On the morning of the 1st we arrived at the dock feeling very damp and dispirited, during the next few years we were fated to see a great deal more of this kind of weather than we could appreciate.

For two hours we sat upon our trunks and waited in the midst of the confusion. Becoming tired of this I struck up a conversation with a sailor who seemed to have very little to do but smoke a dirty old clay pipe.  He informed me that the delay was because they were afraid to put the bags of flour into the hold, damp, and so we waited some more.  At last our luggage was put on board and then we followed it.  Two tugs pulled out out into the stream, a fantastic waving of hundreds of handkerchiefs and we were off.

Next morning we stopped opposite Quebec while a puffing little tug came out with mail and a few passengers.

Soon after passing through the Strait of Belle Isle, with snow-capped  mountains on either hand, we found , we found ourselves in the open Atlantic.  Then everybody was ordered to muster  on deck with their life-belts.  Some of the ships officers came around and explained how we were to put them on, and what number our life-boat was and what the alarm signal would be. One long blast on the whistle and then three short ones. The life-boats were lowered half-way to the rails and we all felt that the voyage had really begun.

{my footnote:  The Ascania was indeed a trans-Atlantic vessel that sailed during World War One.  Canadian soldiers traveled to England in third class on this vessel. The Ascania sunk on June 13 or 14 1918.}