English
cowhouses; of stores, where thieving Greeks sold groceries to the
soldiers; and of taverns, whose vines hung heavily clustered over
porch and window. There was an ornate and lofty Greek Orthodox
Church, and a little, unconsidered cemetery, where the bones of the
dead were working their way above the ground.

In the streets of this tumble-down town walked every type of
Gallipoli campaigner: British Tommies, grousing and cheerful;
Australians, remarkable for their physique; deep-brown Maoris;
bearded Frenchmen in baggy trousers; shining and grinning African
negroes from French colonies; stately Sikhs; charming little
Gurkhas, looking like chocolate Japanese; British Tars in their
white drill; and similarly clad sailors of Russia, France and
Greece.

It was while strolling through this fancy-dress fair that we
suddenly came upon the camp of the French, and were briskly saluted
by a French sentry. We returned a thrilling acknowledgment. For it
was the first time that our great Ally had greeted our advent into
the area of war.

Lord! how the wind was rising! And with it the dust! The grey motor
ambulances, as they purred past with their sick, raised dust storms,
that blew away over the roofs in clouds as high again as the houses.
The ships and the harbour, though it was a sunny, cloudless day,
could only be seen through a flying veil of dust. Quickly the vines,
overhanging the porches, became white with dust; our teeth and
palates coated with it. We hastened home to the sorry shelter of the
mess that we might wash the dust down our throats with tea.

But bah! we went out of the dust into the flies. The mess was
buzzing with them; and they were accompanied in their attacks upon
our persons by bees, who hummed about like air-ships among
aeroplanes. I dropped upon the table a speck of Sir Joseph Paxton's
excellent jam, now peppered and gritty with dust, and in a few
seconds it was hidden by a scrimmage of black flies, fighting over
it and over one another. Other flies fell into my tea, and did the
breast-stroke for the side of the mug. I pushed the mug along to
Jimmy Doon, and pointed out to him, with the conceit of the expert,
that they were making the mistake of all novices at swimming; they
were moving their arms and legs too fast, and getting no motive
power out of their leg-drive.

"Don't talk to me about 'em," said Jimmy. "I'm fast going mad. I'm
not knocking 'em off my jam, but swallowing the little devi