Page 400 - The Tigris Expedition

The Tigris Expedition
great memories from around this table. Norman remarked that we
had sailed 6,800 kilometres together; 4,200 miles. Tigris had now
been afloat 143 days, or twenty weeks and three days, that is a good
five months.
Norris looked at his watch and pointed at his camera. The sun
was getting low. It would soon set behind the blue mountains of
Africa, which fell off in a blunt cape at the entrance to the Red Sea.
Everybody but HP, Asbjorn and I were set ashore on the low coral
banks with the dinghy. We had chartered a little yacht to bring us
back to port. The captain and his mate brought it into safety behind
the island when they realised what we were up to. HP had been a
peace-time demolition sergeant in the Norwegian army and had
bought an innocent clock-like time-keeper in a Djibouti photo-
shop. It was zero hour for Tigris. Asbjorn had been in charge of our
kerosene lamps on board and knew where to find the fuel. HP
where to pour it. I looked at the empty table as I jumped into the
dinghy after the others. Nobody had troubled to clean the table
tonight. Provisions for eleven men for another month, blankets and
everything else serviceable had been carried ashore to the refugees.
We lined up ashore and none of us could say much. ‘Take off your
hats,’ I said at last as the flames licked out of the main cabin door.
The sail caught fire in a rain of sparks, accompanied by sharp
shotlike reports of splitting bamboo and the crackling of burning
reeds. Nobody else spoke, and I barely heard myself mumble:
‘She was a fine ship.’

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