Chapter X: Part 10

"The whole success of this new operation depended on capturing Anafarta, and the ridge behind it, by a _coup de main_," went on the Major, as though addressing a class at Sandhurst. "The whole situation now demands an entire reconsideration of plans. I must say that I feel doubtful of ultimate success unless very heavy reinforcements arrive." Whereupon he shut his old-fashioned telescope with a snap, and went below, as if, from his point of view, he had washed his hands of the matter.

Uncle Podger, the Sub, Bubbles, the Orphan, and the China Doll remained to watch the ambulance wagons slowly trailing across the Salt Lake towards the cluster of hospital tents to the left of Lala Baba--the First Casualty Clearing-station--at "Wounded A" beach, and to watch the battalions in reserve enjoying a rest under some low cliffs this side of Lala Baba, many hundreds of men splashing merrily in the sea, undeterred by shrapnel bursting over them at intervals.

The _Havelock_ lay at anchor quite close to these men.

"If I were running the show," the China Doll suggested confidently, "I should----" But how success could have been achieved will never be known, for "eight bells" struck, lunch waited down in the gun-room, and the China Doll knew the disadvantage of a late start, so flew away like a "rigger".

Many of the gun-room officers came up again after a hasty meal, and began examining the details of the extraordinary _Havelock_, when, all of a sudden, a spout of water flew up close to her.

"Hello! What's that? There goes another! Someone's having a "go" at her. Look! Look at those two puffs of smoke amidships! She's been hit! Ah! She's getting under way--about time too."

Her cable came in, and she slowly moved out of the way, signalling that three men had been wounded. One or two more spouts of water sprang up, but then they let her alone, and the water spouts began creeping towards the _Cornwall_--past her--over--back again--short. The _Cornwall_ hastily got her anchor up, and circled away from that unpleasant spot; and then the little shells began falling quite close to the _Swiftsure_, at anchor only some four hundred yards away from the _Achates_.

"Short! Short again! Hello! that hit--on her starboard quarter! I saw it bounce off--it's close to her ward-room! There's another! That went in! Look! you can see the hole--close to the water-line."

"Look! Look! Look!" cries came from all round--it was getting exciting now--as three shells, one after the other, burst close to her for'ard funnel and the smoke of them drifted away.

"She's getting it hot. She'll be off in a minute. Ah, she's shortening in!"

They heard the _Swiftsure's_ buglers sounding "Action".

"It will be our turn next," they laughed--a little nervously, as the _Swiftsure_ circled away towards the line of submarine-net buoys; and, sure enough, in a couple of minutes there came a loud, wailing, rushing noise, which seemed to pass between the foremast and next funnel, and a "flomp" as a shell fell into the water on the other side, some sixty yards away.

They ducked and went down below, but not before another drawn-out wail ended in a "flomp" a hundred yards short of the ship. "Action Stations" sounded, and everyone cleared away to their quarters; the China Doll, very pale, and not enjoying himself at all, having to climb up the rigging to the fore-control top. He heard a shell coming, caught his breath, clung to the ratlines, and knew it would hit him. He heard it "flomp" into the sea behind him; and the irritated Gunnery-Lieutenant, coming up after him, hurried him up the rigging with angry oaths. "Get that range-finder uncovered. What's the range of that village? Quick! Quick! Quick! I've got nothing to fire at. There are no orders yet."

Down on the foc's'le the Commander, the Bos'n, and a few men were getting up the anchor as fast as possible, and in five minutes off went the _Achates_.

Directly these four ships began moving about, the Turks left off firing at them and threw shells at the transports lying farther out; but these lay at the extreme range of their guns, and that afternoon, at any rate, they made no hits. After a while they ceased firing, and the ships came back and anchored. The Hun, who had been away all this time in his steamboat, came down into the gun-room in a great state of excitement, as a shell had fallen within ten feet of his boat. The _Swiftsure_ presently signalled that she had five men killed and fourteen wounded. News came from the _Grafton_, out beyond Suvla, round the northern corner, that she too had been shelled, and had lost nine men killed and twenty wounded--all these casualties caused by one small shell which came down a hatchway and burst among a crowd of men gathered there.

