We do not like work; but what soldiers do?
And we’re after the Turk on the good ship Hindoo.
Later on men appeared with their bedding—a blanket and a rug, with a coat for pillow—something of that sort—and put it down in unoccupied spaces. The groups about the piano would thin, before ten o’clock lights on the troopdeck went out, the men turned into bed, and conversation died to whispers. So another day of waiting ended. Often I would lie awake to stare up at the chilly stars, or to watch the tireless winking of the Morse lights. At those times many a strange thought knocked at the doors of my brain.
At last it seemed our waiting was over. Rumour became persistent and less vague. Something of the plan of campaign was told us, and we were detailed to our boats and our duties. I was given a place in the first boat leaving the ship, as Colonel’s orderly. I took heart from that moment.
The plan of attack was in this manner. The Frenchmen were to land at Kum Kale on the Asiatic side; the British at Sed-el-Bahr opposite. The New Zealanders and ourselves would pass beyond the British, and attempt a point somewhere near Gaba Tepeh. A fleet of mine-sweepers was the van of the expedition, with cruisers to follow and cover the destroyers bearing the infantry. Behind came the artillery, behind them yet other units. The approach would be made by night, and the attack launched at break of day. The artillery transports carried two batteries from one brigade, and a single battery from another, with the idea that two boats might unload together, and a complete brigade be put ashore in record time. All horses would remain on board a day or two at least. Such meagre details we received; but we were told everything had been considered, and the undertaking would prove among the greatest of history.
Finally arrived the afternoon of the last day.
Through the morning there had seemed no unusual preparation: indeed the lively destroyers were drawn up in a little fleet on one side, where they steamed idly all day. With declining afternoon there came a rattling of our anchor cables and a general business of seamen, and later the murmurings of turning screws: and, before it might be realised, our boat was swinging and moving down that populous thoroughfare towards the open sea. Up went a burst of voices, up and across the bay; and to starboard and to port of us decks filled with khakied men. Solemnly we moved along. Many a noble craft of war we passed, with cold grey sides and polished guns; many a splendid liner bearing a townshipful of men. Past all we went—past all—and through the open net into the outer bay. Our engines slowed again, cables roared and rattled anew, and the anchors plunged into the sea. Here we must wait until the final hour.
We were of the earliest transports to move. Now the fleet followed us in single procession. Some anchored in our neighbourhood, many steamed on towards the horizon; there seemed no rule. The sun sank down, and ocean and skyline met in a clear rim; and where they met, tiny black cruisers were silhouetted against the light. They were to guard us through the night.
The sun rim was a-dip. Close to starboard of us had anchored a French trooper, and now about her clustered a weird fleet of pinnaces, towing chains of open boats. We were wondering at the meaning of the sight when word arrived that the Frenchmen would practise a landing. The boats filled with men, the signal was given, the pinnaces steamed at speed for the shore. Like hurrying serpents they swept through the oily waters to meet the land as dusk descended.
Against the glowing sky I noted the heads of the men moving above their huddled bodies, and the thin rifle barrels bristling everywhere. One could not see the faces, one could only imagine; yet I know the uneasy and the stern were there; and those who called on One mightier than themselves to help them through the morrow.