., and, raising his
voice, called to the waiting crowd: "All East Cheshire Details
detained at Mudros."

"But I have to relieve--" began Monty.

"Next, please. What name?" the M.L.O. burst in, looking up into
Jimmy Doon's face.

"Jimmy--I mean, Lieutenant Doon, Fifth East Lancs."

"Held up, Mudros. Report--"

"But my draft, sir, has--"

"Next, please."

And Jimmy came away, hoping he had heard the last of his draft. He
joined our Cheshire group, which was discussing the latest
thunderbolt.

"Lord, isn't it enormously unseemly?" he grumbled. "I'm left out,
too. Why, I've been a year in the Army, and not yet seen a man
killed. I hoped I was certain to see one now."

"You detestably gruesome little cad," said Monty.

"I wonder if it's for long," murmured Doe. "I'd take the risk of
being killed rather than not be able to say I'd seen the great Cape
Helles, or, failing Helles, this new Suvla front."

"As it is," grunted Jimmy, "we shall probably be at Mudros till the
end of the world."

The M.L.O. had not been gone an hour before the Navy sent its
pinnaces with large lighters in tow for conveying the first drafts
to the Peninsula ferry-boats. Each pinnace was in command of a
midshipman, generally a fair-haired English boy looking about
fifteen. These baby officers, who gave their orders to wide-chested
and bronzed Tars, old enough to be their fathers, were stared at by
us with romantic interest. For there had been stories in England of
the deeds of the middies in the famous First Landing at Helles, when
they remained in the bows of the boats they commanded, scorning
cover of any kind, as became British officers in charge of men.

After the lighters, the _Snaefell_, an old Isle of Man steamer, came
alongside, and, having taken some hundreds of men aboard, edged away
from us, while Major Hardy, his heart ever overthrowing his dignity,
said wrathfully:

"Give 'em a cheer or something, damn you."

We raised a cheer. The men responded, though not very effectively,
and cheered and waved as the _Snaefell_ carried them away.

"They know what they're going to, poor lads," mumbled Major Hardy.

Next came the _Redbreast_, whose decks were soon as crowded as the
_Snaefell's_ had been. Major Hardy scanned them through his
eyeglass, and then turned snuffily upon us and said:

"Damn your English reticence! Damn your unimaginative silence! Why
don't you study the psychology of these boys and this moment?"

Leaning