"What a change, after six weeks of peace at Ieros!" Bubbles gurgled. "I don't think much of this war. I call it rotten."

"Jolly uncivil of them--and our first day, too!" Uncle Podger said.

"Whatever rhymes with _Achates_?" asked Rawlins, whose poetical genius had once more been roused. "'Not afraid is,' would do, but I can't fit it in; or 'What a day 'tis'--that's jolly difficult to fit in too."

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, and that evening the reconnoitring aeroplane which flew over from the island of Imbros--from the aerodrome at Kephalo--reported that she had seen the Turks digging emplacements for four big guns on the top of the ridge.

"Well, that's not very cheering," Uncle Podger grimaced as he smoked a pipe in the Sub's cabin after dinner. "If they can make us shift about and keep under way with those small things, as they did this afternoon, they'll drive us out altogether with their big guns--and submarines will be waiting for us there."

"We shall have to knock 'em out," the Sub said; "that's all."

"We couldn't do it at Helles; I don't see how we are going to do it here," Uncle Podger said. "Did anyone see the guns that were firing at us?"

The Sub shook his head. "I don't think so."

They went back into the gun-room just in time to hear the China Doll plaintively saying: "I didn't like going up to the top one bit; a shell came very close to me;" and the others singing out: "What does your carcass matter? Wind up the gramophone and let's have a noise!"

A most perfect night followed, and nearly everyone slept on deck; but hardly had they been turned off the quarter-deck next morning, when shells began whistling across the _Achates_, and off she had to go again to get away from them. These shells came from a 4.1-inch high-velocity gun, and gave about three seconds "notice" before they arrived. That morning, for the first time, the Turks turned a 5.9-inch gun on the shore--the same calibre gun as "Gallipoli Bill"--bursting high explosives with their tremendous roar, abreast the ship, on what was known as "New A" beach, a convenient little split in the rocks where most of the boats ran in, and close to where "Kangaroo Pier" was being built. These shells fell almost vertically and did very little harm, but their noise was extremely disconcerting.

That evening the battleship _Venerable_ arrived, and next day the _Achates_ became more or less of a depot ship for the Naval transport officers, the Harbour-master, the surveying officers, and (as Uncle Podger said, when their midshipmen "assistants" and the midshipmen of all the "stray" pickets came to live in her)--a "home for lost dogs". The gun-room was again invaded by tired, weary snotties, in their grimy Condy's-fluid-stained uniforms, who, when they were not eating, lay about on the leather cushions and odd corners, and slept. The Pimple and the China Doll were almost reduced to tears when they thought how the gun-room stores would disappear once more.

It was a depressing day; they could not call the gun-room their own. They heard of the fall of Warsaw; nothing seemed able to stop the German advance through Poland and Galicia; and this new landing gave not any hope of success.

"Oh, bother it all! Stick another needle in, China Doll, and start that rotten gramophone," they said.

At the mention of gramophone the Lamp-post would always slink out of the Mess.

The Turks had left them alone that day--as far as shells were concerned; but Fritz, the submarine, evading the patrolling trawlers, let go a torpedo at the balloon ship--the _Manica_--outside, beyond the nets.

A plaintive signal came from her that a torpedo had passed underneath her, and a submarine had been seen from the balloon--that yellow monstrosity waggling above her. That meant another interval for excitement, and a manning of the small guns in case Fritz took it into his head to pop up his periscope anywhere near. The balloon was hauled down, and off went the _Manica_ to seek protection behind the "net" at Kephalo, in Imbros Island.

