The Orphan told him excitedly.
"Oh, bother the Turks! I don't care a tuppenny curse for them; what d'you want to wake me for?" and promptly went to sleep again.
For a few minutes everyone was in a state of nerves, expecting at any moment to see the heads of Turks appearing at that big opening in the ship's side; the noise of firing, on the other side of the ship, rose to a perfect frenzy.
Although the Orphan had seen the first attempt crumpled up, he could not know what would happen to a second, and felt very jumpy, too; but presently the firing gradually subsided, and word was passed down that all the soldiers there were to go ashore. These men unfixed bayonets, strapped on their packs, and went on deck, knocking against the sleeping midshipman, who cursed them in his juvenile voice. That was about three o'clock, and for some time afterwards things were very quiet. The Fleet-Surgeon, the Orphan, the chief sick-berth steward, and Piggy Carter snoring against his stanchion, were alone, as far as they could see although from the dark recesses of the space round them they heard a great multitude of snores of every variety. The Orphan's launch's crew had not been seen since they had come inboard, and no doubt four of those snores belonged to them.
The Orphan himself dozed off once or twice, but kept on being awakened by bursts of firing. He did not want to go to sleep, for fear of missing any of the excitement, so went and leant up against the edge of the gangway port, only putting his nose out, because bullets were still coming along from those snipers on the low sea walls which jutted into the sea on this side. A cool breeze blew in through the port and made a pleasant "popple" against his launch, which was bumping gently against the side of the River Clyde. It was raining a little, and the cool drops on his forehead were jolly refreshing.
Even standing there he could not keep awake; his brain began to lull itself with the burbling noise of the sea and the boat, until suddenly the most appalling, panic-stricken shrieks came from overhead, and the noise of heavy boots trampling along the deck.
The Orphan, with his heart in his mouth, dashed to the foot of the ladder, just in time to see a half-naked figure, his chest and neck swathed in blood-stained bandages, throw himself over the coaming of the hatchway above him; dragging a blanket after him he came scrambling down the ladder, yelling that the Turks had boarded the ship and were bayoneting everyone on deck. There happened to be the sound of many feet running about overhead at the time, and for a moment the Orphan was entirely terror-struck—his heart really seemed to stop beating; but the Fleet-Surgeon, jumping to his feet, seized the man, who was still yelling, "Save me! save me! the Turks will get me; they're bayoneting everyone!" cursed him, and told him to lie down in a corner and cover himself with his blanket.
With another yell the man tore himself away, shrieked out that "it wasn't safe anywhere in the ship"; and before the Orphan could stop him, he dashed to the big gangway port and half-fell, half-slid down the ladder into the launch. There, in the stern-sheets, he coiled himself up, covered himself with his blanket, and appeared to go to sleep.
"Nightmare, that's what's the matter with him," the Fleet-Surgeon said, a little shakily. "If he prefers to lie there in the rain and the sniping, he can. Phew! it gave me a bit of a fright."
Piggy Carter snored peacefully—even through this incident.