CHAPTER XIThe Beach PartyWe must now follow the adventures of the Pink Rat, Bubbles, the Lamp-post, and the fifty men of their beach party whom we had left being towed across to theNewmarketon Saturday night.On board her had embarked details of Royal Engineers, Army Service Corps, and a weak company of the "Anson" Battalion, Royal Naval Division; also a Commander (from another ship) who took charge of the beach party, and a naval Captain to take charge of "W" beach—to act as Beach-master there—as soon as the landing commenced.This little steamer slowly steamed across from Tenedos Island during Saturday night, and on Sunday, at daybreak, anchored about twelve hundred yards from "W" beach, just as the first of the Lancashires jumped out of their boats on to the shore. Almost immediately afterwards, stray bullets began to whistle over her or splash in the water round her.The three midshipmen, almost too excited to notice these, stood with their hands shading the sun from their eyes, trying to pierce the cloud of smoke and haze over "W" beach and see what was happening beneath it.TheSwiftsure, quite close to them, fired her 7.5-inch guns very rapidly, and they were spectators of a most beautiful bit of gunnery work. This ship had already cleared the Turks away from the trenches running along the edges of the lower cliffs, on the left of "W" beach, and had driven them over the ridge above; now she began bursting shells on the higher cliffs, to the right of the beach, and as the smoke cloud melted and gave her a clear view of them and the little groups of Lancashires forming up beneath them, her shells, which had been searching those cliffs in a blind, indeterminate way, began bursting with the most marvellous accuracy, first in the galleries the Turks had cut in the cliff face, and when these were cleared, in the trenches above. Shells from theAchateshelped her; but theSwiftsurewas within shorter range and could enfilade them, so that most of the credit of stopping the murderous fire of rifles, maxims, and nordenfeldts from this position, and of driving the Turks away, is due to her. This made it possible for the Lancashires, who had already gained possession of the top of the low cliffs to the left, to press on across the head of the gully, and for those still on the beach to advance up it.As they advanced, the three tongue-tied midshipmen could see them plainly, and as they gained ground, so did those shells drop farther along, always some fifty or seventy yards in front of them. It was grand and most efficient gunnery, a remarkably fine example of the co-operation of supporting guns and advancing troops. To realize this thoroughly, you must put yourself in the place of the men who were actually firing her guns, and who, looking through their telescopic sights, could actually see the Lancashires in the lower half of the field of vision. The slightest unsteadiness, the lowering of a sight by a hair's-breadth, at the moment when they pressed their triggers, would have sent a 200-lb. lyddite shell to burst right among them. If there had been the slightest roll on the ship this feat would have been impossible, but, as you know, the sea was absolutely calm.All the three midshipmen could do was to gaze, open-mouthed, and burst out with excited "Oh's!" and "Look at that one!" "Look at them there—up there; those are our fellows!" "There's another shell, just in front of them! Isn't that grand!"Then the emptied transports' boats were towed alongside by the Orphan, and down into them they and their beach party had to scramble. The boat in which they found themselves had a pool of blood in her stern-sheets, and the thwarts and gunwales were smeared with it. They were too excited to pay any attention to this, because bullets were flying round theNewmarketpretty thickly at that time, and they had to shove off as quickly as possible, being towed inshore with theSwiftsure'sshells passing over their heads.This beach party was actually the second unit to land, and Bubbles said afterwards that it was exactly ten minutes past six when he scrambled out on to a large boulder, and found himself at last in the enemy's country. As a matter of fact, his watch must have been nearly twenty minutes slow.They landed, without casualties, among the rocks and under the low cliffs to the left of the sandy stretch of "W" beach, the calmness of the sea enabling the boats to run alongside, and shove themselves between the boulders scattered there, without damage. This place was hardly exposed to fire, and the whole of the beach party scrambled ashore and reached the foot of the low cliffs without loss.Here they were met by a Staff officer, who ordered the Commander in charge of them to scale the cliff and occupy the trenches along the top.The men had brought their rifles; were extremely pleased at the prospect of getting a shot at the Turks, and climbed up eagerly, throwing themselves into a broad, shallow trench running along the top. They waited for a few stragglers and for the men of the "Anson" Battalion, and then the little party of perhaps a hundred and fifty men trotted up the slope and towards the right, passing across one or two communication trenches, many craters made by the ships' shells, and one or two dead Lancashires. No one was hit in this little "jaunt", although many bullets were flying past. At last they were told to lie down in a trench—a deeper one—and remain there.It was interesting to see the different behaviour of the three midshipmen. Bubbles, big and burly, bustled along with his elbows bent, his head thrown back, a laugh on his face, and his mouth wide open as usual, his red face perspiring and the collar of his tunic unbuttoned, charging through the little scrub bushes and running straight, never looking behind. The Pink Rat, with his eyes bulging out of his head, dodged and stooped, and set his teeth, very obviously conscious of the bullets; whilst the Lamp-post trotted along, swinging his long legs, and looking as little discomposed as if he was at some silly manoeuvres—possibly he was setting the noise of the bullets and the ships' shells to music. He was the only one of the three who looked back, at all, to see how the men were coming along, and to keep his section in something like order, preventing them from bunching together—as sailors always will—and steadying those who wanted to run too fast.Once in this trench, the Pink Rat was sent along to make the men spread out and take cover properly, for again they were "bunching". The "Ansons", though they were mostly sailors, had had six months' military training, and so did not want telling what to do.Next to where Bubbles sprawled, panting and blowing, was a bluejacket who, even at this time, had begun collecting "curios", and now showed with pride a Turkish bayonet and a trenching tool which he had picked up on his way. "If I'd left 'em there," he told Bubbles, "I'd 'ave never seed them again."From the moment he had commenced to scramble up the low cliffs and then to trot along the slope above them, Bubbles had been entirely oblivious of anything except pushing on and saving his breath, but now he was able to look about him and see what was happening.The trench in which he knelt ran almost at right angles to the sea and the cliff they had just climbed, and whilst the lower portion dipped into the gully which led down to the sandy portion of "W" beach, the upper part reached the sky-line formed by the ridge which extended from the end of the Peninsula, parallel to the sea, above the cliffs.He, Bubbles, was almost in the middle of the trench, with most of the beach party lower down, and the "Ansons" above him. Looking along it and up the slope, he saw that the sky-line was, here and there, dotted by soldiers lying prone, and apparently firing inland. Straight in front of him the ground sloped a little downwards to the gully, to the ruins of a little house—a farm-building, perhaps—and then gradually rose again, rising with the higher cliffs beyond "W" beach, till it reached the spot where the white lighthouse buildings of Cape Helles stood very conspicuously. There it made another sky-line, perhaps eight hundred yards away from Bubbles, joining up with the sky-line of the ridge on his left. Behind, where these two sky-lines met, was a small eminence, and through his glasses he could see the barbed-wire which surrounded it. This was Hill 138, still strongly held by the Turks, and had to be taken before "W" beach could be used in comfort. Looking downwards to the right—where the gully sloped to the sea—a strip of "W" beach showed at the foot of the steep cliffs facing him there, with the galleries and the trenches along the upper edge, from which theSwiftsure'slyddite and the shells from theAchateshad driven the Turks only three-quarters of an hour ago.The green slopes were brown with a maze and network of trenches, rifle-pits, and shell craters; and beyond these the Lancashire Fusiliers still advanced towards the lighthouse—pressing forward by rushes of little groups; men running a few yards, throwing themselves down among the bushes, and firing; springing up and advancing again. When Bubbles saw a man fall, he could not know whether he was hit—so naturally did he fall—unless the line of scattered khaki figures went on and left him lying there. TheSwiftsure'sshells screeching over the trench in which Bubbles knelt, burst continually just in front of them. Firing was very brisk at this time, both on the ridge to his left and also from the sky-line near the lighthouse, and the crackling of musketry and the angry swish of bullets over the trench were almost continuous—minor noises among the deep, thundering bellow of the ships' guns and the rush of their shells. The Pink Rat came along the trench, stooping well down."What's going on? What are we supposed to be doing?" Bubbles asked as he stopped for a moment."Doing support to the firing-line," he squeaked, and hurried along with a message for the "Ansons".Left to himself again, Bubbles looked out across the blue waters of the Straits to the Asiatic shore and its high mountains fading away in the distance. The reddish ridge showing on the Asiatic shore was Kum Kali fort, and under it the French fleet was hammering away at the shore, the most conspicuous ships being theJeanne d'Arc, with her six funnels, and the curiously shapedHenri IV. Not far from them was the lighter grey of the RussianAskoldand her five tall, thin funnels, lighted by continuous flashes from her guns—the "Packet of Woodbines" the sailors called her. Farther away lay the big Messageries Maritimes transports, the hugeLa Provence, and rows of boats being towed inshore. Destroyers and French torpedo-boats dashed about; the whole surface of the sea was a mass of ships—one solitary white-painted hospital ship among them; and away beyond the lighthouse on Cape Helles—far up the Straits—Bubbles could hear the heavy guns of theLord NelsonandAgamemnon, and the 6-inch salvoes of theQueen Elizabeth. He could not see these ships because the cliffs hid them from sight.Firing died down, and the Lamp-post came sauntering along, looking bored, and sat down beside him, with his long, thin legs drawn up, resting his chin on his knees. "Those are the Plains of Troy," he said, pointing across the Straits to the belt of green pastures lying behind Kum Kali fort. "We should be able to see the ruins of Troy itself," and he got out his glasses, and looked disappointed when he failed to find them.Bubbles watched him with amusement. "Go it, old Lampy, keep your head in the clouds, and get a bullet in it! Who wants to see your silly old Troy! let's have some grub. I'm terribly hungry."They pulled some stale sandwiches from their haversacks, and commenced munching them contentedly."I'm jolly glad I'm not the Orphan—out there," said Bubbles, talking with his mouth full, and waving a half-eaten sandwich across beyond "W" beach—"pegging away in his old steam bus. I wouldn't be him for anything.""Jolly hard luck on Rawlins to be left in the ship," added the Lamp-post."Hello! there's a chap badly knocked about—look—dragging himself towards us through the grass!" The Lamp-post had "spotted" him about a hundred yards away from the trench."Let's go and give him a hand," suggested Bubbles."Right oh!" said the Lamp-post, pushing his field-glasses back into their case, and together these two midshipmen stepped out of the trench and walked towards the man. Only a few stray bullets were coming along just then. "Hullo! What's up?" they asked the soldier when they reached him."Got me in the knee," he said—his face ghastly white—as he turned over on his back, with one leg helpless and that trouser-leg soaked in blood.The Lamp-post knew all about "First Aid"—there were not many things he did not know something about—and the two midshipmen, kneeling down beside him, lashed his two legs together with his puttees, and began to carry him back.On the way the Lamp-post stumbled once, and the wounded man let out a groan: "For God's sake be careful!"