S. S. Alaunia,
Sunday, 4th October, 1914

By the time this reaches you, Valcartier Camp will be only a past incident in the war. But for many of us the Camp was the first bit of active service, and therefore to be remembered. I know something about military life, for in Halifax, in Edinburgh, and in London one saw troops every day. I also know something about camps, for many a night in the mountains have I slept under canvas or under the stars. But a military camp on such a scale was something new to me and to everyone in Canada. Everybody knows what the camp looked like, for the illustrated papers were full of it. Imagine over thirty thousand men grouped together in a big, regularly laid out canvas village more than three miles long. Imagine each battalion of infantry, or battery of artillery, or corps of engineers, or troop of cavalry, or army service corps, or army medical corps occupying its own place, each with its own orderly room, cook tents, officers' mess tent, quartermaster's tent, and a host of bell-shaped tents, each inhabited by eight men or a couple of officers; and you may have some rough idea of the camp. One long street ran through the camp, muddy enough in wet weather, and ankle deep in dust when the sun shone. Then there were the cross streets and the side streets, just beyond the "lines” the parade grounds of the various units, and further away the big space of open country where the manoeuvres and reviews were held, and beyond that the miles of butts for the all-important target practice.

One soon grew used to the routine of camp life – the bugle call at an hour in the morning when ordinary folk would be asleep, the call to "fall in" for the drill or exorcise of the day, the sight of columns of troops of all kinds passing to and fro, the welcome summons to meals, the prompt response and the long line up of the men at the cook's tent, the music of the pipes on the march and during dinner, the sight of the sentry passing one's tent, and the final sound of the pipes or the bugles just before one fell asleep at night.

We had visitors by the score and the hundred, on certain Sundays by the thousand. At times it was inadvisable for ladies to go down the lines, as men bound for the shower baths might be running about in all stages of dress and undress. For ours was a luxurious camp; if we had no swimming baths and little hot water, we had plenty of cold water to wash in before the sun had risen; and if we had neither table cloths nor serviettes at meals, we had any quantity of wholesome food, well cooked, and the appetites of ravenous wolves.

My own time was spent in many ways. My first acquaintance with the camp was made on Sunday morning, 6th September. The Moderator of the General Assembly was to preach at camp that day. He and I travelled together on Saturday from Ottawa to Quebec, and left Quebec for Valcartier by a train timed to leave at 9.30 p.m. By 9 o'clock it was packed with troops; at 10.30 it left Quebec, and reached Valcartier, some 17 miles distant at one in the morning. We had some hours of sleep, then I had the privilege of taking part in the Service at which Dr. Herridge preached. To me it was every whit as impressive as the final Service held on the last Sunday spent in camp.

I had come to camp on the Minister's assurance that I should be appointed a chaplain to go with the First Contingent, but when I came I was not attached to any regiment. So, early in the week, I was assigned to the fourth brigade, chiefly Highland, commanded by Colonel Turner, especially I was attached to the Royal High­landers of Canada, from Montreal, Thanks to the welcome given me by every person in the regiment, I soon felt as much at home among them as if I had lived with them for years. I hope that I may remain with the regiment as long as the war lasts.

The duties of a chaplain, as far as I can learn, are not laid down exactly, but if he keeps his eyes open, he will soon find that, like Sam Weller's acquaintance with London public houses, they are "extensive and peculiar". Preaching on Sunday is one of them, but only one of them. His first business is to identify himself as closely as he can with the life of the troops. With this in view I often took part in whatever the regiment was doing. In the company manoeuvers I got some idea of the method of infantry attack, and later on read a little more about it in "Infantry Training". In a sham battle I learned what it felt like to be pressed by the enemy and then to turn on him with a counter attack. On an outpost expedition, I saw the method of placing the groups to guard the camp, and then with others I bivouacked under the stars till dawn. At the butts I had my first experience of pulling a rifle trigger. With proverbial beginner's luck, I made a bull's eye or two, and the same morning a couple of times went wide of the target altogether. In the hours not occupied by drill I found enough to do. Many friends had written me about so and so being in camp, and asked me to look him up. Looking up any man in a camp of this size takes time. You first find what battalion or brigade his unit is in, then you go to the orderly room and find what company he is in, after that you get hold of the colour sergeant or some other N.C.O. of the company to pilot you to his tent, and at last, with luck, you find your man. As probably as not, you don’t find him, and either he comes to see you or you go back again. It was a real pleasure to me trying to find and come into touch with this man and that throughout the camp. I hope that I shall get many more such requests. Now and again a chaplain is supposed to visit the military hospitals. There was one chief hospital in camp. Most of the men in it were not dangerously ill, and what they seemed to like best was Just a bit of a "crack", anything to vary the monotony of lying on a cot and gazing at the canvas roof of the tent. The more serious cases went to Quebec; but even there I was glad to find comparatively few very ill. Most of those laid up were suffering chiefly from disgust at being prevented from sailing with the First Contingent.

As for Sunday services, they were usually held by brigades, except the big parade held on the last Sunday, attended by the Duke, the Duchess, the Princess, the Prime Minister, the Minister of Militia, and other notables. One of the officers suggested that directions for service might be given like orders on parade, where the commanding officer gives it first, and it is taken up like an echo by one subordinate after another till it reaches the last man. So you can imagine ten thousand men or more massed together for worship, the chief chaplain uttering the words "Let us pray", (the last word spoken smartly and sharply), the order repeated by colonels to battalions, by captains to companies, and by sergeants to sections, till every man had received the order "Let us -pray”, and had adjusted his mind and body accordingly.

