sleepers at the
hotel began to move and talk, peering into the gray light; the Dutch officer
took a last look at Sun and Wilson (whom he had practically talked to sleep),
then a last look at the Admiral’s white shoes, before he went to his own room
in another part of the hotel and changed out of the bathrobe into his green
uniform. He was very sad.
At dawn the Chinese in the kitchen put the finishing touches on a huge
dish of rice and assorted oddments—a kind of impromptu ristaffel with a
distinctly Cantonese flavor. They carried it steaming into the hotel lobby,
blandly smiling. They carried also great urns of tea. It was for all to
share, but those who wanted could pay or—meaninglessly—sign
chits.
At dawn Francini sat upright in his chair and closed his eyes, sleeping
and dreaming instantly, the sleep troubled, but the dreams riding high over
pain and fever.
At dawn the sea mist drifted in, covering the hills behind the town; and
later the sun did not rise, but a fine rain began. Those who saw this from
streets and windows were glad, because they thought it might keep off the air
raiders. Soon after dawn, however, the sirens screamed, and for half an hour
planes could be heard droning high and invisible over the town. People said they could hear them, anyway.
Two ships edged through the mist and anchored like ghosts in the harbor.
The doctor left the wireless man in the Ford car on the pier, and signaled a
Javanese whose launch he had already engaged and paid for. With his thin
tropical uniform already drenched and sticking to him coldly, the doctor
watched the rain whip the harbor waves into a still calm. The downpour
increased till the ship they were approaching disappeared behind a wall of
rain that fell, no longer in hitting drops, but as long emptying funnels from
sky to sea.
Presently the grayness ahead darkened into the side of a ship and the
doctor climbed aboard.
The captain, a tall blond man wearing a blue beret, said it was utterly,
utterly impossible to take nine wounded men. His was only a small
inter-island coastal steamer; he had no sick bay or medical supplies beyond
the merest first- aid kit; and furthermore his ship was already chartered and
he had only put into Tjilatjap to take on Dutch Army personnel. He would not
refuse passage to able-bodied Americans, if any there were; but men who could
not look after themselves in an emergency (torpedo attack, for instance) had
better stay on land. It would be far safer for them. The doctor had heard
that argument before, but never quite so emphatically, for the captain (whose
name was Prass) spoke a kind of English that could he called even more
ferocious than atrocious. It was, indeed, a very effective language, and
after ten minutes of it the doctor sloshed his way back and signaled the
waiting Javanese to take him to the other ship. As the launch chugged away he
noticed that the ship Captain Prass commanded was called the Janssens , He thought to himself, a little ruefully, that he would always remember
Captain Prass of the Janssens .
It took him twenty minutes to reach the other ship, where refugees were
already streaming on hoard from rowboats and launches; the whole deck space
crammed, he could see, with not an inch to spare. It was not a very roomy
ship, anyhow, and neither so modern nor so well-kept as the Janssens .
The doctor had already made up his mind that if this second captain said no,
he would go back to the Janssens and ask again.
He did not see the second captain, but he got a vaguely helpless “no” from
every subordinate officer who could remotely understand what he said. And his
own instinct (though he did not realize this till long afterwards) had
already supplied the same answer.
So he went back to Captain Prass.
The terrible Captain Prass was shaving in his cabin. Somehow that seemed
to give the doctor an initial advantage, for every time the captain took a
sweeping stroke
hotel began to move and talk, peering into the gray light; the Dutch officer
took a last look at Sun and Wilson (whom he had practically talked to sleep),
then a last look at the Admiral’s white shoes, before he went to his own room
in another part of the hotel and changed out of the bathrobe into his green
uniform. He was very sad.
At dawn the Chinese in the kitchen put the finishing touches on a huge
dish of rice and assorted oddments—a kind of impromptu ristaffel with a
distinctly Cantonese flavor. They carried it steaming into the hotel lobby,
blandly smiling. They carried also great urns of tea. It was for all to
share, but those who wanted could pay or—meaninglessly—sign
chits.
At dawn Francini sat upright in his chair and closed his eyes, sleeping
and dreaming instantly, the sleep troubled, but the dreams riding high over
pain and fever.
At dawn the sea mist drifted in, covering the hills behind the town; and
later the sun did not rise, but a fine rain began. Those who saw this from
streets and windows were glad, because they thought it might keep off the air
raiders. Soon after dawn, however, the sirens screamed, and for half an hour
planes could be heard droning high and invisible over the town. People said they could hear them, anyway.
Two ships edged through the mist and anchored like ghosts in the harbor.
The doctor left the wireless man in the Ford car on the pier, and signaled a
Javanese whose launch he had already engaged and paid for. With his thin
tropical uniform already drenched and sticking to him coldly, the doctor
watched the rain whip the harbor waves into a still calm. The downpour
increased till the ship they were approaching disappeared behind a wall of
rain that fell, no longer in hitting drops, but as long emptying funnels from
sky to sea.
Presently the grayness ahead darkened into the side of a ship and the
doctor climbed aboard.
The captain, a tall blond man wearing a blue beret, said it was utterly,
utterly impossible to take nine wounded men. His was only a small
inter-island coastal steamer; he had no sick bay or medical supplies beyond
the merest first- aid kit; and furthermore his ship was already chartered and
he had only put into Tjilatjap to take on Dutch Army personnel. He would not
refuse passage to able-bodied Americans, if any there were; but men who could
not look after themselves in an emergency (torpedo attack, for instance) had
better stay on land. It would be far safer for them. The doctor had heard
that argument before, but never quite so emphatically, for the captain (whose
name was Prass) spoke a kind of English that could he called even more
ferocious than atrocious. It was, indeed, a very effective language, and
after ten minutes of it the doctor sloshed his way back and signaled the
waiting Javanese to take him to the other ship. As the launch chugged away he
noticed that the ship Captain Prass commanded was called the Janssens , He thought to himself, a little ruefully, that he would always remember
Captain Prass of the Janssens .
It took him twenty minutes to reach the other ship, where refugees were
already streaming on hoard from rowboats and launches; the whole deck space
crammed, he could see, with not an inch to spare. It was not a very roomy
ship, anyhow, and neither so modern nor so well-kept as the Janssens .
The doctor had already made up his mind that if this second captain said no,
he would go back to the Janssens and ask again.
He did not see the second captain, but he got a vaguely helpless “no” from
every subordinate officer who could remotely understand what he said. And his
own instinct (though he did not realize this till long afterwards) had
already supplied the same answer.
So he went back to Captain Prass.
The terrible Captain Prass was shaving in his cabin. Somehow that seemed
to give the doctor an initial advantage, for every time the captain took a
sweeping stroke
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