The Auckland Regiment
II. The Voyage
II. The Voyage
"Wandering spirits seeking lands unknown,
Such were our fathers, stout hearts unafraid.
Have we been faithless leaving homes they made
With their life's blood cementing every stone?
Nay, …
Their restless spirit bade
Us fight with those whose homeland was their own."
On the evening of September 22nd, the men carrying the greater part of their baggage, marched down to the boat, and were allotted their quarters. Next day an immense crowd assembled in the Domain to farewell the Auckland Battalion and the details who had been with them in the Epsom camp. The men marched through a great throng to the wharf. Merry raillery, handshakes, kisses, and tears, and then the people were shut off by the wharf gates. There was little delay, and just as the transport pulled away the gates were opened, and the crowd came running down to wave a last farewell. North Head was passed, Rangitoto, Tiri, the waters of the Hauraki Gulf, and then the vessel turned northward. About midnight she was in the vicinity of Cape Brett. All was running smoothly when suddenly there was a startled exclamation: "Bli' me, Bill, the blanky moon's turning round!" Whatever might be the moon's intention, there was no doubt that the Waimana was turning. To the complete and utter surprise of every man awake, she went round in a circle and headed south. At dawn she was off Rangitoto, and the sound sleepers, upon waking and seeing the familiar outline, rubbed their eyes in amazement.
"What have you come back for?" signalled Fort Cautley.
"It was too dark outside," wagged back a signaller, "so we have come back for the Torch,"
As a matter of fact, they had returned because the Pyramus, scouting well ahead, had come into contact with the German Pacific Fleet.
For the next fortnight the Battalion lived on board the boat. The short experience at sea had shown up several defects in the internal arrangements, which were rectified. The men landed every day for training, and, of course, had opportunities of saying good-byes all over again.
On October 11th, the Waimana left once more—this time for Wellington—where the whole of the Expeditionary Force assembled.
At dawn, October 16th, 1914, the escorting warships moved out, with the transports following in file. Hobart was the first port of call, and here everyone was landed for a route march, which developed into a very fine affair. Varying opinions were expressed about the beauty of the town, but there was no doubt about the kindness of the people, or the heartiness of their welcome. They thronged round the marching men, walking beside them, breaking into the ranks, and pressing on everyone gifts of the famous Tasmanian apples, cigarettes, and bunches of flowers. It was the greatest burst of spontaneous welcome the New Zealanders ever received, with the exception, perhaps, of the march through Verviers, in liberated Belgium.
At Albany, the A.I.F. greeted the N.Z.E.F. with much cheering, and then on November 1st the whole great fleet put to sea. The columns of ships covered many miles, and from the deck of the Waimana, bringing up the rear, the foremost boat could be located only by the streamer of smoke above the horizon. In the Indian Ocean the weather soon became unbearably hot, and all sorts of wonderful costumes made their appearance. There was little to do but swelter. The sea was a sea of glass, beautifully calm, and of the deepest, most lovely blue imaginable. There was no swell, and the ship moved surely and steadily, with just a fleck of white foam ahead, and the long wake behind. The chief occupation of all hands was to invent and circulate rumours. News consisted of scanty scraps of wireless. With nothing to do all day except lounge round the decks, eat, sleep, smoke, and yarn, it was the most natural thing in the world for the intellectuals to "shatter the sorry schemes of things entire, and build anew nearer to the heart's desire." The sea was filled with German cruisers, great fights were won and lost. Impossible dishes were served up for next day's dinner. Notable personages of the Regiment had their careers discussed in detail, and would probably have been somewhat alarmed to have got "the full strength" of their hectic past. The destination of the fleet was a question of perennial interest. India and garrison duty, Egypt, France, England and South Africa all had stout champions and a well-reasoned case. South Africa had, for a while, a very great hold on popular imagination, so great a hold, indeed, that Major Dawson was able to work a very fine hoax. A notice appeared that "A mobile column, commanded by Major Dawson, will be landed at Durban for operations against the rebels in South Africa. Basuto ponies will be provided." Then followed a list of certain officers of the force, and an invitation for volunteers to apply. There was a rush to join, and the orderly room was bombarded with queries. The conquest and pacification of South Africa, however, was for other hands.
A typhoid inoculation at this time was by no means a rumour. It gave the Medical Staff a busy day, and the troops a new topic of conversation. Legalists discovered that this inoculation, being a surgical operation, could not be performed without the consent of the individual. Military authority, apparently, could not be enforced on this point, and pressure only could be brought to bear. The great mass of commonsense people submitted without a murmur, but a few cranks held out, and were ultimately sent back to New Zealand.
The days passed happily enough, without any great event. Lights were never shown, and the closest watch was kept. The Waimana was running a double risk—from the enemy and from the ship in line ahead. The Ruapehu was a somewhat erratic performer, and was always liable to indulge in little freaks of wayward fancy, whenever her steering gear took a spell off.
