Читать книгу A Naval Venture - T. T. Jeans - Страница 9

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Off to the Dardanelles

The Achates arrived at Port Said on the 18th March and made fast, head and stern, to the Senior Naval Officer's buoys, off Navy House.

It was on this date that the combined French and British fleet made the attack on The Narrows—the attack which ended so disastrously with the loss of the Ocean, Irresistible, and Bouvet, and the crippling of the Inflexible and Gaulois.

A very bad day it was, only relieved by some daring acts of bravery, of which none so roused the admiration of the whole fleet as the courage displayed by those destroyers which went alongside the mortally wounded Ocean and Irresistible, and removed their crews under a concentrated fire from many heavy guns.

It was magnificent.

But the Achates lay comfortably at Port Said all that tragic day, making preparations for repairing the damage caused by the Smyrna shells, and talking by wireless to her chummy ship the Bacchante, anchored off Suez, at the other end of the Canal.

Barely six weeks ago the Turks had made their feeble attack on the Suez Canal, and of course the first thing that the Honourable Mess decided to do was to visit Kantara and Tussum, where the fighting had taken place. The Lamp-post had an elder brother on the staff at Ismailia, the Pimple had a long-lost cousin in an Indian regiment at Kantara, and by dint of much worrying of these two unfortunate young soldiers, everyone had the opportunity of visiting these places and picking up a few bullets.

Anyhow, they had a very joyous three weeks, only slightly damped by the almost entire disappearance of the damage done by the Smyrna shells; but a few holes remained in one funnel, and they looked forward intensely to showing these to their chums in the Bacchante. Eventually that ship came back through the Canal, the Achates followed her outside, and both of them steamed away to join the Eastern Mediterranean Squadron at its base at Mudros, the harbour in the island of Lemnos, sixty miles or so from the end of the Gallipoli Peninsula and the commencement of the Dardanelles. At last they were to take a hand in "The Great Adventure".

At two o'clock in the afternoon of the 12th April they both slipped through the "gate" in the submarine net, and anchored in that great land-locked harbour.

It was extraordinarily impressive to see the enormous assemblage of ships there—both French and British ships of every kind—battleships, cruisers, destroyers, submarines, huge transports, store ships, colliers, auxiliaries of all sorts, two white-painted hospital ships, trawlers, and tugs.

At the top of the harbour lay the little white town of Mudros, with its white twin-towered Greek church, and its row of spidery windmills on the ridge behind it; though the Honourable Mess had not much time to gaze open-mouthed at all these things, and to grin with pleasure when the Bacchante anchored in the wrong place and was obliged to shift billet; because a collier came alongside almost immediately, and down they had to go, get into "coaling rig", and, for the rest of that bright sunny afternoon, "coal ship".

Everybody knew that the next attack on the Dardanelles would be a combined naval and military operation, and as transport after transport came steaming into Mudros harbour, the enthusiasm and excitement increased.

Also the Honourable Mess dined their pals of the Bacchante, and proudly showed them the few traces still remaining of the damage done to the ship at Smyrna. This was a beautiful occasion, because it washed out all memory of the incident of the "sea-gulls"—not one of them mentioned it—and also because the Bacchante snotties introduced a delightful new form of "drag" hunt round the "half-deck", the "drag" being a piece of decomposed cheese (which they brought with them) and some Tabasco sauce and Chile vinegar dropped discreetly at intervals. As a special privilege, the "War Baby" was invited to the "meet", and the "Youngest Thing in Marine Subalterns" joyfully left the exalted atmosphere of the ward-room, unbuttoned the trouser-straps under the soles of his boots—the straps which kept his trousers and their broad scarlet stripes so beautifully straight—and prepared for the fray.

Blindfolded, and on hands and knees, these young gentlemen enjoyed a famous "run"; and though the Padre did object to the "drag" being placed on the pillow in his cabin bunk, even that did not seriously diminish their enjoyment. As a matter of fact, it slightly added to it.

Exactly what part the Navy would take in the approaching "landing" on the Gallipoli Peninsula no one exactly knew; but when the news came that men were being told off for "beach parties", and then when the Pink Rat, Bubbles, and the Lamp-post were ordered to be prepared to land with them and provide themselves with some sort of khaki uniform, excitement rose to fever pitch.

Within half an hour the Pink Rat appeared in the mess in proper soldiers' kit—beautifully fitting—which, he explained, "he'd brought out with him in case of accident".