There was work enough in camp to keep one occupied, but don't imagine it was all work and no play. One evening, for instance, I went to see my friend, Dr. Fred Bell, to get him to inject into my arm the billion anti-typhoid bacilli kindly given me by Dr. Gibson. He squirted the beasties in, and then I stayed for dinner with him and the other doctors of the field ambulance. They lived in great splendour, slept in ridge-pole tents like generals, and sat on oilcloth covered benches at meals, instead of plain wooden seats like the rest of us. Fred came with me to see George Rich­ardson. We found him opening a birthday hamper, and we stayed to help him celebrate. Jim Macdonnell dropped in, and then the four of us, with one or two other timely arrivals, tucked in, and during the night watches, until the "last post" sounded, we talked and smoked and ate, and after all this revelry made our way to our tents and slept.

By and by the troops in camp began to get restless, not so much because they were tired of camp as that they wanted to sail. On Thursday and Friday, 24th and 25th September, officers were busy making up endless lists, and men were more or less occ­upied in getting their kits ready. On Saturday morning reveille sounded hours before sunrise, and that same morning our regiment said Good-bye to Valcartier Camp. They travelled by rail to Quebec, and embarked on the Cunard Steamer "Alaunia". I had liberty that day to come and go. In the morning I Joined Father and Min and Huntly at the Chateau Frontenac, and in the evening joined them again. What an evening we had of it! The Principal was at his best. Huntly chipped in with his part of the story, while Min and I listened to their account of their visit to Valcartier, their interview with the Minister, Huntly’s appointment as lieutenant in the mechanical transport branch of the Army Service Corps, his first meeting with his commanding officer, and so on and so on. About eleven o'clock I tore myself away, threaded the corkscrew-shaped lanes of Quebec down from the terrace to the docks, ran the guantlet of sentinels at every gate, and then came aboard. Here ended my first period of active service – the part spent on Canadian soil.

5th Oct., 1914.
On Sunday morning, when we awoke, we found our ship lying at anchor in the river just above Quebec. There she lay till Wednesday evening. As one batch of ships left the docks, loaded, another batch took their place, till they too swung into line in the river, awaiting-orders to sail. None of us knew when the order would come. This military life makes one a bit of a fatalist. He gets orders to move and he moves, even though he has no idea where he is going; he is told by the higher powers, presumably for some reason, to stay, and he stays, although he does not know why. The powers decree, and things happen; the war-lords are silent, and all is still And the individual, officer or private bows to his fate and does what he is told. But we might have had a far worse fate than lying in the river above Quebec. One never wearied of the view, and on board ship there was much of interest. Some of the men are old soldiers, and think their quarters here luxurious compared with those on a troopship. A few are old sailors who have cruised all over the world. Many are old countrymen who have crossed the ocean once and are now on the return voyage; a fair number are Canadians who have never before been on board an ocean-going steamer. The staterooms assigned to the officers, on what is known as B deck, are most comfortable. In our room there are three, the regimental paymaster, the captain of the "base" company, and myself. As the room is the paymaster's office, it is in use from morning till night, yet it never gets hot or stuffy. The sergeants have their staterooms on the deck next below, called C; they feed in the first class dining-room, with the officers, but separated from them by a curtain. D deck is taken up with dining-rooms, kitchens, and open spaces. The third-class dining-room is a large one, but low in the ceiling, and plainly furnished; the steerage quarters, where all but the officers and the sergeants sleep, are in E and F decks. In fine weather these quarters are airy enough, but in bad weather, when the lower port holes have to be kept closed, they must get very stuffy. To be sure, they are far more comfortable than quarters on a battleship or a troopship, for here every man has a spring mattress to himself, while there the soldiers or the sailors sleep in hammocks close together and all hung from the ceiling. For all that, it strikes me that both in camp and on shipboard a tremendous distinction is made between officers and men. For that reason, I do admire the fellows of gentle birth and high education who have enlisted and are serving as privates in the ranks. I could name several such fellows from St. Andrew's, Ottawa; in camp I met many others; and here in the Royal Highlanders there must be dozens of them. In civil life they know the officers intimately, as classmates in the university, or as guests at the same dinner-tables. Yet here they are, travelling steerage, keeping to certain stated parts of the ship, taking orders from N.C.O's less educated than themselves, and doing it without a grumble. I don't think any man of spirit would mind the danger of a fight, he would rather enjoy it; but to live apart from one's own social equals and do it cheerfully, does mean splendid self-sacrifice. Of course the officers, being gentlemen, treat their men as gentlemen; yet there the distinction is, and in the army you can't avoid it.

The first day or two on board were spent in getting everybody settled in his own quarters. Since then, everything possible is being done to train the troops. We have over two thousand men on board the "Alaunia”, plus the crew. They are made up of the Royal Highlanders, 1170 strong, the Royal Montreal Regiment, and a detachment of the Army Service Corps. This means that deck space is limited, and has to be used to the full, So at almost every hour of the day, beginning soon after 6 a.m. you may see every open space filled with men doing physical drill, practising signalling, listening to lectures from their company officers, or basking in the sun during their off time. In time of peace there has been a good deal of playing at soldiering; there is very little now. Most of the men are keen on learning all they can, and most of the officers are busy all day long, studying their military text-books and training their companies. One only wishes that this activity had been going on for years. Our troops have spirit, but they need preparation.

