gged" somewhere in
the course we have covered. If we are bound for Marseilles, which it
is taken for granted is our destination, we are not taking the direct
route. I am Orderly Officer for the day and having to inspect the
men's breakfast I was up early--even earlier than was needful, but I
was flooded out of bed as soon as scrubbing the decks commenced; half
a bucket of water came through my port-hole during a roll of the ship.
On looking out I could see land on our port side, which turned out to
be Cape Bon. At noon we are skirting close in to the African coast.
Either we intend to go through Gib., or we will go straight north to
Marseilles, well to the west of Sardinia. Being now a long way west of
Malta we feel that our chances of being torpedoed are perhaps less,
but the neighbourhood of the Balearic Islands is considered anything
but safe.

_March 25th._--6.30 p.m. Darkness is coming down and the captain says
that if we are not attacked within the next half-hour he will consider
us practically safe. The danger of a night attack is almost
negligible.

The weather gets much colder as we go north. We are about opposite the
north of Corsica, and a cold wind bears down on us from the Continent.
Two small birds have accompanied us the whole day, resting in the
rigging at times, but spending much time on the wing. I cannot make
out what they are, some say chaffinches, but that is certainly a
mistake, they are too small. A lark fell on deck in the forenoon
utterly exhausted, lying for some time on its breast with wings spread
out. It disappeared among the lifeboats and has not been seen since. A
whale, or probably two, was seen spouting a few hundred yards distant.
Some said they saw their backs, but I could not say I was fortunate
enough to see more than the jets of water which were repeated several
times. Porpoises have been plentiful all the way from Egypt.

_March 26th._--Marseilles harbour. I woke at 2 and thought we had
reached our journey's end, but I could feel that the screw was still
revolving, though slowly. Evidently we were killing time, there is no
chance now-a-days of entering a harbour during the hours of darkness.
By 6 we were steaming slowly into the fine Bay of Marseilles, high
rugged rocks on both sides, in front of us the town with its
surrounding girdle of limestone mountains.

("The Incomparable 29th" was a name well earned by this famous
Division. The Gallipoli landing could only have bee