"If you went to Heaven you'd turn up at the gate, and sign your name in old Peter's book with a pair of wings on and a mouth-organ!" the Sub snorted when he saw him; and Uncle Podger suggested that "he probably had a tail, with a sting on it, and a brand-new shovel, stowed away somewhere on board, lest, "in case of accident", he found himself in the other place."

The whole Honourable Mess concerned themselves with the fitting out of Bubbles and the Lamp-post. Proper khaki was unobtainable—at that time—so they dyed their white uniform in Condy's fluid, and as it shrunk in the process, and the resulting colour was a dirty yellow, streaked with brown, the effect was not good.

"Most unsatisfactory!" said Uncle Podger, when they first tried it on and he saw the Lamp-post's ankles and wrists sticking out far beyond the ends of trousers and sleeves, and Bubbles hardly able to breathe in his. "Most unsatisfactory! It will be an insult to the Honourable Mess if either of you are found 'corpsed'."

"You mustn't tell them you belong to the Achates when they come to bury you," the others shouted. "You must promise that!"

"You're perfect scarecrows," roared the Sub when he saw them—"a pair of confounded convicts!"

Everybody laughed at them and devoutly envied them—and they laughed at each other.

Rawlinson, who prided himself on being a really great poet, burst out with:

"Two little convicts going out to fight,

One had his clothes too short, the other much too tight!"

There was a roar of laughter as the Honourable Mess lifted up their voices, chanting this, and dancing round the quaint pair, whilst Rawlinson, exhausted with the production of this exquisite couplet, retired to a corner to think out something which would rhyme with khaki.

The Lamp-post, grimacing, and trying to twist himself so that he could get a back view, didn't know or care what he looked like, but said he felt "like a prize idiot".

"How nice to feel natural for once, Lampy!" that insubordinate officer, the China Doll, squeaked.

This was simply asking for trouble. The two convicts chased him round the table, just missing him as he dashed out into the half-deck. Piercing shrieks for help followed, and the others rushed out to rescue him.

A glorious scrap followed.

"At any rate," said the Sub, when they'd come back again to repair damages, and the Hun had apologized for tearing the Pink Rat's coat-collar, "you'll both frighten the old Turks. That's one comfort."

There were so many things to keep up the excitement during those days of preparation. The transports, with their cheering loads of British, Australians, New Zealanders, French, and Algerian troops; the quaint old battleships from home, the dear old "mine bursters", with their clumsy, projecting spars and tackle, over the bow, for booming off mines; the balloon ship practising its funny, yellow gas-bag at the outer anchorage, and the enemy aeroplanes and their bombs. These last were, at first, a source of immense delight to the Honourable Mess, but eventually they became a little sorry for them—they flew so high and dropped their bombs so very unsuccessfully.

"How very disappointing!" said the Lamp-post one day. "Just fancy having brought along those bombs, to drop 'em harmlessly, and then have to fly back, all that way, without having done any damage."

He was quite serious about it, and, as a matter of fact, one could not but feel sorry for the poor chap, up there in his Taube, who, having expended all his four bombs uselessly, found he had to fly back some sixty miles to wind'ard, before he could go and "turn in" and try to forget about it.

Then, one day, they heard that their old friend the torpedo-boat, down at Smyrna, had come out to sea and fired three torpedoes at a crowded transport without hitting her; and by nightfall came the news that she had been chased, driven ashore, and destroyed by gun-fire. That was very good "business".

Next came the order that steel plates were to be built round the steering-wheels of the steam pinnace and the picket-boat, to protect the midshipmen and coxswains from rifle-fire. Almost at the same time the Orphan and the Hun (who was in charge of the steam pinnace) had been ordered to provide themselves with khaki, and told that their boats would be required to tow the soldiers to the beaches, on the day of the grand attack.

It was a great moment for both of them; and what a mess they made of their hands and clothes with Condy's fluid, and what prize burglars they looked when at last they showed themselves arrayed for war!

Every ship had to supply one or more steamboats, and each ship devised its own rifle protection. The Achates' boats had a steel plate about five feet high bolted to the deck, in front of their steering-wheels, with a narrow, horizontal slit just below the upper edge, so that when those behind it stooped down under cover they could steer through this. The ends of the plates curved back a couple of feet, so as to give side protection.

Some ships built regular steel boxes with "all round" protection, others carried the side plates so far aft that they protected men standing in the stern-sheets; and the snotties in the boats with the least protection made great fun of those who had more. Probably, among the hundred thousand men in that harbour, during the days prior to the landing, the twenty or thirty snotties in charge of these steamboats were the most supremely happy of all.