Part 29

Captain Macfarlane, the few of his officers who had not yet gone off, and a few of his men, now collected at the end of No. 3 Pier, alongside which lay two steamboats and that white-painted motor-lighter laden with medical and surgical stores, a few injured men (including two soldiers with sprained ankles--actually the two last men to come down to "W" beach), and some R.A.M.C. orderlies. Bubbles, with his last load of military officers, with "Kaiser Bill" and the two macintoshes, had already gone out to sea, and was steaming across to Kephalo.

Those flames lighted up the whole of "W" beach in the most extraordinary manner, and everything all round was visible--the little group on the pier, the stones on the beach, a white-tilted ambulance wagon with its Red Cross, half-way down the beach, the broad road running up between the huge masses of flame, the white hospital tents, an abandoned motor-lorry with its engines destroyed and its tyres hacked to pieces, the white stones which marked the boundary of the Naval Camp, and even the two "cuttings" which led to the Naval Mess "dug-out". Out by the "hulks" some of those last soldiers could be seen still scrambling aboard the destroyer.

Captain Macfarlane gave the order for the hospital-lighter to shove off, and for everyone to embark, so the Sub, the Orphan, Mr. Armstrong, and many more crowded into one of those steamboats and started away. The time was now about ten minutes past four, and before they had gone a hundred yards the magazine on shore blew up. It contained all the explosives which it had not been possible to take off, and made the most earth-rending, stupendous noise, sending up a huge mass of flame like a volcano, and flaming masses flew gyrating and twisting like huge gigantic Chinese crackers high up into the sky and spreading far and wide in every direction.

"My--blooming--oath--what--price--that--for--fireworks!" drawled Mr. Armstrong.

"Keep down! Keep down!" people shouted, as masses of rock came splashing into the water all round the steamboat, but none hit her; and as she turned round the end of the "Outer Hulk", on the inner side of which the destroyer and several motor-lighters still lay, crowded with troops, and faced the sea, the Orphan saw the other steamboat following, with Captain Macfarlane and the rest of his officers and men, and the white hospital lighter struggling out, with the water splashing up all round her, just as though she were under a heavy fire. A tremendous crackle of musketry broke out from the beach, and for a moment the Orphan thought that the Turks had come down to the ridge at last; but a Sapper officer in the boat told him that this was only the abandoned small-arm ammunition exploding.

Captain Macfarlane, passing them in his steamboat, sent them back to assist the hospital lighter if necessary; but she managed to make her way out safely, so in a few minutes they followed him.

Another destroyer waited for them outside; they saw her, steamed alongside, and climbed aboard with some difficulty owing to the heavy sea. The huge blaze on shore lighted up every face, and the first person the Orphan recognized was Dr. Gordon, the Volunteer Surgeon of the _Achates_.

"We've just had some pieces of rock fall on board," he said, "but no one is hurt. How about you? They were falling all round your boat."

"What are you doing here, sir?" the Orphan asked.

"They've sent a doctor to every destroyer to-night. Thank God, everyone has got off safely! You go and lie down; you look absolutely 'played out'."

"We got off all the men and the last guns--the very last they intended to take off," the Orphan said. "Isn't that grand?" But he would not go and lie down. He stood watching the flames and the destroyer silhouetted against them, as she backed out to let another take her place and empty the remaining motor-lighters. The motor-lighters came out and headed into the heavy sea; the destroyer backed out and went ahead into safety, and the last that the Orphan saw was a solitary little picket-boat pushing her way in towards No. 3 Pier and the flames, to make a final search for anyone left there, and then coming out again.

It was now about a quarter to five in the morning, and the marvellous evacuation had been successfully completed.

Then the Orphan staggered aft, crawled below, almost fell on to one of the leather cushions down in the ward-room, and went fast asleep.

Dr. Gordon, coming down a few minutes later, found him there, and felt his clothes. They were wet through, so he pulled a couple of blankets off a bunk and covered him up.

By this time there were very few of the beach party or its officers who had not found somewhere to stretch themselves and go to sleep. The strain of those last ten days and nights had been very great--fourteen hours of hard work day and night for most of them; for some a great deal more--and even the Sub, strong as he was, could not have "stood" many more such days and nights without a rest.

