THE night is starless, with a darkness so enveloping that it seems to
possess palpability. As we reel westward in a smother of water the
miracle of how any human being equipped with but five senses can find
and keep his course in the chartless void that envelops us smites me
afresh.
A longing for an atmosphere unimpregnated with petrol eventually sends
me stumbling up the companion-way to the deck. Gripping the rail, I make
my way forward, and, peering through the mirk, distinguish a huddled
figure in a sou'wester. Aloof, detached, he steers the shrewdest,
swiftest path ever carved through a wall of blackness on behalf of
dependent fellow-creatures.
"A wild night," I shout.
He turns slightly and answers in a hoarse bellow, "The better for us,
mister. Keeps the track clear. Ought to get in ahead o' time."
The yellow glare from our lights glances in broken splashes of colour
over the waters, as the squat craft heaves and rolls with rhythmic
regularity. From somewhere below comes the monotonous throb of the
protesting engines. A red light gleams suddenly on our starboard, and I
catch my breath. Æons pass, it seems, before a panther-like clutch at
the wheel carries us aside in time to let the offender plunge drunkenly
past. We were near enough to throw a biscuit on her deck. A swift
exchange of badinage follows.
"Lost yer job o' puntin' coal-barges?"
"Yuss--they're usin' donkey-power instead. I give in your name 'fore I
left, but they 'adn't a spare stable." After which, the immediate danger
past, we plough our way down a blurred track on either side of which
lurks Peril in a hundred grim and invisible shapes.
The temperature, already low, has begun to drop steadily, and a fine
drizzle yields to a penetrating chilliness which finds its way to one's
very marrow. I am glad of my heavy wraps, and inclined, indeed, to envy
the huddled figure, whose coverings are still heavier. Inwardly I wonder
what this clashing of the Nations has meant to him: whether he has wife
and children; whether he keeps their portraits in some deep-buried
pocket beneath that accumulation of clothing which engulfs him to the
ear-tips.
I am still speculating when a second figure, moving with the easy gait
of one whose feet have trodden many decks, climbs the companion-way and
comes forward in leisurely fashion. The fellow is no stranger; already,
as I came on board, I had a glimpse of that grizzled, masterful jaw and
keen eyes. He peers past me towards his mate.
"Elf!"
"Yuss?"
"Seed anyfink o' young 'Arry lately?'
"Not me!"
"Well, I 'ear 'e done a bit in the lead-slingin' line at a place called
Wipers, an' they've been an' stuck some sort o' French medal on 'is
chest."
"Blighter owes me fourpence, anyway," roars Elf; and I infer that
neither of them has a high opinion of 'Arry's character from the
civilian point of view.
Follows an interval filled with small confused sounds--the staccato note
of a bell, the soft thud of a passenger's body as he is jerked
unexpectedly against the rail, the picturesque ripple of his
expostulations with Providence.
A lamp, burning with unusual and illegal garishness, gives me light
enough to examine my watch. It indicates the proximity of midnight. I
realize that I am incredibly stiff and cold, and am tormented by visions
of unattainable comforts.
At last I am conscious of a line of dimmed lights, of a distant roar of
escaping steam, of a violent quivering motion that indicates the
slackening of speed. We come to a sudden halt. The voice of Elf rises
triumphant.
"Bill!"
"Yuss?"
"Two minutes arter!"
"Knowed we'd do it!"
And as I stumble blindly forth it is borne upon me that the last Ealing
motor-bus has ended her journey with five minutes to spare.
* * * * *
"Egypt is placidly awaiting the event, with the absolute
conviction that the Turks and Germans will get the
boating of their lives in the Sinai Desert."--_Civil and
Military Gazette._
They certainly won't get it on the Suez Canal.
* * * * *