I spend my time on board ship more or less as I did in camp, and the time flies like wildfire. The water gives one a prodigious appetite, the meals are sumptuous, and one eats a vast amount of food. Therefore one has to take a lot of exercise, on deck or in the gymnasium, to work off the effects of so much eating. The exercise and the fesh air develops a keener appetite, which leads one to eat more than ever, which necessitates more exercise, and so ad infinitum. Talk about escaping from a circle in logic! I see no way of escape from this fatal circle of exercise, appetite and gluttony.

On board ship one gets a good chance of knowing men at close range. I sometimes spend hours in going about among the men on deck, chatting with this man or this group and that. My idea is to learn something about them and their way of thinking, and to let them know that whenever anyone has anything to say to me, I am only too glad to hear it. When a lecture or some interesting topic such as attack or scouting or first aid is being given, or some practice is being held I often try to be present. Almost every evening there is an impromptu concert in the third-class dining room. Some of the men are really excellent musicians. One trio plays piano, violin and violincello; another trio sings part songs; one or two men are born comedians, after the style of Harry Lauder; several can render solos well, and hundreds are ready to Join in the chorus of a popular song. There is no lack of talent, and the result is that the entertainment usually goes with a swing. As soon as the officers' dinner is over, I generally go to the other dining room and stay there till 9 o’clock bugle sounds "lights out below", and the concert ends. I think they like to have me there, and the chaplain's presence may serve as a check in case the humour becomes too broad. But really one does not need to attend on that account, for there are so many men of good breeding and good caste in the ranks that nothing at all "off colour" would be tolerated.

We have now had two Sundays on board, and I have enjoyed them both. It happens that Canon Sylvester, the Roman Catholic priest attached to the Montreal regiment, is on this boat. One could hardly wish for a more agreeable colleague. neither interferes with the other, and the other's services in the least. He holds mass in the third class dining room some time before ten, and I hold the regular Protestant service, by brigadier’s orders, at 10.30 on Sunday morning in the saloon. The first Sunday it was somehow not generally known that our service in the saloon was intended for men of all ranks, and the result was that we had few present apart from officers and sergeants. But yesterday it was known that every man was welcome, and the result was that many of the officers were crowded out. I understand that in some cases men were given the alternative of church or drill, and they chose church. But whatever the motive, they came, as many as the saloon would hold. The chief steward, assisted by the ship's orchestra and a volunteer choir, led the singing, and everybody joined in. As for the sermon, which was brief, if one could not say something, with such a body of men facing him and giving him the closest of attention, it was high time for him to quit the ministry and try something else. I spoke from St. Paul’s motto, "This one thing I do". On each of the two Sunday evenings we have had an informal service of song in the third-class dining room. The first evening the men were met there for some kind of entertainment; so, at the request of two or three beforehand, I suggested that as it was Sunday evening we might have sacred songs. The military orders of service were handed round; I asked the men what they would like; requests came from one and another, and another; the hymns and choruses were interspersed with solos here and there. I interjected a few words now and then, and it only seemed a few minutes before the hour came for the benediction and "God Save the King". Last evening the gathering was of much the same kind. No service was announced in the military orders for the day, because, as the brigadier wisely pointed out, the dining-room was the only place the men had for smoking or other recreation and it would be unfair to commandeer it for a church service during their off hours. But he was entirely in favour of having hymns and other sacred songs sung; the R. C. priest had no objection, in the world, so what happened was that before I arrived at 7.45, the corporal who usually acts as chairman had the orders of service distributed, and all who cared to do so were invited to Join in. Some of the men farthest from the piano went on smoking, or con­tinued their games, without noise, while others formed a big semi-circle round the piano and sang with a will. The chief steward, a Welshman gifted with a fine voice, gave "Abide With Me" as a solo, a gunner sang "Calvary", and a private sang "The Holy City". Some of the hymns were military, others were old favourites like "Nearer, My God, to Thee" and "Tell me the Old, Old Story”.

6th Oct., 1914.
Don’t imagine that all the ship’s company are saints. They are not, not by any means, nor are their chaplains. On Sunday afternoon there were sports on deck, for a couple of thousand men, cooped up in a ship, must have exercise, and something to interest them. I am told that among the events were some boxing bouts, in which a little Frenchman and the champion light-weight boxer of the army distinguished themselves. I was sorry these bouts took place on Sunday afternoon. On any other day I could have seen them!

Now and then one sees sports of other kinds. When a deck is not being used for drill, it is often used for shuffle board, and on the lower decks, where space is more limited, there are games of other kinds. Yesterday afternoon dozens of men were seated on booms and rigging, watching three pairs of men at cock-fighting. You know how it is done. Each of the two men sits down with knees bent and hands tied together, then a stick is inserted below the knees and above the wrists, so that he is cocked up like a bantam, then the two men are placed opposite each other, and each tries to push the other out of the ring. It is fine fun for the onlookers, especially when the contestants go rolling like balls over the deck, and there is no possibility of the men taking part being hurt in any way. Now and then one sees an obstacle race or something of the kind, but most of the men seem to prefer to spend their off time standing or sitting about instead of playing athletic games. Apparently the daily drills and physical exercise gives them all the movement they want.

