At three o'clock in the afternoon the breeze definitely shifted round to the south-west—the dangerous quarter—and all knew that if it increased much it would drive seas right on to the beaches, and add tremendously to the difficulties of this last night's work.
At five o'clock that afternoon many of the officers gathered in the Mess, which they were leaving for ever, and drank to the success of the evacuation. "Kaiser Bill" was taken out of his box, placed on the table, and drank a little milk out of a saucer for "good luck"; then Bubbles took him away to his picket-boat to make certain that he would not be left behind, whatever happened; and everybody went down to the beach and their different jobs, looking doubtfully and anxiously at the sun setting behind a gloomy bank of clouds, and the little "white horses" which already ruffled the surface of the sea.
"It will be all right," the Orphan told the Sub confidently as they walked down to No. 4 Pier. "If "Kaiser Bill" hadn't drunk his milk we might have been rather miserable."
"You are a silly ass," the Sub laughed.
Night fell. The breeze freshened steadily, and the two lighters alongside No. 4 Pier already banged up against the stone wall in a very uncomfortable manner.
Presently some of those remaining guns began rumbling over the ridge to the beach, and their teams went round to No. 3 Pier, or cantered back over the ridge, with a jangle of harness and thudding of hoofs, to fetch more.
When the first lighter had been loaded—with field-guns mostly—her crew hauled her off by the warps, the south-west breeze blowing freshly in their faces, and the little waves already splashing against her bows. A picket-boat took hold of her and handed her over to tug T1, which towed her away to sea.
The Orphan went with this first load, and found it a very different matter to-night. Though the breeze had not yet attained any great strength, a slight, lumpy sea and swell ran, outside, and when he at last reached the transport's huge side he had much difficulty in bringing the clumsy, heavily loaded lighter alongside and making her "fast". As it was, she bumped and rose and fell so much that it took nearly two hours to hoist out all those guns, and their "crews", laden with their heavy kits, and most of them sea-sick, could hardly climb the awkward Jacob's ladders dangling down the ship's dark side.
At last the lighter was cleared, and the tug, lurching out of the darkness, brought off the Gunner with another heavily laden lighter, left him alongside, and towed the Orphan back.
It was now nearly eleven o'clock; the breeze had become a strong wind, and meeting the current flowing out of the Dardanelles, raised an angry, steep sea. This immensely increased the difficulties of handling the motor-lighters, steamboats, and small tugs which simply swarmed off "W" beach and its piers. The clumsy motor-lighters were a danger to themselves and a terror to others, for they often refused to answer their helms when they left the lee of the sunken hulks and their bows first met the seas. It required much skilful seamanship for the steamboats to get hold of them in the pitchy darkness and turn them in the right way.