"I might have guessed as much," said the colonel with some bitterness. "It’s useless to depend upon a man who drinks. Here, Fraser," he called to Captain Fraser, "take a taxi and make the camp as quickly as possible. The boat sails in two hours. Don’t fail to bring both Barker and the horses—although, Lord knows, Barker would be no great loss." It was characteristic of the colonel that no matter what scrapes we got into, no matter what trouble or humiliation we caused him, he never forsook us. More than once in the days that were to follow he saved some reckless youth from being taken out at early dawn and shot; not because he did not feel that the punishment was deserved but because his big, kindly heart enwrapped every one of his wayward soldier-boys with a father’s love. An English regiment was embarking upon the same ship with us. The donkey engine was busy again hauling their accoutrement and ours aboard. Great cases swung aloft in monotonous yet wonderful array. Sometimes a wagon was hoisted into the air; again a motor truck was lifted with apparent ease, swayed to and fro for a moment high above our heads, and then descended to the depths below. By midnight the ship was loaded, but Barker and the team with Huxford and Captain Fraser had not returned. The transport officer addressed the senior major. "I’m sorry," he said, "but I can’t hold the ship more than ten minutes longer. If your men don’t arrive by that time they’ll have to remain behind." The colonel had gone to meet the train on which the nursing sisters were to arrive. They were coming from London to join us, and were to cross upon the same boat. But the colonel returned alone. He was a tall, well-built, handsome man, and his winning smile was most contagious. It took a great deal to ruffle his genial good nature, and his blue-grey eyes were seldom darkened by a frown, but this was a night of unusual worry. He called out to Captain Burnham: "Have your luggage brought ashore, Burnham. You and I will remain behind to chaperon the nurses. They can’t possibly make the boat." "What’s the trouble, sir?" Burnham inquired, as he descended upon the quay. "Was their train late?" The colonel laughed a trifle impatiently. "No; the train was quite on time, but I have been having a new experience. I under-estimated the baggage of thirty-five women, that’s all. It’s astounding! I don’t know how many trunks each nurse has, but the _tout ensemble_ makes Barnum’s circus train look foolish. I ventured to remark that we were only going to the war, not touring Europe, but this precipitated such a shower of reproach upon my innocent head that I made no further protest. I was never able to oust one woman in an argument. Imagine, then, where I stood with thirty-five! The trunks, every one of them, will cross with us to-morrow, and if they wish to bring Peter Robinson’s whole shop, you won’t hear a murmur from me!"