I mentioned that we lay in the river, just above Quebec for some days. On Wednesday afternoon, the last day of September, the welcome order was issued for the ships to weigh anchor. One after another of the fleet of transports passed us on its way down, then our turn came. The sun had set, night was coming on, when the big steamer glided past the dark citadel commanding the brightly lit terrace and the shadows of lowertown. The pipes played "Pibroch o’ Donal' Dhu" and "Highland Laddie"; every man stood on deck and cheered; soon the lights of Quebec disappeared, and we were moving silently down the river on our way to the war. All day Thursday we held our course, but on Friday morning, when we awoke, we found ourselves again at anchor in a spacious bay. Most of us had never seen it before, but a few sportsmen who had caught salmon in these parts recognised Gaspe Bay. The ships had assembled there during the night, and there they stayed, dozens of them, the whole of Friday, Friday night, and most of Saturday, All day the sun shone brightly and at night the moon was full. The sight of this fleet of transports and the four cruisers that were to escort them, riding peacefully at anchor, surrounded by the hills encircling the bay, was one never to be forgotten. All Canada must have envied the people of the village of Gaspe the chance of looking on such a scene. I knew that Huntly must be on one of the ships, but on which one I had no idea. However, I had a note from him, sent by one of the tenders playing about the bay, in­forming me that he was most comfortable on board the big boat "Franconia", our nearest neighbour. Trust him to pick out good quarters! And trust him as a ladies' man, to select good com­pany. All the nurses of the Contingent were on the "Franconia". One of them, from Ottawa, recognised him from his likeness to me. I hope he felt duly flattered. Through field glasses we could see the nurses in their blue uniforms, and very smart they looked. On the whole, I am glad they are on Huntly's boat, not mine. In his leisure hours he can entertain them much better than I could; it is more in his line, and I fancy that on a troopship, where there were no wounded soldiers to be cared for, a host of nurses would be rather distracting.

All day Friday, slow boats came dropping in to join the fleet. Why we lay at Gaspe part of Saturday, I don't know. Late on Saturday afternoon we sailed. The ships steamed out in a long, curned line, and then went through various evolutions and circling movements until at last they were formed up in three parallel lines outside the bay, each line led by a cruiser. In military language the formation might perhaps be called "column of threes". The names of the ships and their relative positions, as given me by the regimental signalling officer, are as follows:
[Ed.’s note: Transcription of list below has been adapted from the original formatting. Following the ship’s names are “Column” and “No.” convoy positional values.]

Alaunia,        z, 4
Andania,       x, 6
Franconia,    y, 4
Saxonia,        x, 7
Ivernia,         z,  5
Laurentic,     y, 10
Megantic,     z, 1
Tunisian
Virginian,     x, 1
Canada,        y, 5
Monmouth,  y, 6
Montreal,     x, 9
Manitou,      y, 4
Athenia,       y, 2
Cassandra,   x, 4
Lakonia
Montezuma, x, 2
Grampian,    x, 5
Tyrolia,        y, 8
Scandinavian, z, 6
Scotian,        y, 9
Zeeland,       x, 3
Bermudian,   z, 3
Royal George, x, 10
Royal Edward, x, 10
Lapland,       z, 9
Arcadian,      y, 1
Carribbean
Sicilian,        x, 4
Ruthenia,      z, 2
Corinthian,   z, 2
Florizal,       x, 11
  (Newfoundland contingent)

We sail in this formation day and night. Hitherto the weather has been fine, and with the aid of glasses we could clearly see the most distant ships of the fleet. Today it is a trifle misty, although not really foggy. I hope to goodness the fog holds off. It is the last thing we want. It is unwelcome enough at any time, but on this trip it would be the very thing to give our vigilant enemies a chancce. Where those enemies are, none of us ordinary mortals have any idea. The brigadier and the navigating officers doubtless know, if anyone on board knows, but as for the rest of us, behold, we know not anything. The little cruisers, leading the lines of ships, look rather Insignificant in case of an attack, but I understand that we see nothing of the warships that are our real guard. They are dozens of miles away, sweeping the ocean ahead of us, and cruising about our flanks, to ward off attack. A pretty prize this fleet would make for the Germans. And to think that but for our escort a single hostile cruiser could steam in among us and sink us one by one like so many rats in a trap, without our being able to fire a shot in self-defence. Yet here we sail on, day after day and night after night, as unconcerned about attack as if we were travelling from Kingston to Ottawa. Unfortunately we have to travel very slowly. A fleet can travel no quicker than its slowest member, and the "Monmouth" and "Montezuma", laden with horses, are fearfully and wonderfully slow, incapable of making ten knots an hour. I suppose they had to be used, because practically every big steamer on the Canadian Atlantic route was needed, but it is annoying for a host of 15 knot boats to be held back by the slowness of two or three. At night the appearance of our ship and the other ships is almost uncanny. Usually a passenger steamer in the early hours of the night is a blaze of lights from stem to stern. On this trip you see black forms looming out of the darkness, only one solitary light visible, port or starboard or stern as the case may be. On our own steamer every needless light is turned off. In the main hallway one feeble glimmer from a lantern dimly shows the stairs, on the corridors you bump and feel your way. When lights are needed, in state rooms and saloons and smoking rooms, every window and porthole is darkened with brown paper or shutters or both, so that not a gleam of light can be seen from outside. If for an instant you have your light turned on while you open your blind and shutters to attend to your window the sentinel will warn you "Excuse me, sir, but all lights must be off or shutters closed", and if, after 6 p.m. on deck you forget yourself and strike a light, the sentinel will greet you with "No smoking or lights allowed, sir". Then you thank him for his warn­ing and take care not to need it again. In this enforced darkness you can imagine what a convenience it is to have a luminous wrist watch such as my Ottawa friends gave me.

