TROOP TRANSPORTS DISEMBARKING AT THE LANDING-STAGE, LIVERPOOL
Viewed from the low tidal stage, almost at a level with the water, the ship—that had appeared so delicate of line in the river—assumes a new and stronger character at close hand. The massive bulk of her, towering almost overhead, dwarfs the surrounding structures. The shear that gave her beauty at a distance is lost in the rapid foreshortening of her length: her weathered plating, strake upon strake bound by a pattern of close rivet-work, attracts the eye and imposes an instant impression of strength and seaworthiness. On her high superstructure the figures of men seem absurdly diminished. The sense of their control of such a vessel is difficult of realization. Pouring from her in an apparently endless stream of khaki, her living cargason passes over the gangways.
They move rapidly from the ship to the shore. Waiting-sheds and the upper platforms are soon littered by their packs and equipment, and the troops squat on the roadway to await formation of their group. Large bodies are marched directly to the riverside station to entrain for camp, but the assortment and enumeration of most of the companies and detachments is carried through on the broad planking of the stage. In and out the mustered files of men, transport cars make a noisy trumpeting progress, piled high with baggage and stores, and each crowned by a waving party of high-spirited soldiers. A second transport is brought in at the other end of the stage, and adds her men to the throng of troops at the water-side. The disembarkation staff have work with the sheep and the goats. There is the natural desire to learn how 'th' fellers' got on in the other ship, and the two ships' complements are mixed in a fellowship that makes a tangle of the 'nominal rolls' and drives the harassed officers to an outburst of profanity. Ever and on, a block occurs on the gangways where the inevitable 'forgetters' are struggling back through the press of landing men, to search for the trifles of their kit.
A prolonged blast of her siren warns the military officers that the first transport is about to cast off, and the movement of the troops is accelerated to a hurried rush and the withdrawal of the gangways. The waiting tugs drag the ship from the stage, and she moves slowly down-stream to dock at the Sandon entrance, there to discharge the burden of her packed holds. Another huge vessel takes her place, canting in at the north end, and shortly sending out more men to the already congested landing. She carries two full battalions, and they are disembarked with less confusion than the former varied details. Forming fours, and headed by their own band, they march off up the long bridgeway to the city streets.
The tide is approaching high water and the pilots are growing anxious lest they should lose opportunity of docking on the tide. Already the dock gates are open, and the smaller vessels of the convoy have dropped out of the river into the basins. With three ships disembarked and a fourth drawing alongside, the Naval Transport officers decide that they can handle no more men on the stage, and send the remaining steamers to land their men in dock. There, with the troops away, an army of dockers can get to work to unload the store of their carriage from overseas.
'M N'