Chapter IV: Part 4

The Orphan, pale and staring, rang "full speed ahead", turned the picket-boat's bows round, and dashed back towards the boats. The Hun, yelling and half mad with excitement, followed in the pinnace, and so did some of the other steamboats. The Orphan hardly knew what happened. Bullets hit the protecting screen, a chip of wood from the gunwale hit his cap; splashes leapt up all round him; his ears hummed with the whistling noise. He remembered hearing the Sub roar: "Go for those two over there!" and feeling him grip his hand on the steering-wheel to turn towards the two most crippled boats. He got alongside one--saw Plunky Bill and another hand get hold of her--had a picture of grey faces looking up at him from the bottom of her, and a muddle of khaki lying there across her thwarts; towed her across to the boat with only one man; saw the Sub get hold of her painter, and then found himself, dazed and horribly shaky and sick, back again at the trawler. Plunky Bill came aft, grinning: "There's a 'ole in the funnel, sir, slap-bang through!" and proudly showed a bullet which he had found lying on the deck.

No one who looked into those transports' boats as they were towed alongside the trawlers will ever forget what he saw: men dead, dying, and wounded, all huddled and jumbled together on the thwarts of the boats and on the bottom boards, with legs and arms twisted strangely; wounded unable to free themselves from the weight of dead bodies on top of them--those grey, placid faces and sightless eyes which, ten minutes before, had glowed with excitement as they turned them to the sun; the blood-stained, torn khaki; the blood-stained water lapping round them, and the one, two, and in some boats three bluejackets, in their Condy's-fluid-dyed jumpers, sitting among them, flopping, exhausted, over their oars.

In one boat there was a Scotsman, in gold spectacles--not unlike Fletcher the stoker--a St. John's Ambulance man, and now a Territorial ambulance orderly. He had already dressed all the wounded in his boat, and now stepped into another, working away quietly, as if he was doing it in the accident-room of a hospital.

"We must get a doctor," he told the Sub; and as the trawlers had not one, the boats requiring most urgent assistance were towed across to the _Newmarket_ anchored near. Here the wounded--most of them--received further treatment.

There was no time for sentiment. The boats were all urgently required to take more men ashore; three of them, those with the most dead and wounded, were told off to take on board the wounded from the others; bluejackets were told off to take the places of those of the crews who had been killed and wounded; and then the beach parties, Bubbles, the Pink Rat, and the Lamp-post, tumbled down into them. Bullets began flying round them and the _Newmarket_, but no one was hit. "Shove off!" was shouted; "land them under the rocks to the left of the beach;" and the Sub and the Orphan towed them inshore.

There was much less rifle-firing now, but many bullets came over and splashed round the picket-boat. The mist and smoke had cleared away, and the _Swiftsure_ was still firing very rapidly at the Turks' trenches on the edge of the cliff, to the right of the beach, the _Achates_ assisting with her small guns. Their shells burst along it one after the other, all along the dark line which marked the trenches, and scarcely a Turk dare expose himself to fire down at the beach.

The Sub, as he approached, saw through his glasses two Turks close together, leaning over and pointing their rifles down at the beach, and saw spurts of sand fly up where the bullets struck among a line of men lying prone, half in and half out of the water, in front of lines of barbed wire. One of the shells from the _Achates_ burst close to them, and when the smoke had drifted away the two Turks were still there--motionless--in exactly the same attitude, but their rifles were sliding down the rocks. He cast off the boats with the beach parties, and waved to them as they pulled past him inshore. The three snotties crowded in the stern, and looking up at the cliffs with eyes wide open, were, however, too excited to take any notice of the Orphan's shout of "Good luck, you chaps!"

Back he went to the _Newmarket_, meeting steamboats towing in boats packed with more troops. Another trip ashore with sappers and "details", and then he towed those three boats with the wounded to the _Achates_, where they were taken on board.

It was exactly half-past seven when he got alongside her, busy firing her small guns in the port battery, and her for'ard 9.2 turret-gun.

The Captain wanted to see the Sub, so he climbed up and went for'ard to the bridge.

The Orphan, left to himself, was sent off to a transport to tow more soldiers ashore; and on the way to her he saw, over against the Asiatic shore and the fort of Kum Kali, the French fleet, the _Jeanne d'Arc_ with her six quaint, squat funnels, and the Russian _Askold_ with her five thin, tall ones, and two battleships, all firing very rapidly.

Behind them lay big transports, and dozens of boats loaded with dark-coated infantry on their way ashore.

He reached the transport, got his orders, and steamed back to "W" beach with a long string of crowded boats behind him.

It was then, whilst he waited for them to be emptied, that he had the first clear view of "W" beach and the broad gully leading up to the green ridge above it.

No bullets--or only very few--came near him, and he could look on undisturbed. On the right, where the barbed wire was thickest, a row of dead Lancashire Fusiliers lay as if they had all been swept by the same torrent of maxim bullets. He knew that they were dead, because other men, springing into the water and wading ashore, stepped over them, looked down at them, and left them.

Higher up the beach, men were hanging on the barbed wire itself. At first he thought it was only clothes hanging there; then he saw that they had been men. Fresh troops were scaling the cliffs; soldiers advanced up the green slope above, singly and in little groups. Away to the left, under the rocks, more men clustered; and as some of them limped along to the boats, some with bandages, some without, he knew that these were wounded waiting to be dressed. They crowded into the boats he had just brought ashore, and many were carried down--among these being a wounded Brigadier shot through the leg. He saw nothing of Bubbles, the Pink Rat, or the tall, lanky Lamp-post; but he did feel certain that the landing had been made good.

