officers better versed in the drill-book. But no army in
the world is officered by such a lot of fresh sportsmen as ours.
Come on deck."

When we got out into the warm air of a July evening, we found that
the quay, which before dinner had been alongside the ship, was
floating away from our port-quarter. Clearer thinking showed us that
it was the ship which was veering round, and not the shore. We were
really moving. The _Rangoon_ was off for the Dardanelles. There was
no crowd to cheer us and wave white handkerchiefs; nothing but a
silent, deserted dockyard--because of that policeman at the gate. It
was only as we crept past a great cruiser, whose rails were crowded
with Jack Tars, that cheers and banter greeted us.

"The Navy gives a send-off to the Army," said Doe; and the voice of
one of our Tommies shouted from the stern of the _Rangoon_:

"Bye-bye, Jack. We'll make a passage for you through them
Dardanelles."

"We will," whispered Monty.

"We will," echoed I.

Soon the _Rangoon_ was past the cruiser and abreast of the sinister
low hulls of the destroyers that were going to escort us out to sea.
But here, to our surprise, the noise of an anchor's cable rattling
and racing away grated on our ears.

"She's dropping anchor till the morning," said Monty. "All right,
then we'll sit down."

We placed hammock-chairs on a lonely part of the boat-deck. I
reclined on the right of Monty, and Doe took his chair and placed it
on his left. Just as, in the old world behind the dockyard gates, he
would not have been satisfied unless he had been next to Radley, so
now he must contrive to have no one between himself and Monty.
Meantime down in the lounge they seemed to have abandoned
cock-fighting for music. A man was singing "Come to me, Thora," and
his voice modified by distance could be heard all over the ship. The
refrain was taken up by a hundred voices: "Come--come--come to me,
Thora"; and, when the last note had been finished, the hundred
performers were so pleased with their effort that they burst into
cheers and whistling and catcalls. It sounded like a distant jackal
chorus.

Now that we were on deck, the spell, which the electric waves of
enjoyment had played on me in the lounge, was removed. Rather, an
emptiness and a loneliness began to oppress me, only increased by
the rowdyism below.

"It's going to degenerate into a drunken brawl," I complained.

Monty turned and slapped me merrily on the knee. "Don't