MUDROS
It seemed at last we were drawing into port. The land was more defined,
and rolled up from the sea in peaceful grassy slopes, chequered with
squares of cultivation, and marked with lonely dots which later might
grow into hamlet or farm. Nearer—always nearer—the ship steered, until
the waterway had narrowed to a ribbon, and the island discovered itself
entirely, presenting cliffs which swept into the water, and beaches
shelving smoothly down. Caressing breezes came over to us, like breaths
from a promised land.
We could not name the place. Scores of faces watched the approaching
hills, scores of tongues cried out where we had arrived. Many declared
for the Dardanelles; as many for Tenedos; as many for Lemnos; but it
remained to watch and wait. Finally we were moving parallel with the
shore, towards a cape directly ahead—everywhere the gentle slopes climbed
up towards the hills, carrying vegetation all the way. Sunbeams flecked
the pasture land, and swept across the squares of cultivation. Balmy
breezes floated to us anew.
We steered beyond the cape, and two great jaws of land opened wide.
Inwards we steamed. And behold, the spell was shattered. Again our cries
broke out.
We were entering a large and sheltered bay, where the same green hills
climbed from the sea, the same patches of cultivation marked the easier
slopes, and the same hamlets clustered in the shelter of the valleys. But
these things had not loosed our tongues.
A mighty fleet lay at anchor in the land-locked waters—two fleets indeed:
a battle fleet, and a fleet of transports. It was a wondrous spectacle
to come across by an out-of-the-world shore. Across the mouth of the
bay had been drawn a net, past which no enemy submarine might find
passage; and beyond the net anchored in safety all these craft of war.
Grim battleships lay there, and swift cruisers with sunlight slipping
over their grey sides. Low black destroyers found place beside them;
and a submarine, half submerged, with the crew upon the conning tower,
and the sea climbing to right and left out of her path, passed down the
thoroughfare. Trawlers, tugboats, colliers, lighters, mine-sweepers—all
that can be named were anchored before us; and giant liners swayed their
cables and showed decks crammed with uniformed men.
Noble was that company, and one there was nobler than all. Long and
low and plain of detail, the _Queen Elizabeth_ nursed jealously her
fifteen-inch guns. Through the lines she moved now: she passed the
open net into the outer bay: she gathered speed and churned towards the
Dardanelles. Only a broad wake remained as signal of her passage.
In such way we arrived in Mudros Harbour and took our place in the
waiting company.
On one another’s heels the days went by, and still we lay at anchor in
the sheltered waters, impatience growing with each rumour and fresh
delay. New transports continued to arrive, whereby daily the bay became
more crowded; and there were reports of yet more transports on the way.
We were to weigh anchor to-morrow. Now we were remaining for a fortnight.
Now Turkey discussed terms of peace and we would not be wanted.
Such rumours were born each morning. Each day saw a like programme
performed—stables, stables, and again stables. Grumbling flourished as
the green bay tree.
I was not the quietest of the growlers—yet, even so, I never quite shook
off the glamour of that island set in the Aegean. Never was there an
early morning when skies were not blue and waters unruffled. Breezes
softer and more scented than any human kisses floated perpetually to us
from the green hills. Every sunrise brought the same brisk scene, when
gigs, cutters, and small boats of a hundred designs plied between the
giant ships. Against our sides bumboats would presently collect, handled
by wily Greeks with offerings of tobacco, dried fruits and nuts, or
Turkish delight and chocolate. Business was always brisk until whisky
arrived abroad, and afterwards the bumboats came no more. Aye, the magic
of those mornings stays with me.
There were days when the battleships left the anchorage: and the smaller
craft, such as the destroyers, were active at all hours. Hither and
thither through the lines they moved at speed, coming and going on their
journeyings. Many a time I wondered over their business.
But if the mornings could discover fairyland, the nights knew the secret
no less. Many an evening the sun went down behind shadowy hills which
circled a bay of glass, whereon destroyers had ceased to manœuvre and
last rowing boats were putting home. While the deeper shadows found a
road over the water, it might be a belated submarine churned by, conning
tower a-wash, like a strange monster of the deep.
