Part 14

On the 12th May--a most perfect day it was--the three snotties were sitting outside their tent after lunch, smoking cigarettes, and watching an aeroplane, circling gracefully above them, looking for a good landing-place on the cliffs, close to the lighthouse Suddenly a great, tearing, rending noise seemed to fill all space. Everyone dropped, automatically, what was in his hand and bent his head; then, looking up, saw a cloud, black and oily--a hellish-looking balloon of smoke--suspended in the air above the ridge.

This was the first high-explosive shell which burst near "W" beach. "Gallipoli Bill"--a stumpy 6-inch howitzer--fired it, and fired many more that afternoon and again an hour before sunset, some of his shells bursting on impact, others in the air--all with that rending, awe-inspiring crash.

There was by this time, on top of the ridge, a broad sandy track, which must have been most conspicuous from Achi Baba. On each side of it, six or eight hundred horses and as many mules had been picketted, and those poor creatures suffered most. The snotties had fled to their dug-out; the Pink Rat lying flat on his face with his hands over his ears, whilst the other two peered over the edge, watching where the shells dropped. They did not--not even Bubbles--want to see them, but the terrible roar fascinated them, and they were obliged to do so. They would hear the noise of another approaching, and, three or four seconds later, up would go a cloud of black smoke and that thunderclap of an explosion--not one farther away than three hundred yards. "Right among the horses!" the Lamp-post would say, with a catch in his breath; and when the smoke drifted clear, there would they see six, a dozen--often more--of these gallant animals lying dead, or feebly trying to regain their feet horribly mutilated.

Other shells burst in open spaces, doing no harm; others among the mules and transport-wagon "parks". After every explosion, men would leave their "dug-outs" and rush to the place, a couple of stretcher-men would perhaps dash down from the casualty clearing-station; and then the noise of another approaching shell would send them scurrying back--scurrying fast, all of them, except the stretcher-men, who if they had found an injured man had to bear him slowly and steadily.

One shell, on that first day, fell right among a warren of crowded "dug-outs", and the Lamp-post turned away his head with a shudder, so as not to see what would come to view when the smoke cleared away. When he did turn round--it was so horribly fascinating--he saw men scrambling from those "dug-outs", jostling each other in the crater just made among them, shouting and laughing, and squabbling and searching for "souvenirs".

Farce and tragedy are, thank God! perpetually associated; if they were not, and only tragedy stared one continually in the face, human brains could not endure the strain of modern warfare as they do.

Writing of "dug-outs", it did not really make much difference where one took shelter, for those "funk-holes" gave no protection from a direct hit, only from sideways-flying splinters and fragments; a hare crouching on its "form" is no more protected from being trodden under foot than a man in one of these from the actual shell itself.

All through these periods when high-explosive shells burst on the ridge and the slopes down to the gully, the empty limbers, water-carts, and transport wagons would jolt down to the depots, fill up, and go back again, up the slopes through the area where those shells were falling, up that broad road between those huddled masses of quivering mules and horses, just as though nothing unusual was happening.

"Gallipoli Bill" at first fired for half an hour in the middle of the day, and again for another half an hour before the close of it; but presently, when he had received a more plentiful supply of ammunition, often gave an additional "hate" in the forenoon.

The one thing in his favour, as compared to the field-guns, was that after he had fired his ten or twelve rounds, you knew he would not fire again for several hours. With the field-guns it was different--their little shells fell at all hours and all through the day.

