That afternoon the Sub was ordered to go in the Orphan's picket-boat as "second in command" of the six steamboats which were to tow the battalion ashore. He was dumb with delight, and the Orphan almost as pleased.
In the afternoon the breeze did die down, and the Turks sent an aeroplane to see what was going on. It dropped a few bombs from a great height into the water between the ships, and flew back again.
Later on, the River Clyde came along and anchored close to the Achates. Poor old River Clyde! She was to make her last voyage that night, with 2000 troops on board, to run herself aground under the mediæval castle of Sedd-el-Bahr early next morning, and make her name famous in the annals of the British Navy and Army for many ages.
Large square openings had been cut in her side, and under these ran plank gangways, meeting at the bows, where a hinged platform was all ready to be lowered into the hopper and the lighters which were to fill the gap between her stem and the shore.
Her soldiers were intended to pour out of these openings, along the planks, down into the hopper and lighters, and so ashore.
At dusk the 1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers came on board—old soldiers all of them. Very silently and quietly they "fell in" on the quarter-deck and in the batteries, unslung their packs, laid their rifles alongside them, and were dismissed.
This was the moment for which the bluejackets were waiting. They had a great feast prepared on the mess deck, and hustled them down to it.
Five of the subalterns were grabbed by the Honourable Mess and brought down to the gun-room; the remaining officers were entertained in the ward-room.
"Thank God!" roared the Sub, "I'm coming in with you chaps to-morrow, or I couldn't face you. Buy up the place—beat the China Doll—break the blooming furniture—chuck your gear on the deck outside. Bless you, we'll give you a better dinner than you had in that old transport of yours. And there's my cabin for two of you—the bunk for one, and a shake-down for another. Barnes! Barnes! Bring round the sherry, and tell 'em to hurry up with the dinner."
Every delicacy the gun-room store possessed appeared on the table. The soldiers swore it was the best dinner they'd had since they left England; and the Honourable Mess spun them yarns about Smyrna—by order of the Sub, who had forbidden them to mention the morrow.