CHAPTER X
IN THE FIRING LINE
That first night on land was a restless night and a never-ending one, though everybody was up by the first streak of dawn. I woke and slept, woke up and slept. Twice the rain pattered in my face, forcing me to cover my head, then the men guarding a pool of water somewhere at hand relieved guard, and trod on me in the process. The colonel went away once, giving me his glasses and map case and other things to look after. Yet again I was wakened by two fellows close beside me. I came out of a doze, and heard them speaking in mysterious tones.
“There’s a bloke moving in the bushes. I heard him sure. Is anybody round the other side?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It may be a sniper.” The other fellow grunted. “We had better make certain.” The other fellow grunted again. Something more was said, and one got up, went a little way into the bushes and poked about a bit with stick or bayonet, I could not see which. The search was without result, and he came back and lay down, and the conversation went on a while in whispers. I was dozing again when a couple of bullets plumped into the bank three or four foot overhead, and tiny showers of dirt trickled down. That woke me up with a vengeance. The night was much clearer, but damp and forbidding; and my circulation played tricks, for I seemed more exposed than I had believed. I moved my head about to find where to go, and in the end dragged everything a few yards lower down, where I was alone and could be closer in to our right bank. I felt more secure; but I was wide awake, and stayed so a long while. I doubt not all were glad when dawn arrived.
I got up feeling like a cat rubbed the wrong way. My clothes had not been off. Yet there was no wash nearer than the sea. In the manner of last night we had breakfast of biscuits and bully beef, sent down with a mouthful of water, and afterwards I sat huddled and yawning, picking my teeth with a twig from the nearest bush. It was pretty cold just then, and I wished the colonel would make a start on his travels. He was not long about it. Breakfast over and the world properly alight, we set off, turning as usual for the beach.
The beach was like yesterday, as crowded and as busy. There was more ammunition about, and a higher stack of provisions. Our battleships were moving, for action later on it might be, and Turkish shrapnel came over in merry morning bursts. We spent much time on the beach, and the sun rose high up at last. We went this way and that way and every way, tramping over the shingle and threading through the crowds. The colonel was full of business. He met endless officers, talked plans with some, and gave a how-de-do to others just ashore. Also there were long intervals of waiting, when one might look round and find out what was happening.
The morning was bright with sunshine, the air a trifle sharp. Over all the ocean mounted thin smoke lines from the battleships and transports. High up into the sky they went, for there was no wind to speak of. Between those waiting giants and the shore hurried the thousand small craft which already I have told you of. It was like grown-ups and children on an autumn morning, the elders rheumy and contained, the youngsters racing in good spirit.
Wandering thus, we came on a party of sailors leaning back on a rope lashed to a barge, I think. The group was large, and a warrant officer with a gold band on his sleeve took charge. The men were elderly or over youthful, naval reservists and recruits, said I, and I saw such pimply, ill-bred faces as London breeds. The warrant officer was short and vast of girth, and a khaki solar hat covered a face seamed and fiery from tropic suns and strong spirits. I thought of a barrel on legs. I warrant his wife made small demur when he packed up for the wars. He marched solemnly up and down the line of men, eyeing this one and that one, and giving short, sharp commands. The front men splashed in the water, and the tail of the line trailed across the beach; and all the while the shrapnel came over in a dirty fashion, clawing at the water sometimes, and sometimes spurting on to the pebbles. I could not help measuring the distance to the friendly cliffs; but ill it became one to consider retreat, and I swelled my chest and looked as though I liked it.