“So you’re on the beach?” he grinned. “’Ard luck. The chief says he has enough sailors, and the company rules don’t allow ’im to take on a man to work ’is passage. S’y, you’ve made a mistake anyway, though, ayn’t you? We’re not ’omeward bound; we’re going out. You’d best rustle it and get ashore.”
He turned into the cook-room of the ship. Never had I dared to hope that he would let me out of his sight before I left. His carelessness was due, probably, to his certainty that I had “made a mistake.” I dashed out of the passageway as if fearful of being carried off; but, once hidden in the kindly night, I paused to peer about me.
Where was there a good place to hide? Inside a mattress in the steerage? But there was no steerage. The ship was first-class only. Down in the hold, where the cargo was stored? The doors covering the stairways leading to it were all nailed down. In the coal-bunkers? That would do very well in the depth of winter, but would be sure death in the heat of this country. In the forecastle, where the sailors live? Sure to be found in a few hours by tattletale natives. In the chain-locker? The anchor and chain might be dropped anywhere in the canal, and I should be dragged piecemeal through the hawse-hole.
Still thinking rapidly, I climbed to the spot where I had first been seen. From the starboard side, forward, came the voice of the fourth mate, clambering on board. In a few moments officers and men would be flocking up from below. Noiselessly I sprang up the ladder to the highest deck. There was no one in sight. I crept to the nearest life-boat, and dragged myself along the edge that hung well out over the canal. I tugged at the canvas cover on the boat for a minute that seemed a century before I succeeded in making an opening. When it had loosened for a space of four feet, I thrust my head through. Inch by inch, I squirmed in, fearful of making the slightest noise. Only my feet remained outside when my hand struck an oar inside the boat. Its rattle could have been heard in Cairo. Drenched with perspiration, I waited for my discoverer. But the music, it seemed, held the attention of everybody on the ship. I drew in my feet by doubling up like a pocket-knife, and, thrusting a hand through the opening fastened the canvas cover back in place.
The space inside was too small. Seats, kegs, oars, and boat-hooks left me barely room to stretch out on my back without touching the canvas above me. Two officers brushed by, and called out their orders within six feet of me. I heard the rattle of the anchor-chain, and knew that the long trip through the canal had begun.
When I could breathe without opening my mouth at every gasp, I was forced to remember that I had had nothing to eat that afternoon. Within an hour my hunger was forgotten. The sharp edge of a keg under my back, the oars under my hips, the seat that my shoulders barely reached, began to cut into my flesh, sending sharp pains through every limb. I dared not move for fear of sending some unseen article clattering. Worst of all, there was hardly room for my head, while I kept my neck strained to the utmost. The tip of my nose touched the canvas. To have stirred that ever so slightly would have landed me back on shore at the first canal station.
The position grew more painful hour by hour; but after some time my body grew numb and I sank into a half-conscious state that was not sleeping.
Daylight did not help matters, though in the sunshine that filtered through the canvas I could see the objects about me. There came the jabbering of strange tongues as the sailors quarreled over their work on the deck. Now and then there was a shout from a canal station that we were passing. Passengers climbing to the upper deck brushed against the life-boat as they took their walks. From time to time I heard them talking—telling what they were going to do when they reached India.
It became so hot that all but the officers returned to the shade below. By noon the Egyptian sun, pouring down upon the canvas, had turned my hiding-place into an oven. A raging thirst had long since silenced my hunger. In the early afternoon, as I lay motionless, there sounded a splash of water close at hand. Two natives had been sent to wash the life-boat. For an hour they dashed bucketful after bucketful against it, splashing, now and then, even the canvas over my head.
The gong had just sounded for afternoon tea when the ship began to rock slightly. Then came a faint sound of waves breaking against her side. A light breeze moved the canvas ever so little, and the throb of the engines became louder. Had we passed out of the canal? I was about to tear at the canvas and bellow for water. But had we really left the Suez Canal behind? Was this, perhaps, only the Bitter Lakes? Or, if we had reached the Red Sea, the pilot might still be on board! To be set ashore now would mean an endless tramp back through the burning desert to Port Said.