The journey was through a sea full of islands of classic interest. Some of the islands set in the clear Ægean blue were startlingly beautiful. Passing Patmos, the old monastery on the top of the rocky height stood out, clear cut, white and gleaming in the morning light. The padres were quite interested, for it was here, tradition says, that the Apostle John wrote the Book of Revelation. Past island after island rich in mythological lore, the smoking transports laboured; now and then British and French destroyers mysteriously appeared from behind a barren islet; and interesting beyond measure, we saw a good example of maritime camouflage--a town-class cruiser painted grey and black and white to resemble a storm-tossed sea. Ceaseless vigilance was imperative, as Turkish torpedo boats were wont to issue from harbours in the Asiatic coast and threaten the safety of transports. The "Manitou," carrying British troops, lost a good many killed and drowned in the confusion ensuing on the sudden appearance of a Turkish destroyer. Parading by echelon, boat and fire drill, slinging of horses and waggons--all things tending to ensure a rapid disembarkation in the face of the enemy--were assiduously practised on the voyage. Past the fertile island of Nikaria the transports picked their way and anchored one by one in the spacious outer harbour of Mudros. Mudros Harbour. Mudros is a land-locked harbour, the entrance easily controlled by a boom and a minefield. Here were gathered merchantmen from the ends of the earth--conveying the five divisions of French and British soldiers that comprised the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Here, too, were ancient and modern battleships, every pattern of torpedo boat, cruisers protected and unprotected, submarines and trawlers from the far North Sea. [Illustration: [_Photo by the Author_ BATTLESHIPS IN MUDROS HARBOUR.] It was the flush of the Ægean spring, and the shore parties cutting grass for the horses revelled in meadows that reminded them of home. But the gaunt grey battleships and black destroyers in the bay struck a vastly different note. From one side of the ship could be seen cows and sheep and stacks of hay; from the other, the grim realities of war. Overhead the engines droned incessantly as the seaplanes circled the harbour preparatory to a reconnaissance of the Peninsula. The tents of the French gleamed white on the hillside below the group of ancient windmills, and floating across the rippling water came the stirring notes of the trumpets calling the French Territorials and Senegalese to their frequent battle practice. [Illustration: [_Photo by Sister M. Jeffery, N.Z.A.N.S._ MILLS FOR GRINDING CORN AT MUDROS.]