But the destroyer they were aboard had not finished her job. She and a cruiser now had to shepherd every tug, motor-lighter, trawler, and steamboat safely on its way across to Kephalo--especially those troublesome motor-lighters, which behaved so badly in a heavy sea. She went up the Straits, past "V" beach, where the fires blazing there showed up the castle walls of Sedd-el-Bahr and the poor old _River Clyde_; steamed up as far as Morto Bay to see that no craft of any kind had been left behind; and it was not until nearly seven o'clock, and after the Turks had been shelling the beaches for nearly two hours, both from Achi Baba and the Asiatic shore, that she started away for Kephalo. By eight o'clock she ran into that crowded harbour.

The _Achates_ had left for Mudros several days previously, and thither Dr. Gordon, the Sub, Bubbles, the Orphan, and "Kaiser Bill" followed her late that afternoon in the troop-carrier _Ermine_. As this plucky little steamer passed Cape Tekke and Cape Helles the fires still raged, and a cruiser, a monitor, and two destroyers were bombarding the shore.

When the Orphan looked his last at Gallipoli Peninsula, as the _Ermine_ steamed away to the west, the cliffs of Cape Tekke glowed in the rays of the setting sun, with a great pall of black smoke above them, the masts of the sunken hulks at their feet, our own shells were bursting on the beaches, and a huge splash leapt up under the stern of the cruiser as a shell from "Asiatic Annie" fell into the sea close to her.

By nine o'clock, after a wet and "bumpy" passage through the head sea left by last night's gale, the Sub, Bubbles, and the Orphan found themselves once more in the Honourable Mess, where everybody asked hundreds of questions at the same time, and where Barnes soon had a glorious "feed" waiting for them. Fletcher, the stoker, had come aft directly they reached the ship, to find out whether they had brought the tortoise back safely.

"It was all due to him," the Orphan told Fletcher joyfully. "You said he would bring good luck, and he has."

"Kaiser Bill", however, did not show the slightest interest in getting back to the ship or his owner, and refused even to put out his head.

"His nerves are a bit out of order, I expect," Uncle Podger suggested.

"You should have seen him 'duck' when he heard the shells burst!" the Orphan laughed. "You're a bigger funk than I am; aren't you, old 'Kaiser Bill'?"

*CHAPTER XXV*

*The "Achates" Returns to Malta*

At nine o'clock on Sunday morning, the 9th January, a general "wireless" signal was made by the Naval Commander-in-Chief--"Helles evacuated successfully"; and every battleship, scout, sloop, and destroyer scattered widely over the Eastern Mediterranean received the welcome news at the same moment.

The greatest enthusiasm prevailed among the whole fleet, for everyone realized that though the evacuation was actually a retreat, yet it had been a wonderful achievement in the face of difficulties which had at one time seemed insuperable; moreover, it set free a large and seasoned army for employment elsewhere.

When, later on in the day, the officers and men who had taken part in the evacuation returned to their own ships at Mudros with yarns of last night's adventures, everyone marvelled how it had been possible to hoodwink the wily Turk a second time so completely, and to do so in the teeth of that south-west gale.

In the gun-room of the _Achates_ that night, the Sub, Bubbles, and the Orphan tried to answer questions and eat at the same time.

"It was that south-west wind that sprang up," the Lamp-post said. "Directly it started blowing, the Turks thought to themselves, 'Well, they won't try to slip away to-night, at any rate', got out their hubble-bubble pipes, and began playing 'patience'."

"You must have been there, old Lampy," Uncle Podger laughed. "Was it pretty to watch? What kind of patience did they play?"

"You know what I mean," the Lamp-post said. "Don't try to be funny."

"I believe he's right," the Sub said, with his mouth full. "My jumping Jimmies, didn't we have luck?"

The China Doll sat listening, with his eyes opening and shutting, and his mouth wide open, fearfully excited, especially when the Orphan, in the interval of "Another helping, please, Barnes!" told them all about the shells coming into the "dug-outs", and the third one which just missed Bubbles outside the kitchen door.

In the middle of all this, the Pimple rushed in, shouting: "We're off to Malta! Off to Malta to refit! The signal has just come through! As soon as ever we get back all our men, off we go! You can't say I don't bring you news, can you?"