More shells came along on the Sunday morning, just when the Honourable Mess, clothed only in towels, clamoured for "next turn" at the little baths. Again the ships had to get under way, and the _Swiftsure_ reported one hit, without casualties. It was a quaint crowd of undraped young officers who gathered behind the six inches of armour round Y1 casemate, and waited for the "sh--sh--plonk" of the Turks' shells to cease, and the bugle to sound the "carry on", before they rushed back to complete their toilet. Don't imagine that the ships took their insults "lying down". They blazed away at where the guns were reported to be, or where they thought they were; but as you should know by now, it was practically impossible to spot them; and, in time, everybody learnt that the best thing to do was to plug a few shells into Anafarta village (keeping clear of the Red Crescent flags which decorated it), where one shrewdly expected that the Turkish Head-quarters Staff and its German "pals" had comfortable "diggings". A few shells there, delicately placed, generally had the desired effect. One could almost imagine the German Staff Officer (when shells began knocking down the houses round him) cursing: "Gott im Himmel! it's not good enough being bothered like this. Telephone to that confounded battery to leave 'em alone, till I've finished my breakfast; it's not doing any good, anyway."

That Sunday afternoon our troops tried to advance along the ridge beyond Suvla Point, and did make some headway; but they came up against a wretched redoubt, a thousand yards from Jephson's Post, crammed with machine-guns, and were brought to a standstill.

The _Talbot_ and the _Swiftsure_ did most of the covering work; but the Turkish trenches up there, and that redoubt, were so protected by the folds and curvatures of the hills that their high-velocity guns were very ineffective.

When this business was finished, "Cuthbert", the hostile aeroplane, came over from Maidos, and made a "bee-line" for the balloon ship once more. As he approached, the _Manica_ commenced hauling down the balloon and its observers, and simply screeched at "Cuthbert" with her maxims; but the aeroplane did not take anything seriously, plumped down two bombs within half a mile of her--not nearer--appeared to be perfectly content, and went home again, followed by some very pretty shrapnel from the _Talbot_.

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.

They were full of noisy humour, these Turks; but what did jar on their nerves was the sight of a battleship or cruiser coaling. They objected most strongly, and always burst shrapnel over, and dropped shell at the "coaling" ship directly the collier had come alongside and she had commenced that dirty job.

They also had a rooted objection to the _Arno_, a trim little destroyer attached to the General Headquarters Staff; and whenever she anchored inside the "net" they did their best to make her feel uncomfortable. She might have always had the General Head-quarters Staff on board, to judge by the persistent way they plugged at her.

And as for Jephson's Post, up there on the top of the ridge, on the left, they took a positive dislike to it and to the Naval Observation Station, just below it. This Observation Station was manned by some naval ratings and two naval officers--a gaunt, hawk-like Commander and a Lieutenant-Commander belonging to other ships. These two took duty in turns--three days "on" and three days "off". The three days "off" they spent on board the _Achates_, sleeping most of the time.

This post was constantly under fire from heavy and light guns. It also received all the "overs" and the stray bullets fired from the Turks, farther along the ridge, at Jephson's Post and the trenches in front of it, so it was not at all a "health" resort.

"The view in the early morning is charming," said one of the Observation officers; "and but for the fact that I'm certain there's a dead mule or a dead 'something' among the bushes somewhere near--has been there for the last fortnight--and that we get something like thirty to forty shell over it every day--often more--it wouldn't be half bad."

Another Naval Observation Station had been established on Chocolate Hill, and to visit either of these positions made exciting afternoon walks and climbs, whenever any of the Honourable Mess ventured ashore. On one occasion the Lamp-post and the Orphan landed at "A West" beach one afternoon, and walked up to the Observation Post near Jephson's Post. Pretty hard going it was, under the hot sun and along the sandy mule-track which wound up the lower slopes among the concealed field-guns. Then they had to climb along a steep path, with a parapet on the enemy side, till they came to the second line of trenches, and heard the intermittent sniping close to them. In the morning the Post had been severely shelled, and they found the Commander lying flat on the ridge, some forty yards away from it, behind a natural parapet of rocks, reinforced by some sand-bags, his telephone box close to him.

"You must have had a warm time of it this morning, sir," they said admiringly.