Trawlers, loaded with stores, approached as close inshore as they could get; boats of every description were flocking in, and already the sappers were lashing pontoons together on the left, under the rocks, to make a temporary pier.

Then the boats he had towed in came out to him, and he towed them and their wounded back to the _Achates_. For the remainder of that morning the Orphan was employed taking Staff Officers backwards and forwards between the ship and "W" beach.

The beach parties had laid down six buoys at about ten yards apart and some fifty yards from the beach, and had led ropes from these to the same number of stakes driven into the beach opposite to them. The intervals between these ropes made waterways into which the big lighters could haul themselves ashore without colliding with each other. But there was a certain amount of jostling just beyond the buoys, and the Orphan had his work cut out, whenever he went near the beach, to prevent his boat being damaged by the crowds of steamboats "mothering" the big lighters into position. She had a big rope fender projecting across her bows, another lashed across her stern, and two lengths of six-inch "grass" hawser secured all round her side to protect her from bumps; but, in spite of these, she soon had one corner of her stern crushed, and her steering gear was jammed. The Orphan managed to take her back to the _Achates_ safely, and, very sad about it, reported the damage to the Commander.

The Commander, at his wits' end for boats, was very angry.

"I'll take you out of her, Mr. Orpen, if you can't manage her," he said angrily, but then sent him away to get his boat coaled and watered whilst the repairs were being made. "You and your crew can come in-board and get some food," he called after the miserable Orphan.

So presently he was able to dash down to the gun-room, where Barnes had some cold meat and pickles waiting for him. He had had nothing to eat, except a couple of sandwiches, since the previous night, and the sight of food made him realize that he was ravenously hungry. It was now half-past one. The China Doll--the only one there--lay fast asleep on one of the cushioned benches; and he ate his food in peace, with the burly Barnes waiting on him. He was nearly as hungry for news as he was for food; but the old marine would not talk or tell him anything. "Just you go on with your food; there ain't no time for talking," and he gave him a cup of strong coffee afterwards. "That'll keep you awake," he said, as he cleared away.

The Orphan looked at the China Doll and longed to throw himself down on a cushion and sleep; but heavy firing broke out again, and, too excited to think of doing so, he went up on the quarter-deck to see what was going on.

"Your boat will be ready in half an hour," the officer of the watch told him.

The _Cornwallis_, _Swiftsure_, and _Albion_ were now firing at a small knoll which showed up above Cape Helles, the big cliff half-way between "W" beach and Sedd-el-Bahr. This knoll was known as Hill 138, and barbed-wire entanglements round its slopes were plainly visible through the Orphan's telescope.

He asked the Fleet-Paymaster and the Navigator, standing on the quarter-deck and looking through their glasses, what was happening.

"The Turks still hold it," the Navigator said. "Our chaps are preparing to rush it when the ships have finished their bit of work."

"How are they going on down in the _River Clyde_?" he asked.

"Badly; they've been terribly cut up; haven't landed a man since nine this morning; something went wrong when they tried to get the lighters in position under her bows. Look through your glass! You see those chaps there under the little bank on top of the beach, this side of her; those are all who are left of some six or seven hundred who tried to get ashore early this morning. They can't budge; they have been there all the time. And those are their dead, those brownish lumps scattered along the beach. Those two transports' boats, stranded under Cape Helles, drifted there. Every man aboard them was killed before they got near the shore. They've been drifting about all the morning, and fetched up on the rocks. Look at that splash jumping up close to the _River Clyde_--that's another 8-inch shell from the Asiatic shore. They hit her three times before she took the ground, but have missed her ever since. Ah! There goes a salvo from the _Prince George_--she's looking after the Asiatic guns--that'll quiet 'em."

"Any news from the Australians, sir?" the Orphan asked, feeling horribly miserable.

"They and the New Zealanders have done grandly," the Fleet-Paymaster answered cheerily. "Pushed inland a devil of a way. They'll be across the Peninsula in no time--with luck."

No news had come from the French on the Asiatic side. "They seem to be doing all right," the Navigator said; "but it's precious difficult to make out what's happening there."

Some men came through the battery door carrying a stretcher with a man on it, his face covered with a cloth. They bore it right aft on the quarter-deck, lifted back a tarpaulin, which the Orphan then noticed for the first time, laid the body on the deck, drew the tarpaulin over it, and went for'ard.

"That's the seventeenth," the Navigator told him; "most of them soldiers."

Dr. O'Neill, capless and haggard, came up the after hatchway. "By the powers that be, but the General has a bad leg!" he said as he hurried past them on his way to the sick-bay.

"That's the General you brought off this morning," the Fleet-Paymaster explained.

The Sub and the China Doll came up from below, the China Doll just wakened by the heavy firing.

"That R.H.A. chap promised to send you off your rifle, China Doll; he called out to us just before he landed," the Orphan said; but the Assistant Clerk shook his head sorrowfully. "No, he's dead; he died as they brought him on board; he and that chum of his are both there," and he pointed to the tarpaulin.

"Someone told me," said the Sub, "that the R.H.A. chap got ashore all right, fixed up his signal things, and sent off one or two messages before he was knocked over. He was more lucky than a good many of those there; they never got out of the boats."