—but they got him into the trench and laid him down. Then the Lamp-post crumpled up. "Something gave me an awful whack when I stumbled," he said; "I believe I'm hit," and put his hand to his side.Bubbles, frightened, made him lie down, and examined him. "There's no blood outside—I can't find any—oh! but look here!" and he lifted up the field-glass case. It had a slanting hole right across it, and when he wrenched out the glasses themselves, the "joining" piece had a ragged notch in it, and a small piece of torn white metal had been caught in it."My aunt! Old chap, that's a bit of nickel casing—a bullet hit it—youarea lucky chap! If you hadn't put those glasses away you'd have been a 'deader'."The two snotties examined the field-glasses eagerly, and passed them to the men close by. They all looked at the Lamp-post as if they envied him very much, and Bubbles kept on gurgling: "You are a lucky chap, Lampy!"They hunted to see if there was a bruise under the Lamp-post's shirt, and were disappointed when they found none."It feels jolly sore," the Lamp-post said as he felt the place."There'll sure to be a bruise to-morrow," Bubbles gurgled excitedly; "youarea lucky beggar."By this time the stretcher-parties were already out, and they handed over their wounded "knee" man to some of them. The others went up past the trench towards the firing-line, searching the grass and bushes. The two snotties watched them moving about. They would go across to a bush, stoop down, and Bubbles and the Lamp-post would know that a man was lying hidden there. If someone sat up between them, or they put down and opened out their stretcher, they knew they had found a wounded man. If nothing happened, and they went on with their stretcher, still folded, they knew that it was a dead man who was lying there.More soldiers now began coming up the gully, extending in long lines as they debouched at the top of it. They turned to the left, coming over the trench, and marching up to the slope behind and to the left. A bluejacket shouted out: "Who are you, matey?" "Essex!" they called back as they scrambled past, panting beneath their heavy packs. A youthful subaltern, struggling under the weight of his, stopped a moment to get Bubbles and the Lamp-post to hold it up, whilst he pulled the webbing-straps more tightly."Thanks! that's better," and off he went."Good luck!" they sang out after him.Almost directly after this, the order came for the "Ansons" and the beach party to fall back to the beach. "That finishes soldiering; now we've got to be labourers," the men grumbled as they straggled down the gully, helping any wounded they met on the way.And now they saw that horrible line of dead, lying at the water's edge, with the sea lapping round their legs and bodies, and the men hanging over the rows of barbed wire."It's rotten. It spoils all the fun," said the Lamp-post, as he stepped across the body of a very finely-made man lying face downwards in the sand, one hand still gripping his rifle, and the fingers of the other still dug into the sand. "Look at those bits of firewood in the straps of his pack. Poor chap! He'll never want them to cook his food with. It's rather rotten, isn't it?""Don't be an ass," Bubbles said comfortingly. He wasn't much of a philosopher, and these sights did not affect him.It was now about half-past nine, and by this time a large number of boats, full of stores, had wedged themselves among the rocks—farther along, where the beach party had landed—and the crews were throwing them out, shoving off, and going back for more. Army Service Corps men were already taking charge of them and taking them higher up the beach; the Sappers were already busy building a pier with casks and pontoons; and among all this hustle and bustle, the wounded sat or lay huddled up against the foot of the cliffs, waiting whilst the army doctors went from one to the other. The first thing that the Lamp-post and Bubbles had to do was to drive six stakes into the beach whilst six buoys were being moored, some sixty yards out, in the sea, and then stretch hawsers from each stake to its opposite buoy—as you have read before. That took a good hour, and when the big lighters came hauling themselves into these rope "gangways" they and their men had to unload them.Whenever there was not a boat to unload, there were wounded men to carry down to the empty boats. They were not idle for a moment, and all the time stray bullets were falling on the beach and occasionally wounding some of the men there. One of the Lamp-post's "section" got a bullet in his side and had to be sent off to theAchates, but no other of the beach party was hit that day. However, they were all much too busy to worry about, or even notice, these bullets, and never had a "stand easy" until about two o'clock, when they watched the shells from theAlbionandCornwallisbursting round Hill 138, beyond the lighthouse ridge, and listened to theSwiftsure'sshells screaming overhead again to burst in front of the advancing Worcesters. They hastily munched a bit of biscuit and tore off a bit of bully beef, had a pull at their nearly empty water-bottles; but more lighters coming in, crammed with stores, they went on with their work. Much heavy firing went on, stray bullets flipped about in all directions, and by half-past three they heard that the Worcesters had captured the hill; and, half an hour later still, had to help the wounded who streamed back down the gully from that gallant little assault.The Orphan brought them in a barricoe of water about this time, but that the wounded drank. Fortunately, a water lighter was brought ashore and beached shortly afterwards, and the Sappers pumped the water into a canvas tank they set up at the water's edge, so they didn't really want for long. It was rather unpleasant to go and get it, because you had to pass along and step across those dead men lying there. There was no time to move these, and they lay where they had fallen, when scrambling out of the boats, all that day and all the night, until next morning.After the Worcesters captured Hill 138, there was very little firing for some time. Later on, before sunset, the beach party had the joy of helping to run two field-guns out of horse-boats, and helped to haul them up the gully with hook-ropes—hauling them almost as high as the trench they had occupied in the early morning, then hurrying back for their limbers."What a thing to remember!" the Lamp-post said, patting the tarpaulin-covered gun, and panting with the exertion of hauling it up the steep gully. "Fancy helping with the very first gun to land!"Dusk came, and night fell grey and calm. Flares—oil flares, the same as those one sees over a green-grocer's barrow, in a market, at home—were lighted and placed along the beach. No one had a "stand easy"."What have you got?" would be shouted as a loaded boat crept in through the dark. "Come over this way—haul on that rope under your bows—that's better—there's room here."Perhaps they were Ordnance stores or Army Service stores—each had to be kept apart—the coloured stripes on the boxes would be scanned by the light of a lantern or of the flares. The bluejackets hoisted them on to the shore, and placed them in separate heaps for the soldier working-parties to take away to their proper "depots", already formed, one on one side of the gully, the other on the other side. Hour after hour this work went on; the men commenced to realize that they were almost "played out", and, without thinking, would throw themselves down and rest whenever there was the chance. Rifle-fire grew as the night went on, and wounded came back with stories of strong Turkish counter-attacks on the ridge beyond the cliffs. If they had had time to notice it they would have heard one continuous splutter of musketry, but they were too tired to do anything except go on working mechanically.At about midnight things became serious. Several men on the beach had been hit by stray bullets, and word was passed round to put out all the flares; news came that the troops up above were exhausted and running short of ammunition, and eventually the order ran along the beach: "Everyone with a rifle to fall in!"The bluejacket beach party dropped their boxes and groped for their rifles, fell in, and were marched by the Lamp-post and Bubbles up the gully again. The Pink Rat dashed about carrying orders from the Commander and the Beach-master.Those who had no rifles were told to get hold of ammunition-boxes and find their way up to the firing-line. The position was really serious at this time, though Bubbles and the Lamp-post were much too stupefied with fatigue to realize this.Once up at the top of the gully, someone gave the order to turn to the left, and led the beach party up the slope. Things were evidently pretty lively; the air seemed alive with bullets, and the ridge was outlined by spurts of flame. They came to a trench running parallel with, and below, this ridge, and were told to lie down in it. "Line out, men! You may be wanted to reinforce the firing-trench in front. Don't fire unless you get the order," and the officer, whoever he was, disappeared in the dark, leaving Bubbles and the Lamp-post—now thoroughly awake—to spread their men along the trench. Some of their friends—the Ansons—joined them, and presently the Beach-master, the Commander, and the Pink Rat found them too.For an hour they lay there doing nothing, Bubbles and the Lamp-post lying flat on their stomachs, next to a Staff officer at a telephone, who told them from time to time how things were "going". They both hoped that the front trenchwouldrequire reinforcing.Then they were taken out of that trench, and brought back to one still farther in the rear—almost on the edge of the cliffs. The men, losing interest, coiled up and went to sleep.Some time afterwards there were calls for "volunteers to carry up ammunition"—the firing-line was "shrieking" for more cartridges."Let's go!" the Lamp-post suggested. "We're not doing any good here; we can carry boxes all right."They found the Commander, who gave them leave. "Be careful," he said; "and you're not to stop up there."They scrambled to their right, to the foot of the gully, and found the stacked ammunition-boxes by marking the line of men who came from them carrying boxes on their shoulders.They seized a box between them. A small man—it was the Beach-master's servant—was trying to lift one on his shoulder. The three of them took the two between them—Bubbles gripping a loop of each box—and together they "lugged" them up the gully.At the top stood someone shouting out: "You go straight on along the edge of the cliff.