The cold
water rectified his temper, he was now in a most amiable humour. Pryor
was away down the canal on the barge, when he came to the bridge he
would dive off and race some of Section 4 boys back to the spot where
I was sitting. There is an eternal and friendly rivalry between
Sections 3 and 4.
"Stoner, going in?" I asked my comrade, who was standing stark on the
bank.
"In a minute," he answered.
"Now," I said.
"Get in yourself ----"
"Presently," I replied, "but you go in now, unless you want to get
shoved in."
He dived gracefully and came up near the other bank spluttering and
shaking the water off his hair. Bill challenged him to a race and both
struck off down the stream, as they swam passing jokes with their (p. 227)
comrades on the bank. In the course of ten minutes they returned,
perched proudly on the stern of a barge and making ready to dive. At
that moment I undressed and went in.
My swim was a very short one; shorter than usual, and I am not much of
a swimmer. A searching shell sped over from the German lines hit the
ground a few hundred yards to rear of the Canal and whirled a shower
of dust into the water, which speedily delivered several hundred nude
fighters to the clothes-littered bank. A second and third shell
dropping nearer drove all modest thoughts from our minds for the
moment (unclothed, a man feels helplessly defenceless), and we hurried
into our warrens through throngs of women rushing out to take in their
washing.
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