"Now listen. Do you hear anything?"
"No," I answered, after awhile.
"Listen again. You won't catch it first go."
I strained my ears, while Doe stared at me.
"Yes, I hear it," I proclaimed at last. "Is it Helles, do you think, or Suvla?"
"I expect some of it is the old Turk trying to resist the invasion of Suvla."
For I had heard a distant throb in the air—no more—like a heart beating miles away. At times the throb became a rumble which could be felt rather than heard. Something in me jumped at the sound. The startled feeling was rather pleasing than otherwise. It was not a small thing to hear for the first time the guns of Gallipoli, to whose mouths our lives had been slowly drawing us during nineteen years.
§5
Padre Monty finished the voyage in his own style. Early the next morning he had a corporate farewell Mass for all his servers and his family. And this is the true story how Major Hardy chanced to limp to the service.
He retired early from the revels of the previous night, and, as Doe and I were getting into our bunks, we heard him in his cabin next door whistling "Home, sweet Home," while he disrobed. We heard the steward ask him: