Down went the sun: upon the ocean lamps came out, and lamps came out in the sky. The green and red lights of the hospital ships glittered like fairy palaces. All evening, and into the night, boats threaded the way out of harbour. The hours went by. “Lights out” was blown. Upon the quiet ocean a navy and an army rested. Yet maybe one or two forms stayed restless, dreaming of the dawn.
I was on stable picket. About seven o’clock I carried my blankets down on to the horse deck, and laid them out on the hatchway between the bales of lucerne. The hatch above was open, so that I could look straight up into the sky; but even then the air was close and musty, for there was little wind abroad and none found a way down here. The horses moved wearily in the stalls, rattling head-chains and stamping impatiently. They were as tired of the voyage as ourselves. Now one rubbed itself endlessly against the bars of the stall, now a mare snapped spitefully at a neighbour. Everywhere dwelt the musty odour of manure and hay.
The other pickets sat by their lines, and talked and smoked, and kept an eye on the companion for the orderly officer. I walked up and down, patting some of the horses and calling out to the biters and kickers. I felt as restless as the worst of them. All my thoughts were of the morning. Presently I sat on a bale of lucerne, and dropped my chin on to my hands. Still went on the rattling of chains and the shuffling of feet. But away from it all I travelled at last.
The horse deck was practically dark in places, for there was a single electric lamp hanging low over the hatchway for every man to knock himself against, or stumble over with an oath. It would be better later on. The stars shone lustily through the open, and soon there would be part of a moon. My thoughts travelled further and further from the present, until the horses and their ill-temper were forgotten.
There came steps down the companion. The pickets sprang to their feet, hid the cigarettes and paced up and down. The alarm was false. Mr. Campbell arrived to look at his mare. He came round to where I sat, patted her shoulder, and started to call her pet names. Then he saw me.
“Good evening, Lake,” he said. “I came along to have a look at ‘Bonnie.’”
“Have you any news to give, sir?” I said.
“Yes. We leave here at midnight. At four o’clock we pass the French landing, and at five we shall see the British. We are going some distance beyond them. The infantry have started already.”
“Thank God we’re making a move at last,” I said.
“Yes, Lake,” was his answer, and he laughed. There followed a little pause, and then he said, “Good night, Lake,” and went up the companion.