other boats. There's only destroyers loafing around
Cape Helles now, sir."

"Great Scott, is that so?" asked Monty. "But I suppose we're going
to win?"

"O lord, yes," said the Tommy.

We got back to the _Rangoon_ just before sundown. And, when the sun
began to soften and to bathe the white buildings of Valetta in ruddy
hues, our siren boomed out its farewell, and two English girls in a
small boat waved an incessant good-bye. Crowds gathered to brandish
handkerchiefs, as our transport crept away, with the boys singing:
"Roaming in the gloaming on the banks of the Dardanelles," and
yelling: "Are we downhearted? NO! Are we going to win? YES!"

"Well, that's the last of Malta," murmured Jimmy Doon. "Another
landmark in our lives gone."

Sec.2

Two days' run brought us outside Alexandria. And the confoundedly
learned Doe, pointing out to me the pink and yellow town upon the
African sands, among its palms and its shipping, said: "Behold the
city of Alexander the Great, of Julius Caesar and Cleopatra; the home
of the Greek scriptures; and the see of the great saints, Clement,
Athanasius, and Cyril."

So I did what he wanted. I called him a Classical Encyclopaedia, at
which he looked uncomfortable and pleased.

It was Alexandria right enough. We had reached at last the base of
the Dardanelles fight, and entered the outskirts of that ancient
imperial world, which the old Colonel had told us was the theatre of
the campaign.

Travelling very slowly, we steamed into the huge harbour. And soon
we were moored against one of its forty quays, and being addressed
in an infernal jangle of tongues by hundreds of begging Arabs who
came rushing through the guns, limbers and field kitchens arrayed on
the quay.

More anxious than ever for news of the fight, we applied for shore
leave, and, after lunch, went down the gangway, and trod the soil of
Africa for the first time.

At once, like an overpowering personality, the East rose up to
greet us, oppressing us with its merciless Egyptian sun and its
pungent smell of dark humanity. Heady with the sun, and sick with
the smell, we found ourselves in one of the worst streets of
Alexandria, the "Rue des Soeurs," a filthy thoroughfare of
brothels masquerading as shops, and of taverns, which, like the rest
of the world, had gone into military dress and called themselves:
"The Army and Navy Bar," "The Lord Kitchener Bar," and "The Victory
Bar."

Phew! the sweat and the stench! The