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.



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."



CHAPTER VII

SALISBURY AND THE STONES OF STONEHENGE

On Thursday, the 14th of October, orders came to disembark. All the ships of the Canadian fleet were there. We learned that we had been sent to Plymouth at the last minute and that train transport had to be provided for us. All kinds of rumours were afloat; one that we were to go at once to France, disembarking at Rouen, and then by train to the south of France; others said that we were to go to Egypt; and many said that was all right, if the Turks got into the war.

I went ashore with Company Sergeant-Major Radcliffe of my regiment, who is a Plymouth man. It was only when I got ashore that I learned that his bride-to-be lived in Plymouth. We drove all over the town and part of the country. This is Devonshire, the country of cider and cream. I tried them both; they are excellent. It felt good to get ashore, but the voyage was so pleasant that we were sorry to part with our good ship and our captain. We found that in England the people had been very much depressed by the war, but were recovering their spirits. The shipyards were busy, but there was hardly a home in Plymouth, Stonehouse or Devonport (three towns in one), but had some one afloat in the navy, keeping convoy, or keeping guard in the North Sea. I met the Editor of one of the Plymouth papers, a very fine man. From him I learned that the Mayor and Corporation of the town had arranged a public reception for the Canadians, but that Lord Kitchener had vetoed the proposal. He also told me of the loss of some ships on the East coast, and some German losses at sea, but said the censor would not permit publication even of our arrival. We were beginning to learn that there was a big man somewhere about who was doing things, and that his address was not far from the War Office. On the streets we met hundreds of young men route marching, some of them with arms, some in uniform, the majority without either. They were all singing "Tipperary" with its Celtic croon and minor tones. So far apparently, the war had not produced a great war poet or musician, nothing had been written anything like "Tommy Atkins" or "Soldiers of the Queen." Surely war songs were not all "Made in Germany."

Every square, and park and private lawn had its quota of soldiers drilling, all young men and all in deadly earnest. We learned also that the day we arrived some young men from Quebec, speaking French, and a Servian from Winnipeg had strayed ashore, and the announcement was made in the press that the contingent consisted principally of French Canadians and Servians who were coming to fight for the Allies. After the war is over I suppose someone will be giving the Chinese all the credit for what the Canadians did.

So far so good. We remained on board all day. The rivetters on board a huge Dreadnought, that was being built close by, chalked in huge letters on the plating a message for us, "Bravo Canadians." Our men, who were very good with semaphore signals, soon established a wireless connection with the shore and a very animated conversation was carried on between them all day. In the afternoon we presented Captain James with a memento of our voyage, expressing our pleasure in having such a good commander. We bought him the silver when we got ashore.

The next morning an officer came aboard from the staff, and we learned for the first time that General Alderson had been appointed to command the Canadian Expeditionary Force. We could see an officer on shore with a staff cap, who looked very much like General Hughes, but it turned out to be Colonel Davidson of Toronto. About noon our ship pulled into the dock, and the gangways were put out, and disembarkation began. We were ordered to move in two detachments, so I gave the right half battalion to Major Marshall with my blessing, and remained with the left half myself to see that all our stores were landed safely. We learned a good deal about transporting troops. One thing that should be looked after in future contingents is to see that each unit has its own waggons, horses and carts on its own ship. When we were embarked at Quebec our horses and waggons were taken away from us. The horses were put on board one ship, the harness on another, the waggons on another, the wheels on another, etc. It took weeks to sort everything out, and all the work done at Valcartier had been wasted.

Another thing, the men should not be sent abroad without a good equipment like the Webb. The Oliver equipment was a joke. With our facilities for producing good leather, canvas and woollen stuff in Canada there is no reason why we cannot produce an equipment just as good, if not better, than the Webb. All ammunition is now packed in clips in canvas bandoliers holding fifty rounds, and there is very little necessity for the big ammunition pouches with which equipments were burdened. An equipment made out of green chrome leather with as few straps as possible, or out of good stout drab canvas made in Canada and treated with a solution of soap and alum, so as to make it waterproof, would do just as well as the Webb. Fortunately our regiment had been given an excellent Webb equipment and it was expected the equipment for the rest of the force would be issued in England. The Division outside of our Brigade had been busy for several days staining their Oliver haversacks and kit bags with tea and making a very poor job of it.

The right half battalion shouldered their blankets, kit bags and knapsacks and started off for the station a mile away. Our rifles were boxed and would follow us. We left later on at six in the evening. It was dusk as we marched through Plymouth to the station where we had to wait an hour for our train to be made up. Soon quite a crowd gathered at the station, and everybody wanted to give my men bottles of whiskey and gin. I stopped it as well as I could, but a few who had not had a drink for two months fell by the wayside, not just then but later on. We should have tried out our men in Canada, and given them a free hand, so that the drinkers would be weeded out before coming over.

Our train came in about eight o'clock and we were told our destination was Patney Station, and that our camp was near the station. Off we started and arrived at Patney about one o'clock at night. The men enjoyed the run very much. At every station as we passed the people gathered and cheered themselves hoarse till we all thought we were real heroes. We made only about two stops till we came to Patney, one at Exeter which is one of the oldest towns in England dating from the Roman occupation. This city was the Iscea of Vaspasian's time. It was always a fortified city, previous even to the Romans, and boasts of a beautiful cathedral.

The other stop we made was at Newton Abbot. Here William of Orange was first proclaimed King of England, if I remember right, on a stone in the market square.

At Patney station we found on the station platform Major Marshall and several officers, among them Captain McGregor. They informed us that on the way up a number of the men of "A" Company (Captain McGregor's) had been taken ill, with ptomaine or some other form of poisoning, and were in a bad way. We suspected at once that some one had handed them something. We found thirty-five of them down with colic and very severe pains. Blankets had been laid in the station for them, and Dr. MacKenzie, our surgeon, did not take long getting busy attending to them. He informed me that he did not consider any cases serious, although the poor fellows were suffering much pain. We marched the left half of the battalion over the track on an overhead bridge, and found our right half waiting for us, and for transport waggons which were supposed to be on hand, to take our kit bags and blankets. The night was as dark as a wolf's mouth and the dim lights of a few lanterns showed the men standing in solid lines between the green walls of the hedges of an English lane.

A traction transport arrived and the men began hoisting their kit bags into the two large vans that constituted this traction outfit. Several county policemen were on hand to guide us to our camp which we were told was eleven miles away. That was cheerful. There was no transport for the kit bags and blankets of my half battalion, so that after a while Marshall got all his kits aboard and said good-bye and started off into blank space with his half battalion less the thirty-five sick left at the station. The pipes struck up bravely, "We'll take the High Road," the marching-out tune of all Highland Regiments, and soon the black darkness swallowed up the end of his detachment.

