THE NEW ARMADA
The St. Lawrence River at Quebec presented a busy scene. Never since
the days of the Tercentennial of the discovery of the River by Jacques
Cartier, when King George and the British fleet, headed by H.M.S. "The
Indomitable," were present, was there so much activity, or so many
ships in the harbor. As soon as each transport was loaded it pulled
away from the pier and dropped anchor in the stream. When all our
troops were on board the "Megantic" we cast loose, pulled up the
stream off Cape Diamond, and "dropped our hook," as a landsman in the
ranks was heard to remark. The hotels and boarding houses of the City
were filled with friends of the men who had come on excursions to bid
the soldiers good-bye. The City was full of life and activity and
brilliantly lighted up and the scene at night was very beautiful. Old
Cape Diamond wearing its crown and sparkling with thousands of
electric lights looked its name. In its shadow on the evening before
he climbed the heights at Ainse d'Fulon Cove, now dim and silent in
the distance, to win the immortal battle of the Plains of Abraham,
General Wolfe had recited Gray's "Elegy" and unconsciously the
prophetic words "The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave" arose in
the mind. In these shadows Wolfe had brooded over those plans which on
a succeeding morrow were to mature and lead to three of the greatest
epochs in the history of the world--the fall of Quebec, which placed
in the hands of Britannia the trident of the world's naval supremacy,
destroying the foundations of the ancient regime of France, and laying
the corner stone of the great American Republic.
Some one among the crew was humming the refrain of the old
anchor-hoisting song, "Le Chien d'Or--I love your Daughter;" a melody
that has haunted the River St. Lawrence since the day when his
comrades forcibly carried off Admiral Nelson, then a "middy," from the
wiles and fascinations of the daughter of the landlord of "Le Chien
d'Or."
The distant tramp of battalions, the rumble of battery after battery
as they marched through the crooked streets, came faintly from the
shore. The slumbers of a hundred years of peace had been rudely
broken. Europe was ablaze. The hands of the clock of civilization had
been turned back a century. The Empire was again threatened and Canada
was at war.
We lay in the river off Quebec from Saturday night until Tuesday
evening, when we pulled up to the pier again and took on fresh water.
The Captain had asked me if the bar was to be opened. I said, "No,
close it up," which he did most cheerfully, remarking that it was the
first time in twenty-seven years that the White Star line had sailed a
"dry ship." He had thought he had plenty of water to take us to
England, but after three days' experience with a lot of dry
Highlanders he came to the conclusion he was mistaken, so he pulled up
alongside of the dock again, and a miserable stream of water trickled
slowly into the tanks, all afternoon and evening.
Colonel Penhale of the Divisional Ammunition Column was on board and
entitled to seniority. I was very glad to be rid of the responsibility
of ship management, with its round of inspections at all hours and in
all weathers.
We had no sooner got settled on board than I asked the Captain to give
us a plan of his lifeboat stations so that the men could assemble if
necessary, without any confusion, at their posts at the lifeboats in
the shortest possible time. I got this plan and then the trouble
began. The orderly room began to attach the men to their stations by
lists and I waited patiently for a day and there was still nothing but
confusion, showing how difficult it is for an office to run a gang of
men, something I had learned long ago. The Adjutant said "Rush," and
every time a list was made out it was found that some names were
missing and then fresh lists had to be made over again. Finally I took
the sketch of the ship, showing the position of the boats, called the
Captains of the companies and divided up the boat space among them,
and told them to first place the men of their companies at the
different stations with their life belts on, call the rolls of each
boat squad, then dismiss them, and that in an hour or so I was going
to "beat" the troops "to quarters." In an hour I caused the alarm
bugle to sound and there was some scrambling, but I inspected the
decks and found every man at his post with his life-belt on. The first
time it took twenty-five minutes. We did this turn three times, so
that the men soon knew the direct road from their berths to the
lifeboats and were able to get into position in ten minutes, which is
considered very good.
A time table of physical drill was prepared and carried out every
morning and evening. From 9 to 10.30 the right half battalion
practised first twenty minutes' run round the deck, then the balance
of the time they spent at physical drill. This was repeated again in
the afternoon, and the men were all fit when we landed. Officers and
all had to go the round.