—Keep along the Turks' trench there, as far as you can go; that'll take you right.—You go straight up the slope, away from the sea.—You get along to the left, as far as you can go—keep going uphill."As the Lamp-post, Bubbles, and the little servant came panting up, he sent them along the edge of the cliff, in the lighthouse direction. "Hurry along!" he called after them. "Keep along the trench."Off they went as fast as they could; an ill-assorted trio, for the Lamp-post's long legs and the servant's short ones did not keep step. The little man panted in the rear, but kept on bravely; Bubbles's two hands soon began to be cramped.They found the trench and followed it. The night was almost pitch-dark; but the rifle-firing ahead, to the left of them, gave an unsteady light, just sufficient for them to see the dark line of the trench. On their right, the cool wind blew gently up from the sea and the edge of the cliffs; it seemed to be humming with bullets. People kept meeting them—appearing out of the darkness, bumping into them, and disappearing; all had the same cry—"Hurry up!" as they dashed down for more ammunition."How much farther?" Bubbles, whose hands were so cramped that he could not now feel his fingers, called to a passing soldier."A hundred yards," the man shouted as he ran past.The Lamp-post caught his foot in something and fell; the box of ammunition fell out of Bubbles's cramped fingers—fell on something soft—a dead man. The Lamp-post jumped up, seized the box, hoisted it on his shoulder, and disappeared ahead; Bubbles and the servant followed with the other.[image]"THE LAMP-POST JUMPED UP, SEIZED THE BOX, HOISTED IT ON HIS SHOULDER, AND DISAPPEARED AHEAD"They were very near the front trench now; the whole ridge near the lighthouse and to the left of them was almost continuously outlined by the flashes of incessant musketry.Bubbles panted—his ear-drums were splitting—the little servant was catching his breath with half-frightened gulps. Then they cannoned against a bend in the trench, and were going on, when a gruff voice sang out: "Put it down here! Keep your heads down, damn you! Cut away back for more!"The Lamp-post joined them, breathing hard, and together, empty-handed, they ran back as fast as the narrowness of the trench and the darkness would allow them; the noise of the bullets coming along from behind, and pinging round their ears, making them go faster.Those two field-guns began firing just about then, lighting up the whole place with the glare of their flash, so that they could see, every time they fired, the trench in front of them, and the "drawn" faces of the men coming along it with more ammunition-boxes.The noise of these guns and their bursting shrapnel was most comforting. They realized then why it is that soldiers so love the sound of supporting guns.They regained the gully, dashed down it, and got hold of more ammunition. Each of the midshipmen put a box on his shoulder this time, and left the little servant to bring up a case by himself as best he could. On their way along the trench, at a place where it was deep and narrow, they had to push past two men crouching together."What's the matter? What are you doing?" they asked, taking a breather."We're wounded," they answered in a dull, stupid way."Can you walk?""Yes.""Well, don't block up the place. Get away back to the beach."When they returned, these two were still there.The Lamp-post had tripped over their feet and their rifles, and they blocked the trench."Where are you wounded?" he asked savagely."In the arm," one said, holding his right arm; the other growled sullenly that he'd been hit in the shoulder.Like lightning the Lamp-post pulled up the man's sleeve and his shirt-sleeve, and ran his fingers up the arm. He tore open the other man's tunic, and passed his hand under his shirt and over his shoulder—felt nothing—felt no blood on his hands—looked at them as a field-gun flashed, and found none."Get out of it!" he yelled at them. "You're neither of you touched.""We ain't 'ad nothink to eat since last night," one of them whined."Get out of it!" the Lamp-post kept yelling. "Go back to your regiment," and losing his temper completely, as the two men never attempted to move, struck one in the face—hard; but he was so absolutely cowed and exhausted that he only uttered a pitiful moan, and sunk a little farther down in the trench."If you are here when I come back," the Lamp-post hissed, "I'll shoot the two of you!" and the two snotties doubled back for more ammunition, passing the little servant staggering along under his load. "I'm all right, sir!" he gasped as they passed along the trench. When they did come back for the third time, those two men had disappeared, they never knew where. They were the only panic-stricken men they saw that day or night.On their third return journey the volume of fire was appreciably lessening, and they brought back word that no more ammunition was wanted in that direction. They were sent back to the beach party, and wandered about for a long time on the exposed slope above the gully until they stumbled across them, and reported themselves to the Commander. "We took up six cases between us, and the Captain's servant—that little chap—took up two at least." Then they flung themselves down beside their friend with the telephone, who told them that "all was gay".Most of the men in that trench were sound asleep, and the two tired snotties would have fallen asleep too, had not the Pink Rat glided along the trench to ask them where they'd been and what they'd done."I should have loved it," he kept on saying, "only the Commander wouldn't let me go."They did not altogether believe him.Rifle-firing had now dwindled to an occasional shot from some nervous rifle. The Turks by this time had given up any idea of pushing our people back into the sea, and only the two field-guns kept up a monotonous barking all night through.Just before dawn the beach party was withdrawn, and staggered down to "W" beach to commence another day's work; and, later on, Bubbles overheard one horny A.B. explain to a fat A.S.C. sergeant: "If those soldier chaps 'ad given way a bit, us chaps would 'ave 'ad a chawnce; but they 'eld on—the silly blighters!"That beach party, ever afterwards, had a grievance.Before the men "set to" again, they were given a little time to get food. Then they started to unload more stores. Stores simply poured ashore: clumsy bulky things like water-carts—more guns—two 60-pounder "heavy" guns and their limbers (these were placed in position behind the ridge, almost at the end of the Peninsula)—reels of telephone cable—tents for stores—hundreds and hundreds of boxes of ammunition—balks of timber for piers.Horses began to arrive—big fellows for the heavy guns—Clydesdales perhaps—great lovable fellows with a roguish eye for the beach, which made the sailors love them all the more. These last they handled as no one else in the world can handle them. Give a bluejacket anything on four feet, from an elephant to a pig, and he'll get it ashore all right. They've got "a way with them", and can coax a nervous horse or an obstinate mule better than anyone else—or think they can, which is more than half the battle. Perhaps the whole secret lies in the fact that they are so accustomed to shifting heavy weights that, if a beast resists all their blandishments, they know that hauling on to a rope passed round their "sterns" will work the oracle.Luckily, by the time they reached the shore in horse-boats, these poor, patient creatures had gone through so many extraordinary experiences that they did not worry much what happened to them. It was grand to see their pleasure when they felt firm ground once more under their feet and, when they were taken up the gully, saw grass growing once again. Mules came—mules in hundreds; but nobody can be really fond of a mule—not in a passing acquaintance, anyway.The Sappers made great headway with their pier of trestles, casks, and planks—No. 3 Pier—some way to the east of the pontoons they had placed in position, the day before, and called No. 2 Pier. They also discovered a freshwater spring at the foot of the cliffs, about two hundred yards beyond "W" beach. The discovery of this seems now a little matter, hardly worth recording; but quite possibly it was the most important event of the twenty-four hours.That day, also, the few Turkish prisoners who had been captured, unwounded, set to work with a will to build a small breakwater, which eventually became the base of No. 1 Pier.The "Howe" Battalion, R.N.D., also began making roadways.Work for the beach party became slacker towards night, not because there was less to do, but because the men were absolutely "played out". Officers and men had a regular "stand off", after dark, and a proper meal. They also had time to peg off the site for the naval camp with ropes, just below the Ordnance Store Depots, and to lay down some strips of canvas on the sandy ground. They were also put in two "watches", half of them working for four hours, and the other half working for the next four, and so on.Bubbles, who had the first watch "off", crept under his bit of canvas and fell asleep in a "brace of shakes", whilst the Lamp-post stalked back to the beach with his own section of men, and went on working. If it had been light enough to see that young officer's face, you would have noticed that his eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head, and that he kept on biting his lips to keep himself awake.CHAPTER XIIOff Cape HellesThe movements of the transports, store ships, and auxiliaries of all kinds were controlled from theAchates, and to cope with this work additional officers had been attached to her. An Admiral hoisted his flag in her, and brought his Staff, including two Assistant Clerks; three Captains joined as Naval Transport Officers—"N.T.O.'s"—and round her gangways hovered, night and day, a restless crowd of steamboats, picket-boats, and pinnaces—lent for various purposes from other ships. Each of these steamboats had its midshipman—some of them two, working watch and watch, twenty-four hours "on", and twenty-four hours "off" duty—with the result that the Honourable Mess was completely overrun with strangers.With the Pink Rat, the Lamp-post, and Bubbles awayallthe time, the Orphan, the Hun, and Rawlins—who relieved these, two in turn—awaymostof the time, and the Pimple spending most of his days and a good many of his nights visiting transports with the Navigator, when that officer went away to anchor them in their proper places, there was practically no one left except Uncle Podger, the China Doll, and the Sub. Now the Sub was in charge of all steamboats; it was his duty to hoist them out of the water when they required repairs, to get the repairs carried out as quickly as possible, and then hoist them into the water again. He also was in charge of all the coaling and watering of these boats. These duties kept him so constantly employed that he very seldom spent much time in the gun-room. In fact, Barnes generally left something in his cabin for him to eat, whenever the opportunity permitted.Of all the Honourable Mess, practically only Uncle Podger and the China Doll remained and came to meals as before. The result was that, twenty-four hours after theAchateshad anchored off "W" beach, the mess groaned under the weight of the Barbarians, and the Midianites, in the guise of tired, hungry snotties from other ships, and the Admiral's two Assistant Clerks had descended, pretty completely, on