ady for them, so I hurried off
by motor launch to a landing in another part of the Bay and, walking
through a village, caught them resting by their piled arms after a route
march. All of these men looked very well and cheery. The villagers were
most friendly and had turned out in numbers, bringing presents of
flowers and fruit. Not more than 60 per cent. of the men are Irish, the
rest being either North of England miners or from Somerset.

In the evening, crossed the glassy bay and motored to pay a
double-barrelled visit to the Military and Civil Governors. Topping the
watershed, yet another pleasure shock. Through the sea haze Mitylene
shines out like an iridescent bubble of light. Never had I seen anything
so vivid in its colour and setting as this very ancient, very small,
very brilliant city of Mitylene. Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, the Golden Horn
are sprawling daubs to flawless Mitylene.

Hesketh Smith and Compton Mackenzie were with us. The Governors very
polite. The soldier man is a Cretan and seemed a good sort. We took tea
at the Hotel and then made our way back to the _Chatham_. Found messages
from G.H.Q. to say all's well and stuff being smuggled in without hitch
at Anzac. At 7 p.m. we sailed for Imbros; a breeze from the West
whipping up little waves into cover for enemy periscopes. So the moment
we left the harbour we took on a corkscrew course, dodging and twisting
like snipe in an Irish bog, to avoid winding up our trip in the dark
belly of a German submarine. Soon emerged from the sea a huge piled up
white cloud, white and clear cut at first as the breast of a swan upon
a blue lake, slowly turning to deep rose colour flecked here and there
with gold. As it swallowed up the last lingering colours of the sunset,
the world grew grey, then black, and we were, humanly speaking, safe.

_3rd August, 1915. Imbros._ Anchored at Imbros roadstead 5.30 a.m.
Braithwaite not up yet so Altham got first innings about transport and
supply.

Next the G.S. All our preliminaries are working on quite smoothly
towards the climax and, so far, it seems likely the Turks have no notion
of the scheme.

Girodon steamed over from Helles to see me and went back again in the
evening. He is the mirror of French chivalry, modesty and good form,
besides being an extraordinary fine soldier.

The 33rd Brigade, sent by me to gain wisdom at Helles, have now been
brought here so that the whole 11th Division can start off together.

Just a