THE PARTING ON THE WHARF. SOUTH FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIV, Issue 150, 21 December 1907, Page 3

THE PARTING ON THE WHARF. SOUTH FOR THE HOLIDAYS.

Her scheduled time of departure was past already some minutes since, and yet the Maori had not cast off her moorings. The winch still hummed merrily as it hoisted cargo into the forehold ; cabs still drove up and deposited their freight, animate and inanimate ; and figures ever and anon segregated themselves from the crowd on the wnarf and filed up the gangway. There was not much excitement ; only a cheerful murmur of conversation, punctuated by occasional gibes from the professional w.it on the upper deck for the benefit of the folk ashore. He was not yet in his best- form, as he did not know how long he might have to wait before firing his parting shot, and— his stock of humour was strictly limited. He wao going to &aye the good wine until the last. Saying good-bye to friejids about to cross the water is a Glow business, embarrassing and irritating to all concerned. After a farewell grip of the hand, your friend mounts to the upper deck and comes forward to the rail. You stand below and repeat the whole proceed again, perpetuata stale- jests about tho hoary old topic of nial-de-mer, enquire for tlio ninth time if everything is safe aboard, discuss the prospects of a rough, passage, when the harbour is calm as a- Venetian canal, and all the while inwardly wish it was a railway train instead of a laggard steamer, to cut ehoit the dieadful interim and speed the parting guest. The Maou is really very lnte. It is now half -past eight,, and still they come, the passengers and their luggage. Something has evidently delayed the trains, and the Maori would not be co discourteous and uncharitable at this season of the year lo leave anybody behind and spoil the Christmas holidays. Every berth has been booked long ago, and the ship's complement of passengers is full already, faiill they come. A motor-car dashes up tho wharf, and stops panting opposite the gangways. The doors' iiy open as if by magic. Thero i& the' inevitable kids that signalises the meeting and parting of the other sex, and then the rush for ths gangway. No need for alarm, fair ladies, the Maori is not going just yet. Tho de-rrick is still slinging tho boxes aboard, and more passeugeis aro arriving. Here is a porter in hot haste shouldering through the throng a mighty trunk, like a modern Atlas labouring under the burden of the earth. He cannot sc© where he is going, for his. head is bowed beneath the weight, and he plunges blindly into a knot, of distinguished people, among whom, is easily recognised the Premier. A gentleman loses his hat and nearly his head in the collision. Tho crowd are amused at the- welcome diversion. The porter staggers wildly up and down, until at last he drops his burden in despair. He .happens to be near tho gangway, and,tlie officers in ' charge' kindly haul the luggage aboard. ! Meanwhile the motor-car is still panting, j and the crowd snuff with' disgust the noisome Teek that mingles; with the as- ] pending tobacco smoke. A few evolutions in the narrow epace, and tho dragon of the fiery breath is away again. There is a sigh of ielief. Tho hum of conversation is now crescendo, for thero are obvious sigus o£ an immediate departure. Tha 'last man rushes up tlie gangway, which drops almost the very instant he reaches 'the deck;' the jib is pulled up close to tho fbiemast; the telegraph is TJngiu'g on the bridge, and at last, at precisely 8.45 p.m., the hawsers aTe cast off nnd the Maori is moving. '• Tha-- professional wit fires' his parting shot, which is returned' with interest.' 'A. flutter of handkerchiefs runs along the I rail, and draws an answering signal from fthe wharf. There ore few teats, for tlie i voyage io brief, and the oml exchanges are mostly brisk and sprightly. • Almost without a ripple the slim racer has drawn clear, and is .sliding astern towards the other shore. With a, ching tho bow rudder falls into position, and soon ihe'Maori. is preparing to go ahead. The beauty of the inner haibour is very manifest on such a night. The dark waters, placid' in tho perfect calm', seem to be stabbed by tho ikuning swords of the reflected' harbour lights.. The Maori floats liko a. ship of stars. Presently she passes the stern of tho Delphic and takes a wido swoop into the- glimmering track of moonbeams on the water. A faint cheer is wafted over the deep, but ■there is no sound cf engines. Swiftly tho moving chandelier of lights fades into tho mist on tho spfaco of the haibour. There is a faint gleam as she turns towards the heads, and then the Maori vanishes out of sight.