By this time everything that could be done to make the _Achates_ safe,
in case she was attacked, had been done; water-tight doors and hatches
were all closed; the Orphan was under the fore-bridge with his 6-pounder
guns' crews; Bubbles was on the after-shelter deck with his; look-out
men, all round the quarter-deck and fo'c'sle, peered into the darkness;
the Sub had gone across to rescue the wounded men and, if need be, bring
back everybody from the _Aennie Rickmers_, and all the officers and men
who had no jobs to do stood waiting for whatever was going to happen.
To those who realized what might happen, and who thought it more than
probable that whatever had fired a torpedo at the hydroplane ship--and
by now everybody said it was a torpedo which had blown a hole in
her--would come back out of the darkness, wait for that search-light to
show up the _Achates_, and then take a pot-shot at her;--to those, that
next hour-and-a-half was probably the most trying, and longest, in their
lives. The wind blew so fiercely, and the water was so cold and dark,
that there was very little chance of anyone being picked up once the
_Achates_ did sink, as there was every prospect of her doing--the poor
old ship--once a torpedo got home.
Fortunately most people have not vivid imaginations, and to go into the
battery during this time no one would have imagined that anything at all
out of the way was happening. The men crowded there, just discernible
by the blue-stained fighting-lights, walked up and down or stood in
knots, smoking, and talking quietly about everything under the sun
except what was going on. It was only when that hateful search-light
passed along the ship, and one saw that practically all these men had
their swimming-collars blown up round their necks, that one realized
that they did know what the next few moments might bring them, and that,
knowing this, they did not worry about it.
All had been done that could be done; of course, the _Aennie Rickmers_
and their own wounded messmates aboard her could not be left in danger,
and old "Yellow Beard", as they called Captain Macfarlane, was on the
bridge up there above them.
So why bother?--and they didn't.
Uncle Podger, going up on the boat deck--really to get away from the
China Doll, who would worry him with questions--stumbled against someone
crawling on his hands and knees. The search-light sweeping round just
then, he saw that it was Fletcher. "What are you hunting about there
for?" he asked him.
"I can't find the tortoise, sir," the old man said. "I did not want to
leave him behind if anything happened."
"He can swim, can't he? You'll be able to hold on to him, and he'll tow
you ashore!" Uncle Podger laughed, and tried to help find "Kaiser Bill",
waiting for "Glaring Gertrude" to come back again and throw a little
light into the corners the "savage" beast most frequented. He left
Fletcher still looking for him, and on his way for'ard to pass the time
with the Orphan, collided with the Pimple stumbling along from the
bridge.
"She's safe--she's only got her fore compartment flooded---the
bulkhead's holding. Our wounded are coming across in the cutter. The
Captain's sent me to tell the Fleet-Surgeon," and away the Pimple
dashed.
A few minutes later the cutter with the wounded splashed alongside.
They were hoisted in and taken to the sick-bay. Two of these--Cookey,
the chief cook, and the leading stoker--both of whom had had their legs
smashed, were very big men indeed; and no one who has not had to do it
can imagine the difficulty of handling helpless men of that great size
and weight, and lowering them into, or hoisting them out of small boats
even in daylight. In darkness it is much more tedious and awkward; yet,
abandoned by their crew, and with the ship apparently sinking under
them, the first thing the officers of the _Aennie Rickmers_ and the
French and English flying officers and men did, after they had been
thrown out of their bunks by the force of the explosion, was to get the
wounded ready to be lowered over the side, and, directly the _Achates'_
cutter had come alongside, to lower them safely into it. This was an
incident of quiet, unostentatious coolness and courage which deserves
recording. It is, perhaps, easy to be courageous at 2 p.m.; at 2 a.m.
it is a very different matter.
And another thing must be put down. As the first of those two helpless
men was being carried for'ard, an officer--the first he met, and it was
not the Fleet-Surgeon--took off his own swimming-collar, pushed it into
his hands, and disappeared in the dark before he could give it back.
Shortly afterwards the miserable "dago" crew came screaming alongside
and begged to be taken on board. They were; and they'll never forget
the "feel" of the ammunition boots of the tender-hearted marines who
shepherded them that night into a casemate and locked them up inside.
Then off went the _Achates_ to get out of the limit of "Glaring
Gertrude's" range of vision, and to lose herself in the pitch-black
night, where neither torpedo-boat nor submarine could find her.
