From the St. Lawrence to the Yser with the 1st Canadian brigade Part 3

There we lay for some days watching the jellyfish and the gulls while one by one our number was increased to thirty-two.

At this point a diversion occurred in the form of the last visit by the Minister of Militia in a noisy tugboat. More important than the printed copies of his farewell speech that were handed us was the news that now was our last chance to mail letters. In childish simplicity we handed down our mail, thinking the "hame folk" would receive these in a few short days. The sacks were collected and taken to one of the other s.h.i.+ps and journeyed across the Atlantic with us. So our departure was kept secret from all but a few, for, with a shrewd knowledge of the "habitant" mind, Captain Gee, the gallant commander of "E" Company, tied up a few letters in a handkerchief, weighted it with sundry pieces of silver, and dropped the package into a fis.h.i.+ng boat that had come alongside with a load of fresh meat. The very amount enclosed spoke of secrecy, and the "habitant" sailor used all due precautions in forwarding the missives.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SAILING DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE, NEAR BIC.]

By Sunday noon the ground swell had driven some of the officers to deck chairs, while the others marshalled the troops on the rear deck for Divine service. Service over, we watched the celebrated Perce Rock fading in the distance and knew that Canada now lay far behind us. A day later and Newfoundland too lay in the distance, and the magic circle of the horizon closed around us.

Interest now began to be taken in things nautical. The s.e.xtant, compa.s.s, and log were the cause of much discussion, and the usual bets were made on the daily run, the stakes being held by the chaplain.

Three days out and the s.h.i.+p's library was taken by a.s.sault, and the sevenpenny novels that formed it disappeared into the cabins. In vain an officer was appointed librarian with powers to search and to seize, but conditions were not bettered.

Lectures, physical drill, and other mild duties relieved a little of the monotony, for the journey was a slow one, a condition made necessary by the horse transports, one of which rolled in line ahead of us.

Occasionally a stir would be noticed on her decks and a horse that had succ.u.mbed to _mal-de-mer_ would be unceremoniously dumped overboard.

Such occasions were marked by a fusillade of pistol shots from each s.h.i.+p as the carcase drifted past, for, contrary to traditions, most of us carried revolvers for the first time in our lives and were anxious to display our prowess.

Nearly a fortnight was thus pa.s.sed gazing in singular apathy at the most remarkable demonstration of the command of the seas that military history of any age affords.

In three long lines, roughly a mile apart, the transports formed an armada such as Philip of Spain never dreamed of.

But about two days out from England a black column of smoke was seen to port, and presently the contour of a heavy battles.h.i.+p could be determined bearing down on us. There was wild excitement till the Cross of St. George could be distinguished at her masthead. It was the ill-fated _Queen Mary_, our latest and finest battle-cruiser. At an almost incredible speed she overtook us and pa.s.sed up our lines with her crew manning the decks and her band playing "The Maple Leaf."

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHURCH PARADE.]

From then on we always could see the smoke of heavier battles.h.i.+ps in the offing, and knew we were getting close to somewhere.

We pa.s.sed the Scilly Islands about 4 o'clock in the morning, but as cards had continued till late the preceding night few but the s.h.i.+p's officers saw the pin-point of light marking the westward sentinel of the Old World.

Then on October 14th fis.h.i.+ng smacks again appeared and the grey coast of Cornwall hove in sight, and by noon we could distinguish buildings along the cliffs.

Pa.s.sing the Eddystone our course was altered and all hopes of landing at Southampton vanished. Captain H----r was much excited. After nineteen years he was returning to his native town--Plymouth. To a running fire of his explanations we pa.s.sed up the Sound to the Hamoaze. A tugboat, looking ridiculously small against the gigantic liner ahead, now took us in tow, and the throbbing of the s.h.i.+p's screw stopped. The cessation of this pulse added a sombre touch to our voices; we were nearing the end of the voyage, and in another day would know the s.h.i.+p no more.

Thus we glided slowly past the old wooden cruisers now used as training s.h.i.+ps, and from their crowded riggings came shrill treble cheers. To the piping of the young cadets' voices was added the screaming of sirens and the tooting of many whistles. Halyards on all sides of us broke out into brilliant bunting and semaph.o.r.es wagged with a madness that even Lyte could not translate.

The clarion notes of the mess bugle called us from the decks to other duties, and there between the soup and the fish we heard the hoa.r.s.e rattle of the anchor chain as we found our moorings.

Captain H----r, seizing the opportunity, rose, and in the capacity of an old Plymothian gave us greeting.

Such was our welcome to England.

In the morning we looked out and saw rows and rows of chimney pots, impressive in their similarity.

