“So much for secular interest,” continued the Colonel, dropping his voice.  “Now, boys, follow me through this.  You’re not over-religious, I expect, but you’re Christians before you’re Moslems, and your hands should fly to your swords when I say the Gallipoli campaign is a New Crusade.  You’re going out to force a passage through the Dardanelles to Constantinople.  And Constantinople is a sacred city.  It’s the only ancient city purely Christian in its origin, having been built by the first Christian Emperor in honour of the Blessed Virgin.  Which brings us to the noblest idea of all.  In their fight to wrest this city from the Turk, the three great divisions of the Church are united once more.  The great Roman branch is represented by the soldiers and ships of France:  the great Eastern Orthodox branch by the Russians, who are behind the fight:  the great Anglican branch by the British, who can be proud to have started the movement, and to be leading it.  Thus Christendom United fights for Constantinople, under the leadership of the British, whose flag is made up of the crosses of the saints.  The army opposing the Christians fights under the crescent of Islam.

“It’s the Cross against the Crescent again, my lads.  By Jove, it’s splendid, perfectly splendid!  And an English cross, too!

“Thank you, gentlemen; that’s all; thank you.”

Sec.8

The blossom and buds of our English May became the fruit and flowers of July, and Doe and I, maturing too, entered upon the age for Active Service.  There came a day when we were ordered to report for a doctor’s examination to see if we were fit for the front.

I shan’t forget that testing.  All thought we had little to fear from the doctor.  The drills and route-marches in sun, wind and rain had tanned our flesh to pink and brown, and lit the lamps of health in our eyes.  And the whites of those eyes were blue-white.

But the doctor, a curt major, said “Strip,” and took Doe first.

Now, a glance at Doe, when stripped, ought to have satisfied a doctor.  His figure, small in the hips, widened to a chest like a Greek statue’s; his limbs were slender and rounded; his skin was a baby’s.  But no, the stolid old doctor carried on, as though Doe were nothing to sing songs about.  He tested his eyes, surveyed his teeth, tried his chest, tapping him before and behind, and telling him to say “99” and to cough.  All these liberties so amused Doe that he could scarcely manage the “99” or the cough for giggling.  And I was doing my best to increase his difficulty by pretending to be in convulsions of smothered laughter.