"Why did the Captain want you?" asked the Orphan.

The Sub took him aside, his eyes very bright. "He'd forgotten why he sent for me, but then wanted to know if we'd had orders to go after those crippled boats that time. I told him that we hadn't, but that I couldn't stand by and do nothing. I thought he was angry; he said that if the steamboats had been disabled it would have meant a serious delay. I told him we'd only had a bullet through the funnel and a bit chipped out of the gunwale. He looked me up and down, tugged at his beard, and I saw that he was smiling. So that's all right, my jumping Orphan!"

"Did he know that the Hun went in too?"

"I told him."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, you know that funny, slow way he has of talking when he's trying to be humorous. He just tugged his beard and said: 'I thought I noticed that young officer's boat'. Gosh! what a morning it's been!"

The picket-boat's steering gear having been reported repaired, the Orphan was sent away again, and kept busy until nightfall, backwards and forwards between "W" beach and the ships. Once he took Captain Macfarlane on board the _Queen Elisabeth_, now anchored off the _River Clyde_, and waited for him whilst the big ship fired salvoes of 6-inch shell into Sedd-el-Bahr village and the earthwork on Hill 141 above it. Another time he went alongside the sappers' pontoons, and Bubbles dashed down to speak to him. "My dear chap, it's a great game; we're having a ripping time!" he gurgled and snorted, looking a terrible brigand in his clothes--already very dirty. "Oh, that's nothing!" he laughed, as he saw the Orphan smile. "We lay in the old Turks' trenches for two blessed hours this morning. It was a great time. If you get a chance, bring us in some butter and some sausages--and, my hat! old chap, I'm dry--dry as a lime-kiln, and my water-bottle's been empty for the last three hours."

The Orphan had some water in the boat and gave it to him. The next time he went back to the ship he got a barricoe filled and took it inshore; but there was too much of a crush for him to go alongside, so the Lamp-post waded in up to his waist and fetched it. "We've almost run out of it; all our people gave their water to the wounded, and there are any amount more coming down now. We've just heard that the Worcesters have rushed Hill 138, and they and the Lancashires are going to try and take Hill 141. Yes, there they come," and he pointed up the gully, down which many stretchers were being carried. He shouted to a couple of the beach party, and seizing the barricoe of water, they ran it up the beach towards a little tent under the rocks to the left, with a Red Cross flag flying near it, and crowds of men in every attitude of weariness gathered round it. These were all wounded men.

At this time, about a quarter to five, there was a period of comparative quiet. The Worcesters had cleared the Turks out of Hill 138, so that "W" beach was practically free from rifle-fire; and now they and the Lancashire Fusiliers were forming up to attack the earthwork on Hill 141. This dominated both Hill 138 and "V" beach, where the _River Clyde_ lay, so that, until it was captured, it was impossible to join hands with the remnants of the Dublins on "V" beach. A very brave attempt was made about half-past five to take this earthwork; but the two gallant regiments were almost exhausted after their hard day's fighting under a hot sun, and they met more wire entanglements, so thickly laid, and commanded by such a heavy fire, that they were unable to advance farther. At nightfall the Turks still held Hill 141, and separated the troops who had landed on "W" beach from those who had landed on "V" beach.

These poor chaps had suffered terribly all day, and still remained crouched under the low cliff or bank there, unable to move.

During the fighting for this last hill, the Orphan towed in two horse-boats with two field-guns and their limbers. They were covered up with tarpaulins, and he was not certain whether they were English 18-pounders or French 75's. At any rate, the beach parties soon got hold of them with hook-ropes and drag-ropes, hauled them ashore, and "man-handled" them up the gully. The Orphan knew, in a general sort of way, that things were not "going" as well as had been hoped, but he was kept so busy, and was so fatigued, that by sunset he could hardly keep his eyes open. Several times he had to hand over the wheel to Jarvis; but at last, after having spent nearly an hour hunting in the dark for an important transport which had anchored in the wrong place, he found himself at nine o'clock back again alongside the _Achates_.

The Sub, on watch, told him that he would not be wanted for some time. "Go and get something to eat, and a rest," he said; "you've had a pretty hard day of it."

He stumbled down into the gun-room, where he found the Hun fast asleep with his head on the table. Barnes brought him a glass of beer, and he swallowed it in one draught. "Give me a biscuit--anything--I'm too sleepy to eat."

But Barnes had some sandwiches ready. "Plenty of mustard on 'em--made 'em myself--mustard'll ginger you up. Just you lie down on the cushions, and I'll stick the plate alongside you."

The Pimple found him, and wanted to tell him the latest news. The Orphan told him to "chuck it". The China Doll came in and would have asked him questions, but the Orphan pretended to be asleep, so he tiptoed out again like a mouse. Uncle Podger strolled in, smoking his pipe, and began to play patience. He watched him shuffling and dealing the cards, and then fell asleep.

He woke. The corporal of the gangway was shaking him.

"The Commander wants you, sir."

He dragged himself up. The gun-room was empty. The alarum-clock on the notice-board showed a quarter to eleven, and he went up to the dark quarter-deck, where he found the Commander and reported himself.

"Oh! there you are, are you? I've been sending all over the ship for you. The 'wounded' launch is going down to the _River Clyde_; I've no one else to send with her; Rawlinson has gone away in a cutter and I can't trust anyone else; the steam pinnace will tow you down, and the doctors are going with you. I've sent four hands into the launch already, and she's at the starboard boom; drop her astern and alongside the port gangway. Hurry up!"