The Sub had been left behind in the damaged ship, to shore up that fore
bulkhead and to keep an eye on it all night. He was as happy as a
"fiddler" to be able to make a good job of it and "wash out" the
recollection of his bad luck and judgment two nights previously.
The remainder of the Honourable Mess crowded down into the gun-room with
the joyous relief of danger past, demanding sardines, onions, and beer.
They got them, too, at that unearthly hour of half-past three in the
morning, for the purple-faced Barnes and the miserable little messman
knew from long experience what would be wanted, and had spent the last
half-hour preparing for them. It all went down as "extras", so the
messman didn't mind.
The Pimple brought the news that it was a torpedo-boat that had attacked
the _Aennie Rickmers_. "A signalman saw her dropping astern directly
after the noise--the Navigator says he saw it too," he told them.
"Have an onion, Pimple?" they jeered.
The China Doll, at the first rumour of "sharks and onions", had dashed
down from the quarter-deck, entirely forgetting that his swimming-collar
was still round his neck; and they made him keep it there--blown up,
too--so that he had the very greatest difficulty to swallow his fair
share of the food--as for his glass of beer, Rawlinson drank half
that--before the Commander sent the sentry to tell the Pink Rat to "'out
lights' in the gun-room and stop that confounded noise!"
Then they crept noisily to their hammocks in the half-deck, and,
marvellous to relate, slept like tops.
This finally concluded the operations off Smyrna--they were only
intended temporarily to divert the Turks' attention--and a few days
later the _Swiftsure_ and _Triumph_, with the trawlers, were recalled to
the Dardanelles, and the _Achates_ ordered to Port Said to repair her
small damages, leaving "Peeping Tom" and "Squinting Susan" to play "I
spy you" by themselves, and "Glaring Gertrude" to go on counting her
salt-heaps on the opposite shore or not, just as she pleased.
*CHAPTER VII*
*Off to the Dardanelles*
The _Achates_ arrived at Port Said on the 18th March and made fast, head
and stern, to the Senior Naval Officer's buoys, off Navy House.
It was on this date that the combined French and British fleet made the
attack on The Narrows--the attack which ended so disastrously with the
loss of the _Ocean_, _Irresistible_, and _Bouvet_, and the crippling of
the _Inflexible_ and _Gaulois_.
A very bad day it was, only relieved by some daring acts of bravery, of
which none so roused the admiration of the whole fleet as the courage
displayed by those destroyers which went alongside the mortally wounded
_Ocean_ and _Irresistible_, and removed their crews under a concentrated
fire from many heavy guns.
It was magnificent.
But the _Achates_ lay comfortably at Port Said all that tragic day,
making preparations for repairing the damage caused by the Smyrna
shells, and talking by wireless to her chummy ship the _Bacchante_,
anchored off Suez, at the other end of the Canal.
Barely six weeks ago the Turks had made their feeble attack on the Suez
Canal, and of course the first thing that the Honourable Mess decided to
do was to visit Kantara and Tussum, where the fighting had taken place.
The Lamp-post had an elder brother on the staff at Ismailia, the Pimple
had a long-lost cousin in an Indian regiment at Kantara, and by dint of
much worrying of these two unfortunate young soldiers, everyone had the
opportunity of visiting these places and picking up a few bullets.
Anyhow, they had a very joyous three weeks, only slightly damped by the
almost entire disappearance of the damage done by the Smyrna shells; but
a few holes remained in one funnel, and they looked forward intensely to
showing these to their chums in the _Bacchante_. Eventually that ship
came back through the Canal, the _Achates_ followed her outside, and
both of them steamed away to join the Eastern Mediterranean Squadron at
its base at Mudros, the harbour in the island of Lemnos, sixty miles or
so from the end of the Gallipoli Peninsula and the commencement of the
Dardanelles. At last they were to take a hand in "The Great Adventure".
At two o'clock in the afternoon of the 12th April they both slipped
through the "gate" in the submarine net, and anchored in that great
land-locked harbour.
It was extraordinarily impressive to see the enormous assemblage of
ships there--both French and British ships of every kind--battleships,
cruisers, destroyers, submarines, huge transports, store ships,
colliers, auxiliaries of all sorts, two white-painted hospital ships,
trawlers, and tugs.