The prospect of a night march of eleven miles was not very cheerful for the rest of us. We stood about on the road waiting for another traction engine and waggons to get our kits carried for us. One hour passed, no transport, two hours, no transport. We heard that our transport had gone to Lavington station by mistake, and was on the way back for us. At a quarter to three the officers and non-commissioned officers decided that we had better start and get to camp carrying our own kit bags and blankets. The men said they would rather go than sit around waiting for morning, so a constable with a lantern and a bicycle volunteered to guide us. I gave the command to shoulder kit-bags and blankets and we were off. Each man carried his knapsack and complete equipment, three blankets, a rubber sheet and a kit bag, full of boots, clothing and all like effects. Some of the men were carrying fully one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Sergeant-Major W. Grant slipped up alongside of me at the head of the column, and we marched out into total darkness. At first it was so dark that a person could almost feel it. The road was firm and flinty under foot, and pretty soon some one started up "The Army of to-day is all Right," and everybody joined in the chorus. We set a slow pace, stepping short and easy so that the end of the column in charge of Captain Warren could keep up. A wonderful man was young Warren, never tired, always cheerful, always knowing what to do. We were blessed with two good field officers in Captains Darling and Warren. At the end of fifteen minutes we halted between two hedges and rows of tall trees. The policeman told me the men could sit against the banks of the hedges, so that first rest was good. In ten minutes we were off again. The road seemed to wind in and out in serpentine curves. The land on either side was taken up with truck and vegetable farming.

In spite of the darkness it was an ideal night for marching, neither too hot nor too cold. The men were standing up to the marching well. After about another quarter of an hour Sergeant Hermitage, my Orderly Room Sergeant, ran up from the rear to tell me to halt the column, as a man had slipped into a culvert and was stuck in the mud. In fishing him out the Sergeant had got stung with nettles. This made him hot. It did not mend matters when I suggested that his country was getting even with him for wearing kilts. However, we slowed up. This going was splendid practice as we would no doubt have plenty of night marching of this kind in Flanders. The men stood up to the march with their heavy loads splendidly, thanks to the excellent physical training they had undergone on board ship. At the first halt a number lit up cigarettes, and as soon as they started a chorus of coughs showed where the seductive weed was getting in its deadly work on the lungs and bronchial tubes. The Commanding Officers passed the word along to try and not smoke, and not to use the water bottles, and the men did their best for the rest of the march. About an hour before we came to our camp we ran full tilt into a traction train and I commandeered it at once. I turned it around and got the men to load their kit bags into the big vans, which they did most cheerfully, as this lightened their loads. When we reached the great Salisbury Plains, after a steep climb, it was cold and foggy, the kind of weather to take the courage out of a man, about five o'clock in the morning. It was daylight when we reached our tents. There was hot tea ready for the men, and it did not take us very long to roll up in a blanket on the ground and go to sleep.

I made the eleven miles carrying my great coat, sword and equipment, and how I blessed my boots. Not a chafe nor an ache, they were just splendid. From three o'clock till seven ten is not bad for eleven miles on a pitch dark night. We all knew very little of what happened for the rest of the day. Captain Donaldson saw that the officers' luggage was sent in, and by the evening we were quite comfortable, and had a good sleep on Saturday night.

The first work we did on our arrival at Salisbury Plains was to attend an open air church service on Sunday. All the photographers of the London papers were on hand to get snapshots of us. We were warned to be careful of suspicious characters, and some of the gentlemen with cameras were questioned closely. We at last had leisure to look about us. Salisbury Plains, where we had been sent for our training, is in Wiltshire and is a chalk plateau, high up in the middle of England. It is noted for its historical associations and its bad climate. Two great trunk line railways run, one on the north, the other to the south of these Plains which are fully twenty-five miles from north to south and twenty-five miles from east to west. Most of the land is taken over by the Crown for military purposes, but at the cross-roads there are still small English villages nestling in the hollows, whilst on the Plains themselves the game and shooting privileges still remain in the hands of the Lords of the Manor.

The country is very much like the foot-hills of the Rockies near Calgary in appearance. The slopes are generally to the north. We were not by any means the first armed men to tread the heath here. There is no part of England so rich in legend and history. We could see ruins and monuments on every side.

In the middle of the Downs, within plain view of our camp, there arose the most ancient ruins in the British Isles, and the most interesting prehistoric edifice in the whole of Europe—Stonehenge. To speak of Stonehenge or to try to conjure up its past is to deal with people who lived on these plains and enjoyed their cruder methods of civilization and religion in a period more remote than that in which the great Pyramids of Egypt were fashioned. Here in a circle, about one hundred feet in diameter, are reared a series of great pillars of granite, a stone which cannot be found within hundreds of miles from the spot, in fact the north of France is the nearest. Each slab is about twenty feet in height and they are fashioned rudely in the form of a temple. It is said that in the design geometrical figures were used, and that some sun cult was practised by those who reared them, for the sun's shadow passes through various points only on Midsummer and on May Day. The Druids are supposed to have used this as the great shrine of their faith, and worshippers came from all over Europe every year to take part in the religious ceremonies. Be that as it may this country must have been the centre of a very powerful Celtic or British race, for here and there over the Plains are piled up huge barrows, said to be the burial places of ancient kings. A barrow or tumulus is about fifteen to twenty feet high and seventy to a hundred feet in diameter. A great many tumuluii are dotted here and there over the Plains. The next people to these Druidical Celts to occupy these plains were Britons and the ruins of some of their villages are still to be found. Then came the Romans, and as usual they left their mark. North of the stones of Stonehenge, about a quarter of a mile, is still to be found the ruins of a chariot race course recalling scenes from "Ben Hur." Over one end of the course, oaks, centuries old, have grown. Not far away, about a mile and half east of Stonehenge, there is the huge earthwork walls of Vespasians' Camp. From here it is said the Great Roman General marched to the conquest of Palestine. About four miles south, crowning a high hill, there are the ruins of Old Sarum, at one time a Roman City. From the ramparts of Sarum, each of them a day's march away, can be seen the ruins of seven great Roman Camps. The Romans occupied Britain about four hundred years, a period more remote than if we count from now back beyond the Discovery of America. Everywhere are marks of their civilization, showing that the country during their occupation must have been rich and populous. No less than four of their generals left these Plains to assume the Imperial purple. What stirring times those must have been. Past old Sarum wound the road to Bath where the rich Romans and Britons were carried by slaves on their litters to take the medicinal waters of that ancient well, now found to contain that marvellous nerve-stimulating mineral—radium. Every stone, every hill on these Plains could tell a wonderful story.

After the Romans came the Saxons, and good King Alfred was not unknown to these Plains while he was moulding his Kingdom and driving out the Danes. The Norman Conqueror then came and took Sarum as one of his strongholds. And it is admirably suited for defence even to-day. He established a See or Bishopric at Sarum which later was removed to the City of Salisbury. Sarum then declined and ran to seed, and was gradually abandoned. It registered a last kick, however, when its half a dozen voters, as it was the most noted of the "Rotten" Boroughs, won immortality by sending to Parliament a young Coronet of Horse, Pitt the Elder, afterwards Lord Chatham. It then ceased to be anything but a geographical expression. If you seek the remainder of the history of this remarkable spot, look for it in Salisbury Cathedral, one of the most charming specimens of late Gothic architecture to be found in the world. There you will find the tomb of William Longsword and other brave crusaders. You will find that Oliver Goldsmith lived in Salisbury, and there wrote the novel "The Vicar of Wakefield," and that Gay wrote the "Beggar's Opera," at Amesbury, the village that lies a few miles east of Stonehenge. But of all that we saw that which impressed us most were the Roman ruins, recalling the iron discipline of those unconquerable legionaries, and the great monuments of our Celtic ancestors, the sublime stones of Stonehenge.



CHAPTER VIII

UNDER FIELD MARSHAL EARL ROBERTS

We had to settle down for a few days to await our arms and equipment, and in the meantime a meeting of the officers was called by General Alderson, our Divisional Commander.

