BX October 28, 1915

Appeal From Firing Line – Corp. George Patte Urges Young Men to Fight in This Crisis

If there is an appeal that should rouse, such an appeal would be that coming from the boys who are actually at the front, and such a one comes from Corporal George Jesse Patte, now “Somewheres” at the front, a member of C. Company, 19th Battalion, C.E.F.  In a letter to his father, John Patte, Colborne Street, he makes such a plea, the letter being as follows:
 
October 10, 1915
Somewheres
 
Dear Dad,
 
Well here goes for a few lines. I suppose you have been worrying some over the news that must have reached Brantford by this time. However, I am still on the go and hope that the lucky star that has so far followed me through life still continues to do so. I told you in my last letter that we were going to move. Well, we moved up here yesterday and so far it looks all to the good. There is more heavy artillery going all the time, making a little more noise, but outside of that it is about the same old game. In fact, I would just as soon be any old place in the lines. They all look alike and it is all in the same game. Sometime or other we will have to dig in and fight like ---- and one place is as good as another.

You have often seen pictures of wrecked villages in France and Belgium; well those pictures are no exaggeration. I have passed through a couple of them and it sure is a shame – not a building, church or anything else left standing; all total wrecks. Then again you ought to hear some of the peasants’ stories of what they have gone through. I only wish some of those fellows who are hanging back could see some of these places and listen to some of the tales that are told, then take a walk of say five miles and count the cemeteries in that distance, with their little wooden crosses inscribed “Pte. ---- Killed in Action.”  Or “An Unknown French Man” and …. Quitters and cowards forever if they still continued to stick at home in a crisis of this kind.

I sure am glad that I enlisted in the Second Contingent, instead of waiting for the 9th or 10th, and then being practically forced into it. Well, Dad, I cannot give you much news – it isn’t allowed – so I will have to wait and tell you the little experiences we are having later on. I am enclosing a description of the British victory. It was taken from an English paper and I think you will find it interesting reading. I hope you are all well and that business has somewhat picked up. With lots of love to Celia and yourself, your loving son,

George

BX November 25, 1915

Full Details of Death and Burial of Brantford Boys Told by Corp. George Patte – After Sad Tragedy, another Shell Buried Patte and Chum in a Dugout, Both Having a Narrow Escape. Mud is Thick in Trenches Which Repeatedly Caved in Following on Heavy Rains  

Soon after the O’Neill’s, Lowes and Stephenson had been killed by a German shell at the front, another shell caved in a dugout next door, burying Corp. George Patte and a chum and giving him the narrowest escape he has yet had. He tells of this incident and of the death and burial of the other Brantford men in a long, interesting letter to his father, Mr. John Patte. The letter reads as follows:

November 3, 1915
Somewhere

Dear Dad,

I just received your letter today and was sure pleased to hear from you, although sorry to learn that you were feeling under the weather. However, I hope you have entirely recovered by now. I did not write you at all last week, as it was pretty near impossible to get any mail out. We were occupying the first line of trenches and believe me it was some sloppy job we were up against. It rained mostly all the time we were in, and as the trenches have to be practically rebuilt at this particular spot we were short of dug-outs to get in for shelter. There are two communication trenches leading in each about a mile and a half long. These communication trenches are built to allow us to enter the front line in safety. They are usually about six and a half or seven feet deep and wide enough for a man to walk easily. These rains have caused them to cave in at several points, so you can imagine what state that they are in, with mud and water up to one’s hips.

We came out last night after dark and take it from me it was some nice job. We were wet to start with; in fact, we have never been dry all week, but by the time we reached our billets, we were mud and slime from head to foot. Personally, I scraped mine off my trousers with a knife, so you see we are soldiering for fair at present, but they say this weather lasts only five months, so we should worry. Today I was issued a long pair of rubber boots that came right up to the hips, so you see my luck still sticks, and in more ways than one, which I will mention later.