We pulled out of Quebec on Wednesday night at 10.15 and very soon
everybody settled down to sleep. The night was dark and still as we
floated down past Cape Diamond. We had a splendid ship, and every day
our admiration of her increased. Even if there was a gale outside, the
ship was as steady as a church. Every three men had a room and there
was a berth for each one. They lived like millionaires. As for the
officers and sergeants they had every comfort.
Our Captain was a very fine man by the name of James. He was an
Englishman from Liverpool, with an aristocratic air, but quite modest,
a gentleman and a seaman every inch of him.
Finally, we pulled into the stream and departed for parts unknown. We
had a beautiful trip down the St. Lawrence. The sun was shining next
day, and on the shore we could see the outlines of the French-Canadian
villages, the long narrow farms and big churches. As we neared Gaspe
Peninsula the mountains in the distant background were covered with
snow. One by one we overhauled the steamers that left before us. In the
evening we were off Flame Point, having dropped our pilot. At Flame
Point they burned blue rockets or flares on the shore at dusk to give
us a send-off. Gradually we swung around Gaspe Peninsula as dusk closed
in. It was then we learned that sealed orders had been given the
Captain to rendezvous at Gaspe Basin. Soon we came in sight of the
lights that mark the entrance to this harbor. The Captain had his
sounding-line going, and I was on the upper deck with the signallers.
Pretty soon we made out the outlines of a small ship shrouded in
darkness. We turned our signalling lamp on her and asked her name. In a
moment came the answer "British Warship, don't go into the harbor until
daylight." The Captain could not find bottom with his anchor with one
hundred fathoms of chain out, so he had to stay outside, backing and
going ahead, all night. We all went to bed feeling secure, with that
cruiser lying a short distance away. When I woke up in the morning the
bugles were sounding the "Officers' Call" to breakfast. I looked out of
my cabin window and after dressing, hastily scrambled on deck. The
sight in Gaspe Basin was one never to be forgotten. Twenty-eight
transports were swinging at anchor, many of them the flower of the
North Atlantic merchant fleet. The ship we were on was the finest of
the White Star Line, the "Megantic." Some distance away was her sister
ship the "Laurentic," also the "Franconia," the "Allonia," the "Royal
George," and the "Royal Edward," all first-class ships. The weather was
bright, clear and warm, and the water of the Basin as smooth as oil.
Some of our officers got letters before they left Quebec, stating that
on the previous Sunday prayers had been offered up in the churches for
the safety of the contingent, which was supposed to be at sea, while
it was riding quietly at anchor in Quebec harbor. We were waiting for
the last of the transports to come before we left. About ten o'clock I
was on the bridge, when I heard cheering, and some one calling my
name. I ran down the deck, and saw the Minister of Militia, who had
come on alongside on a tug. He was going the rounds of the fleet. He
spent a day among the ships, and there was a good deal of talk about
his going on board one of the transports, but he did not. We all
expected to see him waiting for us when we landed in England. The day
passed quietly. No one was allowed ashore. The ship's gig went down to
see some of the other ships of the White Star fleet and we got some of
our belated mail. On Saturday we were to sail with the ebb tide. All
the transports had come in and there was assembled in Gaspe Basin the
greatest Armada that ever set sail for British shores. We were going
in this great Armada to assist the Mother Country to maintain the Pax
Britannicum. There were over twenty-five thousand men in thirty-one
transports. They were anchored in the harbor in lines, and as the tide
rose and fell they shifted about, now heading one way, and after the
lapse of a few hours, in another direction. The Government had kindly
issued to the officers Colt Automatic Pistols and high power field
glasses. My glasses were of a very high power, and I could pick out
the figures of the women and men working about the farm houses five
miles away. The British warships in the basin were obsolete small
cruisers of slow speed, the "Diana," the "Eclipse," the "Talbot" and
the "Charybdis." The latter was the flagship of the Admiral. We looked
upon these ships with a good deal of apprehension. The "Dresden" or
"Karlsruhe," the German ships in the Atlantic, would only have a
mouthful in any one of them, in fact in the whole four. They all
anchored apart in a separate part of the harbor, and the signaller on
the Admiral's ship amused himself by signalling, "Is your bar open?"
