Dusk came, and night fell grey and calm. Flares—oil flares, the same as those one sees over a green-grocer's barrow, in a market, at home—were lighted and placed along the beach. No one had a "stand easy".
"What have you got?" would be shouted as a loaded boat crept in through the dark. "Come over this way—haul on that rope under your bows—that's better—there's room here."
Perhaps they were Ordnance stores or Army Service stores—each had to be kept apart—the coloured stripes on the boxes would be scanned by the light of a lantern or of the flares. The bluejackets hoisted them on to the shore, and placed them in separate heaps for the soldier working-parties to take away to their proper "depots", already formed, one on one side of the gully, the other on the other side. Hour after hour this work went on; the men commenced to realize that they were almost "played out", and, without thinking, would throw themselves down and rest whenever there was the chance. Rifle-fire grew as the night went on, and wounded came back with stories of strong Turkish counter-attacks on the ridge beyond the cliffs. If they had had time to notice it they would have heard one continuous splutter of musketry, but they were too tired to do anything except go on working mechanically.
At about midnight things became serious. Several men on the beach had been hit by stray bullets, and word was passed round to put out all the flares; news came that the troops up above were exhausted and running short of ammunition, and eventually the order ran along the beach: "Everyone with a rifle to fall in!"
The bluejacket beach party dropped their boxes and groped for their rifles, fell in, and were marched by the Lamp-post and Bubbles up the gully again. The Pink Rat dashed about carrying orders from the Commander and the Beach-master.
Those who had no rifles were told to get hold of ammunition-boxes and find their way up to the firing-line. The position was really serious at this time, though Bubbles and the Lamp-post were much too stupefied with fatigue to realize this.
Once up at the top of the gully, someone gave the order to turn to the left, and led the beach party up the slope. Things were evidently pretty lively; the air seemed alive with bullets, and the ridge was outlined by spurts of flame. They came to a trench running parallel with, and below, this ridge, and were told to lie down in it. "Line out, men! You may be wanted to reinforce the firing-trench in front. Don't fire unless you get the order," and the officer, whoever he was, disappeared in the dark, leaving Bubbles and the Lamp-post—now thoroughly awake—to spread their men along the trench. Some of their friends—the Ansons—joined them, and presently the Beach-master, the Commander, and the Pink Rat found them too.
For an hour they lay there doing nothing, Bubbles and the Lamp-post lying flat on their stomachs, next to a Staff officer at a telephone, who told them from time to time how things were "going". They both hoped that the front trench would require reinforcing.
Then they were taken out of that trench, and brought back to one still farther in the rear—almost on the edge of the cliffs. The men, losing interest, coiled up and went to sleep.
Some time afterwards there were calls for "volunteers to carry up ammunition"—the firing-line was "shrieking" for more cartridges.