"That was all right. I was here all the time. There wouldn't have been much left of me if I had stayed there. Come along and see." He took them back below the ridge, climbed up to the rear of the Post--a little three-sided affair, partly made out of large stones and sand-bags piled on each other, partly of natural rocks, with a timber and sand-bag roof over it all.

"Pretty untidy, isn't it, here? You can have the base of that shell--one of this morning's little lot; if you hunt round, you'll find another somewhere, I expect. They keep their eye on this place; I shouldn't wonder if they are watching us now. Let's put back some of these rock things."

The front parapet had been partially knocked down that morning, so that the "observing" loophole was now four or five feet wide. If they could see him when there was only a small loophole, thought the Lamp-post, they'll be able to see us, all right, now. They had just finished piling up the last of the stones and sand-bags in their old places---more or less--when the accustomed ears of the Commander caught the sound of a Turkish gun.

"That's my gun!" he cried, throwing himself down. "Lie down. That will be short," he said coolly, as they heard the "swish--h--h" of an approaching shell. "Short, not very; keep down, some of the bits may come in."

"Whump" burst the shell about thirty yards below them, and something rattled against the parapet they had just built up. The stinging smell of smoke came in through the crevices.

"Scoot out of it!" the Commander said, scrambling to his feet, and taking them down to where they had found him at first--soldiers dashing for cover all along the ridge. "Keep close in behind those rocks," he said, as they lay down, and he peered out between his sand-bags.

"I thought so. The same two old guns, on the far side of the 'Rectory Field'. They've shifted 'em since the morning. They've fired again. They keep those two especially for my benefit."

"Whump" burst a shell, then another, up along the ridge, somewhere close to the Observation Post, whilst the hawk-like Commander rapidly took "angles" with his sextant, and examined the squares and dots on his military map.

Then he rang up the Naval Observation Post, and giving them the new position of the guns told them to ask _Swiftsure_ to try a few rounds.

"Keep down!" he sang out to the two boys. "Snuggle up to those rocks. Those chaps sometimes try lower down the slope."

During the next quarter of an hour some fifteen or sixteen shells burst close to the old Observation Post, and the Orphan wriggled to a place where he could look down, across the harbour, to where the _Swiftsure_, _Venerable_, and _Achates_ lay. They did look small.

"Hello! there goes one from the _Swiftsure_," he cried, and wriggled farther round to see if its shell went anywhere near those guns that had been firing.

"Twenty yards short--good shot!" the Commander sang out. "They'll fire another, if either of the guns are loaded---- Yes--there they go--keep down! Then they'll pack up."

"B-r-r--whomp" burst a shell, just as the _Swiftsure_ fired again, and they watched for her shell to burst. "I believe that's a hit; if it wasn't, it was jolly close. Go up and see what damage they have done; it's perfectly safe now."

The two midshipmen scrambled to their feet and made their way up to the old Observation Post, whilst the Commander busied himself with the telephone.

"My aunt! Look, Lampy!" sang out the Orphan, who reached it first. "Jolly lucky that we didn't stay!"

They had a difficulty in crawling in, because two of the balks of timber had been blown down at one end. All those stones and sand-bags they had replaced twenty minutes ago lay scattered on the ground--some outside among the bushes, others inside. In one torn and half-emptied sand-bag they found the fuse of the shell which had apparently done the damage. It was still warm.

"Oh, look! there's your stick! You must have left it. Look! That will be a bit of a curio, won't it?"

"It isn't mine; it's the Pink Rat's," the Lamp-post grinned, as he picked up the two pieces. "I wish it had been mine."

They took the broken pieces and went back to the Commander. "They've knocked it about no end, sir. It's lucky we didn't stay there. You'll have to give it up, won't you, sir?"

"Oh no! rather not. I shall use it again to-morrow; but I shan't touch it--leave it just as it is. Probably I'll put some sand-bags here, where they can see them, and let them pot at this place instead. Come along, we'll give you a drop of tea, down in my 'dug-out'. The _Swiftsure_ has finished firing."