"How is the Scotch?" Our men answered back in kind. This mosquito
fleet appeared to have a big job on its hands to convoy this Armada
across. Presently a naval "gent," or "hossifer" as some of the crew
called him, came aboard, and gave the Captain his secret instructions,
that is, the formation of the convoy, and a rendezvous for each day in
case the convoy was scattered by fog, storm or other cause. The
Captain said we were to sail at three o'clock, in three columns,
right, centre and left line, with some ten ships in each line. The
speed was to be ten knots. We were to lead the left line, with H.M.S.
"Eclipse" four cable lengths ahead. The "Charybdis" was to lead the
centre, and the "Diana" the left of the line, while the "Talbot" acted
as a rear guard. Our ship started out first. The Captain of the
"Eclipse" sent the height of his mast back to our Captain and we kept
the distance constantly by the officer of the deck reading off the
proper angle with the sextant. In and out our line threaded, and then
began to zig-zag, until by-and-bye we were out of sight of Gaspe Cape
and all three lines were abreast.
On the afternoon of the last day before we left a black gas boat
filled with people came away from the shore. I scanned them carefully
with my glasses. They came within a couple of hundred yards of our
ship and after halting, went past, looking over the rest of the fleet.
The crew were men and women, evidently fisherfolk, all except one
woman, who sat huddled in the stern. She looked very much like a
German and under her rough coat she had a fine blouse and good
clothes. I had my suspicions and could not help thinking she was
either a newspaper woman or a German spy. I was surprised to find that
when I mentioned this boat to the Captain at the dinner table, he said
she had a suspicious passenger on board, like a "German woman." He was
some observer, was Captain James, R.N.R. He said "My word, we had one
like her on board the last passage over. I set sail north for
Greenland, keeping out of the way and coming in by Belle Isle. This
woman had a basket on her arm when she came on board. I noticed her
basket, and the pigeons in it soon found their way to the pot. I took
them from her. She raised a storm, but I did not want any carrier
pigeons on board. They made good pie."
Now I should say a word about this country before we leave it. The
Basin where we rendezvoued was beautiful and well protected. A number
of fishing boats flew white sails and proclaimed the principal
industry of the villagers. French-Canadians reside on the shore. The
most prominent objects on the horizon were the great churches that
have the customary gilded spire and the clusters of white cottages
about them. The shore rises steeply and the farms taper back into the
forests that crown the hills of the background, which rise fully one
thousand feet above the sea. On our left hand as we left the Basin
were huge clay or sandstone cliffs cut away by the fierce swells of
the Gulf. A lighthouse crowned the Point, with a flag staff from which
a Union Jack stood out in the wind as stiff as a board. On the left
there were masses of rock to mark the shore line, and several small
islands. In one place we could plainly see an arched rock called
"Pierced Rock," where the sea passed below a natural bridge.
The moon came up brightly as we sailed out into the Gulf. By-and-bye
clouds fleeced about it and formed a peculiar halo resembling a cross.
We took that for a good omen. We were speculating whether we were to
go by Belle Isle or Cape Ray, but about nine o'clock the three lines
set their course southeast and then we knew we were to take the
southern route. The weather was all that could be desired, and the
water as smooth as a mill pond. It was slightly cool, as the breezes
always are from Newfoundland. In the morning we could see that ancient
Colony, Cape Rae, with its lighthouse and wireless station. We had
wireless on board, but were not allowed to use it except to intercept
messages. When the Captain took his observation at noon, October 4th,
we were in Lat. N. 47 deg. 36', Long. W. 59 deg. 51'. On a chart at the main
companion way each day's run was recorded with the latitude and
longitude. We had what they called north-easterly gales and fine
weather. Along about noon we caught a glimpse of Cape Breton in the
distance. Nothing occurred all day. It was cloudy to the north and
west and clear to the south, with the sun shining. We had started a
dry canteen when we left Quebec, and it was doing a land office
business. No drinks of an intoxicating nature were sold on board.
