The transports have come into the river. Every passing tug and ferry-boat gives _rrr--oot_ on her steam-whistle to welcome them as they round-to off the docks and landing-stage. Loud bursts of cheer and answering cheer sound over the water. The wide river, so lately clear of shipping, seems now narrowed to the breadth of a canal by the huge proportions of the liners bringing up in the tideway. The bizarre stripes and curves and the contrasted colours of their dazzle schemes stand out oddly against the background of the Cheshire shore. It is not easy to disentangle the lines of the ships in the massed grouping of funnel and spar and high topsides. They are merged into a bewildering composition with only the mastheads and the flags flying at the trucks to guide the eye in attempting a count. Fifteen large ships, brimming at the bulwarks with a packed mass of troops, all at a deep draught that marks their load below decks of food and stores and munitions. The landing-stage becomes rapidly crowded by disembarkation officers and their staffs. Transport wagons and cars arrive at the south end and run quietly on the smooth boarding to their allotted stands. A medical unit, gagged with fearsome disinfectant pads, musters outside their temporary quarters. Most prominent of all, tall men in their silver and blue, a sergeant and two constables of the City police stand by--the official embodiment of law and order. A flag is posted by the stage-men at the north end, and its flutter calls an answering whistle-blast from the nearest transport. Steadily she disengages from the press of ships and closes in towards the shore. The tugs guiding her sheer strain at the hawsers and lie over in a cant that shows the tremendous weight of their charge. A row-boat dances in the wash of their screws as it is backed in to the liner's bows to pass a hawser to the stage. Sharp, short blasts indicate the pilot's orders from the bridge: the stage-master keeps up a commentary on the manoeuvres through a huge megaphone. Stir and bustle and high-spirited movement! The troops that pack the liner's inshore rails give tongue to excited gaiety. A milkgirl (slouch hat, trousers and gaiters complete) passes along the stage on her way to the restaurant and is greeted with acclaim, "Thatta gel--thatta goil--oh, you kid!" The policemen come in for it: "Aw, say! Looka th' guys 'n tha lodge trimmings. What's th' secret sign, anyway!" An embarrassed and red-faced junior of the Transport Service is forced to tip it and accept three cheers for "th' Brissh Navy!" The opening bars of 'The Star-spangled Banner' brings an instant stop to their clamour. The troops spring to attention in a way that we had not observed before in their own land. The spirit of patriotism, pronounced in war! 'God Save the King' keeps them still at attention. As strong as war and patriotism--the spirit of a new brotherhood in arms!