To add to the attractiveness of "W" beach--or "Lancashire Landing", as it was afterwards called--as a health resort, hostile aeroplanes often dropped bombs there. Nobody attempted to take cover when these aeroplanes flew past, for the simple reason that no "cover" existed, except actually underneath the very foot of the cliffs. They had to carry on their work, wait until they heard the rushing noise of the bomb, and when the explosion followed, wait for the second one which almost invariably followed it. Afterwards they knew that this "show" was concluded, and that "Cuthbert", as they called the aeroplane, would not drop any more on that trip. "Cuthbert's" average "bag" in three days would seldom exceed two men wounded and one killed, and perhaps three or four horses or mules killed, or so much injured that they had to be shot. Generally, at about seven o'clock in the morning the first aeroplane would come, on its way to wake the General Head-quarters Staff aboard the _Arcadia_, anchored close by; and then occasionally in the evening, when he was off to see if he really couldn't--this time--manage to flop a bomb on top of the captive balloon or its parent ship.

This last was one of the pleasures of the day, and the Lamp-post and Bubbles would often sit and watch "Cuthbert" flying towards the big yellow balloon--flying well above it to keep out of range.

The parent ship would haul the balloon down just as fast as she could--"to lessen the bump if it was hit", as Bubbles used to gurgle. Then the Lamp-post, through his glasses, would see first one, then another bomb drop from the aeroplane; would shout: "He's dropped one--two!" and in a few seconds, whilst they held their breath and watched, up would go the splashes these explosions made. Never did they hit either balloon or parent ship. It really became a perfect farce; though, as Uncle Podger told them, when one day, coming ashore to pay the beach party, a small shell had buried itself quite close to him and his money-bags, and a bomb had dropped and burst not fifty yards away: "It's all very pretty to watch, but I prefer watching it from the ship."

Directly it became evident that "Gallipoli Bill" had come to stay, all those horses and mules were brought down and placed in safety beneath the cliffs, and along ledges which the Turkish prisoners and a large number of imported Greek labourers cut for them in the face of the cliffs.

When they were all safely stowed away, the end of the Peninsula presented a most extraordinary sight, and if only the crippled _Goeben_ could have come out and had half an hour's practice, she would have killed them all. Magazines also were dug beneath the cliffs, and the vast stores of small-arm ammunition, shells, charges, bombs, grenades, and explosives of all sorts were placed out of danger.

Water, or rather the scarcity of it, made life still more unpleasant; water for drinking was sufficient, but had to be used carefully; the amount allowed for washing was entirely inadequate. However, whenever the snotties had the chance, they would scramble along to the rocks right at the end of the Peninsula, under Cape Tekke, and have a bathe.

Many a grand hour they put in down there, and forgot, for a time, the discomforts and perils of the day which had passed, or of the days which were to come.

But now, worse than the bombs, the field-guns' shells, or those roaring, rending high-explosives, came the flies. A fortnight after the landing they had been a nuisance; at the end of the third week, bred in the horse and mule lines, they became an unbearable plague. The food on one's plate was covered with them, they crawled over it; they crawled over hands and faces; rest during the day was almost impossible. It was horrid to see a man asleep, with his lips, nostrils, and eyelids hidden in a dense mass of them, clinging there and sucking the moisture. At night, and only at night, was one free from these beastly things, and then they gathered in countless millions on the upper parts of the insides of the tents, waiting till the warmth of next day's sun woke them to start their intolerable persecution.

The mental torture caused by these was infinitely greater than the total effect of the shells and bombs; worst of all, they brought dysentery.

The Pink Rat was the first one to go down. He had worked hard and well, but the strain of the shells had, very evidently, upset his nerves; he had been moody and depressed for some days, and the flies finished him. He had to be sent on board to Dr. O'Neill, thinner, and more like a rat than ever. He was quickly followed by six or seven of the men; but Bubbles and the Lamp-post, though both were affected by a mild form of dysentery--as was practically everyone--and their hands were covered with small "chipped-out" bits which would not heal, "stuck it out" until they, and all who remained of the original beach party, were replaced by officers and men from the sunken _Ocean_ and _Irresistible_.

The same day on which the Pink Rat left them, the Orphan joined the little naval camp at the foot of the gully, with its marquees and tents, and boundaries marked neatly with white-washed stones.

"My aunt! Isn't this splendid?" he said, as Plunky Bill gave him a hand up the beach with his uniform tin case.

