It is almost like an engagement in arms. Good leadership is needed. There are grades and classes in the army of dockers; groups as clearly specialized in their work as the varied units that form an army corps. Italian labourers handle the coal; coloured men are employed for the heavy and rough cargo work; the Irish are set to fine stowage. There is little infringement of the others' work. Artillery and infantry are not more set apart in their special duties than the grades of the dockers. Certainly there is a rivalry between the coloured men and the Irish--the line that divides the cargo is perhaps lightly drawn. "Hey! You nigger! You gitta hell out o' this," says Mike. The coloured man bides his time. The thunder of the winches pauses for an instant--he shouts down the hatchway: "Mike! Ho, Mike!" An answering bellow sounds from below. "Ah say, Mike! When yo' gwine back hom' t' fight fo' King Gawge?" Sunday morning, the 'macaroni' gangs knock off work for a term. The holds are cleared, but our fuel has again to be hove up from the barges and stowed in the bunkers. That can be done while loading is in progress. Meantime--red-eyed and exhausted--the coalmen troop ashore and leave the ship to one solitary hour of Sunday quiet. At seven the turmoil of what the superintendent calls a 'fair start' begins. Overnight a floating-tower barge for grain elevation has joined the waiting list of our attendant lighters. She warps alongside and turns her long-beaked delivery-pipes on board; yellow grain pours through and spreads evenly over the floor-space of our gaping holds. Fore and aft we break into a full measure of activity. The loading of the cargo is not our only preparation for the voyage. The fittings of the 'tween-decks, thrown about in disorder by the coal-gangs, have to be reconstructed and the decks made ready for troops. Cleaning and refitting operations go on in the confusion of cargo work: conflicting interests have to be reconciled--the more important issues expedited--the fret of interfering actions turned to other channels. At the shore end of the gangways there is riot among the workers. Stores and provisions are delivered by the truckmen with an utter disregard for any convenience but their own. The narrow roadway through the shed is blocked and jammed by horse and motor wagons that, their load delivered, can find no way of egress. Cargo work on the quayside comes to a halt for want of service. The dockers roar abuse at the truckmen, the truckmen--in intervals of argument with their fellows--return the dockers' obloquy with added embellishment. The 'house-that-Jack-built' situation is cleared by the harassed pier-foreman. The shed gates are drawn across: outside the waiting charioteers stand by, their line extended to a block on the Twenty-Third Street cars. * * * * *