At the top of the harbour lay the little white town of Mudros, with its
white twin-towered Greek church, and its row of spidery windmills on the
ridge behind it; though the Honourable Mess had not much time to gaze
open-mouthed at all these things, and to grin with pleasure when the
_Bacchante_ anchored in the wrong place and was obliged to shift billet;
because a collier came alongside almost immediately, and down they had
to go, get into "coaling rig", and, for the rest of that bright sunny
afternoon, "coal ship".
Everybody knew that the next attack on the Dardanelles would be a
combined naval and military operation, and as transport after transport
came steaming into Mudros harbour, the enthusiasm and excitement
increased.
Also the Honourable Mess dined their pals of the _Bacchante_, and
proudly showed them the few traces still remaining of the damage done to
the ship at Smyrna. This was a beautiful occasion, because it washed
out all memory of the incident of the "sea-gulls"--not one of them
mentioned it--and also because the _Bacchante_ snotties introduced a
delightful new form of "drag" hunt round the "half-deck", the "drag"
being a piece of decomposed cheese (which they brought with them) and
some Tabasco sauce and Chile vinegar dropped discreetly at intervals.
As a special privilege, the "War Baby" was invited to the "meet", and
the "Youngest Thing in Marine Subalterns" joyfully left the exalted
atmosphere of the ward-room, unbuttoned the trouser-straps under the
soles of his boots--the straps which kept his trousers and their broad
scarlet stripes so beautifully straight--and prepared for the fray.
Blindfolded, and on hands and knees, these young gentlemen enjoyed a
famous "run"; and though the Padre did object to the "drag" being placed
on the pillow in his cabin bunk, even that did not seriously diminish
their enjoyment. As a matter of fact, it slightly added to it.
Exactly what part the Navy would take in the approaching "landing" on
the Gallipoli Peninsula no one exactly knew; but when the news came that
men were being told off for "beach parties", and then when the Pink Rat,
Bubbles, and the Lamp-post were ordered to be prepared to land with them
and provide themselves with some sort of khaki uniform, excitement rose
to fever pitch.
Within half an hour the Pink Rat appeared in the mess in proper
soldiers' kit--beautifully fitting--which, he explained, "he'd brought
out with him in case of accident".
"If you went to Heaven you'd turn up at the gate, and sign your name in
old Peter's book with a pair of wings on and a mouth-organ!" the Sub
snorted when he saw him; and Uncle Podger suggested that "he probably
had a tail, with a sting on it, and a brand-new shovel, stowed away
somewhere on board, lest, "in case of accident", he found himself in the
other place."
The whole Honourable Mess concerned themselves with the fitting out of
Bubbles and the Lamp-post. Proper khaki was unobtainable--at that
time--so they dyed their white uniform in Condy's fluid, and as it
shrunk in the process, and the resulting colour was a dirty yellow,
streaked with brown, the effect was not good.
"Most unsatisfactory!" said Uncle Podger, when they first tried it on
and he saw the Lamp-post's ankles and wrists sticking out far beyond the
ends of trousers and sleeves, and Bubbles hardly able to breathe in his.
"Most unsatisfactory! It will be an insult to the Honourable Mess if
either of you are found 'corpsed'."
"You mustn't tell them you belong to the _Achates_ when they come to
bury you," the others shouted. "You must promise that!"
"You're perfect scarecrows," roared the Sub when he saw them--"a pair of
confounded convicts!"
Everybody laughed at them and devoutly envied them--and they laughed at
each other.
Rawlinson, who prided himself on being a really great poet, burst out
with:
"Two little convicts going out to fight,
One had his clothes too short, the other much too tight!"
There was a roar of laughter as the Honourable Mess lifted up their
voices, chanting this, and dancing round the quaint pair, whilst
Rawlinson, exhausted with the production of this exquisite couplet,
retired to a corner to think out something which would rhyme with khaki.
The Lamp-post, grimacing, and trying to twist himself so that he could
get a back view, didn't know or care what he looked like, but said he
felt "like a prize idiot".
"How nice to feel natural for once, Lampy!" that insubordinate officer,
the China Doll, squeaked.
This was simply asking for trouble. The two convicts chased him round
the table, just missing him as he dashed out into the half-deck.
Piercing shrieks for help followed, and the others rushed out to rescue
him.
A glorious scrap followed.