Still half asleep, the Orphan found this big pulling boat (fitted to transport wounded, she had been), dropped into her, and five minutes later brought her alongside.

The Hun, in the pinnace, came along out of the dark, bumped into her, and got her painter made fast to the towing-cleat. "They're having a jolly lively time down at the _River Clyde_!" the Hun called across.

The Orphan, turning his sleepy head in that direction, listened, and heard a good deal of rifle-firing, and occasionally the spluttering of a maxim.

"Right into it," he thought, and forgot his tiredness.

Dr. O'Neill and Dr. Gordon scrambled down the ship's side into the launch; the big chief sick-berth steward came down after them. Bags of dressings were passed down; and Dr. O'Neill cursed irritably when a bag, fumbled owing to the darkness, slipped through the hands of the people on the gangway above, fell into the boat, and only just missed falling overboard.

The Commander called down to the Doctor: "Keep the steam pinnace if you want her." The Sub roared out orders to the Hun, and he started his engines and towed the launch away from the ship's dark side.

Six bells struck on board her--it was just eleven o'clock.

*CHAPTER IX*

*The "River Clyde"*

The night was not very dark, a pale moon--past the quarter--appeared occasionally between slowly drifting clouds, and the sea was still quite smooth. The Peninsula showed as a dark wall rising gradually from Cape Tekke to the high cliffs at Cape Helles, beyond and under which the _River Clyde_ lay.

The Orphan--wide awake now--steered the big clumsy launch, and listened to the two weary doctors talking of their day's work and the job in front of them. Dr. O'Neill, the Fleet-Surgeon, had a grievance--he generally had. This time it was with the Padre and the Fleet-Paymaster. They had tried to make out a list of the men killed and wounded--the men who had been brought on board the _Achates_--but the sights and sounds in that crowded sick-bay, with the for'ard turret-gun firing directly over it, every two or three minutes, had been too much for them. Their stomachs would not "stick it".

"The only job they have, and they can't do it," he growled. "It took me another two hours getting in all the names and the official numbers on their identity disks."

"It was pretty beastly in there, P.M.O., and they've never seen anything like it," Dr. Gordon said soothingly. "They did their best; the Padre fainted outside, and the Fleet-Paymaster was sick."

"Never seen anything like it before! Nonsense! Nor have I! Did you get them all safely to the hospital ship?"

Dr. Gordon told him that he had only just returned from doing so. "The whole thing's silly, confoundedly silly, and this is the stupidest of all--this trip of ours," the Fleet-Surgeon snapped.

"It's not much of a joy ride, is it? You must be awfully tired," Dr. Gordon said in his nervous, self-disparaging manner, as if he too had not been hard at work the whole day.

Silence followed for some time, until the steam pinnace, swerving suddenly to port to pass two trawlers, indistinct in the darkness, jerked the launch after her and waked the Fleet-Surgeon. "Why the devil can't that young imp in the pinnace steer properly?"

The noise of furious rifle-firing coming from Sedd-el-Bahr stopped him for a moment, but then he went on again with his dismal groan. "A nice little job at this time of night. Running straight into it we are."

As the boats had altered course so much to port, they presently found themselves close under the high cliffs, and whilst being towed along in front of them, the moon, peeping out for a few moments, made them conspicuous.

Dr. O'Neill had just asked angrily: "Why the devil they wanted to go in so close! Didn't they know the Turks still held the end of them!" when ping! went a bullet over the stern of the boat and plunked into the water.

Another came, and another.

"Keep down, under cover!" growled Dr. O'Neill, more savagely than ever, and he and Dr. Gordon, the chief sick-berth steward and the four men of the crew, sat themselves down in the bottom of the boat. The Orphan, sitting exposed in the stern-sheets, wished he was ten sizes smaller.

They were close to the _River Clyde_ now; its dark shape loomed just ahead of them, and the noise of firing crackled fiercely, tiny spurts of flame from hundreds of rifles lighting up the water's edge.

They ran under the starboard quarter and gained shelter; the launch scraped against a rough wooden ladder and stopped; the doctors scrambled up it, followed by the chief sick-berth steward; their surgical dressings and lantern were handed up to them, and they disappeared through the dark gangway port in the ship's side--one of those ports which had been cut to allow her troops to pour out quickly. The Orphan and his crew in the launch, and the Hun in his steam pinnace, were left to themselves.

A maxim rattled--fired somewhere from the _River Clyde_ herself; and when it stopped, Dr. O'Neill's harsh voice could be heard asking: "Where the wounded were; what he could be expected to do in that damnable darkness! and calling for a match to light the lantern." A head peeped out from the gangway port, and a voice called down: "That's not a very 'ealthy spot, mate. The trawlers, what comed for the wounded, were sniped something 'orrid down there. They 'ad to shove off out of it."

"We've come for the wounded," the Orphan sang out.

"Well, you bally well won't get 'em. All that are left are hup on the hupper deck, and can't be got down whilst this 'ere shooting's going on--they're quite all right up there--be'ind the bulwarks they are."

From inside the ship came shouts of: "Put out that light! Curse you! We don't want any light here!" Evidently Dr. O'Neill had managed to light it, and was looking round for wounded.

"They'll begin sniping again--they starts directly they sees a light--better keep down in those boats. Off they go--I'm 'opping it!" sang out the man above.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Three twinkles from somewhere to the right--a bullet hit the water, another clanged against the pinnace's steel wheel-screen, another hit the side of the ship just under the ladder, slid down and fell into the water.