the fruitful land of her gun-room. They crowded down into it in their Condy's-fluid-stained "ducks"; they lay on the cushions and slept; lay in the one easy-chair and slept; came in at all hours of the day and night, demanding food, and drove the patient Barnes and the little messman nearly off their heads.The miserable little rat of a messman, thoughtless of the morrow, and eager to turn an honest penny just as quickly as he could, produced all the stores he had laid in at Portsmouth and again at Malta—stores which had been intended to delight the stomachs of the Honourable Mess for many "moons": tins of dainty biscuits, cakes, boxes of chocolate and preserved fruit, bottles of anchovies, jars of bloater and anchovy paste, jars of Oxford marmalade, and tins of Oxford sausages and of tongue—and many other rare delicacies, impossible now to replace; and this insatiable crowd of sojourners realized, like one man, that though their work was hard and the hours long, their feet were indeed cast in fruitful and pleasing places. Now the Pimple and the China Doll worshipped their stomachs with an unswerving devotion, unalloyed by the pangs of indigestion, so watched these intruders working havoc among the gun-room stores with feelings of keen agony. They realized, only too well, the barrenness which would soon fall to their lot, and they implored the Sub to stop these devastating demands on luxuries and "extras" before it was too late. Worst blow of all: that one last barrel of beer wouldn't drip another drop, however hard you blew down the vent.But the Sub was so seldom in the gun-room that he did not, for the first few days, realize the impending danger. It was on the third day, just as he had received an imploring, urgent order from the Commander, "to hoist in the General's picket-boat and hack away a coil of rope which had wrapped itself round the screw and shaft, and get her into the water again as quickly as ever he could", that he was waylaid by these two young gentlemen, who rushed to him with anxious faces. "Can't something be done? It's simply awful! One of theLord Nelson'ssnotties has just had his second box—his second box to-day—of those "chocs" with walnuts on the top!"They ran back much faster than they came; but that very day the Sub had the whole tragedy brought vividly before him, when, later on, going down to his cabin for a cup of tea, and feeling he wanted something "tasty", he ordered a pot of anchovy paste.Barnes came back with a long face. "That 'ere rat of a messman, 'e's been and gone and let all of 'em strange young gen'l'men 'ave all the han-chovy, sir. 'E ain't got none left, sir, but 'e 'as just one pot of chicken-and-'am what's gone an' got a bit mouldy. There won't be 'ardly nothink left of nothink, what with them strange young gen'l'men, and the young gen'l'men what's gone with the beach parties a-sending off chits for this and chits for that, as if this 'ere ship was a Lipton's store-shop.""It's just as bad along in the canteen, for'ard, sir," he added dolefully; "beach parties and all of these stranger boats' crews, they've just been and gone and raided it, that they 'ave; nothink there now, scarcely, but penny bottles of Worcester sauce and tins of blackin'. It ain't 'ardly fair; no, nor it isn't."Even Uncle Podger thought things were going too far when one day a midshipman from one of these ships ordered four tins of Oxford sausages to be sent down to his boat's crew."It may be very pretty to watch," he said, finding the Sub in his cabin, "but it's rotten bad luck on us."The Sub was worried. "You see, it's like this," he answered; "they're rather like guests, and we can't be rude to them. But I'll write out a notice which won't hurt their feelings, and may be some good; we'll stick it on the notice board."He wrote out several; he didn't like any of them, and tore them up, saying: "We can't be rude, can we?" And then, getting impatient, tore up the last, and burst out with: "Well, let the blessed things go, and don't let's worry, Uncle, old chap! You and I aren't particular."So things took their course unchecked, till the messman, at the end of ten days or so, announced to the rapacious throng, and the miserable Pimple and China Doll, that he had nothing left in his private store except one bottle of pickles and a bottle of Eno's fruit salt. Even that pot of mouldy "chicken-and-ham" had been "taken up".It is certain that if the Pimple or the China Doll were asked, now, what went on during the days following the landing of "The Great Adventure", and what struck them most forcibly, both of them would tell of the snotty who had eaten two boxes of "walnut chocolates" in one day—the two last boxes in the messman's store.The China Doll would also recount days of unaccustomed toil, when he was attached to one of the Naval Transport Officers as Clerk, and had to copy out sailing orders and check lists of arrivals and sailings of ships; work which frequently interfered with his great delight of climbing to the main-top, and looking through the range-finder there (against all orders, it may be said) at the shells bursting on the slopes of Achi Baba and among the windmills and houses of the village of Krithia. For the first few days he had felt very proud of his new job, carried a big correspondence book about with him, and felt himself as important as those very important young officers, the Admiral's Assistant Clerks; but as the days wore on, it became monotonous and irksome. The Captain whom he thus "assisted" was none too gentle with his mistakes—which were many—and he wished that the old days would return, when he had nothing to do but sit on the office stool in front of a ship's ledger, and kick his feet against the bulkhead until Uncle Podger told him to clear out of it. If only he kicked that bulkhead hard enough and often enough, Uncle Podger would never keep him long. It had been such a pleasant kind of a life, and in those days he had only to run into the gun-room and make some cheeky remark, to be rolled on the deck and be ragged; but even that was finished; the gun-room was no longer like home nowadays, for the snotties were mostly strangers, who took no notice of him if they were awake; and even if the Orphan, Rawlins, or the Hun happened to be there, they were much too tired to skylark. With the Pimple, who was more often available, he did not like skylarking, for the Pimple generally hurt him—intentionally.So, what with one thing and another, the China Doll was not entirely happy whilst he copied out these "silly" orders, and guns thudded from the ships all round him—guns whose shells he could not always run up on deck to see burst.There was so much to see, and it was so irritating to come out all this way to the Dardanelles, and then to find that he had to stick in a stupid office just when some of the most exciting things were going on. However, he could always make sure of watching a duel between the howitzers on the Asiatic shore—somewhere behind Kum Kali fort—and the ship told off to keep them quiet—thePrince Georgeor theAlbion, sometimes theAgamemnon. At almost any hour of the day he went on deck, he could make certain of soon seeing a splash leap up, close to whichever ship was on duty, and then see her fire her 12-inch guns, and watch till the brownish-red or black clouds flew up behind Kum Kali ridge as the shells burst, hoping intensely that bits of "Asiatic Annie" were flying up in it, and wondering what the spotting aeroplane, circling high above in the blue sky like a hawk, had seen and signalled.Then there were the shrapnel bursting behind "W" beach, and the little shells which sometimes burst there, but, more often than not, only buried themselves with a little spurt of dust. He would wonder whether Bubbles or the Lamp-post had been hit, and hoped they had not, because they had promised to send him off a shell, or anything interesting, as a curio. And, later on, there were the high-explosive shells, which sometimes burst in the air over that beach, and at other times burst on the ground with a horrid noise which frightened him, even where he was, in the ship, and made him rather alter his mind about going ashore to see the fun.The Turkish aeroplanes, or German most probably—the "Taubes" he had heard so much of—they came often; and at the first news of "hostile aeroplane approaching from the north-east" he would dash on deck, and try to spot them as they appeared over the top of Achi Baba—little moving spots which he lost sight of, if he was not very careful, until they came nearer and nearer, and the sun made their wings glisten like silver. He knew that each carried bombs, and often he could actually see these little things at the moment they were released from the body of the aeroplane, to burst somewhere near "W" beach, raising a cloud of dust and smoke, or drop in the sea among the ships, sending up a rather silly splash—such a waste of energy. And it was so "ripping" to hear guns firing at the aeroplane and see the shrapnel bursting. He did so long to see one crumple up and come tumbling down, but he was always being disappointed; and when that particular aeroplane had seen what it wanted, dropped all its bombs—seldom where it wanted—and turned back up the Straits, the China Doll felt rather miserable.Sometimes British and French aeroplanes went up after the Taube, and chased him to his home up above the Narrows, whilst the Turkish shrapnel burst round them just as they had done at Smyrna, only making better shooting as the days went on and their practice improved.At first the British and French aeroplanes had their home at Tenedos; and if they rested, slid down on the open ground close to Helles lighthouse, flighting back to their island before dark to spend the night. That, too, was always "pretty to watch", as Uncle Podger would have said.Then the bombardments of Achi Baba and Krithia, on the days that the troops attacked, gave him intense enjoyment; and sometimes, though not often, the China Doll, from his post up aloft in the main-top, could see, through the forbidden range-finder, little groups of khaki figures darting about among the scrub and the ravines which intersected that plain, though he could never be sure whether they were British or Turks. But what excited him most, and kept him in some quiet corner for hours, holding on to the rigging or a stanchion, stretching his head out in the dark, and hardly daring to breathe, were the night attacks by the Turks. The noise of them would wake him, and up on to the after shelter deck he would slip, in his ragged pyjamas, and watch the glare of the field-guns, the bursts of shrapnel-flame, the bright star-shells as they sunk in graceful curves of dazzling white light, and would listen to the rattle of the musketry and the Maxims, and the fierce barking of the guns—especially of the French "75's".On one of these nights Mr. Meredith found his funny little figure squeezed up against the rails, close to the life-buoy."Hullo, youngster!" he said cheerfully. "Would you like to be right in among it all—there on shore?""No, sir! I mean yes, sir! No, sir!""Which do you mean?" he asked."I don't know, sir. It sounds so awful.""Well, you'd better turn in. They're packing up for the night now."And so the China Doll would patter down the ladder in his bare feet, listen for a moment at the top of the hatchway to make sure that they had stopped fighting, and then go back to the dark half-deck and his hammock, and lie listening until he could not keep awake any longer.
CHAPTER XI
The Beach Party
We must now follow the adventures of the Pink Rat, Bubbles, the Lamp-post, and the fifty men of their beach party whom we had left being towed across to theNewmarketon Saturday night.
