CHAPTER XIII
News of Peter
Malcolm's first impressions on landing in Old England were far from agreeable. A drizzling rain was falling. It was yet early, and beyond a few dock hands Millbay Pier was deserted. No crowds of enthusiastic spectators waited to welcome the men who had made a perilous voyage of thousands of miles to take part in the fight for freedom. In almost complete silence the securing-ropes were made fast and the gangways run out by apathetic workmen, while with the utmost dispatch the disembarkation of men and stores began.
Wearing grey Balaclava helmets instead of their smart uniform hats, and without their accoutrements, the three New Zealanders found themselves drawn up in the rear of their Australian comrades.
"Who are these men?" enquired an embarkation Officer of the Anzac major who accompanied him.
"Three New Zealanders who missed their transport at Cape Town, sir," replied the latter.
"What regiment?"
The Australian turned to Fortescue and repeated the question.
The embarkation officer consulted a document.