None of us know what port we are bound for, but we sail on just as confidently as if we saw the harbour lights ahead. Although we have now been nearly ten days aboard, there is no monotony whatever. The daily routine is interesting, and every now and then something out of the ordinary happens. Yesterday morning, about 11 o'clock, the "Royal Edward" almost opposite us in the next line, signalled "man overboard". With all speed we lowered a boat, that put off and pulled for the spot, while she herself put about and steamed for it. The ship following lowered one of her boats, the cruiser leading put about and rushed through the lines at full speed to help if required, and between them, as I learned afterwards, they saved the man. He must have been numb with cold when they picked him out, for the water on the banks of Newfoundland is not noted for warmth. The fact that with a whole fleet of ships at hand to help, it took several minutes to rescue the man shows how little chance of escape a man would have if he fell off an ordinary Atlantic liner going at full speed.

In the afternoon there was another little bit of excitement. A steamer hove in sight away off on the port bow. Seemingly she failed to give satisfactory signals, for the cruiser leading our line set out after her. When night fell, the cruiser was six or seven miles to port, and the mysterious stranger was running away from us at full speed. Whether or not the cruiser found out who she was, we were not told. From her shape she must have been a merchant ship, but she may have been scouting for other ships that we were not at all eager to meet. It was interesting to conjecture, but who she was we may never know.

From time to time, at unexpected moments, the bugle sounds the alarm of "Fire". Then every man drops whatever he is doing, and lines up with his company at his appointed place on deck. We had this drill this morning. The men lined up, three or four deep, then the chief officers of the ship explained how boats are lowered and manned. They are kept on the bridge deck, lowered one by one alongside the decks where their crews are, four men get in and are lowered in tho boat to the water, the rest go over the side, descend by a rope ladder, fill the boat, push her off, and make way for the next. It is well to know what to do in case of fire or shipwreck, but I hope we may never have to do it.

Now I must break off, as all the officers have to attend a signalling class in the use of the semaphore on the after deck at 3 o'clock.

10th Oct., 1914.
This semaphore signalling has been a great boon. It is essential that every man on the signalling corps should know it thoroughly, as well as the Morse code, and it is well for every man in the army to be able to send and read semaphore messages. But apart from the need for this kind of signalling in time of war, the exercise has been the very thing for the voyage. Unfortunately several bales of magazines consigned to Lt. Col. Hughes, the brigade major, for the use of the men, failed to reach the ship. Consequently they have next to nothing to read and the practice in signalling has done much to keep them on deck, in the fresh air, and interested. Everywhere you go, you may see little groups of men waving their arms, signalling letters and words to each other for the fun of the thing. By the end of the voyage every man should be able to do it.

There are other sports, some new to me. A dozen men or more will sit on deck in a circle, like children playing "Hunt the slipper". One man stands in the centre, rigid as a poker, and lets himself fall on some man in the circle. His business is to shove the rigid man on to the next, and so the "stiff" is kept going round and round, feet in the centre and body describing a circle, until some man fails to move him on, and topples over. Then he goes into the circle, and is spun round till somebody else makes a miss, and so the game goes on. It adds to the interest of the game if the ship gives a lurch or two, and half the circle go rolling about the deck like sacks of hay.

In another pleasant little diversion a dozen men or more take part. Five or six stand in a line, locked together, each man with his head buried between the legs of the man in front. Then another man takes a running Jump, leap frog fashion, and lands on the back of one of the men, as far forward in the line as he can. Another follows instantly, and another, and another, until in some parts of the line they are piled three deep, and on it goes until the line collapses. Looking on, one would think that some man would get his neck broken, but seemingly no one is hurt, and all are amused.

The regimental doctor tells me that the apparently harmless tug-of-war really may do harm to men unaccustomed to it, because they strain themselves in the pull. Then, again, men often think themselves injured when they are not. One of the exercises in physical drill is that of lying flat on deck and raising the body or the legs. It is one of the best of exercises for the muscles of the body, but men not used to it get the stomach and back muscles a bit sore, and so come to the doctor on sick parade, thinking they are suffering from kidney disease.

On the whole, the health of the troops has been excellent, as one would expect, for only men physically in the prime of life were accepted for the contingent, and all had to pass a fairly rigid medical examination. One man on the "Royal Edward", I am told, died and was buried at sea, ^but on this ship never more than two or three men at a time have been in hospital, and they are out now.

