They had no idea what to do with us down there. Fourgues would not set foot on land again, he was so riled at being “to Hell and gone” with a lot of blacks while others were working in France. And what a song they made about letting us have coal! There was a German ship, a great hulk of the Woermann line, in the roads, which had been stuck ever since the mobilization, hold and bunkers full of coal. All that was necessary was to take it! Oh, dear, no! Mustn’t touch the Boche even for a painter or a tarpaulin! The Boche is sacrosanct! This ship carried bananas and peanuts. All had rotted on the spot and you could smell them two miles away. All the same, Fourgues kicked up such a row about the coal that they gave him some. We hadn’t enough to get as far as Gib.! We took some from the dock, from a heap intended for the Expeditionary Corps. You can imagine all the forms we had to fill up, and besides, they counted the sacks--just enough to get us to our destination. If the _Pamir_ had taken one more day, it would have stopped dead like a sailing ship on the Equator. Finally, one day, we were told to hook it right there for Oran, to transport Algerian troops. At the last moment a counter-order! Two days later, order to leave for Dakar and to put ourselves at the disposal of the Navy down there. We had weighed anchor, but not yet stowed it when they signalled us to let go again where we were. Five days passed. No news, no letters from home. We got down in the mouth. Fourgues stayed in his cabin, telling fortunes with his cards, swearing like a trooper. I gave lectures to the reservists on drain-pipes and valves. Muriac would have been amused to hear me explaining the way things worked. The rest of the time I played the mandolin, but enthusiasm was lacking, and, moreover, a good deal would have been necessary to keep up the strumming, when you had to clutch the wall every ten beats to keep from taking a toss when it rolled. Finally I played lying down! One fine morning they ordered us to get under way in a hurry and sail for T----, twenty miles to the north, to transport a tribe of Germans driven out of Morocco. Dirty work, but we were glad to be moving. My Gawd, what a stinking anchorage T---- is,--straight coast, open roadstead, no anchor-hold, a swell and a pebbly bar! Lovely! We are beginning to learn what rolling ninety degrees means.