At that time the future of Russia could not be foretold, any more than it can be foretold now. But the advantages here recapitulated should have been too obvious even for insular statesmen to overlook. Mr. Winston Churchill was justified in the protest already quoted, that “if there were any operations in the history of the world which, having been begun, it was worth while to carry through with the utmost vigour and fury,” it was those. Far from displaying vigour, let alone fury, the Government appears to have regarded the Expedition rather as an overburdened father regards an illegitimate child put out to nurse in a distant village. It was a “by-blow,” a “side-show,” something apart from the normal and recognised order of things. A certain allowance had, unfortunately, to be apportioned for it, but if the person who superintended its welfare clamoured for more, that person must be kept in the proper place, or palmed off with gifts that were no gifts. Every breath of suspicion or detraction must be listened to, every chance of abandonment welcomed, and the news of a peaceful ending accepted with a sigh of relief. [Sidenote: THE END] For myself, in coming to the conclusion of this account--faithful as far as I could make it, but so inadequate to the tragic splendour of the theme--I feel again a mingled admiration and poignant sorrow, as when for the last time I watched the scene from the battered deck of the _River Clyde_ and, under the dying brilliance of sunset, looked across the purple current of the Dardanelles to those deserted plains which long ago also rang with tragic battle. The time is fast approaching when the deserted Peninsula of Gallipoli looking across to Troy will be haunted by kindred memories. There the many men so beautiful had their habitation. There they knew the finest human joy--the joy of active companionship in a cause which they accounted noble. There they faced the utmost suffering of hardship and pain, the utmost terrors of death, and there they endured separation from those whom they most loved. The crowded caverns in which they made their dwelling-place are already falling in, except where some shepherd uses a Headquarters as more weatherproof than his hut, or as a sheltered pen for sheep. The trenches which they dug and held to the death have crumbled into furrows, covered with grass and flowers, or with crops more fertile for so deep a ploughing. The graves are obliterated, and the scattered bones that cost so much in the breeding have returned to earth. But in our history the Peninsula of the Dardanelles, the Straits, the surrounding seas, and the islands set among them will always remain as memorials recording, it is true, the disastrous and tragic disabilities of our race, but, on the other hand, its versatility, its fortitude, and its happy though silent welcome to any free sacrifice involving great issues for mankind. [Illustration: THE PENINSULA, THE STRAITS, AND CONSTANTINOPLE]