On board her had embarked details of Royal Engineers, Army Service Corps, and a weak company of the "Anson" Battalion, Royal Naval Division; also a Commander (from another ship) who took charge of the beach party, and a naval Captain to take charge of "W" beach—to act as Beach-master there—as soon as the landing commenced.
This little steamer slowly steamed across from Tenedos Island during Saturday night, and on Sunday, at daybreak, anchored about twelve hundred yards from "W" beach, just as the first of the Lancashires jumped out of their boats on to the shore. Almost immediately afterwards, stray bullets began to whistle over her or splash in the water round her.
The three midshipmen, almost too excited to notice these, stood with their hands shading the sun from their eyes, trying to pierce the cloud of smoke and haze over "W" beach and see what was happening beneath it.
TheSwiftsure, quite close to them, fired her 7.5-inch guns very rapidly, and they were spectators of a most beautiful bit of gunnery work. This ship had already cleared the Turks away from the trenches running along the edges of the lower cliffs, on the left of "W" beach, and had driven them over the ridge above; now she began bursting shells on the higher cliffs, to the right of the beach, and as the smoke cloud melted and gave her a clear view of them and the little groups of Lancashires forming up beneath them, her shells, which had been searching those cliffs in a blind, indeterminate way, began bursting with the most marvellous accuracy, first in the galleries the Turks had cut in the cliff face, and when these were cleared, in the trenches above. Shells from theAchateshelped her; but theSwiftsurewas within shorter range and could enfilade them, so that most of the credit of stopping the murderous fire of rifles, maxims, and nordenfeldts from this position, and of driving the Turks away, is due to her. This made it possible for the Lancashires, who had already gained possession of the top of the low cliffs to the left, to press on across the head of the gully, and for those still on the beach to advance up it.
As they advanced, the three tongue-tied midshipmen could see them plainly, and as they gained ground, so did those shells drop farther along, always some fifty or seventy yards in front of them. It was grand and most efficient gunnery, a remarkably fine example of the co-operation of supporting guns and advancing troops. To realize this thoroughly, you must put yourself in the place of the men who were actually firing her guns, and who, looking through their telescopic sights, could actually see the Lancashires in the lower half of the field of vision. The slightest unsteadiness, the lowering of a sight by a hair's-breadth, at the moment when they pressed their triggers, would have sent a 200-lb. lyddite shell to burst right among them. If there had been the slightest roll on the ship this feat would have been impossible, but, as you know, the sea was absolutely calm.
All the three midshipmen could do was to gaze, open-mouthed, and burst out with excited "Oh's!" and "Look at that one!" "Look at them there—up there; those are our fellows!" "There's another shell, just in front of them! Isn't that grand!"
Then the emptied transports' boats were towed alongside by the Orphan, and down into them they and their beach party had to scramble. The boat in which they found themselves had a pool of blood in her stern-sheets, and the thwarts and gunwales were smeared with it. They were too excited to pay any attention to this, because bullets were flying round theNewmarketpretty thickly at that time, and they had to shove off as quickly as possible, being towed inshore with theSwiftsure'sshells passing over their heads.
This beach party was actually the second unit to land, and Bubbles said afterwards that it was exactly ten minutes past six when he scrambled out on to a large boulder, and found himself at last in the enemy's country. As a matter of fact, his watch must have been nearly twenty minutes slow.
They landed, without casualties, among the rocks and under the low cliffs to the left of the sandy stretch of "W" beach, the calmness of the sea enabling the boats to run alongside, and shove themselves between the boulders scattered there, without damage. This place was hardly exposed to fire, and the whole of the beach party scrambled ashore and reached the foot of the low cliffs without loss.
Here they were met by a Staff officer, who ordered the Commander in charge of them to scale the cliff and occupy the trenches along the top.
The men had brought their rifles; were extremely pleased at the prospect of getting a shot at the Turks, and climbed up eagerly, throwing themselves into a broad, shallow trench running along the top. They waited for a few stragglers and for the men of the "Anson" Battalion, and then the little party of perhaps a hundred and fifty men trotted up the slope and towards the right, passing across one or two communication trenches, many craters made by the ships' shells, and one or two dead Lancashires. No one was hit in this little "jaunt", although many bullets were flying past. At last they were told to lie down in a trench—a deeper one—and remain there.
It was interesting to see the different behaviour of the three midshipmen. Bubbles, big and burly, bustled along with his elbows bent, his head thrown back, a laugh on his face, and his mouth wide open as usual, his red face perspiring and the collar of his tunic unbuttoned, charging through the little scrub bushes and running straight, never looking behind. The Pink Rat, with his eyes bulging out of his head, dodged and stooped, and set his teeth, very obviously conscious of the bullets; whilst the Lamp-post trotted along, swinging his long legs, and looking as little discomposed as if he was at some silly manoeuvres—possibly he was setting the noise of the bullets and the ships' shells to music. He was the only one of the three who looked back, at all, to see how the men were coming along, and to keep his section in something like order, preventing them from bunching together—as sailors always will—and steadying those who wanted to run too fast.
Once in this trench, the Pink Rat was sent along to make the men spread out and take cover properly, for again they were "bunching". The "Ansons", though they were mostly sailors, had had six months' military training, and so did not want telling what to do.
Next to where Bubbles sprawled, panting and blowing, was a bluejacket who, even at this time, had begun collecting "curios", and now showed with pride a Turkish bayonet and a trenching tool which he had picked up on his way. "If I'd left 'em there," he told Bubbles, "I'd 'ave never seed them again."
From the moment he had commenced to scramble up the low cliffs and then to trot along the slope above them, Bubbles had been entirely oblivious of anything except pushing on and saving his breath, but now he was able to look about him and see what was happening.
The trench in which he knelt ran almost at right angles to the sea and the cliff they had just climbed, and whilst the lower portion dipped into the gully which led down to the sandy portion of "W" beach, the upper part reached the sky-line formed by the ridge which extended from the end of the Peninsula, parallel to the sea, above the cliffs.
He, Bubbles, was almost in the middle of the trench, with most of the beach party lower down, and the "Ansons" above him. Looking along it and up the slope, he saw that the sky-line was, here and there, dotted by soldiers lying prone, and apparently firing inland. Straight in front of him the ground sloped a little downwards to the gully, to the ruins of a little house—a farm-building, perhaps—and then gradually rose again, rising with the higher cliffs beyond "W" beach, till it reached the spot where the white lighthouse buildings of Cape Helles stood very conspicuously. There it made another sky-line, perhaps eight hundred yards away from Bubbles, joining up with the sky-line of the ridge on his left. Behind, where these two sky-lines met, was a small eminence, and through his glasses he could see the barbed-wire which surrounded it. This was Hill 138, still strongly held by the Turks, and had to be taken before "W" beach could be used in comfort. Looking downwards to the right—where the gully sloped to the sea—a strip of "W" beach showed at the foot of the steep cliffs facing him there, with the galleries and the trenches along the upper edge, from which theSwiftsure'slyddite and the shells from theAchateshad driven the Turks only three-quarters of an hour ago.
The green slopes were brown with a maze and network of trenches, rifle-pits, and shell craters; and beyond these the Lancashire Fusiliers still advanced towards the lighthouse—pressing forward by rushes of little groups; men running a few yards, throwing themselves down among the bushes, and firing; springing up and advancing again. When Bubbles saw a man fall, he could not know whether he was hit—so naturally did he fall—unless the line of scattered khaki figures went on and left him lying there. TheSwiftsure'sshells screeching over the trench in which Bubbles knelt, burst continually just in front of them. Firing was very brisk at this time, both on the ridge to his left and also from the sky-line near the lighthouse, and the crackling of musketry and the angry swish of bullets over the trench were almost continuous—minor noises among the deep, thundering bellow of the ships' guns and the rush of their shells. The Pink Rat came along the trench, stooping well down.
"What's going on? What are we supposed to be doing?" Bubbles asked as he stopped for a moment.
"Doing support to the firing-line," he squeaked, and hurried along with a message for the "Ansons".
Left to himself again, Bubbles looked out across the blue waters of the Straits to the Asiatic shore and its high mountains fading away in the distance. The reddish ridge showing on the Asiatic shore was Kum Kali fort, and under it the French fleet was hammering away at the shore, the most conspicuous ships being theJeanne d'Arc, with her six funnels, and the curiously shapedHenri IV. Not far from them was the lighter grey of the RussianAskoldand her five tall, thin funnels, lighted by continuous flashes from her guns—the "Packet of Woodbines" the sailors called her. Farther away lay the big Messageries Maritimes transports, the hugeLa Provence, and rows of boats being towed inshore. Destroyers and French torpedo-boats dashed about; the whole surface of the sea was a mass of ships—one solitary white-painted hospital ship among them; and away beyond the lighthouse on Cape Helles—far up the Straits—Bubbles could hear the heavy guns of theLord NelsonandAgamemnon, and the 6-inch salvoes of theQueen Elizabeth. He could not see these ships because the cliffs hid them from sight.
Firing died down, and the Lamp-post came sauntering along, looking bored, and sat down beside him, with his long, thin legs drawn up, resting his chin on his knees. "Those are the Plains of Troy," he said, pointing across the Straits to the belt of green pastures lying behind Kum Kali fort. "We should be able to see the ruins of Troy itself," and he got out his glasses, and looked disappointed when he failed to find them.
Bubbles watched him with amusement. "Go it, old Lampy, keep your head in the clouds, and get a bullet in it! Who wants to see your silly old Troy! let's have some grub. I'm terribly hungry."
They pulled some stale sandwiches from their haversacks, and commenced munching them contentedly.
"I'm jolly glad I'm not the Orphan—out there," said Bubbles, talking with his mouth full, and waving a half-eaten sandwich across beyond "W" beach—"pegging away in his old steam bus. I wouldn't be him for anything."