His coming was a great event, just what the other two snotties required to cheer them up. There was so much to show him, and so much to do when all three happened to be off duty--the bathes among the rocks at the foot of Cape Tekke, the 60-pounders above it to show him, the trenches down in the plain, the trench up which they had carried ammunition, the big Turkish guns on Hill 138; and one afternoon they all three had time to walk across to "V" beach, and wander about the neat, orderly French camp, ingratiate themselves with the sentries to let them pass forbidden places, and to look over the old castle itself. The Orphan proudly took them to the "front door", as his friend the Royal Naval Division Sub-lieutenant had called the great arched entrance, and explained to them how he had fired at the Turks coming through it, with a maxim, and started a battle "on his own", pointing to the bows of the _River Clyde_ to show where he and his maxim actually had been.

"You _do_ come in for all the tit-bits; you are a lucky chap!" Bubbles gurgled excitedly.

The late afternoon was not the most pleasant time to choose for such an excursion, because "V" beach was seldom "healthy" at that time of day, and proved to be more than usually "unhealthy" on this particular occasion, for "Asiatic Annie" plumped fourteen or fifteen big 8-inch shells among the stores and the camps whilst they were there.

They all took shelter behind a small mountain of corned-meat packing-cases, in company with a couple of gaily dressed, shiny-black Senegalese, who were not in the least happy, and a young, equally gaudily dressed "Foreign Legion" soldier, who was quite happy--a slim, sunburnt, laughing man in a red fez with a long tassel, a grey-blue embroidered Zouave jacket, a blue sash, and baggy scarlet trousers. One shell came very near them, and burst with a terrific crash on the other side of the packing-cases, blowing in two or three, so that the meat-tins showed through the cracks, but only covering the three midshipmen with dust. This was the first high-explosive shell which had burst near the Orphan, and he did not like it a little bit. Bubbles and the Lamp-post, who had had more experience of them, liked it still less; but the Zouave only smiled: "Mon Dieu! le mechant! le misereble!" and offered them little twisted cigarettes of black tobacco. They were not in the least miserable when a long pause ensued after one shell, and a bugle sounded to tell everyone that "Asiatic Annie" had "packed up", and they were able to leave the protection of their tinned-meat packing-cases.

On the afternoon when the first German submarine arrived, and sent the old _Achates_ flying to Mudros in the scurry of transports and store-ships, they watched her go without any real regrets. The Orphan and Bubbles certainly preferred to stay where they were; and though, perhaps, the Lamp-post, at the bottom of his heart, longed to get away from the flies and shells, they could never get him to admit it.

Then, three days later, the _Triumph_ was sunk--along the coast, off Anzac--and all the battleships left Cape Helles; all except the old _Majestic_, who came along and anchored so close to "W" beach that you could almost throw a stone on board her from the casualty clearing-station tents on top of the cliffs.

"They won't 'get' her there, not with all those trawlers and little steamers round her," Bubbles said. But on Friday morning, just as they were turning to work, and the Orphan was "standing by" in his picket-boat to "run an errand", they heard a rumbling explosion, looked round, saw a huge column of water spout up alongside her, close to her after bridge, and heard and felt another explosion.

"They've got her!" everyone sang out as she began to turn over very rapidly; and the Orphan, shouting to Plunky Bill to shove off, dashed towards her to pick up men already jumping from her sloping deck into the sea. She heeled over so extraordinarily rapidly that the Orphan never had a chance of going alongside, but stood off, and with other steamboats, with trawlers, drifters, a French torpedo-boat, and any number of other boats of all descriptions, made a ring round the doomed ship, to which her crew swam. The Orphan pushed his boat so close that he had to back out to prevent her fore mast-head and "wireless" gear fouling him as it heeled down to the water's edge. It was a horrid and sad sight; but the Orphan was too busily engaged pulling people out of the water to pay much attention to that; and when his picket-boat could hold no more, he turned them over to a small coasting steamer anchored near, and went back again. By this time she was bottom up.

