n she hailed us
through a megaphone: 'Steamer ahoy! Hallo! Where are you bound to?'
'Salonika,' we said. 'God Almighty,' he says. 'I'm bound to Gibraltar.
Where the hell's _my_ convoy?'"

[Illustration: THE THAMES ESTUARY IN WAR-TIME]

XVII

OUTWARD BOUND

CUSTOMS clerks--may their name be blessed--are worth much more than
their mere weight in gold. We do not mean the civil servants at the
Custom House, who listen somewhat boredly to our solemn Oath and
Compearance. Doubtless they, too, are of value, but our concern is with
the owner's shipping clerk who attends our hesitating footsteps in the
walk of ships' business when we come on shore. He greets us on arrival
from overseas, bearing our precious letters and the news of the firm: he
has the devious paths of our entry-day's course mapped out, down to the
train we may catch for home. As an oracle of the port, there is nothing
he does not know: the trains, the week's bill at the 'Olympeambra,' the
quickest and cheapest way to send packages to Backanford, suitable
lodging in an outport, the standing of the ship laundries, the merits of
the hotels--he has information about them all. During our stay in port
he attends to our legal business. He speeds us off to the sea again,
with all our many folios in order.

In peace, we had a settled round that embraced the Custom House for
entry, the Board of Trade for crew affairs, the Notary for 'Protest.'
(". . . and experienced the usual heavy weather!") War has added to our
visiting-list. We must make acquaintance with the many naval authorities
who control our movements; the Consuls of the countries we propose to
visit must see us in person; it would be discourteous to set sail
without a p.p.c. on the Dam-ship and Otter officers. Ever and on, a new
bureau is licensed to put a finger in our pie: we spend the hours of
sailing-day in a round of call and counter-call. The Consul wishes to
_vise_ our Articles--the Articles may not be handed over till we produce
a slip from the Consul, the Consul will grant no slip till we have seen
the S.I.O. "Have we identity papers for every member of the crew, with
photograph duly authenticated?"--"We are instructed not to grant
passports!" Back and forward we trudge while the customs clerk at our
side tells cheerfully of the very much more trying time that fell to
Captain Blank.

By wile and industry and pertinacity he unwinds the tangle of our
longshore connections. He reconciles t