On the Fringe of the Great Fight | Page 3

the day did
finally come when we drove in to Quebec to board our steamer for
England.
At midnight, the Franconia slipped slowly and silently away from the
dock. Only three were there to bid us farewell--a man and two
women,--and though they sang with great enthusiasm, "It's a Long,
Long Way to Tipperary," the effect was melancholy. Imperceptibly the
pier and the lights of the city receded and we steamed on down the
mighty St. Lawrence to our trysting place on the sea. The second
morning afterwards we woke to find ourselves riding quietly at anchor
in the sunny harbour of Gaspé, with all the other transports anchored
about us, together with four long grey gunboats,--our escort upon the
road to our great adventure.
The brilliant afternoon sun of a typical Canadian Autumn day shone
down upon Gaspé basin. Idly we lounged about the decks, gazing at the

shores with their little white fishermen's cottages, or at the thirty odd
troopships, and the four grey gunboats which studded the harbour. The
surface of the water was rippled by a light breeze and all was quiet and
peaceful in the shelter of that sunny haven. Even the gulls, gorged with
the waste food from the ships, swam lazily about or flapped idly hither
and thither.
My gaze had fixed itself upon the nearest of the lean, grey gunboats. As
I watched, the sleeping greyhound seemed to move; in another moment
the seeming illusion gave way to certainty--it was moving; gradually its
pace accelerated and it slipped quietly out toward the open sea. A
second gunboat followed, then a third, all making for the open.
Immediately we were all excitement, for the rumour had been current
that we might be there for several days. But the rumour was speedily
disproved as the rattle of anchor chains became audible from the
transports nearest the harbour mouth, and one by one they followed
their little grey guides; and so, at three of the clock on October the third,
1914, the First Canadian Contingent with guns, ammunition, horses and
equipment, left Gaspé en route to the great war.
Gradually method evolved itself out of apparent chaos. Three gunboats
took the lead and the transports fell into line about a thousand yards
from one another, so that eventually three lines were formed of about a
dozen in each and the whole fleet moved forward into the Atlantic. The
shores of Gaspé, dotted with white cottages; yellow stubble fields; hills
red and purple with autumnal foliage--these were our last pictures of
Canada--truly the last that many of us were ever to see, and we looked
upon them, our hearts filled with emotions that these scenes had never
given rise to before. Our ruddy Canadian emblem, the maple leaf, gave
its characteristic tinge to the receding shores--a colour to be seen often
on the field of battle, but never in the foliage of a European landscape.
We were making history; the great epoch-making enterprise of our
young country was taking place--an undertaking that would go down in
the annals of the Empire of Great Britain as a great incident of the
period when the young cubs raced to the assistance of the old lion in
her hour of need--this we realized. And yet it was hard to realize that

we were actually fortunate enough to be taking part in an expedition,
the like of which never was before, and probably never will be again.
Never before had there been gathered together a fleet of transports of
such magnitude--a fleet consisting of 33 transports carrying 33,000
men, 7,000 horses and all the motors, waggons and equipment
necessary to place in the field not only a complete infantry division,
and a cavalry brigade, but in addition to provide for the necessary
reserves.
At night we steamed along like phantom ships. All windows and port
holes were carefully screened so that one might walk the deck and see
not a single ray of light to reveal the whereabouts of the accompanying
vessels.
Off Newfoundland as our three lines of ships were ploughing along,
about a mile and a half apart, we picked up H.M.S. "Glory" which took
a position about ten miles away on our right. Our ship, the "Franconia,"
the flagship of the fleet, had the headquarter staff, the 90th Regiment of
Winnipeg, and a number of nurses on board, and she held place in the
centre of the middle line.
How an orderly fleet could be immediately dis-organized was well
demonstrated one morning when our whistle blew sharply several times
"Man Overboard." As we slowed down, with throbbing engines
reversed churning the ocean into foam, we could see the tiny speck (a
man's head) floating by. While our lifeboat was being lowered and the
man was being rescued, the three