By the time that you receive this you will have heard of our great loss in having Percy O’Neill, Vernon O’Neill, Corporal Stephenson and Jimmy Lowes killed. It was a very sad affair and we all feel awfully cut up about it. Personally it was a great blow, Percy and myself being friends for so long and enlisting together and Vernon has been such a good pal this last year or so.

Then Jimmie Lowes I have known since the old school days at Central, Corp. Stephenson was an old Windsor boy, but was very well known in Brantford. He was my bed mate in the trenches for the week. We had a dugout just about 10 feet from where it occurred, and Stephenson and I would come out and sit down and talk to Percy and the boys who were guarding a stream of water that runs through from the German trenches.

It happened about 4.30 in the afternoon and I had just left about five minutes before to go down to draw my tea, so you see it was a case of luck again. Stephenson was sitting in his usual place on the step of the dugout, while Vernon, Percy and Jimmie Lowes were sitting on the bench eating supper. The Germans started shelling. The first five or six went over our heads, but they shorted their range, and one cut through the parapet, right over the O’Neill’s heads. It drove Stephenson right into the dugout and killed all of them instantly, wounding Jack Knott severely (another member of the guard). They did not suffer at all, never knowing what had struck them. I helped to move their equipment and also to sort their personal belongings from their kit bags. All their personal belongings will be forwarded to their relatives in due time.    

Being in the front line trenches it was impossible for many to attend their burial. Our officer, Lieut. McKay, and eight of the boys and myself went out to attend. We laid the two O’Neill’s side by side and I tell you Dad, when they lowered those boys into the graves, so far away from home, the tears wouldn’t quite stay back, for I couldn’t help thinking of the old days Percy and I had together, and to think that they were stricken down without a moment’s warning, four of the finest fellows in the world, doing their duty to the last. It is another count against Mr. Kaiser. He will have to settle some day and God help him when it comes. It was my place to throw the dirt in the graves when the chaplain said “ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” and it made me feel pretty bad walking along those four graves throwing a little dirt in each.

Next morning I had just received your parcel of tobacco and handkerchiefs. W.R. Smith and myself were sitting in the dugout. He was making a fire to dry us out and I had just opened your parcel and had the tobacco laid along in the blanket behind me, when they started shelling again. We thought we would be safe, but however, a few minutes afterwards, one hit the dugout, shoving it all in on us, covering us with earth and sandbags. It buried all our stuff. We had to dig it out afterwards. I got everything except one package of Old Chum, my gloves and puttees, at least that is all I have missed so far. We sure were wearing horse shoes that morning. It was a close call. It seemed almost impossible for a fellow to be in it and to escape injury. It knocked out a big rat. It was the only casualty. After they had quit shelling, we went down and I got the nose of the shell out of a sandbag in the dugout. It weights about eight or ten pounds. I will ship it home at the first opportunity as a reminder of one of the close calls a fellow has. 

Well Dad, this is rather lengthy, so I will ring off now. Thanks ever so much for the tobacco, etc. The parcels arrived all O.K. If you have not sent underwear yet, kindly change it from fleece-lined to something heavy, as they say fleece-lined stays wet too long. With lots of love to Celia and yourself, and with best regards to all the boys.

Your loving son,
George.

BX December 1, 1915

Dangers While on Ration Fatigue – Corp. Geo. Patte Tells of Flirting With The Undertaker

An interesting letter, telling of how he “flirts with the undertaker” when on ration fatigue has been received by Fire Chief D.J. Lewis from Corporal George J. Patte, of the 19th Battalion. He tells how near he came to being killed with the four Brantford boys and had just left them to go for rations. The Letter follows:
 
Have not forgotten the promise to write you sometime, so here goes for a few lines. Have just come in from a ration fatigue and not feeling sleepy though, it’s a good opportunity. Just a few words about that ration fatigue. It is mighty easy to write and say these two words, but Dan, I wish it were possible to take you over the ground and to have you go through all that they cover. We are now in the support trenches and it is our duty to get the rations up to the front line trenches every night. To get there we must go over a half mile of open ground and believe me, Dan, it is ticklish work. There are bullets whistling around every minute. It is simply a case of flirting with the undertaker every step.