"Jolly hard luck on Rawlins to be left in the ship," added the Lamp-post.
"Hello! there's a chap badly knocked about—look—dragging himself towards us through the grass!" The Lamp-post had "spotted" him about a hundred yards away from the trench.
"Let's go and give him a hand," suggested Bubbles.
"Right oh!" said the Lamp-post, pushing his field-glasses back into their case, and together these two midshipmen stepped out of the trench and walked towards the man. Only a few stray bullets were coming along just then. "Hullo! What's up?" they asked the soldier when they reached him.
"Got me in the knee," he said—his face ghastly white—as he turned over on his back, with one leg helpless and that trouser-leg soaked in blood.
The Lamp-post knew all about "First Aid"—there were not many things he did not know something about—and the two midshipmen, kneeling down beside him, lashed his two legs together with his puttees, and began to carry him back.
On the way the Lamp-post stumbled once, and the wounded man let out a groan: "For God's sake be careful!"—but they got him into the trench and laid him down. Then the Lamp-post crumpled up. "Something gave me an awful whack when I stumbled," he said; "I believe I'm hit," and put his hand to his side.
Bubbles, frightened, made him lie down, and examined him. "There's no blood outside—I can't find any—oh! but look here!" and he lifted up the field-glass case. It had a slanting hole right across it, and when he wrenched out the glasses themselves, the "joining" piece had a ragged notch in it, and a small piece of torn white metal had been caught in it.
"My aunt! Old chap, that's a bit of nickel casing—a bullet hit it—youarea lucky chap! If you hadn't put those glasses away you'd have been a 'deader'."
The two snotties examined the field-glasses eagerly, and passed them to the men close by. They all looked at the Lamp-post as if they envied him very much, and Bubbles kept on gurgling: "You are a lucky chap, Lampy!"
They hunted to see if there was a bruise under the Lamp-post's shirt, and were disappointed when they found none.
"It feels jolly sore," the Lamp-post said as he felt the place.
"There'll sure to be a bruise to-morrow," Bubbles gurgled excitedly; "youarea lucky beggar."
By this time the stretcher-parties were already out, and they handed over their wounded "knee" man to some of them. The others went up past the trench towards the firing-line, searching the grass and bushes. The two snotties watched them moving about. They would go across to a bush, stoop down, and Bubbles and the Lamp-post would know that a man was lying hidden there. If someone sat up between them, or they put down and opened out their stretcher, they knew they had found a wounded man. If nothing happened, and they went on with their stretcher, still folded, they knew that it was a dead man who was lying there.
More soldiers now began coming up the gully, extending in long lines as they debouched at the top of it. They turned to the left, coming over the trench, and marching up to the slope behind and to the left. A bluejacket shouted out: "Who are you, matey?" "Essex!" they called back as they scrambled past, panting beneath their heavy packs. A youthful subaltern, struggling under the weight of his, stopped a moment to get Bubbles and the Lamp-post to hold it up, whilst he pulled the webbing-straps more tightly.
"Thanks! that's better," and off he went.
"Good luck!" they sang out after him.
Almost directly after this, the order came for the "Ansons" and the beach party to fall back to the beach. "That finishes soldiering; now we've got to be labourers," the men grumbled as they straggled down the gully, helping any wounded they met on the way.
And now they saw that horrible line of dead, lying at the water's edge, with the sea lapping round their legs and bodies, and the men hanging over the rows of barbed wire.
"It's rotten. It spoils all the fun," said the Lamp-post, as he stepped across the body of a very finely-made man lying face downwards in the sand, one hand still gripping his rifle, and the fingers of the other still dug into the sand. "Look at those bits of firewood in the straps of his pack. Poor chap! He'll never want them to cook his food with. It's rather rotten, isn't it?"
"Don't be an ass," Bubbles said comfortingly. He wasn't much of a philosopher, and these sights did not affect him.
It was now about half-past nine, and by this time a large number of boats, full of stores, had wedged themselves among the rocks—farther along, where the beach party had landed—and the crews were throwing them out, shoving off, and going back for more. Army Service Corps men were already taking charge of them and taking them higher up the beach; the Sappers were already busy building a pier with casks and pontoons; and among all this hustle and bustle, the wounded sat or lay huddled up against the foot of the cliffs, waiting whilst the army doctors went from one to the other. The first thing that the Lamp-post and Bubbles had to do was to drive six stakes into the beach whilst six buoys were being moored, some sixty yards out, in the sea, and then stretch hawsers from each stake to its opposite buoy—as you have read before. That took a good hour, and when the big lighters came hauling themselves into these rope "gangways" they and their men had to unload them.
Whenever there was not a boat to unload, there were wounded men to carry down to the empty boats. They were not idle for a moment, and all the time stray bullets were falling on the beach and occasionally wounding some of the men there. One of the Lamp-post's "section" got a bullet in his side and had to be sent off to theAchates, but no other of the beach party was hit that day. However, they were all much too busy to worry about, or even notice, these bullets, and never had a "stand easy" until about two o'clock, when they watched the shells from theAlbionandCornwallisbursting round Hill 138, beyond the lighthouse ridge, and listened to theSwiftsure'sshells screaming overhead again to burst in front of the advancing Worcesters. They hastily munched a bit of biscuit and tore off a bit of bully beef, had a pull at their nearly empty water-bottles; but more lighters coming in, crammed with stores, they went on with their work. Much heavy firing went on, stray bullets flipped about in all directions, and by half-past three they heard that the Worcesters had captured the hill; and, half an hour later still, had to help the wounded who streamed back down the gully from that gallant little assault.
The Orphan brought them in a barricoe of water about this time, but that the wounded drank. Fortunately, a water lighter was brought ashore and beached shortly afterwards, and the Sappers pumped the water into a canvas tank they set up at the water's edge, so they didn't really want for long. It was rather unpleasant to go and get it, because you had to pass along and step across those dead men lying there. There was no time to move these, and they lay where they had fallen, when scrambling out of the boats, all that day and all the night, until next morning.
After the Worcesters captured Hill 138, there was very little firing for some time. Later on, before sunset, the beach party had the joy of helping to run two field-guns out of horse-boats, and helped to haul them up the gully with hook-ropes—hauling them almost as high as the trench they had occupied in the early morning, then hurrying back for their limbers.
"What a thing to remember!" the Lamp-post said, patting the tarpaulin-covered gun, and panting with the exertion of hauling it up the steep gully. "Fancy helping with the very first gun to land!"
Dusk came, and night fell grey and calm. Flares—oil flares, the same as those one sees over a green-grocer's barrow, in a market, at home—were lighted and placed along the beach. No one had a "stand easy".
"What have you got?" would be shouted as a loaded boat crept in through the dark. "Come over this way—haul on that rope under your bows—that's better—there's room here."
Perhaps they were Ordnance stores or Army Service stores—each had to be kept apart—the coloured stripes on the boxes would be scanned by the light of a lantern or of the flares. The bluejackets hoisted them on to the shore, and placed them in separate heaps for the soldier working-parties to take away to their proper "depots", already formed, one on one side of the gully, the other on the other side. Hour after hour this work went on; the men commenced to realize that they were almost "played out", and, without thinking, would throw themselves down and rest whenever there was the chance. Rifle-fire grew as the night went on, and wounded came back with stories of strong Turkish counter-attacks on the ridge beyond the cliffs. If they had had time to notice it they would have heard one continuous splutter of musketry, but they were too tired to do anything except go on working mechanically.
At about midnight things became serious. Several men on the beach had been hit by stray bullets, and word was passed round to put out all the flares; news came that the troops up above were exhausted and running short of ammunition, and eventually the order ran along the beach: "Everyone with a rifle to fall in!"
The bluejacket beach party dropped their boxes and groped for their rifles, fell in, and were marched by the Lamp-post and Bubbles up the gully again. The Pink Rat dashed about carrying orders from the Commander and the Beach-master.
Those who had no rifles were told to get hold of ammunition-boxes and find their way up to the firing-line. The position was really serious at this time, though Bubbles and the Lamp-post were much too stupefied with fatigue to realize this.
Once up at the top of the gully, someone gave the order to turn to the left, and led the beach party up the slope. Things were evidently pretty lively; the air seemed alive with bullets, and the ridge was outlined by spurts of flame. They came to a trench running parallel with, and below, this ridge, and were told to lie down in it. "Line out, men! You may be wanted to reinforce the firing-trench in front. Don't fire unless you get the order," and the officer, whoever he was, disappeared in the dark, leaving Bubbles and the Lamp-post—now thoroughly awake—to spread their men along the trench. Some of their friends—the Ansons—joined them, and presently the Beach-master, the Commander, and the Pink Rat found them too.
For an hour they lay there doing nothing, Bubbles and the Lamp-post lying flat on their stomachs, next to a Staff officer at a telephone, who told them from time to time how things were "going". They both hoped that the front trenchwouldrequire reinforcing.
Then they were taken out of that trench, and brought back to one still farther in the rear—almost on the edge of the cliffs. The men, losing interest, coiled up and went to sleep.
Some time afterwards there were calls for "volunteers to carry up ammunition"—the firing-line was "shrieking" for more cartridges.
"Let's go!" the Lamp-post suggested. "We're not doing any good here; we can carry boxes all right."
They found the Commander, who gave them leave. "Be careful," he said; "and you're not to stop up there."
They scrambled to their right, to the foot of the gully, and found the stacked ammunition-boxes by marking the line of men who came from them carrying boxes on their shoulders.
They seized a box between them. A small man—it was the Beach-master's servant—was trying to lift one on his shoulder. The three of them took the two between them—Bubbles gripping a loop of each box—and together they "lugged" them up the gully.
