Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.

Alfred Tennyson, ‘Crossing the Bar’

To war with The Banjo

BANJO PATERSON

Leaving Sydney, 30 October 1899

The decks of the SS Kent have presented a stirring scene since her removal from the Quay on Saturday last. Owing to the hurried preparations a lot of horses had to be taken on board loose, and during yesterday stalls were erected for them. On the trip down the harbour these animals skated about on the slippery decks in imminent danger of falling, and the men had to be at their heads all the way down.

Once at anchor they settled down competently. The men have accommodated themselves to their new surroundings with wonderful adaptability. Even on the first night on board there was not the slightest confusion nor discomfort, and yesterday all hands turned up as jolly as sand boys.

All day long yesterday there was a hurry to and fro of carpenters and mechanics fixing up the stalls, and the vessel’s hands making all shipshape; and through it all the troops went through their daily duties without a hitch. The loading of the horses was carried out with great skill owing to the discipline and smartness of the permanent artillery officers, who all worked loyally to expedite the departure of their more lucky comrades for the scene of action.

The Premier and Gen. French, and many other officers, visited the ship during the afternoon and were accorded a great reception, the troops manning the riggings and cheering lustily.

By the way, it is extraordinary how nimble the bush-bred men are in the rigging of the ship, though they do call it ‘upstairs’ occasionally.

The agents for the ship have slaved day and night to get her away and it was intended that she should leave at midnight. The prospect of facing a heavy sea in the dark with a load of ringing horses (who need time to get their sea legs just as much as a man) is not reassuring. Still, it has all gone right so far, and there is no reason to postpone the departure.

During the day we have been cheered and cheered again by all sorts of vessels, the most inspiring cheers coming from a steamer load of news boys, who made the harbour echo with their cheering. The troops were more touched by the send-off given by these youngsters than any other display.

The men are all well, and the horses are all well except for one animal, which is under the care of that Veterinary Surgeon Lieutenant Melhuish. We only hope things will be as well by that time you may hear from us again. And so we start for blue water as willing a lot of soldiers as ever left any country. By that time we come back the South African question must be settled one way or the other. Whether we have any share in that settling is in the hands of Providence.

Daily routine

Our day commences at six o’clock; when the trumpeters are hustled out of their bunks and blinking sleepily, they tramp up to the deck and blow the reveille. Our trumpeters were by no means champions at first and every day they are taken to the extreme end of the ship for instruction, where they bray away to their hearts’ content, and they are rapidly improving.

At the sound of the reveille the troops come gaping and stretching up from their quarters. The hose is played across the deck and all fans are supposed to go under it daily, but with a lot of influenza on board, the rule is not strictly enforced. At 6:30 the men are dressed and ready for work and the bugle goes for ‘stables’. All fans set briskly to work taking it down the rails between the horses, sweeping out the stalls, clearing up the deck, and throwing the litter overboard.

The forage is got up from below and apportioned out, and carried to the tubs where it is mixed. As the men go past with their bundles of forage on their backs the horses lean out of the stalls and grab at the bags with their teeth. As feed time gets near and the feed is mixed into huge pubs, the horses keep up a constant volley of applause, pawing at the floor with their front feet and taking their feed boxes in their teeth and rattling them.

The feed boxes are hung at the rail in front of them, and if a horse picks up the box in his teeth and lets it drop again it makes a great rattle, and they learn this trick very soon. Also they have a marvellous faculty for estimating time. They know the time for feed as well as the men. At any other time a man can walk up and down the row of stalls without attracting any attention; but at feed time every head is thrust out, all sorts of clutches are made at clothing, and a regular pandemonium is started by the animals trampling the floor, rattling their boxes, and biting each other.

After breakfast comes the first parade, and it really is wonderful to see the eagerness with which the backward men are trying to learn their work. All sorts of parades are going on at once all over the ship and are as keenly done as if under the eye of a general. Major Lee and Col. Williams have a steady morning’s work inspecting and checking stores, inspecting kits, dealing with defaulters and generally managing the economy of the expedition.

Major Fiaschi has charge of the sick, and, as we have an epidemic of influenza on board, there are always four or five men with lung or throat troubles that require watching. At any spare moment that the medical men have they read up surgery, practice flag signalling, or, when a horse dies, they practice sutures and operations on his interior under the tuition of Major Fiaschi.

After parades and ship inspection there are more stables, and horses are fed. Fifteen men are detailed each day as pickets. They are divided into three watches of five men each. The first five have four hours watch, then they are relieved by the second five for four hours and they are relieved by the third five. Then the first lot come on again and so on until 24 hours is completed. These men have to keep constant supervision over the horses; but all hands turn out to clean stables and feed horses.

After lunch we seize a half-hour in which the lecture to officers is delivered, either on military law, outpost duty, cavalry tactics or surgical treatment. Then comes another parade, which may take the form of cleaning and drying troops quarters and ventilating bedding or volley firing over the stern, or revolver practice at bottles in the water. This takes us to tea and after tea the concertinas are got out and the men sit in hatchway and sing.