The Hun, from behind his shield, sang out to the Orphan to know if he was enjoying himself. The shouts from inside grew louder; then there was silence. Evidently the lamp had been extinguished.

The voice from the gangway called down: "'Ave they stopped? Hany one got a souvenir in 'im?"

"Where are they firing from?" asked the Orphan.

"That old castle sticks hout in the sea, this 'ere side," called back the voice, "and them there snipers 'ave been doin' themselves something proud."

The Orphan strained his eyes and could just distinguish, about two hundred yards away--ahead of the _River Clyde_--the battlemented outline of the castle walls and, farther to the right, a much more indistinct and blurred mass sticking out into the sea. This was actually the sea walls of Sedd-el-Bahr castle, jutting out on a reef.

No more shots came from there, and there was quietness everywhere for a few minutes. He began to feel sleepy, but then one or two solitary rifles rang out on the cliff side of the ship, five or six followed, thirty or forty seemed to chip in, and, almost before he knew it, a perfect pandemonium of rifle-fire burst out, making a ruddy glow against which the stern of the ship and the masts stood out quite plainly. Presently maxims started on shore, whether English or Turkish he could not know; and then, up above, from the foc's'le of the ship herself, several maxims added their voices to the din. The snipers from the sea walls did not take part in this "show". It died down after a while; a few crashes of musketry, then a few scattered shots apparently answering each other, and silence--silence which seemed absolutely extraordinary--as if it was something tangible.

What had happened, the Orphan had not the faintest idea. He could only stay where he was, and hope that Dr. O'Neill would decide something shortly.

Presently he heard the Doctor's voice in the darkness: "Steam pinnace! Steam pinnace!" and the Hun calling back "Aye, aye, sir!" "Go back to the ship and ask the Commander to send for me half an hour after the next attack ceases."

"Right, sir!" and jeering at his pal, the Hun, shoved off and disappeared back to the _Achates_, drawing a solitary twinkle from the sea wall of the castle and a solitary bullet which hit the ship's side, above the Orphan's head.

In a few minutes a voice called down: "You've got to make fast and come along inside 'ere--you and your crew," so he clambered up the wooden steps with his four men. Very willingly he did this, for he was anxious to be able to say that he had been aboard the _River Clyde_, and he felt lonely and very exposed, waiting alongside.

Inside her was absolutely pitch dark; a man who bumped against him could not be seen. The Orphan heard Dr. O'Neill's voice, and elbowed his way towards him, stumbling across something which he knew was a stretcher, but evidently not waking the man asleep on it.

"Sit down, and keep out of the gangway," Dr. O'Neill snapped, "unless you want a bullet in you. There's nothing any of us can do. There they go again, curse them!" as more rifle-firing started, just as it had done before--one or two shots, then more, then apparently a whole line blazing away as if they had millions of rounds of ammunition to spare. This time he heard hundreds of bullets pattering against the opposite side of the ship, and the glare showed him another gangway port opposite the one by which he had just entered.

"It's blocked up with boards, and you can see the light between them," someone sitting next him said; "and those blighted Turks can see a light inside here, through them, too."

This burst of firing died away very rapidly; and as he sat there, jammed among a lot of soldiers, his eyes gradually became accustomed to the darkness, and he made out that he was close to a big hatch leading down into absolute blackness--the hold probably--and that above him was another hatchway, with a coaming round it, the edges of which stood out quite clearly against the clouds. A broad wooden ladder--the foot of it quite close to him--led up to this and, as he knew it must, to the upper deck, where the remaining wounded lay. The gangway port through which he had come, showed as a lighter patch than the ship's side, and anybody moving across it could be just distinguished; but people did not move across it more than they could help, because a lot of bullets had already come through it from the sea wall. Under this, his launch lay--at the foot of the ladder he had just climbed up. Dr. Gordon kept on talking, evidently trying to pacify Dr. O'Neill, and a man near him kept rattling something--a ship's lantern it sounded like--so he guessed that the chief sick-berth steward sat quite near. People conversed all round him, in a drowsy sort of way, as if to prevent themselves being nervous or of going to sleep; farther away, hundreds of people seemed to be snoring. A soldier leant against his back; he knew it was a soldier because a bayonet kept pressing against his thigh; someone slid down across his legs, snoring loudly; he pulled up his knees, and the man went on snoring peacefully; out from a distant corner came the sound of a man in pain, in his sleep.

Some men were sitting at the foot of the ladder, and, because he heard Dr. O'Neill talking to them, he guessed that they were officers. He was evidently suggesting the possibility of getting down the wounded now that the firing had died away, but they kept on saying: "They'll start off again in a minute! It can't be done." Every now and then came the noise of heavy boots trampling hurriedly across the deck above; a figure would appear over the coaming, silhouetted against the clouds for a moment, and then someone would come hastily clattering down the ladder as if he were glad to get away from there. The whistle of an occasional bullet over that hatch explained this.

Another burst of firing broke out, swelled to a perfect fury of noise, and then subsided just as the others had done.

During a comparatively quiet interval which followed, several men scrambled down the ladders. They called out: "Worcesters to go ashore at once!" and then went back again, screwing themselves over the coaming and disappearing along the deck. The group of officers stirred themselves and stood up wearily--a tired, lackadaisical voice kept repeating "Sergeant-Major! Sergeant-Major!" then seemed to wake properly, and yelled it out.

