man officials of the railway company for whom they were working. With a train-load of 600 men we went on through Adana to Tarsus, which St Paul would hardly claim to be no mean city if he lived to-day. To this place came in 1916 a large number of siok British prisoners from Kut, for whom there was no room in the hospitals at Adana. They were well looked after by the American Mission, but many were past hope of recovery, and 250 died in Tarsus. Thinking that some of our men might possibly have been forgotten, we searched the hospitals, but only two Russians were discovered. Going on by the old French railway to Mersina, we found that the Commodore of the Palestine coast had just arrived in the destroyer Welland to satisfy himself that a safe course had been cleared through the mine-field. A message was received from Nihat Pasha volunteering the assistance of the Turkish sailors who had laid the mines, but as a channel had already been swept the offer was declined with thanks. The operation of sweeping for mines is not free from danger, and there was no particular reason why we should not leave the Turks to complete their removal, or, in other words, to do their own dirty work. The embarkation of our men at Mersina presented some difficulties. The jetties could only be used by lighters, most of the local craft had been destroyed or taken away to prevent unpatriotic Turkish subjects from orossing to Cyprus, and the deck of the principal jetty had been removed in case the Allies attempted a landing. The problem was, however, simplified by the arrival of a big motor lighter which had been constructed for putting troops on to the Gallipoli peninsula. This vessel, after landing her great gangway or "brow," made fast to one of the jetties, but as luck would have it, a storm which blew up during the night compelled her to cast off. She was unable to make headway against the wind and piled herself up on the beach, but fortunately she had been built for going aground and was towed off by a trawler without suffering much damage. Within about a fortnight the embarkation of all the Allied prisoners still left in Asia Minor was completed. The condition of the men brought from the Amanus and Taurus camps, as of those found at Nisibin, was fairly good; but their stories, as well as the evidence of the graveyards, confirmed what has already been said about their treatment in 1916-17. For all that our men suffered, whatever retribution is possible must be demanded and sternly enforced under the terms of peace, and the statements made by the survivors have, of course, been forwarded to the quarter where they can be used to this end. THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS OF CHELTENHAM. (The old custom described in this poem was maintained till recently in several parts of England.) WHEN hawthorn buds are creaming white, And it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day. For the chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham town, And Jack-in-the-Green, by a clown in blue, For brooms were short, and the chimneys tall, For Cheltenham town was cruel of old; But she has been gathering garlands gay, And the little wee lads are in green and gold, For it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day. And red as a rose, and blue as the sky, With teeth as white as their faces are black, The master-sweeps go dancing by, With a gridiron painted on every back. And when they are ranged in the market-place, And cozens a penny for her sweet face, Then, hushing the riot of that mad throng, And sweet as a voice from a long dead may, A wandering pedlar lilts 'em a song Of Cheltenham's first wild dancing day. And the sooty faces they try to recall... As they gather around in their spell-struck rings But nobody knows that singer at all, Or the curious old-time air he sings: Why are you dancing, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham, And where have you bought you these may-coats so fine; For some are red as roses and some are gold as daffodils, But has any one among you seen a little lad of mine?— Lady, we are dancing as we danced in old England, Because it is thy sweet month... our strange hearts recall... As for our may-coats, it was thy white hands, Lady, Drew us out of darkness then, and kinged us each and all. It was a beautiful face we saw, wandering through Cheltenham. Filled our sooty hearts and hands wi' blossom white as snow. Many a little lad had we, chirruping in the chimney-tops, Twirling out a black broom, a blot against the blue, Ah, but when she called to him, and when he saw and ran to her, All our winter ended, and we freed the others, too. Then she gave us may-coats of saffron, green, and crimson. Then with a long garland she led our hearts away, Whispering, "Remember, though the boughs forget the hawthorn, Yet