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his brother Albert"—evidently expecting me to be
thrilled. They must have been well-known comedians.
(All of them belong to the Jewish Battalion, which is
awaiting embarkation here.)

Rumour in the mess to-night that "Jericho has

February 24th. Am now on board the P. and O. boat
Kashgar. Lying in my bunk alone with Conrad's
Chance and feeling all the better for being comfort-
able. Across the cabin steals a patch of dusty evening
sunshine. Feet pace the deck above; cabin doors slam
down below. The swish of the sea and the drone of a
gusty breeze; and me in the middle of the longest
journey of my life. Boat still in harbour.

February 26th. 7 a.m. Feeling much better this morn-
ing after headache and feverishness since Sunday
night. Boat got under way yesterday afternoon and
has since been ploughing the smooth Mediterranean
—very well-behaved voyage so far. When going on
deck for boat-drill, officers sing "Nearer my God to
Thee". Can't say I've observed anything interesting
so far. The sea is rather like a Royal Academy picture
and the officer-conversations dull beyond description.
I don't feel much sympathy for them. (I've felt pretty
rotten, though, since Sunday.) But they seem so self-
satisfied, with their card-playing and singing "Chu-
Chin-Chow", etc, Outside the saloon door one passes
from cheap cigarette smoke to what Conrad calls
"the brilliant evidence of the awful loneliness of the
hopeless obscure insignificance of our globe lost in the
splendid revelation of a glittering soulless universe".
(A bit over-written surely! Must avoid that sort of
thing myself.)

The Gulf of Taranto was a level steel-blue plain.
Low on the horizon, the mountainous coast was like