The Book of the Homeless (Le livre des sans-foyer)
History
The Book of the Homeless (Le livre des sans-foyer)
World War, 1914-1918
Hour by hour the blotting-paper sky and the great flat greenish smudge
of the sea had been taking on a darker tone, without any change in their
colouring and texture. Evening was coming on over the North Sea. Black
uninteresting hummocks of land appeared, dotting the duskiness of water
and clouds in the eastern board; tops of islands fringing the German
shore. While I was looking at their antics amongst the waves--and for
all their manifest solidity they were very elusive things in the failing
light--another passenger came out on deck. This one wore a dark overcoat
and a grey cap. The yellow leather strap of his binocular-case crossed
his chest. His elderly red cheeks nourished but a very thin crop of
short white hairs, and the end of his nose was so perfectly round that
it determined the whole character of his physiognomy. Indeed, nothing
else in it had the slightest chance to assert itself. His disposition,
unlike the widower’s, appeared to be mild and humane. He offered me the
loan of his glasses. He had a wife and some small children concealed in
the depths of the ship, and he thought that they were very well where
they were. His eldest son was about the decks somewhere.
“We are Americans,” he remarked weightily, but in a rather peculiar
tone. He spoke English with the accent of our captain’s “wonderful
people,” and proceeded to give me the history of the family’s crossing
the Atlantic in a White Star ship. They remained in England just the
time necessary for a railway journey from Liverpool to Harwich. His
people (those in the depths of the ship, I suppose) were naturally a
little tired.
At that moment a young man of about twenty, his son, rushed up to us
from the fore-deck in a state of intense elation. “Hurrah!” he cried
under his breath, “The first German light! Hurrah!”
And those two American citizens shook hands on it with the greatest
fervour, while I turned away and received full in the eyes the brilliant
wink of the Borkum lighthouse squatting low down in the darkness. The
shade of the night had settled on the North Sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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