Phil and Tony were delighted with it, but as the boat drew nearer, and dirt and squalor became visible, their faces fell.
“Pah! It’s worse than a farmyard,” exclaimed Tony, with disgust, as he sniffed the air. “And look at that mud!”
“Wait a minute, and let us see what the streets are like. Perhaps they will be interesting,” answered Phil, with a laugh. “Certainly this part of Gallipoli is rather unsavoury, and the sooner we are away from it the better.”
The boat touched the shore, and, having paid the small sum demanded, the two set off, and were soon in the centre of the town. Every moment some new sight arrested their attention, and in the excitement of the moment they quickly forgot the dirt and foul gutters to be seen everywhere. Grave Turks accosted them, politely stepping on one side to allow room for them to pass; Greeks weighed down with huge baskets of merchandise staggered past; and ever and anon a swarthy, unclean-looking Armenian Jew flitted down some by-street as if fearing to be seen. Soldiers in every variety of uniform, Highlanders, lithe, plucky-looking little riflemen, and daintily-dressed Zouaves came by singly and sometimes arm-in-arm, a burly Englishman fraternising with some dapper little Frenchman, and endeavouring vainly to carry on a conversation with him.
Phil and Tony were greatly interested, but to their astonishment, though the sight of foreign soldiers must have been a rare one indeed to the Turks, not a single inhabitant of this oriental spot showed any curiosity or looked up when they passed. In every little shop or doorway a Turk was seated cross-legged on a low divan, puffing moodily at his chibouk, each and every one, whether grey-bearded or otherwise, motionless, immovable, and absolutely uninterested.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Phil. “Did you ever see such a sleepy lot, Tony? They look as though an earthquake would not move them; and the children, too, seem just as little upset by the arrival of the troops.”
“They are about the sleepiest lot I ever see,” growled Tony in reply. “That old cove over there might be made of wax; and what’s this a-coming down the street? I suppose it’s a woman, but she might just as well be a sack. Ugh! Give me England and English girls! Let’s get on, old man, and see what these here Frenchmen are up to.”
Everywhere the streets were labelled with French names, and indeed the French seemed to be far more en evidence than the British. They had inaugurated a café, the best building in the town was utilised as their hospital, and their general had his quarters in a prominent position. One might have thought that the British were not there at all, save that Highlanders stepping briskly along the pavements, and an occasional infantry-man or a mounted orderly passing through the streets showed that our forces too were represented.
“It is curious to see so much that is French and so little that is English,” remarked Phil in a disappointed voice. “Everywhere it’s Rue this or Rue that; never an English name, from the landing-stage to the edge of the town. What can our people be doing?”
“They’re awake. You trust ’em for that,” Tony answered with conviction, “Just because they haven’t christened all the streets and painted their names everywhere, don’t you think they’re not every bit as good as these here Froggies.”