with the razor (his mouth being stretched stiff for the
purpose), the doctor had a chance to edge in a few quick sentences. These
sentences, put together, and leaving out the Prass replies, amounted to
something like this: “Sir, I have to get these men aboard some ship and out
of Java. They don’t mind taking a chance—they want to take a
chance. And I’m going to see that they get a chance. And it’s no good saying
no—I won’t take no from you, Captain Prass—now what are you going
to do to a fellow who won’t take no from you?”
Captain Prass spat gobs of soap across the floor of the cabin, while over
a scraped cheek a streak of blood showed itself with difficulty upon skin
almost as red. “I have cut myself,” he replied mournfully. Then he added,
snapping back to normal: “But you understand—you and your men must keep
out of my way. This is not a hospital ship, there is no proper accommodation.
You must look after them yourself. And get them here soon—we leave
anytime after dark. And we shall all be killed doubtless—a hundred to
one we shall all be killed…You understand all that?”
The doctor answered joyfully that he understood all that; then he hurried
back to the hotel as quick as launch and car could take him.
The street in front of the hotel was wedged tight with British Army
trucks; the convoy had arrived. This, on top of his success with Captain
Prass, raised the doctor’s spirits to a point where people stared at him,
wondering incredulously what he could have to be so happy
about—especially as he beamed his way through the crowded hotel lobby
as if he hadn’t heard the air- raid sirens sounding off for the second time
that morning. When he opened the door of the bedroom his eyes took in a sight
that to most people would have seemed unspeakably tragic—his men in
drenched clothes, in drenched bandages, sprawling on floor and beds in
attitudes of pain and discomfort; but to him the sight was reassuring,
because he had good news for them and their very presence was good news to
him. And he noticed, in the trivial way these things obtrude, that McGuffey
was wearing the Admiral’s white shoes and that the Dutch officer was rubbing
one of the men’s feet with a towel.
“Boys,” he cried, “I’ve found a ship that’ll take us and we go on board
just as soon as I can fix you all up and get you there…”
Greetings came from the floor where the men lay. Most of them were too
tired to be excited, some were in too great pain to care what happened to
them, but none withheld a murmur of cheer.
The Dutch officer said: “It is very unfortunate that the sirens have just
gone again—do you want to get your men into the shelter?”
Promptly the doctor answered: “Hell, no—when we move from here, we
move out for good, eh, boys?” A murmur of acquiescence answered him. “Sure, I
thought so. All you want is a rest and a fixing-up, there can’t be much of a
raid in this weather.” He shook the water from his own dripping clothes.
“Bombs can fall in the rain,” said the Dutch officer, with the air of one
stating a scientific fact.
“But they can’t see where they’re dropping ‘em—not through this rain.”
“You do not have rains like this in America?” said the Dutch officer,
making polite conversation.
“Yes, sir—we have everything in America, though this is a
pretty good rain, I will say. It’s not what I’d call a sprinkle, and it’s not
a chip washer or a gully washer—it’s a real regular toad-strangler, and
I’ve seen ‘em like this in Arkansas when it turns all the roads into black
gumbo.”
The Dutch officer stared uncomprehendingly. “Gumbo,” he echoed, as if
sampling the word. “Gumbo. That is unfortunate.”
The doctor was taking Hanrahan’s temperature when his attention was
suddenly riveted elsewhere. “Why—there’s only seven of you all here?
Where’s the other two?” His eyes ran round,
purpose), the doctor had a chance to edge in a few quick sentences. These
sentences, put together, and leaving out the Prass replies, amounted to
something like this: “Sir, I have to get these men aboard some ship and out
of Java. They don’t mind taking a chance—they want to take a
chance. And I’m going to see that they get a chance. And it’s no good saying
no—I won’t take no from you, Captain Prass—now what are you going
to do to a fellow who won’t take no from you?”
Captain Prass spat gobs of soap across the floor of the cabin, while over
a scraped cheek a streak of blood showed itself with difficulty upon skin
almost as red. “I have cut myself,” he replied mournfully. Then he added,
snapping back to normal: “But you understand—you and your men must keep
out of my way. This is not a hospital ship, there is no proper accommodation.
You must look after them yourself. And get them here soon—we leave
anytime after dark. And we shall all be killed doubtless—a hundred to
one we shall all be killed…You understand all that?”
The doctor answered joyfully that he understood all that; then he hurried
back to the hotel as quick as launch and car could take him.
The street in front of the hotel was wedged tight with British Army
trucks; the convoy had arrived. This, on top of his success with Captain
Prass, raised the doctor’s spirits to a point where people stared at him,
wondering incredulously what he could have to be so happy
about—especially as he beamed his way through the crowded hotel lobby
as if he hadn’t heard the air- raid sirens sounding off for the second time
that morning. When he opened the door of the bedroom his eyes took in a sight
that to most people would have seemed unspeakably tragic—his men in
drenched clothes, in drenched bandages, sprawling on floor and beds in
attitudes of pain and discomfort; but to him the sight was reassuring,
because he had good news for them and their very presence was good news to
him. And he noticed, in the trivial way these things obtrude, that McGuffey
was wearing the Admiral’s white shoes and that the Dutch officer was rubbing
one of the men’s feet with a towel.
“Boys,” he cried, “I’ve found a ship that’ll take us and we go on board
just as soon as I can fix you all up and get you there…”
Greetings came from the floor where the men lay. Most of them were too
tired to be excited, some were in too great pain to care what happened to
them, but none withheld a murmur of cheer.
The Dutch officer said: “It is very unfortunate that the sirens have just
gone again—do you want to get your men into the shelter?”
Promptly the doctor answered: “Hell, no—when we move from here, we
move out for good, eh, boys?” A murmur of acquiescence answered him. “Sure, I
thought so. All you want is a rest and a fixing-up, there can’t be much of a
raid in this weather.” He shook the water from his own dripping clothes.
“Bombs can fall in the rain,” said the Dutch officer, with the air of one
stating a scientific fact.
“But they can’t see where they’re dropping ‘em—not through this rain.”
“You do not have rains like this in America?” said the Dutch officer,
making polite conversation.
“Yes, sir—we have everything in America, though this is a
pretty good rain, I will say. It’s not what I’d call a sprinkle, and it’s not
a chip washer or a gully washer—it’s a real regular toad-strangler, and
I’ve seen ‘em like this in Arkansas when it turns all the roads into black
gumbo.”
The Dutch officer stared uncomprehendingly. “Gumbo,” he echoed, as if
sampling the word. “Gumbo. That is unfortunate.”
The doctor was taking Hanrahan’s temperature when his attention was
suddenly riveted elsewhere. “Why—there’s only seven of you all here?
Where’s the other two?” His eyes ran round,
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