f the new camp
at Valcartier I stood near the citadel in Quebec watching the moving
lights on the St. Lawrence far below. As I looked the flashes of a
powerful searchlight swept the river, lighting up the opposite shores
and playing upon the craft in the river. This was the first concrete
evidence I had that our country was at war; it was also a reminder
that there was even a possibility that Quebec might be attacked from
the sea.

Of the growth of that wonderful camp, of our experiences there, of the
training and equipping of 33,000 men, of the struggles for position,
and of the numerous disappointments and bitternesses because all could
not go, I will not here attempt to speak. There was a great deal to do
and to learn and the time passed quickly. It had been decided that I
was to accompany the contingent as adviser in sanitation and in charge
of the water supply, and, despite all delays and disappointments, the
day did finally come when we drove in to Quebec to board our steamer
for England.

At midnight, the Franconia slipped slowly and silently away from the
dock. Only three were there to bid us farewell--a man and two
women,--and though they sang with great enthusiasm, "It's a Long, Long
Way to Tipperary," the effect was melancholy. Imperceptibly the pier
and the lights of the city receded and we steamed on down the mighty
St. Lawrence to our trysting place on the sea. The second morning
afterwards we woke to find ourselves riding quietly at anchor in the
sunny harbour of Gaspe, with all the other transports anchored about
us, together with four long grey gunboats,--our escort upon the road
to our great adventure.

The brilliant afternoon sun of a typical Canadian Autumn day shone
down upon Gaspe basin. Idly we lounged about the decks, gazing at the
shores with their little white fishermen's cottages, or at the thirty
odd troopships, and the four grey gunboats which studded the harbour.
The surface of the water was rippled by a light breeze and all was
quiet and peaceful in the shelter of that sunny haven. Even the gulls,
gorged with the waste food from the ships, swam lazily about or
flapped idly hither and thither.

My gaze had fixed itself upon the nearest of the lean, grey gunboats.
As I watched, the sleeping greyhound seemed to move; in another moment
the seeming illusion gave way to certainty--it _was_ moving; gradually
its pace accelerated and it slipped quietly out toward the open sea. A
second gunbo