Of sea sickness there has been very little. There could not well be much, because the ocean has been so smooth, and the sail down the River and Gulf of St. Lawrence accustomed everyone to the movement of the boats. One night this week she did roll a little, the biggest dip being 20° from the vertical. Those of us more or less accustomed to the sea merely stuffed a greatcoat or a pillow between us and the back of the berth, and slept on. Some Frenchmen, it is said, did more. They got up, put on their life-preservers, and mustered on the companion way, in case they needed to take to the boats or the water. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure", but even the best of precautions may be overdone.

We have really been wonderfully fortunate in the weather thus far. There has been almost no fog, or wind or rain. Most of the time, one has been able to sit on deck, at least on the leeward side, in comfort, all day and part of the evening. Consequently we have been able to see the other ships of our fleet all the time. They have kept their formation and distances very accurately, except the slow ships which are apt to lag behind. Now they have some of these slow boats ahead. But that does not affect the general pace, Here we are going day after day at half speed, less than ten knots an hour, just because two or three boats can't keep up a decent pace. The average run from noon to noon has been between 200 and 230 miles. The run is announced every day (and men going in for sweep-stakes win or lose accordingly) but for some inscrutable reason the position is not given. The regimental signalling officer tells me that last night we were in N. Lat. 40° W. Long. 34°, and not far N.W. of the Azores. Where we are bound for, we still have no idea. Now and then we catch sight of the battleships that have been guarding us. The four small cruisers are always with the fleet, the others are seldom seen. A battleship, said to be the "Goliath" hovered on our right flank for some days. This morning, when our cabin steward brought us our early cup of tea, he told us that a Dreadnought was in sight. I went on deck, and there she was, a few miles to port, a curious looking craft, full of interest to me, for I had not seen any warship of her class before. Through the glasses lent me by a sergeant I could see her great guns projecting fore and aft, uninviting enough to an enemy, but winsome and beautiful to us. I was told afterwards that she was the "Erin", one of the two ships built in England for Brazil, sold to Turkey and bought by the Admiralty when war was declared, one of the very latest types of super-dreadnoughts afloat. Evidently the people respon­sible for our safety have left no precaution untaken. I have no doubt that we have been most tenderly nursed and cared for ever since we set sail. Up till now we have been as undisturbed and as carefree as we would be in time of peace. No doubt we shall be so to the end. During the last few days, two of the fastest ships, the "Royal George" and the "Megantic", have sailed on our flanks, beyond the cruisers leading the lines, to act as scouts. Presumably they have sighted nothing. At any rate, we have heard of no enemy near. So day after day, Huntly and I sail on side by side, less than a mile apart. I wonder how he is enjoying his first voyage across the ocean.

As I sit writing in the ship's lounge, converted for this voyage into the officers’ smoking room, a sound of revelry comes from the deck. It was decreed by the powers that instead of the usual drill this morning there should be a bathing parade. Officers are exempt, because every one of them has his daily bath, and probably 90% of the rank and file are as cleanly in their personal habits as any officer. But in a big host of men there are always some who don’t wash themselves from head to foot any oftener than they must. To make sure of getting these men, the parade was made general. It is rather a wholesale way of washing, but most of the men are taking it in good part. Early this morning big sheets of canvas were stretched outside A deck (the top promenade deck) as a wind break on the port side, scores of buckets were placed, ready for action, and hundreds on hundreds of bathing towels were laid in piles along the corridor, to be served out to the bathers. At 9 o'clock the bugle sounded, and the first company appeared, clad in nothing but the garments of humility and wreathed, when wreathed at all, in smiles alone. They lined up at the buckets of fresh water, soaped themselves and scrubbed themselves from head to foot, and then jumped under the shower bath, a great stream Of salt water pumped through a fire hydrant. You can imagine the scene and the sounds as company after company of boisterous men go through this performance like school-boys at play.

I spoke about the tendency at sea to eat too much. Until yesterday morning I fear I rather overdid it. I felt so fit and had such an appetite that I ate any and everything. I thought the amount of exercise I was taking would give me the digestion of an ostrich. But yesterday at breakfast, when I was devouring a Yarmouth bloater, my internal economy began to assert itself, and the dining room began to grow misty. It was not sea-sickness, there has not been the slightest symptom of that, it was just a touch of biliousness, the second in my life. For the rest of the day I went a bit lighter in my diet. By the evening I was all right again, and today I am feeling like a fighting cock. This morning I breakfasted off an orange, some compote of prunes, porridge, omelette, toast, with butter and marmalade, and coffee. I mention this to show you that you need have no fear about my not being able to do full justice to my food.

Sunday, 11th Oct.
175
213
212
202
228
228
229
236
I have just noted the several days’ runs as announced at noon each day. The first is from Saturday afternoon, when we left Gaspe Bay till Sunday noon, the next (213) till Monday noon, and so on. I am informed that the report about our being near the Azores was incorrect, that our position at noon today was 50° N. Lat., 22°W. Long. and that our course now is straight for the Lizard. So with the aid of an atlas giving distances you can calculate when we are likely to see land. It also appears that the re­port about the battleships on our left flank being the "Erin" was incorrect. She is really the "Princess Royal", an immense battle cruiser of the latest type, of 26,000 tons (i.e. twice the cubic contents of our boat) with a speed of 27 knots. She carries ten or twelve 13.5 inch guns and an aeroplane gun as well. With glasses, as I said, one can see her big guns projecting fore and aft. I should like to inspect her at close range, and above all I should enjoy going through her. But I suppose these are pleasures that must be denied one.

