itself across the bow of the troopship. There was a shudder throughout the Southern Cross as the ferry scrapped away alongside before its captain could bring her off. Little noise could be heard above the wind and many of the troops looking on were unaware that a woman and child had been thrown into the sea when the two vessels made brief contact.
They continued to cheer while aboard the ferry several women fainted and men ran up and down the decks shouting. Due to the swell attempts at rescue were impossible. The two drowned passengers were Mrs. Loft and her nine-year-old boy Benjamin, the wife and son of Private Albert Loft of the Commonwealth Horse. He was only told of the incident when the Southern Cross docked at Albany several days later. Distraught he left his mates for the return voyage to Sydney. Once on the open sea the vessel tacked to the south, its decks festooned with pale soldiers in the throes of their first experience of mal de mere. With the exception of four officers and thirty or so men who had emigrated from the old country, it was the first time most of the troops had been at sea.
The voyage from Sydney to Western Australia was largely uneventful, although there was an outbreak of 'flu which kept the medical staff busy as 70 men became ill. The 500-odd horses and mules aboard also required constant and careful attention with fodder, water and exercise. Rotations of soldiers mucked out the horse boxes in the bowels of the ship. Fortunately the crossing was smooth, the weather being mild and the seas calm. No animals were lost. It was during this time that many of the men formed affectionate relationships with their mounts. But they also cursed them when it came to the constant attention that had to be given to bits, bridles, links and chains to prevent rust from the sea air. Rigorous brushing with crushed brick and emery cloth kept this at bay, but it was a chore none of them relished.
‘By gum, me old lady doesn’t do this much cleanin’ even at ‘ome,’ said one wag.
The days aboard were interspersed with physical exercise drills on deck for the men and, for the men of the Ambulance, first aid lectures and practice during the evenings.
Soon, and despite the medical officers' best efforts, half the ship’s company was suffering from influenza. All cabins and living quarters were fumigated with burnt sulphur and every man received a small glass of quinine wine. Warmer weather came and the 'flu largely spent itself much to the relief of all aboard. Shipboard routine returned.
Robards considered that the Boers had no understanding of fair play so he ordered regular drill practice for his troops. Officers and men would blaze away at boxes and other debris thrown overboard as floating targets. On the rare occasions a hit was marked a cheer would go up, to be drowned by an even louder groan from the watching Bushmen lining the deck, many of whom were crack shots. Horses were brought up on deck for exercise as often as possible. The men played practical jokes and few were spared, even Lieutenant McIntosh, who was popular with them because of his boyish humour and enthusiasm. Once he arrived at the bridge and saluted smartly to the bemused captain who informed the innocent that no one had summoned him. There were muffled giggles from the men as they watched the spectacle from the forward deck. But the young officer took it in good humour.
Another prank involved three soldiers – 'Ginger' Blewett, pharmacist’s assistant, the Ambulance’s bugler young Dick Bradshaw, and former post office clerk Ray Samuelson. Together they came up with a plan to thwart the life boat drill which was held every other day. By this time everyone aboard knew where to assemble, lifejackets on, when the ship’s siren blew. It was the most unpopular activity on the ship and no one participated with any enthusiasm.
It was midnight on Tuesday evening when Samuelson, his feet clad in a pair of old plimsolls, made his way stealthily up to the starboard side of the bridge. He and his mates had noted that the ship’s siren was activated by pulling a chain which hung just aft of the main wheelhouse. It was lashed to a pipe with a piece of twine. Blewett and Bradshaw watched from the main deck, poised next to two large ventilation funnels which led to the troop decks below. Samuelson untied the chain and gave it three mighty heaves.
The still night air was suddenly split with the scream of the steam siren. Barely containing himself he quickly made his way down a narrow ladder as the first mate rushed out. At the same time Blewett and Bradshaw poked their heads down into the ventilators and shouted.
‘We’re going down! Help! Help! It's every man for himself!’
Bleary eyed cursing troops streamed on deck, some half naked (but wearing their hats), clutching kit bags and life jackets, or trying to pull on their boots. On the bridge confusion reigned as the ship’s captain piped up expletives and question from his cabin to the wide-eyed first mate in the wheelhouse. Sailors were taking up their stations or loosening life boats from their davits. Officers shouted orders, soldiers swore as men shoved and pushed their way to the main deck. Down below on the horse decks the animals had smelt the panic and were rearing and crashing about in their stalls. One man who was on watch there almost lost as an eye trying to restrain a frantic mare.
By now the captain, grotesquely attired in a voluminous night shirt and sou’wester, had reached the bridge and was walking along it while shouting into a huge copper megaphone.
‘Stand down, stand down, false alarm! Stand down I tell yer! Blast ye all!’
As Samuelson tried to blend into the crowd, an alert third mate extended a finger in his direction. The trio had not considered the moonlight which allowed the mate to recognize him as one of the culprits.
‘That man there, hold fast!’
Before he could turn two burly seamen had him by the arms. Their prey could only look about him sheepishly. He was then taken to the first class saloon where Robards, Major Clarke, the red-faced ship’s captain, and the first mate questioned him. It wasn’t long before the ship was combed to find his two accomplices. By half past midnight all three had been charged and confined in a storage locker off the forward hold. Everyone except those who had the horse watch below found the whole incident very amusing.
First aid and anatomy lessons were the subject of much banter in the officers’ saloon of an evening as the men under their command had a varying grasp of theory and practice. It was noted that the most unimpressive students of anatomy were usually the best when it came to hands-on skills. But as the voyage progressed Robards was happy that the key principles of wound care and knowledge were being absorbed by his soldiers. The main saloons of the vessel were given over to morning lectures by the officers. The afternoon drill, supervised by the non-commissioned officers, was conducted on the decks.
After lunch soldiers could be seen swathed in layers of bandages or immobilised in an array of wooden splints. Surgical and medical panniers were packed and repacked and soldiers instructed in the use of their contents – instruments, pills, lotions and drugs. Soon every man was familiar with them. O'Reilly took four of the brighter men and gave them special instruction in the use of chloroform anaesthetic and the standard apparatus (a cotton mask and a graduated dropper bottle). One of the new elite, Corporal Loney drawled,
'but sir I can go to sleep just listening to the padre'.
'Corporal if you aren't careful with this stuff you might not wake up', was O'Reilly rejoinder.
His mate, the Pole Private Nowicki, added in a heavy accent:
'Some say you have been dead a long time already!'
O'Reilly rolled his eyes heavenward.
But this was not the only hazard of chloroform as Robards informed his officer at dinner one evening in response to a query by Lieutenant McIntosh.
'We were taught that chloroform is not flammable sir.'
'Usually
