Fortescue smiled grimly.
"No, you don't, my dinky lad," he replied. "After Muizenberg we steer clear of your relations. As a matter of fact, they'll push us straight on board a transport, and she'll sail as soon as it gets dark."
The train, upon arrival at the place of embarkation, ran straight into the docks, and brought up close to one of the many transports that were berthed there with banked fires ready to sail at any hour of the day or night.
In full marching order the men trooped up the gangways, divested themselves of their packs, and made themselves as comfortable as possible for their twelve or fourteen hours' voyage. Within the space of two hours twelve hundred troops, both Australians and New Zealanders, were embarked.
"Good-bye, Blighty!" shouted an Anzac. "Shan't see you again for many a long day."
"Stow your jaw and get your life-belt," ordered a non-com. "You'll be in the soup if the platoon commander finds you without it."
The wire hawsers were cast off. A couple of tugs began straining at their huge charge, and slowly the transport drew away from the side of the dock. Then, gathering speed, she slipped down the land-locked expanse of Southampton Water, through the fort-guarded Spithead, and gained the English Channel.
"We'll be airing our French by this time tomorrow," declared Malcolm.
"For the preservation of the Entente we would be wise to keep our mouths shut," said Selwyn. "From what I remember, Malcolm, you were last but one in French at the Coll."
"And you?"