We got together for all kinds of athletic fun--wrestling, potato and wheel-barrow races, running races, but principally the sport was boxing. Then there were serious-minded men who liked the sports all right, but organized a sort of debating society. There were no lack of interesting principals for this organization. There were professors from the Australian universities, Captain Knyvett for example, who had been the professor of psychology at the University of Brisbane, and there were scores of his class. The debating club discussed everything from Sanskrit to how to fry an egg or bayonet a Boche. One of two great excitements of our journey was furnished by “Bushy Bill,” a reckless larrikin of Melbourne. Bushy declared one evening a few minutes after dark that he could do something that would stop the whole fleet. We asked him what his little notion might be, but he declined to tell. He said, however, that he was willing to wager a pound that he could succeed in his threat. Somebody took him up and the instant he did so “Bushy Bill” put up his pound note and also pressed into the hand of a friend all other money and valuables that he had in his pockets and without another word, hopped over the taffrail and into the sea. Naturally the cry went up immediately of “Man overboard!” Noisy signals were exchanged between ships of the fleet, searchlights began to play widely in all directions, and afterward we learned that in every other ship of the fleet, where like ourselves everybody was on tenterhooks in expectancy of a raider’s attack, the _Emden_ possibly, orders were swiftly signaled for the ships to deploy. The _Themistocles_ stopped and backed. Meanwhile, two soldiers had gone over the side for the rescue of “Bill,” believed to have been suddenly stricken with insanity. Following the two men who plowed through the waves to his rescue, a boat was lowered. Bill was all laughter and excitement when he was hauled aboard, enthusiastically claiming to have won his bet, which was promptly paid, but then Bill did some prompt paying. This was in the way of entering on a six-months’ sentence in the brig, which held him for weeks also in the guard house when our division got to Egypt. Only the next day came a more thrilling event. This was when our wireless told us that the depredations of the vicious raider, the _Emden_, had been brought at Cocos Island to a swift end by the _Sydney_. Of course, there was tremendous rejoicing. On all the boats, at all the “parades” (the assembling of the soldiers for afternoon drill), the news of the sinking of the _Emden_ by the _Sydney_ was “read out.” Commanders made no effort to stifle the cheers that arose. One of the boys composed a parody on “Tipperary” to celebrate the event, which we sang with greatest vim and vigor all the way to Gallipoli and afterward. It was worded this way: