THE VOYAGE
Our boat, the _Blankshire_, put out of Albany Harbour one of a fleet of
transports fifty or more strong, convoyed by cruisers. We began a weary
journey to an unknown destination, fair winds and fair skies companioning
us. The fleet steamed in three lines, travelling at the fastest rate of
the slowest vessel, and the convoy moved abeam, to starboard and to port.
The _Blankshire_ had steamed through Port Phillip Bay a fortnight before,
carrying a sober ship’s company. We had left camp at the eleventh hour,
and few friends were on the wharf to call goodbye. To help us, it may
be, the band played on the boat deck through early afternoon, until the
trumpeter blew “Stables.”
At last land had been exchanged for sea; but it was out of the frying-pan
into the fire. We moved into the swelter of the tropics, and routine
gripped us. It was stables, stables, stables! It was stables before
breakfast, and stables after breakfast; stables in the afternoon, and
stable picket at night. Across the jumble of trampled men and nervous
horses came for ever Sands’s voice.
“You fellows, keep those horses moving. What are you doing there,
Oxbridge? Why aren’t you hand-rubbing, Woods?”
Round and round the steaming decks moved the procession of men and
horses, a battered, unsavoury collection, long lost to hope. Through
the middle of the day, when the sun was most menacing, we spelled for a
couple of hours, lying about the decks to doze and read. After tea we
loitered in the same way, and those who could brave the stifling lower
decks went below to gamble. On pay nights you would find a gambling
school at half the mess tables, with gold and notes passing forward and
backward. Many a man left the table lighter in pocket, if heavier at
heart. Towards ten o’clock “Lights out” was blown, the hammocks would be
slung on their hooks, and we would turn in for the night, packed like
sardines. You could not move an elbow. And so another day ended.
But who wants the details of that weary journey? Heat and the odour of
manure are what best I remember of it. It seemed never more would we
sight land.
One afternoon there came an order we must show no lights after dark, and
night falling, the fleet moved forward in gloom. And one fine day the
_Sydney_ steamed into the horizon, and at morning stables arrived the
news she had met and sunk the _Emden_. A great cheer went up, one of the
few cheers passing our lips for many a day. But we saw nothing of the
fight ourselves, and the weeks went by full of a long monotony. But it
was ordained we should have a foretaste of the great adventure ahead of
us. It happened thus.
A red-hot sun went down into the ocean, and a calm, close night had
fallen. The troopdecks, with hundreds of hammocks rocking gently against
one another, were stifling. The sounds of hundreds of sleepers came out
of the dark, for rays of the sentry’s lantern at the companion-top crept
no farther than the stairway bottom. Through the port-holes the stars
moved up and down, and through the port-holes came the shifting of the
seas.
They had inoculated me a second time that day, and I lay in a hammock
between decks, burnt with a slow fever. I turned and turned; but I could
not sleep. There was not a breath of air. I saw the old sentry relieved,
and the new man take his seat beside the lantern to read and nod. The
dark was full of the little noises of sleepers—rustlings, strange
breathings, short-lived groans, jumbled snatches of talk. Sometimes these
noises died while I dozed, next I would grow wide awake. Heartily I
wished the night gone.
I forget what I thought about—nothing, it may be. I remember waking and
dozing, dozing and waking, that is all. Finally the night wore on towards
morning, and the fever began to wear out of me. It seemed at last I was
wooing sleep.
With a great roar of waters, an unbelievable shock, and a grinding of
timbers, the _Uranus_ struck us astern, came on, and struck us again
amidships. With a roar of waters, she fell back into the dark. An
instant of silence came, and hard on it followed the frantic hooting of
the siren, and the sentry came falling down the companion, the lantern
tumbling atop of him. We were left in the dark.
The shock of collision had set every hammock wildly swinging and had left
me wide awake. In one movement my legs were over the side of the hammock,
and I had pulled down the lifebelt from the rack above. All over the
troop-deck you heard men waking up in a hurry, clinging to the hammocks
on either side to steady themselves, pulling themselves into upright
positions, and reaching out for lifebelts. There was a sense of great
fear in us. For as long as it takes to tell no one spoke, next voices
piped out all over the place.
“Collision, boys, collision!” someone called out. And someone else cried,
“It’s a dinkum collision this time!” And a score of other voices were
exclaiming. It was very dark, so much so that almost nothing could be
discovered; but there were the sounds of men reaching about or jumping on
to the tables, and the quick patter of many naked feet on the floor. In
no time men streamed up the companion, fastening lifebelts as they went
or carrying them under their arms.
I had wasted no time in jumping on to the ground; but I paused a minute
to pull on my boots and get an overcoat, for I liked little the idea of
a voyage in an open boat in pyjamas. I paused no more than a moment, but
at the bottom of the companion I found myself on the outside edge of an
excited crowd surging in a single direction.
The night was very calm, and as soon as the ship had ceased to quiver she
became quite steady. Her engines had stopped; but as yet there was no
list or anything of that kind. It was the darkness and the sense of being
trapped below that made one hold one’s breath. Men who had slept on deck
were trying to get down for their belts, and we in much larger numbers
were pushing up. There was a jam in the tide. You heard men calling out,
“Keep to the right, keep to the right!” or “Steady on there with your
blasted pushing!” Then I was caught in the flood and carried quite slowly
up the companion, and vomited forth on to the open deck.
