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Updated: June 27, 2025
The ancient port of Sunwich was basking in the sunshine of a July afternoon. A rattle of cranes and winches sounded from the shipping in the harbour, but the town itself was half asleep.
The steamer's winches rattled as they hove up cargo from the barge, but Jake had seen that there was not much left and she would sail as soon as the last load was hoisted in. Lighting a cigarette, he ran his eye along the saloon-deck. A few passengers in white clothes walked up and down, and he studied their faces as they passed the lights, but Kenwardine was not among them.
And there would be a great blazing and burning of balloons, frantic work at the winches which pulled them to earth, and the ballooning section would send messages to the aerodrome whose duty it was to protect them, apologizing for awakening the squadron from its beauty sleep, but begging to report that hostile aircraft had arrived, had performed its dirty work and had departed with apparent immunity.
With the help of some of the naval machinists aboard the “Hudson,” both submarine craft were also manned and hawsers made fast. Two cables were passed ashore to winches to which power was supplied by the shipyard’s engines. When all was ready a mighty pull was given, the gunboat’s own propellers taking part in the struggle. For two or three minutes the efforts continued.
The clearing of the hatches was completed, the ship's winches were started, and the unloading of the props began. This was simply a reversal of the procedure they had observed at the clearing.
The serang and the Malay crew were overhauling the cargo chains and trying the winches; their voices sounded subdued on the deck below, and their movements were languid. That tropical daybreak was chilly. The Malay quartermaster, coming up to get something from the lockers on the bridge, shivered visibly.
He laid down his bag and roll, sat awhile listening to the shift of feet and the clatter of cargo winches on deck and pierhead. Then, growing drowsy, he stretched himself on a cushioned seat with his bag for a pillow and fell asleep. He woke with an odd sensation of his bed dropping out from under him.
The other masts are made of wood, and the canvas that can be spread is no less than 6500 square yards. On deck are four small steam winches or engines, each of which works a pair of cranes on both sides of the vessel; and with these five thousand tons of coals can be hoisted into the vessel in twenty-four hours. The engines and boilers are of immense power and magnitude.
It was called "Our Special Sabotage Number," and in it various stokers and dockers, in response to an appeal from Joe, had crudely written their ideas upon just how the engines of a ship or the hoisting winches on a dock could be most effectively put out of order in time of strike. "So that the scabs," wrote one contributor, "can see how they like it." "Why not have blue-penciled some of this?"
And then there came a creak of winches and a grinding of chains to inform us that the bridge was being taken up. At last those four lanzknechte looked at us. "Beim blute Gottes!" swore Hubli. "Was giebt es?" Our set faces, showing no faintest trace of surprise, quickened their alarm, and this became flavoured by suspicion when they perceived at last how closely we pressed about them.
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