Part 27

On the next night it blew hard from the north-east--away from the end of the Peninsula. Unfortunately for Bubbles, he had the job, that night, of towing a big Malta lighter, full of mules, out to a transport, and when away from the shelter of the land something went wrong with the tow-rope, and it fouled the screw of his picket-boat. Both lighter and picket-boat drifted helplessly out to sea, and eventually became separated. It was a bitterly cold night--so dark that you could not see fifty yards in front of you, and two miles from the end of the Peninsula a very unpleasant sea was running. The lighter full of mules drifted away, but by some lucky chance stranded on Rabbit Island, and Bubbles in his helpless, waterlogged picket-boat had the luck to be found and picked up by a patrolling trawler, which towed him into safety.

He did not get back to "W" beach until long after daylight, and was then sent up to get his breakfast and some sleep. For some reason or other, his bed had been moved into the small "sleeping 'dug-out'" at the side of the Mess opposite to the dormitory, and almost at the same hour as the day before, a big shell from "Asiatic Annie" came in and completely wrecked it. No one else slept there that morning, and he had a most marvellous escape. The three empty beds, the wash-stands, and little stove were destroyed, and a macintosh which he had pulled over his blankets had several gashes torn in it, but he himself had not a scratch. Old Richards, running in through the Mess, and unable to see owing to the dust and smoke, switched on an electric torch and called out "Are you all right, sir?" never thinking that he could possibly be alive.

"I woke up," said Bubbles afterwards, bubbling over with excitement, "and found the whole place blooming dark; everything seemed to be tumbling down on top of me, and my hair was full of sand and stuff. I couldn't think what was the matter, and the smell of the place was simply beastly. It wasn't till old Richards came in, flashed his torch, wanted to know whether I was alive or not, and told me a shell had come in, that I knew what had happened. It spoilt that new macintosh I paid one pound ten for yesterday up at the Ordnance, confound it!"

The rest of the morning Bubbles and Richards spent digging out his "gear". They found his watch some two feet under the sand, still going, but the glass cracked. The "dug-out" was completely wrecked and quite uninhabitable.

He shifted back again into the dormitory, but had no more time for sleep. "I'll stick nearer to old 'Kaiser Bill' another time," he told the Orphan, poking fun at him and his superstitions.

The very next day, when on his way to the Mess for a hasty lunch, he stopped to speak to Richards, the Leading Seaman, who had just come out of the kitchen. At that moment a shell came past them, fell through the open kitchen door, and burst inside. Richards calmly put down the tureen of pea soup which he was carrying, and together they went in through the smoke to see if anyone had been injured. One man lay dead, and another had been badly cut about the shoulder by a splinter. He was carried away immediately to the Casualty Clearing-station beyond the gully, and the dead man covered up and removed. "Poor chap!" Richards muttered, "he only landed two hours ago for the first time. It's a strange thing how some get picked off, sir, isn't it?"

"Well, that's the third close shave for me--in three days too. I'll tell the Orphan that. He'll think it tremendously lucky," Bubbles said.

"I shouldn't like to say that it isn't, sir," Richards replied thoughtfully.

These three "experiences" seemed to have absolutely no effect on this midshipman's nerves, and the Orphan marvelled at him, and despised himself for hating and dreading shells so much.

By now they had made themselves quite cosy in their corner of the dormitory; a sand-bag was placed over the shell hole in the roof; their beds were raised from the ground on some planks; they looted a washstand and a looking-glass from one of the hulks, and had much fun digging "cupboards" for themselves in the clay walls.

"Kaiser Bill", too, seemed quite at home, and enjoyed his occasional exercises on the slope below the Mess, waking up, sprinting gaily for three or four yards, and then sulking because nothing green grew there. However, they managed to get him green stuff occasionally, and in the evenings, whenever they were off duty, they took him into the Mess after dinner, and he became quite frisky in the warmth of the fire. Those evenings were very jolly after a hard day's work and a good dinner, sitting in "deck" chairs in front of the cheerful fire, yarning, and not worrying much about the shells which, every now and then, burst along the ridge and made the dry "clayey" walls shake bits down on the wooden floor--not worrying about them, in spite of the fact that if one fell on top of the Mess the Sub's tarpaulin and the timber roof would not keep it out, nor would the long skylight hatchway, taken bodily out of one of the hulks and now fitted into the roof of the Mess.

