dream came to me last night. My
tent was at Imbros right enough, and I was lying in my little camp bed,
and yet I was being drowned, held violently under the Hellespont.

The grip of a hand was still on my throat; the waters were closing over
my head as I broke away and found myself wide awake. I was trembling and
carried back with me into the realms of consciousness an idea that some
uncanny visitor had entered my tent. Already the vision was fading. I
could visualize the form of the presence, but the face remained hidden
in shadow. Never had I suffered from so fearful a dream. For hours
afterwards I was haunted by the thought that the Dardanelles were fatal;
that something sinister was a-foot; that we, all of us, were pre-doomed.

Dreams go by contraries. Strange that so black a night should be
followed by a noon so brilliant--so brilliant beyond compare.

K. cables the French are going to send three or four Divisions to work
with us along the Asiatic mainland. From bankrupt to millionaire in 24
hours. The enormous spin of fortune's wheel makes me giddy!

These French Divisions will be real Divisions: _must_ be; they have no
others.

O, Hallelujah!

"The sending of a force of three or four Divisions to operate on the
Asiatic mainland, independent as regards command, but in close relation
with the British forces on the Peninsula, is being considered by the
French Government. They will require an exclusively French military base
at Mitylene, and us to help with transport and fleet.

"So far I have not discussed any details with the French, and have
simply told them we shall be delighted to have the help, which would be
given by such an expedition, towards the solution of the Dardanelles
problem.

"Presumably they would require their two divisions now at Cape Helles.
What forces would you require to relieve them? I have asked Sir John
French if the XXVIIth and XXVIIIth Divisions could be spared for this
purpose.

"Wire me any points that you think I had better settle with the French
authorities."

_Deo volente_ we are saved; Constantinople is doomed. How clearly stand
forth the mosques and minarets of the Golden Horn.

Mr. Murdoch, an Australian journalist, paid me a visit to thank me for
having stretched a point in his favour by letting him see the
Peninsula. Seemed a sensible man.

Glyn and Holdich dined: both clever fellows in different ways. Dawnay
and Glyn after dinner left for England. Dawnay goes t