The chief topic of discussion was the question of having "wet" canteens in the lines. The result of the meeting was that they were shortly installed by contractors for the war office, and gave us a great deal of trouble, and gave a few men who misbehaved themselves a chance to get a quick return ticket to Canada.

In spite of temptation on every side, to the credit of the Canadians be it said they behaved themselves exceedingly well. Fully eighty per cent. of them were total abstainers. About ten per cent., chiefly the older men, took an occasional drink, and not more than about three per cent. drank to any extent. For these latter, life soon became a burden.

This good behavior followed the troops to Flanders. Shortly after we crossed and went into the trenches the French Government prohibited the sale of all spirits to soldiers. Any saloon keeper in France who sells hard liquor to a soldier is very severely punished. The only liquor they are allowed to sell to the soldiers is a light beer, about three per cent. alcohol, which is manufactured in small home-made breweries at every cross-road and is consumed by the Flemish people in lieu of the water, which is very bad in the low country, and only fit for cooking, also a light native wine with about the strength of ginger-ale, and the taste of vinegar. We found that light beers, wines and fermented liquors are licensed separately in France from spirits. This method has given good satisfaction. Strong liquors or spirits are given to the soldiers only on a doctor's order. There is no regular issue of rum, and the stories circulated by Jane Adams, a Chicago Pacifist, and others that the soldiers are filled up with rum and "dope" to keep up their courage, were deliberate lies as far as the British, French and Canadian troops are concerned. Strong drink of any kind was treated as a drug, not as a beverage. The beer and wine sold had about the same alcoholic content as ginger beer or newly-made bakers' bread. The army in Flanders was not producing "drunken heroes." Those who cannot cut out liquor are better left at home. They are of no value whatever in any war.



We also learned, at this meeting, with great pleasure that Lord Roberts had become the Honorary Commander in Chief of the Canadian Army, and that in a few days he was coming to review us, as was also His Majesty the King and Lord Kitchener. We worked very hard to get into shape for these important events. In the meantime the Minister of Militia from Canada arrived and visited our camp, also several other eminent men, among them Mr. R. Reid, who represents the Province of Ontario in London.

Our lay-out for camp was not as fine as at Valcartier. The tents had been pitched during the summer and occupied by successive territorial battalions, and they were not of the thick water-proof cotton canvas variety that we had in Canada. They were the linen kind such as we used to have in Canada in the Eighties, and they were so thin you could count the stars through them, but were all right for summer use.

We were solemnly cautioned not to make any excavations in the turf, especially ditches around the tents to carry off the rain, or even holes in the ground in which to build our cooking fires, as the land is hunted over, and any stray holes in the ground might break a horseman's collar bone or a horse's leg.

The Division was divided up and put in various camps, about a brigade in each camp, which were a mile or so apart. The First Brigade under General Mercer were at Bustard Camp. The Second under General Currie and the Third under General Turner, V.C., were at West Down South. The artillery under Colonel Burstall were with the First Brigade whilst the Cavalry were at Sling plantation, and Divisional Headquarters at Bustard Camp.

Earl Roberts came out to review us on Saturday, the 27th of October. I had not seen the hero of Kandahar since the day he marched past the King, resplendant in the scarlet and gold of a Field-Marshal on the Plains of Abraham, at Quebec. Since then he had retired from active duty with the army to devote himself to the cause of National Service.

The important day arrived and the brigades were drawn up in lines of battalions in mass along the brow of a slope south of our camp. Battalion after battalion, battery after battery, squadron after squadron for nearly two miles the line stretched. It was a magnificent array of men that greeted the brave old veteran in the first review of the Canadians which proved to be his last command.

On his arrival he was received with the general salute. He then rode in a big grey car in front of the line, the officers having been all called out to the front. As he reached each separate battalion the car stopped, General Hughes introduced the commanding officers, and Lord Roberts spoke graciously to them. Some of the officers' horses behaved badly as the big grey car came up to them and some seats were lost that day, but my big charger behaved splendidly. She looked into the big car and wanted to poke her nose into it to see if the driver had any candy or apples. General Hughes, the Minister of Militia, sat in the seat beside Earl Roberts. Age had dealt very kindly with the veteran of Kandahar and South Africa. Although a consistent water drinker, Lord Roberts had a very florid complexion, which was just as bright and ruddy as that of a subaltern of twenty, despite his extreme age. This kind of complexion makes it difficult for a man to gain admission to a temperance club in Canada.

His voice was clear and resonant. "Colonel Currie," he said, "How many men of this kind have you with you? They are indeed a splendid lot, and the Empire owes a debt of gratitude to these gallant soldiers for coming in the hour of need."

I answered, "Eleven hundred and seventy, Sir."

"They are a fine lot and when fully trained should give a good account of themselves," he said.

I thanked him, and he was gone.

It began to drizzle and rain, and as we moved off we had the first taste of that disagreeable weather which clung to us until we left the Plains. Many a time afterwards the lines of R.H. Barham, the author of "Ingoldsby Legends," came to my mind.

"Oh Salisbury Plain is bleak and bare, At least so I've heard many people declare, Tho' I must confess that I've never been there. Not a shrub, not a bush nor tree can you see, No hedges, no ditches, no gates, no stiles, Much less a house or a cottage for miles, Its a very bad thing to be caught in the rain, When night's coming on, on Salisbury Plain."

On Sunday, the 25th, the men of the Division heard a sermon from Bishop Taylor Smith, who visited Salisbury Plain with Dr. McNamara, M.P.

The London press had been very enthusiastic over the Canadian Division. The illustrated papers had photographs of the various corps and officers. Their kindness was very much appreciated.

Lord Roberts issued an Order of the Day, in which he praised us very highly. He said:

"The prompt resolve of Canada to give us such valuable assistance has touched us deeply. That resolve has been galvanized into action in what I consider a marvellously short period of time, under the excellent organization and driving power of your Minister of Militia, my old friend Major General Hughes. In less than three months from the declaration of war I am able to greet this fine body of soldiers on English soil."

Stirring events were happening in Flanders. About this time we learned with much regret that Colonel Lowther, who had served on the staff of His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught in Canada, had been badly wounded. Also that Major Rivers-Bulkley of the Scots Guards, who had also been on His Royal Highness' staff, had been killed. The latter had, scarcely a year before, been married to Miss Pelly, one of the Ladies-in-Waiting to Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Connaught in Ottawa.

The German invaders on the western front had swept on past Liege. A great battle had been fought at Waterloo or Charleroi, another at Mons and at Le Cateau. The French Government had left Paris. The greatest battle in the history of the world had taken place near Metz. The Crown Prince's Army had been shattered and General Von Kluck's march on Paris had been stayed at the Marne. Then the Allies had assumed the offensive, and driven the Germans back to the Aisne. Ypres, Hazebrouck, Estairs and Armentieres had been retaken on the Western frontier of Belgium and France. The huge Austrian siege guns, 42 centimetres, had proven too much for the antique concrete of the Belgian and French forts, but the tide of invasion had been stayed.

