CHAPTER I

STEAMING SOUTH


R.M.S. 'Dunottar Castle,' at sea: October 26, 1899.

The last cry of 'Any more for the shore?' had sounded, the last good-bye
had been said, the latest pressman or photographer had scrambled ashore,
and all Southampton was cheering wildly along a mile of pier and
promontory when at 6 P.M., on October 14, the Royal Mail steamer
'Dunottar Castle' left her moorings and sailed with Sir Redvers Buller
for the Cape. For a space the decks remained crowded with the passengers
who, while the sound of many voices echoed in their ears, looked back
towards the shores swiftly fading in the distance and the twilight, and
wondered whether, and if so when, they would come safe home again; then
everyone hurried to his cabin, arranged his luggage, and resigned
himself to the voyage.

What an odious affair is a modern sea journey! In ancient times there
were greater discomforts and perils; but they were recognised. A man
took ship prepared for the worst. Nowadays he expects the best as a
matter of course, and is, therefore, disappointed. Besides, how slowly
we travel! In the sixteenth century nobody minded taking five months to
get anywhere. But a fortnight is a large slice out of the nineteenth
century; and the child of civilisation, long petted by Science,
impatiently complains to his indulgent guardian of all delay in travel,
and petulantly calls on her to complete her task and finally eliminate
the factor of distance from human calculations. A fortnight is a long
time in modern life. It is also a long time in modern war--especially at