icer.
His face is pallid and his lips blue. The V.A.D. is past caring what
happens. The two Belgians are indifferent. The Canadian sister, the
brigadier, and I take silent counsel. Our eyes meet.

"I can't talk French," I say.

"I can," said the Brigadier.

He does. He explains politely to the Russian the indecency of being
seasick in that crowded space. He points out that there is one course
only open to the sufferer--to go away and bear the worst elsewhere.
Honour calls for the sacrifice. The Russian opens his eyes feebly and
looks at the deck beyond the narrow limits of his refuge. It is swept
at the moment by a shower of spray. He shudders and closes his eyes
again. The brigadier persuades, exhorts, commands. The Russian shakes
his head and intimates that he neither speaks nor understands French.
He is a brave and gallant gentleman. Shells cannot terrify him, nor
the fiercest stuttering of the field guns make him hesitate in
advance, but in a certain stage of seasickness the ears of very
heroes are deaf to duty's call.

A little later I take the cigar from my mouth and crush the glowing
end on the deck. I am not seasick, but there are times when tobacco
loses its attractiveness. The brigadier becomes strangely silent. His
head shrinks down into the broad upturned collar of his coat. Only
the Canadian sister remains cheerfully buoyant, her complexion as
fresh, her cheeks as pink as when the rain washed them on the quay.

The throbbing of the engines ceases. For a brief time the ship
wallows in the rolling seas. Then she begins to move backwards
towards the breakwater of the harbour. The brigadier struggles to his
feet and peers out.

"England at last," he says. "Thank goodness."

Women, officers, and men fling off the life-belts they have worn and
crowd to the gangways. With shameless eagerness they push their way
ashore. The voyage is over.

Along the pier long trains are drawn up waiting for us. We crowd into
them; lucky men, or foreseeing men with seats engaged beforehand,
fill the Pullman cars of the train which starts first. It runs
through the sweet familiar English country incredibly swiftly and
smoothly. Luncheon is served to us. On this train, at least, there
still are restaurant cars. We eat familiar food and wonder that we
ever in the old days grumbled at railway fare. We lie back,
satisfied, and smoke.

But there is in us an excitement which even tobacco will not soothe.
The train goes swiftl