AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah! The song she is singing is a real song that the Irish women would sing as they worked. I thought it would be appropriate for the situation! Okay- so, I hope this story is good- I definitely tried to keep it as historically accurate as possible, but making America the bad guy was really hard! Please review!

Ireland was leaning over the machine, breathing hard as she concentrated on getting the stitches just right. Her fingers felt raw, and they probably were. Her hearing had gone bad, because the constant droning of the machine ripped through her whole body, making it impossible to hear anything. Her features were gaunt, and her eyes had lost the flame that used to be ever-present.

America stood silent by the door, watching her work. He felt a little bad, treating her like this, but he couldn't help it. His country needed this man-power, and this was the only way they were going to get it. He was about to say something, but was cut off when the girl began to whisper softly, and then her whisper turned into quiet singing, barely audible over the humming machine. America listened- intrigued-

"On the wings of the wind

Over the dark rolling deep

Angels are coming

To watch over thy sleep

Angels are coming to watch over thee

So list' to the wind

Coming over the sea

Hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow

Lean your head over

Hear the wind Blow

On wings of the night

May your fury be crossed

May no one that's dear

To our island be lost

Blow the winds gently

Calm be the foam

Shine the light brightly

To guide them back home

The curraghs are sailing

Way out in the blue

Laden with herring

Of silvery hue.

Silver the herring

Silver the sea

Soon there'll be silver

For baby and me.

Hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow

Lean your head over

Hear the wind blow

The curraghs tomorrow

Will stand on the shore

And he'll go sailing

And sailing no more,

The nets will be drying

Nets haven't passed

Contented he'll rest

Safe in my arms."

She finished, whispering the last few lines. America felt something in his heart sink though, as he noticed the tears glistening down her cheeks.

"Ireland?"

He called out, making the poor girl jump, eyes wide with embarrassment. Had he heard her singing?

"Yes, sir?"

"America." He said, trying to ignore the blush that was enveloping her face, his heart slowly melting away with pity.

"Yes, America?" she replied, looking down at her feet.

"You can go home now."