Geert.
[Wrapped in the grimness of his story.] Then the provost, that stinking, dark cage; your pig stye is a palace to it. A cage with no windows—no air—a cage where you can’t stand or lie down. A cage where your bread and water is flung to you with a “there, dog, eat!” There was a big storm in those days,—two sloops were battered to pieces;—when you expected to go to the bottom any moment. Never again to see anyone belongin’ to me—neither you—nor you—nor you. To go down in that dark, stinking hole with no one to talk to—no comrade’s hand!—No, no, let me talk—it lightens my chest! Another drop. [Drinks quickly.] From the provost to the court martial. A fellow has lots to bring in there. Your mouth shut. Sit up; mouth shut some more. Gold epaulettes sitting in judgment on the trash God has kicked into the world to serve, to salute, to——
Kneir.
Boy—boy——
Geert.
Six months—six months in a cell for reformation. To be reformed by eating food you could not swallow;—rye bread, barley, pea soup, rats! Three months I pasted paper bags, and when I saw the chance I ate the sour paste from hunger. Three months I sorted peas; you’ll not believe it, but may I never look on the sea again if I lie. At night, over my gas light, I would cook the peas I could nip in my slop pail. When the handle became too hot to hold any longer, I ate them half boiled—to fill my stomach. That’s to reform you—reform you—for losing your temper and licking a blackguard that called your girl a vile name, and reading newspapers you were not allowed to read.
Kneir.
[Anxiously.] That was unjust.
Geert.
Unjust! How dare you say it! Fresh from the sea—in a cell—no wind and no water, and no air—one small high window with grating like a partridge cage. The foul smell and the nights—the damned nights, when you couldn’t sleep. When you sprang up and walked, like an insane man, back and forth—back and forth—four measured paces. The nights when you sat and prayed not to go insane—and cursed everything, everything, everything! [Drops his head upon his hands.]