At the top stood someone shouting out: "You go straight on along the edge of the cliff.—Keep along the Turks' trench there, as far as you can go; that'll take you right.—You go straight up the slope, away from the sea.—You get along to the left, as far as you can go—keep going uphill."
As the Lamp-post, Bubbles, and the little servant came panting up, he sent them along the edge of the cliff, in the lighthouse direction. "Hurry along!" he called after them. "Keep along the trench."
Off they went as fast as they could; an ill-assorted trio, for the Lamp-post's long legs and the servant's short ones did not keep step. The little man panted in the rear, but kept on bravely; Bubbles's two hands soon began to be cramped.
They found the trench and followed it. The night was almost pitch-dark; but the rifle-firing ahead, to the left of them, gave an unsteady light, just sufficient for them to see the dark line of the trench. On their right, the cool wind blew gently up from the sea and the edge of the cliffs; it seemed to be humming with bullets. People kept meeting them—appearing out of the darkness, bumping into them, and disappearing; all had the same cry—"Hurry up!" as they dashed down for more ammunition.
"How much farther?" Bubbles, whose hands were so cramped that he could not now feel his fingers, called to a passing soldier.
"A hundred yards," the man shouted as he ran past.
The Lamp-post caught his foot in something and fell; the box of ammunition fell out of Bubbles's cramped fingers—fell on something soft—a dead man. The Lamp-post jumped up, seized the box, hoisted it on his shoulder, and disappeared ahead; Bubbles and the servant followed with the other.
[image]"THE LAMP-POST JUMPED UP, SEIZED THE BOX, HOISTED IT ON HIS SHOULDER, AND DISAPPEARED AHEAD"
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"THE LAMP-POST JUMPED UP, SEIZED THE BOX, HOISTED IT ON HIS SHOULDER, AND DISAPPEARED AHEAD"
They were very near the front trench now; the whole ridge near the lighthouse and to the left of them was almost continuously outlined by the flashes of incessant musketry.
Bubbles panted—his ear-drums were splitting—the little servant was catching his breath with half-frightened gulps. Then they cannoned against a bend in the trench, and were going on, when a gruff voice sang out: "Put it down here! Keep your heads down, damn you! Cut away back for more!"
The Lamp-post joined them, breathing hard, and together, empty-handed, they ran back as fast as the narrowness of the trench and the darkness would allow them; the noise of the bullets coming along from behind, and pinging round their ears, making them go faster.
Those two field-guns began firing just about then, lighting up the whole place with the glare of their flash, so that they could see, every time they fired, the trench in front of them, and the "drawn" faces of the men coming along it with more ammunition-boxes.
The noise of these guns and their bursting shrapnel was most comforting. They realized then why it is that soldiers so love the sound of supporting guns.
They regained the gully, dashed down it, and got hold of more ammunition. Each of the midshipmen put a box on his shoulder this time, and left the little servant to bring up a case by himself as best he could. On their way along the trench, at a place where it was deep and narrow, they had to push past two men crouching together.
"What's the matter? What are you doing?" they asked, taking a breather.
"We're wounded," they answered in a dull, stupid way.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"Well, don't block up the place. Get away back to the beach."
When they returned, these two were still there.
The Lamp-post had tripped over their feet and their rifles, and they blocked the trench.
"Where are you wounded?" he asked savagely.
"In the arm," one said, holding his right arm; the other growled sullenly that he'd been hit in the shoulder.
Like lightning the Lamp-post pulled up the man's sleeve and his shirt-sleeve, and ran his fingers up the arm. He tore open the other man's tunic, and passed his hand under his shirt and over his shoulder—felt nothing—felt no blood on his hands—looked at them as a field-gun flashed, and found none.
"Get out of it!" he yelled at them. "You're neither of you touched."
"We ain't 'ad nothink to eat since last night," one of them whined.
"Get out of it!" the Lamp-post kept yelling. "Go back to your regiment," and losing his temper completely, as the two men never attempted to move, struck one in the face—hard; but he was so absolutely cowed and exhausted that he only uttered a pitiful moan, and sunk a little farther down in the trench.
"If you are here when I come back," the Lamp-post hissed, "I'll shoot the two of you!" and the two snotties doubled back for more ammunition, passing the little servant staggering along under his load. "I'm all right, sir!" he gasped as they passed along the trench. When they did come back for the third time, those two men had disappeared, they never knew where. They were the only panic-stricken men they saw that day or night.
On their third return journey the volume of fire was appreciably lessening, and they brought back word that no more ammunition was wanted in that direction. They were sent back to the beach party, and wandered about for a long time on the exposed slope above the gully until they stumbled across them, and reported themselves to the Commander. "We took up six cases between us, and the Captain's servant—that little chap—took up two at least." Then they flung themselves down beside their friend with the telephone, who told them that "all was gay".
Most of the men in that trench were sound asleep, and the two tired snotties would have fallen asleep too, had not the Pink Rat glided along the trench to ask them where they'd been and what they'd done.
"I should have loved it," he kept on saying, "only the Commander wouldn't let me go."
They did not altogether believe him.
Rifle-firing had now dwindled to an occasional shot from some nervous rifle. The Turks by this time had given up any idea of pushing our people back into the sea, and only the two field-guns kept up a monotonous barking all night through.
Just before dawn the beach party was withdrawn, and staggered down to "W" beach to commence another day's work; and, later on, Bubbles overheard one horny A.B. explain to a fat A.S.C. sergeant: "If those soldier chaps 'ad given way a bit, us chaps would 'ave 'ad a chawnce; but they 'eld on—the silly blighters!"
That beach party, ever afterwards, had a grievance.
Before the men "set to" again, they were given a little time to get food. Then they started to unload more stores. Stores simply poured ashore: clumsy bulky things like water-carts—more guns—two 60-pounder "heavy" guns and their limbers (these were placed in position behind the ridge, almost at the end of the Peninsula)—reels of telephone cable—tents for stores—hundreds and hundreds of boxes of ammunition—balks of timber for piers.
Horses began to arrive—big fellows for the heavy guns—Clydesdales perhaps—great lovable fellows with a roguish eye for the beach, which made the sailors love them all the more. These last they handled as no one else in the world can handle them. Give a bluejacket anything on four feet, from an elephant to a pig, and he'll get it ashore all right. They've got "a way with them", and can coax a nervous horse or an obstinate mule better than anyone else—or think they can, which is more than half the battle. Perhaps the whole secret lies in the fact that they are so accustomed to shifting heavy weights that, if a beast resists all their blandishments, they know that hauling on to a rope passed round their "sterns" will work the oracle.
Luckily, by the time they reached the shore in horse-boats, these poor, patient creatures had gone through so many extraordinary experiences that they did not worry much what happened to them. It was grand to see their pleasure when they felt firm ground once more under their feet and, when they were taken up the gully, saw grass growing once again. Mules came—mules in hundreds; but nobody can be really fond of a mule—not in a passing acquaintance, anyway.
The Sappers made great headway with their pier of trestles, casks, and planks—No. 3 Pier—some way to the east of the pontoons they had placed in position, the day before, and called No. 2 Pier. They also discovered a freshwater spring at the foot of the cliffs, about two hundred yards beyond "W" beach. The discovery of this seems now a little matter, hardly worth recording; but quite possibly it was the most important event of the twenty-four hours.
That day, also, the few Turkish prisoners who had been captured, unwounded, set to work with a will to build a small breakwater, which eventually became the base of No. 1 Pier.
The "Howe" Battalion, R.N.D., also began making roadways.
Work for the beach party became slacker towards night, not because there was less to do, but because the men were absolutely "played out". Officers and men had a regular "stand off", after dark, and a proper meal. They also had time to peg off the site for the naval camp with ropes, just below the Ordnance Store Depots, and to lay down some strips of canvas on the sandy ground. They were also put in two "watches", half of them working for four hours, and the other half working for the next four, and so on.
Bubbles, who had the first watch "off", crept under his bit of canvas and fell asleep in a "brace of shakes", whilst the Lamp-post stalked back to the beach with his own section of men, and went on working. If it had been light enough to see that young officer's face, you would have noticed that his eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head, and that he kept on biting his lips to keep himself awake.
CHAPTER XII
Off Cape Helles
The movements of the transports, store ships, and auxiliaries of all kinds were controlled from theAchates, and to cope with this work additional officers had been attached to her. An Admiral hoisted his flag in her, and brought his Staff, including two Assistant Clerks; three Captains joined as Naval Transport Officers—"N.T.O.'s"—and round her gangways hovered, night and day, a restless crowd of steamboats, picket-boats, and pinnaces—lent for various purposes from other ships. Each of these steamboats had its midshipman—some of them two, working watch and watch, twenty-four hours "on", and twenty-four hours "off" duty—with the result that the Honourable Mess was completely overrun with strangers.
With the Pink Rat, the Lamp-post, and Bubbles awayallthe time, the Orphan, the Hun, and Rawlins—who relieved these, two in turn—awaymostof the time, and the Pimple spending most of his days and a good many of his nights visiting transports with the Navigator, when that officer went away to anchor them in their proper places, there was practically no one left except Uncle Podger, the China Doll, and the Sub. Now the Sub was in charge of all steamboats; it was his duty to hoist them out of the water when they required repairs, to get the repairs carried out as quickly as possible, and then hoist them into the water again. He also was in charge of all the coaling and watering of these boats. These duties kept him so constantly employed that he very seldom spent much time in the gun-room. In fact, Barnes generally left something in his cabin for him to eat, whenever the opportunity permitted.
