Entirely out of his element, he wandered over the decks and among the crowds of tourists.

Force of habit drew him to the bridge, talking with the captain and the officers, who from his very first words recognized his professional genius.
Realizing that he was no more than an intruder in this place, and annoyed at finding himself on a bridge from which he could not give a single order, he descended to the lower decks, examining the groups of passengers.

They were mostly French, coming from Indo-China.

On prow and poop there were quartered four companies of Asiatic sharpshooters,--little, yellowish, with oblique eyes and voices like the miauling of cats.

They were going to the war.