steamed out, S.S.  Duchess of Argyle leading.  The Captain of the ship asked us to post a signaller to read any signals, Serjt.  Diggle was told to keep a look out and assist the official signaller, a sort of nondescript Swede or other neutral, like the rest of the crew.  We soon sighted some war vessel, and asked if they had any orders, the reply being, according to Serjt.  Diggle, “No go”—­according to the Swede, “No no.”  The Captain preferred to believe the latter, and as there were no orders continued his course, though we could see the remainder of our little fleet turn round and sail back.  The weather was appalling, the sea very rough, and long before we had reached half way we were all very ill.  This was not surprising, as our transport was built for pleasure work on the Clyde, and, though fast, was never intended to face a Channel storm.  Each time a wave crashed into the ship’s side we imagined we had been torpedoed; in fact, it was one long night of concentrated misery.

We reached Le Havre in the early hours of the morning, and disembarked, feeling, and probably looking, very bedraggled.  From the quay we crawled up a long and terribly steep hill to the rest camp—­some lines of tents in a muddy field.  Here, while we waited 24 hours for our left half Battalion, of whom we had no news, we were joined by our first interpreter, M. Furby.  M. Furby was very anxious to please, but unfortunately failed to realise the terrible majesty of the Adjutant, a fact which caused his almost immediate relegation to the Q.M.  Stores, where he always procured the best billets for Capt.  Worley and himself.  On the morning of the 28th we received an issue of sheepskin coats and extra socks, the latter a present from H.M. the Queen, and after dinners moved down to the Railway Station, where we found Major Martin and the left half.  Their experiences in the Channel had been worse than ours.  Most of them, wishing to sleep, had started to do so before the ship left Southampton on the 26th; they were almost all ill during the night, so were glad to find a harbour wall outside their port-holes the following morning, and at once went on deck “to look at France”—­only to find they were back in Southampton.  They stayed there all day, and eventually crossed the next night, arriving on the 28th, feeling as bad as we did, and having had all the horrors of two voyages.

We were kept waiting many hours on the platform, while the French Railway staff gradually built an enormous train, composed of those wonderful wagons labelled “HOMMES 36-40, CHEVAUX en long 8,” which we now saw for the first time.  Hot in summer, cold in winter, always very hard and smelly, and full of refuse, they none the less answered their purpose, and a French troop train undoubtedly carries the maximum number of men in the minimum of accommodation.  During this long wait we should all have starved had it not been for the kindness of an English lady, Mrs. Sidney Pitt, who, with other English ladies, served