Then the day’s work was over, and men gathered on deck for the breezes
which revived about this hour, or settled below to gamble until “Lights
out” was blown. The hills would retreat, the water would turn to formless
grey, and the great boats would give up their shape. The stars would look
out; and to rival them, a thousand lanterns shone forth upon the waters.
Far into the night—all through it, I vouch—winked the Morse lights. “Dot,
dash, dot: dot, dot, dash.”
When evening aged, and man’s energy had revived, we held sing-songs
on the deck below the bridge. No bright peculiar star illumined the
meetings; but Time passed by on lighter foot. B Battery had a song by a
poet of theirs, which always scored encores. It ran like this:
We are the boys of this good Batterie,
The joy and the pride of the Artillerie;
We do not like work; but what soldiers do?
And we’re after the Turk on the good ship _Hindoo_.
Later on men appeared with their bedding—a blanket and a rug, with a coat
for pillow—something of that sort—and put it down in unoccupied spaces.
The groups about the piano would thin, before ten o’clock lights on the
troopdeck went out, the men turned into bed, and conversation died to
whispers. So another day of waiting ended. Often I would lie awake to
stare up at the chilly stars, or to watch the tireless winking of the
Morse lights. At those times many a strange thought knocked at the doors
of my brain.
At last it seemed our waiting was over. Rumour became persistent and
less vague. Something of the plan of campaign was told us, and we were
detailed to our boats and our duties. I was given a place in the first
boat leaving the ship, as Colonel’s orderly. I took heart from that
moment.
The plan of attack was in this manner. The Frenchmen were to land at Kum
Kale on the Asiatic side; the British at Sed-el-Bahr opposite. The New
Zealanders and ourselves would pass beyond the British, and attempt a
point somewhere near Gaba Tepeh. A fleet of mine-sweepers was the van of
the expedition, with cruisers to follow and cover the destroyers bearing
the infantry. Behind came the artillery, behind them yet other units.
The approach would be made by night, and the attack launched at break of
day. The artillery transports carried two batteries from one brigade,
and a single battery from another, with the idea that two boats might
unload together, and a complete brigade be put ashore in record time. All
horses would remain on board a day or two at least. Such meagre details
we received; but we were told everything had been considered, and the
undertaking would prove among the greatest of history.
Finally arrived the afternoon of the last day.
Through the morning there had seemed no unusual preparation: indeed the
lively destroyers were drawn up in a little fleet on one side, where they
steamed idly all day. With declining afternoon there came a rattling
of our anchor cables and a general business of seamen, and later the
murmurings of turning screws: and, before it might be realised, our boat
was swinging and moving down that populous thoroughfare towards the open
sea. Up went a burst of voices, up and across the bay; and to starboard
and to port of us decks filled with khakied men. Solemnly we moved along.
Many a noble craft of war we passed, with cold grey sides and polished
guns; many a splendid liner bearing a townshipful of men. Past all we
went—past all—and through the open net into the outer bay. Our engines
slowed again, cables roared and rattled anew, and the anchors plunged
into the sea. Here we must wait until the final hour.
We were of the earliest transports to move. Now the fleet followed us in
single procession. Some anchored in our neighbourhood, many steamed on
towards the horizon; there seemed no rule. The sun sank down, and ocean
and skyline met in a clear rim; and where they met, tiny black cruisers
were silhouetted against the light. They were to guard us through the
night.
The sun rim was a-dip. Close to starboard of us had anchored a French
trooper, and now about her clustered a weird fleet of pinnaces, towing
chains of open boats. We were wondering at the meaning of the sight when
word arrived that the Frenchmen would practise a landing. The boats
filled with men, the signal was given, the pinnaces steamed at speed for
the shore. Like hurrying serpents they swept through the oily waters to
meet the land as dusk descended.
Against the glowing sky I noted the heads of the men moving above their
huddled bodies, and the thin rifle barrels bristling everywhere. One
could not see the faces, one could only imagine; yet I know the uneasy
and the stern were there; and those who called on One mightier than
themselves to help them through the morrow.