When the Captain took his observation we had only sailed 190 miles
from Gaspe. The next day was fine. In the morning we saw a ship loom
up on our left and the cruiser flew out to "speak" her. Evidently she
was all right, "The Bruce," bound from Newfoundland to Sydney. When
she saw us first she started to run away, for the sight of our Armada
was a very impressive one. The chase lasted only a short time when she
discovered we were friends. Then in a very strange way a large grey
battleship slid in from the horizon on our left and was etched against
the bright sky. Volumes of smoke rose from her large funnels and two
big masts with fighting tops made her look quite formidable. She had
been out of sight just beyond the horizon all the time. We found that
she was H.M.S. "Glory," a dreadnought. It felt very comfortable to
have her there, speed twenty-three knots and four twelve-inch guns.
Along in the afternoon two whales spouting water came along and had a
look at the fleet. They kept with us for some time but presently got
tired.
At noon on the 5th, we were in Lat. 46 deg. 17', Long. 35 deg. 03', having
sailed 213 miles in the 24 hours. The transport "Monmouth" had been
giving us trouble, by constantly dropping back. The next day we would
be out of sight of Newfoundland, and we wondered what weather we would
get. The men were kept busy drilling and exercising, so were the
officers. I was made Hon. President of the ship's Y.M.C.A., and a
concert held on board netted a neat sum for the Patriotic fund. We had
four preachers on board. We were to have had a priest, but in some way
he did not turn up. To-day another steamer was chased by the
"Charybdis" but she gave us the slip. She had the "legs" on us all, as
the Captain said, and disappeared into a bank of fog to the north.
Then we got clear of Cape Race, which we did not see. The wind changed
to southwest, and began breaking up the nasty swell that came down
the Atlantic. We had made in the twenty-four hours only 210 knots, our
position being Lat. N. 45 deg. 36', Long. W. 50 deg. 11'. During the night the
rudder gear jammed and our ship began to run amuck among the fleet. We
all slept through it, but the Captain had to stay on deck till it was
fixed. No harm done.
The next day was also fine. There had always been a storm behind us,
but it had not yet caught up. On the 7th of October at noon we were
Lat. 46 deg. 46' N., Long. 45 deg. 25' W., another 210 miles to our credit,
and we were due about the 20th in Southampton at this rate. In the
evening we were amused by a school of dolphins that chased each other
about the ship, jumping out of the water, and acting up generally. We
expected very soon to be in the Gulf stream, where the weather would
be milder. The electric heater in my room was hardly large enough to
cope with the chill in the air. On the 8th we made 214 miles and the
"Monmouth," which was still giving trouble, was ordered up to the
front and signalled by the Admiral to "stoke up." The Admiral had all
the Captains scared stiff. Along in the afternoon we got into the Gulf
stream. A man threw a green canvas pail overboard, dipped it full and
took the temperature of the water. It was 56 deg.. Next day at noon it was
62 deg..
On the 9th we made 250 miles, which was a record run. The "Monmouth"
had found her second wind and was going strong. Some of the ships were
tossing but not very much. I forgot to say that on the 7th, a soldier
on the ship astern of us died. He was a reservist going home to rejoin
his regiment. The ship dropped out of the line and lowered her flag to
half mast, and tolled her bell, whilst they buried him at sea.
All this time the weather was all that could be desired, with bright
sunny days, a mackerel sky and moonlight nights, the moon being at its
full.
The first night out, the Captain called my attention to a comet which
was showing to the north, and according to traditions said to be a
harbinger of war, but when we went to look for it with our glasses it
had gone down. We saw it on the evening of the 7th just south of the
second star in the tail of the "Dipper" or Great Bear. Looking through
my glasses, which were the most powerful on board, being more so than
the ship's telescopes, I could see it quite clearly with a great tail
stretching to the northeast. In a week or so it would be quite large.
The weather continued bright and all the time a storm hung on behind
us, but never caught up.
On the 8th we got well into the Gulf stream, and the temperature of
the water registered 62 deg. to 65 deg.. The nights had been so cold before
this that I had to get out my eiderdown, but when we got into the warm
water, that had to be discarded. We had a bit of a swell from the
north, and we all felt a shade miserable but not enough to be really
sick. During the day a large six-masted schooner, with a barge ahead
of her, hove in sight and started down the line. The "Eclipse" went
after her and led her out of the convoy line. "My," said the Captain
to me, "that fellow will have his ticket taken from him for not
keeping out of the way of a convoy." I found that a complaint from a
naval officer can take away the papers of an officer of the merchant
service.
