"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs
and blaming it on you—
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, yet make
allowance for their doubting, too—
If you can wait—and not be tired by waiting or being lied
about, don't deal in lies—
Or being hated, don't give way to hating—and yet not look too
good nor talk too wise."
We have had quite a number of minor worries, too, which culminated this evening, when, our last bucketful of coal, borrowed from a friendly hospital, having been exhausted, it was found impossible to obtain more than half a litre of methylated spirits (with which we had hoped to carry on our work by means of Primus stoves) from anywhere. For the first time not only hot dishes had to be abandoned, the pancakes and fried fish which the men like so well, but even the hot drinks, which we endeavoured to replace by lukewarm lemonade made from the remnants of our boiled water. Heaven alone knows from where we shall get our coal to-morrow, for the shortage seems to be getting worse. If only the people at home would realise what it means out here, and cease striking! When things had settled down and the place was closed, I felt a blow of fresh air was imperative, for the vitiated atmosphere of the rooms is choking and we have no time to walk by day.
As we slipped outside, Captain M—— passed. "What on earth are you doing here?" he asked. I replied that we had been breathing Woodbine fumes for twelve solid hours, and had come out to get some air.
"Take care not to be run in by the sentries," he said. "I will accompany you if I may, for safety's sake." It is true we are bounded by sentries north, south, east and west.
We walked briskly to the beach, where a full moon lit up the sea, forming what looked like a broad path straight up to heaven.
We were laughing over the tale of the immortal Dr. Spooner who concluded one of his sermons with the words: "And now, dear friends, I must draw to a close, for I see I am already addressing beery wenches!" when Captain M——, asking "May I smoke?" proceeded to light his pipe, or try to do so, for each time he lit a match the breeze put it out. Whilst he retired to light it by the rocks someone quoted another Spoonerism—when to a negligent student he said: "You have hissed all my mystery lessons and tasted half a worm!"
Laughing and all but forgetting our weariness, we turned to go home.
In the distance we discerned figures coming towards us—steadily and from all sides.
"Strange!" said someone. "The beach seemed deserted enough when we came."
"Why, it's gendarmes!" I cried.