MAC EMBARKS FOR OVERSEAS
Six weeks dragged slowly by. A few days after they came into camp,
there were ten great transports ready to take overseas the
Expeditionary Force of 8,500 men, horses, guns, limbers and stores, and
always there had been orders to be ready for instant embarkation and
that the probable date of departure was a week ahead. Constantly that
day was put off, and again put off, delay followed delay, while the men
speculated on the cause, condemned the authorities and blasphemed
generally. The War would be over before they could get anywhere near
the front, and they chafed vainly. The troopships lay in the harbours,
the men were ready in camp, why not embark?
With the exception of this uneasiness of mind, nothing spoilt the full
enjoyment of the spring days. All day the sun shone bright and strong
from a blue sky, the warmth tempered by pleasant breezes from the sea
or the mountains, and at night the stars stood out brilliantly in the
great dome above. Used to many camps in the past, accustomed also to
cooking and to battling generally for themselves, they were as much at
home as ever they were in the lines of white tents, and for most of
them these were lazy holidays after the hard life of the bush and the
sheep-runs. The army was generous in its supply of food, and much good
butter, jam, meat and bread, which would have been luxuries indeed in
the months to come, went to waste in Awapuni incinerators. And day
after day came cars from towns and farms and stations within two
hundred miles, bringing tuck-box after tuck-box containing the choicest
products of the home larders.
The red sun, lifting above the eastern hills, found long irregular
lines of horses straggling across dewy fields to water at the rushing
streams of the Manawatu River. On one bare-backed horse of every four
sat a trooper, clad sketchily in shirt and breeches tugged on hastily,
as a sergeant had called the roll. They played the fool as they
passed, laughing and chattering, losing their horses in their madness,
all making thorough nuisances of themselves and all atune with the
fresh glory of the dawn. Usually, during the day, in independent
troops of thirty or forty men, they wandered about the district, among
the pleasant suburban homes of Palmerston, along shady country roads or
up into the hills. They walked or cantered for an hour or so, and
then, selecting a likely-looking homestead, they would unsaddle and
unbridle their mounts and leave them to graze the succulent grass at
the sides of the road, or roll if they wished, while a man was put at
both ends of that stretch of road to prevent their straying. Then the
others would lie in the shade or sun themselves on the bank opposite
the homestead, sleeping, smoking, reading or playing cards. Scarcely
ever did the oracle fail to work. The door of the house would open and
a fair maid appear, anon, a mother and a sister. The first would come
tripping down the path to the soldiers and inquire:
"Mother says would you like some tea?"
"Well," they would reply, "it wouldn't be a bad idea, would it? But, I
say, wouldn't it be a lot of trouble?"
"Oh, not at all."
And she would skip away back to the house to the innards of which,
mother and sister, regarding the preamble as a mere formality, had
disappeared to get things under way. A brief interval was followed by
the appearance of large trays of cups, the whole of the household
crockery from the drawing-room, breakfast-room and kitchen, with scones
and cakes, and all the luxuries of the storeroom, and, perhaps, apples
from the barn. The good family, as is only in keeping with proper
hospitality, would join in the feast; and the disappearance of two or
three cheery troopers into the house to assist in washing up would end
one of those irresponsible, warm-hearted little scenes which were so
many in those far-away days of August '14. Another hour or so on the
march in the middle afternoon, and they would return to camp, to
"stables" and evening. Palmerston normally was never anything else
than a quiet country town of sober habits and eminent respectability,
but now the echoing emptiness of her streets was gone, the lights shone
brilliantly across the Square, the air was full of the murmur of the
crowd, the tread of heavy boots, the tinkling of spurs and glasses and
the laughter of merry parties. Perspiring waiters and flustered
waitresses fed the hordes in the hotels, while the baths worked
overtime. The road to the camp lay like a searchlight beam across the
landscape--the cloud of never-resting dust lit by the strong headlights
of a thousand taxis which careered along the rough road, careless of
life or of their own future. Happy and weary, the men came streaming
back to camp, entering by the front if before "Lights Out," through the
pine plantations if after.