It was one of their amusements to see "Kaiser Bill" "duck" when he heard a shell burst. He might be scampering over the floor--or the table--at the rate of two feet a minute, with his head and neck stretched out, or be nibbling enthusiastically at a piece of fresh cabbage leaf or onion stalk; but directly he heard the thud and roar of a shell bursting, however far away, in would go his head and legs, and nothing would entice him to put them out again for at least half an hour.

Bubbles and the Orphan always placed him down between their bunks when they turned in--for luck.

Food was good and plentiful--the army cheese simply grand; water was fairly plentiful from wells and springs; as for the Ordnance stores, they could supply everything from an electric torch to a stove, from a wheelbarrow to a motor bicycle, from a pair of trench gloves to a pair of india-rubber trench boots coming half-way up your thigh.

In fact, everything went on comfortably, and a week after the two midshipmen had landed they had entirely forgotten about "evacuation", and only thought it a joke when a Turkish aeroplane dropped the message: "Good-bye, British soldiers; we know you are going, and are sorry to lose you".

Flies had of course disappeared with the cold weather--disappeared long ago, and the only bothering live things were rats--great, fat, sleek fellows, who ran hurdle races round the dormitory at night to keep themselves in good condition, jumping over the sleeping midshipmen and the other officers there.

One night the Orphan met Bubbles, and saw by his face that something unusual had occurred.

"What is it? Any news?"

"They're sending every one of those Greek labourers[#] away to-night. They've given them two hours to pack up, and you and I have to embark them. What does that mean, I wonder?"

[#] Some two hundred Greek labourers had been employed ever since the landing, and had, for the most part, worked well; constantly under fire.

"Perhaps they've caught them spying; making signals or getting information across to the Turks,' the Orphan suggested.

"I don't know; it's jolly rummy."

"There's a lot of ammunition to be landed to-night, some time after ten o'clock," the Sub said, joining them. "You'll have to go out in the lighter, Orphan, so you'll have a busy time."

Well, just before ten o'clock, when the Orphan had started to warp the empty lighter away from No. 4 Pier, a messenger came down from the N.T.O. to tell him that this ammunition was not to be landed, and he heard afterwards that it went back to Mudros immediately.

This roused their curiosity; and when, next night, three lieutenants and many more bluejackets arrived, and half a dozen of those motor-lighters (the "water-beetles") and many more picket-boats came across from Kephalo, everyone guessed that the final evacuation had been determined upon.

And, on the last day of the year, Captain Macfarlane came to take charge of the elaborate organization required to embark all the troops, guns, horses, and stores without the knowledge of the Turks. He became Senior Naval Transport Officer, and lived in his big "dug-out" along a path cut in the cliff beyond the Naval Mess, and known as "Park Lane" because all the senior officers had their "dug-outs" there.

The Sub, Bubbles, and the Orphan were immensely pleased that he had come--he had such a kind, good-humoured way of giving orders, and nothing ever flustered him.

From now onward, there were no more troops or stores to disembark; but the work of sending away the enormous accumulation of stores, and of gradually withdrawing troops, guns, horses, and mules, went on at high pressure. This took place at night. After dark, transports and store ships would come across from Kephalo or Mudros, anchor off "W" beach or "V" beach (which now had been handed over by the French to the British), and all through the dark hours large "soldier" working parties and the Naval beach parties would toil, carrying down the most valuable of the Ordnance and Sappers' and Commissariat stores, and loading them in lighters (wooden lighters, which had to be towed, or motor-lighters). When full, these would be sent off to the store ships, unloaded, and sent back again. Every night a troop-carrier would come slowly alongside the "Outer Hulk", make fast, and battalions of infantry, with their baggage and their maxims, would be taken across to her in motor-lighters from No. 3 Pier. Every night, too, many horses and many mules went off to the big transports anchored farther out, and were hoisted on board.

