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 depôt, 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."