METAMORPHOSIS
It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black, blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last link with home.
The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway examining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held out his pass into the rays of the man's lantern.
"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you would kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board, sir!""Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the gang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and red-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or cold quarters on deck to look forward to.
A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was built out just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright chintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a couple of comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with a bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box of cigars.
The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short, enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands which were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond walked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, the outrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear you a-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He proved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled beard, and au air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly found in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold night air.
"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of his head towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings of your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you that no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit narrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night up here!""Any orders about me?" asked Desmond.
The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
"Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
"But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury from Manila last week.""Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar and sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of seamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear.
Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black, inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was a good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon steadied down to regular rise and fall.
They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on the bridge. He handed the skipper a folded paper.
"From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond heard him say.
The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply, there was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed down. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of the cabin.
"I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major," he said pleasantly, "a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless from the Admiral about you.""Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond.
The Captain shook his head.
"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"He grinned and added:
"Where's your kit?"
"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter at Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it on the other side. And, oh damn it!--I've got a hundred cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the journey!""Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper hospitably, "for your traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's no time to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the Military Landing Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take care of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to the friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither they were bound.