The sinking of this ship had a most depressing effect on everyone; and even the casual Orphan and thoughtless Bubbles wondered what "Gallipoli Bill" would do, now that there was no ship left with guns big enough to annoy him. However, that elusive howitzer had evidently very little ammunition to spare--probably one of our "E" submarines in the Sea of Marmora had sunk a steamer with a supply she was expecting--so six shells, twice a day, were as much as he could allow himself.

You will notice that no mention is now made of the small shells. They still fell on "W" beach and in the sea, close to the piers, at all hours of the day; but unless they came in numbers, no one took any notice of them. Their fuses were so poor that they seldom burst, and when they did, they seldom did any harm.

The three midshipmen's time ashore was now drawing to a close, and four days after the _Majestic_ had been sunk--how they did wish her ram wouldn't stick out of the water and remind them of her!--a signalman brought down a signal: "Officers and men of _Achates_ beach party will embark in Trawler 370 at 11.30 to-day. Trawler will take _Achates_ picket-boat in tow."

It was not until they had embarked, and the Orphan had made "fast" a hundred feet of rope from his picket-boat to the trawler's stern, that they learnt that the _Achates_ had been sent to Mytilene, and that they were to join her there.

They waved good-bye to "W" beach just as "Gallipoli Bill" dropped a big shell half-way down the gully, and the Lamp-post and Bubbles realized the relief of not having to wonder where the next one would come.

"Well, we've had a jolly good time--take it all round--but for the flies," Bubbles said. "It will be a good thing to get back to the ship for a while."

"Won't we have a bath, and won't it be grand to get into uniform--clean uniform and under-things again!" said the Lamp-post; and Bubbles gurgled: "Won't I have a grand feed!" forgetting what the Orphan had told him of the state of the gun-room stores.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*Submarines Appear*

Down in the gun-room of the _Achates_, during this month after the landing, the air was full of rumours--buzzes of all sorts and little "titbits" of information, gleaned haphazard everywhere and anywhere. Every snotty--the Orphan, the Hun, Rawlins, or any of the "stranger" midshipmen--who took his boat alongside a transport or man-of-war, or to one of the piers at "W" or "V" beaches, came back stuffed with yarns which lost nothing by the telling: the Dublins had lost every officer; the Worcesters all but two; the Turks were torturing prisoners; there was a fearful shortage of doctors; the beaches were simply crowded with wounded, and there was nowhere to put them; Krithia had fallen--the yarn spread after every attack; the _Prince George_ had a huge hole made in her by one of "Asiatic Annie's" 8-in shells; the poor old _River Clyde_ would have to be abandoned--she was being hit so often; the _Goeben_ and two Turkish battleships were just above The Narrows--the aeroplane had seen them--and they might come down at any moment; the _Agamemnon_ had knocked out three "Asiatic Annies" in one afternoon; the _Queen Elizabeth_ had fired three of her big 15-inch shells across the Peninsula--the first had sunk two big lighters filled with ammunition, the second had dropped short and only wiped out a regiment on the march, and the third had sunk a nine-thousand-ton steamer, anchored above Nagara, crowded with troops, none of whom was saved. The Pimple, who brought this last piece of news, knew it was true, because the Navigator had heard it from a man, who had heard it from the friend of a man, who had been told by the "observing" officer in the captive balloon which "spotted" for the _Queen Elisabeth_.

Then there was the constant rumour that "last night's counter-attack by the Turks was just their last final effort; they were going to make peace now it had failed". Poor old Turks! they had nothing to gain by being so obstinate, and they had no food and were short of ammunition--everything; they were simply longing to "throw up the sponge" if only the Germans would let them.

Russia intended landing five hundred thousand troops quite close to Constantinople; Italy was about to declare war and send fifty thousand to help in the Peninsula; the French had a hundred thousand already on the way; and Kitchener, good old Kitchener, had made up his mind to send out two hundred thousand. Shan't we walk through them?

