attered
before my eyes, the propeller outside caught in something, shuddered,
broke clear and beat like a flail. Then the ship lifted bodily and fell,
bump, bump, bump. I stood there transfixed. What could it be? I looked
along the dark tunnel to where the lights of the engine-room showed in a
pale glint and I could have sworn I saw the whole bag of tricks move
slowly up and subside as the keel floundered across that ridge of mud
and soft rock. She must be breaking in half, I thought. I had heard of
such things. I gathered myself up and hurried back to the engine-room,
where I found everybody perfectly calm. The ship, it appeared, was now
on the bar and it was our business to keep the engines going at full
speed until she was gradually urged over. At intervals she bumped. Some
mass of rock or clay on which she rested would collapse and immediately
the propeller would shove her a little further over. Our vacuum almost
disappeared, for the injection pipe got blocked with mud. This meant
more work for me in starting the ballast pump, and when that got choked
too, I had to open it up and clean the valve-boxes. It didn't seem to
matter what happened, there was a new job for me. I wondered with a sort
of temporary bitterness whether they would miss me if I dropped suddenly
dead. And I was obliged to admit to myself that in all probability they
wouldn't. They would just go ahead and do the job themselves and bury me
when they got through.

"And this, mind you, was no breakdown, no emergency, but just the
ordinary day's work. If the owners didn't want to risk breaking the
ship's back on the bar there were plenty of others who would. It was
like putting a horse at a dyke, getting his fore-feet across, and then
lashing him furiously until he had kicked a lot of earth away and
finally got himself over. When I had put the doors on the ballast pump
again I noticed the main engines were running normal once more. We were
over. We had crossed the bar. My mind was running on the romantic
nature of this performance when I went up to get my tea. I recalled
Tennyson's poem and wondered what he would have thought of the old
_Corydon_ and her undignified scramble across the bar. The others caught
something of this in my face, I suppose, for the Second said to the
Chief, 'I suppose the Fourth'll be for the beach to-night, eh?' and they
laughed. 'Don't you go ashore here then?' I asked, and they laughed
again. 'No, there's nothing to go ashore