It was not much to look at, judged from a strictly optical point of view. Merely a slender lighthouse, rearing itself itself out of the sea, while miles beyond it, and just visible against the pale rosy tints of dawn, was a line of dark-grey cliffs, backed by higher ground that was totally destitute of trees.
The Pomfret Castle and the rest of the convoy had slowed down in the vicinity of the Wolf Rock Lighthouse. The attendant cruiser was circling round at top speed, as if to shepherd her flock before entrusting them to the care of another. Against the line of cliffs could be discerned a haze of smoke, Out of which appeared a number of indistinct dots that quickly resolved themselves into a flotilla of destroyers.
In double-column line ahead the greyhounds of the sea tore to meet the approaching troopships, then, at a signal from the senior officer, the destroyers "broke line", tearing hither and thither seemingly without order or reason--zigzagging, pirouetting, and crossing each others' bows as if participating in an intricate maritime dance.
"Putting the wind up any blessed U-boat that might be wanting to butt in," exclaimed Kennedy. "Hallo! There's our cruiser off. She's done with us."
The transports dipped ensigns; the cruiser returned the compliment in a similar manner as she swung round and retraced her course. Her mission accomplished, she set off on particular service to escort another convoy from somewhere to somewhere else, while the destroyers closed round the Pomfret Castle and her consorts as if to welcome them into port.
For the most part the men ignored the call to breakfast. They had a different feast on hand--to feast their eyes upon the varying outlines of the rugged Cornish coast; for as the distance decreased the monotonous aspect gave place to one of intense interest.
"There's Rame Head," exclaimed a delighted Tommy. "Many a time I've stood on top of it. I was born an' bred at Cawsand," he added, gratuitously. "Just round the corner you'll see Plymouth."
"I've seen it three times before," remarked another--the inevitable grouser of the company; "and, every time it's been raining cats and dogs. Proper wet 'ole, I calls it."
"Let it, and a jolly good job too," rejoined the first speaker. "After Mesopotamia you won't hear men grumbling about rain--not 'arf. It can rain every day in the year, an' good luck to it."
"Just you wait till you gets ter France," chipped in another. "Up to yer neck in mud an' slush. You'll jolly soon wish yourself grilling again."