At Sea, June 6, 1917 Dear Friend:- After being at sea for nearly six weeks, we are within a night's run of our third port of call. The hilly shore of the east coast of Africa loomed up on the horizon several hours ago, beneath a cloudy sky, dark as only an African thunder-cloud can make it appear. By this time tomorrow I expect to have landed and perhaps re-embarked for the final stage of the journey to India, which will take about three weeks, or there may be a delay in waiting for another transport. At noon we saw the end of a heavy windstorm, the only one during the voyage, which had been raging since early yesterday morning, and which kept the ship rolling and pitching badly enough to send the waves now and again over the bow and a continual spray over the bridge. But now there is only a gentle swell which gives the boat a nice, easy motion as it ploughs along again at its normal speed of fourteen knots an hour. This afternoon the troops came on deck again from their close quarters below, looking very much like convalescents taking an airing; their pale faces told of a previous loss of appetite and no doubt, a half-sleepless night. This at least was my experience, as well as that of a large percentage of my neighbours, judging by the few who turned up for meals. Seasickness is worse than the measles. I got up yesterday morning feeling quite unnatural and somehow did not improve all day. I managed to sleep most of the afternoon which accounted for a very broken night's rest. Except for about half an hour after breakfast when I stood watching the magnificent waves go rolling by with their white-capped crests, now towering above the promenade deck and now stretching like dense, snow-covered mountain peaks as far as the eye could see, - except for this brief exhilarating experience, I divided my time between one of the drawing-room couches, (where anyone may lie on the couches, the velvet covered over for this purpose with - oh well, - with something white and thin with pink flowering) and my cabin, at both of which places my constant companion was Leacock's Further Foolishness. Sometimes I read a page or two at a time; sometimes I slept, just long enough to feel like sitting up for five minutes; at other times I just lay awake, waiting only for energy enough to read, or to be rocked asleep. When the ship has a downward motion, you feel like an "airy nothing", and when it rises again, as if wearing a full pack when either walking about or lying down. At this point I was interrupted by the bugle sending forth those familiar notes of which the words are: "Come to the cook-house door, boys. The officers' wives have puddings and pies, But the soldiers' wives have skilly." After dinner the six at our table collected many menus which all of us signed, to have as souvenirs of the voyage. We have had an excellent time at our table, at the head of which sits the first mate. The rest of us are full lieutenants as it happens. Two of the others, with myself, belong to the South Persian Rifles. We were at Cambridge together. One of the remaining two is a South African who will be home tomorrow, and the other is from an English regiment. I have been reading a great deal of home news lately. A couple of months previous to my departure from England I received the St. Catharines Journal and during my stay of five weeks in London, I had not enough time to myself to read many of them as they arrived every day. So I put the whole bundle in my kit bag and have gone through all but half a dozen. The news is somewhat out of date, but none the less interesting for that Mother was going to send the Smithville Review to me, but no copy had reached me when I left London. When I get to my destination, I shall receive the papers at headquarters every three months or so when business takes me thither. Letters, of course, will arrive via the inland post every.week or so; this service is quite regular and frequent compared to that between India and the Gulf ports. June 7th. We are now lying at anchor outside Durban harbour where we have been since morning. It looks pleasant indeed to see the street lights again. We have been introduced to what promises to be very pleasant environments, (if we go ashore) very gradually. Up to the middle of the afternoon a cold storm from the sea had been making it too unpleasant to go even on the promenade deck and at the same time the heavy atmosphere obscured a good view of the town. Then the storm ceased and we seemed half a mile closer to the shore, where we could see the fine hotels and residences to the right of the business section which is, as nearly everywhere, just a mass of buildings. Half an hour later the wind turned and instead of the cool sea breeze, there came one from the land - one of those westerlies which hurry a thunder-storm along, and then in the early evening, when the lights began to be visible, nearly everybody on the promenade deck was looking landwards, instead of reading or walking about with a very disappointed look written on their countenances. This spell of pleasant weather soon gave way to a drizzling shower, the first part of which came on in little squalls which obscured the view of one part of the landscape, and then another. But it was soon dark, when there was a certain amount of satisfaction in walking on the deck just before going to bed, with those bright lights in the distance, which are such a change from looking into space. Nearly everybody packed up to-day and before coming back to my cabin it was necessary to hunt out some of my baggage first. However, there must be a reason for our delay here; the harbour has somewhat limited accommodation, especially for convoys like ours. There is not much more to report except a somewhat impatient wait. After being unable to go ashore at Cape Town, we are naturally anxious to disembark here. I spent some time one day ashore at Sierra Leone, which is very beautiful indeed, even more so than I had anticipated to find the Tropics. Part II Durban, South