The Sub shook his head. "I don't think so."

They went back into the gun-room just in time to hear the China Doll

plaintively saying: "I didn't like going up to the top one bit; a shell

came very close to me;" and the others singing out: "What does your

carcass matter? Wind up the gramophone and let's have a noise!"

A most perfect night followed, and nearly everyone slept on deck; but

hardly had they been turned off the quarter-deck next morning, when

shells began whistling across the _Achates_, and off she had to go again

to get away from them. These shells came from a 4.1-inch high-velocity

gun, and gave about three seconds "notice" before they arrived. That

morning, for the first time, the Turks turned a 5.9-inch gun on the

shore--the same calibre gun as "Gallipoli Bill"--bursting high

explosives with their tremendous roar, abreast the ship, on what was

known as "New A" beach, a convenient little split in the rocks where

most of the boats ran in, and close to where "Kangaroo Pier" was being

built. These shells fell almost vertically and did very little harm,

but their noise was extremely disconcerting.

That evening the battleship _Venerable_ arrived, and next day the

_Achates_ became more or less of a depot ship for the Naval transport

officers, the Harbour-master, the surveying officers, and (as Uncle

Podger said, when their midshipmen "assistants" and the midshipmen of

all the "stray" pickets came to live in her)--a "home for lost dogs".

The gun-room was again invaded by tired, weary snotties, in their grimy

Condy's-fluid-stained uniforms, who, when they were not eating, lay

about on the leather cushions and odd corners, and slept. The Pimple

and the China Doll were almost reduced to tears when they thought how

the gun-room stores would disappear once more.

It was a depressing day; they could not call the gun-room their own.

They heard of the fall of Warsaw; nothing seemed able to stop the German

advance through Poland and Galicia; and this new landing gave not any

hope of success.

"Oh, bother it all! Stick another needle in, China Doll, and start that

rotten gramophone," they said.

At the mention of gramophone the Lamp-post would always slink out of the

Mess.

The Turks had left them alone that day--as far as shells were concerned;

but Fritz, the submarine, evading the patrolling trawlers, let go a

torpedo at the balloon ship--the _Manica_--outside, beyond the nets.

A plaintive signal came from her that a torpedo had passed underneath

her, and a submarine had been seen from the balloon--that yellow

monstrosity waggling above her. That meant another interval for

excitement, and a manning of the small guns in case Fritz took it into

his head to pop up his periscope anywhere near. The balloon was hauled

down, and off went the _Manica_ to seek protection behind the "net" at

Kephalo, in Imbros Island.

More shells came along on the Sunday morning, just when the Honourable

Mess, clothed only in towels, clamoured for "next turn" at the little

baths. Again the ships had to get under way, and the _Swiftsure_

reported one hit, without casualties. It was a quaint crowd of undraped

young officers who gathered behind the six inches of armour round Y1

casemate, and waited for the "sh--sh--plonk" of the Turks' shells to

cease, and the bugle to sound the "carry on", before they rushed back to

complete their toilet. Don't imagine that the ships took their insults

"lying down". They blazed away at where the guns were reported to be, or

where they thought they were; but as you should know by now, it was

practically impossible to spot them; and, in time, everybody learnt that

the best thing to do was to plug a few shells into Anafarta village

(keeping clear of the Red Crescent flags which decorated it), where one

shrewdly expected that the Turkish Head-quarters Staff and its German

"pals" had comfortable "diggings". A few shells there, delicately

placed, generally had the desired effect. One could almost imagine the

German Staff Officer (when shells began knocking down the houses round

him) cursing: "Gott im Himmel! it's not good enough being bothered like

this. Telephone to that confounded battery to leave 'em alone, till

I've finished my breakfast; it's not doing any good, anyway."

That Sunday afternoon our troops tried to advance along the ridge beyond

Suvla Point, and did make some headway; but they came up against a

wretched redoubt, a thousand yards from Jephson's Post, crammed with

machine-guns, and were brought to a standstill.

The _Talbot_ and the _Swiftsure_ did most of the covering work; but the

Turkish trenches up there, and that redoubt, were so protected by the

folds and curvatures of the hills that their high-velocity guns were

very ineffective.

When this business was finished, "Cuthbert", the hostile aeroplane, came

over from Maidos, and made a "bee-line" for the balloon ship once more.

As he approached, the _Manica_ commenced hauling down the balloon and

its observers, and simply screeched at "Cuthbert" with her maxims; but

the aeroplane did not take anything seriously, plumped down two bombs

within half a mile of her--not nearer--appeared to be perfectly content,

and went home again, followed by some very pretty shrapnel from the

_Talbot_.

There was very heavy firing on shore on the extreme left that night--all

through the night--and by the morning the soldiers had lost the ground

they had gained the day before.

In the usual "strafe" that morning, two shells hit the _Achates_ without

causing any casualties; but by now it had become thoroughly understood

that if the ships remained where they were, and did not get up anchor

and move about, the Turks would soon leave off shooting at them. So,

from now onwards, ships seldom shifted billet during these frequent

shellings. This may have spoilt the Turks' amusement--for it must have

been most amusing to the Turkish gunners to see them scurrying about the

harbour--but the constant shifting became too boring altogether. The

poor old distilling ship--the _Bacchus_--and the _Ajax_, a store ship,

came in for the worst time. The Turks had a special "down" on them

both, and seldom a day went by without them being hit, first of all with

small "stuff", and, later on, by 5.9-inch shells.

Fritz put in another appearance that Monday morning, and had another

"go" at the balloon ship--the _Hector_ this time--but something had gone

wrong, as before, with the "balance chamber" of his torpedo, and it

gracefully dived underneath her. However, she hauled down the balloon

in a hurry--she thought the "balance chamber" of the next torpedo might

be in better working order--and inside the submarine net she came, only

to be driven out again by shells which flew chirpily over the _Achates_,

and dropped all round her. A lucky shot in the balloon--and "finish"

that--so up came her anchor, and she pushed across to Kephalo.

On the Tuesday everyone became heartily sick of the "retire" bugle. The

Turks seemed unusually generous that day. They shelled the _Achates_ at

half-past six; they rested until the Honourable Mess had commenced their

breakfast, when "swish--sh--sh--flomp" went a shell just alongside, and

the wretched bugle sounded again. At ten o'clock, at half-past twelve,

and twice during the afternoon they disturbed everyone; and when they

had packed up for the day, "Cuthbert" came along and made a most

deliberate attempt to bomb her. She circled overhead twice, and on each

occasion dropped bombs which fell with the sounds of express trains and

burst, one about a hundred yards and the other about forty yards away.

"It's not very restful, is it?" the little Padre said wistfully, as he

joined, for the fifth time that day, the little crowd of "idlers" who

were taking cover behind the after turret during the last spell of

shelling.

It wasn't. The continued strain became most intensely wearisome, and

affected a great many people very noticeably. For more than three weeks

the _Achates_ had these wretched shells coming round and over her, at

intervals, practically every day. It was the noise of them which became

so trying--the noise, and the wondering where "that one" would hit.

Perhaps, in the gun-room, the most marked effect was the smartness with

which everyone "turned out" in the morning (they slept on the

quarter-deck), looked to see if the sun had risen behind Anafarta, and

scampered down to get his bath and be dressed before those beastly

shells came round. Breakfast became a remarkably punctual meal, for the

Turks liked to have their little joke at half-past eight; and no one in

the gun-room, except the Sub, Bubbles, and sometimes Uncle Podger, could

stay and enjoy their food if that side of the ship swung to the shore,

and the "swish--sh--sh--flomp" of those shells came through the scuttles

in her thin side.

"Divisions", at half-past nine, had to be held out of sight, in the

battery, for the temptation always proved too great for the Turks when

they saw men falling in on the quarter-deck or fo'c'sle.

On one memorable occasion when, "divisions" having been reported correct

to Captain Macfarlane, the men were all marched aft on to the

quarter-deck for prayers, the ship's company made one almighty "duck" as

a shell came over them and burst not ten yards away in the water. If

eye-witnesses speak the truth, the only people who did not "duck" on

that occasion were Captain Macfarlane--who made the excuse that "he had

been rather deaf for the last few days"--and the little Padre, who

apologized most profusely that he had been so busy trying to prevent the

wind blowing his surplice round his neck, that he hadn't noticed it.

At any rate, after that, "divisions" and prayers were held in the

battery out of sight.

The people who had the most unpleasant time were the signalmen on the

fore-bridge, the telegraphist in the "wireless" room on the

shelter-deck, and the people on watch on the quarter-deck.

"What am I to do?" the Sub growled to Uncle Podger one day. "Here we

have half a dozen boats round the gangways, a couple of hundred men

working about the upper deck, and along comes a jumping Jimmy of a shell

and flops fifty yards short of the ship--then another, a hundred or a

couple of hundred over. It may be all a mistake--they may be coaxing

them along to the distilling ship--and the next may fall a thousand

yards over. How am I to know? What am I to do? If I don't stop work

and sound the 'retire', then the next one will probably come 'splosh'

into our chaps and lay half a dozen of them out. Then what will the

Commander say?--losing his best hands perhaps; and the Skipper will want

to know why I didn't clear 'em all off the upper deck. It's worrying;

that's what it is!"

"My dear chap," said Uncle Podger, "I'll tell you exactly what I feel.

When I go on deck I am certain that those Turkish gunner chaps over

there on the hills sing out 'Hello! here comes the most valuable clerk

in the whole British Navy; any of you chaps got a spare round to have a

'pot' at him?' I walk up and down the quarter-deck with my ears cocked

towards the shore to hear that beastly whining swish--a shell or two

will fall in the water--those big chaps, with their infernal

thunder-clap, burst on the shore--and I gradually find myself edging

away to the hatchway, and going down to the office or the gun-room,

where I can't hear the things so plainly. It gets on my nerves, I can

tell you that."

Whatever happens, the routine of the ship's work must be carried on: the

decks are scrubbed; the hands fall in; they work about the upper deck,

splicing wires, scraping paintwork, repairing boats, overhauling

gear--all the thousand-and-one jobs which have to be done; boats have to

be called away, and go about their business; the meat, potatoes, and

bread have to be served out; the office work has to go on just the same;

the sick have to be attended and treated; the signalmen and upper-deck

watch keepers have to keep their watches; the men have to have their

meals and scrub the mess-decks; the cooks have to cook the ship's

company's food; and all these routine duties go on, either without any

protection whatever, in the open, or behind a half-inch of steel which

won't "look at" a shell of any sort or description. A battleship or

cruiser is designed to fight an action which may last for an hour or for

five hours, but, at the end of that time, life on board reverts to its

ordinary routine--as far as it may. She is not intended or designed to

be constantly under shell-fire for weeks at a time.

The Pink Rat, whose nerves had never recovered from his experience at

"W" beach, frankly could not stand the spells of shelling; the China

Doll grew restless and more baby-like than ever; the Pimple was nearly

as bad; the Lamp-post hated the shells perhaps more than anyone, for he

had a most vivid imagination, but he controlled his feelings

wonderfully, and never showed the least outward sign of "nerves", except

that he became more than usually boisterous after sunset--when all was

peace. Rawlins and Bubbles treated the whole thing as a joke. "Don't

think about 'em," Bubbles gurgled to the Pink Rat, "and then you won't

worry." The Hun did not seem to trouble so long as he had something to

do in his steam pinnace; he had to remember to live up to his D.S.C.,

too. The Orphan, who felt he also had a reputation to keep up, worried

very little either.

The midshipmen in the boats and their crews had to carry on their usual

work at all times. It sounds simple enough when talked about in a

comfortable chair at home; but just put yourself in the place of a

midshipman in a steamboat, with perhaps a lighter in tow, who is coming

off from shore and sees a shell burst in the water fifty yards ahead of

him, knows that another will come along in a few seconds, and has to

take his boat through the swirl made by the first shell! Or, again, he

sees a ship hit, or shells falling all round her, and has to take his

boat alongside her, and, worse still, wait alongside her. This is what

these midshipmen and their crews had constantly to do; and when they

went inshore, shells were constantly dropping close to them, not only

the small 4.1-inch, but the big high-explosives.

The strain and the long hours caused many of these midshipmen to break

down, but there was no instance that can be brought to mind when any of

them showed the slightest sign of treating shells too "respectfully"

when on duty.

Don't imagine that the ships themselves remained idle all this time.

One or other constantly fired at known gun positions, on enemy working

parties, at convoys, at the enemy observation posts and trenches at

Anafarta--in fact, at every target they could find or the Army point out

to them. The monitors with long-range guns fired across at the Turkish

transports and store ships anchored in The Narrows; the big ships

constantly bombarded enemy camps and depots behind the hills, helped by

spotting aeroplanes, for, of course, they could not see where their

shells fell. Destroyers and the "Edgar" class constantly harassed the

Turks along the coast.

