“Come outside a minute.”

He moved and spoke with the slight excitement and mysteriousness of one who had discovered something.  I followed him out from the noise of the lounge into the silence of the deck.

“Come where it’s quiet,” he whispered.

We walked to the deserted bows.

“Now listen.  Do you hear anything?”

“No,” I answered, after awhile.

“Listen again.  You won’t catch it first go.”

I strained my ears, while Doe stared at me.

“Yes, I hear it,” I proclaimed at last.  “Is it Helles, do you think, or Suvla?”

“I expect some of it is the old Turk trying to resist the invasion of Suvla.”

For I had heard a distant throb in the air—­no more—­like a heart beating miles away.  At times the throb became a rumble which could be felt rather than heard.  Something in me jumped at the sound.  The startled feeling was rather pleasing than otherwise.  It was not a small thing to hear for the first time the guns of Gallipoli, to whose mouths our lives had been slowly drawing us during nineteen years.

Sec.5

Padre Monty finished the voyage in his own style.  Early the next morning he had a corporate farewell Mass for all his servers and his family.  And this is the true story how Major Hardy chanced to limp to the service.

He retired early from the revels of the previous night, and, as Doe and I were getting into our bunks, we heard him in his cabin next door whistling “Home, sweet Home,” while he disrobed.  We heard the steward ask him: 

“What time will you be called in the morning, sir?”

“What time?” answered the Major’s voice, when he had finished the tune.  “What time?  Let’s see.  I say, Ray,” he inquired through the wall, “this padre-fellow’s got a service or something in the morning—­what?”

“Yes, sir,” shouted I.

“Some unearthly hour, seven or what?”

“Seven-thirty, sir.”

“Ah yes,” said the Major’s voice, soft again, to the steward, “call me six-thirty.”

“Yes, sir.  Will you have shaving water then, sir?”

“Shaving water—­what?  Yes, surely.”  And the Major shouted through the wall:  “We shave, don’t we, Ray?”

“Well, yes, sir,” agreed I.

“Of course,” continued the Major, reproachfully, to the steward.  “Bring shaving water.  And there’ll be the most deplorable row if it’s not hot.”

“Will you have a cup of tea to get up with, sir?” asked the steward.

“Tea?  What?  No, I don’t think so.  No, surely not.”  Once more he sought enlightenment through the wall.  “We don’t have tea, do we, Ray?”

“Well, no, sir.  That’s as you please.”

“No.  No tea, steward.  Of course not.  What nonsense!”

“Very good, sir.  Good night, sir.”

“Good night, steward....  You see, Ray,” shouted Major Hardy, “I am a bit out of this church business.  Must get into it again—­what.  And the padre’s a good fellow.”