Men began to stir. '"Ere, wake up, Major! You're wanted," came out of the dark; the sound of a man waking irritably from his sleep, scrambling to his feet, a long yawn, and then a sharp, decisive "Yes, sir! Sergeant-Major, sir!"

"Fall in, the Worcesters! Worcesters! The Worcesters have to go ashore," the officer shouted.

"Fall in, Worcesters! Fall in, Worcesters! Fall in! Fall in round the ladder!" Men all round took up the cry, waking those asleep. Men cursed and yawned, and yawned and cursed again.

"Who are you a-shaking of? I ain't a ruddy Worcester," growled someone. The darkness was full of bustle and noise as the Worcesters dragged themselves to their feet and groped round for their packs and rifles. Rifles clattered to the deck; men jostled, cursing, against each other, and the Sergeant-Major's voice kept calling out: "Come along, lads! We've got to go ashore! Hurry up, Worcesters! This way, Worcesters! Fall in near the ladder!"

Men began humping on their packs. The Orphan--by this time on his feet, to keep out of the way--had a rifle shoved into his hands. "'Old on to it, mate, while I shoves my blooming pack on." He helped the man whilst he secured the webbing-straps. Then a plaintive voice came out of the dark: "I cawn't find me pack! Where's me pack?"

There was a titter of amusement as the Sergeant-Major yelled for the men to help him find it.

"'Ere it is, you blighted idiot!" someone shouted. "You was a-sittin' on it."

"'Elp me on! 'Elp me on!" the idiot pleaded.

"You'll 'ave to 'ave a lady's maid, that's what you'll 'ave to 'ave. We cawn't go waiting for you, Bill 'Awkins," bawled the Sergeant-Major; and to judge by the silly cries of Bill Hawkins, they were strapping him up too tightly.

"Where's me rifle? I 'ad it in me 'ands, and now I cawn't find 'e," the company idiot stammered helplessly; and the man whom the Orphan was helping chuckled: "'E's a fair treat, that 'ere 'Awkins; 'e can never find nothink."

The rifle had to be found. The Captain with the lackadaisical voice was getting impatient. Matches were struck to look for it.

"Come along, Worcesters! Get up on deck!" shouted the Captain; and they began clattering up the wooden ladder, actually bandying jokes as they disappeared over the coaming, and went pattering along the deck. The company idiot, who was in a pitiable state of terror lest he should be left behind, found his rifle at last, and, clutching it, he rushed up the ladder after them.

"Now 'old on to it, and don't let it out o' yer 'ands. You'll 'ave to look arter yerself now," said the Sergeant-Major kindly, as he followed him.

Whilst these men had been getting ready, another outburst of firing had commenced, and the fusillade on shore sputtered furiously.

"I shouldn't care to have to go ashore, out into that," Dr. Gordon said; and Dr. O'Neill answered: "I wouldn't go as cheerfully as they seemed to. Grand chaps those!"

"That's the first time I've heard him praise anyone," thought the Orphan.

Firing died away again, until only an occasional shot broke the silence; and with that company of Worcesters gone, there was much more room.

The two doctors talked in a low voice. The Orphan heard Dr. O'Neill say cynically: "You can't get a night like this in Harley Street;" and the volunteer reserve doctor laughed, in his funny, nervous manner: "No, I can't. I expect my old butler wouldn't sleep much if he knew how I was spending my night. He looks after me as though I were a baby."

Someone came down the ladder--the Orphan thought he had on a naval cap--sat with his back against a stanchion, and went to sleep. A man coming down presently, knocked against him and woke him--a perfect torrent of oaths, in a very childish voice, following.

"Why, that's old Piggy Carter from the _Queen Elizabeth_," thought the Orphan. "I'd know his voice anywhere." He went across and shook him, for he had fallen fast asleep again. "Carter! You are Piggy Carter, ar'n't you? I'm Orpen; you remember me?"

He did; and listened sleepily to the Orphan telling him all about the shell and splinter holes in the _Achates_ deck and funnel, until Dr. O'Neill called out irritably: "Stop chattering!"

"Look here, Piggy, I want to go up on deck and have a look round," the Orphan whispered; but Piggy said he'd spent all day there, and in the water, with the lighters, and if the Orphan wanted to go along, more fool he, and he could go by himself. He--Carter--wanted to sleep, and didn't want to hear any more of "W" beach, or "X", or "Y", or "A", "B", or "C", or the whole tomfool alphabet of beaches.

And he went to sleep, with his back against the stanchion; and the Orphan, left to himself, sat on some sacks, watched the clouds moving across the open hatchway, and listened to the firing ashore, the pattering of bullets against the ship's side, and the snoring of tired men.

He went to sleep, and woke in the midst of a tremendous din. There was a perfect scream of rifle- and maxim-firing. He longed to go on deck, and wondered whether Dr. O'Neill would see him. Perhaps he was asleep too.

There was a new noise now--a much louder boom following a glare which lighted up the clouds, and then a smaller glare and a lesser sound; nearer they were, much nearer. "Those are field-guns," he said to himself; and after listening to them for some minutes, judging the distances of the different sounds, realized that they were our own guns. They began firing two shots, one after the other. "Two guns," he thought; and then felt certain that these were the very same guns which he had towed ashore that afternoon at "W" beach. He _must_ see what was going on.

