That winter, when an old barge was being broken up near by, we bought a large quantity of small blocks of wood to use instead of coal in the saloon. The coloured flames this wood gave off were delightful. As there was no room for the wood on deck, we built a platform on the ground alongside the Ark Royal. The platform sank a little, or perhaps it was never high enough; at all events, when we had used only half our stock an enormous tide came, and the remainder of the wood floated away. As soon as we saw that the tide was going to be abnormal we manned our boat and tried to salve as much of the wood as possible, but the tide rose too fast for us. First the blocks floated off in twos and threes, then in fives and tens, and at last in squadrons. We pursued them and half filled the boat, but a fresh westerly breeze scattered the Armada. We saw it spreading out and trailing down the creek as the tide turned. Nor was that all. Long before the blocks had reached the quay in their seaward flight they had been marked by eyes trained from childhood in the search for flotsam, jetsam, or salvage. Boats were launched, and our wood was picked up and carried off almost under our noses.
The annoyance of losing the wood was aggravated by the sootiness of the coal upon which we now had to fall back. Not only did soot lie about on deck in still weather, but the chimneys had to be swept once a week. Certainly this was a very easy job; one had only to remove the upper parts of the chimneys on deck, hold them over the side, and run a mop through them; then get someone inside the ship to hold some sacking below, and shove the mop down the lower parts of the chimneys.
Our supply of eight hundred gallons of water generally lasted about six weeks, for, as has been said already, we used chiefly salt water for the bath. To refill the tanks we could either move out of our berth on a spring tide and take the water on board through a hose from a neighbouring shed where water was laid on, or we could have it carried on board by hand. On the whole, we decided to have the water carried on board, and our barge-owner friend kindly allowed us to take the water from his house.
As it did not much matter when the water was brought, or whether the carrier worked one hour or eight hours a day, we gave the appointment of water-carrier to a hairless, red-faced boy of twenty who lived in an old boat. As a matter of fact, he was a man of about thirty-five, of whom it was said by some that he was half-witted, by others that he was lazy, and by others that he was artful. Anyhow, he suited us very well, for in the circumstances he could not easily have suited us badly. He came when he felt inclined, and with a yoke and two three-gallon pails patiently, and at his own pace, fetched the water, emptied it into our tanks, and went for more. He generally made five round trips in an hour, thus bringing thirty gallons. He never worked more than six hours a day, at which rate he could fill our tanks in about five days; but he generally preferred to spread the work over ten days.
Even where we lay beyond the town the Ark Royal was an object of intense curiosity. Had we made a charge for showing people over her, we should have collected enough money to buy a new mainsail. Among the strangers who became acquainted with her internal beauties the most enterprising and the most bewildered was a school-attendance officer. He called one Saturday afternoon, and was told we should not be back till the evening. We were waiting for dinner when Louisa announced that he had returned. We invited him to the saloon and inquired his business. He had heard that we had three children, and he had come to assure himself that they were being educated. Oh, the boys were at Mr. Jones’s, and were going on to Haileybury? Quite so. He was sorry to have troubled us. Then he, too, was shown round the ship, so that we trust he did not consider his visit wholly wasted.
Although our berth was more than a hundred yards from the railway, the trains—particularly the expresses—shook the ground on which the Ark Royal sat. At first the noise disturbed us, but soon we became unconscious of it. For other reasons I was grateful to the railway for being where it was. On dark winter nights, when I was returning from London, it never failed to please me to look out of the train and see the warm radiance from the Ark Royal striking up into the blackness. Then the walk from the station along the narrow old street paved with cobbles was delightful, and I could not hurry because I must stop to watch an anchor or a trawlhead being forged in the blacksmith’s, or to look at the mops, buckets, oilskins, sou’-westers, compasses, foghorns, lamps, and tins of paint, in the marine stores. And particularly at high water—if the wind were on shore—as I came abreast of the openings between the houses I was drawn by the splashing of the waves against the quay. There I would peer at the dark forms of dinghies scuffling in the small ‘sissing’ waves (as they say in Essex), or watch a cockle-boat with ghostly sails come racing home, and listen for the click of her patent blocks as she lowered her long gaff in readiness to berth by the sheds farther up the creek near the Ark Royal. I knew that unless I hurried she would be there before me, but then on the wide piece of quay facing the Flag Inn knots of fishermen would be pacing backwards and forwards, and civility or interest required that the time of night should be passed with them. Just then, perhaps, a green light close in would attract me, and forthwith the dark canvas of a barge towering above it would loom in sight. The short stiff walk of the fishermen would cease; all eyes would strain into the darkness, and a discussion as to which barge she was and for what quay she was bound would begin. At last the barge would settle the matter by becoming recognizable beyond dispute. We would watch the great mainsail grow smaller and smaller as it was brailed up, and wait for the mainsail and topsail to come down with a run. Then when the vessel seemed to be advancing right on to us there would be a splash and the sound of cable rattling out, and her stern would swing round towards the quay and she was anchored. A dark figure in a boat, glimpses of a line, a shout, ‘All fast!’ the sound of more cable being paid out, and the barge’s bows would swing slowly in towards the quay and she was berthed. Then the fishermen in their sea-boots, and guernseys, and billycock hats, or jumpers and peaked caps, would resume their stiff short walk, and I was free to go on my homeward way.
With sailormen it seems as though they felt that the safety of a ship while being berthed depended on their not taking their eyes off her. But perhaps they have no thought of rendering telepathic aid; it may be that they are only hypnotized, like me.
A little farther along the road one came into the open and could see the shafts of light from the Ark Royal. On dark nights the sailing directions to find our private path were very simple: go along the road until all light is obscured on the port side and begins to show on the starboard side; then you are abreast of the path. The richest moments of pleasure came when it was high water at night, and one could look over the saltings on to the business of the great river. Especially on Fridays and Saturdays large liners were bound out or in; there were always the clustered illuminations of the shore to the east and south-east, the avenue of lights on the pier, and the Nore flaring up and dying down; to the south the searchlights of Sheerness; and to the south of west the River Middle gas-buoys blinking industriously in the dark and guiding the sailor safely up to London.