It was on the 18th November that the combined Australian and New Zealand Expeditionary Forces set out from Albany, Western Australia, for the front. They filled thirty-six transports that steamed out of King George's Sound in four stately columns, with the Orverto as flagship. All on the wharves and round about them a dense, innumerable throng stood to watch the departure–stood and watched it in a strangely impressive silence. Not until the last ship had its living freight aboard and the tug was towing it out to take its place in the great armada did the crowd seem to catch its heart up suddenly and shatter the almost unbearable stillness with volley after volley of thunderous cheers. And the men on the ships, clustering along the sides, or climbing the rails, waved their hands and hats and sent back an answering salvo that only dwindled and altogether ceased when the shore had receded so far that the crowds that were watching the ships till they had passed from sight could barely be distinguished. But the emotions such a parting stirred were too painful, too harrowing, and "There should be no farewells like that," said one of the troopers when it was over.
The destination of the troopships was unknown, except to the chief officers; some had an idea that they were going to England, some that they were making direct for France and the trenches in Flanders, but all knew before the earlier half of their fortnight's voyage was done that they were to land, in the first place, at Alexandria. None of them cared particularly where it was, so long as they were brought, without too much delay, within reach of the enemy.
The navies of the Empire made a safe pathway over the thousands of miles of sea, and the journey was as uneventfully peaceful as if there had been no war in progress. It might even have been a little monotonous if the men had not been so high-spirited and so fertile in inventing amusements when they were not kept well occupied with drilling and physical exercises. At six in the morning réveillé was sounded, and by the time the bugle pealed for "lights out," at nine at night, everybody was comfortably tired and ready enough to sleep. During the day, between intervals of drilling, signalling practice, and general exercise, there were rifle practice, wrestling, jiu-jitsu, racing, jumping matches, to improve the fitness of the troops in all directions; and from time to time, in quiet corners about the deck, small groups would gather to listen while an officer read descriptions of past battles and expounded military tactics; and on the vessels that carried the cavalry there was a good deal of extra work to do in exercising and looking after the horses. Every evening the band played, and after it had finished the men got up free-and-easy sing-songs among themselves. But before 10 o'clock the ships were all in darkness and no sounds were to be heard except the surge and splash of the waters and perhaps a busy rattle of typewriters from the cabins of the headquarters staff. The genial spirit of comradeship between officers and men helped to make the wheels of the whole organisation run smoothly as well as effectively; the most perfect discipline was maintained without anything of that Prussian arrogance in the higher commands which passes for military capacity; for your Australasian private is an especially free man, and is rightly conscious of no inferiority to his officers, but has the good sense to recognise that they are appointed to lead him and that as a matter of simplest common sense he must render them a strict and willing obedience whilst he is on duty. And the officers are as democratic as their men and wear their dignity easily, and as an official not as a personal superiority. All which naturally tends to promote general harmony and good feeling, and they tell me that this was the prevailing atmosphere on every one of the transports, this and an unquenchable gaiety and cheerfulness that made the long voyage as jolly as if it had been a holiday outing instead of the grim, determined business that it really was.
On the last day of November the transports entered the Red Sea and had glimpses of Turkish territory on the starboard bow. They left the Gulf of Suez behind, and as they were passing through the Canal had their first welcome from some of the men who were to be their comrades in the battles that lay before them. There was a camp of Indian troops a little above Suez, and, says a Melbourne Age correspondent who was on one of the transports, "we saw a squad of them come running over the sand, jumping over trenches, while others came pouring out from behind fortifications down to the banks of the Canal, where they cheered in answer to the cheers of the 5th Battalion on the flagship."
About here, or when they sighted Port Said, the Australasians carefully oiled their boots, for the first time since they left Albany, and began to make ready for the end of the journey and going ashore; and by the 3rd December they had emerged into the Mediterranean and landed with all their stores and equipment at Alexandria.
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| CHRISTMAS |
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THE LAST SERVICE ON BOARD THE "LONDON" FOR THE AUSTRALIANS.