"At any rate," said the Sub, when they'd come back again to repair
damages, and the Hun had apologized for tearing the Pink Rat's
coat-collar, "you'll both frighten the old Turks. That's one comfort."
There were so many things to keep up the excitement during those days of
preparation. The transports, with their cheering loads of British,
Australians, New Zealanders, French, and Algerian troops; the quaint old
battleships from home, the dear old "mine bursters", with their clumsy,
projecting spars and tackle, over the bow, for booming off mines; the
balloon ship practising its funny, yellow gas-bag at the outer
anchorage, and the enemy aeroplanes and their bombs. These last were,
at first, a source of immense delight to the Honourable Mess, but
eventually they became a little sorry for them--they flew so high and
dropped their bombs so very unsuccessfully.
"How very disappointing!" said the Lamp-post one day. "Just fancy
having brought along those bombs, to drop 'em harmlessly, and then have
to fly back, all that way, without having done any damage."
He was quite serious about it, and, as a matter of fact, one could not
but feel sorry for the poor chap, up there in his Taube, who, having
expended all his four bombs uselessly, found he had to fly back some
sixty miles to wind'ard, before he could go and "turn in" and try to
forget about it.
Then, one day, they heard that their old friend the torpedo-boat, down
at Smyrna, had come out to sea and fired three torpedoes at a crowded
transport without hitting her; and by nightfall came the news that she
had been chased, driven ashore, and destroyed by gun-fire. That was
very good "business".
Next came the order that steel plates were to be built round the
steering-wheels of the steam pinnace and the picket-boat, to protect the
midshipmen and coxswains from rifle-fire. Almost at the same time the
Orphan and the Hun (who was in charge of the steam pinnace) had been
ordered to provide themselves with khaki, and told that their boats
would be required to tow the soldiers to the beaches, on the day of the
grand attack.
It was a great moment for both of them; and what a mess they made of
their hands and clothes with Condy's fluid, and what prize burglars they
looked when at last they showed themselves arrayed for war!
Every ship had to supply one or more steamboats, and each ship devised
its own rifle protection. The _Achates'_ boats had a steel plate about
five feet high bolted to the deck, in front of their steering-wheels,
with a narrow, horizontal slit just below the upper edge, so that when
those behind it stooped down under cover they could steer through this.
The ends of the plates curved back a couple of feet, so as to give side
protection.
Some ships built regular steel boxes with "all round" protection, others
carried the side plates so far aft that they protected men standing in
the stern-sheets; and the snotties in the boats with the least
protection made great fun of those who had more. Probably, among the
hundred thousand men in that harbour, during the days prior to the
landing, the twenty or thirty snotties in charge of these steamboats
were the most supremely happy of all.
The Hun and the Orphan went away, several times, and practised towing
the transports' boats. Each steamboat had to tow four of these, one
behind the other. On one day the 1st Lancashire Fusiliers came on board
the _Achates_, and practised climbing down into the boats, down
specially constructed wooden ladders, and were then towed ashore in
twenty-four packed boats, each four being towed by a steamboat, and all
six steamboats steaming in line abreast.
On another day all the snotties and men "told off" to land as beach
parties, or as crews of boats, were fallen in on the quarter-deck, and
Dr. Crayshaw Gordon, mounting the after capstan, gave them a few words
of advice and instruction in case any of them were hit.
"Don't frighten them, Doc," the Commander had hinted previously--and he
didn't. He had such a funny way of "putting" things that he had the men
laughing in no time.
He explained how the little first-aid dressing should be used, tearing
open the cover, showing them the pads to go next the wounds, the pieces
of waterproof to cover the pads, and the bandage to wrap round all. He
held up the safety-pin which is in every packet--held it so that all
could see--and finished up with: "You men will probably come under heavy
fire; some of you will get bullets through you; but if any of you come
back wounded _without_ your safety-pins, there will be the devil's own
row." He had such a quaint, nervous, amusing way of talking, and was so
kind-hearted and so popular with the men, that they grinned and guffawed
with amusement.
Of those men who stood there that afternoon, fifteen were killed on the
day of landing, and some twenty-five or thirty wounded.
"Thank God, they have no imagination," Dr. Gordon told the Commander,
"and can't realize what is in front of them!"
"They simply don't bother to think about it, Doc."