*CHAPTER XIX*

*The Army again comes to a Standstill*

Nearly every night, for the first week after the arrival of the

_Achates_ at Suvla, reinforcements poured across from Mudros in

"troop-carriers", fleet-sweepers, destroyers, and small cruisers. Among

these came the veteran 29th Division--which had been brought up to fair

strength by constant drafts from England--and also the 2nd Mounted

Division--yeomanry who came to fight as infantry. These yeomen were men

of such magnificent physique that the Syrian interpreter on board the

_Achates_ told the Orphan that, though the pick of the Greek, Serbian,

Bulgarian, and Turkish armies had come frequently under his observation,

he had never seen such fine troops as these.

One more attempt was to be made to advance and, if possible, gain

possession of Anafarta.

But to reach Anafarta, and the gap in the great semicircle of hills

behind it, a whole series of smaller slopes and ridges, spurs and

shoulders of the main hills, had to be seized first. Even without

preparation for defence they formed a tremendous obstacle, and by this

time the Turks had been digging and burrowing and wiring them, day and

night, for a whole fortnight.

From the main-top of the _Achates_, on the 20th August, these small

ridges and slopes looked as though a huge colony of moles had been at

work on them, and when the sun sank low over Imbros the barbed wire in

front of these "mole runs" made glittering streaks along them.

A terrible task it was, as everyone knew.

However, one little hill, somewhat detached from the main line of

defence, projected into the plain towards Chocolate Hill. This was Hill

70, perhaps better known as "Scimitar Hill" from a broad, sweeping,

burnt patch running up the near slope. If this hill could be stormed

and held, it would assist further attacks on the main position.

The 29th Division were told off to capture it.

On Saturday, the 21st August, all dispositions were completed, and a

little before two o'clock in the afternoon the four ships, the

_Venerable_, _Swiftsure_, _Talbot_, and _Achates_, which had previously

anchored in single line ahead, as close to the shore as possible,

bombarded Scimitar Hill, "W" ridge beyond it, and every known or

probable enemy gun position. The Army heavy guns assisted.

In a very short time the Turks had to abandon many of their trenches;

and if only it had been possible to continue bombarding until the

attacking infantry had almost reached those trenches, the 29th Division

might have stormed them without much loss.

But this was not possible. For one thing, the range was too great--over

four miles--to make certain of not hitting our own troops. The ships

had to cease fire, and thus gave time for the Turks to rush back to

their trenches and bring their machine-guns along with them.

As the 29th Division advanced, some thirty or forty enemy guns opened on

them with shrapnel and high explosives; and though a brigade stormed

Scimitar Hill, its losses were so great that the remnant who gained the

crest could not hold it against the tremendous whirlwind of fire from

the higher ridges beyond and a fierce counter-attack.

Farther along, to the right, the remainder of the 29th Division and the

11th Division, attacking the southerly spurs of "W" ridge, gained a

footing on them, but could not reach the crest.

The flat ground over which they had just advanced with such heavy loss

was thickly covered with scrub and trees, and the high-explosive shells

bursting among them quickly set this scrub alight in several places.

These fires much hampered the rapid bringing up of supports.

At the commencement of the action, that division of dismounted yeomanry

whose physique and bearing had so roused the admiration of all, was held

in reserve behind Lala Baba, and rested there, in full view from the

ships. At about half-past two or three o'clock these yeomen fell in,

circled round the flank of Lala Baba, extended as they gained the open

mud-flats of the Salt Lake, and commenced to advance across it towards

Chocolate Hill. The Turkish gunners saw them almost immediately, and

burst hundreds of shrapnel over their heads. No "gunners" could ask for

a better target than these poor fellows made, and for twenty minutes

they suffered terribly, without any hesitation or faltering in their

ranks. To those who watched them from the main-top of the _Achates_, it

was a wonderful relief when they gained the cover of the trees and thick

scrub near Chocolate Hill and the shrapnel began to leave them alone.

Abreast the _Achates_, and some half-mile from the beach, was a little

green mound, dignified with the name of "Hill 10" on the military map.

On the rear slope of this, a field-gun battery had been very active all

the afternoon, and presently the Turks thought it about time to put a

stop to this. They turned one or two 5.9-inch guns on to Hill 10, and

simply plastered it with high-explosive shells, bursting them with their

horrid, rending thunder-claps every few seconds among the field-guns and

the limbers in rear. For half an hour those field-guns pluckily went on

firing, but they did not know where the big shells were coming

from--nobody did--so none of the ships could help them, and at length

they were compelled to cease fire and the gunners to take shelter.

"What are they? New Army or Territorials?" asked Uncle Podger. None

knew; but, whoever they were, they put up a most plucky fight.

By five o'clock the smoke from the bush fires obscured the whole field

of battle between Chocolate and Scimitar Hills, and, though the rattle

of musketry and machine-guns went on continuously, no more of the fight

could be seen from the _Achates_--only the ambulance wagons coming

across the Salt Lake, and the stretcher-parties clearing away the

wounded yeomanry.

By dusk the flames of these bush fires showed up plainly, and as

darkness fell on that fateful day they lighted up the whole plain,

Chocolate Hill and Lala Baba standing out black against them. They

burnt fiercely, the flames eating their way along the plain, running

this way, then that; and on board ship one could only grimly conjecture

what was happening to the helpless wounded cut off by them--and keep the

horrors of one's thoughts to oneself, if one could.

Fighting went on all that night; and by dawn the attacking divisions had

fallen back to their original positions in front of Chocolate Hill,

except on the right, where the 11th Division maintained a point some six

hundred yards in advance.

From that day no serious attempt was made to advance, and the idea of

forcing a way across to the Dardanelles was for all practical purposes

abandoned. From now onwards, trench warfare commenced, and continued

until the definite abandonment of The Great Adventure.

All that Saturday afternoon and all that Saturday night a continual

stream of wounded were brought to "Wounded A" beach, attended to, and as

fast as possible sent off to hospital ships. The Hun with his steam

pinnace, and a couple of boats in tow, helped cope with the enormous

amount of work. At dawn next morning the Orphan relieved him, and by

Sunday night very nearly six thousand wounded had been evacuated. They

all went to hospital ships, but only the serious cases and the severe

leg injuries stayed there. The others, who could walk, crossed over the

hospital ships from one side to the other, and went down into trawlers

waiting alongside. These, when full, steamed across to Kephalo, on

Imbros Island, and landed them there.

It now became generally understood that the Germans and Austrians

intended to break through Serbia, march across Bulgaria, and join hands

with the Turks. The Bulgarians were much more likely to assist than

resist them; and it did not require any great strain on the mental

powers of the military experts in the gun-room to enable them to realize

that, once the Turks obtained heavy guns and an ample supply of

ammunition, they could drive us and the French off the Peninsula.

It was anything but a pleasant prospect, especially with the autumn fast

approaching, and the fierce winter gales which would make the landing of

stores impossible.

A peaceful three days followed this battle of the 21st August. The

Turks had probably expended all their ammunition and were busy

replenishing their magazines. At any rate, three days later they

shelled the harbour and the ships very lavishly. The _Venerable_ had a

man killed and some wounded, and the _Swiftsure_ had a man wounded by a

fragment of a shell which burst on the _Venerable's_ fo'c'sle. From

this date they always managed to spare the ships a few rounds--at the

usual hours--every day. They killed an unfortunate stoker in the

_Achates_ soon after this. The crew were at "Action Stations", and he

had gone on to the mess-deck to make certain that his fire-hose had been

screwed on properly, when a shell coming in through the side (it

actually burst on the edge of a scuttle) took off his head.

They then attempted a night attack on our left flank. Firing burst out

suddenly one night just after eight o'clock, and though the Honourable

Mess had not yet reached the "pudding" stage of their dinner they rushed

up on deck to see what was happening--all of them. That fact alone

proves that the noise of rifles, machine-guns, and shells must have been

considerable.

A most brilliant spectacle this firing made. Many young officers in the

trenches, on both sides, kindly contributed hundreds of pretty star

shells; the Turks burst a very large number of shrapnel most

picturesquely; the destroyer _Grampus_, out beyond the bay, lighted up

the ridge near the Bench Mark with her search-light; the army field-guns

did what they could to aid the display, and the _Swiftsure_ obliged with

four rounds of 7.5-inch shrapnel to give _eclat_ to the occasion.

From a pyrotechnic point of view the scene from the quarter-deck of the

_Achates_ could not have been improved, nor could the orchestra of

rifles, field-guns, maxims, and trench bombs.

But the attack evidently lacked backbone. Rifle-firing raged up and

down the lines, but it never reached the pitch of inarticulate firing

and determination which marked those night attacks at Helles. As a

matter of fact, the Turks never left their trenches; and even before the

laconic signal came from shore: "Situation well in hand", that

well-known military expert, the China Doll, not seeing in the dark that

Captain Macfarlane happened to be standing next to him, lisped out:

"That's nothing; it's nothing like those other shows at "W" beach; they

don't mean anything; I'm going down to finish dinner." Captain

Macfarlane thanked him very gravely: "I am much obliged to you, Mr.

Stokes" (which perhaps you remember was the China Doll's name), "you

have relieved my anxieties immensely." The wretched China Doll

disappeared down the hatchway like a shot rabbit.

Now there was a cocksure young subaltern of the New Army at Suvla to

whom the whole art of warfare had become an open book. He claimed

relationship with the Lamp-post, and, on the strength of that, came off

at times to get a decent meal and a bath. There was also a certain

5.9-inch gun hidden away somewhere near Anafarta which enjoyed throwing

high-explosive shells into the "so-called" "Rest Camp", and this young

officer had suffered frequent annoyance from them. He became a little

peevish, and made sarcastic remarks about naval gunnery not much to the

liking of the Honourable Mess, especially one day when the _Swiftsure_

had nearly broken her Gunnery-Lieutenant's susceptible heart by not

knocking out this particular gun after some fifteen rounds. They

explained gently to him that the gun could not be seen from the ships,

and that, at five and a half miles, firing at

"where-it-was-thought-to-be" did not give much chance of hitting it.

One afternoon, when he happened to be aboard, a French aeroplane, with

engine troubles, planed down to the beach beyond Lala Baba, and could

not get away. She had not been there for ten minutes when the Turks

commenced dropping shell round her.

"Now you'll see how easy it is," the Lamp-post said ironically.

"Remember, the Turks can see that aeroplane--they can see it with the

naked eye. We can't see 'Anafarta Annie' through a telescope." Well,

they counted more than a hundred and fifty shell--shrapnel and

common--fired within the next thirty-five minutes, and the aeroplane

appeared not to have been touched.

At least they thought the "Young Friend" might apologize, but he only

laughed: "Well, at any rate, you Navy chaps aren't the rottenest shots

in the world."

"I do hope 'Annie' drops one in his 'dug-out'," the Hun said angrily,

when he went ashore. "Don't you ever ask him off again, Lamp-post, or

we'll work the gramophone at meals."

"I never do ask him; he comes," the Lamp-post smiled.

"Annie", so the Observation Post nearest to Anafarta reported, lived in

a tunnel or deep gully, and when her crew wanted to do a "hate" they ran

her out on rails, fired her, and ran her back again. It was also said

that if shells fell anywhere near her, the crew used to run across to a

little white house about a hundred and fifty yards away, and take cover

there. So one morning the Gunnery-Lieutenant of the _Swiftsure_, always

ready to woo a fair lady, "went" for her; and when he thought her crew

had probably run her back into her tunnel and gone across to their cosy

little white house, he peppered that with 14-pounder shells. No one can

go on with this game--at five and a half miles--for ever; and when the

_Swiftsure_ ceased firing, "Annie's" crew, appreciating the humour of it

all, ran back to her, fetched her out (presumably), and dropped half a

dozen high-explosive shells among the mules and stacks of bully-beef

boxes above "A" beach.

They were full of noisy humour, these Turks; but what did jar on their

nerves was the sight of a battleship or cruiser coaling. They objected

most strongly, and always burst shrapnel over, and dropped shell at the

"coaling" ship directly the collier had come alongside and she had

commenced that dirty job.

They also had a rooted objection to the _Arno_, a trim little destroyer

attached to the General Headquarters Staff; and whenever she anchored

inside the "net" they did their best to make her feel uncomfortable.

She might have always had the General Head-quarters Staff on board, to

judge by the persistent way they plugged at her.

And as for Jephson's Post, up there on the top of the ridge, on the

left, they took a positive dislike to it and to the Naval Observation

Station, just below it. This Observation Station was manned by some

naval ratings and two naval officers--a gaunt, hawk-like Commander and a

Lieutenant-Commander belonging to other ships. These two took duty in

turns--three days "on" and three days "off". The three days "off" they

spent on board the _Achates_, sleeping most of the time.

This post was constantly under fire from heavy and light guns. It also

received all the "overs" and the stray bullets fired from the Turks,

farther along the ridge, at Jephson's Post and the trenches in front of

it, so it was not at all a "health" resort.

"The view in the early morning is charming," said one of the Observation

officers; "and but for the fact that I'm certain there's a dead mule or

a dead 'something' among the bushes somewhere near--has been there for

the last fortnight--and that we get something like thirty to forty shell

over it every day--often more--it wouldn't be half bad."