On Saturday the 10th, when I got up, and looked out of my window, there
on the port bow was another big warship. When I had a good look at her,
I recognized that she was of what they call the Superdreadnought class.
It turned out that she was the "Princess Royal," nicknamed H.M.S.
"Hellfire." She has a speed of 34 knots an hour, and carried eight
13-1/2" guns, besides being very heavily armoured. God help the German
that she marked down, for she was one of the most powerful fighting
machines afloat.
On Saturday afternoon I gave the men a half-holiday, which they
appreciated very much. The officers spent their spare time playing
shuffle board, and other games such as are practised on board ship.
I gave lectures in the afternoons to officers on map reading and
topography. They were apparently very interested and a number of the
outside officers asked leave to attend. There was only one set of
instruments for fifty officers so the class was carried on with
difficulty. Much had to be left till we got ashore. On Sunday
religious services were held by the various denominations.
I forgot to say that on the morning of the 5th, off Cape Race, there
was an alarm in the convoy, a "man overboard." The ships began
sounding their horns, and the "Royal Edward," with the "Princess Pats"
on board, turned out of the line and began lowering her boats, at the
same time flying her flags. The next ship astern dropped a boat also,
and the man was picked up after being in the chilly water for about
fifteen minutes. Then the Admiral sent a message back that the men
were not to climb the rigging.
On Sunday the "Allonia" left the convoy and went on ahead with the
Admiral. It was rumoured they had gone to try and get the British
Government to send the contingent over to recover Antwerp, which we
learned by wireless had fallen on Sunday. The gale continued all day
Monday with a misty fog from the north. We would be off Land's End in
the morning.
On Sunday afternoon another warship of the Dreadnought class quietly
took her place ahead of us. It was H.M.S. "Majestic." The sailors said
that this was the finest voyage they had ever had at this time of the
year.
On Monday, the 12th, we had a signalling competition amongst the
companies. Each company had been teaching all the men the semaphore
code. It is a good thing to start with, but at the Front they use only
the Morse system. About seventy-five per cent. of the men of the
regiment could read the semaphore alphabet very readily. When a
warship sent a signal everybody on board read it. "H" Company won the
signalling competition.
[Illustration: GROUP NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS. 48TH
HIGHLANDERS]
The same evening we had a concert given by "F" Company, commanded by
Captain Osborne. I was asked to attend and did so. It was a great
success.
I was wakened Monday morning by some one pounding on the door telling
me that land was in sight. I got up and dressed, had some tea and buns
and went on deck. There was Lizard Point ahead in the mist. It was
blowing a gale, but the sea was not very heavy.
We detached from the convoy about ten o'clock on the 12th, and the
swifter ships started to sail on, but still no one knew what our
destination would be. Last evening the signallers brought us a message
from our General, whoever that might be, saying "dye white haversacks"
"and carry a day's rations, on disembarkation." He did not know that
dye and coffee had run out so that the men could not dye their white
haversacks. Somebody suggested to flag back, "send along some dye by
wireless." Our men's haversacks, however, were dyed drab when we got
them, so we were all right.
A case of measles developed on board, suspected to be German,--another
case of German "frightfulness." In the evening the water was calm and
warm and the night very dark. I went on deck to see the wonderful
phosphorescent display. The ship seemed to be floating in a sea of
gold, or rather sunshine. It was wonderful.
We took a good look at Lizard's Point when we were passing about ten
miles off. There was a big white castle on a cliff and nice green
farms.
Before closing this chapter reference should be made to the good
conduct of all the officers and men. Our men on the signalling staff
had a hard time but they did their duty well. The men and officers
went ashore in the pink of condition.
We got our first real glimpse of England on the 14th. Off Eddystone
Light the pilot came on board. He was a very large portly man and very
nervous about being dropped into the sea. I should judge he weighed at
least two hundred and fifty pounds. The ladder he had to climb was
made of rope with the rungs woven in, and he made them heave him a
line which he fastened about his body.