On the 23rd April the first move began. Transports crammed with
cheering troops, cruisers, and battleships slipped out through the
"gate" in the net. The _Achates_ spent the night at sea, and anchored
off Tenedos Island next morning. Here were gathered the men-of-war,
transports, fleet sweepers, and trawlers told off for the landings at
the end of the Peninsula. It was a dull, grey-looking day, and a fresh
breeze rising in the morning made the sea choppy, and must have caused
intense anxiety to those in command, because the great landing was to
take place next morning, and unless the sea was absolutely smooth,
boat-work would be much more difficult.
That afternoon the Sub was ordered to go in the Orphan's picket-boat as
"second in command" of the six steamboats which were to tow the
battalion ashore. He was dumb with delight, and the Orphan almost as
pleased.
In the afternoon the breeze did die down, and the Turks sent an
aeroplane to see what was going on. It dropped a few bombs from a great
height into the water between the ships, and flew back again.
Later on, the _River Clyde_ came along and anchored close to the
_Achates_. Poor old _River Clyde_! She was to make her last voyage
that night, with 2000 troops on board, to run herself aground under the
mediaeval castle of Sedd-el-Bahr early next morning, and make her name
famous in the annals of the British Navy and Army for many ages.
Large square openings had been cut in her side, and under these ran
plank gangways, meeting at the bows, where a hinged platform was all
ready to be lowered into the hopper and the lighters which were to fill
the gap between her stem and the shore.
Her soldiers were intended to pour out of these openings, along the
planks, down into the hopper and lighters, and so ashore.
At dusk the 1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers came on board--old
soldiers all of them. Very silently and quietly they "fell in" on the
quarter-deck and in the batteries, unslung their packs, laid their
rifles alongside them, and were dismissed.
This was the moment for which the bluejackets were waiting. They had a
great feast prepared on the mess deck, and hustled them down to it.
Five of the subalterns were grabbed by the Honourable Mess and brought
down to the gun-room; the remaining officers were entertained in the
ward-room.
"Thank God!" roared the Sub, "I'm coming in with you chaps to-morrow, or
I couldn't face you. Buy up the place--beat the China Doll--break the
blooming furniture--chuck your gear on the deck outside. Bless you,
we'll give you a better dinner than you had in that old transport of
yours. And there's my cabin for two of you--the bunk for one, and a
shake-down for another. Barnes! Barnes! Bring round the sherry, and
tell 'em to hurry up with the dinner."
Every delicacy the gun-room store possessed appeared on the table. The
soldiers swore it was the best dinner they'd had since they left
England; and the Honourable Mess spun them yarns about Smyrna--by order
of the Sub, who had forbidden them to mention the morrow.
Dinner over, Uncle Podger took charge or the five subalterns, and
piloted them into the crowded ward-room, where a "sing-song" had already
been started. The Sub, the Pink Rat, Bubbles, the Lamp-post, the Orphan,
and the Hun changed quietly into their war gear. The Sub, the Orphan,
and the Hun climbed down into the two steamboats, went across and made
fast to the trawler which was to tow them and their eight transport
boats (empty) across to the Peninsula during the night. The other three
snotties, laden with leather gear, water-bottles, field-glasses,
revolvers, ammunition-pouches, haversacks with food for twenty-four
hours, and blankets rolled up in their straps, were taken across to the
_Newmarket_--fleet sweeper--along with all the men of the beach parties.
The sing-song in the ward-room was in full swing as the last crowded
boat pushed off, and up through the open ward-room skylights came the
rousing, roaring chorus of "John Peel", following them in the darkness
until they were almost alongside the _Newmarket_. Many of those who
sang it were singing it for the last time.
At ten o'clock the _Achates_ weighed anchor.
The sing-song went on until nearly eleven, but breakfast had been
ordered at a quarter to four, so older heads suggested sleep. The
"Lancashire" officers were stowed away in cabins, beds were made up for
them on the deck; the ward-room cushions and arm-chairs all helped, and
the men of the battalion lay down on the upper deck, with their heads on
their packs.
At 3.15 everyone turned out, and half an hour later breakfast was ready
for the soldiers--eggs and a good helping of bacon, bread and jam and
butter to fill up corners, and as much coffee, tea, or cocoa as they
wanted to wash it down.
This was all the _Achates_ could do for them, and, little though it was,
everyone felt happy that each officer and man of that grand battalion
started on The Great Adventure with a good breakfast under his belt.
