It was a long time before the man next to him gave a
sign of life. He punched hard his other neighbour and said:--"The cook's
shouting!" Many did not understand, others did not care; the majority
further aft did not believe. But the boatswain and another man had the
pluck to crawl away forward to see. They seemed to have been gone for
hours, and were very soon forgotten. Then suddenly men who had been
plunged in a hopeless resignation became as if possessed with a desire
to hurt. They belaboured one another with fists. In the darkness they
struck persistently anything soft they could feel near, and, with a
greater effort than for a shout, whispered excitedly:--"They've got some
hot coffee.... Boss'en got it...." "No!... Where?".... "It's coming!
Cook made it." James Wait moaned. Donkin scrambled viciously, caring not
where he kicked, and anxious that the officers should have none of it.
It came in a pot, and they drank in turns. It was hot, and while it
blistered the greedy palates, it seemed incredible. The men sighed out
parting with the mug:--"How 'as he done it?" Some cried weakly:--"Bully
for you, doctor!"
He had done it somehow.
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