On March 20th, 1915, I embarked on the S.S. _Arcadian_ for the seat of war. My destination, I learned, was to be the Dardanelles, and the campaign, I surmised, was likely to be more romantic than any other military undertaking of modern times. Our ship carried, besides various small units, part of the General Staff of the Expedition. The voyage was not to be as monotonous as I first thought, for I found many old friends on board. After the usual orderly panic consequent on the loading of a troopship we glided from the quay, our only send-off being supplied by a musical Tommy on shore, who performed with great delicacy and feeling “The Girl I left Behind Me” on a tin whistle. The night was calm and beautiful, and the new crescent moon swung above in the velvet sky—a symbol, as I thought, of the land we were bound for. As we passed the last point a voice sang out, “Are we downhearted?” and the usual “No!” bawled by enthusiastic soldiers on board, vibrated through the ship, and so with our escort of six destroyers we left the coast of Old England behind us. Nothing of interest happened during the passage across the Bay. On arrival at Gibraltar searchlights at once picked us up, and a small boat from a gunboat near by came alongside—we dropped two bags of mails into her and in return received our orders. As we sailed through the Mediterranean, hugging the African coast, the view of the purple mountains cut sharp against the emerald sky was very beautiful. Our next stop was Malta, which struck me as very picturesque. The island showed up buff colour against the blue sky, and the creamy colour of the flat-roofed houses made a curious colour scheme. As we went slowly up the fair way of Valetta Harbour, we passed several French warships, on one of which the band played “God Save the King,” followed by “Tipperary,” our men cheering by way of answering the compliment. The grand harbour was very interesting, swarming with shipping of all kinds, the small native boats darting over the blue water interesting me greatly. The buff background of the hills, dotted with the creamy-coloured buildings and a few forts, the pale-blue sky and deeper tint of the water, the wheeling gulls, all went to make up a charming picture. We went ashore for a short time and found the town full of interest. We visited the Club, a fine old building, once one of the _auberges_ of the Knights of Malta, where we were made guests for the day. Afterwards we strolled round the town; the flat-roofed houses made the view quite Eastern, and the curious mixture of fashionable and native clothing at once struck me. The women wore a head-dress not unlike that of a nun—black, and kept away from the face by a stiffening of wire. We passed many fine buildings, for Malta is full of them, and one particularly we noticed, namely the Governor’s Palace, with its charming gardens. As to the country itself, what I saw of it was all arranged in stone terraces, no hedges, except a few clumps of cactus