At that hour we
quietly slipped our anchor and glided out of the harbor. We all thought we
would be in France before midnight. The trip across the Channel in ordinary
times is not often more than two and a half hours. We had no bunks allotted
to us, and didn't think that any would be needed. We all lay around in any
old place, and in any old attitude. I, for one, devoted most of the time
during that evening to learning the art of putting my equipment together.
The majority of the boys were at the old familiar game, poker.
We had not been on this transport very long when we had our first
introduction to bully beef and biscuits. Bully beef is known to civilians
the world over as corned beef, and to the new Sammy as "red horse." But
even bully beef and biscuits aren't so bad, and our thoughts were not so
much on what we were getting to eat as on when we were getting to France.
As the hours went by we more and more eagerly craned our necks over the
deck rails, trying to pierce the darkness of the deep for one flash of
light that might mean France hard ahead. But nothing happened, and one
after another the watchers dropped off to sleep.
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