The rest of the passage was completed somehow or other at between five and six knots. The grease ran short, the bearings got hot, the bilgepump got out of order, and there were three feet of water under the planks of the stoke-hole. You can imagine the stink! Really, Muriac had points; he would never let any one put a nose into his shop, but he made things work! As for me, I give it up. Between bridge and engine-room--it was enough to drive a man crazy! Blangy was a lucky devil! By this time he must be on a really-and-truly ship with a full complement, officers and men. I wonder why it was he instead of me who went. We belong to the same year; only he gave his certificate to the officer at H---- first and was already packed up when I handed in mine. We’re in for a nice time, my boy, but much water will pass under the Pamir before they give us any officers. We reached Morocco the day before yesterday. How did we get into the harbour? Ask Fourgues! We didn’t get the charts at H---- after all, and had nothing but the track-chart of the Atlantic, where the coast of Morocco occupies about half an inch. The bottom is bad, the coast is flat. We spent a day and a night wandering around in sight of beaches with three cacti and a palm-tree. Fourgues didn’t want to make the wrong port and at a distance they all looked alike. Quite impossible to get our bearings--clouds or fog all the time. Fortunately we came upon an American who signalled our position to us and the route to follow. And that’s how the _Pamir_ got in. In port everybody had skipped to France by the last boat. There was one shore officer, one chief petty officer, and no one else. They asked us what the deuce we had come for and if we had any munitions. “Munitions!” cried Fourgues. “Five thousand bales of cotton, boilers shaken to pieces, nothing more to eat, some scrapings of coal, and no cash in the locker.” “What the devil are you doing in Morocco then?” “I was sent here from H---- and they said there would be orders here for the _Pamir_.” “First we’ve heard of it. Never mind! Wait a bit and we’ll find something for you to do.” And that’s why, old fellow, I write you from Morocco. We are waiting for the orders which have been requested from Paris, Rabat, and Tangier. Nothing comes. Fourgues will never recover his temper again. Our cotton had begun to heat, for it is warm here. Half the reservists are on their backs--diarrhœa, gastric troubles, general breakdown. You ought to hear them. Impossible to go anywhere or to unload, for we were told to be ready to start at two hours’ notice. As for me, I slept for nearly thirty-six--I had had my share! Fourgues is very nice to me. He takes it out on the reservists, and lor’! he does talk to them! At bottom he is right. All those fellows thought they were going to have an easy time and they need to be jacked up.