Africa, June 14, 1917. I have just come from camp with my tent-mate for our morning walk as usual along the beach. I am sitting in the bright morning sun, on a high sand dune, with the waves of the Indian Ocean breaking about twenty-five yards in front of me. To the left there is a curve in the shore beyond which are the low, green hills. To the right is a similar bend in the shore-line ending in a bluff with its light-house, just beyond the entrance to the harbour around which the town is built. Directly in front of this secluded spot, (the town is not visible from my position between the two dunes) a mile or so out, lies a convoy of ships at anchor. Theoretically speaking we have to stay in camp all fore- noon, and since the beach is not out of bounds, we two come here for our morning walk - for about half a mile. My tent-mate happens to be painting this morning. Usually he does some voice culture at giving commands, along the shore, a la Demosthenes while I read or write letters. My tent-mate happens to be Captain Costin, M.C., late of the Royal Canadian Regiment. Being one of the senior officers in camp, he is entitled to a tent to himself, but very kindly offered me to share it with him, which has saved me going into more crowded quarters With three or four other unattached junior officers. Our camp is admirably situated just outside the town and along the beach. The tram line terminates in front of our tent, which happens to be in the first row along the road. A ride of ten minutes takes us to the centre of the town. Only the road and a strip of lawn - a hundred yards or so in all - separate our camp from the beach. Just to the right, far enough not to obstruct our view of the breakers, is the beach promenade leading past the shark-proof bathing-enclosure and several cafes, as well as a bandstand, where there is usually a musical rehearsal twice a day. These are opposite the main part of the camp, while to the right, and on the same side of the beach road, are four of those large, white, winter hotels so typical of Durban, which is, above all, a winter resort. The city, which has a population of over 75,000, looks very much like London, Ontario, with its broad shady streets and flourishing business section. Along a hill commanding a full view of the harbour, is the residential section, with its magnificent dwellings, ranging in size from the cosy bungalow to the palatial brick residence, each in the middle of a spacious lawn with its luxuriant palms, sub-tropical shrubbery and neat little flower beds; this part too, is like any of the more beautiful Ontario towns. A tram ride of three or four miles through these lovely streets in which the most numerous vehicles are the rickshaws drawn by bare-footed Zulu boys with feathered head- gear, takes you, in one direction, into the sugar-country, and in another, to the plantations, In every direction there are hills , for the most part covered with sub-tropical vegetation either of green crops or of fruits, including bananas, oranges and lemons with strips of brush here and there, as well as the houses of the planters. Clear and pebbly brooks wind through the fertile valleys. But everything, whether it be the bushy trees, the lovely brooks, or the houses themselves, has a distinctly African appearance - something that always reminds you that even this is a part of the dark continent. 2.00 P.M. I was interrupted here to go bathing. It was my first experience on an ocean beach. It is indeed interesting to be in the waves, which are often over one's head, and which one has to meet by jumping upwards, for the force of them against any- thing stationary, is considerable. Even a high, even swell is not so bad, but when it begins to break, it has far more force. This afternoon I am spending in the Durban Club, which is open to us, writing letters. It commands a fine view of the harbour where, in this vicinity, there are many pleasure craft. It is much better writing here than in the tent where the tablet has to be rested on both knees. I would have sent the first part of the letter upon my arrival, but I wrote it when I was seasick, and for that reason it will doubtless need some revision; I think it a good idea not to have my letters savoured with any temporary unpleasantness. It took me about three days to get into a real holiday mood. After I began looking around in earnest, I could not help being charmed with the whole atmosphere of the place. One afternoon when I was feeling very lonely, I purchased half a dozen of the English Classics by such authors as Irving, Hawthorne and Wordsworth - books which perhaps I should have read years ago. But one cannot read everything, and if one's education develops a taste for the better kind of literature, I think it has served its purpose. My chief object, however, was to have these for the next stage of the voyage. Our stay here is indefinite, perhaps another week or two. The people of Durban have been very good to all the troops. It has been my own fault that I have not met any of them, but I have had, nonetheless, an enjoyable time with my fellow-officers, sightseeing and the like. On account of a much quicker air service from India to England than from here, my next letter, which I hope to send from there, ought to arrive soon after this. I am looking forward to receiving quite a number of letters from home when I arrive. It really seems too bad to have so many delays in getting to our destination, but taking things as they come, I can only feel delighted with my present environments, full of new features always; I have every reason to believe that just as was the case with London, Durban will not tire one during even a long stay. I am wondering how the Conscription Bill is progressing at Ottawa. I do not think they need it in Canada. I have never regretted enlisting, but I would feel very, very sorry to see anybody have to go. Surely with the United States in the war, it should not be necessary. Yours sincerely, Austin Lt. D.A.Lane, c/o Cox & Co., Bombay