A few days later, October 29th, a dinner was given in London by Hon. Lieutenant-Colonel Grant Morden in the Royal Automobile Club in honor of the Minister of Militia, Major-General the Honorable Sam Hughes, and the officers commanding the Canadian contingent. Amongst other officers I was invited to be present, and the dinner was one of the most notable I have ever attended. Not so much on account of the number of prominent men who attended, but because it was the last occasion in which Lord Roberts spoke in public. Among others present were Lord Islington, Lord Iverclyde, Sir A. Trevor Dawson, Sir Gilbert Parker, Sir Joseph Lawrence, Sir George Armstrong, Lord Charles Beresford, Sir John Curtis, Sir Edward Carson, Rt. Hon. Walter H. Long, Sir Reginald McLeod, Colonel Sir Edward W. Ward, Sir Vincent Callard and Monsieur R. Thien de la Chaume of the French Embassy.

The toast to Canada was proposed by Sir Charles Beresford in a fine speech, in which he referred to the valuable services of the Canadians in previous wars. The toast was responded to by Sir George Parley, M.P., acting Canadian High Commissioner. Lord Roberts then proposed the toast to Major General Hughes. He was very warmly received when he rose to propose this toast, and was visibly affected by the splendid demonstration. He spoke with great earnestness for over half an hour. He first paid a glowing tribute to the Canadian troops that had served under him in South Africa. When he took command there the first telegram he sent was to Canada. He then referred to the troops he had reviewed on Salisbury Plains in warmest terms. He had not thought it possible that such a fine steady body of men could be got together in such a short time. He commended the Minister of Militia for having achieved such splendid results so quickly. He praised the deportment of the troops the day he had reviewed them in the rain.

He then turned to the subject of the war and reminded his hearers that they were fighting an enemy that meant business, and the destruction of the British Empire. He predicted that through their preparedness they would give us enormous trouble and he warned us that in his estimation the war would require every man that could be put in the field. Lord Kitchener had not called for a man too many, and every effort should be put forward to enlist and train every available man as soon as possible.

Referring to his travels throughout the Empire, he said that it seemed to him the people of the Colonies were more appreciative of the greatness of the struggle and more patriotic than those at home. He attributed this to education in the schools and regretted that patriotism was not taught more in the schools of the Mother land, and the British Flag flown over the schools as in Canada and the other Colonies.

The audience listened with rapt attention and punctured his remarks again and again with applause.

The Downs were very suitable for drill and work in open order. The turf was good and firm, and so far there was no mud or sand. We took up the new drill of 1914. The battalions for drill purposes were formed into four companies with four platoons per company.

We had been told that as soon as we settled down His Majesty the King and Lord Kitchener were coming out to look us over, so we brisked up as quickly as possible for the big event. We had a rehearsal the day before. The troops took their positions along the main roads leading past their respective brigade camps. Our Camp, West Down South, contained two infantry brigades, ours, the Highland Brigade and the Second Brigade. His Majesty, Lord Kitchener, Earl Roberts and staff were to drive up from Salisbury in motor cars, and we were formed up on the east side of the main road from Salisbury to receive him. The mounted troops were to form up on the west side. We made a brave show but some of the battalions were not fully equipped as they had not yet received their bayonets. The practise was a great success. Major Beatty, brother of Admiral Beatty, who was officer on General Alderson's staff, took us all in. A general officer from the War Office was to have looked us over, but as he did not show up the genial Major went through the motions, and it was only after each of the battalions in succession had received him with the general salute and presented arms as he walked past in front of us, and we had a look at his badges, that we realized that we had been fooled. Of course as a Major he was junior to the officers in command of the regiments and not entitled to the honors, but he took them with a grin and the rehearsal passed off well.

We had King's weather next day when the King came to West Down South. The Royal Party came promptly to the minute. There was His Majesty the King, Her Majesty the Queen and some Ladies-in-Waiting; Lord Kitchener, the Secretary of State for War, Earl Roberts, Lord Stamford, Sir Richard McBride and a number of staff officers. We were lined up and made a splendid showing. The King rode up to the line and began the inspection of the artillery and the Divisional Cavalry opposite us. The Royal party was then on foot, and His Majesty greeted each officer, and then passed through the ranks in and out, speaking a word here and there to the men. After he had gone over the mounted troops he crossed the road and started down the line of infantry. The battalions were in order from right to left. Her Majesty the Queen and her Ladies-in-Waiting with Sir George Perley followed the King and Lord Kitchener. In a few minutes they were at the right flank of our battalion. I received His Majesty with broadsword at the salute, and was introduced by General Turner, V.C. He asked me about our tartan, and how many men I had in it. I told him the whole regiment wore the tartan. He was introduced to the officers and then, with Sergeant-Major Grant and Lord Kitchener, he started through the ranks. Some one called me back and I was introduced to Her Majesty, who in a plain suit of black with a black hat, as she was in mourning, stood smiling to greet me.

I had not seen Her Majesty since the night of the reception given by the King and Queen, then the Prince and Princess of Wales, in the Parliament Buildings in the City of Toronto in 1902. She had not changed at all and there is no woman in the world who looks the part of a Queen better than Her Majesty Queen Mary. She looked the front line of our battalion over carefully. There was not a man there less than six feet two inches. Youth and intelligence was written all over them but they stood as if carved out of stone.

"What a fine lot of men" was her gracious comment as she passed along the line. "And they all look like professional men and students."

A mention of their patriotism in coming to the war, a prayer that they might be spared to return safely to Canada, and then with a farewell, and "Good luck to you and your Regiment Colonel," the Royal Party passed on down the line to the Canadian Scottish Regiment. That concluded the inspection, and entering the motors they rode off to Sling Plantation Camp to review more soldiers. Our Brigade had advanced to the side of the road, and as they passed on they received cheers that could be heard three miles away. We waited for the return of the Royal Party and lined both sides of the road and gave more cheers. That was our last look at Lord Roberts. A few days later he went to France and died very suddenly at St. Omar while he was visiting the troops under his old Lieutenant, Sir John French. He died as he would have wished, within the sound of the guns. Coincident with his visit there the British had driven the Germans back behind the Yperlee Canal, where the first Canadian Division was to win immortal fame.

Those who heard him speak on National Service and the duty of every man in connection with the war will never forget his earnestness and fervor. His voice will come ringing down the ages calling men of British birth to their duty like the voice of Demosthenes, the Greek patriot, whose constant cry was, "Yet O Athenians, yet there is time. And there is one manner in which you can recover your greatness, or dying fall worthy of your Marathon and Salamis. Yet O Athenians you have it in your power, and the manner of it is this. Cease to hire your armies. Go, yourselves, every man of you, and stand in the ranks, and either a victory, beyond all victories in its glory, awaits you, or falling you shall fall greatly and worthy of your past."

A few days later the officers and men of the First Canadian Contingent were given the status and rank of Imperial troops, that is to say British Regulars. This made all the officers, non-coms. and men senior to officers and non-coms. of the same rank in the Canadian militia or the Home Territorial forces.



CHAPTER IX

MOULDING AN ARMY

"Escort and Prisoner, Right Turn. Quick March," rang out the voice of Sergeant-Major Grant at the door of the orderly tent.

Three men, as in file, came marching through the doorway, and as they reached the camp table at which I sat, the Sergeant-Major continued, "Halt, Left Turn, Right-Dress."

The men turned smartly, facing me. In the centre stood bareheaded the prisoner, a young man about twenty-two years of age, on each side of him a grim old soldier with a drawn bayonet.