When he came on board we were informed for the first time that our
original destination was to have been Southampton, and that it had been
changed, by a wireless message from Eddystone Lighthouse that morning,
to Plymouth. The evening before, the warship "Princess Royal" came
steaming down the line. She was on our left. She crossed our column
about half way down--dressed her decks and spars--her crew all in
white--and passed upon the right of our column so close that you could
toss a biscuit on her deck. She is a magnificent fighting machine. Our
men all lined the decks and every available space and cheered
themselves hoarse. That ship is the fastest warship afloat. The
ordinary Dreadnoughts sail twenty-one knots. The "Emden" and the
"Karlsruhe," the German Corsairs, sailed twenty-six knots, but the
"Princess Royal" can reel off thirty-four knots. Our ship was at the
head of our column and she swung past our bow to again take her station
as if we were standing still, so quickly and easily did she answer her
helm. Her decks were cleared for action, her 13-1/2" guns run out. All
her metal work in the setting sun shone like gold. She looked like a
great grey yacht. This convoy had been wonderfully cared for. It seemed
that all the time we were being convoyed by four great battleships and
five light cruisers. The battleships were always below the horizon till
we saw the "Glory" on the right. That was off Cape Breton. Truly the
British Navy is wonderful, and ever up to its traditions. We were
sailing up the Channel and going to land at Plymouth, the port from
which sailed the great Admirals who gave Great Britain command of the
sea. The day was lovely, the autumn sun shining brightly, and the
shores of England shimmered a ruddy bronze brown. The trees were in
full foliage, but the color scheme as seen from the sea was a much more
vivid green than the Canadian landscape. In the early part of the day
we could see a wireless tower and life saving stations at the Lizard.
The shore was steep, a huge line of chalk cliffs.
Fourteen miles from Plymouth we passed Eddystone Lighthouse. This is
one of the most noted lighthouses in the world. The first light was
erected here on a submerged reef in 1697. Six years after it was
washed away during a great storm. It was rebuilt in wood and the
structure stood the buffeting of the Atlantic until it was burned down
in 1755. The third, or as it was called the Smeaton Tower, was erected
in 1757. It was built of masonry and stood until 1882, over a hundred
years. Part of this wonderful old light, I was told by our Captain, is
still in use in Plymouth. The present light is 135 feet high, and was
built by Sir James W. Douglas at a cost of $400,000. In the summer,
excursion steamers run out from Plymouth, but very few of the
passengers land.
As we gradually drew nearer the harbour we began to meet the
sharp-nosed destroyers and torpedo boats that guard the harbour, and
as we neared the entrance we were delighted with the view of a vast
park and grounds with a castle peeping out from the trees. This park
is known as Mount Edgecombe, the seat of Earl Edgecombe. The park is
one of the most beautiful in England and occupies the whole of one
side of the Sound. Through our glasses we could see beautiful lawns,
walks and tropical palm trees growing here in the open air. Soon we
could distinguish the great breakwater that almost closes the entrance
to the Sound. On all sides we could see from grimy walls and caverns
the black gaping mouths of cannon. The shore outlines rose about five
hundred feet on each side and great batteries and the white tents of
some of Kitchener's army were to be seen almost everywhere. There was
certainly no doubt about England being at war. As we drew near the
breakwater a shoal of paddle wheel tugs rushed out to welcome us with
their sirens blowing to pilot us safely into the most noted harbour in
the world. From this port sailed such great captains as Drake, Hawkins
and Cooke, who first circumnavigated the globe. From this port emerged
William Longsword when he defeated the French when they desired to
land an expedition to defeat King John. Here it was where Sir Howard
Effingham and Drake lingered on the Hoe, a hill which we could clearly
see, to finish their famous game of bowls (every bowler knows the
story) before emerging to fall upon the Spanish Armada. Here Blake,
equally famous, the father and organizer of the British Navy, made his
depot, and in the church of St. Andrew's, in the city behind the Hoe,
is deposited his stout heart. From this Sound emerged the Mayflower to
land the Pilgrim Fathers in America, there to lay the foundations of
yet greater nations, and re-establish that Pax Britannicum for which
we were here to fight, and which has given a century of peace in the
new world.
