THE VOYAGE 3 



The siren blared, a bell tinkled, the hawser 

 tautened as the tugs gathered way ; the landing- 

 stage slowly receded ; the line of humanity cluster- 

 ing upon it in a long, uneven line broke into a 

 fluttering sprinkle of handkerchiefs and waving 

 hats ; a thin cheer came to us across the widening 

 gap of water; something small and white shone 

 for a second in the angle of a wall, and we 

 were off. 



Six months earlier the greatest wish in the 

 world had seemed as unlikely of realisation as that 

 I should be starting on a big game expedition of 

 indefinite duration into the interior of China. Yet 

 here I was, mirabile dictu, both my dreams on the 

 way to their accomplishment, as we dropped down 

 the river into the unknown. 



Our voyage was much like any other Atlantic 

 voyage, long, cold, wet and rather dreary. A 

 couple of concerts near its close rather enlivened 

 aifairs, that in the second class by far the more 

 amusing. One performer was indisposed. The 

 chairman announced that a young lady had kindly 

 offered to recite as a substitute, and on the instant 

 a small black figure in the flapper stage emerged, 

 plunged with no circumlocution in niedias res and 

 for fifteen long minutes declaimed in a perfectly 

 inaudible and monotonous voice. I caught but 

 two lines, " He raised his flashing brand on high " 

 and " Dead — locked in a last embrace," which did 

 not help me much, though I gathered the theme 

 was not a particularly cheerful one ! However, 

 the reciter was rapturously applauded, encored, 

 and continued declaiming for another ten minutes, 

 during which we left. 



