brush in company with the English.

Sir George Brown and staff arrived on the 29th in the Valetta. The 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, the advance of the Light Division, which Sir George Brown was to command, embarked on board the Golden Fleece. On the 30th, Sir John Burgoyne arrived from Constantinople in the Caradoc.

The Pluton and another vessel arrived with Zouaves and the usual freight of horses the same day, and the streets were full of scarlet and blue uniforms walking arm and arm together in uncommunicative friendliness, their conversation being carried on by signs, such as pointing to their throats and stomachs, to express the primitive sensations of hunger and thirst. The French sailed the following day for Gallipoli.

When the declaration of war reached Malta, the excitement was indescribable. Crowds assembled on the shores of the harbours and lined the quays and landing-places, the crash of music drowned in the enthusiastic cheers of the soldiers cheering their comrades as the vessels glided along, the cheers from one fort being taken up by the troops in the others, and as joyously responded to from those on board.

CHAPTER II.

Whilst the French were rapidly moving to Gallipoli, the English were losing the prestige which might have been earned by a first appearance on the stage, as well as the substantial advantages of an occupation of the town. But on 30th March Sir George Brown and Staff, the 2nd Battalion of the Rifle Brigade, under Lt. Colonel Lawrence, Colonel Victor, R.E., Captain Gibb, R.E., and two companies of Sappers, embarked in the Golden Fleece, and a cabin having been placed at my disposal, I embarked and sailed with them for Gallipoli, at five A.M. on 31st.

An early fisherman, a boatman in the Great Harbour, solitary sentinels perched here and there on the long lines of white bastions, were the only persons who saw the departure of the advanced guard of the only British expedition that has ever sailed to the land of the Moslem since the days of the great Plantagenet. The morning was dark and overcast. The Mediterranean assumed an indigo colour, stippled with patches of white foam, as heavy squalls of wind and drenching rain flew over its surface. The showers were tropical in their vehemence and suddenness. Nothing was visible except some wretched-looking gulls flapping in our wake hour after hour in the hope of unintentional contributions from the ship, and two or three dilapidated coasters running as hard as they could for the dangerous shelter of the land. Jason himself and his crew could scarcely have looked more uncomfortable than the men, though there was small resemblance indeed between the cruiser in which he took his passage and the Golden Fleece. "It all comes of sailing on a Friday," said a grumbling forecastle Jack.

The anticipations of the tarry prophet were not fully justified. Towards evening the sky cleared, the fine sharp edge of the great circle of waters of which we were the black murky centre, revealed itself, and the sun rushed out of his coat of cumuli, all bright and fervent, and sank to rest in a sea of fire. Even the gulls brightened up and began to look comfortable, and the sails of the flying craft, far away on the verge of the landscape, shone white. The soldiers dried their coats, and tried to forget sloppy decks and limited exercise ground, and night closed round the ship with peace and hilarity on her wings. As the moon rose a wonder appeared in the heavens—"a blazing comet with a fiery tail," which covered five or six degrees of the horizon, and shone through the deep blue above. Here was the old world-known omen of war and troubles! Many as they gazed felt the influence of ancient tales and associated the lurid apparition with the convulsion impending over Europe, though Mr. Hind and Professor Airy and Sir J. South might have proved to demonstration that the comet aforesaid was born or baptized in space hundreds of centuries before Prince Menschikoff was thought of.

At last the comet was lost in the moon's light, and the gazers put out their cigars, forgot their philosophy and their fears, and went to bed. The next day, Saturday (1st April), passed as most days do at sea in smooth weather. The men ate and drank, and walked on deck till they were able to eat and drink again, and so on till bed time. Curious little brown owls, as if determined to keep up the traditions of the neighbourhood, flew on board, and were caught in the rigging. They seemed to come right from the land of Minerva. In the course of the day small birds fluttered on the yards, masts, and bulwarks, plumed their jaded wings, and after a short rest launched themselves once more across the bosom of the deep. Some were common titlarks, others greyish buntings, others yellow and black fellows. Three of the owls and a titlark were at once introduced to each other in a cage, and the ship's cat was thrown in by way of making an impromptu "happy family." The result rather increased one's admiration for the itinerant zoologist of Trafalgar-square and Waterloo Bridge, inasmuch as pussy obstinately refused to hold any communication with the owls—they seemed in turn to hate each other—and all evinced determined animosity towards the unfortunate titlark, which speedily languished and died.

This and the following day there was a head wind. No land appeared, and the only object to be seen was a French paddle-wheel steamer with troops on board and a transport in tow, which was conjectured to be one of those that had left Malta some days previously. After dinner, when the band had ceased playing, the Sappers assembled on the quarter-deck, and sang glees excellently well, while the Rifles had a select band of vocal performers of their own of comic and sentimental songs. Some of these, à propos of the expedition, were rather hard on the Guards and their bearskins. At daylight the coast was visible N. by E.—a heavy cloudlike line resting on the grey water. It was the Morea—the old land of the Messenians. If not greatly changed, it is wonderful what attractions it could have had for the Spartans. A more barren-looking coast one need not wish to see. It is like a section of the west coast of Sutherland in winter. The mountains—cold, rocky, barren ridges of land—culminate in snow-covered peaks, and the numerous villages of white cabins or houses dotting the declivity towards the sea did not relieve the place of an air of savage primitiveness, which little consorted with its ancient fame. About 9.40 A.M. we passed Cape Matapan, which concentrated in itself all the rude characteristics of the surrounding coast. We passed between the Morea and Cerigo. One could not help wondering what on earth could have possessed Venus to select such a wretched rock for her island home. Verily the poets have much to answer for. Not the boldest would have dared to fly into ecstasies about the terrestrial landing-place of Venus had he once beheld the same. The fact is, the place is like Ireland's Eye, pulled out and expanded. Although the whole reputation of the Cape was not sustained by our annihilation, the sea showed every inclination to be troublesome, and the wind began to rise.

After breakfast the men were mustered, and the captain read prayers. When prayers were over, we had a proof that the Greeks were tolerably right about the weather. Even bolder boatmen than the ancients might fear the heavy squalls off these snowy headlands,