Part 21

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.