Epistolary fiction; Tramp shipping -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
At Malta they were all landed in a jiffy. It can’t be denied, the
English squander money and consider war a sport instead of a vital
matter as we do, but they have absolutely princely medical and other
services. Where they’re at home, in Gib., Malta, and Egypt, one is
obliged to recognize this. The _Pamir_ had scarcely made fast when we
were invaded by doctors and nurses by the dozen, and if we were not
able to nurse them much on board, I have no fears about how they will
fare at Malta. But I find that country most uninteresting and can’t
understand why all the fellows are so enthusiastic about it. It may be
because after fifty or sixty days at sea they would enjoy Patagonia or
Timbuctoo. The whole island is rock, no vegetation, hardly two good
walks, and at night a dirty concert-hall where you are packed like
herring. You must be better acquainted with it than I, for you are
known--to your advantage--by the waiters of the squealing-shop where
you broke several saucers, who laughed when I asked them if you had
passed that way. It looks as though I shall never meet you, for there
were not a few big French ships in the port, but not a sign of the
_Auvergne_.
They told me that you were flying the Admiral’s flag now, the
Admiral’s ship having gone into dry-dock, and that you were mooching
along the coast of Crete. Better luck next time, old man.
As for us, we left our shells, although the English warship had
sailed for Portsmouth to be dismantled, as it would have taken a good
six months before she could fire a gun again. She got a nasty jar.
The Bulls wanted us to go back to England with the ammunition, but
Fourgues wouldn’t go! He said that with the heat and without any means
of ventilating the holds, he would not keep the shells on the _Pamir_
for fear one of these days she would blow up without warning. The
authorities kicked, saying that the ammunition would be on their hands
in Malta, no other ship having guns of the necessary type. But when
Fourgues gets anything into his head and feels sure he is right neither
God nor the Devil will make him change his mind, so they were obliged
to unload all the ammunition. Now we are empty, but it is probable
that they will send us to the Levant again where everybody says that
decisive operations are to take place which will put the thing through
this time. Fourgues isn’t sure of that and, speaking for myself,
neither am I. It would be better if they knew more clearly what they
were going to do. Here is the _Pamir_, which for eight days has earned
a thousand francs a day doing nothing! Don’t you call that good money
wasted?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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