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The Main Body Sails.

Whoever looked to the heavens for an omen in the early morning of October 16th, when the cruisers and convoy one by one put out to sea, must have been well content with what they read; for the sky was cloudless, and only the soft early morning mists obscured the first rays of the sun. Everyone was on deck by reveille, to watch the two big cruisers plough their way out through the Heads, followed by the convoy, led in two divisions by the Psyche and the Philomel. There was no demonstration and little noise; but the soldiers turned their eyes again and again to take another glimpse of the city before it disappeared from view, or to look at the little knots of people who had gathered on the heights to bid them a silent farewell. Very soon the last boat had cleared the Heads, and the convoy, gathering speed, proceeded through the Straits and out into the open sea. Led by the Minotaur, far in advance, the transports sailed in two parallel "divisions," with the Ibouki half a dozen miles off on the starboard side and the Psyche a similar distance away on the port side. The Philomel brought up the rear some three or four miles astern. This first day came in companionship with perfect weather, and the troops revelled in the warmth of the sunshine and the novelty, for most of them, of life at sea; but on the following day the weather freshened. The glamour of blue skies and placid seas was gone, and the majority of the voyagers found that getting their sea-legs was a rather painful ordeal. The great majority of the men were sea-sick, and some of the seasoned travellers were obliged to admit the force of example. The horses were well looked after during this period, as the men who still kept their legs were always willing to do more than their share. Within a couple of days' sail of Hobart the breeze fell away, and, cheered again by the bright sun, the afflicted made a rapid recovery. The prospect of getting ashore and stretching their legs was hailed by all ranks with the utmost enthusiasm. The coast of Tasmania was sighted on the morning of October 21st, and before noon the transports were safely in the harbour.

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The troops from five of the ships were taken for a route march after lunch, and the remainder went ashore the following morning. The weather was fairly warm, and marching was hot work after a week in cramped quarters at sea; but the discomfort was forgotten in the delight of getting ashore again. The unexpected arrival of the convoy had taken the townspeople by surprise, yet they mustered in great numbers and lined the streets to watch the marching columns go by, cheering the men on their way with gifts of fruit and flowers. Twenty-four hours after its arrival, the convoy left Hobart for Albany, where the New Zealand ships were to join those of the Australian Expeditionary Force. The wharves were crowded as the transports slowly backed out to the accompaniment of the music of the regimental bands and the mingled cheers of soldiers and civilians. During the night a heavy fog enveloped the fleet, which for some hours was obliged to feel its way slowly forward at reduced speed, amidst a tumult of sound from screeching syrens. A heavy swell made matters seem more uncomfortable, but by 7 a.m. the fog had lifted, and normal speed was resumed. There had been gloomy forebodings of rough weather in the Australian Bight, but the swell soon subsided, and pleasant conditions again prevailed.

Early on Monday morning, October 25th, a signal went round the fleet that a private of the New Zealand Medical Corps had died the previous night on board the Ruapehu; and the intelligence of this first death came almost as a shock to men who had thought only for that side of war that promised excitement and adventure, that stirs the blood and fires the imagination, and little for that other side on which lay its tragedy and suffering and death. In the afternoon an impressive burial service was held. At 3 p.m. the Ruapehu moved up to the centre of the two divisions, and the troops on every transport were paraded facing inwards. Five minutes later all engines were stopped, and the convoy rode motionless on the water while a brief funeral service was held on every ship, and the body was committed to the deep. The customary volleys were fired on the Ruapehu, and the Last Post sounded; the Ruapehu hauled her ensign close up, and the convoy page 10proceded on its way. The service was very brief, but the circumstances invested it with an impressiveness that was not lost on the thousands who paid their tribute of respect to the dead.

Albany was reached on Wednesday, October 27th. The head of the long line of transports entered the outer harbour about 7 a.m., and saw disposed about the broad waters of King George's Sound the transports of the Australian Expeditionary Force, ranging in size from the fourteen thousand ton Euripides down to ocean tramps of a third her tonnage. Australians and New Zealanders having come within hail greeted each other with cheers and coo-ees on the one hand and fantastic Maori war-cries on the other. During the four days the fleet remained in the Sound the majority of the New Zealand transports stayed at anchor, but some went alongside and advantage was taken of the opportunity to give the troops a march ashore. The day before the voyage was resumed Major-General Godley paid a visit to all the New Zealand transports.