In a moment the evacuation, and the bursting shells, and all the thrilling adventures--even the two macintoshes and electric torches looted by Plunky Bill--had been entirely forgotten. They all yelled with joy, and wondered how long the _Achates_ would remain at Malta, where she would go afterwards, and what ships would be there for them to challenge at cricket or hockey.

"You'll have to give me that dinner there, Rawlins, old chap," grinned the Lamp-post, referring to the "race" in their "water-beetles".

"Ra-ther!" said Rawlins. "We'll have a regular slap-up 'eat-till-you-burst' show at the Club, won't we?"

Dr. Gordon put his head into the gun-room to see whether Bubbles and the Orphan had finished "feeding" and were ready to come for'ard to the sick-bay and have their slight wounds properly dressed. But no one could worry about little things like that--now.

"Come in, sir! Come in!" they shouted. "Isn't it grand about Malta? Where do you think we'll go afterwards?"

"I don't know; I haven't the faintest idea," Dr. Gordon answered in his nervous way.

"Hadn't we better have a bath first, sir?" the two wounded warriors asked him. "We want one frightfully badly."

"All right," Dr. Gordon smiled. "I'll get the bandages and things into my cabin. Come along there, afterwards."

They had their baths, they had their scratches dressed; and then it was simply no use to try--they could not keep awake any longer, and they turned into their hammocks--on the half-deck--and slept like logs; though not before the Pimple, shaking Bubbles, told him that he must keep the forenoon watch next day. "I've been keeping double watches ever since you went skylarking over at Helles," he complained.

"Oh, bother you!" Bubbles groaned, and went to sleep.

Next morning, as Bubbles kept his "forenoon", the Orphan came to talk to him. He had a great idea of doing something for "Kaiser Bill", "so that he should always remember how he'd brought luck wherever he went, and all the righting and things he'd been through". They had a very long and secret conversation, and then the Orphan, saying: "I'm certain I can get it made on board--there's a stoker petty officer who says he can do it--I'll go and see him now," went away again.

Three days later, just before sunset, the _Achates_ steamed out through the "gate" in the double row of submarine nets, left Mudros for the last time, and commenced to zigzag her way to Malta.

In the ward-room that night the Sub dined with Mr. Meredith, and the Orphan dined with the War Baby, sitting next to Dr. O'Neill, the Fleet-Surgeon, who was so delighted at getting away from the Dardanelles that he actually made himself quite agreeable.

"Not so much of the 'rats-in-a-trap' now, Doc," the cheery Fleet-Paymaster called across the table. "More of the 'bird-in-a-gilded-cage', eh? Don't cheer up too soon; we shall be right in the thick of the submarines to-night and to-morrow. You'd better blow up your safety waistcoat."

"That's all right, Pay. It's hanging up in my cabin, blown up tight."

"Good! I'll know where to steal it," grinned the Fleet-Paymaster.

After dinner the other gun-room officers were invited to come along and start a "sing-song". They came in, and the Lamp-post, itching to get at the piano, was stuck down in front of it and told to play.

As his fingers drew music from the battered, uncared-for old instrument, he lost himself in another world altogether. He didn't hear the Navigator asking why the China Doll had not come; or the Pimple and Rawlins say: "Oh, we forgot him; we left him in the gun-room"; nor notice them rush away with the Orphan, Bubbles, and the War Baby, and bring back the Assistant Clerk lashed in a bamboo stretcher, with a big cardboard label--pointing the wrong way--"This side up. Fragile--with care."

They rushed him through the ward-room door, his squeals drowned by their shouts and the Lamp-posts music, and stood him upside down on his head, against the table.

"He's frightfully fragile! Listen how he cracks if you touch him!" And the Pimple nipped his ankle, the poor China Doll giving a squeak of pain.

"That's hardly comfortable, is it?" Dr. Gordon suggested.

"Well, look at the label, sir. 'This side up', so it must be right," they laughed. But Dr. Gordon made them unbuckle the stretcher and take it away, whilst the China Doll was "stood up" the right way, blinking his eyes, and opening and shutting his mouth. "Look at his lovely pink socks!" they cried, pulling up his trouser legs. "Aren't they pretty?" But the Assistant Clerk, with a frightened look at the Sub, who had forbidden him to wear them in uniform, tried to hide them.