"Did she hit either of them?" they asked.

"Went jolly close," he said. "I rather fancy she did hit one, but it's very difficult to say for certain."

The Commander's "dug-out" was some fifty yards below the crest of the ridge, and out of sight of Suvla Bay and the plain of Anafarta. From it the Lamp-post looked over the Gulf of Zeros, the Bulgarian and Turkish coast-lines, and, on the left, the lofty island of Samothrace, rearing its crest above the clouds. Down in the sea at his feet--some five hundred feet below him--the _Grampus_, destroyer, steamed slowly along to protect the extreme left flank of the army, which extended from behind Jephson's Post to the actual beach. Beyond her, either the _Grafton_ or the _Theseus_ came slowly along towards Suvla Point, pushing through the glittering water. Trawlers and drifters, with their reddish-brown mizzen-sails giving a peaceful and home-like appearance to the beautiful view, patrolled very, very slowly the stretches of the Gulf between Samothrace and the Peninsula.

From this "dug-out" the ground sloped very abruptly to the sea, its surface composed of scattered rocks interspersed with coarse bushes. The bivouacs of the brigade in reserve were here, and hundreds of men lay about smoking, talking, and mending their clothes, or fast asleep. Bathing parties went down to the sea, chattering noisily, or scrambled back, half naked, to dry themselves in the sun.

As the two snotties drank their tea, two men on stretchers were carried past, on their way to a Dressing Station, a little way below and to the left. One man smoked a cigarette and looked quite cheery; the head of the other lay back oddly on the stretcher, with that horrid grey colour on his face--he was dead.

"Have another cup of tea? I'm sorry there's no cake," the Commander said. "Those infernal snipers get some fifteen or twenty of our chaps up here every day. They paint themselves green--their hands and faces--dress up in green clothes, or fix themselves up in twigs and leaves. They're plucky chaps, I must say. We found one chap, down in the plain, the other day, over there"--and he jerked his thumb up the ridge towards Anafarta--"we found him half a mile inside our lines, up a tree, lashed to a branch. One of our chaps happened to be walking back from the trenches, and walked right under the tree; thought he heard a noise, looked up and saw him. Luckily he had his rifle, so he shot him, but had to climb the tree and cut him clear before the body fell to the ground. On one side of that Turk hung a basket with a few figs in it, and on the other side a basket full of cartridge cases. Most of them were empty, so that he must have had a pretty good 'run' for his money."

A messenger came to say that the Turks were commencing their usual evening "hate" on the beaches and ships. "Well, you'd better get along back," he said. "Now, don't play the fool. For the first few hundred yards past the Observation Post you will be in full view of their firing-trench along the ridge; so don't loiter. I must be off to see whether any of those guns have shifted since yesterday. Good-bye!"

So back they went, with the base of one shell, the fuse of another, and that broken stick belonging to the Pink Rat. As they neared the beach, big shells kept dropping on it, so they waited a little while before going down to "A West". A friendly A.S.C. sergeant invited them into his roomy "dug-out"; and luckily they did go in, for shrapnel began bursting very close, and an empty case buried itself in some ground between two lines of mules, not twenty yards away.

Flies had been bad up in the Commander's "dug-out". Here they were ten times worse--worse even than they had been before they left "W" beach at Cape Helles.

Having added to their trophies that empty shrapnel case (the A.S.C. sergeant had sent across a couple of Indians belonging to his transport column to dig it up), and the firing having ceased, they presently found themselves in the Hun's steam pinnace, on their way off to the ship.

You can imagine that these two young officers had a good deal to talk about when they did get on board. Neither of them had much chance of going ashore, because, after the first few days, so many of the original midshipmen of the "stray" boats broke down and had to be sent back to their ships, that they were almost constantly employed in steam-boats.

