The Sub shook his head. "I don't think so."
They went back into the gun-room just in time to hear the China Doll plaintively saying: "I didn't like going up to the top one bit; a shell came very close to me;" and the others singing out: "What does your carcass matter? Wind up the gramophone and let's have a noise!"
A most perfect night followed, and nearly everyone slept on deck; but hardly had they been turned off the quarter-deck next morning, when shells began whistling across the Achates, and off she had to go again to get away from them. These shells came from a 4.1-inch high-velocity gun, and gave about three seconds "notice" before they arrived. That morning, for the first time, the Turks turned a 5.9-inch gun on the shore—the same calibre gun as "Gallipoli Bill"—bursting high explosives with their tremendous roar, abreast the ship, on what was known as "New A" beach, a convenient little split in the rocks where most of the boats ran in, and close to where "Kangaroo Pier" was being built. These shells fell almost vertically and did very little harm, but their noise was extremely disconcerting.
That evening the battleship Venerable arrived, and next day the Achates became more or less of a depot ship for the Naval transport officers, the Harbour-master, the surveying officers, and (as Uncle Podger said, when their midshipmen "assistants" and the midshipmen of all the "stray" pickets came to live in her)—a "home for lost dogs". The gun-room was again invaded by tired, weary snotties, in their grimy Condy's-fluid-stained uniforms, who, when they were not eating, lay about on the leather cushions and odd corners, and slept. The Pimple and the China Doll were almost reduced to tears when they thought how the gun-room stores would disappear once more.
It was a depressing day; they could not call the gun-room their own. They heard of the fall of Warsaw; nothing seemed able to stop the German advance through Poland and Galicia; and this new landing gave not any hope of success.
"Oh, bother it all! Stick another needle in, China Doll, and start that rotten gramophone," they said.
At the mention of gramophone the Lamp-post would always slink out of the Mess.
The Turks had left them alone that day—as far as shells were concerned; but Fritz, the submarine, evading the patrolling trawlers, let go a torpedo at the balloon ship—the Manica—outside, beyond the nets.
A plaintive signal came from her that a torpedo had passed underneath her, and a submarine had been seen from the balloon—that yellow monstrosity waggling above her. That meant another interval for excitement, and a manning of the small guns in case Fritz took it into his head to pop up his periscope anywhere near. The balloon was hauled down, and off went the Manica to seek protection behind the "net" at Kephalo, in Imbros Island.
More shells came along on the Sunday morning, just when the Honourable Mess, clothed only in towels, clamoured for "next turn" at the little baths. Again the ships had to get under way, and the Swiftsure reported one hit, without casualties. It was a quaint crowd of undraped young officers who gathered behind the six inches of armour round Y1 casemate, and waited for the "sh—sh—plonk" of the Turks' shells to cease, and the bugle to sound the "carry on", before they rushed back to complete their toilet. Don't imagine that the ships took their insults "lying down". They blazed away at where the guns were reported to be, or where they thought they were; but as you should know by now, it was practically impossible to spot them; and, in time, everybody learnt that the best thing to do was to plug a few shells into Anafarta village (keeping clear of the Red Crescent flags which decorated it), where one shrewdly expected that the Turkish Head-quarters Staff and its German "pals" had comfortable "diggings". A few shells there, delicately placed, generally had the desired effect. One could almost imagine the German Staff Officer (when shells began knocking down the houses round him) cursing: "Gott im Himmel! it's not good enough being bothered like this. Telephone to that confounded battery to leave 'em alone, till I've finished my breakfast; it's not doing any good, anyway."