The Lamp-post stopped playing and "came to earth" again.

"It's simply marvellous how you do it, old Lampy," said Uncle Podger, who had listened to every note. "That right hand of yours gave those black notes the time of their life; your left hand simply wasn't in it--never had a look in. You ought to give it a good start next time."

"Don't be an ass!" the Lamp-post smiled.

Then Mr. Meredith had to sing, and everyone joined in the chorus. After that the China Doll, pretending to be very shy, was pulled forward, and bleated some song like "Put me among the Girls", and received such an ovation for his silly performance, and became so highly delighted with himself and his popularity, that he thought he'd brave the Sub's displeasure, and not creep away and change those pink socks as he had intended to do.

The Commander went off to bed very soon; but just as the last chorus of "The Midshipmite" came to a tremendous end, the door opened, and in came Captain Macfarlane, smoking a cigar.

Everyone stood up.

"Have a whisky and soda, sir?" the Fleet-Paymaster and Navigator asked him. "We're having a sing-song."

"I thought I heard a slight noise," smiled the Captain tugging at his pointed, yellow beard. "May I ask what _you_ are doing, Mr. Chaplain?" The little Padre happened to be taking lessons from the Sub as to how best to crawl through the back of one of the ward-room chairs, and had just got himself firmly wedged in, unable to move the chair up or down.

"I can _nearly_ do it, sir," he said, standing up with the back of the chair round his chest, and his usually pale face almost purple.

"Nearly do it, Mr. Chaplain! nearly do it! How long have you been in the Service? I'll show you how to do it properly;" and throwing off his mess-jacket, and placing his cigar in safety, Captain Macfarlane wriggled his head and shoulders through the back of another chair, and slipped it down to his feet in half a minute.

"It's very easily done, Mr. Chaplain," he said, just a little out of breath, as he resumed his cigar.

"It's all very well for you, sir. You are thin all the way down--the Padre's only thin 'up topsides'." the Navigator laughed.

The Captain sang a song, and joined in the choruses of others till the time came for his usual visit to the bridge. Then he put on his mess-jacket and wished them all "good night".

"Good night, sir!" everyone said, standing up as he went away.

After this the sing-song became a little more boisterous, until finally the climax came when the Fleet-Paymaster, bursting in with a cushion he had borrowed from the Padre's cabin, endeavoured to score a "try" between the legs of the piano. He was forced into touch, banged against the ship's side, the cushion seized, and a most delightful game of Rugby football followed.

Dr. Gordon had a little work to do--mending people--afterwards, whilst the sing-song gradually broke up, the clamour subsided, and one after the other all went away to turn in, and peace and quietness reigned once more.

On the way back to the gun-room the Sub asked Uncle Podger to come into his cabin.

"Look here, Uncle, that youngster of yours took advantage of my dining in the ward-room to-night to wear those pink socks. I don't care a tinker's curse if he wears all the colours of the rainbow _out_ of uniform, but I had told him not to do so _in_ uniform. It's just this: the snotties--all of us--are spoiling him, treating him like a plaything or a little girl. He can't even talk sensibly now, or make an ordinary remark without saying something silly to try and make us laugh at him. He wore those socks to-night to make the snotties laugh at him and "rag" him; and that silly song he sang, and that silly blinking of his eyes when the ward-room officers clapped him--well, it's got to be stopped. What a horrible time he will have, when he goes to another ship and tries his baby tricks there! and what will he be like when he grows up? He's a good little chap, really, and as plucky as paint at sports. We _must_ do something."

"I don't know," Uncle Podger reflected. "I feel just as you do. He's being absolutely spoiled. He's absolutely useless in the office; I do believe he spends his time thinking of what he can do next to make them laugh at him. They were talking at dinner to-night of getting up a gun-room court martial and trying him one night before we get to Malta. The snotties knew you had ordered him not to wear those socks, and thought of trying him for that. The China Doll thinks he's going to have the time of his life."

"Right," said the Sub, "and I'll take 'President'; he _shall_ have the time of his life."

"You won't be too hard on him?" Uncle Podger asked, a little anxiously.

"Right-o, old chap! Good night! I won't break him."

