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Brussels is overrun by German uniforms; Vienna by refugees from Galicia; Rome by continuous pro-war demonstrations; Constantinople by any amount of Germans, and also by a curious class of Turco-German official who is, for the moment, the real master of the situation.

My journeys will be found in this book in their chronological order, but before I start the record of my war-time travels I should like to set down a conversation I had at Craig-Avon, near Belfast, in April, 1914.

One of the officers of the Ulster Army had just taken me round the camp and shown me everything: the new uniforms, the guns, the commissariat and sanitary arrangements, the men at drill and at play.

We were sitting in the lofty winter-garden of Craig-Avon, and beside our charming host—Captain Craig—Sir Edward Carson, the Archbishop of Belfast, and a few officers of H.M.S. Pathfinder, which was anchored off Carrickfergus, were present.

We talked about the situation, and about the organisation of the new troops, and I remember asking Sir Edward Carson the question, "Do you think all this preparation indispensable? Do you think there will ever be any actual fighting?"