Forty-two hundred of us sailed for England on the _Empress of Britain_, sister ship to the _Empress of Ireland_, which was sunk in the St. Lawrence River. The steamer was, of course, very crowded and uncomfortable, and the eight-day trip across was most unpleasant. We had tripe to eat until we were sick of the sight of it. A sergeant reported one morning, “eight men and twenty-two breakfasts, absent.” There were two other troop ships in our convoy, the _Baltic_ and the _Metagama_. A British cruiser escorted us until we were four hundred miles off the coast of Ireland; then each ship picked up a destroyer which had come out to meet her. At that time, a notice was posted in the purser’s office informing us that we were in the war zone, and that the ship would not stop for anything, even for a man overboard. That day a soldier fell off the _Metagama_ with seven hundred dollars in his pocket, and the ship never even hesitated. They left him where he had no chance in the world to spend his money. Through my training in the V. M. I., I was able to read semaphore signals, and I caught the message from the destroyer which escorted us. It read: “Each ship for herself now. Make a break!” We beat the other steamers of our convoy eight hours in getting to the dock in Liverpool, and, according to what seemed to be the regular system of our operations at that time, we were the last to disembark. The majority of our fellows had never been in England before, and they looked on our travels at that time as a fine lark. Everybody cheered and laughed when they dusted off one of those little toy trains and brought it up to take us away in it. After we were aboard of it, we proceeded at the dizzy rate of about four miles an hour, and our regular company humorist--no company is complete without one--suggested that they were afraid, if they went any faster, they might run off of the island before they could stop. We were taken to Bramshott camp, in Hampshire, twelve miles from the Aldershott School of Command. The next day we were given “King’s leave”--eight days with free transportation anywhere in the British Isles. It is the invariable custom to give this sort of leave to all colonial troops immediately upon their arrival in England. However, in our case, Ireland was barred. Just at that time, Ireland was no place for a newly arrived Canadian looking for sport. Our men followed the ordinary rule of soldiers on leave. About seventy-five per cent. of them wired in for extensions and more money. About seventy-four per cent. received peremptorily unfavorable replies. The excuses and explanations which came in kept our officers interested and amused for some days. One man--who got leave--sent in a telegram which is now framed and hung on the wall of a certain battalion orderley’s room. He telegraphed: “No one dead. No one ill. Got plenty of money. Just having a good time. Please grant extension.”