Of all the Honourable Mess, practically only Uncle Podger and the China Doll remained and came to meals as before. The result was that, twenty-four hours after theAchateshad anchored off "W" beach, the mess groaned under the weight of the Barbarians, and the Midianites, in the guise of tired, hungry snotties from other ships, and the Admiral's two Assistant Clerks had descended, pretty completely, on the fruitful land of her gun-room. They crowded down into it in their Condy's-fluid-stained "ducks"; they lay on the cushions and slept; lay in the one easy-chair and slept; came in at all hours of the day and night, demanding food, and drove the patient Barnes and the little messman nearly off their heads.
The miserable little rat of a messman, thoughtless of the morrow, and eager to turn an honest penny just as quickly as he could, produced all the stores he had laid in at Portsmouth and again at Malta—stores which had been intended to delight the stomachs of the Honourable Mess for many "moons": tins of dainty biscuits, cakes, boxes of chocolate and preserved fruit, bottles of anchovies, jars of bloater and anchovy paste, jars of Oxford marmalade, and tins of Oxford sausages and of tongue—and many other rare delicacies, impossible now to replace; and this insatiable crowd of sojourners realized, like one man, that though their work was hard and the hours long, their feet were indeed cast in fruitful and pleasing places. Now the Pimple and the China Doll worshipped their stomachs with an unswerving devotion, unalloyed by the pangs of indigestion, so watched these intruders working havoc among the gun-room stores with feelings of keen agony. They realized, only too well, the barrenness which would soon fall to their lot, and they implored the Sub to stop these devastating demands on luxuries and "extras" before it was too late. Worst blow of all: that one last barrel of beer wouldn't drip another drop, however hard you blew down the vent.
But the Sub was so seldom in the gun-room that he did not, for the first few days, realize the impending danger. It was on the third day, just as he had received an imploring, urgent order from the Commander, "to hoist in the General's picket-boat and hack away a coil of rope which had wrapped itself round the screw and shaft, and get her into the water again as quickly as ever he could", that he was waylaid by these two young gentlemen, who rushed to him with anxious faces. "Can't something be done? It's simply awful! One of theLord Nelson'ssnotties has just had his second box—his second box to-day—of those "chocs" with walnuts on the top!"
They ran back much faster than they came; but that very day the Sub had the whole tragedy brought vividly before him, when, later on, going down to his cabin for a cup of tea, and feeling he wanted something "tasty", he ordered a pot of anchovy paste.
Barnes came back with a long face. "That 'ere rat of a messman, 'e's been and gone and let all of 'em strange young gen'l'men 'ave all the han-chovy, sir. 'E ain't got none left, sir, but 'e 'as just one pot of chicken-and-'am what's gone an' got a bit mouldy. There won't be 'ardly nothink left of nothink, what with them strange young gen'l'men, and the young gen'l'men what's gone with the beach parties a-sending off chits for this and chits for that, as if this 'ere ship was a Lipton's store-shop."
"It's just as bad along in the canteen, for'ard, sir," he added dolefully; "beach parties and all of these stranger boats' crews, they've just been and gone and raided it, that they 'ave; nothink there now, scarcely, but penny bottles of Worcester sauce and tins of blackin'. It ain't 'ardly fair; no, nor it isn't."
Even Uncle Podger thought things were going too far when one day a midshipman from one of these ships ordered four tins of Oxford sausages to be sent down to his boat's crew.
"It may be very pretty to watch," he said, finding the Sub in his cabin, "but it's rotten bad luck on us."
The Sub was worried. "You see, it's like this," he answered; "they're rather like guests, and we can't be rude to them. But I'll write out a notice which won't hurt their feelings, and may be some good; we'll stick it on the notice board."
He wrote out several; he didn't like any of them, and tore them up, saying: "We can't be rude, can we?" And then, getting impatient, tore up the last, and burst out with: "Well, let the blessed things go, and don't let's worry, Uncle, old chap! You and I aren't particular."
So things took their course unchecked, till the messman, at the end of ten days or so, announced to the rapacious throng, and the miserable Pimple and China Doll, that he had nothing left in his private store except one bottle of pickles and a bottle of Eno's fruit salt. Even that pot of mouldy "chicken-and-ham" had been "taken up".
It is certain that if the Pimple or the China Doll were asked, now, what went on during the days following the landing of "The Great Adventure", and what struck them most forcibly, both of them would tell of the snotty who had eaten two boxes of "walnut chocolates" in one day—the two last boxes in the messman's store.
The China Doll would also recount days of unaccustomed toil, when he was attached to one of the Naval Transport Officers as Clerk, and had to copy out sailing orders and check lists of arrivals and sailings of ships; work which frequently interfered with his great delight of climbing to the main-top, and looking through the range-finder there (against all orders, it may be said) at the shells bursting on the slopes of Achi Baba and among the windmills and houses of the village of Krithia. For the first few days he had felt very proud of his new job, carried a big correspondence book about with him, and felt himself as important as those very important young officers, the Admiral's Assistant Clerks; but as the days wore on, it became monotonous and irksome. The Captain whom he thus "assisted" was none too gentle with his mistakes—which were many—and he wished that the old days would return, when he had nothing to do but sit on the office stool in front of a ship's ledger, and kick his feet against the bulkhead until Uncle Podger told him to clear out of it. If only he kicked that bulkhead hard enough and often enough, Uncle Podger would never keep him long. It had been such a pleasant kind of a life, and in those days he had only to run into the gun-room and make some cheeky remark, to be rolled on the deck and be ragged; but even that was finished; the gun-room was no longer like home nowadays, for the snotties were mostly strangers, who took no notice of him if they were awake; and even if the Orphan, Rawlins, or the Hun happened to be there, they were much too tired to skylark. With the Pimple, who was more often available, he did not like skylarking, for the Pimple generally hurt him—intentionally.
So, what with one thing and another, the China Doll was not entirely happy whilst he copied out these "silly" orders, and guns thudded from the ships all round him—guns whose shells he could not always run up on deck to see burst.
There was so much to see, and it was so irritating to come out all this way to the Dardanelles, and then to find that he had to stick in a stupid office just when some of the most exciting things were going on. However, he could always make sure of watching a duel between the howitzers on the Asiatic shore—somewhere behind Kum Kali fort—and the ship told off to keep them quiet—thePrince Georgeor theAlbion, sometimes theAgamemnon. At almost any hour of the day he went on deck, he could make certain of soon seeing a splash leap up, close to whichever ship was on duty, and then see her fire her 12-inch guns, and watch till the brownish-red or black clouds flew up behind Kum Kali ridge as the shells burst, hoping intensely that bits of "Asiatic Annie" were flying up in it, and wondering what the spotting aeroplane, circling high above in the blue sky like a hawk, had seen and signalled.
Then there were the shrapnel bursting behind "W" beach, and the little shells which sometimes burst there, but, more often than not, only buried themselves with a little spurt of dust. He would wonder whether Bubbles or the Lamp-post had been hit, and hoped they had not, because they had promised to send him off a shell, or anything interesting, as a curio. And, later on, there were the high-explosive shells, which sometimes burst in the air over that beach, and at other times burst on the ground with a horrid noise which frightened him, even where he was, in the ship, and made him rather alter his mind about going ashore to see the fun.
The Turkish aeroplanes, or German most probably—the "Taubes" he had heard so much of—they came often; and at the first news of "hostile aeroplane approaching from the north-east" he would dash on deck, and try to spot them as they appeared over the top of Achi Baba—little moving spots which he lost sight of, if he was not very careful, until they came nearer and nearer, and the sun made their wings glisten like silver. He knew that each carried bombs, and often he could actually see these little things at the moment they were released from the body of the aeroplane, to burst somewhere near "W" beach, raising a cloud of dust and smoke, or drop in the sea among the ships, sending up a rather silly splash—such a waste of energy. And it was so "ripping" to hear guns firing at the aeroplane and see the shrapnel bursting. He did so long to see one crumple up and come tumbling down, but he was always being disappointed; and when that particular aeroplane had seen what it wanted, dropped all its bombs—seldom where it wanted—and turned back up the Straits, the China Doll felt rather miserable.
Sometimes British and French aeroplanes went up after the Taube, and chased him to his home up above the Narrows, whilst the Turkish shrapnel burst round them just as they had done at Smyrna, only making better shooting as the days went on and their practice improved.
At first the British and French aeroplanes had their home at Tenedos; and if they rested, slid down on the open ground close to Helles lighthouse, flighting back to their island before dark to spend the night. That, too, was always "pretty to watch", as Uncle Podger would have said.
Then the bombardments of Achi Baba and Krithia, on the days that the troops attacked, gave him intense enjoyment; and sometimes, though not often, the China Doll, from his post up aloft in the main-top, could see, through the forbidden range-finder, little groups of khaki figures darting about among the scrub and the ravines which intersected that plain, though he could never be sure whether they were British or Turks. But what excited him most, and kept him in some quiet corner for hours, holding on to the rigging or a stanchion, stretching his head out in the dark, and hardly daring to breathe, were the night attacks by the Turks. The noise of them would wake him, and up on to the after shelter deck he would slip, in his ragged pyjamas, and watch the glare of the field-guns, the bursts of shrapnel-flame, the bright star-shells as they sunk in graceful curves of dazzling white light, and would listen to the rattle of the musketry and the Maxims, and the fierce barking of the guns—especially of the French "75's".
On one of these nights Mr. Meredith found his funny little figure squeezed up against the rails, close to the life-buoy.
"Hullo, youngster!" he said cheerfully. "Would you like to be right in among it all—there on shore?"
"No, sir! I mean yes, sir! No, sir!"
"Which do you mean?" he asked.
"I don't know, sir. It sounds so awful."
"Well, you'd better turn in. They're packing up for the night now."
And so the China Doll would patter down the ladder in his bare feet, listen for a moment at the top of the hatchway to make sure that they had stopped fighting, and then go back to the dark half-deck and his hammock, and lie listening until he could not keep awake any longer.