Down went the sun: upon the ocean lamps came out, and lamps came out
in the sky. The green and red lights of the hospital ships glittered
like fairy palaces. All evening, and into the night, boats threaded the
way out of harbour. The hours went by. “Lights out” was blown. Upon the
quiet ocean a navy and an army rested. Yet maybe one or two forms stayed
restless, dreaming of the dawn.
I was on stable picket. About seven o’clock I carried my blankets down on
to the horse deck, and laid them out on the hatchway between the bales of
lucerne. The hatch above was open, so that I could look straight up into
the sky; but even then the air was close and musty, for there was little
wind abroad and none found a way down here. The horses moved wearily in
the stalls, rattling head-chains and stamping impatiently. They were as
tired of the voyage as ourselves. Now one rubbed itself endlessly against
the bars of the stall, now a mare snapped spitefully at a neighbour.
Everywhere dwelt the musty odour of manure and hay.
The other pickets sat by their lines, and talked and smoked, and kept
an eye on the companion for the orderly officer. I walked up and down,
patting some of the horses and calling out to the biters and kickers.
I felt as restless as the worst of them. All my thoughts were of the
morning. Presently I sat on a bale of lucerne, and dropped my chin on to
my hands. Still went on the rattling of chains and the shuffling of feet.
But away from it all I travelled at last.
The horse deck was practically dark in places, for there was a single
electric lamp hanging low over the hatchway for every man to knock
himself against, or stumble over with an oath. It would be better later
on. The stars shone lustily through the open, and soon there would be
part of a moon. My thoughts travelled further and further from the
present, until the horses and their ill-temper were forgotten.
There came steps down the companion. The pickets sprang to their feet,
hid the cigarettes and paced up and down. The alarm was false. Mr.
Campbell arrived to look at his mare. He came round to where I sat,
patted her shoulder, and started to call her pet names. Then he saw me.
“Good evening, Lake,” he said. “I came along to have a look at ‘Bonnie.’”
“Have you any news to give, sir?” I said.
“Yes. We leave here at midnight. At four o’clock we pass the French
landing, and at five we shall see the British. We are going some distance
beyond them. The infantry have started already.”
“Thank God we’re making a move at last,” I said.
“Yes, Lake,” was his answer, and he laughed. There followed a little
pause, and then he said, “Good night, Lake,” and went up the companion.
I sat down again on the bale. I was surprised to find how fast the time
had gone, for my relief arrived a few minutes later. We talked for
more than half an hour, and then I turned into bed. I rolled up in the
blankets and started to read. I was directly under the light, and I had
a magazine to finish. I read and read, feeling utterly unlike sleep. I
read until I yawned my head off. The heavy air and monotonous noises made
me drowsy, and still I could not sleep.
The picket that had relieved me was relieved in his turn. The magazine
was finished. I threw it aside and lay back, yet I felt less like sleep
than ever. Overhead the stars had circled half-way round the sky. They
were less bright, so I knew the moon had come up. Surely it must be
midnight, said I.
Just then there came much movement overhead, and a turning of winches
and a roaring of cables, and I knew we weighed anchor for the last time.
Up jumped the pickets crying, “We’re off, boys, we’re off”—and one ran
up the ladder like a monkey and climbed on to the upper deck. Presently
he poked his head down into the light. “We’re off all right: it’s dinkum
this time!” The screws began to turn, and the boat began very gently to
throb. The movement woke up the horses and set them shuffling in the
stalls, rattling with new energy the head-chains. I lay on the broad of
my back and stared straight up.
* * * * *
“Gunner Lake, Gunner Lake, beyond those lights Azrael arises and spreads
out his wings. At dawn he flies wide for his harvest, to return at
even with much booty. The merry of to-day will be with him, and the
downhearted; the blasphemous and the pure will be there: here and there
he will have flown, picking up without choice and design. Aye, Gunner
Lake, even you may be of that silent company. Is that why you toss here
to-night, and woo sleep so vainly? Go, rest—what matters it? Let the Book
of Death be opened wide; and be your name writ there, add to it a bold
AMEN.”