The launch cast aboard us a hawser, and we fastened ourselves to her ——, I have no nautical terms.
“Are you ready, sir?” called the heavy lieutenant.
“No,” the colonel cried back. “The doctor’s not here! Where’s Doc?” he exclaimed impatiently to himself. “What’s the matter with the fellow?”
Just then the doctor showed up above, and the colonel, who had cast a hundred glances that way during the last five minutes, shouted out, “Hurry up, Doc, hurry up, man! We’re just off! You’re late, man! You’re late!”
The doctor came down the ladder as fast as he could, and half a dozen hands steadied him for the final drop. He was just aboard as the naval officer called out again, “If you’re ready, sir, cast off from the ship, please!” We threw overboard our ropes; and the launch, which had chug-chugged fussily alongside, moved up ahead of us, strained on our hawser, and took us in tow. Now we were moving gently through the waters, and the great hull of the ship towered above, and the fellows in hundreds hung over the side and sent after us their best luck. Woods’s black head looked through a porthole and gave me a couple of short nods, and I felt he envied me my seat. Then we were free from the ship and speeding briskly along. The sea was clearing of craft, and we turned towards the emptier ways. Next we had swung in our course and were steering towards the hills.
Now, as we passed into clearer waters, and the choppy waves splashed our sides, sending the clumsy barge bumping up and down, I drank a further draught of life’s champagne. The officers and fellows sat quietly in their places, all looking to the land which was growing into shape. No doubt I sat as quiet as any, no doubt my own eyes seldom left the land; but the moment I had often thought of was come, and I found myself ready for it.
Forward we went towards the frowning anchorage, at the pace of a pleasure boat making for a picnic ground. Ten minutes, five minutes, and we should meet their rifle fire. Aye, there we sat in the horse barge, as still as still could be, some shielded by the guns and waggons, some bent forward and very solemn, but all, I warrant, thankful the hour had struck. In the launch a cable’s length away every man was behind armour. The officer looked through a hole before him, and turned from time to time to the man at the spitting engine, or in spare moments examined the shape of his boots. The man at the engine was frowning and looking at the land.
We throbbed over the choppy waters, and the hills marched towards us, showing themselves full of ragged gulleys bristling with stunted scrub. Not a soldier moved among them, not a puff of smoke came out; but there was a roar of guns behind us, and there was a far-off bubbling sound ahead. I did not know what it meant then, I gave it small attention; but I was to learn its meaning well enough. Forward we went, and the band of waters narrowed, and a strip of sandy shore came out below the hills. Then high overhead passed a thin, singing sound, and the first bullet flicked the water yards away. We were within rifle range. “Get under cover, everyone!” somebody called out, and all who could dived down among the waggons. A second bullet went by and a third; but they passed high over, or to the right or left. But the sound was new and set me thinking.
We neared shore quickly now—half a mile of water was all that intervened. The beach was plainly to be seen as a narrow sandy stretch running as far as you like to right and left. And then I was surprised to find the whole flat crowded with people; and in places were stacks of stores in building, and straight before us was a wireless plant fully rigged. They were losing no time! And—Jove, yes!—there were sappers driving roads; and—Jove!—there was a mule battery passing from view.
As we bumped along, the one or two bullets that passed our way, and an odd dose of shrapnel falling generally afar off, were all the attention the enemy gave us; but nearing the land, matters warmed up. Steady doses of shrapnel were coming over the hills. They were meant for the beach, no doubt; but the angle of descent was tricky, and nearly all overshot the mark and hissed into the water. To hear the clap overhead and the rush of bullets on to the waves made one start measuring the distance to the friendly cliffs. I was down between a waggon wheel and the barge’s side, and, despite an uneasy feeling at heart, I must poke up my head from time to time to watch the widening shore and mark where the last shower of bullets had torn the waters.