Another snotty would burst in with the news that he had heard, on good authority, that directly all the mines had been swept up, the ships were to make another dash up The Narrows, this time towing pontoon "things" alongside them to stop torpedoes. Another heard that all destroyers had been ordered to rush through one night, steam up the Sea of Marmora, and bombard Constantinople.

There was no limit to the inventive genius of the "rumour spreaders", and the appetite for fresh, spicy news became so keen that anybody who brought back no titbit was thought a "hopeless rotter".

But one day, on the 12th May, Uncle Podger came into the gun-room with a long face: "Two German submarines have been reported passing Malta," he said. This yarn was too incredible to be believed by the young warriors coiled there, on the cushions, in their dirty Condy's-fluid-stained clothes; and they greeted it with such derisive yells, shouting, "Go away and make up something else, Fatty!" that Uncle Podger, who did not appreciate any such familiarity from strangers, did not bother to tell them that it happened to be the simple truth. This was the first day on which it became generally known that German submarines were approaching; and the certain fact caused much consternation to all, especially to those who had previously buoyed themselves with the hope that these craft could not make such a long voyage in time of war.

A very general feeling of uneasiness made itself felt.

That same day the first high-explosive to burst on "W" beach had brought everyone on deck, drawn there by the sound of its mighty thunder-clap; and sent them down again wondering whether it would be possible to hold "W" beach under such conditions much longer. The most optimistic looked grave, and even the cheery, irresponsible Navigator realized that this was not the occasion to invent yarns and send them rolling.

Discussion in the ward-room that night was carried on fitfully and in low tones, and whenever the door opened everyone would turn to see if the newcomer's face showed that he had heard anything "fresh". Among all brooded a very pervading feeling of depression. The tall, aristocratic, and also pessimistic Major of Marines explained in a low voice to the anxious little Padre, sucking nervously at his big pipe, the terrible anxieties of a General whose army has no secure base and whose lines of communication--in this special case, the sea--are threatened; the Navigator, on the other side, pointed out to the Fleet-Paymaster how impossible it would be for the battleships to stay where they were, when the submarines did put in an appearance. The cheery Fleet-Paymaster kept on saying: "But, my dear chap, we've got plenty of destroyers and trawlers; they ought to keep them away at night-time, and surely we can look after ourselves in the daylight."

The Fleet-Surgeon, more gloomy and querulous than ever, growled: "What the dickens d'you know about it? They'll come right enough. We're just like sheep waiting for the little dog that's coming across the field to worry them; they pretend they'll stick together and show a bold front, and know all the time they'll be off like redshanks directly he gets near. We're rats in a trap, that's what we are." He seemed to obtain great satisfaction from the last idea.

The Gunnery-Lieutenant, stamping nervously from one end of the ward-room to the other, joined in all the conversations, and kept on bursting out with: "We must have a 'go' at that high-explosive chap to-morrow, and try and knock him out before they come;" they being, of course, the submarines.

The War Baby--that youngest thing in subalterns of Royal Marines--sprawled over the ward-room table, with his chin on his fists, anxiously listening to everybody, hoping to glean something or other which would point a way out of the difficulties and comfort him. The Commander, coming down from making certain that the ship had been darkened properly, snapped out: "I can't get those transports to 'darken ship'. The Admiral has ordered everything, big or little, not to show a single light; and there they are, many of them, showing a blaze of lights as bright as the Strand by night." He rang the bell and sent the sentry to find Mr. Orpen. Presently that young officer appeared, and was ordered "to go round every ship in that darned anchorage and make 'em put out their lights--and don't let me catch any of your boat's crew smoking alongside the ship, as they were this morning, or I'll----" But the Orphan didn't wait for the penalty to be mentioned, answered "Very good, sir," exchanged undetected winks with the War Baby, and went out again.

Everybody turned in, that night, with their thoughts full of submarines.