An "Orderly Room" is the court which the Commanding Officer holds, usually in the morning when men are brought before him, charged with any offences they may have committed, with which the company commanders cannot deal.

It is a very solemn affair, and is a parade which all the officers of the battalion, especially those who have men charged with offences, are supposed to attend. They stand on either side of the Officer Commanding at "Attention." The Adjutant stands rigid on the right hand. The Officer Commanding alone is seated.

The Sergeant-Major handed the "Crime Sheet," that is the document in which the nature of the crime and the names of the witnesses are stated, to Adjutant Darling, who read:—

"That on December 10th, at 2 p.m., Private John B—— of the 48th Highlanders was found loitering in the Park at Bournemouth without a pass. That he became violently abusive on being taken into custody. Witnesses, Police constables 'J——' and 'D——' of Bournemouth." Then followed the evidence of the constables taken down in the presence of an officer at Bournemouth, to the effect "That on Dec. 10th, at 2 p.m., I, Police Constable 'J——,' together with Constable 'D——,' was patrolling the Park at Bournemouth when I saw Private B—— of the 15th Battalion sitting on a park seat with two young ladies. As was customary in such cases I asked him if he had a pass. He produced a pass signed by the Commanding Officer of the 15th Battalion, which had expired the day before. When we pointed out that Private B—— was 'absent without leave,' he said he expected an extension by wire that day, from his Commanding Officer. When we told him that it was our duty to take him into custody, he became very abusive, calling us 'Thick-headed John Bulls,' 'Fat-headed Englishmen,' 'Mutton heads,' 'Blasted Britishers,' etc. He had also abused the English people in very violent terms." The constables had taken charge of him and handed him over to the customary escort sent after him from camp.

When the Adjutant had finished reading the "crime sheet," I asked Private B—— if he had anything to say, and if the charge was true.

He had nothing to say. "It is true."

"How long were you out from England before you joined this Battalion," I asked.

"Three years, Sir."

"Do you think that three years' residence in Canada entitles you to abuse your countrymen, and call them 'fat-headed Englishmen'?" I asked.

The humor of the situation seemed to strike him.

"I don't know, Sir."

"Well, your pay during your absence will be forfeited by Royal Warrant, and you are admonished not to use abusive language to your countrymen again."

"Escort and Prisoner, Left Turn, Quick March, Admonished!" roared the Sergeant-Major as the prisoner left the room, and the officers all broke into a hearty laugh.

Of course the Private's name did not begin with B, but this incident is an example of the spirit that filled the men of the First Canadian Division. As soon as a man donned the bronze shoulder badge with "Canada" on it he became a Canadian, and forgot his hyphen. There was no mention of the British-born, the French-Canadian, or Canadian-born. These great issues had to be left for discussion and settlement to those who stayed at home.

As a matter of fact, there was only one pure bred Canadian in the "Red Watch." He joined as a transport driver at Valcartier. He was a full-blooded Indian and very proud of it. He had left a family and a good farm to go and see some fighting for the King. When he came to see me, he said he knew our regiment would see some fighting and he wanted to go with us. I asked him if he could handle horses. He said he could so I put him into the transport to his great joy. A very humorous incident occurred in regard to him, shortly after he had reached the Salisbury Plains. He had overstayed his leave one night, by a few hours, and was promptly taken in charge by the quarter-guard, who put him in the guard tent.

There was much dismay in the guard-tent at daybreak when it was found that the prisoner had flown. "Breaking out" or "forcing" a guard is a serious offence, so when he was found up in the horse lines a short time later and brought before me at the Orderly Room, matters looked interesting. His explanation, however, was most ingenious, and given with such earnestness that we could not help but accept it. He said that when he woke up before daylight he found himself in a strange tent. He knew it was time for him to go and attend to his horses, so he got out as quietly as possible so as not to disturb his comrades, and had gone about his duties as usual. His story, which was verified, gained him forgiveness. He proved a very good soldier afterwards, and at the Battle of St. Julien, when the transport was shelled out of its quarters at Ypres, and his horses killed, instead of retiring he took a rifle and ammunition, and found his way four miles down into the trenches at the salient, where his comrades were battling with the Huns at close range. He was there wounded, gassed, and taken prisoner. His name was Lickers, and he certainly displayed all the war-like qualities of his race.

When we left Canada we expected to spend some time in England completing our training. Everybody thought that we would be handed over to a lot of crack English drill instructors, and would be placed alongside of British regular regiments so as to acquire the proper polish. This would, no doubt, have been very desirable, but when we reached Salisbury Plains we found the British War Office in the throes of evolving what was known as "Kitchener's Army." The whole country was alive with recruiting committees, bands and patriotic organizations, and in the music halls the songs were all of the "Soldier's Farewell" variety.

Every soldier that could instruct was utilized. Officers who had retired and pensioners were recalled and came gladly. Instead of providing us with officers to instruct and guide us in our training, we were asked to come to the aid of the New Army, and we gave as many officers and instructors as we could spare. Commissions in the new army were offered freely to non-commissioned officers of the Canadian Army, and each battalion gave from ten to twenty of their best. These young men subsequently acquitted themselves with much credit. One of mine won his Military Cross at the Dardanelles.

One of the most difficult things we had to cope with was discipline. At first it was hard for the young Canadian who is brought up in a village or on a farm to realize that he has to obey the orders of his superior officer, if that officer happens to be a comrade who has only the day before been given a corporal's stripes. It is doubly difficult if the command is couched in the language of an order.

On the other hand officers and non-commissioned officers had to be taught that they must not bully or browbeat their subordinates. We did not take long to acquire the new discipline. Everybody was willing.

Now that men have to act largely for themselves, the system of discipline in the British army has been changed. The idea now is that the men must be taught to obey from a sense of duty, not from fear of their superiors. Armies have obeyed their leaders from time immemorial, from various motives. The Roman legions obeyed because of their regard for their citizenship; the soldiers of Cromwell and the Japanese from religious motives, the Germans from fear of their superior officers, and the British and French armies of to-day from patriotism and a high sense of duty. When a soldier obeys from a sense of duty he will "carry on" even if his officers are killed or disabled. His courage is much higher. In previous wars when a battalion was decimated or had lost ten per cent. of its numbers, it was not considered a disgrace to retire, but in this war such losses are not considered. Battalions in the Canadian army have suffered losses as high as seventy per cent., and have still held their ground undaunted, and responded most cheerfully to the orders of their remaining officers to counter-attack and charge with their bayonets.

It took some patience to bring about this discipline. It often took several visits to the orderly room to teach a man that it was one of his first duties to try and keep his "conduct sheet,"—that is the page on the regimental records, which tells of his deeds—clear of any entries for misconduct.

Another troublesome matter was to teach the men that they could not go away from camp without "leave" and a "pass," and that it was wrong to overstay a "pass." When a soldier wants to leave camp he has to get permission from the officer commanding his company. He then gets a "pass" signed by the Officer Commanding the Battalion and armed with this pass he is at liberty for the period named on the pass.

The next big event in which we figured, after the King's visit, was the Lord Mayor's show. The Canadians were to be represented, and there was quite a flutter of excitement and much interest as to who should go to represent each battalion. I gave the honor to Lieutenant Frank Smith, who had worked very hard and had shown much ability.

