And as for Jephson's Post, up there on the top of the ridge, on the left, they took a positive dislike to it and to the Naval Observation Station, just below it. This Observation Station was manned by some naval ratings and two naval officers—a gaunt, hawk-like Commander and a Lieutenant-Commander belonging to other ships. These two took duty in turns—three days "on" and three days "off". The three days "off" they spent on board the Achates, sleeping most of the time.
This post was constantly under fire from heavy and light guns. It also received all the "overs" and the stray bullets fired from the Turks, farther along the ridge, at Jephson's Post and the trenches in front of it, so it was not at all a "health" resort.
"The view in the early morning is charming," said one of the Observation officers; "and but for the fact that I'm certain there's a dead mule or a dead 'something' among the bushes somewhere near—has been there for the last fortnight—and that we get something like thirty to forty shell over it every day—often more—it wouldn't be half bad."
Another Naval Observation Station had been established on Chocolate Hill, and to visit either of these positions made exciting afternoon walks and climbs, whenever any of the Honourable Mess ventured ashore. On one occasion the Lamp-post and the Orphan landed at "A West" beach one afternoon, and walked up to the Observation Post near Jephson's Post. Pretty hard going it was, under the hot sun and along the sandy mule-track which wound up the lower slopes among the concealed field-guns. Then they had to climb along a steep path, with a parapet on the enemy side, till they came to the second line of trenches, and heard the intermittent sniping close to them. In the morning the Post had been severely shelled, and they found the Commander lying flat on the ridge, some forty yards away from it, behind a natural parapet of rocks, reinforced by some sand-bags, his telephone box close to him.
"You must have had a warm time of it this morning, sir," they said admiringly.
"That was all right. I was here all the time. There wouldn't have been much left of me if I had stayed there. Come along and see." He took them back below the ridge, climbed up to the rear of the Post—a little three-sided affair, partly made out of large stones and sand-bags piled on each other, partly of natural rocks, with a timber and sand-bag roof over it all.
"Pretty untidy, isn't it, here? You can have the base of that shell—one of this morning's little lot; if you hunt round, you'll find another somewhere, I expect. They keep their eye on this place; I shouldn't wonder if they are watching us now. Let's put back some of these rock things."
The front parapet had been partially knocked down that morning, so that the "observing" loophole was now four or five feet wide. If they could see him when there was only a small loophole, thought the Lamp-post, they'll be able to see us, all right, now. They had just finished piling up the last of the stones and sand-bags in their old places—-more or less—when the accustomed ears of the Commander caught the sound of a Turkish gun.
"That's my gun!" he cried, throwing himself down. "Lie down. That will be short," he said coolly, as they heard the "swish—h—h" of an approaching shell. "Short, not very; keep down, some of the bits may come in."
"Whump" burst the shell about thirty yards below them, and something rattled against the parapet they had just built up. The stinging smell of smoke came in through the crevices.