Lisgar Collegiate Institute - Vox Lycei Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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36 VOX LYCEI head, showing over an intervening wave. The remainder of my watch is a painful memory I would rather overlook, as I began to feel a bit queer, and ceased to take an active interest in my surroundings. The sea was so violent, that the ship was obliged to slow down to six knots, and our speed through the water was barely three knots. Meals became very sketchy affairs, attended only by a few hardy souls. I had lost all interest in meals until supper, when, fortified by an afternoons siesta on the iron deck, I partook of a few sea biscuits and some cold ham. Dishes seemed to have sud- denly been imbued with life and had to be watched very closely to prevent brcakages, which would call down upon one the just wrath of one's shipmates. The washing up afterward was performed under the greatest difficulties, and was a triumph in the art of balance. That night was the worst of the storm: the wind was like the howling of a thousand demons. and blew the spray up into my face with great force-like shot thrown into it. My sea-sickness had left me, and I began to enjoy the grandeur and power of the storm, which was now at its height. At times the wind would drop to a calm, and then, seemingly, would blow with increased force. During one of these periods. a ball of St, Elmo's Fire, a curious manifestation of static electricity, perched on the mast-head for a moment and then vanished. This at one time was regarded with superstitious awe by sailors. Farly in the morning, a stupendous sea struck the ship, and the mast snapped off at the maintop, crashing down in a tangle of writhing stays and aerial wires. At each roll of the ship the mast swung around in a huge arc from its stump, a veritable scythe of destruction, threatening to wreck the bridge and the wireless cabin. The pipe of the bo'sun's mate shrilled out. Clear lower deck! All hand muster on the bridge! The watch came tumb- ling up from below in various stages of dress, wiping the sleep from their eyes and scrambling up to the bridge. Then began the dangerous task of securing the whipping mass of destructive wreckage. A half hour of terrific effort and we succeeded in lashing it safely down. The aerial was a hopeless tangle. I swarmed up the stump of the mast and rigged a temporary aerial. From my precarious perch it seemed as though I would be dipped under the water at each roll. - Early on the following morning we passed the Straits of Gibraltar. leaving the storm behind. H. Carstens, IIIA. lfwtfz a Lisgar Girl in England Land! At last after an uneventful voyage across the Atlantic, through the drizzly fog of a typical English rainy day could be seen the green cliffs of Land's End, visible a short time after passing Eddystone lighthouse. VVe continued sailing parallel with the South coast of England. Toward evening, lighthouses, one after the other along the coast, flashed out their messages of warning. At daybreak the next morning, the white cliffs of Dover with the sun streaming down on them, presented a beautiful sight. As we sailed along. these cliffs gradually lessened in height until they were very low. Groups of farm houses and cottages with whitewashed walls and thatched roofs dotted the landscape. During the afternoon of the following day, the mouthgiof the River Thames was reached. At Gravesend on the Thames, we saw several battleships and the Government dockyards. Farther on the river narrowed and the busy traffic of ships passing up and down announced the fact that we were nearing London.

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VOX LYCEI 35 strange, exortic beauty of Gatun Lake, through which the ship steams at a level which is above the hilltops of adjacent valleys. Across Cwatun Lake lies the great Gatun Dam, and the Cratun locks beside it that drop the ship 85 feet to the level of the Atlantic. Six miles further, and the ship passes Colon the old Cristobal and the new. the towns at the Atlantic end of the canal. From the Panama Canal the ships of the Panama Pacific Line proceed direct to Havana, arriving there in four days. Here the stay is long enough to permit an automobile tour around the city, a most attractive place, with its houses of soft pink and blue, its narrow picturesque business streets. its venerable cathedral, its broad esplanades. its large hotels and its friendly cafes-and everywhere its laughing people: talking a patois of lisping Spanish that sounds strange to American ears. From Havana, the remainder of the voyage to New York seems short. The ship has the current of the Gulf Stream with her. Coastwise shipping is seen, and usually the New jersey beaches are in view for some time before the High- lands of Navesink and Sandy Hook are passed-guardians of the gateway to New York Harbour. Finally passing Ellis Isle Quarintine in the early morning of the eighteenth day of the voyage, you get a glimpse of the renowned statue of Liberty, through the mist and fog, and steam into harbour just a little unhappy that the entrancing sea voyage is over. ERIC BLACKBURN-III-H. lfwtfz a Lisgar Boy on Board a Destroyer A few years ago, when I was in the Navy, I had a very thrilling experience in a rough voyage across the Bay of Biscay, which is notorious for its terrible storms. The ship, on which I was a member of the crew, was a tiny destroyer, a lean