“One didn’t notice it much. It was scattered between Chatham, Dover, Portsmouth, Plymouth, Bristol, Liverpool, and so on, merely to give the inland men a chance to get rid of their breakfasts. We don’t like to concentrate and try a big embarkation at any one point. It makes the Continent jumpy. Otherwise,” said Kyd, “I believe we could get two hundred thousand men, with their kits, away on one tide.” “What d’you want with so many?” I asked. “_We_ don’t want one of ’em; but the Continent used to point out, every time relations were strained, that nothing would be easier than to raid England if they got command of the sea for a week. After a few years some genius discovered that it cut both ways, an’ there was no reason why we, who are supposed to command the sea and own a few ships, should not organise our little raids in case of need. The notion caught on among the Volunteers—they were getting rather sick of manœuvres on dry land—and since then we haven’t heard so much about raids from the Continent,” said Bayley. “It’s the offensive-defensive,” said Verschoyle, “that they talk so much about. We learned it _all_ from the Continent—bless ’em! They insisted on it so.” “No, we learned it from the Fleet,” said Devine. “The Mediterranean Fleet landed ten thousand marines and sailors, with guns, in twenty minutes once at manœuvres. That was long ago. I’ve seen the Fleet Reserve and a few paddle-steamers, hired for the day, land twenty-five thousand Volunteers at Bantry in four hours—half the men sea-sick too. You’ve no notion what a difference that sort of manœuvre makes in the calculations of our friends on the mainland. The Continent knows what invasion means. It’s like dealing with a man whose nerve has been shaken. It doesn’t cost much after all, and it makes us better friends with the great European family. We’re now as thick as thieves.” “Where does the Imperial Guard come in in all this gorgeousness?” I asked. “You’re unusual modest about yourselves.” “As a matter of fact, we’re supposed to go out and stay out. We’re the permanently mobilised lot. I don’t think there are more than eight I. G. battalions in England now. We’re a hundred battalions all told. Mostly on the ‘heef’ in India, Africa and so forth.” “A hundred thousand. Isn’t that small allowance?” I suggested. “You think so? One hundred thousand _men_, without a single case of venereal, and an average sick list of two per cent, permanently on a war footing? Well, perhaps you’re right, but it’s a useful little force to begin with while the others are getting ready. There’s the native Indian Army also, which isn’t a broken reed, and, since ‘no Volunteer no Vote’ is the rule throughout the Empire, you will find a few men in Canada, Australia, and elsewhere, that are fairly hefty in their class.” “But a hundred thousand isn’t enough for garrison duty,” I persisted. “A hundred thousand _sound_ men, not sick boys, go quite a way,” said Pigeon.