The Lord Mayor's show is one of the annual events of London, and we were all anxious to see it. I had the good fortune to be invited by Sir Joseph Lawrence to view the procession from a balcony close to Temple Bar. The procession has been described so often that everybody knows all about it. The Canadians made a very fine showing. They were under the command of Colonel Williams. Our Highland detachment, under Lieutenant Frank Smith, looked exceedingly smart and got a full page in a number of the London illustrated dailies next morning.

One thing that struck me very favorably in the parade was the way in which the British regulars covered each other as they marched in fours along the street. Their rifles formed four ribbons of steel. There was no straggling.

The battalion soon settled down to a hard syllabus of training and instruction, beginning with squad drill. It was drill, drill, drill, all day long, rain or shine, and it was almost always rain.

We were much struck at first by the fact that in England farmers paid no attention to the rain. They kept on ploughing in rain, that in Canada would have sent the hired man to the shelter of the barn. After a while it dawned on us that if they did not plough in the rain they would not get any ploughing done at all.

Not only did the battalions give their days to drill but after they got through their squad drill they took two nights a week in training. All this soon began to get the men in shape.

On Thursday, November 19th, the 3rd Brigade had a visit from Mr. Rudyard Kipling. I sat at lunch with him and formed a friendship which I regard very highly. Mr. Kipling is one of the great men of the age, the first Imperialist of the Empire. He said very nice things about the Canadians.

On the 27th of November the Canadian Division was reviewed by General Pitcairn Campbell, Officer Commanding the southern command. The Division was drawn up in a long line on the Downs and presented a formidable aspect. It was one of the most inspiring sights I have ever seen. There was plenty of room on the plains and after we had performed a number of evolutions we were formed in line miles long and marched some distance, then formed for an attack upon a ridge crowned by a number of tumuli. The earth trembled with the tread of the battalions and the hoofs of the battery horses. Thirty thousand Canadians in battle array is a sight never to be forgotten. Everything passed off well, considering the difficulties with which we had to contend. General Campbell was accompanied by Mr. Walter Long, M.P. After luncheon he was kind enough to ride over to the 48th and complimented us very highly on our excellent appearance. The field training and hard work was working wonders on the men. Every day they were becoming better soldiers. It was the same with the other battalions. The officers were in earnest and unconsciously they were giving to the men under their command just what they needed. In the ranks there were a number of men born in the British Isles. Most of the officers were of Canadian birth, and the British-born soldier gets on magnificently with Colonial officers. Mutual respect was gradually bringing about efficiency and discipline of a very high order.

There was still much discontent because we were not sent abroad. It was not as bad with us as with Kitchener's Army. The question everybody was asking of the men in khaki was "When are you going to the Front?" It is wonderful how the sight of a uniform acts on the people's mind. They think that just as soon as a man dons a uniform he is ready to go to the Front. This re-acts on the men, and with everyone asking "When are you going to the Front?" they become almost frantic with impatience. After a soldier has been drilling a while, however, he realizes there is still something for him to learn. Then when he gets to the Front he discovers that it is not just knowing his drill that made him a soldier but the experience of obeying orders and doing the same things over and over again until he forgets drill and does the right thing without even thinking.

People who ask soldiers when they are going to the "Front" forget that it is not the men's fault they do not leave for the Front at once. A man that had lost a leg and whose left arm had been shattered at the elbow was invalided home, and he complained to me that because he was in uniform everybody kept asking him when he was going to the Front.

In November we learned that the arch corsair, the "Emden," had been caught and put out of business by the Australian cruiser "Sydney," after a spirited action in which the latter ship upheld the traditions of the British Navy. We also learned that while in England the Canadians were supposed to take a share in the defense of the East coast in case of a German invasion. On two separate occasions I was called at midnight and warned to be ready.

I forgot to mention that the Royal Flying Corps had a school at Lark Hill near Amesbury and that every day the aviators sailed above us. On several places on the Plains monuments have been erected by the Flying Corps in memory of officers who had given their lives in the interests of the new science. Some of the Canadians joined this Corps. Lieut. Lawson of the 48th, an engineer of ability and experience, subsequently joined and served in Mesopotamia. One man in our battalion wanted to join, but when it was pointed out to him that according to the statistics of the war his chances of being killed in a Highland Battalion were much better than in a flying squadron, he decided to stay with the 48th.

Towards Christmas we received an invitation to go to Glasgow and play football against one of the Glasgow battalions. On Christmas Day a number of the Canadian oarsmen in the different regiments had a race for eights in the Thames. We had eight first class men who had belonged to Canadian fast crews, namely, Lieutenants Alex. Sinclair, Acland, Bickell, Muir, Taylor, Bath, Wilson and Campbell. The crews were arranged according to clubs at home. If the crews had been by battalions I am inclined to think we would have won.



Our football team went to Glasgow on New Year's Day and played at Annie's Land. They played a very strong game but were up against new rules that penalized them, so they did not win.

The people of Glasgow were very kind and appreciative.



CHAPTER X

HIS MAJESTY THE KING, AND FIELD MARSHAL THE RIGHT HONORABLE VISCOUNT KITCHENER

"Did they bury him standing on his head, or the other way on?"

We, that is to say, Mr. J.R. Robinson, editor of the Toronto Telegram, and I stood in Westminster Abbey at the spot in the hallowed floor where "Rare" Ben Jonson had claimed his foot of ground, and we were playing "Innocents Abroad" and having some fun with our guide. He told us that he was a Swiss and that he had shown "Buffalo Bill," "Sir" Thomas Edison, and other famous Americans about the place.

"I guess they stood him up on his feet," answered the guide.

"Was he the man who wrote the dictionary?"

"I guess that is him," answered the guide. "I understand he was a literary man."

"Who was this chap Goldsmith? Was he the first pawnbroker, or the man who invented watches?"

"I think he had something to do with the watches," said our guide, awestricken by our profound knowledge.

"Who was this Salisbury?" we asked. "He must have been somebody important to have such a fine monument?"

"He was some rich lawyer chap," was the answer we received. We were certainly having our money's worth.

We wandered up and down the aisles; beneath whose flagstones rest Britain's honored dead.

"What strikes me most," said Robinson, "is not the number of tombs and monuments to the great, but the numberless monuments to nonentities that by some means have managed to creep into the shadow of greatness, by crowding upon the tombs of the Immortals in this Holy of Holies, the Temple of Fame of the British race."

After we had grilled our guide to our heart's content, and fed him till he almost fainted, we went around to have a look at Cromwell's monument and the spot in the great hall where Charles I. stood when he received his death sentence. Poor Charles, whose pictures look so much like his descendant William of Germany, the Kaiser, who has caused so much trouble for us all.

Of all the public buildings I have ever seen the great Hall of William Rufus at Westminster impressed me most. It is of the Norman order of architecture. The conception and simplicity of the structure is magnificent. King William announced to the banquetting courtiers, according to tradition, that this majestic structure was intended as an ante-room to the great Parliament Buildings which he intended to rear on the banks of the Thames. The person who reads the poetry of the stones inwardly curses the careless archer whose arrow cut short the career of this truly great king, for this is not the only great structure that "William the Red" conceived and commenced during his turbulent reign.

The three distinctive monuments of London are, this Hall of William the Red, the grim dominating lineaments shown in Cromwell's statue, and the noble well balanced head of the great Clive, the foremost of Empire builders.

