XXII HOMEWARDS THE ARGONAUTS THE boat guard (one post, section A) stir and grow restive as the hour of their relief draws on. Till now they have accepted wet quarters, the reeling ship, black dark night with fierce squalls of rain and sleet, as all a part of the unalterable purgatory of an oversea voyage. With a prospect of an end to two hours' spell of acute discomfort, of hot 'kawfee,' dry clothes, and a snug warm bunk, their spirits rise, and they show some liveliness. Muffled to the ear-tips in woollens and heavy sodden greatcoats, their rifles slung awkwardly across the bulge of ill-fitting cork life-belts, they shift in lumbering movement from foot to foot, or pace--two steps and a turn--between the boat-chocks of their post. A thunder of shattering salt spray lashes over from break of a sea on the foredeck, and they dodge and dive for such poor shelter as the wing of the bridge affords. Scraps of their protest to the fates carry to our post in breaks of the wind "Aw, you guys! Say! Wisha was back 'n li'l old N'yok, ringin' th' dial 'n a Twanny-Thoid Street car!" "Whaddya mean--a Scotch highball? Gee! I gotta thoist f'r all th' wet we soak!" "Bettcha Heinie's goin'a pay _me_ cents an' dallers f'r this!" ". . . an' a job claenin' me roifle. . . . th' sargint, be damn but, he . . . ." "Cut it! Less talk 'round there!" orders their duty officer from somewhere in the darkness; the talk ceases, though stamp and bustle of expectant relief persist, and we are recalled to survey and reflection on the gloom ahead. Midnight now, and no sign of a change! Anxiously we scan sea and sky for hope or a promise--not a token! A squall of driving sleet has passed over, and has left the outlook moderately clear, but a quick-rising bank of hard clouds in the nor'east threatens another, and a heavier, by the look, soon to follow. A moonless night, not a star shines through the sullen upper clouds to mark even a flying break in the lift of it. A hopeless turn for midnight, showing no relief, no prospect!