An hour and a half before dawn, every steamship, transport, and troop-carrier had to be away and out of sight; and if, as the time for departure arrived, any still had half-emptied lighters alongside, tugs would dash out and bring them back. Nothing whatever was allowed to delay these big ships, because upon their arrival and departure being absolutely hidden from the Turks the whole success of the operation depended.

At one time, before the first of those south-west gales had broken a gap in No. 1 Pier, it had been possible to walk along it, then up a gangway on board the "Inner Hulk", and from her to the "Outer Hulk", and so on board anything lying alongside her. This had made the embarking and disembarking of troops a very simple and rapid process; and as simplicity and rapidity would be so necessary on the last night of the evacuation, attempts were made to bridge the gap. The Orphan took part in this, working in the day-time under the orders of the Pier-master, a Naval lieutenant named Armstrong, a great solid man who always spoke extremely deliberately, weighing every syllable, and never appearing to get even mildly excited.

First of all a big pontoon was wedged in the gap, but did not quite fill it; the vacant intervals were then closed by means of barrels lashed stoutly together and held in place by wires and hawsers. If anything did go wrong, Mr. Armstrong would fill his pipe and say: "I say--my--blooming--oath--you--blokes-- will--have--to--reeve--another--pretty--big--wire--there"; or, "I--say--Orpen--we--shall--have--to-- lay--out--another--anchor--go--round--and--find-- a--thundering--big--chap".

When at last these were all fixed to his liking, a broad wooden gangway platform was laid over all, between the broken-away ends of the gap.

This business occupied two whole days, during which time the Orphan had generally more wet clothes than dry. "If--you--don't--take--care--you'll--get --your--feet--wet," Mr. Armstrong told him one day, after he had been wading up to his waist in the shallow water, on and off for an hour.

Troops now could march straight on board the "Inner Hulk", then across to the "Outer Hulk", and so to whatever troop-carrier happened to be alongside her. This naturally relieved the congestion at No. 2 and No. 3 Piers, from which horses and stores were embarked.

But the job which the Orphan liked best was down at No. 4 Pier, working with the Sub and a very energetic warrant officer, getting off guns, motor-lorries, motor field-workshops, "caterpillar" traction engines, and motor ambulances.

Before dark they would get a couple of lighters alongside this pier, make them fast to the wall, then dash up to the Mess for a rapid dinner, and down again about an hour after dark, when the guns would commence to come rumbling down the ridge to the beach--field-guns, stumpy howitzers, and long 60-pounders.

Horse teams or "caterpillar" tractors dragged them through the sand to just above No. 4 Pier, unhitched, and left them there with their "crews". Then the beach party on the pier would make "fast" hook-ropes, and hauling on them, whilst the artillerymen man-handled the spokes of gun and limber wheels, along would come the gun and its limber, jolting aboard the lighter.

One after the other the guns would be coaxed aboard until the lighter could hold no more. Then the artillerymen, picking up their rifles and kits, would scramble on board, squat down between the gun wheels, cling on to the spokes, stow themselves away anywhere so long as they did not get in the way of the lighter's crew, who now hauled on a warp-rope, made "fast" to the end of No. 3 Pier, and warped the heavily laden lighter away from the wall of No. 4 Pier.

A picket-boat, waiting there, would get hold of her, and tow her out to the plucky and beautifully handled little tug T1. Then away she would be towed by that tug to search for the transport which had anchored off Cape Helles after dark. Presently the big ship would loom up, the lighter would be towed alongside, made "fast" under a derrick, and left there to unload. If any very heavy guns, or heavy, cumbrous things such as motor-lorries or "caterpillar" tractors, went off, the Sub or the Gunner always took charge of the lighter; but if the load consisted of field-guns, or such things as "general service" wagons, he sent the Orphan.

