Suppose you do land with your Union boat,
The bosses on the shore saying all right;
What is it you land for? Grub for another cruise?
And you'll go back then to the fishing grounds
And sink your nets again? Who'll get the catch
This time? Them that's had it all these years?
You've made a big haul here, it seems to me,
Minnows and all. Hundreds of miles like that.
When are you fellows going to dry your nets,
Haul up your boat and say, 'Let's weigh the fish'?
What do you say, pard?
Sam Williams.
You a Union man?
Harvey Anderson.
I don't know much about your Union, pard.
It's all right, I suppose, far as it goes.
But tell me this—and here's your black side, men—
Long as they own the sea
(Points to the mountains and the plains)
and own the shore,
(Points to the mill)
You think they'll care much, pard, who owns the boat?
And how'll they not own you? You tell me that.
(Williams and the crowd stand silent)