"London Bridge is falling Down" is the marching-out tune of the "Red Watch," and many other Highland Regiments, although in the Celtic the words of the song say "Well tak' the High Road." London Bridge had not fallen down in spite of threatened Zeppelin raids, and from it we had a good look at the Thames with the magnificent vista of buildings along the embankment.

The Thames means a great deal to the Imperialist. I have seen the Missouri River where it joins the Mississippi, the two gigantic streams forming a symphony of liquid mud, the Detroit River rushing between two busy cities laden with hundreds of ships representing liquid commerce, but the Thames,—the Thames represents liquid history.

There was great joy and rejoicing when we were informed that everybody was to have a holiday either at Christmas or New Year, and that His Majesty had decreed that free transportation would be provided for such as wished a holiday to visit friends. A free trip to any place in Great Britain or Ireland meant a great deal to our men. The Government had taken over the British railways on an agreement to pay the proprietors the amount of the earnings in 1913, during the period the roads would be under control. The managers of the railways had been formed into a Board to run the roads, and the whole thing had proved such a great success that the Government was virtually having the work done for nothing. In the language of the London Statist, this was "the best bargain" the British government ever made.

The curse of railways is competition. Governments can and have endeavored to adjust rates so as to cheapen the cost of service and at the same time put a stop to rate cutting, but there is such a thing as competition in service or operation which means running too many trains, where control by the Government ends.

The whole matter, however, turned out to the advantage of the soldiers. Those of our men who had friends in England chose Christmas for their holidays. The Scotchmen selected New Year's, and the Irish chose both and had their way, for what Commanding Officer could deny a man a two weeks' holiday in the Green Isle when the recipient stood a good chance of never seeing the home of his ancestors again?

The pipes of the 48th Highlanders played on New Year's Day in Glasgow, but Scotland was too busy with the war to listen. I spent a few days in the Hebrides. This is not the place for the description of a tour in the Highlands. There is something about the Highland Hills that impresses one very deeply. The peaks are not so majestic as the Saw Tooth Rockies, the Kicking Horse Range, the Cariboo Mountain, or the Range of the Agawa Valley on the northwest shore of Lake Superior which is the most beautiful spot probably in the whole world, but there is something of solemn grandeur in the Scottish Hills that pertains to them alone. They are cathedral-like in their majesty. No wonder they have produced poets and soldiers.

But Scotland was busy arming for the war. Every man of military age was taking to the field. It required no conscription to send the Scots to the war. Ninety-three per cent. of the sons of the Scottish Manse had volunteered and gone, and only the lame, the halt and the blind of military age remained. If this war continued very long there would be no Scotch left, except what you get in bottles.

I spent a day in Mull and Iona motoring with a friend who was enlisting men for the naval service. We stopped at a village on our return, and while he went off to see a young man, I was sitting in the automobile opposite a small cottage, at the front gate of which stood a tall, handsome young woman, with two tiny children clinging to her skirts. She managed to pluck up courage to speak to me.

"Perhaps you are from the war, Sir?" she said with a wistful look on her face, and a strong Highland accent.

"My husband is in one of the Highland Regiments, perhaps you have seen his battalion, the Argyles?"

I replied in the negative, adding that I belonged to a Canadian Highland Regiment.

"There are only two young men left in this village who have not gone to the war," she volunteered. "And they will have to be out of here to-morrow, or they will hear from the women."

"You Scotch women are very hard on the men," I said in a half joking way; "You are sending them all to the war. There won't be any left. Why did you, with those two little children, let your husband go to the war?"

This seemed to stagger her for a moment, then she drew herself up scornfully and turning on me, with her eyes fairly blazing, she said:

"I am a Cameron, Sir. I would never have spoken to him again if he had not volunteered to go to the war."

I regretted my remark, and the refrain of the old Jacobite song recurred to me, "A Cameron never can yield." This is an example of the spirit of the Highland Scotch people in the Great War.

It should be considered a duty of every person of Scottish blood to see Scotland and live in it, if only for a short time, and have their children see "Home." The people of Scotland cannot understand why Colonials and Americans of Scottish descent to the second and third generations, especially Canadians, should call Scotland "Home." The reason is easily explained.

In America we are constantly struggling to attain wealth, social or political greatness, or else we are busy all the time fighting to prevent others from achieving success. We were only in Scotland a very short time when the kindly spirit and homely friendship of the people give us a new experience. It is like the feeling of good-will that centres about one's own fireside. As a country Scotland is "Home." Everyone there from the humblest fisherman to the highest born in the land is anxious to show you some kindness and make you feel at home. That is why Scotland is the cradle of soldiers, poets, statesmen and heroes.

As soon as the holiday season was over the Canadians again settled down to Field Training. Every morning we started off with our waggons and enough food to do us for the day. We drilled and fought and put into effect new lessons in tactics. Particular attention was paid to musketry, such as training the men and the squad leaders to name and recognize targets, also to judge distances by practical methods. Every day we were becoming more efficient.

Before the Christmas holidays I had had the good fortune to be able to take the "Hythe" Course and certificate in musketry and machine gun training at Hayling Island. I went there a confirmed adherent to the old Bisley style of deliberate shooting. I left a convert to the new British system of musketry that turned out the formidable riflemen of the First British Army. These soldiers overwhelmed the Germans with the great rapidity and accuracy of their fire. The Germans would hardly believe that the British were not armed with automatic rifles.

On the way back from Hayling Island I met with an accident which luckily had no bad results for me. Accompanied by General Turner, V.C., and Lt.-Colonel Burland, I was being driven in an automobile from Salisbury city to Lark's Hill Camp, when the steering gear of the automobile went wrong and we ran into an embankment, the car turning turtle. I was sitting in the front seat with the driver, and the machine, going at the rate of thirty miles an hour, crashed into the bank. I braced myself, seeing visions ahead of a broken neck and a sudden inglorious end to my campaigning. But Providence saved me from even a scratch, although I was projected with such force against the glass windshield as to smash it to atoms. As the car went over, I had presence of mind enough to grasp the stancheons of the top, and thus saved myself from being thrown out over the front of the car. General Turner, V.C., who was in the rear seat with Colonel Burland, was buried under the machine, and as I cleared myself from the broken glass and debris I hear him groan, whilst the automobile hind wheels continued to revolve as long as any gasoline was left in the carburettor to feed the engine. We managed to get him out of the wreck and commandeered another automobile to take him back to Salisbury, where it was found that his collar bone and several ribs were broken. He was very cheerful and his only anxiety was lest his injuries might prevent him from going to the Front. As this book was published while I was still "soldiering" my lips were sealed as far as saying anything about my superior officers was concerned. All I dare say is that no braver, better, truer man than General Turner, V.C., ever lived.

Our field training brought our men along very quickly. They were gradually becoming seasoned. They had gone into huts at Lark Hill which they had built themselves, and as these huts were warm and comfortable life began to be a real pleasure.

About the last week in January Hon. Sir George H. Perley and Lord Islington paid us a visit at Lark Hill, and we had the pleasure of their company at an informal luncheon.

Thursday, February 4th, 1915, was one of the greatest days in the history of the regiment. The previous week, when Sir George Perley and Lord Islington visited us in our huts and messed with us on soldiers' fare, the Acting High Commissioner told me that it was probable that His Majesty the King and Lord Kitchener would be down the following week to review the Canadian Division and say good-bye. This put everybody in tune, even the lads who had to stay in England with the surplus officers. On Wednesday afternoon the field officers spent some time in going over the review ground, pegging it out, so it will not be out of place to say a word about the grounds. Lark Hill Camp lies on a gentle slope facing west, and from the door of my hut I could see Stonehenge, that mighty monument to the great race that at one time lived on these plains and raised the enormous tumuli monuments to the heroes of their day.