At daylight on Sunday, November 1st, the Minotaur led the way out to the open sea, followed in slow procession by the transports, their decks thronged with troops, who watched in silence the stately setting out of the great Armada. By the time the last of the New Zealand transports had cleared the heads the long line extended almost as far as the eye could reach. The escort now consisted of the Minotaur in the lead, the Ibouki, and the two Australian cruisers, Sydney and Melbourne. Once clear of the land, the Australian transports formed into three parallel divisions spaced a mile apart, each transport keeping an interval of 800 yards from that in front. The New Zealand ships, still in two divisions, steamed in rear. The strictest orders were issued regarding the danger of showing lights at night; beyond necessary navigation lights ships were to be absolutely darkened; and as a further precaution no rubbish was to be thrown overboard that would float and leave behind a tell-tale trail, but was to be consigned to the stokehold or galley fires. The faulty station-keeping of some transports was a matter of much concern to the Minotaur, which frequently sent out messages pointing out the danger page 11to which the whole convoy was exposed by the straggling and consequently broken formation which took place at night. These criticisms, however, did not apply to the New Zealand transports, which were complimented on their orderliness. The voyagers had by now become thoroughly accustomed to the sea, and had settled down to the daily routine, in which, for the artillerymen, stable duties formed a very important part. A certain amount of war news was received by wireless occasionally, and a few days out from Albany news was received of England's declaration of war on Turkey, an event which was destined to have incalculable consequences for every member of the Force.

A week after leaving Albany the Minotaur said good-bye to the convoy, and her place as leader was taken by the Melbourne. Before leaving, the Minotaur sent the following farewell message to the New Zealand transports:—"I am ordered on another service; wish you the very best success when you land in France. Give the Germans a good shake up. It has been a great pleasure to escort such a well disciplined force and convoy. Good-bye." Later in the day all transports were enjoined to take the strictest precautions with regard to lights during the night as the Cocos Islands would be passed before dawn. The night passed uneventfully, but in the morning, shortly after six o'clock, everyone was thrown into a fever of excitement, first by the significant manœuvring of some of the escorting cruisers, and then by the news that S.O.S. signals had been received from the wireless station at the Cocos Islands. The operators on most of the transports picked up these messages, which stated that a strange warship was entering the harbour. Other messages were received mixed up with a string of meaningless words, which evidently were being sent out in an attempt to "jam" the station on the island.

Meanwhile the Sydney had made off at top speed in the direction of the Islands, her place on the flank of the convoy being taken by the Melbourne, which was joined a little later by the Ibouki. The Sydney was soon hull down, and very shortly was lost to view. The convoy proceeded on its way page 12at normal speed, with the Melbourne and the Ibouki cruising well out on the quarter from which any threat to the fleet would be most likely to come.

For the next few hours the soldiers were obliged to content themselves with conjecture as to what was happening away beyond the horizon, but at 9.30 a.m. it was announced that the enemy ship had been brought to action, and shortly after 11 a.m. the wireless was busy again with the electrifying intelligence that the enemy had beached herself to prevent sinking." Even yet it was not known that it was the notorious Emden which had been brought to book at last; but the restraint was over, and the men expressed their relief after the period of anxious waiting by cheering long and vigorously. It required only the news that it actually was the Emden which had been defeated by the Sydney to complete their satisfaction and start them cheering anew. However great the pride with which the Australians viewed the honours which had fallen to their young Navy, it was fully shared by every New Zealander, and the official congratulations of the Force were duly offered to the Sydney on the results of the Australian Navy's first engagement. The Sydney had two men killed and thirteen wounded, but the list of killed and wounded on the battered Emden ran into big figures. Three days after the engagement was fought the big liner Empress of Asia passed the convoy on her way to pick up the Emden's prisoners and bring them on to Colombo.

On November 13th the New Zealand transports quickened their speed in order that they might arrive at Colombo in advance of the Australian boats, and so lessen the congestion which would be caused by the simultaneous arrival of the whole fleet. During the previous night the Line had been crossed, and so on all the transports the afternoon was devoted to the traditional ceremonies. King Neptune and his Consort came aboard, were received with fitting ceremony, and impartially exacted tribute from all of high or low degree. A few days later, on Sunday, November 15th, the transports arrived at Colombo, getting close in to land in the early morning, while the air was yet fresh and cool. As the boats crept slowly in towards the harbour and edged their way in the page 13narrow entrance they passed through swarms of small craft of every known and unknown design, all of them very insecure looking, but skilfully managed by their brown, scantily-clad occupants. The harbour itself, by no means commodious, was crowded with ocean-going steamers of every class, transports, and men-of-war.