The little Padre, whose gentle soul had been in anguish all that night,
was not the only one who wished that their mothers and wives could know
this.
At half-past four the _Achates_ stopped engines; the Lancashire
Fusiliers "fell in", and out of the darkness covering an absolute calm,
almost unruffled sea, came the six steamboats and the twenty-four
transports' boats, each with its crew of five bluejackets.
Into these the soldiers filed, down the long ladders, and in twenty
minutes the last boats had been filled and towed away.
There are no words which will properly and soberly describe the
admiration felt by the officers and men of the _Achates_ for that
battalion. When the last boat had shoved off, and the transports' boats
and their six steamboats had taken up their stations in line abreast and
began to move slowly away, Captain Macfarlane turned to the Commander
and said gravely: "I've seen, Commander, a good deal of war on shore,
but I have never seen anything which has stirred me so greatly as the
quietness and discipline of those fellows--as the majesty of their
bearing."
He went up on the bridge, and the _Achates'_ engines rumbled slowly
ahead.
It was now a quarter to five on Sunday morning, the 25th April, the
greyest of shadowy dawns--the formless clouds were grey--a darker streak
of grey, where grey sea and sky met, was the Gallipoli Peninsula; and
three grey patches, darker still, were the _Swiftsure_, _Cornwallis_,
and _Albion_, close inshore, waiting for the moment to commence
bombarding.
Behind the _Achates_, like a shoal of minnows, followed the steamboats
and their twenty-four transports' boats; behind them were fleet
sweepers, and looming indistinctly in the distance, as wide as the eye
could pierce, came transports and store-ships in great numbers, the
_River Clyde_ among them.
On board the _Achates_ the fo'c'sle and after shelter deck were crowded
with officers and men anxiously gazing ahead.
"You know that R.H.A. officer," the China Doll kept on telling anyone
who would listen to him--"that cheery chap who's going in with them to
make signals. He promised to send me off a Turk's rifle. Wasn't that
decent of him?"
On the bridge Captain Macfarlane, tugging nervously at his pointed
beard, and standing next to the Commander, muttered to himself: "Thank
God! they had a good breakfast."
"Every one of them, sir," the Commander jerked out, in the most
matter-of-fact way.
"There's nothing like having your stomach full to keep up your pluck,
Commander. It makes all the difference."
"I expect it does, sir. The books say so, at any rate."
"I know it does," the Captain said, thinking of what he had been through
himself, and turning to speak to the Navigator, busy taking bearings.
The thudding of heavy guns broke the stillness, and splashes of flames
lighted up the greyness of the daybreak.
"Hullo! they've started!" said the Commander. "They're three minutes
late by my watch. I expect the blessed thing is losing again. I'm
hanged if I know what's wrong with it."
The Great Adventure[#] had commenced.
[#] The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps had already effected a
landing beyond Gaba Tepe, 15 miles to the north-east.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*The Landing on Gallipoli*
For half an hour there was one constant rumbling of guns fired by the
_Swiftsure_, _Cornwallis_, _Albion_, _Prince George_, _Lord Nelson_, and
_Agamemnon_; and shells from the first two of these, bursting in scores
on the last half-mile of the Peninsula, hid it almost continuously under
a cloud of lyddite smoke.
The six picket-boats steamed in steadily towards this smoke cloud with
the Lancashire Fusiliers behind them, not advancing very rapidly because
the current, flowing out of the Dardanelles, was against them, and the
transports' boats were so heavily laden.
The crews of these boats had already tossed their oars--four in each
boat--in readiness to pull in to the land when the steamboats should
cast them off.
The Orphan steered his picket-boat--the fifth boat from the left--with
one hand; in the other he held a half-eaten sandwich. Jarvis stood one
side of him, the Sub the other, all three behind the bullet-proof
protecting shield. Jarvis had slept a little through the night; the
other two had not.
"Practise stooping and steering through the slit," the Sub ordered. "If
you keep standing up and looking over the top, you'll get a bullet in
your head when the time comes."
"But there can't possibly be anyone left alive there," the Orphan
protested, as he watched the shells bursting.