Another Naval Observation Station had been established on Chocolate

Hill, and to visit either of these positions made exciting afternoon

walks and climbs, whenever any of the Honourable Mess ventured ashore.

On one occasion the Lamp-post and the Orphan landed at "A West" beach

one afternoon, and walked up to the Observation Post near Jephson's

Post. Pretty hard going it was, under the hot sun and along the sandy

mule-track which wound up the lower slopes among the concealed

field-guns. Then they had to climb along a steep path, with a parapet on

the enemy side, till they came to the second line of trenches, and heard

the intermittent sniping close to them. In the morning the Post had

been severely shelled, and they found the Commander lying flat on the

ridge, some forty yards away from it, behind a natural parapet of rocks,

reinforced by some sand-bags, his telephone box close to him.

"You must have had a warm time of it this morning, sir," they said

admiringly.

"That was all right. I was here all the time. There wouldn't have been

much left of me if I had stayed there. Come along and see." He took

them back below the ridge, climbed up to the rear of the Post--a little

three-sided affair, partly made out of large stones and sand-bags piled

on each other, partly of natural rocks, with a timber and sand-bag roof

over it all.

"Pretty untidy, isn't it, here? You can have the base of that

shell--one of this morning's little lot; if you hunt round, you'll find

another somewhere, I expect. They keep their eye on this place; I

shouldn't wonder if they are watching us now. Let's put back some of

these rock things."

The front parapet had been partially knocked down that morning, so that

the "observing" loophole was now four or five feet wide. If they could

see him when there was only a small loophole, thought the Lamp-post,

they'll be able to see us, all right, now. They had just finished piling

up the last of the stones and sand-bags in their old places---more or

less--when the accustomed ears of the Commander caught the sound of a

Turkish gun.

"That's my gun!" he cried, throwing himself down. "Lie down. That will

be short," he said coolly, as they heard the "swish--h--h" of an

approaching shell. "Short, not very; keep down, some of the bits may

come in."

"Whump" burst the shell about thirty yards below them, and something

rattled against the parapet they had just built up. The stinging smell

of smoke came in through the crevices.

"Scoot out of it!" the Commander said, scrambling to his feet, and

taking them down to where they had found him at first--soldiers dashing

for cover all along the ridge. "Keep close in behind those rocks," he

said, as they lay down, and he peered out between his sand-bags.

"I thought so. The same two old guns, on the far side of the 'Rectory

Field'. They've shifted 'em since the morning. They've fired again.

They keep those two especially for my benefit."

"Whump" burst a shell, then another, up along the ridge, somewhere close

to the Observation Post, whilst the hawk-like Commander rapidly took

"angles" with his sextant, and examined the squares and dots on his

military map.

Then he rang up the Naval Observation Post, and giving them the new

position of the guns told them to ask _Swiftsure_ to try a few rounds.

"Keep down!" he sang out to the two boys. "Snuggle up to those rocks.

Those chaps sometimes try lower down the slope."

During the next quarter of an hour some fifteen or sixteen shells burst

close to the old Observation Post, and the Orphan wriggled to a place

where he could look down, across the harbour, to where the _Swiftsure_,

_Venerable_, and _Achates_ lay. They did look small.

"Hello! there goes one from the _Swiftsure_," he cried, and wriggled

farther round to see if its shell went anywhere near those guns that had

been firing.

"Twenty yards short--good shot!" the Commander sang out. "They'll fire

another, if either of the guns are loaded---- Yes--there they go--keep

down! Then they'll pack up."

"B-r-r--whomp" burst a shell, just as the _Swiftsure_ fired again, and

they watched for her shell to burst. "I believe that's a hit; if it

wasn't, it was jolly close. Go up and see what damage they have done;

it's perfectly safe now."

The two midshipmen scrambled to their feet and made their way up to the

old Observation Post, whilst the Commander busied himself with the

telephone.

"My aunt! Look, Lampy!" sang out the Orphan, who reached it first.

"Jolly lucky that we didn't stay!"

They had a difficulty in crawling in, because two of the balks of timber

had been blown down at one end. All those stones and sand-bags they had

replaced twenty minutes ago lay scattered on the ground--some outside

among the bushes, others inside. In one torn and half-emptied sand-bag

they found the fuse of the shell which had apparently done the damage.

It was still warm.

"Oh, look! there's your stick! You must have left it. Look! That will

be a bit of a curio, won't it?"

"It isn't mine; it's the Pink Rat's," the Lamp-post grinned, as he

picked up the two pieces. "I wish it had been mine."

They took the broken pieces and went back to the Commander. "They've

knocked it about no end, sir. It's lucky we didn't stay there. You'll

have to give it up, won't you, sir?"

"Oh no! rather not. I shall use it again to-morrow; but I shan't touch

it--leave it just as it is. Probably I'll put some sand-bags here,

where they can see them, and let them pot at this place instead. Come

along, we'll give you a drop of tea, down in my 'dug-out'. The

_Swiftsure_ has finished firing."

"Did she hit either of them?" they asked.

"Went jolly close," he said. "I rather fancy she did hit one, but it's

very difficult to say for certain."

The Commander's "dug-out" was some fifty yards below the crest of the

ridge, and out of sight of Suvla Bay and the plain of Anafarta. From it

the Lamp-post looked over the Gulf of Zeros, the Bulgarian and Turkish

coast-lines, and, on the left, the lofty island of Samothrace, rearing

its crest above the clouds. Down in the sea at his feet--some five

hundred feet below him--the _Grampus_, destroyer, steamed slowly along

to protect the extreme left flank of the army, which extended from

behind Jephson's Post to the actual beach. Beyond her, either the

_Grafton_ or the _Theseus_ came slowly along towards Suvla Point,

pushing through the glittering water. Trawlers and drifters, with their

reddish-brown mizzen-sails giving a peaceful and home-like appearance to

the beautiful view, patrolled very, very slowly the stretches of the

Gulf between Samothrace and the Peninsula.

From this "dug-out" the ground sloped very abruptly to the sea, its

surface composed of scattered rocks interspersed with coarse bushes.

The bivouacs of the brigade in reserve were here, and hundreds of men

lay about smoking, talking, and mending their clothes, or fast asleep.

Bathing parties went down to the sea, chattering noisily, or scrambled

back, half naked, to dry themselves in the sun.

As the two snotties drank their tea, two men on stretchers were carried

past, on their way to a Dressing Station, a little way below and to the

left. One man smoked a cigarette and looked quite cheery; the head of

the other lay back oddly on the stretcher, with that horrid grey colour

on his face--he was dead.

"Have another cup of tea? I'm sorry there's no cake," the Commander

said. "Those infernal snipers get some fifteen or twenty of our chaps

up here every day. They paint themselves green--their hands and

faces--dress up in green clothes, or fix themselves up in twigs and

leaves. They're plucky chaps, I must say. We found one chap, down in

the plain, the other day, over there"--and he jerked his thumb up the

ridge towards Anafarta--"we found him half a mile inside our lines, up a

tree, lashed to a branch. One of our chaps happened to be walking back

from the trenches, and walked right under the tree; thought he heard a

noise, looked up and saw him. Luckily he had his rifle, so he shot him,

but had to climb the tree and cut him clear before the body fell to the

ground. On one side of that Turk hung a basket with a few figs in it,

and on the other side a basket full of cartridge cases. Most of them

were empty, so that he must have had a pretty good 'run' for his money."

A messenger came to say that the Turks were commencing their usual

evening "hate" on the beaches and ships. "Well, you'd better get along

back," he said. "Now, don't play the fool. For the first few hundred

yards past the Observation Post you will be in full view of their

firing-trench along the ridge; so don't loiter. I must be off to see

whether any of those guns have shifted since yesterday. Good-bye!"

So back they went, with the base of one shell, the fuse of another, and

that broken stick belonging to the Pink Rat. As they neared the beach,

big shells kept dropping on it, so they waited a little while before

going down to "A West". A friendly A.S.C. sergeant invited them into

his roomy "dug-out"; and luckily they did go in, for shrapnel began

bursting very close, and an empty case buried itself in some ground

between two lines of mules, not twenty yards away.

Flies had been bad up in the Commander's "dug-out". Here they were ten

times worse--worse even than they had been before they left "W" beach at

Cape Helles.

Having added to their trophies that empty shrapnel case (the A.S.C.

sergeant had sent across a couple of Indians belonging to his transport

column to dig it up), and the firing having ceased, they presently found

themselves in the Hun's steam pinnace, on their way off to the ship.

You can imagine that these two young officers had a good deal to talk

about when they did get on board. Neither of them had much chance of

going ashore, because, after the first few days, so many of the original

midshipmen of the "stray" boats broke down and had to be sent back to

their ships, that they were almost constantly employed in steam-boats.

There were the "night patrols", when they steamed, up and down, along

the line of submarine-net buoys, from sunset to sunrise--fearfully

tedious and monotonous work, only enlivened by the very occasional

submarine "scares". Some trawler or drifter--out beyond--would think

she had seen one, and fire two Very's lights; and then there would be a

hustle and a bustle, and the patrolling picket-boats with their maxims

would dash up and down, in case Fritz came along, and they could get a

shot at his periscope. For some days the Orphan had to take charge of

the Harbour-master's picket-boat, and used to spend most of his nights

outside the nets, often in a lumpy, unpleasant sea, meeting

troop-carriers coming across with reinforcements, or store ships--all

according to programme--and imploring their Captains to go _between_ the

two lights on the buoys at the submarine-net "gate"; not that the

troop-carriers ever made mistakes--they had had too much practice--but

some of these store ships seemed incapable of coming in without fouling

the net, picking up some of it with their screws, and giving twenty-four

hours' work hacking it clear and then repairing it. Most of the

daylight hours during that time the Orphan spent in sleep, but not all

by a long chalk, for things were always going wrong with a line of

lighters supporting some borrowed torpedo-nets, and the Harbour-master

was always wanting to go along and see what could be done. As these

lighters were constantly being shelled, this was a most unpleasant job.

One evening, after snatching a couple of hours' sleep, he found that a

3-pounder gun had been mounted in the bows of his boat, and the usual

maxim taken away.

"Hello!" he said to the coxswain. "What's this for?"

"I fancy we're going to hunt for Fritz to-night, sir."

"Why, has he been round to-day?"

"He fired a torpedo at the _Jonquil_ this afternoon, sir; somewhere

round the left flank, sir."

When the Orphan climbed on board to find out more news, he ran across

the Sub on the quarterdeck.

"Hello, my jumping Jimmy! I was looking for you. We've got to go away

to-night and see if Fritz goes to sleep in Ejelmar Bay--about seven

miles along the coast, round Suvla Point. He's been making a nuisance

of himself again. What kind of a coxswain have you?"

"Not particularly good," the Orphan said. "He's not very fond of

shells."

"Hum! I suppose we can't change him," the Sub said, scratching his

head. "I've got Bowditch, the gunner's mate, coming along to run the

3-pounder, so that will be all right." Then, bursting with excitement,

he thumped the Orphan's chest. "My perishing Orphan! Just fancy if we

bag a submarine!"

"Promotion for you, too," grinned the Orphan.

"I hadn't thought of that," beamed the Sub. "Wouldn't that be grand?"

They were interrupted by a signalman running aft. "Hostile aeroplane,

sir!" he called out. The "guard call" sounded, and the marines began

tumbling up the hatchways with their rifles.

It was "Cuthbert", the aeroplane, coming along for his evening visit;

but this time he was not bothering his head about the ships at Suvla,

but flew past at a great height, evidently off to Kephalo, in Imbros

Island, twelve miles across the water, to try and drop a bomb on the

aerodromes there, or on the General Headquarters Camp.

"We aren't going away until nearly midnight," the Sub said, as they

watched "Cuthbert" growing smaller and smaller. Suddenly there was a

shout of "Hello! One of ours is after him! Look! He's heading him

off!"

Sure enough, they saw another dot against the blue sky rapidly closing

"Cuthbert", who had evidently seen him and swerved to the right.

As far as they could see, the English aeroplane was the higher of the

two, though a long distance separated them.

"Hello! Look there! He's coming back! Look! He's dropped his bombs"

(two spouts of water flew up on the sea). "He'll get away now!"

With the weight of the bombs "off" him, "Cuthbert" came back very fast,

and presently the English machine gave up the long, stern chase and

turned back to Kephalo.

"Well, they stopped him dropping bombs there," the Orphan grinned.

Just before midnight--pitch-dark it was--the Sub, the Orphan, and

Bowditch, the gunner's mate, climbed down into the picket-boat and

pushed off. They steamed outside, turned to the right, and, half an hour

later, met the _Grampus_ destroyer--the left-flank-guard destroyer--who

piloted them along the coast-line for some seven miles. Then she

stopped. Her skipper shouted across, through a megaphone: "We're right

opposite it now. Off you go. I'll wait for you."

