OFF TO THE WAR.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 6, 1 March 1900, Page 67

OFF TO THE WAR.

A Pen Picture of the "Send off" to the Third Contingent

By C. A. Wilkins.

fHE day is dazzling, but the wind is nor' -west, and you, who know Christchurch, know what that means. Up in Hagley Park the fare welling has already commenced, and thousands upon thousands are gathered to gaze upon the plucky fellows who are leaving us, and to listen to the speechifying by the Governor, the Premier, Bishop Grimes and Bishop Julius, and sundry lesser lights. The speeches are well enough in their way, but some of them are terribly long and rather prosy. The proceedings wind up with prayer, and then commences the march to the railway station. The streets on the Hue of march are densely lined with people on both sides of the way. Overhead flutter in the breeze ropes of gaudy flags. The people keep pouring in by 'bus, by tram, by train. Christchurch had never seen such a day as this before in all the fifty years of its existence. The crowds in the streets have been waiting since 9 a.m. It is now nearly noon. Everybody is eager, excited, impatient. All eyes are strained in the one direction. The excitement is at fever heat. Suddenly the Cathedral bells ring out such a joyous peal ! Then the faint strains of a brass band are heard. " Here they are ! " shout a hundred voices. " Here they come ! " Louder clang the Cathedral bells, distincter sounds the music of the approaching band. What is that they are playing ? — " The Girl He Left Behind Him." Aye, many a girl will be left behind to-day ; many a soldier, it is to be feared, will look for the last time

to-day on the face of the girl lie loves bettor than all else ! Open carriages — Lord Ranfurly and Her Ladyship, Mr. and Mrs. Seddon, the Bishops, and others. The crowd cheers the Governor and tho Premier, but reserves its heartiest greetings for "Canterbury's Own," — tho Rough Riders. Here they come ! Squad after squad of lino brawny fellows — visiting volunteers, engineers, navals, Highlanders in kilts, moro volunteers, then nearly two hundred of tho Third Contingent, and, bringing up the rear, the Rough Riders to tho number of 10(5. As they pass one of tho street corners, two young girls break through tho crowd and, in defiance of rules and regulations, seize upon one of the Rough Riders ; each takes an arm, and the trio go marching on together, the girls half laughing, half crying, but pleased to have gained their point, and proud — oh, how proud, you can see it in" their faces — of the man they both lovo ! One is apparently his sister. The other looks suspiciously liko his sweetheart. Suddenly, amidst tho hurrahs, tho " goodbyes"and tho "God bless you V' that greet tho men from all sides, the crowd surges forward and becomes so inextricably mixed up with the Rough Riders that a halt has to be called very soon, after which the men pull themselves together and get once more into marching order. And then, to the tune of " Soldiers of the Queen," the boys vanish, in a cloud of dust, down Manchester Street, and while thousands follow them to the station, thousands tnoro disperse. There ifl

a rush for the hotel bars. Sight-seeing, especially when a nor'-wester is blowing, is thirsty work. ***** At Lyttelton thousands more are waiting for the men to arrive, and to escort them to the Drill Shed. What a tempting luncheon ! A clatter of plates and dishes, knives and forks. More music. Silence ! " Charge your glasses ! " More speechifying ! Brave Contingent, how weary it must be of speeches ! It has been listening to nothing else since early in the forenoon. ' From three to four o'clock the men are allowed to enter a special enclosure to say good-bye to friends and relatives. " Good-bye, Fan ! " says a stalwart young warrior in kharki as he strains to his breast a pretty girl in blue, who is evidently trying her very hardest not to break down. "There," (kissing her on one cheek), "that's for you ; and there," (kissing her on the other cheek), "that's for mother !" For a moment the girl remains in his arms, and then, as if by a tremendous effort, she tears herself away. But let us not linger in such scenes, all too common this fine, bright

Saturday afternoon. The sight of so much grief is heart-rending. Five o'clock, and every man aboard and on deck striving his best to catch one more glimpse of some beloved face. The great wharf is packed with people. A sea of sad faces is turned towards the broad decks of the troopship. At last, amidst the sobbing and the crying of many of the women, the waving of handkerchiefs and sticks and hats, the shouting of last " good-byes," and the throwing of the little school children of their red, white and blue toy flags to the members of the Contingent (it was wonderful how deftly the men caught those little flags, and how pleased they seemed to have them !) the last ropes are cast off, and the troopship moves slowly away. " Gord bless yer ! " screams an old, old woman, as she stands at the very end of the wharf, and shakes a withered fist at the departing steamer, while the tears run down her furrowed cheeks like rain. " Gord bless yer — Gord bless our boys — an' bring 'em safe 'ome again ! " Amen to that poor old woman's prayer !