The reviewing ground was selected about a mile and a half west of the camp on the new line of railway which had been built largely by the Canadians. The stand was placed to face north and the long lines, two of them stretched away east and west. About a mile south Stonehenge is visible, and from Signal Mound in the rear of the reviewing grounds the river and Old Sarum can be seen in the distance. All about the plains huge mounds raised by the Druidical Celts rear themselves, of varying sizes, some twenty feet high, others smaller. This must in all ages have been a great military centre. We are not the first comers by any means, and this is truly historic ground that has resounded to the tread of the warrior for thirty centuries. It was fitting that it should be ground chosen by the King on which to review his Canadian troops.

The morning looked very uninviting. It threatened rain, sleet and snow. For a moment it brightened up and then we were ordered to parade with overcoats in packs, but by the time the troops got to the ground it was raining heavily and we were reviewed in overcoats after all.

The troops were placed in two lines, at about two hundred paces distance, the cavalry on the right, then the artillery and the auxiliaries, then the infantry, three brigades of them, the pick of the contingent. They certainly looked well as they marched across the Downs to their appointed stations. The training had had its effect. They looked much better than at the first review, many of them on that occasion being without parts of their uniform, and the drill was rather loose and frayed at the ends.

However, that was an historic occasion for we had Her Gracious Majesty with us then, as well as the King, and Lord Roberts, whose smile was so refulgent it was worth the whole voyage to see it.

The King was to arrive at eleven o'clock, and a few minutes before that hour the whistling of a locomotive was heard as the train wound its way up and down over the hills of Amesbury. The road was built along the sides of the hills without any pretence of grading to a level. It was built by the sturdy Canadians who will leave that monument behind them on Salisbury Plains, more useful if not more ornamental or enduring than Stonehenge, the tumuli, or the fallen ramparts and ditches of Celts, Saxons, Normans or Romans.

The train consisted of two locomotives and two coaches. After a few moments it stopped and His Majesty and his Staff stepped out and advanced along a board walk to the platform which had been erected for him to stand on, and over which the Royal Standard was then floating. As he took his place on the stand, a trumpet sounded and as one man the troops came to the salute. Each double line was over a mile in length. His Majesty and Staff, accompanied by General Alderson and Colonel Seely, M.P., now the new Cavalry Commander, started down the first line to the left, then back up the front of the second line to its right. The officers commanding units dismounted as His Majesty left the stand.

My regiment was the second from the left in the second line. His Majesty walked between the line of officers and the front line of men. The most prominent figure on the Staff was Lord Kitchener, who, wonder of wonders, wore a smile like a summer morning. As His Majesty approached the left of the regiment, I met him, saluting. He shook hands with me, and I took my place on his left hand. He asked me very kindly about the health of the men and expressed great pleasure to know that we had almost recovered from the terrible epidemic of influenza and of la grippe that had affected the troops. I assured him that the men did not grumble, they considered it part of their work and were quite content to "do their bit" for His Majesty and the Empire. He repeated that it was altogether too bad that the Canadians had had to put up with disagreeable conditions, but they were going abroad in a few days, and he felt sure they would distinguish themselves. He then shook hands with me, bade me good-bye and wished myself and the regiment "good-luck." Lord Kitchener then shook hands, and with a "Good-luck to you and your fine regiment, Colonel," they passed along to the next battalion. Several of the other officers on the Staff shook hands and chatted for a moment.

His Majesty looked greatly improved in health, and seemed in better spirits than the first time we saw him at West Down South. On that occasion he was showing the effects of the hard work he had been giving to the Army—here to-day, miles away to-morrow. But those first strenuous days were over. The war was well in hand. The measure of the Germans had been taken, at sea as well as on land.

When the war broke out the one thing the people dreaded was lack of efficient leadership. No one imagined the King would be the strongest and best King the Empire had ever seen. To him alone is to be ascribed the wonderful political solidarity of the British people. The masses always had a latent feeling that King George would make a great King.

His Majesty returned to the stand, and we marched past in double lines, the cavalry eight deep in fours, the artillery two guns abreast, the infantry in double lines of fours, eight men abreast. Then they defiled along the railway four deep to cheer His Majesty as his train passed. The bonnets were placed on the muzzles of the rifles and the men cheered like mad. His Majesty stood at the window of the Royal Coach and waved farewells, and the second review by the King was over. I heard the men say how much they regretted that Her Majesty had not been there, for we enjoyed her first visit very much, and the interest she took in the soldiers.

The frills are now all over and it is get ready to entrain and cross over to France.

It was a great pleasure to learn from time to time that the officers that went to Valcartier supernumerary to our establishment and were transferred to other corps were getting along well. Lieutenants Smith and Ian Sinclair had gone to the Royal Highlanders of Canada, Lieutenant Bell to the 17th Battalion. They all subsequently distinguished themselves in France.

At Salisbury Plains Captain J.W. Moffatt was transferred to our Battalion as Chaplain. He immediately joined the officers' training class and qualified as a combatant officer so that if need be he could transfer to the effectives in Flanders. He was a great favorite with us all.



CHAPTER XI

OFF FOR FRANCE.

"Sir! There is a cup of coffee ready for you, and your horse will be at the door in fifteen minutes."

I had thrown myself at ten o'clock on my cot, fully equipped for the first march on the way to France, and had slept soundly till roused at twelve forty-five by a knock on my door, followed by the voice of the orderly room sergeant.

I went to the door of my hut and looked out. The night was dark as a wolf's mouth. The stars in this northern latitude sparkled with unusual brilliancy.

On the evening of the 9th, I had been asked to go to the Headquarters of the Third Brigade, where General Turner, V.C., had informed me that my regiment would march out for France on the 11th.

There was great glee when this became known. The tents hummed with bustle and activity. Everybody got busy polishing and packing up. The spare kits and kit bags were to be left at Salisbury. Many of them would never be claimed.

It seemed almost impossible for us to get ready in time. We had not yet learned to march on an hour's notice, but we were told to cut down our baggage to the regular allowance.

We were not sorry to leave England for we had spent many disagreeable hours on Salisbury Plains with rain a dozen times a day, mud varying from ankle to knee depth, wet clothing and poor tents.

A few undesirables had crept into our Force at Valcartier where they had not been confronted with the wet canteen evil. When these chaps got to England they broke loose and had to be sent back to Canada. They should have been put through the wet canteen test before they sailed. It would have saved Canada a great deal of money. These men caused a lot of talk about the Canadians in London.

London was the Headquarters of a German lie factory and all kinds of yarns were circulated there about us. For instance, it was told about the Princess Pats that when they went to Flanders they failed to hold their trenches and had to be brought back to London and hidden away "somewhere" to cool their nerves. This was a shameless lie about one of the grandest corps ever raised for the British army, a corps that in holding the "warm corners" in the British line in six months had casualties of over 2,700 men, or about three times its effective strength. The deeds of this gallant corps at Ypres and St. Eloi will live forever in song and story, and the names of Lt. Colonel Farquhar and other gallant leaders will not be forgotten in the future annals of the British Army.