Soon after the New Zealand transports had come to anchor in the harbour the Australian transports commenced to arrive; then came the Empress of Asia and the Sydney, fresh from her victory at the Cocos Islands. The Sydney bore little trace of her engagement, but all about her decks were rows of stretchers on which lay her own and many of the enemy wounded; and so there was no cheering or noisy welcome. As she entered the harbour and passed the transports the troops crowding the decks stood to attention in a silence that was more eloquent than cheers. The prisoners from the Emden, totalling about one hundred and forty, were divided into parties of half a dozen, and distributed over the various transports.

While the boats were being coaled and watered the troops were given shore leave, parties two hundred strong being sent ashore from each transport at a time. The men revelled in the freedom and in the opportunity of seeing something of a place and people so unlike anything to be seen in their own temperate clime. Borne along by the lean, sweating rickshaw-men, many of them explored the outskirts of the town, or drove about under the cool shade of the fine avenues that decorate the thoroughfares. The majority considered the chance of a change of diet too rare to be neglected, and in the hotels and restaurants they regaled themselves with the best that money could buy. The persistent and persuasive vendors of "precious" stones and antiquities reaped a harvest, and few there were who did not take back to the ship some small memento of their first visit to Colombo. Coaling and watering were completed by the morning of November 17th, and before noon the New Zealand transports and some of the Australian ships had moved out of the harbour, and, escorted by the Hampshire, had set out on the way to Aden.

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From Colombo to Suez was the least interesting portion of the voyage, and certainly the most trying for the horses, many of which were on the lower decks or in the holds, where the air was close and stifling. For days there was not the slightest breeze to ripple the mirror-like surface of the sea, or to temper the scorching heat of the sun. The men shed most of their clothing, and in leisure times lounged about the decks under the canvas awnings; at night they brought their blankets up on deck and slept under the stars. The days became very monotonous; interest flagged in the performances of the flying-fish; and even the sunset with its riot of glorious colour palled after a while, so that it was something of a relief when the convoy steamed into Aden in the early morning of October 25th. There was no shore leave, nor was anyone very disappointed in consequence. An arid, rocky spot shimmering in the blaze of the tropical sun, and its harbour infested with hungry sharks, it was sufficiently unattractive to make the crowded transports seem pleasant by comparison. After bringing on those Australian boats which had been last to leave Colombo, the Ibouki said farewell to the convoy, and steamed away for her home waters. From this point onwards the Hampshire was the only escort, and she led the way when the convoy, united again, left for Suez. As the convoy proceeded up the Red Sea a wireless message was received warning the whole Force to be prepared to disembark in Egypt. Most of the men had firmly believed that they were on their way to England, and would ultimately go from there to France, and they parted with their illusions regretfully, but once it had been definitely stated that the voyage would end at Egypt they were quick to realise the cogency of the reasons which probably lay behind this decision. At Suez, where the leading transports anchored for an hour or two, detailed disembarkation orders were brought out to the flagship, the Canal pilots were taken aboard, and the Maunganui led the way into the Canal. A powerful electric light was installed in the bows of each, boat so that they might feel their way along the narrow channel in the darkness.

Of the town of Suez little could be seen—a glimpse of the palm-shaded water-front, a glimmer of lights, and then the page 15boats were in the Canal with the low banks on either hand so close at times that it seemed almost possible to leap ashore from the decks. Armed guards had been posted on the deck of each transport to keep a look-out to eastward, but there was no sign or sound of an enemy. The soldiers clustered up forward and silently watched the canal-banks slip by like the unfolding of a cinematograph film; but, late at night a heavy fog enveloped everything, and the leading boats anchored till the morning in the Bitter Lake. Proceeding by day, the entrenchments and fortified posts skirting the canal, with their garrisons of English and Indian troops, provided a first impression of the seriousness attached to the Turkish threat to the precious waterway, and of the elaborate preparations being made for its defence.

The first transports to pass through the Canal reached Port Said by the evening of December 1st; others continued to arrive during the following morning, and late in the afternoon the New Zealand convoy set out on the final stage of its long journey. Definite orders as to the disembarkation at Alexandria had been issued, and there was no delay when once the boats were alongside the quays. The city was in sight at dawn, and very soon after breakfast the transports had berthed, and men and horses and stores were pouring out on to the wharves. The Force was to be encamped on the outskirts of Cairo, so there was still a train journey of almost 150 miles before its travels would for the time being be over. Once the batteries had marched their horses down the big ramps, and slung their guns and stores up from the holds, they had to set to and pack them into the long troop trains which were in waiting to carry them off to their new home on the edge of the great desert.