In they went--very slowly, to prevent making a noise, and so as not to

bump anything in the dark--eventually finding themselves in a bay, with

high cliffs all round it. Here the darkness was more intense than ever,

and all was absolutely silent. They "felt" round the cliffs at one

side, going dead slow, but not a trace of Fritz could they find. Then

they pushed across to the opposite cliff, where there was a lighter

patch--probably a break in the cliffs--and just as they had searched

this other side, a most startling crackling of musketry burst out from

the direction of that lighter patch, and bullets fairly hummed round

their ears. The coxswain put his helm hard over as the Sub roared for

the engines to go full speed ahead, and the picket-boat naturally began

turning a circle, and would have headed for the foot of the cliffs in a

moment or two, had not the Orphan swung the helm back again. The Sub,

coming back from the bows, where he and Bowditch had been "standing by"

the 3-pounder and looking for Fritz, took the wheel from him, and

steered out into the open.

"My! but that was warm," the Sub said, drawing a deep breath. "That was

the hottest bit of fire I've had yet; it beats Ajano. I've never heard

so many bullets at the same time. Phew! One lucky shot, and the boat

might have been disabled."

"We don't have much luck, do we?" the Orphan said, when he had recovered

his normal state of mind.

"No, we don't. Still, there wasn't a submarine there--of that I'm

certain. We were sent to find that out--so never mind. Phew! That was

hotter than I liked it--it was. I can't think how they missed us."

The _Grampus_ escorted the picket-boat back to Suvla Point, and just

after the sun had risen and the hands had been turned out, she ran under

the stern of the _Achates_, and the Sub and the Orphan climbed up the

"jumping-ladder".

The Lamp-post, with a relief crew, stood waiting to take over the

picket-boat.

"No luck, Lampy; nothing doing," the Orphan said. But his pal was too

interested watching the colour effect of the sunrise on the mountain top

of Samothrace--to the right of Imbros--and made the tired Orphan look at

it too. "Bother old Samothrace, Lampy! I want something to eat. I

hope they won't start shelling _us_" (a big shell had just burst on the

beach, opposite the ship) "till I've had a bath and my breakfast. Where

are you going?"

"They ran a lighter ashore at 'C' beach last night, and I've to go and

clear her, and try to get her off."

"C" beach was round Nebuchadnezzar Point, out of sight behind Lala Baba,

and the Turks shelled most things that went there--at any odd hour of

the day.

"Poor old Lampy! They'll start shelling you directly you go there--they

did me yesterday. Bath--breakfast--sleep--that's what I'm going to do.

Nighty! Nighty!"

"Swish-sh-sh--flom-p" went a shell, half-way between the distilling ship

and the _Achates_.

"R-r-r-omp" burst a high explosive on the beach. Another shell, falling

into the water close to the _Achates_, burst, and the smoke drifted

along the surface to her bows.

"Bugler! Bugler! Sound the 'Retire'!" sang out Mr. Meredith, on watch.

"Get away in that boat of yours," he told the Lamp-post, as the old crew

came up the jumping-ladder, and the relief crew waited to take their

place. "Coal and water her when this 'show's' finished."

"Good luck to 'C' beach and the lighter, old Lampy! Don't duck when

they come along. Nighty! Nighty!" the Orphan called out to him, and

went below, as another wailing swish sighed through the air over the

ship.

Outside X2 casemate the China Doll leant against the thin armour, with

his sponge and soap in his hand and a towel round him. "Where are those

horrid shell dropping? Anywhere near us?" he asked, blinking his eyes.

The Pink Rat, inside the casemate, looked very miserable. "Any luck,

Orphan?" he asked nervously.

"I'm going to 'bag' your baths. I'm so sleepy I can't wait till these

silly old Turks have finished," the Orphan said, and sang out for Barnes

to get him a cup of tea.

It was now four weeks since the night of the Suvla landing, and, as you

have heard, flies were more of a plague on shore than they had been when

the _Achates'_ midshipmen left "W" beach. They swarmed on board the

ships. Bubbles declared that you could see them sitting along the

gunwales of every boat that came off from the beach, and that directly

it got alongside they flew on board and made themselves at home. The

Honourable Mess presented the China Doll with a "swatter", and made him

spend most of his waking hours killing flies in the gun-room, but the

more he killed the more flew in through the scuttles or from the

mess-deck. Both in the ward-room and the gun-room the noise of the fly

"swatters" went on continuously all through the daylight hours.

Dysentery commenced to rage throughout the Army; and whether the flies

brought it off from shore or whether they did not, dysentery commenced

to break out among the ships' companies, especially among those men who

worked in boats, or those living ashore--signalmen and beach-party

men--all who were frequently in contact with the soldiers. The Pink

Rat, grown visibly thinner, and the Hun both went on the sick-list.

They lay in cots on the half-deck, but had often to turn out and get

behind the armour, on one or other of the casemates, when the Turks'

shells began whistling over the skylight above them. They lived chiefly

on condensed milk--"poor brutes", as the China Doll said

sympathetically.

So many of those "stray" snotties who had lodged in the _Achates_ had by

now been sent back to their own ships, ill, that the Honourable Mess had

the gun-room almost to themselves again. Nor had those precious stores

been seriously raided this time, so they had no real grievance.

At last the _Achates_ herself received orders to return to Mudros to

coal and "rest"; and on the 6th September she slipped out through the

submarine "gate" after dark, left the twinkling camp-fires of Suvla

behind her, and steamed through the double row of submarine nets at

Mudros early next morning.

*CHAPTER XX*

*Hard Work at Mudros*

The _Achates_ had not been at Mudros for nearly three months and a half,

and during this period the appearance of the shores on either side of

the harbour had changed very greatly indeed. Where, previously, fifty

tents or marquees had stood, there were now thousands--multitudes of

them--the French on the east, the British on the west side. The French,

anticipating a winter campaign, had already built rows of wooden

barrack-huts; the British had begun to do so.

Stone and brick buildings for offices, workshops, and store-houses, a

narrow-gauge railway with petrol-driven engines, electric generating

stations, half a dozen substantial piers, and miles and miles of

roads--all had been built since the end of April. In the harbour itself

lay more transports, store ships, colliers, oil ships, and water-tank

ships than before the first landing. A line of French battleships faced

a line of British. Monitors big and monitors little, cruisers, scouts,

and sloops off duty, coaled, provisioned, and rested prior to returning

to their bombarding or submarine-hunting jobs. Up in a corner, near

Mudros West, and opposite Turkish Pier, lay the _Blenheim_, the mother

ship of destroyers, surrounded by those of her children off duty. At

another part of the harbour the submarines, resting after having come

down from the Sea of Marmora through the nets across the Dardanelles, or

preparing calmly to go up there again, nestled alongside the _Adamant_.

Two or three white hospital ships were at anchor inside the harbour;

eight or nine out beyond the nets at the entrance. Among all these

puffed and snorted a great number of motor-lighters, the

"water-beetles"--doing all the work of moving troops and stores, and

doing it marvellously well. In fact, it is difficult to imagine how the

work would have gone on without them.

The first day of her "rest" the _Achates_ coaled, and on the second took

in provisions from the little _Dago_. This little steamer ran between

Malta and Mudros with frozen meat and vegetables for the fleet. She

also at times brought the private stores ordered by the gun-room

messman, so that the Honourable Mess had a warm spot in their hearts for

her.

That week's rest extended for nearly two months and a half. During this

time, so many of the officers and men were employed away from the ship

that the _Achates_ became immobilized, and did not take her turn for

"guard" duties or as "emergency" ship. Every morning sometimes as many

as two hundred and fifty of her men were called for by the

"water-beetles", and taken away to coal leviathan transports, or to dig

up rubble and load it into some steamers which were being prepared to be

sunk as breakwaters off the various beaches on the Peninsula. The big

steamer _Oruba_ presently arrived, and the _Achates_ had the job of

dismantling her and preparing her to be sunk at Kephalo.

Those coaling jobs did not appeal to the snotties, though even they had

their compensations, as the Orphan proved when he came back from coaling

the _Mauretania_ for three whole days, dirty and tired, but with tales

of pleasant meals on board her, and hugely proud because he had managed

to buy two boxes of kippers and one of haddock.

For a whole week, each of the Honourable Mess had a kipper or a haddock

for breakfast, and Bubbles considered that "it wasn't such a rotten war

after all".

The Pink Rat about this time finally broke down, and had to be sent to

the naval hospital ship _Soudan_ with a recurrence of his old "W beach"

dysentery. He never rejoined the _Achates_, and on the broad shoulders

of Bubbles devolved his light duties as "senior snotty".

Flies were troublesome, but not so bad as at Suvla, and the weather

remained gloriously fine until the end of October.

Every evening after "seven-bell" tea, whenever it was possible to obtain

a boat--a whaler or a gig--as many of the Honourable Mess as could get

away would pull or sail down to the harbour entrance, land, cross over a

narrow neck of land near the wireless station, and bathe in a delightful

little cove; afterwards they would kick a football about on some level

ground there, and sail or pull back with grand appetites for dinner.

Why the China Doll was never drowned on those expeditions it is

difficult to explain.

Two football grounds had been made, quite close to this "wireless"

station, and the use of them was given to each ship in turn--two matches

a day on each. So, often the ward-room and gun-room combined to play the

officers of other ships; often, too, the men arranged matches between

different parts of the ship--Bubbles and his fo'c'sle men--the Orphan

and the Sub with their foretop men--the War Baby and his marines--the

Lamp-post and Rawlins with their quarter-deck men.

Many good games they had, and if only there had been any cheering news,

this period would have been a very pleasant one. But nothing went well

anywhere. The great "push" in Flanders and France had come to a full

stop; the Russians only just managed to keep the Germans from

advancing--in fact, but for the approach of winter, people wondered

whether they could keep them out of Petrograd (no one could get used to

that name), and whilst the Germans and Austrians swept across the Danube

into Serbia, the Bulgarians poured across the eastern frontier. Troops

in thousands, French and British, had been rushed across to Salonica,

but Greece still "sat on the fence"; she would not help, and the French

and British arrived too late to prevent Serbia being overwhelmed. No

attempt had been made on the Peninsula to advance; and dysentery raged

in the army--thousands of cases being taken away every week. The number

of German submarines in the Mediterranean had become more numerous, and

the area to patrol with trawlers, destroyers, scouts, and sloops was so

vast that the difficulties of suppressing them grew enormously. One

thing alone was satisfactory: enough stores had been landed on the

various beaches to maintain the army there, at a "pinch", for six

weeks--long enough to tide over any probable period of bad weather, when

landing might be impossible. There was also a certain satisfaction in

seeing the constant stream of ships which came in through the harbour

entrance every morning, and to know that they had safely run the

gauntlet of the submarines; but everyone realized that "The Great

Adventure" had failed, and that to maintain the army in its present

precarious footing on the Peninsula was causing an immense drain on the

resources of British shipping, without any apparent disadvantage to the

enemy.

One bright spot cheered everyone--the deeds of our own submarines in the

Sea of Marmora. But for them, the prestige of the Allies in the East

would have fallen to a very low ebb at that time.

By the middle of October "all white" uniform changed to "all blue", and

this marked the commencement of cooler weather.

Lord Kitchener arrived early in November, inspected all the army

"positions", and went away again.

Till his coming, there had been some speculations as to the possibility

of evacuating the Peninsula; but the extraordinary difficulties of this

operation had been so evident, that those two military experts, the

China Doll and the Pimple, had long since decided that it could not be

accomplished without tremendous loss of life, a huge number of men left

behind as prisoners, and most of the guns abandoned.

Now, again, everyone wondered what Lord Kitchener thought, and what

would happen.

After his departure the weather broke up temporarily, and a

south-westerly gale--only a mild one--left Suvla and Anzac and Cape

Helles beaches strewn with wrecked or stranded picket-boats, lighters,

and "water-beetles".

In the third week of November the _Achates_ received the welcome order

to proceed to Kephalo. The full moon shone brilliantly as she slipped

out through the nets, and off she went. Two hours after leaving Mudros

the track of one torpedo shot across her bows, and half a minute later

another passed some eighty yards astern of her--Fritz, or one of his

brothers, had fired two torpedoes--so she increased speed and

"zig-zagged".

The danger had vanished by the time it had been realized; and all that

the Honourable Mess and the gramophone knew about it, was the sudden

rushing down of men to close those water-tight doors and hatchways which

remained open, and a lurid description from the Pimple afterwards. It

did not interrupt the delightful concert with worn-out records and

blunted needles.

By three o'clock she entered the submarine-net "gate" at Kephalo; and

when the sun rose next morning it shot up from behind Achi Baba, and

once again they heard the distant booming of guns.

Kephalo, at the corner of Imbros Island nearest to the Peninsula, is a

narrow harbour with high hills on one side and a narrow spit of land on

the other. It is entirely open to the north-east--the quarter from which

the worst of the winter gales blow--so three ships, including the big

_Oruba_, had been sunk across it, higher up, to give protection to the

little piers built there, and to the picket-boats, motor-lighters, and

ordinary lighters which worked round them.