Nearer and near we came, and soon passed the breakwater, guarded by a
huge steel tower girded with long lean gun barrels. The town seemed to
wake up and the open spaces began to fill with people. The sailors and
cadets on Drake Island poured out from the casements like rabbits from
a warren. With our glasses we could see the dense crowd on the Hoe,
which is now a public park. We could see the colossal statue of Sir
Francis Drake towering aloft over the Hoe, speaking trumpet in hand,
as if welcoming us, for certainly this was a great Armada that was
entering the Sound, a peaceful Armada, greater than that of King
Philip; this second Armada composed largely of the second and third
generations of pioneers coming back to give to the Mother Country what
she had so freely given to the Colonies and the civilized world. What
would old Sir Francis have said at this sight if he had lived to-day?
Back from Plymouth in a country manor near Tavistock, some descendant
guards the ancient drum with which Drake beat his crews to their
quarters. It was said that on his deathbed, when he bequeathed this
drum, he left directions that it was not to be beaten unless the
shores of England were endangered, and if it were beaten, England
would produce a great man or something great would occur that would
meet the emergency. Twice only had the drum been beaten, and
assistance came, first in the persons of the great Admiral Blake and
then Admiral Nelson. Some one must have given it a sly tap to bring
the Canadian contingent.
Gradually we drew into the inner harbour. The white streaks on the
shore and on the warships in the harbour resolved themselves into
naval cadets and "tars" "dressing" ship. We had seen this before on
the decks of the "Princess Royal." Here were hundreds and thousands of
them. Certainly England did not show any slackness in the number of
sailors. We could hear the cheering from the shore, and our pipes
struck up "The Cock o' the North." The men cheered themselves hoarse
in reply. Then we could hear the civilians on the shore giving out
something like a college yell. We listened and it came across "Are we
down-hearted? No." It never seemed to strike our men that way. We had
not heard the latest London Music Hall slang borrowed from "Joe"
Chamberlain, so our men called back, "Cheer up, the worst is yet to
come" and everybody roared with laughter. Slowly the "Megantic"
threaded her way in and out between buoys, through mines loaded with
enough dynamite to blow her to smithereens. The inner harbour is
called the Hamoaze. As we passed Drake Island, we were under the guns
of the citadel which was built in 1670 and is still occupied; we
passed the great naval victualling yard, a large establishment built
in 1835 for victualling the navy. Then we entered that part of the
Sound known as Devonport, the headquarters of the Royal Navy.
Devonport is one of the great naval yards, and there is situated one
of the huge naval shipbuilding plants. Huge steam derricks rear their
arms along the masonry walls of the harbour on the left, and in
several places the huge ribs of warships in course of erection
disclose their nakedness. On the wharves could be seen enormous guns
like giant pine logs heaped up ready to be put on board the warships
when ready. Several large men-of-war were in the dock, among them one
that had knocked a few plates off its bottom in running over a German
submarine in the North Sea. Further and further we went until finally
our cable was tied to a huge buoy and we were at our moorings. Orders
were issued that no one was to go ashore, so I slipped a cable for
home, to the Pilot, also a gold sovereign. He said he had no change,
but I told him the change was his. He was the assistant of our big
Pilot. He stared for a minute, then he vanished over the rail like a
blue streak, down the ladder, over the tender, alongside he hailed
another tender that was passing, and before our cable chain was out I
could see him climbing up the landing stairs and I guess he is running
yet. Gold has its fascination here as elsewhere and spells service.
The cable went through all right.
The appearance of the fleet seemed to stir up everybody and the
wharves and quays were thronged all evening. The bugles blow Retreat
on a beautiful spring-like evening, and after the "First Post" the
pipers discoursed those ancient melodies that sounded years ago amid
the brown heath and shaggy wood, and that are now calling the
descendants of those ancient warriors from farm, city and many
peaceful and cheerful firesides to fight for King and Country like
their ancestors, and if need be to die that the Empire may live. The
men sang themselves to sleep that night. I could hear their songs long
after "Lights Out" had sounded.
The voyage was over, and we can thank an All Wise and merciful
Providence that we had all come safely so far. Never did a Commanding
Officer have a finer lot of men than mine. Never did a Commanding
Officer have less trouble--the conduct of everybody was so good. We
would land eleven hundred and fifty-seven strong and only one man
sick. The rest, thanks to continual physical drill, were in the pink
of condition, ready and fit to go anywhere. I had only one regret and
that was that that some of them might never return. Still, the price
of Empire and power, as Bismarck said, must be paid, not in talk nor
treaties, nor promises nor golden tribute, but in "blood and iron."