He was told his camp and set off to find it, and for an hour walked through endless docks, over innumerable bridges, several of which, being open to admit and let out ships, caused him pretty considerable delay.

It was a strange, new experience.

The docks presented types of nearly every conceivable nationality and of every sort of shipping.

French marines and seamen were, of course everywhere, but so were Chinese, South African natives, Egyptians, Senegalese, types of all European nationalities, a few of the first clean, efficient-looking Americans in tight-fitting uniforms, and individual officers of a score of regiments.
The old town ended in a row of high, disreputable-looking houses that were, however, picturesque enough, and across the _pave_ in front of them commenced the docks.

One walked in and out of harbours and waterways, the main stretch of harbour opening up more and more on the right hand, and finally showing two great encircling arms that nearly met, and the grey Channel beyond.