I thought of the advice the American consul had given me. A better craft to hide on would never drop anchor in the canal. Bah! I could never get on board. The blackest night could not hide such rags as mine! Besides, the steamer was sure to load on coal and be gone within a couple of hours.
A native fair was going on at the far end of town. I became so interested in watching the snake-charmers and dancers that I soon forgot all about the ship I had seen that morning.
Darkness was falling when I strolled back toward the harbor. At the shop where mutton sold cheaply I stopped for supper; but the keeper had put up his shutters. Hungrily I wandered on toward the main street that bordered the canal, and stopped stock-still in astonishment. There before me, cutting off the view of the buildings across the canal, the vast bulk of the Worcestershire was still standing.
What a chance—if I could once get on board! Perhaps I might! But an official would be sure to halt me if I tried to do it. I must have some good excuse to offer him for being rowed out to the steamer. If only I had something to be delivered on board: a basket of fruit, or—exactly!—a letter of introduction.
Breathlessly I dashed into the reading-room of the Catholic Sailors’ Home, snatched a sheet of paper and an envelope, and scribbled a letter asking for work of any kind on board the ship. Then I sealed the envelope and addressed it in a bold hand to the chief steward of the ship.
But my knapsack? Certainly I could not carry that on board! I dumped its contents on the floor, snatched my camera and papers, and thrust them into an inside pocket. There was nothing else. With my faded clothes in the shadow, I would look like one of the passengers. Many an English lord, traveling in the East, wears a cap after nightfall.
In high excitement I rushed down to the dock. The Worcestershire was still there. Two Arab boatmen squatted under a torch on one corner of the landing-place, waiting to row passengers out to the steamer. They charged sixpence. I had three. It cost me some precious moments to beat down one of them. He stepped into his boat at last, and pushed off cautiously toward the row of lighted port-holes.
As we drew near the steamer I made out a figure in uniform on the lowest step of the ship’s ladder. The game was lost! I certainly could not pass this bridge officer.
My oarsman swung his boat against the ladder with a sweep of the oar. I held up the note.
“Will you kindly deliver this to the chief steward?” I asked. “The writer wants an answer before the ship leaves.”