will I return to you that was your Lady May." But why are you dancing now, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham, And why are you singing of a may that is fled ?O, there's music to be born, though we pluck the old fiddle-strings, And a world's may awaking where the fields lay dead. And we dance, dance dreaming, of a Lady most beautiful, That shall walk the green valleys of this dark earth one day, And call to us gently, "O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham, I am looking for my children. Awake, and come away." ALFRED NOYES. "GREEN BALLS.” BY PAUL BEWSHER. VI. BRUGES, "Sleep on, pale Bruges, beneath the waning moon, OVERHEAD sounds the beating of many engines, and here and there across the stars I can see moving lights. The first two or three machines are already up. The carry-on signal has been given. A machine which has just left the aerodrome passes a few hundred feet overhead with a roar and a rush. Its dark shape blots out the stars, and I can see the long blue flames pouring back from the exhaust pipes of the engines. I walk along the dim path and a shadowy figure meets me. "Is that you, Dowsing?" I ask, recognising my servant. "Yes, sir!" "I'm just off on a raid. Fill my hot-water bottle about quarter-past nine, and put it right at the bottom of the bed. If you think the fire too hot move my pyjamas back a little." "Good luck, sir!" I pass on to the aerodrome. To the right is the mess, near which is the control platform where the raid officer stands -The Bombing of Bruges. all night despatching machines and "receiving" them as they return. A crowd of officers and men, wrapped in heavy overcoats, stand in groups watching the departure of the machines. In the middle of the aerodrome shine the lights of the landing T of eleotriolight bulbs laid across the grass. To the left are the vast hulks of the hangars, in front of which are lined up the machines yet to go. Passing by two machines whose engines are running, I come to my own. Under its nose stand half & dozen mechanics. One hands me a piece of paper. "Wind report, sir!" Flashing my torch on it I see it is a report of the speed and direction of the wind at different heights up to 10,000 feet, information which has been obtained by a small meteorological balloon whose drift has been watched through an instrument on the ground. Among the mechanics stands another figure as heavily muffled as myself. The engine just above our heads is started up with a sudden deafening thunder. I take the gunlayer by the sleeve towards the tail to hear his message. "Oh! Yes! You have never been on a raid. I'll tell you what to do. I warn you Bruges is pretty hot, but, touch wood" (the tail plane is near), "if we are lucky we will come through. Mr Jones is a very good pilot, and I don't like taking any risks. Don't you get worried. It will be all right. You know all about the Lewis guns, don't you? Good! Well, if a German searchlight holds us, open fire on it at once. Only if it holds us, mind, not if it merely tries to find us, or the tracer bullets will give us away. If a German soout attacks us, open fire on him at once with your machine-gun. When I have dropped my bombs-you will be able to see me in the front cockpit-shine your torch on the back to see whether any have hung up. If one has stuck in the back racks near you, get him through somehow,-stand on him if necessary. If you want to say anything to me flash your torch over the top of the fuselage you know Morse code, don't you?-and I will answer you back in Morse code. You'd better get in the back now. Don't worry! If you feel frightened, remember He walks up towards the nose of the machine, stoops under the tail to the rear of the main planes, and climbs up into his little platform in the back. I walk round the wings to the front of the machine and, facing the two propellers, walk slowly and carefully between their two whirring disos until I come to the little step-ladder under the triangular door on the floor. I walk up it, and with a certain amount of difficulty work my unwieldy body and my various impedimenta through it, assisted by the two engineers who have been starting up the engines from inside. I suddenly remember the wind report, so I climb into the front cockpit, and, shining my toroh on the bomb-sight fixed in front of the extreme nose, adjust it in accordance with the report, for I know from which height I intend to drop my bombsthat height being the greatest possible, as we are going to Bruges. As I am turning the little milled adjusting wheels, the machine on our right moves off with a sudden roar of power. I hurry back and sit beside the pilot. "Are you all right now, Paul?" he asks. "We are next off!" A wave of noise sweeps over to us from the middle of the aerodrome, as the next ahead, gathering speed, rushes |