The Story of Dr. Wassell by James Hilton Read Free Book Online

have been reassured—until one saw the press of human movement seeping
slowly seawards through the streets of the town.
    The doctor knew how tired and anxious his men were, how unaccustomed to
the heat, and how likely to be dispirited by the general atmosphere of the
scene. He knew that his first task must be to find out exactly where the ship
was that would take them away, and to make his arrival known to whoever it
was who had charge of the embarkation. Then, when all had been arranged in
advance so that there could be no further hitches, the men could be taken
aboard as quickly as possible and made comfortable with the sedatives they
would need. In the meantime, while he did all these preliminary things, the
men must rest somewhere and try to conserve their strength for the
ordeal.
    There was a hotel opposite the station, and he assembled them there, on a
sort of terrace, where they could stay together and keep reasonably cool and
out of other people’s way. The hotel people were very obliging, but they too
were under a strain, not knowing what would soon happen to them. The doctor
talked them into providing extra chairs and cold drinks; they could not
supply food, because they had none, but he had brought some canned food from
the hospital and left it for the men to share.
    All this took time, and meanwhile the town kept filling up as if all Java
were draining its population southward into this one narrow bottleneck. The
sun blazed down the sky towards the end of the afternoon, and wafts of hot
air fanned against weary, preoccupied faces.
    On his way to the dock the doctor heard that a Jap reconnaissance plane
had already been over, taking photographs (Kodak Joe, they called it); which,
after the experience of Surabaya, could only mean that Tjilatjap was high on
the list of places soon, perhaps immediately, to be bombed. The thought
increased his pace as he hurried through the crowds; it even helped him to
ignore the heat and humidity.
    On the waterfront he had a stroke of luck; he found the Navy headquarters
easily, and—even more important—found a man in charge who,
whether because he was utterly worn-out or temperamentally acquiescent or
from some other reason, gave none of the trouble the doctor had half
anticipated. “Sure…Forty-one?…You have the list?…Thanks. All right,
I’ll okay that…You can sail in a few hours…Get your men here right
away…”
    The doctor was immensely relieved, and when, almost as an afterthought,
the question came: “I suppose they’re all able to help themselves?”—he
answered expansively: “Oh yes, naturally.” It was true of most of them, at
any rate, and for the few others there was a point he might have mentioned
but did not care to—that it was his job to help those who could
not help themselves.
    He was in mounting spirits as he went back to the hotel. The men also,
when he told them to get ready at once, shared his mood and began to bustle
about, collecting their small possessions together. Several were able to walk
the short distance to the dock; others climbed into a truck which he
persuaded the hotel people to lend; there were ambulances to take the
stretcher cases. He said a few words to each of the men, chiefly relative to
their own injuries and the best way to adjust themselves during the difficult
time that lay ahead. “Once we’re on board I’ll find you places to sleep, and
then I’ll give you a shot of something…so don’t worry. Keep your chin up
and if you feel bad, tell me , but don’t tell anyone else.”
    He hoped he could get the men on board without any further official
inspection or red-tape delay. His dislike of red tape rose now to a point
where he feared it more than a Jap air raid; and the reason (which he did not
analyze) was that often in life the short cuts of his own individual judgment
had turned out not so well, so that in blaming red tape he was choosing an
enemy more comforting