Meantime we are having a delightful voyage, and the finest weather I have ever experienced on the Atlantic. This morning, at 10.30, we had service on the main deck aft, as the brigadier wished. The boat does not lend herself very well to such a service, as she has little deck space clear from gunwale to gunwale, but the men clustered round, in the hatchway where I stood, on the deck forming a "well" back of A and B decks, and on the ends of decks fore and aft overlooking this open space, and a more attentive congregation no man could wish. I used, as I also do, the little military order of service compiled for camp use. The ship's orchestra of praise, violin and violincello played the hymn tunes and the men joined with a well in "All people that on Earth do dwell", "Stand up, stand up for Jesus" and "Eternal Father, strong to save". I spoke from our Lord’s words "Peace I leave with you". Although I stood to windward of as many men as possible, the wind, being on the beam, carried the sound out to sea, and several were not able to hear distinctly. Still, all had the benefit of the service proper, and all seemed to enjoy it. No man was forced to come, and therefore, presumably, those present came because they were interested. You can imagine the scene, as the sun shone on the company of men gathered for worship, and if you can't imagine it, I can't describe it. I for one shall not soon forget this Sunday morning service, probably our last on board ship for some time. The brigadier, who is one of the most considerate of men, was good enough to tell me that he enjoyed it. This evening we shall probably have an impromptu sacred concert in the third-class dining-room, such as we had last Sunday evening. The idea is to invite all who care to attend to do so, and leave the others undisturbed. We shall have some hymns, a solo or two and perhaps a couple of recitations.

This morning, after service, I had a long conversation with "Willie Broon", as he is called in Scots, one of the star enter­tainers on board. Like many a man with the gift of humour, he takes life seriously, and it was exceedingly interesting to hear him speak of kirks and ministers and relatives. When we found that both had lived in Edinburgh, we had a bond of union at once, but when he discovered that I knew Kelso, and Sprouston, his parents’ birthplace, that last year I met his friend, the beadle, and the beadle’s son, my friend Denholm Fraser’s coachman, it was as if he had found a brother. He is just as ready to take part in a sacred concert as to act the comedian. Probably he will play some sacred music on his favourite instrument this morning.

You know how one meets one’s friend’s acquaintances at sea, or people who know familiar faces and scenes. One man in the regiment was steward of the Ranchers’ Club in Calgary and knew the city all the days of its rapid growth, another is a nephew of Dr. Farquharson, with whom I used to have much Church and Manse Building Fund correspondence. A captain in the regiment, named Smith, is the son of the colonel of the Black Watch Territorials, lived in Dundee, and knew the Grants. One of the lieutenants, Charles Pitblado, is son of John, who served with Father in the 90th in the Riel Rebellion of 1885. A lieutenant in the Army Service Crops named Cobley, was a fellow-boarder with me at Mrs. Neale's in Lethbridge, and probably further conversation would discover further relationships.

On Sunday, on a troopship, there is regular morning service, and a devotional meeting may be held in the evening, but nobody suggests Sunday-School in the afternoon. Some of the younger officers are playing shuffle-board on deck as I write. (My R.C. colleague was playing with them before lunch). There would be no sense in my interfering. There may be some sports on deck this afternoon, (in which I shall not take part) but I am glad to say I have heard of no more boxing matches on Sunday.

It is interesting to speculate where we shall be and what we shall be doing this day week. Probably, it would seem, at Aldershot, going through the training we need. It is not com­forting to learn that the Germans have taken Antwerp. It is pleasant to hear that Australia has offered a third contingent. So I suppose we shall oscillate between gloom and gladness for months. I do hope that when it comes to fighting our troops will give a good account of themselves.

Monday 12th Oct.
After I made my entry yesterday, and looked about a little, I saw a huge crowd collected on the afterdeck, where we had held morning service. They had manned the rigging and every point of vantage for seeing the fun. What was going on was, after all, I learned, a boxing bout or two. Apparently nothing amuses and interests men in their off hours quite so much as this. I suppose it is inevitable. There is to be another trial of skill this afternoon. As this is Monday I hope to see it. Yesterday I sought out some of the men in other parts of the ship, not interested in the Sunday sports. They proved to be among the best educated men in the ranks. There I spent the hour from 5 to 6 with two splendid fellows names Johnston and Schultz, in their cabin. The first is from Dundee, and an intimate friend of Captain Smith whom I mentioned. The second speaks English and German equally well, and has travelled much commercially, all through Germany and Austro-Hungary. Like Guttmann, of Queen's, he is partly of German blood, and one of the keenest soldiers of King George.

The purser of the ship, a very popular chap. who was on the "Andania" when I crossed on her maiden voyage, last year, told me about one cabin containing four men who had enlisted as privates, one an Oxford graduate, another a Cambridge graduate, and two public school men, (You remember the English distinction between public and board school). Sometimes, in the West, you meet English university men, who for one reason or another have "come down" in life. But there were men, like others I spoke of, of good social standing, and doing well in every way, who had en­listed purely for the sake of fighting for the Empire. This morn­ing, on deck, before breakfast, I met the Oxford man, named Knight. He had the misfortune a few days ago, unknown to me, to slip on a wet deck and break two ribs. As you might expect, he was as chirpy about it as could be. He mentioned that he had crossed the Atlantic over forty times in all, by almost every Cunard boat. Think of a man who had travelled first class on the "Mauretania" travelling steerage on the "Alaunia", and consider­ing it fine fun. He asked me whether we would be having early Communion any morning before we landed. I had not thought of it, but I may perhaps arrange it for tomorrow morning at 7.30, following the R.C. celebration, in the N.C.O’s smoking room.

