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.
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