There will be about 150 men all in line, single file. Each man will have his share to carry. Some a couple of bags of bread, some coke (don’t think that is cake, it is coke to burn) water, tins, etc. You start out and probably get 20 feet on your way.  When the enemy will send up three or four star shells along their lines, lighting the whole area up. It is up to every man then to stand perfectly still, a single move might give you away, and you wouldn’t stand a chance. It keeps up that way all along the route until you finally reach your own trench. Take it from me. That when those star shells go up you can stand so still that those mechanical dolls that they have acting around these vaudeville theatres will be out of jobs when this old war is over.

When they go up and every man stands steady it looks like a long bridge or fence. And you ought to be around when the big guns are letting loose. Say, if I am lucky enough to get back, I’ll bet that I can get six inches nearer the ground than any man in Brantford. You don’t pick out a nice soft clean spot; you just flop in the nearest spot to you, mud or anything else.

It was a tough blow to us, losing the O’Neill boys, Stephenson and Lowes. Was talking to them five minutes before. I slept with Stephenson in a dugout right where it occurred. Left them to go down for my supper rations. Just simply a case of luck that I wasn’t there. Can hardly realize that they are gone, we were such good pals and had been so much together this last year. We went out next day to bury them and I certainly felt pretty downhearted, and sad seeing those boys laid away. It’s a heartbreaking game, but it has to be done. I had a pretty close call the day after. Was sitting in the same dugout, where Stephenson and I had slept, along with W.R. Smith of West Brantford, when a high explosive shell hit it, covering us up with sand bags and earth. Neither of us were injured. We sure were wearing horseshoes. It killed a big rat, that was the only casualty. Got the nose of the shell out of the dugout. I intend to send it home the first chance I have. Well, will close, give my best to the boys. Drop us a line giving us some of the news around the fire hall, etc. With all good wishes.
 
Your sincere friend
George J. Patte

BX December 6, 1915

Further Appeal From Trenches – Corp. Geo. Patte Tells of Feeling Among Men in Trenches – Keep Up Spirits in All Kinds of Weather – Fritz Keeps Men on Go Very Often, But Few Casualties Have Been Recorded Lately in 19th Battalion – Shovel and Pick Are Important 

An interesting letter from the trenches has been received by J.W. Patte from his son, Corporal Geo. Patte, with the 19th Battalion. He makes a splendid appeal for the stay-at-homes to respond to the call. The letter reads:
 
November 18, 1915
Somewheres
 
Dear Dad,
 
I received your letter day before yesterday, and received a parcel of tobacco, socks, chewing gum, last night. I could not answer your letter before as we were just getting ready to move up to this front line. I received a parcel shortly after arriving here. We are now in the trenches and will be here for about four days when we will move back to the reserve trenches. I wish you could see me writing this. I have on my fur coat and long pair of rubber boots, my hands are caked with mud and I am using a biscuit box lid for a desk.

It sure does rain in this country. It has rained almost every day lately, so you can imagine the condition of the trenches. However, the rubber boots help some. Every man is issued with a pair while in the front line. At nights it gets fairly cold. There is usually a heavy frost and, as it is a damp cold, we feel it more than we would the ordinary brisk cold weather we were used to in Canada.

Just as we were about to leave our rest billets yesterday, Fritz started shelling the village nearby. In fact it is only 500 or 600 yards away from us. Those big shells sure make the bricks and mortar fly. If they hit a building once, you can bet everything is jarred loose, and a few holes in it to boot, but if they get a couple or more in the same place it is a case of good night house, for it certainly will be a wreck. It seemed a shame to see the poor inhabitants beating it up the road and I guess they did not stop for anything. I could not blame them, for it certainly is no nice place to be when the big guns are talking angry-like.  I’ll bet a man or woman 100 years old could do 100 yards flat as quick as they ever did in their life in a case of this kind.