Kephalo had become the advanced base of Anzac and Suvla, ten and twelve

miles away respectively, and it was absolutely necessary that troops and

stores should be able to be landed or embarked at all times. Here, too,

were the aerodromes which "Cuthbert" and his brothers so delighted to

bomb. One of these was stationed on the low spit of ground; and the

Orphan, who had the knack of making friends with everyone, and the knack

of generally being in the right place at the right moment, managed one

afternoon to be taken "up" in a reconnoitring aeroplane. He and Bubbles

had strolled along to the aerodrome, wandered round until someone

invited them to tea in the "mess"; and whilst in the middle of it, the

"Flying Officer" on duty received an urgent signal: "Hostile submarine

reported off Gaba Tepe, steering S.W.; please send aeroplane

reconnaissance to search".

"Confounded nuisance!" exclaimed the Flying Officer. "I wanted to write

some letters; the mail goes to-morrow morning. Well, you chaps can tell

a submarine from a shark, I suppose; which of you would like to come

along and spot old Fritz?"

They both grinned with delight; but Bubbles carried too much weight--at

least a stone and a half more than the Orphan--so the Orphan was chosen.

The emergency aeroplane--a biplane--rested on its wheels outside the

sheds. They walked across to it.

"Climb in!" said the Flying Officer. "No, you won't want a coat; stick

on this cap and goggles--pull the flap down over your ears--and get in

as you are; we shan't be away more than an hour. Sit down behind; I've

altered the control gear--can work it from the front seat."

The Orphan had never been in an aeroplane before, and tingled with

excitement. He sat down and winked at the disappointed Bubbles whilst

his new friend climbed up in front of him and began to play about with

levers and switches. "If you do see Fritz, signal with your hand--bang

me on the back--it's no good shouting: I shan't be able to hear you."

The blades began whizzing round as the engine buzzed; men gave the

machine a shove and a push; the blades went so fast that they only made

a mist in front of the Orphan's eyes; the ground dropped away, and he

shouted to Bubbles to wait for him--though it wasn't much use shouting,

because of the noise of the engines.

Up they went, passing over the _Swiftsure_, the _Achates_, and the other

ships in the harbour, and out beyond the line of submarine-net buoys.

They headed right over the sea, first of all towards Helles; passed it,

swept round, and the Orphan clutched at the sides of the "body" as the

aeroplane altered course, for he thought she was slipping sideways. Not

a sign of Fritz did he see, but below him lay the end of the Peninsula,

its white tents, "W" beach, the hull of the poor old _Majestic_ showing

clearly under the sea, Achi Baba and the streaks which represented the

Turkish trenches. In another ten minutes he looked down on Gaba Tepe,

at one of the "Edgar" class firing shells which he could see bursting

among the streaks on top of the hills there. Up the coast the aeroplane

sped, passed Suvla with its black submarine-net buoys--he counted one

hundred and fifty-two of them; the two battleships inside them looked

tiny, so did the tents on shore. Then, with another wide sweep over the

sea, and bending to the right, he was carried along the left-flank coast

till he could see the little gap of Ejelmar Bay, where he and the Sub

had tried, that night three months ago, to find Fritz; and beyond it,

with some humpy hills between, the sun glittered on a broad sheet of

water and a silver streak which came in sight, in and out beyond the

hills--the Sea of Marmora and The Narrows.

Round swept the aeroplane; he clutched the sides; she steadied and flew

back towards Helles again, but not a sign of a submarine could he see;

and in fifty-five minutes from the time he had started, he was landed

with a gentle bump outside the aerodrome, and found Bubbles waiting for

him.

"You _are_ a lucky chap," he bubbled. "Did you see Fritz?"

The Orphan shook his head. "But I saw The Narrows and old Marmora;

wasn't that splendid?"

"Anybody fire at you?" Bubbles asked.

"Oh no!" explained the Flying Officer; "there was a bit of a haze over

the sea, so I could not go very high--shouldn't have seen Fritz if I

had--so it was dangerous to go too near land. We never climbed above

2500 feet."

They only just had time to catch the evening boat off to the _Achates_,

so they had to wish their new friend good-bye and hurry back along the

beach, the Orphan talking thirteen to the dozen.

Pride filled the bosom of this young officer, for he was the only one in

the ship who had seen either The Narrows or the Sea of Marmora. "It

looks so near to The Narrows!" he said to the Sub that night. "It

doesn't look more than an hour's walk. Things have turned out rottenly,

haven't they?"

"It _is_ rather tragic--really," the Sub said.

The first job the _Achates_ had, after arriving at Kephalo, was to send

working parties across to Anzac to help salve some lighters, a tug, and

two picket-boats, driven ashore by the first of those gales from the

south-west. The first of the fierce gales from the north-east followed,

after two days of calm, and drove such heavy seas into Kephalo harbour

that the ship had to put to sea, and anchor round the corner of the

island, behind another row of submarine nets, in Aliki Bay. She came

back as soon as that gale had blown itself out; but on the 27th of

November another north-easterly gale commenced, and next day she again

had to shift round to Aliki Bay. Here she and all the other ships that

had come round for shelter rode out that three days of blizzard which

caused such horrible suffering to the troops at Suvla--to British and

Turk alike. The temperature on board ship never fell below 30 degrees,

but at Suvla it fell to something like 15 or 18, even lower. First of

all, before the gale it rained in torrents, and as the water collected

and flowed down from the hills behind Anafarta into the valley, it

washed over the Turkish trenches, levelling them, and carrying drowned

Turks, drowned mules, barbed wire and their posts right over a long

section of the British lines, drowning a large number of the British,

flooding their trenches, and carrying everything before it till the Salt

Lake was reached. When the rain ceased the bitter north-east gale flung

itself down from the hills, bringing at first heavy snow; then the

terrible cold froze the water in the trenches, and hundreds of our men,

up to their middles in it, died of exposure, and very many hundreds

suffered from frost-bite.

During those three days the troops at Suvla experienced the climax of

hardship and exposure. The Turks suffered even more than our own

people; and when daylight broke after the worst night, they were left

exposed in the open with their trenches swept away, and our men--those

whose hands were not too numbed to fire a rifle--shot them down like

rabbits. Afterwards, a gentle breeze sprang up from the south-west, and,

almost as if in pity, a warm sun shone down on those much-tried armies.

On the Tuesday the ships trailed back to Kephalo again, getting a

glimpse of Samothrace with its snow-clad peak glittering in the sun--a

most gorgeous, exquisite spectacle.

They found that the centre one of those three breakwater ships had

disappeared entirely, and the head of the harbour behind them, close to

the piers, was absolutely littered with wreckage. This centre ship had

broken in half on the Sunday night, and the seas sweeping through the

gap had hurled all the picket-boats and lighters sheltering behind her

on to the shore, in one jumbled, tumbled mass.

They presented a most extraordinary sight piled on top of each other,

and half buried in a huge mass of seaweed swept in with them. A big

distilling steamer, with her rudder gone and her rudder-post smashed,

had been driven ashore farther along the bay; beyond her lay a

"water-beetle" high and dry, and, still farther along the shore, one of

those small provisioning "coaster" steamers which ran between Kephalo

and the Peninsula.

Salvage work commenced immediately. The Lamp-post and Rawlins took

fifty men ashore, and worked, day after day, digging away the seaweed

which blocked the little piers, and trying to refloat the least damaged

of the steamboats; the Sub, with a number of men, had to rig shears to

lift out the engines and boilers of those which were hopelessly

smashed--all very unpleasant work, because that seaweed decomposed

quickly under a hot sun and gave out the most unpleasant odour.

A more pleasing job had Bubbles and the Orphan. With a large working

party they commenced to dig a channel through the sand--good, honest,

clean sand--in order to refloat a stranded "water-beetle". They paddled

about all day and had a huge lark.

On the second morning, as they prepared to go ashore, Uncle Podger, on

his way to his bath, sang out: "Take your little buckets and spades and

go down to the beach, dears, but promise Mummy not to get wet."

"We'll promise Uncle a jolly 'thick ear' when we do come back," they

laughed. "Come along by the seven-bell boat, bring a basket and some

tea 'grub', and we'll have a picnic there."

"Cuthbert" came over from Maidos once or twice, just to make "kind

enquiries", find out how the salvage operations progressed, and see

whether three or four bombs would be of any assistance. They were not;

none of them dropped near enough to help, and all much too far away to

do any damage.

The weather became simply perfect, and after a week's hard work the

_Swiftsure_ had hauled off the distilling ship and one of the

"water-beetles", the _Achates_ had towed off that small steam "coaster",

and Bubbles and the Orphan had dug a channel sufficiently deep for a tug

to come along and tow off their stranded motor-lighter.

That especial job being finished, these two midshipmen again had time to

look round and see what life would bring. It brought news of woodcock

and partridge--woodcock in the deep sheltered valleys, and partridge on

the slopes of the hills. The little Padre lent them his shot-gun, and

away they tramped one day, taking the China Doll to "beat" for them and

to carry home all the birds. They swore a solemn oath that each should

fire alternate shots, an arrangement which made a "right and left"

difficult to get when frightened coveys were put up. Bubbles fired the

deadly shot which eventually killed a partridge, and, of course, by the

time the Orphan had seized the gun the rest of that covey had swooped

out of range.

They sent the China Doll to retrieve the bird, and sat down to smoke

their pipes and shout good advice at him; for the hill-side was covered

with boulders and thick scrub, and the China Doll had a big job in front

of him. "Keep it up, China Doll; never despair!" they shouted

encouragingly as he came back with his hands and knees scratched and

bleeding. "'If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.' We've

got another hour to wait for you. Off you go!"

At last the bird was picked up; and in the gun-room that night they held

an inquest on it, and found that "it had been well and truly killed by

one or more missiles discharged from an explosive weapon, and that no

trace of foul play, such as bludgeoning or being strangled, could be

discovered".

Then came the question as to how it should be "hung", and for how long.

The China Doll said that "the proper thing to do was to hang it by the

head, and when the corpse dropped off, then it would be just right."

They thought of trying the experiment on him, but desisted on the urgent

representation of Uncle Podger that, if the China Doll's body dropped

off his head, the work of the Ship's Office would be seriously delayed

whilst he, Uncle Podger, attended the funeral as chief mourner--and,

besides, he had no _crepe_ band to go round his arm.

Eventually Bubbles and the Orphan ate that bird on the second day--after

innumerable visits to the gun-room galley to see how it progressed--and

it was as tough as tough could be. They gave the China Doll the

gizzard.

A week later the little Padre mildly suggested that next time they

borrowed his gun they might clean it before they put it back in the

case. "It doesn't get quite so rusty," he said apologetically.

For many months the southern portion of Anzac--Brighton Beach and

Watson's Pier there--had practically been abandoned, because "Beachy

Bill", a high-velocity 4.1-inch gun, somewhere up in the Olive Grove,

above Gaba Tepe, had the range of the pier so exactly that he would hit

the end of it, or lighters lying alongside, with his very first shot of

the day, and his fire at night was almost as accurate. Several attempts

had been made to destroy him (probably he had several brothers), but

these had not been successful.

One day--the 10th December--the _Bacchante_, an "Edgar" cruiser, and two

monitors went across from Kephalo, and fired a great number of rounds

into the Olive Grove. Whether "Beachy Bill" or his brothers were hit or

not, no one could actually say; but only one gun fired after that day,

and it made such inaccurate shooting as not to interfere with work

either on the pier or the beach. It did not fire at all at night.

At the time no one, except perhaps Captain Macfarlane, knew the meaning

of this great expenditure of ammunition; but two days later, "all hands

and the cook" were told off for various jobs, either at Suvla or Anzac,

in motor-lighters or picket-boats, or actually on the beaches

themselves; and it dawned on the enthusiastic Honourable Mess that,

after all, an attempt was to be made to evacuate those places, and that

the last prodigal bombardment of the Olive Grove had been for the

purpose of finally destroying the guns there, and making it possible to

use Brighton Beach and Watson's Pier for the embarkation.

So secretly had everything been carried out, that no one in the gun-room

knew that most of the stores and the greater part of the guns, horses,

and mules had already been withdrawn.

They had seen fleet-sweepers and the troop-carriers--the _Osmanieh_, the

_Ermine_, _Reindeer_, _Redbreast_, _Abassiah_, and several

others--crowded with troops on their way to Suvla or Anzac; but they had

not seen them returning still more densely packed with men, nor the

transports with horses, guns, and stores. This had all been done by

night.

Rumours flew round that though Suvla and Anzac were to be abandoned, the

end of the Peninsula, in front of Achi Baba, was to be reinforced by all

that remained of the 29th Division, and maintained at all costs.

The Lamp-post and Rawlins, ordered to take charge of two

"water-beetles", donned their dirty old khaki delightedly, and took over

their "commands". The Lamp-post had K26, a single-screw lighter driven

by one big motor. K67 belonged to Rawlins, and possessed two little

motors driving twin screws. For the first day they were employed in

Kephalo harbour, and had a great argument that night as to which would

prove the faster. The Lamp-post bet Rawlins a dinner at the club at

Malta, or at the first civilized place the _Achates_ went to, that his

one big engine would beat the two small ones.

