The base camp from the sea gave an impression of a burnt-up waste. The long occupation had removed every sign of vegetation, and nothing remained but yellow sand and clouds of dust driving seaward in the freshening breeze.
The place was teeming with life, apparently oblivious of the falling shells. The whole face of the sand-cliff was honeycombed with dug-outs and roads cut for transport, and the beaches were covered with the endless paraphernalia of a camp in war-time.
Our next place of call was Rabbit Island, to the south of Helles. As we left the end of the peninsula, a wonderful panorama could be obtained of the whole position. Achi Baba loomed over all, while to the right Seddul Bahr, the entrance to the Dardanelles, and the Asiatic shore showed clearly. It was here that the disastrous attack of April 18 took place, which showed us the futility of forcing the Narrows without an adequate landing force acting in co-operation.
Our stay at Rabbit Island was short. Only one or two ships lay there. The island itself is a barren hummock of very small extent, and of little value except for the special use to which it is being put. Some ships' boats came off for fleet letters and a few mails, after which we took our departure for Tenedos.
Tenedos, one of the most flourishing of the islands in the vicinity of the Dardanelles, is used by us and the French as an aeroplane base. The picturesque harbour is surrounded by quaint buildings, with an ancient fort dominating the whole. A short stay here completed our business. The return journey to Helles and Kephalo was uneventful. True, our reception at Helles was disturbed somewhat by a 6-inch shell, which fell immediately astern of us as we were approaching our anchorage. Fortunately, this was a solo, for, though we momentarily anticipated the usual chorus, nothing further occurred to disturb our peace of mind. None the less, I must say I looked forward to an early departure; but this was disposed of temporarily by the arrival of a picket-boat with orders to wait for two naval officers. However, this only delayed us some twenty minutes, when we took our leave of Helles, arriving at Kephalo at dusk.
CHAPTER V
BEACH-PARTIES
In the various landings in Gallipoli it naturally came about that the Navy, after the actual disembarkation of the troops, had a great deal of work to do in connection with the incessant stream of material, stores, etc., and this necessitated more or less permanent beach-parties, composed of bluejackets who lived and had their being with the soldiers at the base camps. A naval captain, as beach master, one or two lieutenants and midshipmen to run the picket-boats, and a number of seamen ratings comprised these parties. It was their duty to see to the handling of the transports, landing of stores, and the various other jobs which come natural to a sailor where sea and shore meet. The bluejacket takes a different view of life from the soldier. This is not surprising, for his mode of life and training is peculiar to the Navy. Certainly the sailors on the beaches were generally regarded with considerable interest by their military companions. A Major with whom I came in contact gave me an entertaining account of the naval camp situated close to his dug-out. It appeared at the commencement of activities on shore that the collecting of souvenirs, in the shape of shell-splinters, shrapnel cases, or anything of this nature, was greatly in vogue, and developed into something of a fine art. As a rule, when the Turks began to shell the beaches, every one whose occupation would allow, dived into his dug-out and remained there until the firing had ceased. The sailors' camp was no exception to this; but however hot the fire, one or more heads would invariably be seen projecting from the entrance to the dug-out somewhat like a tortoise looking out from his shell. An instinctive knowledge seemed to be possessed by the owners of the heads where a shell in flight was likely to pitch. The moment the explosion had taken place a number of men carrying spades would emerge from the dug-outs, race across the sand and scrub to the spot and begin a furious digging competition for fragments.
Sailors have been trained from youth up to regard anything and everything, from a piece of string to a traction engine, as likely to be of use at some time or other. Consequently their dug-outs were museums of all the flotsam and jetsam which a military base provides in war-time, and, I imagine, a good deal which does not come into this category.