"Just wait! You'll soon find out!" the Sub answered grimly, and
noticing that the picket-boat was forging ahead of the line, sung out to
the stoker petty officer to "ease her". This man was looking out of the
engine-room hatch, just in front of the bullet-proof screen, and popped
his head down to give another twist to the steam-valve. Old Fletcher,
peering out of the stokehold hatch, farther for'ard, thought he, too,
had been told to do so, and also bobbed his head down.
"Has the tortoise come along with us this time?" the Sub asked. The
Orphan did not know; but Jarvis snorted: "Yes, 'Kaiser Bill's' 'ere all
right; the old 'umbug!"--though whether he meant the tortoise was a
humbug, or the old stoker, he didn't say.
The picket-boat fell back into line, and the Hun, standing behind his
bullet-proof screen in the pinnace on the right, waved cheerfully across
to the Orphan.
It was now clear daylight--about a quarter-past five.
The battleships still pounded the end of the Peninsula, and the six
steamboats drew ahead of the _Achates_, which had now stopped engines.
Behind them followed the trawlers, and the _Newmarket_, fleet sweeper,
with the Pink Rat, Bubbles, the Lamp-post, and their beach parties, and
behind her--far behind--came many transports.
"There's the _River Clyde_," called the Orphan, pointing away over the
starboard quarter to where she was coming along, very slowly, towing the
hopper and lighters which were presently to bridge the gap between her
bows and the shore. After her, and with difficulty keeping pace with
her, more ships' steamboats towed half a battalion of the Dublin
Fusiliers.
"That's Cape Tekke--that high end bit, and that's Cape Helles--the
higher cliff to the right, with the white lighthouse 'affair' on top,"
the Sub explained. "We've to land in between them. There's a bay
there--'W' beach--underneath that smoke."
The sun itself had not yet been visible, but now it shot up from behind
a distant ridge, humped like the back of a huge pig, and blazed straight
in their faces.
"Old Achi Baba," said the Sub, shielding his eyes. "If they get as far
as that to-night, they'll be able to look down on the Narrows and on the
forts there."
"The Navigator told the Pimple that the soldiers expect to have dinner
at Achi Baba," the Orphan said. "I jolly well hope they will. Isn't
this sun beastly? I can't see where I'm going."
"Well, don't get too far ahead, and don't look into it," the Sub
growled. "This isn't a race; ease down and give the pinnace a chance."
They were now about a thousand yards off the smoke cloud which concealed
"W" beach, and the incessant crash of high-explosive shells bursting
there, and on the high ground above it, made the most infernal din. At
this point the two left-hand steamboats diverged from the other four and
steamed towards the rocks under the actual end of the Peninsula; the
Sub, with the remainder, maintained the original course. But "W" beach,
and the scooped-out gully which led upwards to the high ground, and the
cliffs at each side of it were hidden in dense clouds of lyddite smoke
and by a thick morning haze which lay on the water. Unfortunately the
sun, shining over Achi Baba, shone full on this smoke and mist, and
lighted it up to such a dazzling extent that from the boats one could
see nothing whatever of the shore, and judging distances was impossible.
The boats were now drawing very near their destination, and the Sub had
all the responsibility on his shoulders of judging the moment when to
slip them. A blast from his steam-whistle was to be the signal for all
to be cast off, and Jarvis picked up the whistle lanyard and only waited
the order to tug it. Plunky Bill, in the bows, kept a sharp look-out
for'ard, and every now and then dipped the boat-hook in the water to
find its depth.
The Sub, his face set and anxious, seized a megaphone and shouted: "Out
oars!"
The transports' boats' crews immediately dropped their tossed oars into
the rowlocks, and the soldiers in these boats turned round to have a
look where they were going. They had, until then, been sitting stolidly
in the boats with only their packs and the backs of their caps visible,
and this sudden swinging round of heads as the oars dropped, and the
almost simultaneous appearance of five hundred faces, made an
unforgettable sight. Nothing could be seen through the dazzling smoke
and mist.
"It's twenty to six," the Sub jerked out, looking at his wrist watch.
"We're a few minutes late. We ought to be right there now."
Not a shot had been fired from shore, and the ship's shells were still
bursting--very close the explosions seemed to be. "They must be able to
see us," the Orphan whispered, nervously peering through the steering
slit.
Then there was a yell from Plunky Bill: "Stakes right ahead, sir! Only
four foot of water, sir!" Others took up the cry--the crew of the Hun's
steam pinnace had seen them and were shouting and pointing.