By the next morning the _Achates_ had passed through the narrow Doro channel, where so many ships had been attacked by submarines, and zigzagged her way along the coast of Greece. In the gun-room, great preparations were made for the China Doll's court martial, which would be really done "top-hole" fashion now that the Sub had offered to be "President". All details were settled that afternoon. The Orphan must be "Prisoner's Friend", and Uncle Podger "Judge-Advocate". The War Baby had been asked to dine as the guest of the Honourable Mess, and afterwards to act as "Provost-Marshal", "Master-at-Arms", "Second Executioner", and "Prisoner's Escort". The Pimple appointed himself "First Executioner", and Rawlins and the Hun appointed themselves "Comic Jailers". But the Hun, who had not been well for some days, had again to be put on the sick-list and be slung in a cot on the half-deck, so that Bubbles took his place as "Second Jailer". The Lamp-post, of course, would be the "Prosecutor", and make up a really funny speech.

Before dinner they shifted the Hun in his cot, and slung him just outside the gun-room door so that he could look in and see the fun. "You'll have to be the 'crowd'," they told him, "and groan and hoot when the 'Prisoner' is dragged in or out--that is, if you feel well enough, old Hun."

They had a grand, cheery dinner, the most cheery and noisy since the ship had left Ieros; they entirely forgot Cape Helles or Suvla, the shells or the submarines. The China Doll simply giggled with excitement all the time. He longed for the trial to begin, and for himself to be the central figure and be able to "answer back" so cheekily.

When the meal was at last finished and everything cleared away, he helped to carry in the Master-at-Arms' table, and stood it across the top of the Mess, in front of the sideboard, for the Sub to sit behind as "Judge" and "President"; he helped bring in the Padre's reading-desk to make the witness-box, and he cleared all the litter of coats and boots from the brass "beading", or fender, which surrounded the place where the stove had stood in the old days. This was to be the Bar, and he would have to stand in the middle of it, facing the witness-box, with a "Jailer" on each side of him, and the War Baby, with his very long sword, behind him.

He himself had no sword, and would not be entitled to one until he reached the exalted rank of Clerk, so he was ordered to provide himself with a pen from the ship's office to take its place.

Directly after "Commander's rounds" at nine o'clock, the "Court" was "cleared", and the China Doll, trembling with excitement, was sent to stand by his sea-chest until the "Jailers" and the "Master-at-Arms" came for him.

Punctually at ten past nine the War Baby, in helmet, tunic, and those beautiful scarlet-striped trousers of his, his long sword at the "carry", did the "goose step" solemnly along the half-deck, followed by Bubbles and Rawlins, their helmets on, the wrong way round, their monkey-jackets stuffed out with swimming-belts to make them look more "funny", and their drawn dirks in their hands. They dragged behind them the chain from one of the hatchway ladders, and having snapped a pair of handcuffs round the China Doll's wrists, lashed his arms to his side with the chain.

Then they escorted him solemnly back to the gun-room, amidst derisive shouts of "Go it, pickpocket! Wearer of Pink Socks! Booh! Pooh! Booh!" from the "crowd"--the Hun in his cot outside the gun-room door.

Behind the little table sat the Sub, smoking his pipe--that office pen, which represented the "Prisoner's" sword, and the gun-room cane in front of him. On his left, at the end of the little table, sat Uncle Podger with his "cocked" hat on, his sword between his knees, and a roll of papers in his hands. In front and on the right of the "Judge" was the stove fender for the "Prisoner at the Bar", and in front and on the left, the Padre's reading-desk, laden with a pile of volumes of Chambers's _Encyclopaedia_, borrowed from the ward-room. The Lamp-post, as "Prosecutor", leant "gracefully" against it.

Behind the "Judge" stood the Pimple--a black mask hiding most of his face--brandishing a huge meat-chopper, kindly lent by the marine butcher.

The Orphan had vanished.

The China Doll was now marched to the Bar.

"Attention! Silence in Court!" shouted the War Baby in a shrill falsetto; and the two "Jailers", standing on each side of the China Doll, repeated it after him, trying to make funny faces, and jerking the ends of the chain coiled round the "Prisoner's" chest, whilst that luckless youth opened and shut his eyes, and kept saying: "Shut up! you're hurting!"