At 6.30 on the morning of the 9th, the flagship Mel bourne was signalling to the Sydney, which steered away towards Cocos Island. The Ibuki tore round the head of the convoy, flags flying, smoke belching from her funnels, and took up station on the exposed flank. There was something doing all right, and excitement rose high. At 9.30 news came that the action had commenced. Two hours later the Colonel came out with a message form: "Emden beached and done for." At once the ship was transformed into a raving, cheering crowd of excitables. For the next few days an emanation of joy hung over the fleet.
Crossing the line the fun was fast and furious. Major Dawson represented His Most Marine Highness, while Lieut. Woolley was the brazen hussy, his bouncing bride. Due notice was given of the Royal visit, and all arangements made. A big canvas bath was set up, and to see that no unauthorised duckings took place before the appointed time. Sergt.-Major King, the Provost-Sergeant, personally mounted guard. He, in all his glory, was too much of a temptation, and certain of the onlookers of the baser sort tipped him "up-and-over." In he went, authority, dignity, uniform and all, with a fine splash. The Padre, the Rev. Clarkson, was taking photos of the gay scene. His spotless raiment was suddenly spoilt by a wellaimed bucket of greasy water. History records that he immediately, in no very muffled tones, swore a good loud swear. Majors, captains, rank and file, all went the same way. Conscientious objectors were summarily dealt with. The bandmaster took refuge in his cabin, and locked the door. This was promptly screwed off its hinges; but he repelled the attackers with his drawn sword. It was a clear case for a barrage, and he was finally overwhelmed by a concentration of three fire-hoses. By this time pandemonium had broken loose, and for two hours a good-natured but very boisterous mob held sway. "McAndrew's Put-Away-Brigade" were very prominent. The cooks kept up a very heavy fire of water on all passers-by. It was a wild day, and everyone at the close was tired and happy.
Colombo was reached, and a little later, the victorious Sydney steamed in through the breakwater, her decks covered with wounded Germans. There was no cheering, for fear of "hurting the feelings of the captive enemy." This was perhaps straining the idea of chivalry to a beaten foe rather far; yet the crew of the Emden had fought bravely, and had done their duty to the uttermost.
It seemed for a while that very few would be allowed on shore, but Colonel Plugge very dexterously managed to misunderstand the orders issued, with the result that everyone went off. Despite thick woollen clothes and a sweltering sun, the few hours on shore made a splendid break. For the majority, it was their first introduction to the wonders of the Magic East. No sooner were the men ashore than they were assailed by a crowd of long-robed skirmishers: "Flowers, master! Cigarettes, master! Master, look here! Rickshaw, master!" Driven off once, they returned with the pertinacity of hungry flies. Everyone was out to push his wares with the rich Colonials, and many were successful beyond their hopes. It was the only chance of sending back Christmas presents to the home folks. Silks, embroidery, beads, curios, ivory elephants, postcards, and odds and ends of all sorts had a great sale. Everyone had a most interesting wander round—past splendid club-houses, green fields and fine parks, through Buddhist temples and the bizarre native quarters. Last, but not least, often first and foremost, the best hotels were thronged with a multitude seeking for the luxury of a civilised dinner.
Colombo, with all its tropical beauty, its quaint picturesque people, its gorgeous sunsets, and its indescribable charm, was away down behind the horizon, and the Waimana was ploughing steadily across the Arabian Sea. Past the barren sunscorched rock of Aden, through the Red Sea, past the Twelve Apostles, leaving Mecca on the one hand and Suakim on the other, until Sinai loomed up in the distance, and passing up the Gulf, the transports came to Suez and cast anchor. All doubts as to destination were quickly satisfied. The N.Z.E.F. was to disembark at Alexandria, and to go into camp outside Cairo, where the training would be completed.
Turks had been reported in the vicinity of the Canal, so the bridge was fortified with flour-bags, and machine-guns were mounted. All on board were hoping that the enemy would be polite, and put himself up as a target. However, he was otherwise engaged, and the Battalion's thirst for blood was perforce unassuaged. It was an interesting trip, with the gleaming yellow desert stretching away as far as the eye could see, the blue waters of Lake Timsah, and the posts of Indian troops guarding the strip of water, who cheered shrilly as the boats passed. One incident occurred at Port Said that will not readily be forgotten, A French man-of-war, the Henri IV, lying at anchor, was cheered by the passing troopships. The Frenchmen lined up on deck and sang the "Marseillaise" with a thrill of passion and an abandonment which made a deep impression. New Zealanders were just commencing to feel the first stirring of the profound realisation of nationality which was to be theirs, as afterwards they marched from one field of glory to another; and this spontaneous outburst of French sentiment moved all hearts.