This was just the job the Orphan enjoyed--the taking charge of the soldier officers and their artillerymen, the warping off from No. 4 Pier, the tow-out in the darkness of those very dark nights, the job of getting his lighter safely secured to the big ship, and the delicate business of safely slinging each gun and limber or wagon to the ship's derrick "purchase". The purchase would be lowered with its great hook, the slings of one gun slipped over it, the Orphan would shout "Hoist away!" and whilst that gun dangled overhead in the dark, would busily secure the slings to the next, so that time should not be wasted when the purchase-hook came down again. It sometimes took a couple of hours to unload a lighter, but this depended entirely upon the officers and crew of the transport ship. One ship--the _Queen Louise_--would do the work in half the time which some others occupied.

The Orphan always felt so happy when the last wagon or the last gun of any particular load had been hoisted out of the lighter. It was so grand to know that "that little lot" would not fall into the hands of the Turks. Best of all, it was such fun to be hoodwinking "the old Turk" all this while.

Generally, from the time a loaded lighter shoved off from No. 4 Pier until she returned alongside, empty, at least two hours had elapsed, and as it often took an hour--sometimes a good deal more--to load up again, each lighter seldom made more than two trips a night.

Practically all this work went on in complete darkness. There was no moonlight, and the only lights allowed to be shown were small oil-lamps, one on each pier, and one on the far end of the "Outer Hulk". Fortunately, what breeze blew during the first nine nights came from the north-east, and did not interfere with the work; on most of these nights the air was absolutely still and the sea absolutely calm.

Before leaving off work in the morning, they would see that any guns remaining on the beach or in the lighters were carefully covered up with tarpaulins, so that the Turks could not see them from their inquisitive aeroplanes, which constantly came circling over, trying to find out what the British really intended to do.

Then, perhaps at half-past seven in the morning, thoroughly worn out, probably nearly wet through, back they would drag themselves up to the Mess, find Richards always ready for them with cocoa or coffee, bacon, sometimes eggs, and have their breakfast. Afterwards they would "turn in".

"My perishing Orphan!" the Sub would say, as he threw himself on his bed. "That's not a bad night's work--twelve guns, and any number of wagons and things. But I'm pretty well fagged out, and you look 'done to a turn'."

They would sleep till the middle of the day, get up, wash, have lunch, and probably go to sleep again till four or half-past. Then a good "high tea" Richards would provide for them; and, after that, all those who were on night duty--nearly all in fact--gathered in the Mess, smoked and yarned, and told how things were "going"--how many troops, how many guns, how many horses and mules, and how much stores had been safely sent away the night before.

Everyone knew and felt that every man, every gun, horse or mule, every motor-lorry, every ton of stores and ammunition sent off was so much to the good; and everyone--especially as the day for the final evacuation drew nearer--grew anxious lest the Turks should find out what was happening, and lest the gentle north-east breeze should give place to a south-westerly wind, which would drive seas against the different beaches, and delay--perhaps fatally delay--the final embarkation.

There was always the chance of this, and of the two or three thousand last troops to come marching back from the empty trenches being hotly pressed by the Turks, and of them and the whole of the beach parties finding it impossible to get off. To the Orphan, and to many more; it also seemed so absolutely unbelievable that the Turks could be deceived again; and they thought that they must really know about what was going on, and were only waiting until the trenches were so weakly held that they could make a successful assault, drive all that remained down to the sea, and capture them.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*The Evacuation of Cape Helles*

Friday morning, the 7th January, came, and the Turks had given no sign whatever that they guessed what was going on. Shells burst as usual, and "Cuthbert", the aeroplane, circled overhead, saw what he could, dropped a few bombs on the ridge above "W" beach and near the old _River Clyde_, and went home again before our own pursuing aeroplanes could catch him.

At two o'clock that afternoon the Turks commenced a fierce bombardment of the whole front-line trenches. The Asiatic guns tried to enfilade them, too, and for nearly three hours every gun they possessed blazed away for all it was worth.

The few guns we had remaining did their utmost to conceal the smallness of their numbers by the rapidity of their fire, though, naturally, everyone imagined that the Turks must realize how few they were.

