All lights on board the troop-ship were extinguished, and with black smoke belching from the funnels, and the vibrations of the engines trembling through the ship, we made our dash across the Channel.
Who but those whose duty it is to perform the arduous task of protecting our troop-ships can understand and appreciate what it means to live the life of the sailor on those comfortless-looking destroyers.
Night after night, week after week, throughout the years, tearing frantically up and down, seeking a hidden foe; daring the treacherous mines; safeguarding their trust with apparent disregard for their own safety.
The men who perform such duties are hidden heroes; and the safe transportation of our fighting millions across the seas is a silent tribute of their bravery.
This work goes on, and will go on until the end of the war, and the men who perform this great task do so with the knowledge that only failure can bring their names before the public.
I met many old friends on board, and several new ones. But one man in particular attracted my attention, for his appearance seemed so strangely out of place with the surroundings.
Standing near the companionway, and looking upon the scene with a bored expression, was a young man in the thirties, in a brand-new uniform, with a single star on his shoulder-strap, which proclaimed him to the world as a second lieutenant.
He was rather tubby in appearance, with a round, chubby face, which was screwed up in a frantic effort to retain within its grasp a monocle, through which he viewed his fellow beings in mute astonishment; and what is more, he wore new kid gloves. It was Septimus D'Arcy, dressed in immaculate neatness, radiating the atmosphere of Bond Street; indifferent to everybody, yet with a horrified look of discomfort at finding himself in such unusual surroundings.
I had hardly turned from the strange scene when Collins caught hold of my arm.
"Come over here; I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, who, I believe, is coming out to be attached to us," he said.