Next day they had the opportunity of deciding, for they were ordered to

Suvla. The Lamp-post led the way through the "gate" in the submarine

net, and waited outside for Rawlins to come abreast and make a fair

start.

"The first one through Suvla 'gate' to win!" he shouted. "Off we go!"

and they raced each other across the twelve miles of sea, the Lamp-post

winning his dinner very easily.

Now, though the chief stokers--old pensioners--in these two lighters

pretended to be just as excited about the race as the midshipmen

themselves, actually they were much too wise to press their motors hard,

knowing full well that two hours driving at top speed would probably

disable them for days. However, the Lamp-post and Rawlins did not know

this--they thought they were having a "ding-dong" race--so it did not

matter.

They arrived there at dusk, just as the usual high-explosive shells

dropped on "'A' West" beach, and some little ones fell into the harbour

near the _Cornwallis_, others near the poor old distilling ship.

Off "'A' West" pier there was now quite a comfortable little harbour,

made by two steamers which had been sunk at right angles to each other,

with a gap between them just sufficiently wide for two "water-beetles"

to pass through side by side.

They had helped to fill these two steamers with stones and rubble at

Mudros two months ago, so recognized them--the _Fieramosca_ and the

_Pina_.

On this same day, Bubbles and the Orphan rigged themselves in khaki,

joyfully packed away a few things in their battered, old tin cases, and

took charge of two picket-boats--the Orphan of one belonging to the

_Swiftsure_ (this ship had no midshipmen), and Bubbles of one which had

belonged to the ill-fated _Majestic_. The unfortunate Hun looked very

miserable as he waved "good-bye" to them. He had not regained strength

after his attack of dysentery, and Dr. O'Neill would not let him take

any job on shore.

"You've got your D.S.C., old Hun; so don't worry," the Orphan consoled

him. "I only wish that I could get it!"

*CHAPTER XXI*

*The Evacuation of Suvla Bay*

In a little wooden hut, perched on a mound just above the landing-places

at Kephalo, lived two naval Captains--the Fierce One and the Not So

Fierce One.

Bubbles, the Orphan, and eight other snotties, with their picket-boats,

found themselves handed over to the anything but tender mercies of the

Fierce One; and the morning after Rawlins and the Lamp-post had raced

their "water-beetles" (or thought they had raced them) across to Suvla,

these ten gathered, expectantly, outside this wooden hut, and waited

whilst the Captains finished their breakfast and smoked their pipes.

All these ten midshipmen were dressed in some sort of khaki except the

two _Lord Nelsons_, who wore ordinary blue uniform, and grinned and

nudged each other as though they shared some secret joke which they

couldn't possibly divulge.

Presently the Fierce One came out, and they all stiffened to attention.

He gave a preliminary roar--just to clear his throat and make way for

what was coming--rapidly casting his eye over them. "Who's the senior

snotty here? Why the--the--the--don't you report to me?"

The ten had never thought of that. They muttered, and looked at each

other, and at last the very microscopic _Lord Nelson's_ midshipman

(known generally as the Cheese-mite) nervously reported: "All midshipmen

present, sir."

"What's your name?" he growled.

"The Cheese-m---- Morrison, I mean, sir."

"Morrison be hanged! I don't care a tuppenny biscuit what you were

christened. What's your boat?"

"_Lord Nelson's_ first picket-boat, sir."

"Um! _Lord Nelson_ No. 1. That's your name. What in the name of

goodness d'you mean by it? This isn't a fancy-dress ball; what are all

these individuals doing, coming along here like a lot of dysenteric

soldiers?" and he shook his fist at the eight disconcerted midshipmen in

khaki. "If I see 'em dressed again except in uniform, I'll--I'll--wring

their necks!"

Then he went from one to the other, to learn the names of their

steamboats, glaring at each, and "sizing" them up as he did so.

Bubbles became _Majestic_, the Orphan _Swiftsure_. This having been

concluded, he went through them again to make certain that he knew their

boats, and from that moment never made a mistake.

"_Lord Nelson_ No. 1 and No. 2, _Swiftsure_, and _Majestic_ fall in on

the right--make a gap between you and the others. You four will work at

Suvla--the other six at Anzac. You'll all get more orders presently,

but remember this. Your job is to take off stragglers on Saturday and

Sunday nights--those are the two nights of the evacuation. You'll have

some pulling boats in tow, and you are not to leave behind a single man

who gets down to the shore. Remember that. Saturday night ought not to

be difficult; but on Sunday night, when the last few men rush down with

the Turks after 'em, you'll have your work cut out. You'll have to

'wash out' any idea of bullets and nonsense like that, and if any one of

you doesn't do his job, I'll--I'll--wring his neck! Oh!" he roared,

"you'll wish you'd never met me."

A good many of the young officers had begun to wish that already.

He went on: "The boats you'll have to tow will come round in a day or

two--those that aren't here now; and here's a list of things to be done,

one for each of you. Away you go!"

He handed them each a paper, and stalked back to the wooden hut, but

turned and growled fiercely: "Remember this: every man Jack who is on

the Peninsula now is useless to England; every man who gets away is one

to the good. Remember that, and do your job, or by the--the--the--I'll

wring your necks! Off you go, and don't let me see any more of you in

those dirty ragamuffin clothes of yours."

They made their way down to the little piers and the wrecked boats which

still littered the shore.

"You _are_ a rotter, Cheese-mite. You might have told us. You knew it

all the time," they said. "We thought we must come in khaki."

"I couldn't tell that you were coming like that, and it was a jolly

sight too late for you to go back and shift," the Cheese-mite explained.

"My aunt!" the Orphan said to Bubbles as he read his paper; "wooden

boards to be fitted inside the glass windows of cabins. Whatever's that

for?"

"Splinters, I expect. When we're chock-full of Tommies, some will have

to crowd below, and a bullet coming in and smashing the glass would

fling the bits all round."

"They don't expect us to have a warm time--do they?"

"Not half!" Bubbles grinned.

[Illustration: "SCREENED LANTERNS!"]

They soon stowed away their khaki and shifted into blue uniform, and for

the next two days fitted out their boats with maxims, two boxes of

belts, towing-spans[#] over the sterns (as on the occasion of the first

landing), fitting shields round the steering-wheels of those boats which

had none, making screens for hand-lanterns, testing their steam-pumps,

and seeing that the thirty or forty items down on their "lists" were on

board.

[#] Towing-span, a rope or wire passing all round a boat under her

gunwales, with a hook secured to the bight at the stern. The painter or

tow-rope of a boat to be towed is secured to this hook.

On the Thursday morning the Fierce One came out in his fussy little "Z"

motor-boat, and all the ten picket-boats followed him, making a circle

round him whilst he inspected them.

The maxims--he could see them; anchors--he could see them too; but when

he shouted through his megaphone "Screened lanterns!" every snotty had

to hold up his lantern with one hand and the canvas screen in the other.

The same with the semaphore flags, boats' signal-books, axes,

compass-boxes, and ammunition-boxes.

"Work your pumps!" he roared; and after a furious interval all ten

picket-boats began squirting jets of water.

Then he bellowed "Megaphones!" and all held up their megaphones except

the Cheese-mite.

He dashed alongside _Lord Nelson_ No. 1, and seized the Cheese-mite by

his coat collar.

"Where's your megaphone? you--you--you----"

"Please, sir, I had it this morning; but when that destroyer went past

just now the picket-boat rolled, and it went overboard."

"I'll roll you overboard," he growled, holding up the Cheese-mite as

though he were a kitten. "You'll get another before night, or

I'll--I'll----"

"Knives!" he shouted.

Now nearly all the snotties had taken for granted that every man aboard

would have one. But only a few had them, and the Fierce One flew in a

towering rage.

Eventually he took all the picket-boats outside the submarine net to

make certain that those maxims would fire; and it can be easily imagined

what happened when ten strange maxims were worked by ten not very

experienced "hands", in ten bobbing picket-boats, under the supervision

of ten much less experienced snotties.

A bullet hit the gunwale not two feet from where the Orphan stood, and

goodness only knows why there were no casualties. Little, though, cared

the Fierce One, so long as he made certain that every machine-gun was in

working order.

That day they practised towing their pulling-boats--four to each of the

Suvla boats, three to each of the Anzac ones.

A very busy day they had, for in the evening a transport came into

harbour loaded with mules from Suvla, and tried the simple plan of

slinging them overboard and letting them swim to the shore.

The Orphan and Bubbles were sent away in pulling-cutters to shepherd

them in the right direction, and had the time of their lives chasing

silly, obstinate mules who wanted to swim out to sea. Eventually they

headed them off, and they made a "bee-line" for a battleship, lying with

her torpedo-nets "out". It was the funniest sight in the world to see

half a dozen mules with their heads looking over the edge of the

torpedo-nets, "digging out for daylight", and really quite happy. After

a lot of shouting and laughing they were all induced to swim shorewards,

and soon scrambled on the beach, shaking themselves like big dogs,

rolling in the sand, and looking for the nearest eating-place.

During these few days the ten midshipmen heard hundreds of yarns about

the preparations for evacuation--how the front trenches had been mined,

and many of the reserve and communicating trenches as well; that the

only guns to be left behind, if all went well, were a few condemned

18-pounders and 6-inch howitzers. To deceive the Turks on the Sunday

night, many rifles were being fixed up in the front trenches with tins

lashed to their triggers, and, above these empty tins, others with a

hole in the bottom of each. When the last of the troops left the

firing-trenches, they would load the rifles, fill the top tins full of

water; the water would drip slowly or fast--according to the size of the

holes--into the other tins fixed to the triggers, and when these became

full, off would go the rifles--at different times. The few

motor-lorries and ambulances still remaining kept dashing about in full

view of the Turks, to make them think that they were just as numerous as

ever; and the few troops in reserve, instead of hiding behind Lala Baba

or Chocolate Hill, made themselves more conspicuous in the open.

You can understand, as the week went by and that fateful Saturday

approached, how tense the excitement grew, and how eagerly everyone

watched the barometer and the sky for any change from the gorgeous calm

days which succeeded each other. Such a spell of fine weather could not

possibly last much longer, and the fate of perhaps fifty thousand men

depended much upon it lasting until early Monday morning.

The Turks had not yet given any sign that they realized what had been

happening or what was about to happen. They still shelled the ships,

the beaches, the old empty gun positions just as they used to do, and

generally at the same old times; but no one, knowing the ease with which

they had previously seemed able to obtain information of our doings,

thought it possible that they could actually still be in ignorance.

In the middle watch, on Friday night, a huge fire broke out at Anzac.

Actually some of the most inflammatory stores prepared for burning on

the Sunday night had been set alight accidentally, and made a tremendous

blaze.

On board the _Achates_ Mr. Meredith, whose watch it was, stood, with the

Quartermaster, watching the glare--ten miles away across the sea--and

knew that something had gone wrong.

"That will give the show away," the Quartermaster muttered sadly.

"I'm afraid it will," Mr. Meredith answered, desperately anxious.

That fire burnt all night, but in the morning the Turks never showed the

least sign of activity beyond the usual normal sniping and shelling.

Saturday dawned absolutely calm--a few flaky, almost stationary clouds

showed against the blue sky.

"Can it hold until Monday morning?"--that was what everyone thought and

hoped and prayed.

Again the ten midshipmen "fell in" outside the little wooden hut--this

time all in their proper blue uniform--and received their orders in

writing, each order beginning with the well-known formula: "Being in all

respects ready for sea, you will proceed forthwith..." Then followed

long detailed orders for every eventuality.

Drawing two days' provisions for his own crew and the twenty-four men in

his four pulling-boats occupied the rest of the Orphan's morning.

At half-past four he shoved off from the _Achates_--the Hun, looking

wistfully after him, waved "good luck"--and he towed his four boats to

the trawler told off to tow him to Suvla. Bubbles, coming along with

his boats, made fast to another. Before dusk all the trawlers left

Kephalo, each with its picket-boat and string of pulling-boats behind

it; four headed for Suvla, and the other six towards Anzac.

The sea was calm, and the sky gave not the slightest indication of any

change in the weather, so that the Orphan and his coxswain--a wiry,

active petty officer named Marchant, belonging to the _Swiftsure_--were

in the highest spirits.

"If it only keeps like this, sir!" the coxswain kept on saying.

Before it grew too dark to see properly, they both inspected all the

boat's gear to make certain that nothing was out of its place. Down in

the cabin the Orphan found some green leaves--cabbage leaves.

"Heave them overboard," he said. "Whatever are they doing down here?"

"I thought they were for you, sir. An old stoker brought 'em down; told

me to hand 'em over to you, very carefully, and he brought this box

too." He picked up a small wooden box about a foot square, with a lot

of holes bored in the top and the sides; and the Orphan burst out

laughing, for he knew he would find "Kaiser Bill" inside it.

