On Land and Sea at the Dardanelles Part 3

Tingle's honest face darkened.

'No, by gosh. She slipped away in the dark, and never a one of us set eyes on her. What are ye to do with a thing like that? It's like trying to tackle a shark with a shot gun.'

'Here's your khaki,' he continued, 'dry and warm. s.h.i.+ft as sharp as ye can. The old man, he don't wait for n.o.body.'

Ken and Dave changed in quick order, and as soon as they had finished were conducted for'ard for breakfast. Biscuit, b.u.t.ter out of a tin, sardines, and cocoa. War fare, but all the best of its kind, and the boys did justice to it.

The 'old man'--that is, Commander Carey--was on the bridge when they came on deck. He greeted them kindly, and Ken ventured to ask if anything had been heard of Kemp.

'Not a word,' was the answer. 'He's not been picked up, so far as any one knows. Probably he's food for the fishes by this time. Well, good-bye to you. Wish you luck.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Ken and Dave together. Then they were over the side into the collapsible, and were pulled straight across to the wall-sided 'Charnwood' which lay at anchor less than half a mile away.

Mudros Bay, which is a great inlet in the south of the island of Lemnos, was alive with craft of all sorts. Wars.h.i.+ps and transports by the dozen, British and French, were lying at anchor in every direction, and in and out among them, across the brilliant, sunlit waters, dashed picket boats and all sorts of small craft.

'My word, this looks like business!' said Dave, as he glanced round at the busy scene.

'It does,' agreed Ken. 'Last time I was here, there were two tramps and an old Turkish gunboat. Not a darned thing else.'

A couple of minutes later they were alongside the big 'Charnwood,' to be greeted with shouts of delight from a number of their Australian comrades who were leaning over the side.

They said good-bye to the destroyer men who had ferried them across, and climbed the ladder to the deck, where they were immediately surrounded and smacked on the back, and generally congratulated. The two were very popular with the whole of their battalion, and their comrades were unfeignedly glad to find that they had not lost the number of their mess.

Pus.h.i.+ng through the throng, they went aft to report themselves to their commanding officer, Colonel Conway. He had, of course, already heard of Ken's adventure with the spy in the bathroom, but took him aside to get further particulars.

'No, nothing has been heard of him,' he said. 'I do not think it possible that he can have been picked up.

'And yet,' he added, 'that's odd, for he must have had plenty of time to get on deck, and, so far as we can learn, we have not lost a man.'

'Do you think the submarine could have picked him up, sir?'

'Not a chance of it. She went under the very moment she had fired her torpedo. If she had not, the destroyers would have got her.'

'I ought to have got Kemp, sir,' said Ken, rather ruefully.

'You did your best, Carrington,' the other answered kindly. 'And you are to be congratulated that Kemp did not get you.'

Ken went back to join his friends forward, and answer a score of questions as to the struggle in the bathroom. By the remarks of his companions who had, one and all, lost everything they possessed, except what they stood up in, it was clear that Kemp, if still alive, would stand a pretty thin chance should any of these l.u.s.ty Australians set eyes on him again.

There was no sh.o.r.e leave. No orders were out yet, but the rumour was everywhere that they were to sail that very day.

Presently a tug came alongside with fresh provisions. She also brought a quant.i.ty of rifles and ammunition to replace those lost in the sunken 'Cardigan Castle.' Spare uniforms, overcoats, and other kit were also put aboard, and shared up among the s.h.i.+pwrecked troops.

'The old country's waked up this time,' said Dave to Ken, as he tried the sights of a new rifle. 'There's stuff ash.o.r.e here for an army corps, they tell me. It's no slouch of a job to fit us all out fresh in a few hours.

They'd never have done it in the Boer War.'

'My dear chap, the Boer War was child's play compared with this. w.i.l.l.y has set the whole world ablaze. All the same, I agree with you that England is getting her eyes open at last. But it's a pity the people at home didn't realise first off that forcing the Dardanelles was almost as important as keeping the Germans out of Calais. If they'd sent us here two months ago instead of fooling round trying to get wars.h.i.+ps through the Straits, the job would have been done by now. As it is, they've given the Turks a chance to fortify all the landing places, and I'll bet they've done it too.'

'What sort of landing places are they?' asked Dave.

'Just beaches--little bays with cliffs behind them. And the cliffs are covered with scrub, and so are the hills inland. Ideal ground for the defence, and rotten to attack.'

'You talk as if you'd been there?'

The speaker was a big, good-looking young New Zealander, with a face burnt almost saddle colour by wind and sun. His dark blue eyes gleamed with a merry, devil-may-care expression which took Ken's fancy at once.

'Yes, I've been there,' Ken answered modestly, and was at once surrounded by a crowd all eager for any information he could give. Luckily for him, at that very minute some one shouted.

'We're off, boys. There's the signal to weigh anchor.'

Instantly all was excitement; the cable began to clank home, smoke poured from the funnels, and in a very short time the whole fleet of transports was moving in a long line out of the harbour, escorted by a bevy of busy, black destroyers.

As the 'Charnwood' pa.s.sed into her place, the men lined the sides and cheered for all they were worth.

'What day is this?' said Ken to Dave, as the big transport pa.s.sed out of the mouth of the bay.

'Friday, the twenty-third,' was the answer.

'Twenty-third of April,' said Ken. 'St. George's Day. Then I tell you what, Dave, this is going to be a Sunday job.'

'You mean we'll be landed on Sunday?'

Ken nodded.

'That's about it,' he answered.

CHAPTER III

THE LANDING

'Hallo, what's up?' asked Dave Burney. 'We're off again.'

It was the night of Sat.u.r.day the 24th of April. For the greater part of the day the 'Charnwood' had been lying off Cape h.e.l.les, which is the southernmost point of the Gallipoli Peninsula, while the people listened to the thunder of guns, and watched the shrapnel bursting in white puffs over the scrub-clad heights of the land.

Now, about midnight, she had got quietly under way, and was steaming steadily in a nor'-westerly direction.

'What's up?' Dave repeated in a puzzled tone. 'This ain't the way to Constantinople.'

'Don't you be too sure of that, sonny,' remarked Roy Horan, the big New Zealander who was standing with the two chums at the starboard rail. 'We ain't going home anyhow. I'll lay old man Hamilton's got something up his sleeve.'

'That's what I'm asking,' said Dave. 'What's the general up to? So far as I can see, there are only three other transports going our way. The rest are staying right here. What's your notion, Ken?'

'I don't know any more than you chaps,' Ken answered. 'But I'll give you my opinion for what it's worth. I think we're going to do a sort of flank attack. The main landing will probably be down here at the Point. Then when the Turks are busy, trying to hold 'em up, we shall be slipped in somewhere up the coast so as to create a sort of diversion.'