Before entering upon the subject of this chapter I cannot help a passing allusion to the lack of pictorial records of this war—records made by artists of experience, who actually witness the scenes they portray.

Our descendants will surely regret the omission when they try to gather an impression of the greatest war in history from the inadequate material obtainable.

I do not lose sight of the fact that many professional artists are fighting with our army in France and elsewhere. But life in the trenches is so arduous that it is doubtful if many records will come to us from this source.

The start of my journey was not at all what I had intended. I had imagined myself busily sketching our departure and attempting to get some of the delightful colour and abundant movement of the lower Thames.

In actual fact, I spent most of this time lying on a settee, trying to overcome the effects of inoculation, though rather cheered, it is true, by the thought of the annoyance set up amongst the millions of germs inhabiting my system.

I made several efforts to go on deck, but was forced each time to give in and return to my cabin.

This was the more annoying, as we were passing through what to any traveller by sea, and to me especially, was the most interesting zone: full of romance and mystery, with stories of sunken submarines, rumours of nets and mines, and all the strange happenings of this strangest of wars.

There was naturally a certain amount of speculation on the steamer as to the possibility of attack by submarine: this new factor in modern warfare, which, from a romantic point of view, has so largely conduced to the elimination of spectacular fighting.

At the time of sailing we had heard of submarine activity in the western entrance to the Channel, though the apparent indifference of the passengers was a wonderful testimony to the calmness of the Briton in the presence of a very real danger. However, hopes ran fairly high that we might soon get into safe waters, as we were favoured with a fairly heavy summer gale, which should, with luck, see us well round Ushant and down the bay.

We were pushing along doing a steady ten knots with our fore-deck frequently taking it green; but, well loaded as we were with general cargo, the ship was wonderfully easy in motion. This was in comforting contrast to a tramp-steamer close by, which looked as if she wanted to see how far she could roll without turning over.

Ships bound for the Mediterranean and to other parts are more scattered nowadays than formerly. Since the war they have avoided the recognised trade routes. Probably there may be enemy submarines bound out to the Eastern Mediterranean, but the likelihood of attack from these appeared to us small. After all, they would surely reserve their stock of torpedoes for a more important quarry, and, in any case, would hardly be likely to advertise their presence before arriving in their intended zone of operations.

During the night we passed a number of patrol boats keeping their ceaseless vigil. The patrol service will, when the war is over, undoubtedly reap the full meed of praise to which they are entitled. It is utterly impossible for the landsman to grasp the soul-wearying work on patrol vessels. Frequently of quite small tonnage, keeping the seas in every kind of weather, not bound anywhere in particular, but just slogging to and fro on a set beat, rarely thought of except by the relatives and friends of those serving in them.

We reached Gibraltar in two or three days, during which time no alarms from submarines disturbed our peace. The sight of the Rock for the first time must frequently call forth an exclamation on the strangeness of events which have enabled us to take and hold so fine a strategical position. Isolated as it is from any other of our possessions, it has certainly served us well in the Dardanelles campaign.

Malta was made in the early morning, and it certainly looked a gem set in a sea of opal, although closer acquaintance found it stiflingly hot. Our time here was short, as we were ordered to a vessel leaving early next morning for Mudros, the base in the island of Lemnos. The ship in which we took passage was one of an entirely new class, specially designed for the destruction of submarines. On our passage up, a matter of three days, a sharp lookout was kept, as we were now nearing the danger zone. For some reason difficult to discover there appeared to be a lull in the operations of these craft, due, probably, to the numerous devices employed to restrict their activities. Nevertheless, continual reports were coming in of their being sighted, and our Captain was anxious to try the efficacy of his means of offence, but we were disappointed or otherwise, according to our various temperaments, for we sighted nothing suspicious.

On the third day a French destroyer, with whom we exchanged recognition signals, steamed up to us for a closer inspection. This denoted our close proximity to the great naval base from which the operations in this theatre of war were largely conducted.

A distant view of Mudros, one of the finest natural harbours in the eastern Mediterranean, showed a vast concourse of ships, which grew in interest and numbers as we approached. Eventually we steamed between lines of warships to an anchorage given us by signal. I have seen many reviews and naval pageants, but nothing to compare, in interest, with the assemblage of ships that we now witnessed. British battleships, French battleships, cruisers of both nations; a Russian cruiser, the Askold (which had incidentally been badly hammered in the war with Japan); destroyers, torpedo boats of all ages, submarines (some fresh with the laurels of raids in the Sea of Marmora), North Sea trawlers, tramp-steamers, transports, food-ships, motor-boats, Greek sailing vessels, motor-barges for landing troops, private yachts taken over by the Admiralty (the Admiral conducting operations being himself in one of these), and endless other craft gathered from everywhere to assist in the enormous undertaking of supplying food and munitions and to guard the routes to the various other bases established in the islands around. Towering above all the vessels could be seen the Aquitania and the Mauretania, their immense bulk dwarfing every ship in the harbour.

Ashore were camps in every direction, that of the French being the most conspicuous, as, owing to its longer occupation, the ground had lost every trace of vegetation and had become a vast arid mound, looking terribly hot, with clouds of sand blowing continually across it.

The fact of so many battleships and cruisers being in the harbour was an eloquent tribute to the moral influence of submarines. These craft would appear to have been less active recently, whether as a result of means taken to combat them (the sea is a maze of nets), or whether from engine troubles or shortage of petrol, it is impossible to say. On the other hand, they may hope to lull us into a sense of false security, and thus to entice the larger ships out. Whatever the cause, our belief in their inactivity is strengthened by the fact that a number of warships are patrolling the seas continually without interference.

We spent a few days in this port before an opportunity occurred to get nearer to the area of hostilities. I was fortunate enough to be appointed to a ship which left almost immediately for Kephalo, our base in the island of Imbros, some ten miles distant from the enemy coast. After a rapid passage through a sea studded with indicator nets, we arrived at Kephalo. A fair enough anchorage, this, in summer, though a practically continuous breeze from the north-east, sometimes of considerable strength, is apt to make it uncomfortable for small craft.

The setting here is rather more picturesque than Mudros, by reason of the smaller water area and higher hills on the northern side. Here again a large concourse of ships was gathered, mostly transports, though two vessels, the balloon-spotting ship Hector and the plane-carrying and repair ship Ark Royal, were of unusual interest. The flagship Exmouth, with a large collier made fast on either beam, was evidently determined not to allow the marauding submarine any opportunity of repeating her Majestic and Triumph successes.

Nothing has been left undone to make Kephalo a safe anchorage. A complete net-guard stretched across the harbour has up to the present been effective in preventing submarine attack.