We got into the trenches all O.K. last night via the overland route. It’s a dangerous way, but the quickest and easiest, not nearly so far or so muddy. Fritz was very good last evening and has with the exception of a few whizz bangs on our right, been very good today. In speaking of the Germans most everybody says Fritz. For instance, we will be eating dinner when probably they will start shelling; you will hear the boys say: “Wish Fritz would stop until we have finished eating.”

I see by the English papers that all single men in England have got to sign up by November 30 or they are going after them. Quite right, too, it ought to be the single men first, not only in England, but all over the British Empire. However I would hate to see compulsion in Canada and hope the day will never come when it has to be enforced. I am up and down the lines quite a bit and hear quite a lot of talk and I wish the boys back there who have pals and friends out could hear some of their conversations, not only about Brantford, but about other cities. You will hear: “Wonder why so and so never enlisted, he said he was going to,” and nine times out of ten, the answer will be: “Why he’s got cold feet,” or “He thinks too much of that feather bed,” then again you hear somebody say: “Well the next war I am going to do like so and stand on the street corner and sing “The Maple Leaf Forever,” “We’ll Never Let The Old Flag Fall,” etc., buy a tag for the Red Cross Fund and then go home shaking hands with himself that “I have done my duty as a patriotic citizen.”

Now I don’t mean that the boys here feel that way. Far be it from such. It is wonderful the good spirits the fellows keep in, considering the hardships they have to go through particularly in a winter campaign. I have seen our boys during this last month wet to the skin from head to foot, get into our billets, rustle some wood and make a fire, dry but as good as possible, go to bed and be up and away at eight in the morning on some fatigue, repairing some communication trench, or draining the land in the vicinity of the trenches. It isn’t all fighting here. The shovel and pick play an important part in the trench warfare. So far the general health of the boys has been good. It proves that a fellow never really knows his power of endurance. Remember me to all the boys.

Your loving son,
George

BX June 9, 1916

His Steel Helmet Saved Corp. Patte – Machine Gun Bullet Dented his Head and Stunned Him

An interesting letter was recently received by Mr. J.W. Patte from his son, Corp. George Patte, who was wounded but after some time spent in England returned to the firing line. In addition to a thrilling account of a narrow escape which he had soon after his return, it gives a good idea of how many brave Canadian boys court death and considers a narrow escape only a trifling incident. He writes:

May 21, 1916
Somewheres

Dear Dad,

Well here I am back with the boys again. It sure was good to get back, although a lot of the old familiar faces are missing. Everybody has told me what a fool I was for coming back, but take it from me; it has lying around England beat a mile. They pretty near slipped one over on me last night. I was out on fatigue party up near the front line. Was just shaking hands with an old pal of mine from Dundas – we hadn’t met for 11 years when Fritz opened up with a machine gun. We started to flop and I was getting real close to mother earth, when one of the bullets struck the steel helmet I was wearing. It didn’t require any further effort on my part to get down, as it stunned me and I fell. Talk about seeing stars and hearing bells ring. I came to in a minute. My friend was hollering for a stretcher-bearer, but they didn’t need one. Fritz rang the bell alright, but beyond a dent in my head and a few buzzing noises in my ears, a little swelling, etc., I was as good as ever, so he does not score. However, it was the helmet that saved my life. If I had not had it, it would have torn my scalp off, and I would have been the best man at a funeral by now, with one of those little crosses – R.I.P. (rise if possible) over me. I certainly have been lucky, and am beginning to believe the old saying that a tailor has as many lives as a cat (which is nine).

