From Erenkeui we motored back to General Djevad’s headquarters, where we had lunch. Djevad took me up to an observation post, and there before my eyes I had the beautiful blue expanse of the Ægean. I could see the entrances to the Dardanelles, Sedd-ul-Bahr, and Kum Kalé standing like the guardians of a gateway, with the rippling sunny waters stretching between. Far out I saw the majestic ships of England and France sailing across the entrance, and, still farther away, I caught a glimpse of the island of Tenedos, behind which we knew that a still larger fleet lay concealed. Naturally this prospect brought to mind a thousand historic and legendary associations, for there is probably no single spot in the world more crowded with poetry and romance. Evidently my Turkish escort, General Djevad, felt the spell, for he took a telescope and pointed at a bleak expanse, perhaps ten miles away. “Look at that spot,” he said, handing me the glass. “Do you know what that is?” I looked, but could not identify this sandy beach. “Those are the plains of Troy,” he said. “And the river that you see winding in and out,” he added, “we Turks call it the Mendere, but Homer knew it as the Scamander. Back of us, only a few miles away, is Mount Ida.” Then he turned his glass out to sea, swept the field where the British ships lay, and again asked me to look at an indicated spot; I immediately brought within view a magnificent English warship, all stripped for battle, quietly steaming along like a man walking on patrol duty. [Illustration: Sedd-ul-Bahr Fortification. [_To face p. 144._ ] [Illustration: Fort Dardanos.] “That,” said General Djevad, “is the _Agamemnon_! Shall I fire a shot at her?” he asked me. “Yes, if you’ll promise me not to hit her,” I answered. We lunched at headquarters, where we were joined by Admiral Usedom, General Mertens, and General Pomiankowsky, the Austrian Military Attaché at Constantinople. The chief note in the conversation was one of absolute confidence in the future. Whatever the diplomats and politicians in Constantinople may have thought, these men, Turks and Germans, had no expectation--at least, their conversation betrayed none--that the Allied fleets would pass their defences. What they seemed to hope for above everything was that their enemies would make another attack. “If we could only get a chance at the _Queen Elizabeth_!” said one eager German, referring to the greatest ship in the British Navy, then lying off the entrance. As the Rhein wine began to disappear, their eagerness for the combat increased. “If the damn fools would only make a landing!” exclaimed one--I quote his precise words.