Now either it had rained, or the dews were very heavy, or the crew had
been in act of hosing down the deck; but the first thing I found coming
out into the open was that the deck ran water. “By Jove, she’s going
quickly,” thought I! The place was crowded with men moving fast in all
directions; but I turned sharp to the right and got a footing on the
second companion, leading to the upper deck. The same crowd pushed up and
down here; but I was caught again and emptied out on top as had happened
before. I had been behindhand down below, and up here I found many of the
men formed up before their boat stations, lifebelts on, and the officer
in command calling the roll. I hurried past to our own collision station,
and found most of the Staff there, and Sands in charge, quite cool and on
the bounce as best became him.
He eyed me coldly as I fell into line. “Lake, you are too slow to catch
your shadow! Silence there in the ranks! You fellows ought to know by
this time there is to be absolute silence. The next man who speaks will
go under arrest.”
It was a beautiful night. The sky was full of stars, there was no wind,
and the air was very warm. We had come to a standstill, and the water
about us was sleepy and full of shadows, and alive with quick sparkles
of phosphorus when you looked down into it. All about were the lights of
the other transports, which seemed to have stopped; and I found myself
peering into the dark to find if the lifeboats were arriving.
The hurry of the first moments was over now, the men were lined up before
their boat stations, and the only movements were of the boats’ crews
unlashing the tarpaulin coverings and arranging the tackle and the oars.
I was wondering at the strangeness of the calm after all the hubbub, when
from near the funnel a rocket went up into the air with a great rush. It
hung a long moment high up in the sky, while the lot of us craned necks
after it. The calm night, and the quiet which had fallen over the ship,
had loosened the grip of fear on most of us, until this sudden signal
rushed into the heavens. Now men began to look sideways at one another,
and you might see men licking their lips. The only light about here came
up from the engine-room, by way of an open hatch, and those standing
near-by peered down, for what reason I could not guess. The Morse lights
began to wink from neighbouring transports; but other answer to our
signal than this I could not find. A second rocket hissed into the air.
I looked for a list to starboard or to port; but none did I make out. The
lifeboat in front of us rocked ever so gently in the davits; and this
might mean a list or only the heaving of the seas. I could not decide,
and I looked again for the lifeboats which the other transports should
have sent.
Truly it was eerie work standing silent in the dark, knowing nothing and
guessing overmuch. There was no noise beyond the clatter of movement
made by the seamen unlacing the tarpaulin of our lifeboat, shifting
the oars, and examining the lockers. Half a dozen were at the work and
seemed to take the affair calmly enough, all but one who fussed about
in an agitated manner until told to go and bury himself. And Sands—the
unquenchable Sands—marched solemnly up and down before us, the lifebelt
drawn high under his armpits and lending him in the gloom a hunchback
appearance.
For an hour and more we stood there.
After what seemed a night of waiting, two men went round the lower deck
with a lantern, peering here and there as though making search. In course
of time they stopped by a lifeboat on the port side, and one cried out
in a great rough voice: “Prepare to lower boat!” I had watched him as he
shouted, and now there came a shine in the waters beyond the rail, and I
discovered floating calmly, and it seemed most tragically, an overturned
boat. It bobbed up and down twice or thrice, then moved into the gloom,
and I lost it. The man with the lantern and a number of other fellows
grouped round the lifeboat in the davits; but whether they lowered it or
not I did not discover. It was impossible to follow their movements where
I was.
We stayed on at our stations, whispering and shifting from one leg to
another; and nothing happening beyond the turning of the stars, and the
listing of the seas, a sense of security returned. Finally a hint of dawn
crept into the sky.
Now as we stood, full weary of waiting and impatient of the slow dawn, a
shaft of yellow light fell on us from afar, picking us out of the dark,
and setting a-shining the seas about us, and behold, H.M.S _Hernshaw_
was drawing alongside. She moved within hailing distance, under her
own way it seemed, the glare of her lights falling over her guns and
her armoured sides. Her decks were cleared for action. Aft of her were
paraded her crew; an officer, megaphone in hand, in command. She moved
within hailing distance of us, a creature of brilliant lights and gloomy
shadows; a creature at once so beautiful and so forbidding that I forgot
my last fears watching her.
The officer put the megaphone to his mouth. “Are you all right?” There
came an answer from our bridge, which I lost. But the man-of-war’s reply
was plain to hear. “Then what are you waiting for?” Again I lost our
answer. Hard on it followed the man-of-war’s command. “Pick up your boat
at once and go on!”
Their searchlights had travelled up and down our starboard side; now
they shut off, and the _Hernshaw_ moved into the dark. Quite soon she
had slipped away; next our engines beat again, and the screws began to
turn. We were moving on. There came the order, “Dismiss!” A half light
had crept everywhere, and you saw men pour down the companions to the
lower decks in pyjamas and shirts, talking and pulling off lifebelts on
the way. On the lower deck I ran into Sands, who had come down by another
companion. Our eyes met, and he gave me a great understanding grin.
Delays went for nothing, and presently we drew near the coast of Egypt.
We held a concert on the boatdeck to celebrate our coming, the stars
shining above us, and the blue phosphorus-filled water swirling below. To
wind up, Colonel Irons told us he had news to give. Egypt, not England,
was our destination. There was work to be done, and we might be fighting
in a few days. The jaded company took heart again. Soon we lay off Port
Said among a fleet of warboats and other craft; and later we lay against
a wharf at Alexandria, and the long voyage was at an end.