Everything is going about the same out here. Our boys have been in some pretty tough scraps since I left. They have had a good many casualties, but have never taken a back seat yet, and it will take some bunch to make them take one. Don’t worry too much about me, I’m only one in a few millions over here, and I only told it to you to show you that I am still wearing horseshoes. I’ll take all the precautions a fellow can, but at the same time I’m right glad that I am out here, instead of having to put up with fellows saying “Well you sure have a bomb-proof job.”  Of course it wouldn’t make me mad if they called it off any time, the sooner the better. Well, dad, will close for this time. Drop us a line, I reckon all your letters have gone astray, as I have not read any since January. I saw in one of the Brantford papers where you were on the committee for the Heather Bowling Club. I’ll have to join when I get back there. I sincerely hope that business has picked up this spring. Give my regards to all the boys with lots of love.

Your loving son,
George

BX August 25, 1916

Need For Men is Yet Great Says Sergt. G. Patte. – Cannot Understand Why Eligible’s Need to be Coaxed into Khaki – Brantford Boy Says Married Men There Would be Glad of Relief – More Men Needed Yet

There is still need for every man fit for service, according to Sergt. George Patte, in a letter to his father, Mr. J.W. Patte, of this city. His letter is a stirring appeal to the men not yet in khaki to get into line. He writes:

August 4, 1916
Somewhere in Belgium

Dear Dad,

Have just received your two letters and a paper. Received the two parcels the other day. Was glad to get them and you can bet they were appreciated; the variety was good. It was a dandy change from the ordinary menu. The socks and handkerchiefs were also needed. In fact it was the most sensible parcel I have received from anywhere. Thank Jack Kelly for me. I intend to drop him a line in a day or so. It certainly was a fine tobacco pouch and just what I needed. I knew the parcels were here a few days before I received them, but we were in the front line, and it is very difficult getting them up there at times, so they hold them at the transports until we come out.

We had a busy 10 days up there. Fritz treated us to everything he had in stock, and believe me, has some beautiful variety of explosives. In fact he just threw over everything except the guns. A fellow can sidestep a lot of that stuff, if he only keeps his eyes and ears open. You see when he is throwing over rum jars, wienerwursts, or sausages, you can hear the report of his gun, the lines are so close together that you can easily distinguish it from the report of a rifle. Then when you hear the report, look up on the air for it. It will go sailing away up and it is up to you to keep your eye on it.  If it is going to fall near you, beat it up the trench to another bay, getting a traverse between you if possible. It is when he keeps three or four in the air at once that he gets you guessing. It is impossible to side-step the whizz bangs, but you can get a line on the big shells. Believe me, when there is anything doing, you have to be wide awake, and take it from me, your nerves are on edge every minute until it is over.

We have been reading the late Brantford papers, having received a bundle from Vic, the other day. I noticed where the 125th Battalion arrived in camp without at casualty. I wish we could always be as lucky. We only travel about seven miles in to the trenches, and it is very seldom that we get in or out without a casualty on the way. Stray bullets are always flying about, and occasionally a shell drops in to call on you.

A Recruiting Call

I see the 125th had to go into camp shy about 40 men. It is a wonder some of those fellows who joined up with the later battalions didn’t volunteer to go with the 125th to complete the establishment. Personally, I cannot understand this having to get down and beg men to enlist, and particularly after two years of war. Now, I am not speaking of those fellows who have voluntarily enlisted, and are now members of battalions still in Canada, for it is easy to understand that lots of fellows had obstacles in the way, making it impossible for them to enlist before.

But I am speaking of those fellows who have not enlisted. You know some, I know some in fact, we will know a few of them fellows who have nothing in the world to hold them back. I would not sit down and beg them to enlist at this stage of the game. It isn’t fair to the men over here, or the men at home who are now in khaki, to have to go back (those who are lucky enough to get back) and listen to their talk. We know the line they take to keep out of it, and that is bad enough, but heaven only knows what it will be if you happen to get them joined up about the end of the war, and they finally muster up enough courage to walk down the street, all polished up in khaki. Instead, I would just take them and ship them over here to us, about one trip to the trenches and we will be able to tell you whether they have a good set of insides or not.

