g of
the target registers and fire control would have necessitated officers
trained better in musketry, and such officers were not available, and
had the latest pattern ammunition in clips been obtainable instead of
the old square-toed bullet wrapped in paper packages, more practice in
rapid fire--the English Army's Mad Minute--could have been had.

But Sam Hughes had to work with the material at hand, and from an army
of men who had, in the majority, never fired a service rifle in their
lives, he formed an army that he described as being "the finest shooting
army in the world."

Drill was not by any means neglected, and there were few idle hours in
camp, even moonlight nights being eagerly seized upon by battalion
commanders for extra work.

Daily fresh drafts from battalions arrived and were formed into new
composite battalions, and daily the proportion of men in old civilian
clothing grew less.

Two reviews were held, after one of which the Honourable Sam had many
things to say to the officers. He told them that every officer, no
matter what political gender, would have an equal chance in the great
struggle for a place on the contingent, for instead of the one thousand
officers asked for some fifteen hundred officers were actually in camp.

Sam spake yet other homilies to the officers, and his address, delivered
from a mound on which he and his staff were drawn up, was irreverently
referred to around camp as the "Sermon on the Mount." A story is also
told that one of his aides suggested that all could not hear him.
"That's all right," he is credited with replying; "they can all see me!"

However, his words had a beneficial effect on all who heard them, and
when two weeks later another review was held and His Royal Highness the
Duke of Connaught inspected the contingent it was announced that the
First Canadian Division was ready to proceed over seas.

Begbie Lyte and other signalling officers were summoned over to
headquarters one day and received mysterious instructions from an
officer in naval uniform.

Two days later, on the 22nd of September, the ---- Battalion embarked on
a troopship, and after a wild evening's pleasure at the Chateau
Frontenac the writer, Begbie Lyte, and some others sought the narrow
confines of the ship. The rhythmic throb of the propeller woke them some
hours later as the ship moved out to anchor in mid stream.

CHAPTER V

THE CONVOY

For two days we lay at anchor opposi