"That's 'Kaiser Bill'," he said, as he raised the lid and saw the

tortoise lying there. "He brings good luck. He came in our boat when

the Lancashire Fusiliers landed, so I suppose old Fletcher thinks he

ought to take a hand in this job as well--the funny old man!"

"He's a rum-looking beast for a mascot, isn't he!" Marchant grinned,

holding up "Kaiser Bill" with his legs sprawling beneath his shell, and

his head peeping slyly out as though he knew all about everything.

The Orphan put him and his box down below the water-line, where no

bullets could reach him.

A nearly full moon rose and gave sufficient light to avoid any other

craft on their way across, and in a little over an hour and a half they

had almost reached the nets outside Suvla.

The Orphan slipped his tow-rope, and so did Bubbles, and both of them

steamed round to a little pier which had been constructed on the north

side of Suvla Point--a pier called Saunders Pier.

They reported themselves to the naval Pier-master; and the Orphan,

leaving his two big boats--a launch and pinnace--alongside this pier,

towed the other two--two cutters--along the left-flank coast, and

anchored them close inshore. Their crews knew the countersign and

password, and if any men hailed them properly from shore, they were

ordered to pull in and take them off.

For the next three hours the Orphan was employed taking off officers and

their baggage from "'A' West", going in through the gap between the

sunken _Fieramosca_ and _Pina_, and steaming out again, dodging empty

motor-lighters being warped in through the gap, and full motor-lighters

being warped out. He took them to the _Redbreast_, lying out near the

nets, and then returned to Saunders Pier and found his two big boats

loaded with rifles and baggage of all sorts.

These he towed off to two trawlers anchored close by, waited for them to

be emptied, and brought them back again to Saunders Pier. After that he

lay off the pier for nearly an hour, and had some food and a smoke. The

men boiled some water and made cocoa over a bogey, and he had a jolly,

happy, exciting time yarning with Marchant, and listening to occasional

rifle-shots which came from farther away towards the left

flank--Jephson's Post way. Bubbles came back from patrolling the coast,

and lay alongside him. "It's all quiet there along the coast, just a

rifle-shot every now and then; no one along the beach. Isn't it a

perfect night?"

It was actually the most perfect night imaginable; hardly a breath of

wind, hardly a ripple on the water, and the moon lighted up the cliffs

and Suvla Point as distinctly as in day-time. Hardly a sound reached

them, and the rocks of Suvla Point prevented them seeing anything going

on inside the bay. It was all as peaceful as a picnic.

But about half-past one those two trawlers, to which the Orphan had

taken his boats with the baggage, went aground; and the Orphan was sent

round to "'A' West", inside the bay, to bring out the Senior

Beach-master. For nearly four hours he worked, laying out anchors and

taking wires across to a big tug.

Some time after six o'clock, just before the moon actually disappeared,

and before the two trawlers floated off, he had to go along the coast,

pick up his two cutters--they had seen or heard nothing--then pick up

the big launch and pinnace, and tow them back to Kephalo. It was only

when he went back to Saunders Pier for those two big boats that the

Orphan heard that everything had "gone off" without a single hitch, and

without the Turks having shown the least sign that their suspicions had

been aroused.

Hearing this, you can imagine how joyfully he and Marchant, the

coxswain, started on their twelve-mile journey back to Kephalo. Those

tows of boats must be away, out of sight, before daylight; so they put

their "best leg foremost", and steamed in through the harbour just after

seven o'clock, finding a large captured German steamer anchored there,

and simply packed with troops from Suvla.

Most of the other ten picket-boats had arrived back previously, because

the night's job at Anzac had been successfully completed by half-past

one in the morning, and the six boats on duty there had started back not

very long afterwards.

The excitement and the enthusiasm of everyone, due to the successful

accomplishment of the first night's work, kept the midshipmen awake.

Most of the picket-boats gathered close together under the lee of the

sunken _Oruba_. The crews cooked their breakfasts, ate them--jolly good

rations of army bacon, any amount of bread and jam--yarned, and laughed,

and smoked. They fetched "Kaiser Bill" out of his box and tempted him

with a cabbage leaf, but he turned up his nose at it. Then Bubbles and

the Orphan went alongside the _Achates_ to coal and water; rushed

inboard to get a wash and a bit more breakfast, to tell everyone down in

the gun-room--the Hun, the China Doll, Uncle Podger, and the

Pimple--everything that had happened, and go back to their boats again.

"You didn't mind me sending you 'Kaiser Bill'?" Fletcher, waiting

outside the gun-room, asked the Orphan.

"Rather not; it was jolly good of you to lend him to us. He brought us

good luck the first night, at any rate."

"I'm sure he'll bring you luck to-night as well, sir."

Precious little "stand easy" did the Orphan and his crew get that day.

The _Swiftsure's_ picket-boat was about the best-steaming boat of the

ten, and the Fierce One used her all day, going about the harbour and

supervising everything that went on. He and his crew managed to get a

meal in the middle of the day, and then were employed disembarking and

clearing the transport of all the troops she had brought across the

previous night.

At half-past four on that Sunday afternoon, the 19th December, all ten

picket-boats, towed by as many trawlers, and their pulling-boats behind

them, started off again for Anzac and Suvla.

The weather showed not a sign of changing, and before they reached Suvla

the darkness disappeared under a moon almost more perfect than the night

before. It really was more perfect, because a few thin clouds floated

slowly across it; and though they hardly lessened the light it gave,

they prevented shadows.

When they neared Suvla the picket-boat slipped, and did just as she had

done the night before: anchored her two cutters along the cliffs beyond

Suvla Point, and left the two big boats alongside Saunders Pier. The

Orphan then patrolled very slowly along the coast, but everything was

quiet except for a very few solitary rifle-shots; and these, he thought,

were probably the rifles with the tin cans tied to their triggers going

"off" when their tins filled. No stragglers showed on top of the cliffs

nor down on the beach, and it was almost impossible to realize that up

above him the trenches were being silently evacuated, and that the

soldiers had already commenced, sections at a time, to file down that

sandy, steep path which he and the Lamp-post had followed, on their way

back from the Naval Observation Post, that ripping afternoon in

September.

At about ten o'clock Bubbles, almost incoherent with excitement, came

along in the old _Majestic's_ picket-boat and relieved him.

"You have to go back to Saunders Pier," he stuttered and burbled, "and

take back your cutters. I've to do a bit of patrolling."

The Orphan, picking up his anchored cutters and their crews, towed them

to this pier, found his two big boats already crowded with troops, and

took them off to two trawlers lying outside (those two which had run

aground the previous night had been refloated shortly after daylight).

For the next three hours he went backwards and forwards between trawlers

and pier, and then, leaving his boats for Bubbles to carry on the good

work, was ordered round to "'A' West", inside the Bay. On the way, he

and the coxswain and the crew had some food--bread and meat sandwiches,

water to wash them down. No food could be cooked and no cocoa made this

night, because strict orders had been given that not a light had to be

shown--not even the cooking bogey could be lighted.

Here, at "'A' West", he was in the thick of everything, jostling and

nosing his way in and out among the picket-boats and motor-lighters

struggling to get in or out by that gap between the _Fieramosca_ and the

_Pina_.

On the pier they told him that everything was "going all right", and

that the Turks showed no signs of leaving their trenches. The

excitement as boatloads of men, horses, and stores went off to the

ships, and as he helped with officers and their baggage, kept him

oblivious of time or fatigue.

By four o'clock that morning the evacuation had been successfully

accomplished. He happened to have gone to the Beach-master's office at

about that time with a message. As he entered, the Beach-master put

down his telephone and smiled grimly to a military officer there.

"They've just telephoned from 'C' beach to say they are finished, and

the naval beach-party is now embarking. Not a soldier left behind."

"I expected to be on my way to Constantinople by this time--a prisoner,"

the weary officer replied.

"It's about time we packed up too. There's only a little more big

baggage, and perhaps a hundred and fifty men of the beach parties,

military landing-officers, and your people to go off from here, and that

finishes the bag of tricks. Haven't we pulled their legs? Listen!

they're sniping just as usual, up there. I'm just going round to get

those stores properly started burning, and then pack up. I'm really

sorry to leave, for some reasons," he said, glancing round his tiny

little office "dug-out", with the bare rock on one side and the sand-bag

walls.

He sent the Orphan, with one of the Pier-masters, to make a last search

of the left flank. Off they went, rounded Suvla Point, and worked

slowly along under the foot of the cliffs again, the Pier-master hailing

the shore occasionally through a megaphone. Not a sound came back,

except the echo from the face of the cliffs. They went some two miles

along the coast, turned, and steamed back quickly, because they saw the

glare of the burning fires, and thought that now, at any rate, the Turks

would realize what had happened, and would come tearing down. Suvla

Point and Saunders Pier were lighted up by the crackling, leaping

flames, and in his four boats, still lying alongside the pier, the last

of the people to leave Suvla had crowded. Four or five army officers

came across to the less crowded picket-boat, and then, with an

extraordinary feeling of exhilaration, he towed them off to the waiting

trawlers, and stood off whilst those last people crowded into them.

This accomplished, he received orders to anchor his boats, and, with

that same Pier-master, to make another last search along the cliffs on

the left flank.

Away he went, and perhaps not more than half a mile--certainly not a

mile--from the end of Suvla Point they saw a small group of dark figures

on top of the cliffs. The Pier-master, a lusty naval lieutenant, hailed

them through his megaphone; and a voice shouted back: "We're English!

We're English!"

"That's funny," said the Pier-master. "Edge in a little closer; get

your maxim ready."

The coxswain steered in towards the shore, and again the Pier-master

hailed, and again a single voice called back: "We're English! We're

English!"

"Well, if they _were_ English, they would _all_ shout," he said. "Keep

her out! They are Turks, those chaps; probably a patrol which has

pushed along the edge of the cliffs and does not know what to make of

things. They would make a 'hullabaloo', right enough, if they were our

chaps left behind."

The picket-boat steamed along under the cliffs, hailing every now and

then, until they had passed the place where the left-flank trenches,

coming down from Jephson's Post, touched the shore. Not a man could be

seen, nor did any answer come back in response to the hails through the

megaphone.

"That's finish!" the Pier-master told the Orphan. "Turn her round."

Over went the wheel, round twisted the picket-boat, back she steamed to

where the four boats lay, out beyond Suvla Point; and although the moon

had disappeared by this time, there was not the slightest difficulty in

finding them, for the whole water reflected the flames of the burning

stores, and the boats and the men's faces showed up plainly.

The picket-boat took them in tow, and commenced to steam across to

Kephalo. Behind her the flames leapt fiercely along the sweep of the

bay, and every now and again explosions took place, hurling masses of

flame and sparks high in the air. Silhouetted black against these fires

was the _Cornwallis_ battleship, left behind to keep the fires burning

with her shells--if necessary--and to destroy in the morning the few

wooden lighters which had been left behind.

Down along the coast at Anzac the sea was ruddy with the huge fires

burning there.

"Well, if they've only been as successful down there, it's been a mighty

good show," the Pier-master said as they watched them. "We've only left

four condemned guns--blown them up, too--and not a single man, horse, or

mule; and we've even taken off the goats belonging to the Indian

Transport Column. My hat! it's simply wonderful; I'm going to coil up

and do a little 'shut eye' down in the cabin. I have not slept for

nearly four days."

"'Kaiser Bill' is down there. I do believe he has brought luck," the

Orphan burst out; and then had to explain who "Kaiser Bill" was.

The coxswain, sweeping his hand astern towards Anafarta, called down:

"Look, sir, there comes the dawn. We wondered if the weather would hold

till Monday, and, thank God! it has."

The Orphan looked, and, hardly noticeable behind the bright glare of the

fires, saw the pale light of dawn behind the Anafarta hills.

There was no longer any need for precautions. The "bogey" on the

engine-room casings soon burnt brightly, and soon he and Marchant were

sharing a big bowl of cocoa, and ravenously eating some more clumsy

sandwiches which the men cut for them. Neither of them as yet felt

sleepy, because the excitement of success kept them wide awake, though

neither had slept for two whole days and nights.

By seven-thirty it became light enough for them to see, ahead of them,

on their way from Suvla or Anzac, ten or twelve "water-beetles", a dozen

or more trawlers, with long strings of transports' boats, pontoons, and

lighters towing behind them; some twenty steamboats, also with their

"tows", and several small tugs. The Suvla distilling steamer--the

_Bacchus_--which for four months had been constantly shelled, was

steaming on her way to Mudros; and patrolling destroyers, trawlers, and

drifters swept the sea just as they always had done, and just as though

nothing had happened.

Boom! Boom! came the rumble and thud of the firing of two big guns.

"The _Cornwallis_, sir, at Suvla," the coxswain said, turning to look,

and making the Orphan turn to watch Turkish shells bursting down by the

water's edge--just as usual. They had commenced their early morning

"hate"--on empty beaches.

"By all that is wonderful, sir!" said the coxswain.

