CHAPTER II


At 7.10 on a foggy February morning Victoria Station looked a place of
mystery within which a mighty work was going forward. Electric lights
still shone in the gloom, and whereas innumerable units of life ran this
way and that like ants disturbed, an equal number stood about apparently
indifferent and unperturbed. Tommies who had found a place against a wall
or seat deposited rifle and pack close by, lit a pipe, and let the world
go by, content that when the officers' leave train had gone someone, or
some Providence, would round them up as well. But, for the rest, porters,
male and female, rushed up with baggage; trunks were pushed through the
crowd with the usual objurgations; subalterns, mostly loud and merry,
greeted each other or the officials, or, more subdued, moved purposefully
through the crowd with their women-folk, intent on finding a quieter
place farther up the platforms.

There was no mistaking the leave platform or the time of the train, for a
great notice drew one's attention to it. Once there, the Army took a man
in hand. Peter was entirely new to the process, but he speedily
discovered that his fear of not knowing what to do or where to go, which
had induced him (among other reasons) to say good-bye at home and come
alone to the station, was unfounded. Red-caps passed him on respectfully
but purposefully to officials, who looked at this paper and that, and
finally sent him up to an officer who sat at a little table with papers
before him to write down the name, rank, unit, and destination of each