Not An Easy Game

It never has been an easy game and it never will be. Our battalion has only been over there about 11 months, and I am going to tell you that in that time we have learned to appreciate what the other fellows feel who have been over here for the two years, the fellows who paved the way. If you could see the miles and miles of communication and front line trenches, and all the other necessary works you would realize how the average man feels when he picks up a paper and reads the advertisements for men, and then read all the hot air that goes with it. To my mind, and I am only one of the many who think so, it is plainly the duty of every fellow who has no ties to bind him, to enlist. They have had two years to think it over and I can only say that if it takes two years to arouse their patriotism, then heaven help the country they belong to. If it is because they think it is too late, and that it will take too long for them to get here, tell them for me, that if they will look up the names of the men who have enlisted they will find names of lots of married men 40 to 45 years of age who have stood the hardships of the last year or so and have been separated from their families for a couple of years, who would only be too glad if they come over and relieve them. They need not worry. There is lots of room for them here. This old war is not over yet, and if it goes through this winter, they will be needed more than ever next spring. So if they won’t enlist voluntarily cut out the coaxing and get them into line the other way. A little soldiering won’t hurt anybody, and often does a lot of good.

Your loving son,
George

BX October 24, 1916

Sergeant G.J. Patte tells of wounds – Was hit while preparing for attack on Hun first line trench – Was lucky he says.

How the Germans Finally Got to Sergeant George Jesse Patte of the 29th Canadians is Told in a Breezy Letter Received by His Father From Wilson War Hospital, Reading England, in Which He is Confined. The Letter is Dated Oct. 6 and in it Sergt. Patte Says:

October 6, 1916

Well Dad, they finally got to me, not very bad though. I got in the way of a piece of one of his 5.9 shells, a nice little jagged bit about one inch long and a half inch wide. It gave me a bat on the side of the left leg about four or five inches below the hip, it went right through and lodged in my groin. Another little piece struck me going in and coming out, about two inches away. It wasn’t very deep. Pretty lucky all through when you consider a fellow is lucky. If he comes out of it alive at all. My wounds are doing fine, in fact, they don’t bother me at all, but my left foot has been practically dead ever since. It is gradually coming around, though the left side of the big toe is like a chunk of ivory yet. The doctor says it is just the nerves, and it will be all right in a little time. My wounds are healing great and will be all right in a couple of weeks if complications of any kind don’t set in. However, he says everything looks nice and clean, so there should be no worry on that score.

You should see the positions from which the enemy has been forced to retire, ridge after ridge, natural defensive positions, and then you would realize what an immense task it has been. Forty-foot dugouts – that is, 40 feet underground – and with as much room in them as a large two-story house. He must have sat down there and played cards and laughed at our fellows last winter. Anyway he is out of them now and on the run. If you could see the prisoners coming in with hands up and hollering ‘Kamerad’ you would realize that they have had their fill of fighting, and in fact, have had to stand more than we have had to. The day I was wounded we arrived at what is known as the Sunken Roads between Courcelette and Martinpuich. We arrived there about 3 a.m., tumbled into funk holes and got what little rest was possible. At 7 o’clock we moved off going up a ditch in the centre of two ridges about 300 yards apart. Our job was to find out if a certain trench in front was occupied or not. They sniped at us all the way up getting a few of the boys. Then about 200 yards from them we extended in open order from ridge to ridge. They turned everything on us as we started to dig ourselves in, connecting up shell hole to shell hole. We were within striking distance and an attack could be put on from our position. While standing near the entrance to the trench, a shell lit about 20 feet away and I got a piece of it.