He wriggled cautiously to the foot of the ladder--Dr. O'Neill's voice didn't call out to him--he went up it on hands and feet. As he reached the top a bullet whistled by; he ducked, and threw himself over the coaming, clung there, found himself on deck--the noise seemed louder there--and doubled himself up as he ran across to the shelter of the bulwark. He waited for half a minute to pull himself together, and then drew himself up and peered over.

Right in front of him was the dark mass of the cliffs--they seemed to be not 200 yards away--and twinkles of flame sparkled out all along the tops of them. As he looked, there was the glare of a field-gun flash which outlined the whole cliffs--the crash--and then a glare farther inland, and a fainter report of a shrapnel bursting. For an instant he saw before him a narrow strip of beach with a dark shadow above it. Then it was dark again; but all along it, all the time, spurts of rifle-flame, ten times as distinct and large as those twinkles of the Turks' rifles on the cliff, marked an irregular, uneven line, where he knew our own troops must be--those Worcesters, who had just landed, probably among them.

A little to the right, down in the centre of that spluttering line of flashes, there was a regular spout of flame--a maxim was rattling; farther away inland, twinkles darted out everywhere--the whole air seemed full of noises. Then he jumped nervously, for suddenly two or three maxims at the other end--from the bows of the _River Clyde_--opened fire at something or other, just as they had done before. He could see nothing moving; it was all very uncanny, and fearfully exciting. He forgot that bullets occasionally pinged overhead or splattered against the side of the ship, and waited there until that attack had been beaten off--or perhaps, after all, it had been a false alarm--and gradually first the maxims, then the volleys, then the individual firing died down, and left only a few snipers trying to find each other.

Then he had time to look round the deck. Close to him he saw something--some queer shape--moving in the shadow of the bulwark, and he put out his hand and felt the rough hair and the long, smooth ears which could only have belonged to a donkey. There were two of them, both tied up behind a little deck-house. They were glad for anyone to touch them; they nosed at him, as if he gave them comfort, and stamped their little feet on the deck to show their pleasure, and to make him understand how they wanted to be taken on shore.

He gave them each a friendly pat and scratched their ears, wondering what they were doing there.

But what he wanted to see were those maxims, away at the other end of the ship; to be actually behind them when they next opened fire, and to find out what was happening, and what they were firing at. So he crept along the deck, along a row of stretchers, with shapeless forms on them, lying close under the bulwark. One or two groaned, but they all seemed to be asleep, and then he gained the entrance to the dark passage or alley-way under the superstructure. In it a man was smoking--he saw the glowing end of his cigarette.

"Can I get along here?" the Orphan asked. "I want to get to the maxims."

A rough Yorkshire voice told him the passage was full of people asleep. "You'd be doing better to go up along; keep away t'other side, it's safer so."

So the Orphan retreated, crossed the open deck in front of the mast and cargo winch, found the ladder leading to the superstructure, and was just going up it, to the shelter of the starboard side of the deck-house, when he saw a stooping figure bending over a stretcher, and Dr. O'Neill's harsh voice growled out: "Here, you! come and lend a hand. Lift that corner of the stretcher."

A wounded man lay on it, very heavily asleep; and as the Orphan lifted, the Doctor pulled free a blanket which had caught under the stretcher, and spread it over him.

He had not recognized the Orphan, who promptly darted up the ladder lest he should do so, and stop him going to find those maxims. He groped his way to the ladder, which he knew must lead down to the for'ard "well" deck; found it, climbed down, and then the fo'c'sle itself was in front of him, and an iron ladder to climb up. He was up it like a redshank, and at last found himself right in the bows of the _River Clyde_.

Two almost simultaneous glares from the field-guns lighted the clouds and showed up, for a moment, the high battlemented curtain-walls and the bastions of Sedd-el-Bahr castle, and showed the fo'c'sle he stood on, the cables, the capstan winch, some sand-bags piled up in the bows, some men standing behind them, and three box-shaped structures--two on the port side and one on the starboard.

He did not know what these were.

*CHAPTER X*

*A Night Attack*

The Orphan, holding his breath, crept forward to look over the sand-bags in the bows, treading on hundreds of empty cartridge-cases which rolled about the deck.

Another glare from the field-guns, and he saw that one of the men standing there, peering through his glasses into the gloom below, was an officer of the Royal Naval Division--the "R.N.D."--a Sub-lieutenant, wearing a naval cap with the silver anchor badge. (He actually belonged to the Armoured Car Section.)

"Hello! Who are you? Where've you sprung from?" this officer called out.

The Orphan told him, and, thirsting for information, asked what was happening. "What's going on, sir?"

"I'm hanged if I know."

"But what were you firing at? Those maxims were firing a minute ago, weren't they?" he asked, disappointed.

"Were they?" the Sub-lieutenant repeated to the figure next to him, who replied dryly: "I fancy I heard them."

"I feel sure I heard some little noise too, now I come to think of it," said the Sub-lieutenant jocularly.

"What are those things?" the Orphan asked, pointing to the two dark, square, box-like structures along the port side of the fo'c'sle.

"Come along and see," said his new friend; took him to one, slid back an iron plate, and pushed him into a little space where three men crouched, in the darkness, round the breech of a maxim whose barrel stuck out through a loophole in the front.

"Quiet little cosy place, that," he heard the Sub-lieutenant say from the outside. "Come along and we'll shut them in again, or they'll catch cold."

