With The Immortal Seventh Division | Page 5

of officers, whose work met with high appreciation of Head-quarters, in due course.
Many conjectures were on foot as to our destination, but when we found the course was north-east, we knew that France was out of the question, and Belgium loomed large in our imagination.
The scene was an eerie one as the black hulls of the vessels moved quietly over the placid sea, with a protective squadron of torpedo destroyers surrounding us. It was sufficiently risky to give a piquance to the experience.
The Admiralty had laid mines from the Goodwin Sands to the Belgium coast, and it was a remarkable feat of pilotage which took the whole fleet through this mine zone in safety to its destination. The naval officer who acted as pilot to the Victorian, on which I was aboard, informed me the next morning that it had been the most anxious night of his life, and I can well understand it, for the responsibility upon a man, under such circumstances, was a heavy one.
Coming on deck in the early hours of the following morning I saw the low-lying Belgium coast bathed in sunlight; Zeebrugge lying a couple of miles to the east. It was with a very thankful heart that I realized that the first risky stage of our movement towards the Front was over.
In due course we warped in alongside of the massive Mole at Zeebrugge; and admired the huge proportions of a quay, which I understood had been built by the Germans. Large as it was, there was not sufficient room for all the fleet of transports, so half the Division landed at Ostend and joined us later.
The landing scene was stirring, and full of interest. All sorts of troops were mixed together in apparently inextricable confusion; Guardsmen, Highlanders, Linesmen, Sappers, Gunners, Cavalry and the ubiquitous A.S.C. were moving about in the keen delight of being on the soil that they had come to free from the oppressor; but the miracle of military order and discipline soon evolved order out of chaos; and the whole column moved off for its nine or ten mile trek to Bruges.
With elastic step and cheery voice the men swung along to the inspiring strains of 'Tipperary.' The road was typical of Belgium; the long avenue of poplar trees, flanked by broad ditches, being the distinguishing feature of this and most Belgium roads (the centre being composed of cobbles, with macadam tracks on either side). Every one felt keen, and the horses, fresh from forty-eight hours' confinement in their very close quarters between decks, enjoyed the freedom as much as the men.
On reaching Bruges, which was in total darkness, owing to the fear of enemy aeroplanes, we received our instructions to proceed to an outlying suburb of the city; and presently drew up in a field, bounded by houses of the humbler description. The early morning was distinctly autumnal, and a ration of biscuit, bully beef and steaming hot tea was not to be despised. Late though it was, many people were about, occupying themselves by gazing, half in wonderment and half in admiration, at the first visit of khaki to their neighbourhood.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This brilliant officer was killed in action at the end of September, 1915.

THE TREK THROUGH BELGIUM
CHAPTER II
THE TREK THROUGH BELGIUM
My first experience of billeting was sufficient to prove the very arbitrary character of the whole proceeding. Imagine some one hundred and fifty men, and twelve officers, suddenly appearing in a small outlying street of the far-famed Belgian city, at the untimely hour of 4 a.m., and all clamouring for a night's lodging. To begin with, it was not an easy matter to arouse the slumbering people; and the billeting party had to wait long before each door, ere slippered feet were heard along passages, and drowsy voices inquired suspiciously as to our business; then appeared more or less clad figures, who gazed anxiously at the cloaked men standing at the door (for the Germans lay at the back of every mind). However, the talismanic charm of 'Englishmen' did wonders. It was 4.30 a.m. before I tumbled into an extremely comfortable bed, and had barely laid my head upon the pillow--so it seemed--when a great knocking at the door aroused me with a start from vivid dreams of home, as an orderly entered the room with the alarming statement that the column was moving off in ten minutes. It was seven o'clock, and I felt inclined for another twelve hours in bed; there were no ablutions that morning. A flying leap into my clothes; a most indiscriminate packing of my valise, which I left my servant struggling with, in an inexperienced attempt to roll it up correctly, and I swallowed a cup of coffee which my kind hostess had provided for me (why is coffee always so hot