I’ll never forget being carried off that field, shells lighting all around and a mile to go to the first aid station. I was fixed up there, then had another carry of three miles to the ambulance. The land is nothing but shell holes, so you see it was rather a rocky ride. However, all’s well that ends well, so here I am a little worse for wear but still all to the good. My wounds are healing up all right and if it wasn’t for my left foot being so sore and full of needles, etc., I would feel good enough to get up. Well, dad, will close this time. Tell Kelly I am still eligible for a place on the Senators.

BX March 21, 1917

Veteran Met With Men of the 125th – Sergt. George Patte Paid a Visit to the125th at Witley Camp

Mr. J.W. Patte has received an interesting letter from his son, Staff Sergt. George W. Patte, now convalescing in England. He writes:

March 1, 1917

Dear Dad,

A week ago last Monday I was sent back to War Hospital No. 1 to see the doctor who operated on me, to see if he were satisfied with the improvement. He was, or seemed to be, perfectly satisfied, but said I was to go back to Sturan House for another month, or so. He wouldn’t mark me out so I could go to Canada yet. He gave me three days’ leave and I went up to visit the boys of the 125th at Witley camp. It took me about two hours to get there, but after arriving I enjoyed myself and the boys gave me a grand old time. I met all the officers and had a fine talk with them. Unfortunately Col. Cutcliffe and Major Newman were away on a course, so I did not see them. However, I met Major McLean, Capt. Emmons, Van Someren, Bingle, Grobb, Dr. Hanna, also George Sheppard, Stanley the policeman, Bennett the contractor, Crumback of the Tea Pot Inn – In fact, I met so many old faces that it seemed just like being back in Brantford. They are all looking fine and are anxious to be over the line. Cliff Todd, Fred Willoughby, Ollie White, Jimmie Mellor – all look in the best of health. On the bus the next morning I met Mrs. Van Someren, Mrs. Hanna, Mrs. McLean. I had an enjoyable chat with Mrs. Van Someren, all the way to the station. While down town today I met Mrs. Will Newman. She expects to return to Canada.

BX August 7, 1917

Sergeant George Patte Yet Cheerful – Tells Humorously of Transport Running on the Rocks

Sergeant George Patte, who left with the 19th Battalion and who is now at Quebec, having been invalided home, has lost none of that cheerfulness which became proverbial with him. He was on the boat which ran ashore on the rocks at Halifax, and of this he writes most interestingly. His letter in part reads:

August 4, 1917
Quebec

Dear Dad

I arrived here this morning and expect that we will be here for at least four or five days waiting for a medical board. We had a pretty fair trip over and no accidents until the last morning. We sure hit Canada with a bump. Were about 10 miles from Halifax when we took on a pilot. The weather was slightly foggy, and I reckon the pilot thought we would make Halifax quicker via the overland route, so he ran us up on the rocks. There was not excitement at all, not even a thrill. The papers did a lot of talk about how coolly everybody took it, but what else could one do. The boat was on the rocks and they couldn’t get her off, so it was simply a case of getting into tugs and finishing the journey. All the bed patients and the crutch cases were lowered to the tug in a cage, so we had an extra joy ride we had not counted on. We sure had a hoodoo tacked to us, for we sank the harbormaster’s launch on the way into Halifax. There were three men on board of her. They threw us a rope, and the gut towed her into the pier, where she sank. They will be able to salvage her.

They were not able to get the big boat off the rocks, she was slowly filling with water, and the last I heard was that she was lying over at an angle of about 45 degrees, the stern in about 180 foot of water and the bow in about 13 feet. They expected her to sink stern first at any moment. The crew had to leave her at 6 o’clock in the morning. It was a grand finish, all right. Outside of that the trip was good. I was not seasick at all, although we had a couple of rough days, but then I have never been seasick on any of my trips. I reckon I have a cast-iron stomach and that I simply hate to miss a meal.

This is a pretty fair place and from the looks of things they are going to do their best to make the time go pleasantly and quickly. We just arrived here about 10.30 and already we are booked up for two automobile trips to look around the citadel. Pretty fair, eh?