Rudyard Kipling

Traffics and Discoveries Rudyard Kipling

The guard-boat lay across the mouth of the bathing-pool, her crew idly spanking the water with theflat of their oars. A red-coated militia-man, rifle in hand, sat at the bows, and a petty officer at thestern. Between the snow-white cutter and the flat-topped, honey-coloured rocks on the beach thegreen water was troubled with shrimp-pink prisoners-of-war bathing. Behind their orderly tin campand the electric-light poles rose those stone-dotted spurs that throw heat on Simonstown. Beneaththem the little Barracouta nodded to the big Gibraltar, and the old Penelope, that in ten years has beenbachelors' club, natural history museum, kindergarten, and prison, rooted and dug at her fixedmoorings. Far out, a three-funnelled Atlantic transport with turtle bow and stern waddled in fromthe deep sea. Said the sentry, assured of the visitor's good faith, "Talk to 'em? You can, to any that speak English. You'll find a lot that do."Here and there earnest groups gathered round ministers of the Dutch Reformed Church, whodoubtless preached conciliation, but the majority preferred their bath. The God who Looks afterSmall Things had caused the visitor that day to receive two weeks' delayed mails in one from a casualpostman, and the whole heavy bundle of newspapers, tied with a strap, he dangled as bait. At theedge of the beach, cross-legged, undressed to his sky-blue army shirt, sat a lean, ginger-haired man, on guard over a dozen heaps of clothing. His eyes followed the incoming Atlantic boat."Excuse me, Mister," he said, without turning (and the speech betrayed his nationality), "would youmind keeping away from these garments? I've been elected janitor-on the Dutch vote."The visitor moved over against the barbed-wire fence and sat down to his mail. At the rustle of thenewspaper-wrappers the ginger-coloured man turned quickly, the hunger of a press-ridden people inhis close-set iron- grey eyes."Have you any use for papers?" said the visitor