There were the "night patrols", when they steamed, up and down, along the line of submarine-net buoys, from sunset to sunrise--fearfully tedious and monotonous work, only enlivened by the very occasional submarine "scares". Some trawler or drifter--out beyond--would think she had seen one, and fire two Very's lights; and then there would be a hustle and a bustle, and the patrolling picket-boats with their maxims would dash up and down, in case Fritz came along, and they could get a shot at his periscope. For some days the Orphan had to take charge of the Harbour-master's picket-boat, and used to spend most of his nights outside the nets, often in a lumpy, unpleasant sea, meeting troop-carriers coming across with reinforcements, or store ships--all according to programme--and imploring their Captains to go _between_ the two lights on the buoys at the submarine-net "gate"; not that the troop-carriers ever made mistakes--they had had too much practice--but some of these store ships seemed incapable of coming in without fouling the net, picking up some of it with their screws, and giving twenty-four hours' work hacking it clear and then repairing it. Most of the daylight hours during that time the Orphan spent in sleep, but not all by a long chalk, for things were always going wrong with a line of lighters supporting some borrowed torpedo-nets, and the Harbour-master was always wanting to go along and see what could be done. As these lighters were constantly being shelled, this was a most unpleasant job.

One evening, after snatching a couple of hours' sleep, he found that a 3-pounder gun had been mounted in the bows of his boat, and the usual maxim taken away.

"Hello!" he said to the coxswain. "What's this for?"

"I fancy we're going to hunt for Fritz to-night, sir."

"Why, has he been round to-day?"

"He fired a torpedo at the _Jonquil_ this afternoon, sir; somewhere round the left flank, sir."

When the Orphan climbed on board to find out more news, he ran across the Sub on the quarterdeck.

"Hello, my jumping Jimmy! I was looking for you. We've got to go away to-night and see if Fritz goes to sleep in Ejelmar Bay--about seven miles along the coast, round Suvla Point. He's been making a nuisance of himself again. What kind of a coxswain have you?"

"Not particularly good," the Orphan said. "He's not very fond of shells."

"Hum! I suppose we can't change him," the Sub said, scratching his head. "I've got Bowditch, the gunner's mate, coming along to run the 3-pounder, so that will be all right." Then, bursting with excitement, he thumped the Orphan's chest. "My perishing Orphan! Just fancy if we bag a submarine!"

"Promotion for you, too," grinned the Orphan.

"I hadn't thought of that," beamed the Sub. "Wouldn't that be grand?"

They were interrupted by a signalman running aft. "Hostile aeroplane, sir!" he called out. The "guard call" sounded, and the marines began tumbling up the hatchways with their rifles.

It was "Cuthbert", the aeroplane, coming along for his evening visit; but this time he was not bothering his head about the ships at Suvla, but flew past at a great height, evidently off to Kephalo, in Imbros Island, twelve miles across the water, to try and drop a bomb on the aerodromes there, or on the General Headquarters Camp.

"We aren't going away until nearly midnight," the Sub said, as they watched "Cuthbert" growing smaller and smaller. Suddenly there was a shout of "Hello! One of ours is after him! Look! He's heading him off!"

Sure enough, they saw another dot against the blue sky rapidly closing "Cuthbert", who had evidently seen him and swerved to the right.

As far as they could see, the English aeroplane was the higher of the two, though a long distance separated them.

"Hello! Look there! He's coming back! Look! He's dropped his bombs" (two spouts of water flew up on the sea). "He'll get away now!"

With the weight of the bombs "off" him, "Cuthbert" came back very fast, and presently the English machine gave up the long, stern chase and turned back to Kephalo.

"Well, they stopped him dropping bombs there," the Orphan grinned.

Just before midnight--pitch-dark it was--the Sub, the Orphan, and Bowditch, the gunner's mate, climbed down into the picket-boat and pushed off. They steamed outside, turned to the right, and, half an hour later, met the _Grampus_ destroyer--the left-flank-guard destroyer--who piloted them along the coast-line for some seven miles. Then she stopped. Her skipper shouted across, through a megaphone: "We're right opposite it now. Off you go. I'll wait for you."