ith the finest flower of modern youth, and
beyond them, nearer the harbor mouth, the long, projecting guns and
towering hulls of the warships. On April 24th they sailed, while, amid
tempests of cheering, as the anchors were got and the long procession
moved away, the bands of the French vessels played them to the Great
Endeavor. There is no need to tell again the story of the arrival, the
stupendous uproar of the bombardments, so that men dizzy with it
staggered as they walked, the slaughter in the boats and on the
bullet-torn shingle, the making good of the landings and all the
subsequent battles on that inhuman coast. They will be told and retold
while the world lasts. And now that all is over, the chapter closed,
the blue water rippling undisturbed which once was white with a tempest
of shrapnel, now that all is over, the armies and the ships withdrawn,
and one reflects upon the waste of human life, the gallant hearts that
beat no longer, the prodigal expenditure of thought and energy and
treasure, there should perhaps mingle with our poignant regret and
disappointment no sense of exultation. Yet it surges upward and
overcomes all else. For our nature is so molded that it can never
cease to admire such doings, the more perhaps if victory be denied the
doers. And here at least on the shell-swept beaches, among the rocks
and flowery hillsides of Gallipoli, men of the British race wrote,
never to be surpassed, one of the world's deathless tales. . . .

"There are navies and navies. The old and fighting British navy, whose
representatives keep the seas today against the king's enemies, has
been heard of once or twice during the present war, but for the most
part preserves a certain aristocratic and dignified aloofness from the
public gaze. There is, however, another and an older navy which comes
and goes under the eyes of all, as it has done any time these three or
four centuries. On its six or eight thousand ships, to prove that
England is Old England still, the Elizabethan mariner has come to life
again, who took war very much as he took peace, unconcernedly, in his
day's work. Needless to say no other nation on earth could have
produced, either in numbers or quality, for no other nation possessed
these men, bred to the sea and the risks of the sea, born where the air
is salt, who, undeterred by the hazards of war, which was none of their
employ, answered their country's call as in the old Armada days. From