ready for troops. Cleaning and refitting operations go on
in the confusion of cargo work: conflicting interests have to be
reconciled--the more important issues expedited--the fret of interfering
actions turned to other channels. At the shore end of the gangways there
is riot among the workers. Stores and provisions are delivered by the
truckmen with an utter disregard for any convenience but their own. The
narrow roadway through the shed is blocked and jammed by horse and motor
wagons that, their load delivered, can find no way of egress. Cargo work
on the quayside comes to a halt for want of service. The dockers roar
abuse at the truckmen, the truckmen--in intervals of argument with their
fellows--return the dockers' obloquy with added embellishment. The
'house-that-Jack-built' situation is cleared by the harassed
pier-foreman. The shed gates are drawn across: outside the waiting
charioteers stand by, their line extended to a block on the Twenty-Third
Street cars.

* * * * *

The roar and thrust and rattle of the straining winches ceases on Monday
evening. We are fully stowed: even our double-bottom tanks--intended for
water-ballast alone--carry a load of fuel oil to help out the
difficulties of transport. The superintendent goes around with his chest
thrown out and draws our attention to the state of affairs--the ship
drawing but eighteen inches short of her maximum draught, and the
'tween-decks cleared and fitted. "Fifty-four working hours, capt'n," he
says proudly. It is no mean work!

The silence of the ship, after the din and uproar of our busy week-end,
seems uncanny. The dock is cleared of all our attendant craft, and the
still backwater is markedly in contrast to the churned and troubled
basin that we had known. From outside the dock a distant subdued murmur
of traffic on the streets comes to us. Cross-river ferries cant into a
neighbouring slip, and the glow of their brilliant lights sets a
reflection on the high facades of the water-front buildings. Overhead,
the sky is alight with the warm irradiance of the great city. Ship-life
has become quiescent since the seamen bundled and put away their gear
after washing decks. Only the dynamos purr steadily, and an occasional
tattoo on the stokehold plates tells of the firemen on duty to raise
steam. In the unfamiliar quiet of the night and absence of movement in
the dock there is countenance to a mood of expectancy. It seems
unrea