The Orphan found more guns waiting to be taken off, and he was about to commence to haul them on board his lighter when an order came that they were to be destroyed where they stood. Some Sappers arrived, and began fixing gun-cotton charges in them.
"They are the last of the guns to be sent off," said the officer in charge of them. "It does seem rough luck, doesn't it?"
"What was it like when you left?" asked the Orphan.
"Perfectly quiet; that was an hour ago," he told him.
The Orphan had nothing to do now but wait for further orders.
There was so much wind blowing inshore, towards the trenches, that though he strained his ears he could not hear the sound of the usual sniping, rifle-firing—in fact he could hear nothing from the direction of the trenches. Every now and then a momentary flash showed out behind the ridge on the Asiatic shore, and one of "Asiatic Annie's" shells came along; to-night they nearly all burst on the ridge close to Cape Helles lighthouse, and absolutely harmlessly. Occasionally a big monitor, half-way across the Straits, fired a 12-inch gun, and then everything round "W" beach, and the white tents above it, were lighted up momentarily—like the click of a camera shutter—and the Orphan would catch a sudden glimpse of motor-lighters and picket-boats, horses and men, on No. 3 Pier, perhaps long lines of troops coming down the road from the ridge, or a motor-lorry or motor-ambulance coming down to the beach. Then the blackness shut down again, except for the tiny flicker of the oil-lamp tied to a post at one corner of the pier.
The Orphan passed this time of waiting talking to the disappointed Gunner officer, who told him yarns of yesterday's fierce bombardment, and said how annoyed they had been when that battleship had wiped out their beautiful "target" of advancing Turks. "You'll hear, all right, if the Turks do get into our trenches to-night, after our chaps have left them," he said. "They are all mined, and most of the communication trenches too. There will be the most infernal noise."
Then out of the darkness came Captain Macfarlane and the Sub. The Orphan heard the Captain say: "All right, you can try and take those guns off. If you can't manage it, blow them up in the lighter."
Then he was sent round to No. 1 Pier to find out why two motor-lighters could not get off. He scrambled along the beach, past the end of No. 3 Pier, where a large number of gun- and limber-teams were waiting to embark in lighters—the horses waiting much more patiently and quietly than "humans" would have done—and then past a regiment which had just marched in from the trenches, most of the men lying down to relieve the weight of their heavy packs. The Orphan guessed correctly that most of these packs had a Turkish shell—or two—in them as "curios".
By the time he reached No. 1 Pier and found Mr. Armstrong, things were in a bad way. Two crowded motor-lighters lay there, lashed side by side, bumping uneasily, and the new platform over the pontoon and those barrels which filled the gap in it was swaying and creaking in a most unpleasant manner, waves thudding against it every moment.