At half-past eight the picket-boat entered Kephalo harbour; and the

Orphan knew, by the cheering which greeted him from the troops packed

together aboard two large transports anchored inside, that the

evacuation of Anzac had been completed as successfully as that at Suvla.

He turned over his four boats to a battleship, and threaded his way

through the throng of steamboats, trawlers, and motor-lighters which

jostled each other in the harbour, eventually reached the shore, and

landed to report himself.

He found the Fierce One, who had only just returned from Suvla, and the

Not So Fierce One at breakfast in their little wooden hut.

"Hum! You've come back, have you?" growled the Fierce One. "A very

good two nights' work; very good, indeed!"

The Not So Fierce One, looking at the Orphan, said: "You look pretty

well fagged out; have a cup of tea, or something."

*CHAPTER XXII*

*A Terrible Night*

The Orphan had returned to Kephalo at nine o'clock in the morning--that

Monday morning after the evacuation of Suvla. He had had no sleep for

forty-eight hours, and was allowed none now. In the afternoon the

largest tug received orders to tow four picket-boats and a steam pinnace

to Mudros--the two picket-boats belonging to the _Lord Nelson_, the boat

belonging to the _Swiftsure_, another, and the steam pinnace.

The Orphan thought this would be rather a "spree", and did not notice

that the north-easterly breeze which had held all that past week had

backed to the south-west.

At half-past four in the afternoon, he and the other boats followed the

tug out of harbour under their own steam. Beyond the "nets" the tug

waited for them to come along and make fast, one behind the other.

"This is just the time when it's best to be last," Marchant, his

coxswain, suggested. "I don't feel quite certain of the weather, and if

we are the last boat we can slip whenever we want to."

The Orphan agreed, and wasted a good deal of time--on purpose--going out

of harbour, and found the other boats all secured to each other, in one

long line, by the time he joined them. The captain of the tug was not

very polite to him, but he did not worry about that, and made fast his

tow-rope to the last boat--the _Lord Nelson's_ No. 1 picket-boat.

The Cheese-mite shouted across: "I say, Orphan, you've cut me out of the

stern billet--I wanted that."

"So did I," the Orphan laughed.

Away they all went, one after another, the tug steaming very slowly; and

outside Suvla Point they found quite a fresh breeze, blowing straight in

their faces, and the sea which had been so calm had already begun to

cover itself with little "white horses".

Four "water-beetles" joined company, puffing along with them as fast as

they could.

Fires were allowed to die out gradually in all the steamboats, and there

was nothing to do but steer them.

The crew now lighted the bogey, made tea, and fried some bacon.

Everyone had a good meal; and after it the Orphan felt much too

comfortable and sleepy to chaff the Cheese-mite ahead of him through his

megaphone. "I'm going to have a bit of sleep," he told Marchant, and

snuggled down below in the little cabin, with a rolled-up overcoat as

pillow.

It was bright moonlight when he woke up, and he felt the picket-boat

bumping into waves every other second. He rubbed his eyes, and jumped

on deck to the wheel.

"Hullo, what's that?" he said, noticing smoke coming up out of the

funnel.

"I didn't wake you, sir; there's nothing to worry about--not yet; but I

don't like the look of the weather, so I'm raising steam in case

anything happens. You'd better get an oilskin on, sir," he added, as

the bows bumped into a wave and the spray came over them.

But the Orphan had not one, so he took the wheel whilst Marchant went

for his.

The breeze had indeed risen, and the sea too. The picket-boats ahead of

him were going up and down like the boats at a circus roundabout; and

behind him those motor-lighters, looking more like "water-beetles" than

ever, in the moonlight, were slowly falling astern, yawing from side to

side and covered with spray.

He saw Kephalo South Point light and the fires over at Anzac, which

still burnt furiously, and knew that the boats had only just got past

Aliki Bay. He could not have been asleep for long.

The wind and sea increased every minute, and made the steering of the

picket-boat quite a hard job. Marchant came back and took the wheel from

him. "I've known this boat for nearly three years, sir," he said; and

the Orphan, knowing how he hated letting anyone steer his own old

picket-boat, knew what he meant.

"What extraordinary luck, sir!" Marchant said presently. "Fancy if it

had blown like this last night! Right on shore it would have been, and

not a boat could have gone near it. We could not possibly have taken

the soldiers off, to say nothing about their guns."

In half an hour the motor-lighters were evidently in difficulties. In

order to keep their screws in the water they had to be much ballasted

down by the stern. This made their bluff bows come right out of the

water; and every sea hitting them, besides almost stopping their way,

tended to throw them off their course. They could not steer properly,

yawing this way, yawing that; and it was impossible for them to keep up

with the five and a half knots of the tug, which was then about the

speed she was towing the picket-boats.

She stopped and, as the motor-lighters struggled towards her, hailed

them, and made two come alongside, abreast each other, on each side of

her. She made them fast, and with them working their motors and doing

their best to steer, she went on again. But you can imagine what a

terribly clumsy "tow" they made, bumping into each other, bumping into

the tug, simply covered with spray minute after minute.

"Look here, sir," said Marchant presently, as the weather rapidly grew

worse; "if those lighters break adrift, they'll come down on us and

finish us."

"What d'you want to do?"

"I'd like to slip, and try and get along by ourselves. We can do it,

sir; she's a very good steamer."

The Orphan didn't know quite what to do. He realized the danger, but he

didn't relish the idea of steaming nearly fifty miles to wind'ard, in

the teeth of the rapidly rising wind.

However, he realized that Marchant probably knew, better than he did,

what the boat could or could not do; so he agreed.

He seized the megaphone and yelled to the Cheese-mite to slip his

tow-rope. The Cheese-mite, who also had raised steam, wanted to know

where he was going.

"Make for Mudros!" yelled the Orphan.

"D'you know the way?"

"The coxswain does."

"I'll follow you," the Cheese-mite shouted, as the tow-rope fell into

the water.

The two of them swerved outside the clumsy motor-lighters and gradually

forged ahead, lost sight of them, and went plunging into the head seas,

steering by compass and by the glow of the fires of Anzac. In a very

short time they had to batten down everything--the forepeak hatch, the

engine-room, and the stokehold hatches. The Orphan and Marchant (who

had taken off his boots and oilskin) were wet through, waves washed a

foot deep over the picket-boat, and she made very little progress.

For two hours they struggled on; but by that time a regular gale was

blowing, driving a short steep sea in front of it so fiercely that the

picket-boat not only made scarcely any way, but could hardly keep her

bows to it.

"We can't do it, sir," Marchant at last said, when, at one extra lurch,

two of the spare water-barricoes (full they were) tore themselves from

their lashings round the engine-room casings and went overboard. "We

haven't enough water now--to say nothing of coal."

"We'll have to go back, sir!" he shouted.

"Right-o!" yelled the Orphan, clinging to the rail round the cabin, and

not at all liking the idea of turning the boat round in such a sea.

Very gently Marchant edged her round; a wave buried her bows and threw

her over; she righted herself, and the next wave, catching her almost

broadside on, simply flung her on her beam-ends. For a moment the

Orphan thought she would never right herself; then she did with a jerk,

a wave came green almost over the wheel, the picket-boat lurched more

heavily than before. The Orphan, swept off his feet, clung to the rail,

and by the time he had gained his feet again she was round, and going

ahead with the waves roaring after her, lifting her stern, foaming over

the counter and trying to fling it round. He groped his way aft,

clinging to the cabin rail, and found that already there were two feet

of water in the stern-sheets.

He suddenly remembered "Kaiser Bill", jumped down into the water, went

into the cabin, and found his box floating about. He took it out into

the moonlight, and was much relieved when the tortoise peeped out of his

shell to see what all the "bobbery" was about. He jammed the box in a

rack inside the cabin, near the top of it, and went back to the wheel.

"Much, sir?" Marchant asked anxiously.

"Two feet!" the Orphan shouted, and told him about rescuing "Kaiser

Bill".

"I'd forgotten all about him, sir. We're all right now, he'll bring us

through. We must get that water out of her."

The Orphan knew that the ejector was choked, so he made his way for'ard,

clinging to the wire round the engine-room casings, the funnel-stays,

and the gun-mounting, to call two of the men, huddled down under the

forepeak, to come aft and bale the water out with buckets.

They came and worked hard, but the waves constantly lopped in, and the

amount of water diminished very slowly. He knew that if her stern swung

round and she "broached to", the seas would fill the big stern-sheets

completely, and as he could not trust to the engine-room bulkhead being

watertight, she would probably sink. He understood then why Marchant

had taken off his boots and oilskin.

He went back to the steering-wheel.

Just then the stokehold hatch opened, the stoker drew himself out, and

scrambled cautiously aft. He began unlashing one of the two remaining

barricoes of water, when a sudden lurch of the boat threw him off his

feet, and he slid overboard.

Like lightning Marchant, shouting "Take the wheel, sir!" jumped in front

of the protecting shield, flung himself down, gripping the wire round

the engine-room casing with one hand, leant over the gunwale, and seized

the stoker almost before he had fallen completely over the side. There

was the crash of something being overturned, the sizzle of red-hot

cinders falling in the water, and Marchant, with a jerk, wrenched the

man against the boat's side. He gripped the life-line; Marchant gave a

heave, and he climbed on board again. It all happened in the twinkling

of an eye.

Marchant came back and took the wheel.

"Pretty quick work, that!" the Orphan said. "He'd have been drowned; we

couldn't have turned round to pick him up."

"No; it wouldn't have been safe," Marchant shouted back, meeting a

vicious swerve of the stern with a touch of helm.

"Look at my hands and face, sir," he said, when the picket-boat had

quieted herself. "I knocked over that bogey; it hadn't gone out, and

the cinders burnt me or scalded me when they fell into the water."

By the moonlight the Orphan saw that his face and hands were very red.

"I can't see that _Lord Nelson's_ boat, sir," Marchant shouted in a

minute or two. "She ought to have seen us turn and followed. I can't

see her now."

The Orphan looked astern and could see nothing. In ordinary

circumstances he would have gone back to look for her; but with that

raging, roaring, steep sea racing after them, both he and Marchant knew

this was now out of the question.

The only thing they could do they did; Marchant going aft, lighting a

lantern, and lashing it to show astern.

He left the wheel to the Orphan.

By the time Marchant came back the tug hove in sight, tossing and

tumbling in the white foaming seas, evidently standing by two

motor-lighters which had broken adrift and were almost hidden in spray,

broadside-on to the waves. They saw nothing of the other two.

They passed them, and caught up with one of the other picket-boats.

Marchant roared through his megaphone for her to keep Kephalo Light well

clear to port because of the "submarine detector" nets. He knew where

they were, and this steamboat seemed to be steering for them.

"There's one caught in them, over there, sir!" Marchant shouted,

pointing far away to port. "She'll probably drift on to the rocks."

"Can't we go and help?" the Orphan shouted, knowing full well that this

was impossible, for once the propeller fouled those nets his picket-boat

would be helpless, and drift on the rocks herself when the waves tore

her out of the nets.

Marchant shook his head.

In half an hour they had Kephalo Light a couple of miles on their port

beam; half an hour later they had edged the picket-boat into

comparatively smooth water, and by eleven o'clock that night they went

in through the gate in the submarine net at Kephalo, and ran alongside

the _Achates_.

By this time Marchant's face and hands had begun to swell and blister

from that scald or burn, and were very painful.

The Orphan sent him inboard to Dr. Gordon, and took his steamboat round

the sunken breakwater ships alongside the landing-place. Then he

stumbled, wet through and fearfully tired, up to the wooden hut, woke

the Fierce One, and reported himself.

He became horribly unpopular, and was ordered to report in the morning.

So back he went to the picket-boat, tied her up alongside the sunken

Oruba; and he and his crew went to sleep, and would have slept for ever,

if the crew of another picket-boat, tied up close to them, had not given

them a "shake" next morning.

In the forenoon the Orphan was sent outside the harbour to search for

the other picket-boats which had not arrived. He saw the Cheese-mite's

boat hard and fast on shore, and another breaking up not far from her.

He expected that the crews had swum or scrambled ashore (they had done

so); but the seas ran much too high for him to go in and give

assistance, so back he came into harbour and reported this.

"Hum!" growled the Fierce One. "You don't belong to me any more; go

back to your ship."

The tired midshipman, thinking that he had disgraced himself, went back.

Bubbles met him at the top of the gangway--his face redder, and his

chuckling, snorting noises louder than ever. "Orphan! Orphan!" he

blurted out; "you and I are off to 'W' beach. The Sub went there

yesterday, and we're going to-night. Really--honour bright!" as he saw

that the Orphan thought that his leg was being "pulled".

"Phew! That's grand! My word, what luck!" the Orphan burst out, his

tired eyes lighting up as he realized that Bubbles meant it.

Marchant, with his left hand bandaged up and his face all oily and red,

was waiting to go down into the boat.

"Good-bye!" the Orphan said. "We've had a splendid time together,

haven't we? Good luck to you!" and darted away to see the Commander and

get his orders; but then, remembering "Kaiser Bill", ran back again.