Then later we read an editorial in _The Times_ describing us as pioneers and backwoodsmen. This provoked much comment, but the writer for one was not greatly distressed, for he had been born within sound of the shrill of a sawmill, and the perfume of cedar is still sweeter to his nostrils than the costly unguents of Araby.

CHAPTER VI

IN ENGLAND

Our stay in England was marred by the heaviest rainfall of many years, and Salisbury Plain, where we were quartered all winter, had the reputation of being the muddiest spot in the world until we struck Flanders; and even now there are patriots who maintain that the "Plain"

holds the champions.h.i.+p.

But these were not our first impressions of the Downs. It is hard yet to reconcile the mud in which we lived for months with the velvety swards that first greeted our eyes.

We had detrained at Amesbury, bleary eyed and sleepless after a tedious night trip from Plymouth. This had followed a seemingly interminable march through Plymouth, during which our progress had been seriously delayed by women who broke into the ranks and kissed and wept over our dear boys. Officers escaped with mere handshakes, but still found the ordeal rather trying.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EASTERN ONTARIO REGIMENT, NEAR STONEHENGE.]

However, a few minutes of standing around the platform munching sandwiches while the necessary mistakes were made and corrected wakened us thoroughly, and then to the crunch of our own footsteps we swung smartly down the village street.

Here we found we were in a new world, a world we had read of in books.

The thatched cottages, the neatly-clipped hedges, the churchyard with its headstones and tumbling wall, all seemed to fit in with what we expected. When we pa.s.sed a public-house with its wooden sign emblazoned with "The Three Feathers," or some such emblem, the picture was complete--it was the England of Jeffery Farnol!

Later we swung across the ample Downs, pa.s.sing on our way Stonehenge.

After having said "I don't know" to a few hundred questions from the men nearest you, it was a relief to be able to answer a few for a change.

What memory failed to supply imagination furnished; but this is every guide's privilege. A momentary halt here--to give the men a rest--afforded a chance for cameras to click, and then we left the road and marched across the gra.s.sy Downs to the Bustard Inn. Here the rows of tents that were to be our homes for the next few months had already been pitched.

Other brigades went to Lark Hill, to Pond Farm, to Sling Plantation, and to West Down, North and West Down, South ... one could lose a whole army in this vast training ground.

Gone was the long main street of Val Cartier camp with its cinema shows and booths of tempting merchandise. Gone, too, was the little river with its gravelly sh.o.r.es for bathing.

But we were one step nearer our goal, and that was the one thought that consoled us during those trying winter months that followed.

From then on we saw little but our own brigade--the 1st Brigade--and the Princess Patricia's Light Infantry--who were also at Bustard Camp.

The latter held themselves rather aloof from the Canadian Division, counting themselves as superior troops--as indeed they were, being mostly veterans of one or two campaigns--and as they were not brigaded with us we saw little of them.

Early in November the King, accompanied by Lords Roberts and Kitchener, reviewed the Division. His Majesty took special interest in the Patricias, so we were not surprised when in the early days of December the "Pats" left the Plain to join the 27th Division. Of their subsequent doings another book might be written, for no regular battalion of the British Army has proved itself steadier on the field than this magnificent corps--the gift to the Empire of a very gallant gentleman who has since succ.u.mbed to wounds received while serving with it in the field.[1]

Christmas brought with it leave and relaxation from the monotony of drilling, but with the New Year we started brigade and divisional manoeuvres, and we knew our stay on the Plain was drawing to a close.

We were again reviewed--in a drizzling rain this time--by the King on February 4th, 1915, and on the following day--just six months after the declaration of war--the First Canadian Division, complete in every detail (horse, foot, and guns) entrained for France.

So secret had the departure been kept that people in the neighbouring town of Salisbury knew nothing of the review or the entraining of the troops till they were well on the high seas.

[Footnote 1: Major Hamilton Gault, referred to above, did not die of wounds as first reported, but suffered the loss of a leg by amputation.]

After a very rough pa.s.sage from Avonmouth the Division landed at St.

Nazaire in the Bay of Biscay, the last transport arriving some time in the second week of February.

From there they were taken in box cars to that mysterious region known as "the front," travelling forty men or eight horses to a car, a state of affairs that one man complained "showed undue regard for horses."

But five whole battalions and a number of surplus officers who had managed to get over to England supernumerary to their battalions were left behind on the Plain as a base depot.

Amongst the latter were the writer and Begbie Lyte, and when they rejoined a month or two later their battalion had been cut to pieces and some twenty-five of the officers with whom they had trained were casualties.