greyhound of the sea, which was bound for Esquimalt via Africa, South America, and the Panama Canal. It was built very long and narrow, for speed, the upper deck being only eight feet above the water. lVe left Portsmouth one raw, cold day in March, steaming past huge battle- ships that towered over us, past the Royal Yacht and Nelson's old flagship Victory , saluting each in turn, and then out on the uneasy waters of the English Channel. Here we encountered the infamous Channel Chop, which materially decreased the number of those who were enjoying the view on deck. During my watch on the bridge from eight p.m. to midnight, we en- countered many ships of all sizes, from gargantuan liners. passing in a blaze of lights, to fu:-sy little tugs, blowing their whistles in imitation of their ponderous sisters, as well as a few belated fishing smacks, with their clumsy brown sails. tacking harbourward. We reached Eddystone lighthouse, the scene of Grace Darling's heroic exploit and here I was relieved from duty. VVhen I came on watch again at four a.m., we had entered the dread con- fines of the Bay of Biscay: the world was a vast heaving mass of grey-green water, each wave breaking over the ship, and 1naking it extremely dangerous to move about on deck. The ship was performing many queer gyrations. rolling over until it seemed she would surely capsize, and then lurching back on the other side she would bury her nose deep into the giant comber. coming up m a smother of foam. I struggled up the companion-ladder to the bridge, and arrived, gasping and half-blind from salt water. Our sister ship was faring as badly as we were, and very often all that could be seen of her was the mast-

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VOX LYCEI 37 On board everybody was rushing and bustling. Passengers were hurriedly packing last-minute boxes. Stewards were preparing for landing. London was in sight. After an exciting time waiting for the ship to dock, we said good-bye to it, and were on our way to Fenchurch Station, London. On arriving at Fenchurch Station, having sufficient time, we decided to walk to Vtfaterloo Station in order to see something of the city. This was my first sight of London: London with its noisy and numerous busses, crowds of bustling people, modern stores and tea rooms, picture houses and theatresg and then the other London, the London of historical days with its famous Parliament Buildings, its Tower, its Bridge, St. Paul's Cathedral and XYestminster Abbey. At Waterloo Station, we took a train for Bournemouth, a town on the South coast of England. Owing to the crowd, we had to take an end coach. We then travelled steadily for three long hours. I thought the train rather rocky, but did not mind it very much. About 9 p.m. we finally reached our destination, after what had seemed to me to be an endless! journey. From the station. we were: whisked home in an automobile which was driven 'round street cars and stopped at nothing. In England they have very few traffic regulations. As this was my first experience of English travelling, I thought to myself that it might be very good. but that I would have to get used to it before I could enjoy it. Vlfell, I did eventually get used to driving without traffic regulations and from Bournemouth took many motor trips. the most enjovable ones being in spring time. The soft note of the cuckoo is the first herald of an English Spring. Blue- bells and primroses, covering the low hills and valleys like a carpet, are the next arrivals. Daffodils grow wild by the roadside. In more cultivated parts rhodo- dendrons in great profusion present a mass of scarlets, whites, mauves, and pinks. In sheltered places, deep purple and white violets give out a fascinating perfume. In summer, the children fiock to the sea-front and play in the foaming breakers and on the sandy beach. ,In autunm, mauve and white heather and yellow gorse cover that wild open space known in England as 'the moors.' The leaves on the trees change from green to bright yellows and scarlets. Then winter comes with its foggy and rainy days. Qccasionally snow falls and in the northern parts small rivers freeze over. This is a big event for the school children who get out their skates and have a 'great time.' Unfortunately, the ice does not last very long. ' Winter is the time when the manufacturing cities, such as Sheffield and Leeds, seem particularly dirty and dreary. The cold, damp, sticky fog clings to everything and leaves behind a trail of dirt and soot. XVhen a fog is particularly heavy it is impossible to see the light from the street lamps. In this season the fire-place-the only heating apparatus of most English homes-is most appre- ciated. Members of the family cluster 'round these fire-places with their faces burning and their backs freezing. So the winter passes and spring comes once more. But the English get hardened to their winters and though they do not like the rain and fog, they take them philosophically. One cannot forget the scenery of England. It is beautiful. It vividly recalled to my mind Rudyard Kipling's poem, The Glory of the Gardenf' in which he pictures the beauty and order of the English countryside: l Our England is a garden that is full of stately views. Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues, With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting byg But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye. CHRISSIE HANBY-I-E.