That Sunday afternoon our troops tried to advance along the ridge beyond Suvla Point, and did make some headway; but they came up against a wretched redoubt, a thousand yards from Jephson's Post, crammed with machine-guns, and were brought to a standstill.
The Talbot and the Swiftsure did most of the covering work; but the Turkish trenches up there, and that redoubt, were so protected by the folds and curvatures of the hills that their high-velocity guns were very ineffective.
When this business was finished, "Cuthbert", the hostile aeroplane, came over from Maidos, and made a "bee-line" for the balloon ship once more. As he approached, the Manica commenced hauling down the balloon and its observers, and simply screeched at "Cuthbert" with her maxims; but the aeroplane did not take anything seriously, plumped down two bombs within half a mile of her—not nearer—appeared to be perfectly content, and went home again, followed by some very pretty shrapnel from the Talbot.
There was very heavy firing on shore on the extreme left that night—all through the night—and by the morning the soldiers had lost the ground they had gained the day before.
In the usual "strafe" that morning, two shells hit the Achates without causing any casualties; but by now it had become thoroughly understood that if the ships remained where they were, and did not get up anchor and move about, the Turks would soon leave off shooting at them. So, from now onwards, ships seldom shifted billet during these frequent shellings. This may have spoilt the Turks' amusement—for it must have been most amusing to the Turkish gunners to see them scurrying about the harbour—but the constant shifting became too boring altogether. The poor old distilling ship—the Bacchus—and the Ajax, a store ship, came in for the worst time. The Turks had a special "down" on them both, and seldom a day went by without them being hit, first of all with small "stuff", and, later on, by 5.9-inch shells.
Fritz put in another appearance that Monday morning, and had another "go" at the balloon ship—the Hector this time—but something had gone wrong, as before, with the "balance chamber" of his torpedo, and it gracefully dived underneath her. However, she hauled down the balloon in a hurry—she thought the "balance chamber" of the next torpedo might be in better working order—and inside the submarine net she came, only to be driven out again by shells which flew chirpily over the Achates, and dropped all round her. A lucky shot in the balloon—and "finish" that—so up came her anchor, and she pushed across to Kephalo.
On the Tuesday everyone became heartily sick of the "retire" bugle. The Turks seemed unusually generous that day. They shelled the Achates at half-past six; they rested until the Honourable Mess had commenced their breakfast, when "swish—sh—sh—flomp" went a shell just alongside, and the wretched bugle sounded again. At ten o'clock, at half-past twelve, and twice during the afternoon they disturbed everyone; and when they had packed up for the day, "Cuthbert" came along and made a most deliberate attempt to bomb her. She circled overhead twice, and on each occasion dropped bombs which fell with the sounds of express trains and burst, one about a hundred yards and the other about forty yards away.
"It's not very restful, is it?" the little Padre said wistfully, as he joined, for the fifth time that day, the little crowd of "idlers" who were taking cover behind the after turret during the last spell of shelling.
It wasn't. The continued strain became most intensely wearisome, and affected a great many people very noticeably. For more than three weeks the Achates had these wretched shells coming round and over her, at intervals, practically every day. It was the noise of them which became so trying—the noise, and the wondering where "that one" would hit.
Perhaps, in the gun-room, the most marked effect was the smartness with which everyone "turned out" in the morning (they slept on the quarter-deck), looked to see if the sun had risen behind Anafarta, and scampered down to get his bath and be dressed before those beastly shells came round. Breakfast became a remarkably punctual meal, for the Turks liked to have their little joke at half-past eight; and no one in the gun-room, except the Sub, Bubbles, and sometimes Uncle Podger, could stay and enjoy their food if that side of the ship swung to the shore, and the "swish—sh—sh—flomp" of those shells came through the scuttles in her thin side.