That is how it was at Southampton town station, but we were all in good spirits, thanks to the wine-list before mentioned; and as all the owners of the kit bags were carrying an uncomfortable amount of ordnance stores on their backs, the heap of luggage soon became submerged beneath a still greater heap of energetic and perspiring humanity, until the scene looked not unlike a very much disturbed ant-hill.
But I am exaggerating. Yet, the exaggeration of my words, written in a calm moment of thought is far less vociferous than the exaggerated words used at the time during the frantic endeavour to seek one's solitary kit bag, and extricate it in such a scramble.
But at last the four of us, bent double by our packs, and freely perspiring in the heat of an August day, could be seen rolling, pushing, kicking, and dragging our worldly belongings off the platform towards the station entrance, to seek the hospitality of an ancient hack. And then we drove away, our kit and our equipments stacked high around us at precarious angles, and completely submerging the occupants, to the delight of the people who stood and watched us in open-mouthed amazement.
CHAPTER IV[ToC]
CROSSING THE CHANNEL
THE DOCK PORTER. A WHIFF OF BOND STREET
Arriving at the dock we reported to the embarkation officer, and were given a pass to leave the dock, but bearing the strict injunction that we must embark at 6 P.M.