At length embarkation orders became concrete and remained so.
The camp buzzed with excitement, and, when night came, all were busy
getting the gear ready. No one slept, and, in the dark, silent hours
before the dawn, the camp was struck. The neat lines of tents became
merely small bundles and odd poles, while hundreds of figures passed
hither and thither amid blazing fires of straw. In the early light the
Regiment moved away from the pleasant camp of Awapuni, the first of
many such abodes. In the middle of the morning, struggling engines
creaked away with the long lines of horse-trucks and carriages of rowdy
troopers who cheered wildly as they set out at last upon their
adventures. They crawled along the low country of the Manawatu, then
along the rough cliffs above the sea, over the hills, and at length
down the rocky gorge to Wellington. The troops detrained, watered and
fed the horses, hung about for a while, and eventually led the horses
to the wharves. Four great grey transports lay alongside, and the sun
shone down hotly on a scene of seething activity, a crowd of troops
working with the energy of enthusiasm, long strings of horses filing up
huge gangways and disappearing into lines of horse-boxes around the
bulwarks, or swinging aloft singly by cranes to be lowered swiftly into
the black depths of holds.
Mac led his terrified mare up the steep gangway and down into a hold
where he left her with regret. Mac's squadron was to embark on another
ship, except some men who were to look after the horses. This
transport lay at Lyttleton. So Mac and his cobbers had a few hours'
leave pending the departure of the southward ferry steamer at eight
o'clock, and they, in the meantime, went up the town to have a good
time and to turn out old friends. They did not waste these few short
hours, the streets rang with their enthusiasm, and the departing
steamer took away from the pier a singing, rollicking crowd of happy
warriors. Mac slept soundly on a table, and awoke in the morning to
find the vessel was berthing at Lyttleton.
Disembarking, they filed round the wharves to where two troopships lay
opposite each other, and embarked again on H.M.N.Z.T. No. 4, the S.S.
_Tahiti_. Mac grabbed what looked about the best bunk in the murky
depths of the 'tween decks which was the Squadron's alloted space, and
wrote his name in several places on the boards. The lucky ones got
breakfast during the forenoon, those who were lazy dodged fatigues and
slept in out-of-the-way corners in the sun, and so Mac and his cobber
Bill might have been found comfortably dozing on a great pile of onions
on the aft boat deck. They found such seclusion most satisfactory on
these turbulent days of movement, except for occasional visits to see
that no blighted trooper was trying to beat a fellow for his "possie"
in the hold. Trains kept rumbling out of the tunnel beneath the great
hills, bringing more troops, horses and stores, and all the afternoon
the gangways were crowded with these coming on board. By four,
embarkation was complete and a throng of people who had massed behind a
barrier to see the last of the troops, flooded on to the wharf.
Secrecy had been strictly kept as to the time of departure, and so the
public were few to what there might have been. Pretty girls were
wildly enthusiastic and were not particular as to how many troopers
they fondly took farewell of, women smiled and laughed, though there
were often tears in their eyes, and the men were laboriously humorous.
A band played airs which the bandmaster considered suitable to the
occasion, the troops, swarming on the railings and the rigging, sang
lustily snatches of song; and finally, amidst the fortissimo strains of
the National Anthem, a wild holloing from every one, and a bellowing of
fog-horns, the ships drew slowly away from the wharf. They manoeuvred
awkwardly out through the moles, while the throng on shore became but
one black shape beneath a sea of fluttering handkerchiefs.