At five o'clock the Turks evidently intended to storm the front which they had battered so severely, but, except on our extreme left, their men could not be induced to leave their trenches.

But here some five or six hundred did advance, and, unfortunately for them, came in full view of a battleship which had but lately come out from England, fearfully keen to fire her guns, and now happened to be zigzagging along the coast, attracted by the continual roar of the Turkish artillery. Eagerly looking for something to fire at, she saw, all at once, these poor devils of Turks streaming out of their trenches across open ground, and let go salvo after salvo into the middle of them. Not two hundred came anywhere near our thinly held trenches; some twenty reached them, and were promptly bayoneted; perhaps a dozen got back to their own. After this no further attack was made, and all firing died down at dusk.

The "last night but one" commenced.

All night long the work went on; more troops (after their nerve-shaking experience of that afternoon's three hours' bombardment) marched down with their baggage and their maxims, filed along No. 1 Pier across the "hulks" into the _Ermine_ and other troop-carriers, and were taken away. Many of the still remaining guns came back and were sent off from No. 4 Pier; very many horses were embarked from No. 3 Pier; and soldiers, like ants, streamed backwards and forwards between the beach and those store depots, bringing down stores and hurrying back for more.

All night long the Orphan listened with tingling ears for the sound of anything more than the customary sniping and passing bursts of nervous rifle-firing. But the Turks had had a sufficiently severe handling in the afternoon; they made no attempt to attack, and the night passed absolutely quietly, daylight on Saturday morning coming with everything going on just as usual. The troop-carriers, horse-transports, and store ships were long since hidden in Kephalo, or below the horizon on their way to Mudros; and though the aeroplane came over to reconnoitre and be driven home again, there was nothing unusual for it to report.

Exactly how many troops remained or how many guns, neither Bubbles nor the Orphan knew; but they did know that the very scantiest number of troops held the first-line trenches, and that the guns could almost be counted on fingers and toes. All these troops had to be got off that night, and almost all the guns.

"Would the weather hold for the last night?" That was what everyone asked himself. The sun rose behind Achi Baba not quite so clearly as it had done throughout the past week, but the breeze still blew gently from the north-east, and hardly a cloud flecked the blue sky.

Captain Macfarlane, tugging at his pointed beard, looked satisfied, and went up to his "dug-out" for breakfast and to turn in, after his all-night's work, and sleep for a few hours.

Bubbles, who had spent the night at "V" beach in his picket-boat, pulled the sleepy Orphan along the path to the Mess. "What d'you think I had last night? A bath--a hot bath--aboard the _River Clyde_! It was the last drop of hot water she had aboard her, for a shell came in half an hour before and cut a steam-pipe or something. Wasn't I lucky?"

They had this their last breakfast in Gallipoli, and then lay down on their beds and slept.

At midday they were called, turned out--horribly sleepy--and began to roll up their bedding and pack up the rest of their "gear", ready to be taken down to the beach. Most of the officers spent the morning doing the same.

The barometer had now begun to fall--ever so slightly---and some clouds to gather in the west, low down in the horizon, behind the island of Tenedos.

Everyone felt a little anxious.

At three o'clock in the afternoon the breeze definitely shifted round to the south-west--the dangerous quarter--and all knew that if it increased much it would drive seas right on to the beaches, and add tremendously to the difficulties of this last night's work.

At five o'clock that afternoon many of the officers gathered in the Mess, which they were leaving for ever, and drank to the success of the evacuation. "Kaiser Bill" was taken out of his box, placed on the table, and drank a little milk out of a saucer for "good luck"; then Bubbles took him away to his picket-boat to make certain that he would not be left behind, _whatever happened_; and everybody went down to the beach and their different jobs, looking doubtfully and anxiously at the sun setting behind a gloomy bank of clouds, and the little "white horses" which already ruffled the surface of the sea.

"It will be all right," the Orphan told the Sub confidently as they walked down to No. 4 Pier. "If "Kaiser Bill" hadn't drunk his milk we might have been rather miserable."