The Sub looked under the bows and saw them himself.
"We're there!" he roared. "Pull, Jarvis; one long blast! Let go aft!
Full speed astern! Hard a-starboard!"
The steam spluttered out for a moment--the Orphan thought the whistle
would never clear itself--then it shrieked--the echo came back from the
shore almost immediately, proving how close they must be--splash went
the tow-rope into the water--the other steamboats slipped their
tow-ropes--the stern of the picket-boat swerved to port and trembled as
the screw went full speed astern, and the oars of the transports' boats
splashed madly in the water.
Not a rifle-shot came from the shore.
As the picket-boat gathered stern-way, the crowded transports' boats
splashed past on either side; their coxswains, perched in the sterns,
yelling: "Go it: give way! Pull hard! Shove your backs into it!"
"Good luck to you all!" the picket-boat's crew shouted.
The soldiers turned round with grim, set faces, their hands on the
gunwales gripping very tightly, ready for the moment when they would
have to jump out. The leading boat wavered; she had come up against the
stakes and the barbed-wire netting stretched between them. These
checked her for a moment, but her weight carried her through, and she
almost disappeared in the very thick and dazzling haze. The other boats
dashed after her.
In the bows of one--with his machine-gun--was a very cheery subaltern
who had dined in the gun-room the night before, and also his equally
cheery chum the subaltern of Royal Horse Artillery--the brigade
signaller. The latter, as he passed, called out: "Tell your China Doll
I won't forget his rifle." "Good luck!" shouted the Sub, "I'll tell the
little beggar."
"Turn her round! Take her out to the trawlers!" he roared to the
Orphan. Round the picket-boat swung, and just as she commenced to steam
out there was a shout of "The first one's beached herself, sir! The
soldiers are scrambling out, sir!" And then from behind the haze and
smoke clouds, from both sides and above, there burst out the most
terrific rattle of maxims, and rifles and the bark of something heavier
than either.[#]
[#] One-inch Nordenfeldts.
The picket-boat steamed out at full speed, whilst stray bullets hit the
water near her and others pinged overhead. The Orphan and the Sub
looked back. They could only see indistinctly through the haze with the
sun on it; they could not see what was happening, but neither of
them--down inside them--could imagine that any men in those crowded
boats could pass through that fire and live. The Orphan held his breath
and gripped the steering-wheel. His heart seemed to stop beating: the
Sub's face was set, and he had bitten his lip. "They're getting it in
the neck--my God, they are!" Jarvis said, as the awful rattling and
banging went on without a moment's pause.
The steamboats reached the trawlers, a thousand yards or more from that
glare of mist and smoke which hid "W" beach and its tragedy, and there
they waited until, suddenly, first one and then another, then half a
dozen--a dozen transports' boats, some with three oars working, others
with only two, one with only one, scarcely any had all four, came into
view, emerging from the mist, and bullet splashes leapt up in hundreds
around and among them.
For one horrible second they thought that the boats had been beaten off,
but then they saw that they had no soldiers in them, and knew that, at
any rate, the soldiers had managed to land; the haze still made it
impossible to see what had happened to them.
Breathlessly the crews of the steamboats, clustering round the two
trawlers, watched these boats struggling off. The boat with only one
oar working, and no coxswain, was turning circles, but drifting slowly
out with the current. The man himself was evidently sitting on the
bottom boards, because only his hands appeared above the gunwales, and
he kept changing the oar from side to side.
Another boat near this one had two oars working, and they watched the
coxswain in the stern crouching down and trying with his free hand to
make these two keep time.
Just picture to yourself a stream with a tin floating some ten yards
from the bank, and half a dozen boys, with their caps full of stones,
throwing stones at it as fast as they can. Picture to yourself that tin
with the splashes round it, and you will be able to realize something of
what the Sub and the Orphan saw; only, instead of one tin, there were
sixteen crippled boats--some of them already half filled with dead and
wounded--and the bullet splashes leapt six feet and more out of the
water.
Then imagine that, instead of a tin, it was a struggling cat the boys
were trying to drown with their stones, and that you were making up your
mind to slip off your clothes, swim in, and rescue it, knowing that the
boys on the banks would throw stones faster than ever, and bigger ones
too, which would really hurt.
Well, at this moment the Sub decided to steam into the hail of bullets
and rescue those boats.