ing was as good as could be had in Mudros; but in those
days Mudros lacked almost everything that could be desired. The
water-supply was bad; food, in the Australian hospital was ample, and,
for fare under such conditions, excellent, but in other hospitals it
lacked lamentably. Inhabitants of the latter envied greatly those who,
by good fortune or intrigue, were lodged in the former.

In the day-time the sun blazed down with fierce heat upon the marquees,
the slightest breath of wind stirred into clouds the many inches of
fine dust which covered the ground, and flies of many breeds were there
in their pernicious millions. Vermin stalked by night; and odd moments
of the day might profitably be spent in reprisals on these bloodthirsty
beasts. Those were the sorry points of the place; but there were also
good.

Immediately alongside the hospital, though officially out of bounds,
was the village of Mudros East, a quaint place where there was always
some fun to be had. Low stone, tile-roofed houses, with narrow dusty
alleys--where congregated squalid children, mangy dogs, poultry and
evil smells--clustered round a low hill surmounted by a large maternal
Greek church. This latter was tawdry in the extreme, with wonderful
symbolic pictures, icons, candle grease and cheap furniture. Over all,
presided a dumpy, cheery little priest, who, with a beaming smile,
indicated his perpetual readiness to accept small donations. Still, it
had its air of sanctity, and it was pleasant to see there Greek women
praying with deep fervour. Occasionally, too, Mac noted British and
French soldiers upon their knees.

Near the landing-place stood a street of filthy, hastily erected,
wooden shanties, where the ever-trading Greek offered garden produce,
very, very doubtful eggs and more or less objectionable stuff of other
descriptions. The medium of exchange was varied in the extreme, and
ranged from British, French and Egyptian coins to tins of bully beef,
army jam, badges and the like.

There were some fine men in the hospital and next to Mac lay Mick. He
was a Light Horseman, and Mac made a cobber of him.

"Chest's me trouble--touch of t.b. the Doc says. I cough away some of
these nights like a sheep with lung-worm. I feel all right myself; but
ev'ry time I talks about getting a shift on like, ole Doc gets busy
with his water-diviner--'breathe in breathe out'--and then he says,
'Say "Ah-h-h."' Then he thumps away wid his finger