Although we have now been nearly 16 days on board, almost every day brings something of fresh interest. On Saturday afternoon every man turned out to see the first boats that had been allowed to go through our lines. Unusual boats they were, – a red funnelled steamer somewhat of the build of an upper lake wheat boat, towing a 6-masted schooner, and followed by one of our cruisers. We all thought the cruiser must be escorting them through our fleet to sink them in case they tried to harm us. I soon learned from the purser that both steamer and schooner were boats belonging to the Standard Oil Company, of the kind regularly used for carrying oil across the ocean, and that the cruisers merely wished to ask them not to send any wireless or signal messages giving our position.

Yesterday there was another little bit of excitement. It seems that one man who enlisted in the R.H.C. before they left Montreal has for some days aroused suspicion by his peculiar be­haviour. He was watched, and his papers were searched. Early yesterday afternoon his company was paraded, 4 or 5 men, including this man, were ordered to fall out, and almost before the rest of the company knew what was happening, the others had slipped the handcuffs on the man, and he was marched off by an armed guard under suspicion of being a spy. I have not heard when he will be tried by court martial.

Ever since leaving Gaspe, until yesterday, we sailed on day and night in the formation shown in the enclosed plan supplied me by the adjutant. While the plan gives relative positions, it does not give distances between ships, e.g. the "Glory" has hovered some miles to starboard, and the "Princess Royal" 6 or 7 miles to port. Last evening, before dinner, when I came on deck, I found the form­ation changed. We were steaming ahead of the other ships, and today there is nothing to be seen of the rest of the troopships. A cruiser leading, our boat, and the "Montreal", laden with horses, are proceeding by ourselves to some port unnamed. We shall know what it is when we get there.

Tuesday, 13th Oct.
As yet we have not much light on our destination. There are rumours that lunch tomorrow will be our last meal on board, and there are other rumours that the horses will be landed at Havre, but one gets into the way of expecting things to happen when they have actually taken place, not earlier.

With the aid of the military staff and the ship's stewards, I arranged the Communion Service this morning. Although the notice was short, and there was no chance of emphasizing it, there must have been 40 men gathered at the appointed hour this morning. The two officers present were both Scotsmen and members of the Kirk. As many of the others present were Anglicans, I followed largely the Anglican service, but tried to adapt it to our usage in such a way that members of either branch of the Church would feel at home. The suggestion to have such a service before landing was a very happy one, and I hope those present got some benefit.

About 11 o'clock this forenoon word was passed round that any officers wishing to have a little pistol practice might do so from the stern of the ship. Until today none had been permitted. About a dozen gathered on the after upper deck; tied a box to a rope, lowered it and towed it astern as a target, and blazed away at it. I had not fired a pistol or revolver for years, never since, in my boyhood, I pulled the trigger of the revolver given to Father when he was setting out for the front in '85. Before the R. H. C. left for Valcartier, some one promised automatic pistols to the officers. Through the kindness of the quartermaster, I came in for one of these since we set sail. This morning, I had my first opportunity of seeing how it worked. My aim was nothing to write home about, but, thanks to one of the sergeant-instructors, I learned how to handle the pistol and take it apart for cleaning. I was surprised at the effect on my hearing. At the rifle butts at camp, the noise of the rifle-firing hardly affected me at all, yet the sharp report of several pistols being fired near me made me rather deaf for some hours. The doctor told me it was nothing to worry about, and Hughes told me that after his first task of pistol shooting this year he was deaf as a stone all day. Next time I shall put a little cotton wool in my ears, to deaden the sound.

As my uniform was all new when I went to camp, I have not needed to use the excellent "housewife" Minnie made for me, except to move some buttons on my greatcoat. What little sock-darning there is to do can wait till we land. But the other evening I had the pleasure of seeing one of my two room-mates reduced to the low estate of doing his own sewing. He is a captain in the Highlanders, and sat in his kilt, sewing his shirt, while I lay in my berth and enjoyed the view. He was so moved by the pathos of the scene that he murmured the lines from the "Song of the Shirt":
     "Stitch, Stitch,
     Through poverty, hunger, and thirst” (or is it "dirt"?)
and, a propos of the Kiltie warrior, I added the lines,
     "A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
     Plying her needle and thread".
In spite of the handicap of sex, he kept on with his sewing, and even when we examined his handiwork by the cold light of day, we found he had made a remarkably good job of it. The paymaster and I both urged him to take on our sewing, since he could do it so well, but he unaccountably declined.

At last we have some idea when and where we shall land. Today’s orders included this:– "When the "Alaunia" takes on pilot, the ship will proceed independently at full speed to Southampton, due there about 2 p.m. Wednesday." Our baggage is to be ready by 10 in the morning. So this promises to be the last night of a unique voyage. If all the transports get in safely, it will be a great achievement for the British navy, an event to be remembered all our lives.

Wednesday, 8.30 a.m. – Orders changed. We are just entering Plymouth Harbour
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