Their immediate destination was known to none except the commanding officer. When, after a tiring journey, with much shunting and side-tracking, the men were finally detrained at a small station in the south of England, with no sign of sea or transports, there was a general feeling of surprise and disappointment. They were marched to a wide barren plain, peppered with tents and huts, and here, it became known by and by, they were to spend a month or more in further training. Even Ginger for once became a grouser. "I’ve had about enough of this," he growled. "What’s the good of it all?" "Discipline, Ginger," said Kenneth. "Discipline! That’s obedience, ain’t it? Well, I ask you, don’t we do as we’re told like a lot of school kids? I’m sure I’m as meek as Moses. Never thought I could be so tame. I’ve quite lost my character, and if ever I get back to the works I’ll have to go a regular buster, or else I’ll be one of the downtrodden slaves of the capitalist." "I don’t think so badly of you," said Kenneth, with a smile. "But discipline is more than obedience. Between you and me, I think this extra training is as much for the officers’ sake as ours. The British officer leads, you see. He knows we’ll obey orders; he has to make sure that he gives the right orders. If he didn’t there’d be an unholy mess: we should lose confidence in him, and the game would be up. We’ve got to work together like a football team, every man trusting every other; and that’s what all this drilling and training is for." "I daresay you’re in the right," said Ginger. "I wasn’t thinking of them young officers! They’re a good lot, though, ain’t they? I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about ’em--why, Mr. Kennedy now, he’s ten years younger than me, and yet somehow or other he manages me like as if I was a baby. And no bounce about it either; I wouldn’t stand bounce from any man, officer or not. But he don’t bounce; he speaks as quiet as a district visitor; but somehow--well, you feel you’ve just _got_ to do what he says, and you’d be a skunk if you didn’t. I don’t understand it, I tell you straight." Kenneth did not speak the thought that arose in his mind, but he warmed to this testimonial from the British working-man to the British public-school boy. There came a day, about the middle of March, when the battalion was once more entrained. This time the men took it more quietly: the first disappointment forbade them to set their hopes too high. It was dark when the train reached its destination; the lights on the platform were dim; but one of the men shouted, "A ship, boys!" as he got out of his compartment, and a thrill of excitement ran through the crowd.