Such is our daily routine and through it all the Kent is plugging away steadily over the blue waters. At times the management of the horses is extremely difficult. Some of the animals were stalled on a hatchway three feet above the deck and looked down on all the horses stabled on the level deck below them. On one occasion a ferocious animal had all the other horses on the hatch in a state of ferment, trampling on the floor, plunging backwards and forwards, rushing against the bar in front of them and generally proposing to wreck the whole outfit. The fittings creaked and crackled, and if these had carried away, the horses on the hatch would have plunged in among the others on the deck and carried the lot overboard. They knocked out a long bar that was nailed on the floor as a foot grip and plunged and kicked at it. But willing hands invariably restored order.

Crossing the Bight

Crossing to Albany we encountered very heavy weather and lost one horse. We met a very heavy sea and if the vessel had been driven along at full speed the decks would have been swept. As it was, Captain Priske reduced to two knots an hour and for hours we just kept steerage way on. Only one horse succumbed, but many of the others were so weary and shaken with the wind, cold and wet that they were not fit to stand much of a strain, and there was still at least an 18-day journey before us.

Some excitement was caused after our departure by the discovery of a stowaway under the soldiers’ bunks. He was a youth of about fourteen, by trade a confectioner’s apprentice, and according to his story had stowed away to get a passage to join his mother in Africa. The stowaway was hauled before the captain and his fate decided on. The captain was for putting him ashore at Albany, but more humane counsels prevailed. In the long run a subscription list was got up for him and he is to be taken to the war. He has apparently been on a ship before, and is at present quite at home peeling potatoes and doing generally useful work.

A lot of the bush-bred soldiers became very seasick, but none of the officers suffered and the vessel behaved with exemplary steadiness.

None of our men were allowed ashore at Albany. In fact all through the voyage they have been kept under very strict discipline and made to work hard. The result is that there were no complaints at all except that the shipboard tea was not to the liking of some of the men who had never been to sea before. They were used to Billy tea and the ship tea didn’t seem to give them any taste.

Across the Indian Ocean

Leaving Albany the pilot took the Kent through the channel very slowly, while the troops bound for the war all stood on the deck watching and listening to the leadsmen’s cry. Slowly the vessel slipped through and, at last, with a sigh of relief, we dropped the pilot and were away at full speed into the open sea. Leaving the lights of Albany blazing behind us under a faint moonlight, we settled down for the long 20 days steaming across to Africa.

Luckily it was a fine calm day when we worked our way round the dreaded Leeuwin, The Cape of Storms, but still there was a long rolling swell on and now and again the Kent rolled her gunwales down to it, while the horses slipped and slid backwards and forwards in their stalls. At one moment they were sliding downwards with their fore feet braced in front of them, and the next moment they swung back onto their haunches and had much to do to avoid sitting on their tails; and this is one of the steadiest sea boats that ever floated.

About sundown we saw the last of Australia for some time and headed away across the open sea, under a glorious moonlight night.

We had a taste of severe weather during the voyage. Rain all day long fell. Decks were wet and steaming, wet fodder lying about, horses with their heads hanging down and the water running off their ears. Men in greatcoats dodging about among them here and there disconsolately. Parades were held below decks and officers practised signalling or read medical works.

On other days the Kent kept plugging away steadily over the blue waters of the Indian Ocean, as puny and insignificant in that waste of water as an ant travelling over the Old Man Plain. We hadn’t seen a bird or a beast, or a fish, or a whale, or a ship, or any moving thing for 20 days, but just the great stretch of sea and the long rolling swell of the waves. It is a lonely ocean; there is very little shipping traffic in those latitudes.

We forged along through the water on our lonely way. The daily routine became quite second nature to us and any one of us could tell at any moment what any other was doing. Reveille, stables, sick parade, feed horses, dismiss, breakfast, prepare for parade, parade— even the horses knew the bugle calls.

On 27 November, just as we were getting to the end of our journey, fate turned against us and sent a heavy headwind and a nasty sea. Spray began to come for’ard and we had to slow down to a couple of knots an hour. The seas were very heavy. At about three o’clock next day we came into the shallow waters of the Agulhas Bank, and at once the sea went down and we resumed full speed ahead.

After 30 days of weary steaming we at last sighted the South African coast. We saw a line of low scrub-covered hills, without any sign of habitation. At the edge of the sea were sand hills, snowy white, with streaks of white sand running back among the low timber—a barren uninviting coast. There was no sign of life anywhere, no houses, nor any traces of a settlement. The great African continent lay sleeping in the sun as peacefully as if war had never been heard of.

We were soon nearing the anchorage off Port Elizabeth and coasting down the South African shore, a coast exceedingly like the shore at Bondi, except that there are no houses. Our feeling of monotony changed to one of great expectancy, and by midnight we were at anchor.

Next morning at grey dawn we steamed into Port Elizabeth.