That night the two ships steamed slowly to the north. Mac landed
horse-picket, and for four hours he paced a length of the boat-deck up
and down past fifty horses' heads, while the wind howled mournfully in
the rigging and the ship swayed easily to the swell. Morning broke,
with a dull sky, a dull sea and many miserable troopers. Towards
midday they were joined by two vessels from the south with the Otago
troops, and in the middle of the afternoon the whole four hove to in
Cook Strait, awaiting the four transports from Wellington. But
contrary orders came, and so, entering Wellington Harbour, they dropped
anchor towards evening. A gale came down in gusts from the hills
around, bringing furious squalls of rain; and Mac, in heavy oilskins,
again paced the boat-deck. Dawn broke grey and drear, and the troops
were in the depths of depression. It was not the ill weather which
distressed them, but at the eleventh hour, in the middle of the night,
a picket boat had brought unwelcome despatches and now all hope was
gone, all faith lost. "Owing to unforeseen circumstances, the
transports will not at present sail, and orders for disembarkation will
be issued in due course." So ran the death sentence.
Most of the infantry remained on the transports, but the other branches
of the service mournfully disembarked and trekked to the few more or
less level places amid Wellington's hills, where they pitched camps.
The Wellington Mounteds found a home on Trentham racecourse, and passed
a fortnight there, riding along the valley roads and manoeuvring over
the steep hills. It was not so bad either, for day after day passed
with glorious sunshine and cooling breeze, and the city was in reach by
a weary train. There was a grand review which no one particularly
enjoyed, and Mac least of all, for he had an attack of influenza. All
the long day he rode with a dizzy, aching head; and one of Wellington's
very own tearing gales, which whirled upwards great clouds of yellow
dust, served not at all to cool his heated brow. And when, late at
night, he spread out his straw and lay down, the long day seemed to
have been a vague, bad dream. But the fever had gone when morning
came, which proves that there are more ways than one of curing
influenza.
He had cut short the career of the same disease at Awapuni Camp when
out on an extensive movement one night near Feilding. His officer had
given him a goodly nip of strong Scotch whisky and had advised him to
remain at the first bivouac, but Mac thought that influenza was as bad
at one place as at another. So he successfully guarded a road all
night, his horse picketed to a fence, and himself in a greatcoat
stretched asleep in the middle of the road.
Once again, the bright stars long before dawn looked down upon the
bustle of a breaking camp, looked down upon the flaring piles of
burning straw, the collapsing tents and the happy laughing throng of
busy troopers. Early in the dewy morning they clattered out of the
race-course gates and away down the winding road in the valley bottom.
Afternoon found them skirting the harbour beneath the great rocky
escarpments of Wellington's hills, and from here Mac espied a sight
which gladdened his soul and he lost no time in communicating his
discovery to Bill and the others. Across a distant neck of land at the
far side of the harbour, he had seen the tall tapering masts of two
men-of-war, moving rapidly, and two murky streaks of smoke. This
looked like business.
In an hour two great cruisers rounded the far point, and the boys
welcomed them warmly as a sort of guarantee that there would be no
humbug about this embarkation. Again came the animated scene as they
shipped their horses, again a last night to roam streets, which echoed
with mirth far into the night, and again the crowded piers aflutter
with handkerchiefs, drawing away in the distance. The _Tahiti_ passed
close astern of the two cruisers, the Japanese _Ibuki_ and the British
_Minotaur_, and cheered their crews lustily as they came abeam. The
whole fleet anchored in the stream. All night long the Morse lamps
winked at the mastheads, the ships' lights twinkled on the water in
long twisting lines, and the great glow of a million lamps of the city
lit with fire the waters of the harbour, and the huge hills stood out
black against the sky.
A day of squalls followed, and dragged slowly by. Why were the anchors
not weighed? Pessimists said they might never leave, and all eagerly
watched the warships for any signs of going to sea--an increasing
volume of smoke from the funnels, activity on the bridge or more than
an ordinary display of signal flags. But there was nothing to bring
lasting satisfaction and the grey day ended with a colourless sunset.
Towards midnight a tender bumped alongside, men shouted in the dark and
packages were dropped with thuds upon the deck above.