He slid the rear plate into place, and led the Orphan back to the maxim in the bows. "They're comfortable enough in their little boxes, aren't they? Steel plates all round them, and a steel plate on top--all home comforts!"

"But what's going on? Do tell me," the Orphan begged, looking down over the bows.

"Would you like to start a battle? I bet you would;" and before the excited Orphan had time to think what he meant, he sang out: "Get hold of that gun," and pushed him down astride the tripod.

Mechanically the bewildered and flustered midshipman gripped the two handles, and stood by to press his thumbs on the firing-button.

"Now don't be in a hurry; point the thing over there. No, not there; that's where our chaps are; they wouldn't like it--beastly 'touchy' they are; point the other way; that's better."

The Orphan found himself training the gun towards where he could just distinguish the biggest and nearest of all the bastions, straight ahead of the ship.

"There's the front door of the castle, down there," continued his friend. "Turks are always coming in or out--lazy beggars they are--they want 'gingering up'. Wait till those field-guns, up beyond Cape Helles, fire; then you'll see it; the front door-steps show up white. Ah! there they go! That's about right! Keep her there! Let her rip!"

The Orphan, not really realizing what he was doing, pointed the gun towards a white patch, and jerked both his thumbs against the button. His eyes were blinded as "tut! tut! tut! tut!" flashed the gun, and the jar on his unaccustomed thumbs and wrists took off the pressure.

"Keep her going!" he heard his new friend shout; and setting his teeth and pressing with all his might, he tried to keep the maxim gun pointing in the right direction as it shook and rattled, and the empty cartridge-cases tumbled on to others upon the deck.

Immediately there were answering twinkles and sparks of rifles--a maxim somewhere above the castle doorway flamed out--the firing rang along the length of the beach, was taken on up above the cliffs; hundreds, thousands of shots were fired, and bullets whizzed over the fo'c'sle of the _River Clyde_, one or two thudding against the sand-bags.

"All right; let 'em go to sleep again," the Sub-lieutenant laughed, as the Orphan's tired thumbs and wrists refused to press the button any longer and the maxim stopped. In two minutes there was absolute silence.

"Well! Enjoy your battle?"

"Thank you very much!" the Orphan answered, tremendously pleased, and picking up a couple of the cartridge-cases he had fired, to keep as curios.

"What did happen?" he asked as he stood up again.

"A strong attack on the _River Clyde_ was beaten off with heavy loss, thanks to the brilliant handling of the maxims under the charge of--what did you say your name is?"

"Orpen of the _Achates_."

"----under the charge of Midshipman Orpen of H.M.S. _Achates_."

"But there wasn't any attack, was there, sir?"

"Not as I know of; but it sounds better, and we'll leave it at that," laughed the Sub-lieutenant.

He kept on peering into the darkness; he seemed a little anxious, taking advantage of the frequent glares from the field-guns to look very closely through his glasses.

"There's something going on down there--I'm blest if I know what! You have a look," and he handed the glasses to the midshipman. The Orphan peered through them, waited for the sudden coming of a glare, thought he saw figures moving, and said so.

"So do I; but I can't make out whether they are our fellows or not."

"Where are our men?" the Orphan asked.

"More to the left, along the beach--there's no cover just in front of the bows down there. You see those dark shadows under the bows; they're the lighters your chaps fixed up. The Turks have some maxims in one of the bastions of that old castle; they're the guns which did all the mischief this morning. We've been trying to knock 'em out all day, but can't seem to get hold of 'em."

"Was it very bad this morning?"

"Bad! My God! it was awful. You see those pontoons or lighters--wait for a flash from the field-guns. Ah! now you see them! By half-past eight this morning they were actually heaped with our men--dead and wounded. If a wounded man moved a finger, they filled him with bullets. Not one man out of three got ashore. They're still lying on them; thank God, the night hides them! Keep your eyes skinned; I'm certain there's something going on down there," he added sharply.

A messenger came from the bridge, climbing the fo'c'sle ladder, and calling out: "The officer! Where's the machine-guns officer?"

"Here I am."

"The Colonel thinks the Turks are going to try and rush the pontoons. He wants you to 'stand by' with your maxims."

"All right; let 'em try," and he calmly filled his pipe, struck a match, the flare of which seemed to the excited Orphan to illuminate the whole fo'c'sle, and proceeded very slowly to light it; whilst the Orphan hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels for excitement.

"Tell those two guns in the 'boxes' to train on the shore, near the pontoons, and 'stand by' to fire," the Sub-lieutenant said, casually giving the order, and sucking at his pipe as though he was thoroughly enjoying it.

"I'm certain there are some chaps down there, but we've landed nearly twelve hundred more since dark, and those may be some of them. I'm hanged if I know!"

"Ah, look!" he said quietly, as a glare from the field-guns showed, unmistakably, a figure approaching the end of the pontoons. "What kind of a cap has he? The Turks wear a shapeless thing, almost like one of our Balaclava helmets."

The Orphan, hugely excited, had caught a glimpse of him, but could not see the shape of his cap. He was scrambling from one pontoon to the next, moving about and then disappearing in a particularly dark shadow. It struck him that the man seemed to be putting his feet down very cautiously, almost as if he were looking for something and was afraid of treading on it.

"He has to move carefully, there are so many dead lying there," his friend explained.

"He's going back now," the Orphan whispered.

"That's rummy; so he is! and there are a lot more other chaps--a whole mass of them--coming towards him."