“Does this happen often?” I asked Monty, when I found I was still alive.

“Every few minutes.  It’s ten o’clock.  We embark at midnight.”

“I’m moving my men, then.  Asiatic Annie has the range of this spot too well.”

I marched my company down to the beach, and told them to take shelter under the lee of the cliff.  We had scarcely got there before Annie’s wicked eye sparkled from Asia, the warning whistles blew, and, after crying “There she is!” we waited spellbound for the imminent shriek.  The shell burst in the surf, scattering shingle and spray over every one of us.

“You’d think they’d seen us move,” I said, listening for the groans of any wounded.  None came, but I heard instead the sound of muffled voices and marching feet, and saw men moving through the darkness along the brink of the sea like a column of Stygian shades.  It was the battalion arriving, with other units of the East Cheshire Brigade.

“I know what’ll happen, Rupert,” said Monty, when these men had crowded the beach and the hill-slope.  “Some drunken Turk will lean against that old gun in Asia, and just push it far enough to perfect its aim.”

And he looked round upon the mass of men and shuddered.

It was getting cold, and we huddled ourselves up on the beach.  Some of us were indifferent in our fatalism to the shells of Asiatic Annie; if our time had come—­well, Kismet.  Others, like myself, waited fascinated.  I know I had almost hungered for that meaning flash in Asia, the terrible delight of suspense, the rush of thrills, and the sudden arresting of the heart as the shell exploded.

Sec.4

Then, about one o’clock, the moon broke the clouds and lit the operations with a white light.  It should have filled us with dismay, but instead it seemed the beginning of brighter things.  The men groaned merrily and burst into a drawling song: 

“Oh, the moon shines bright on Mrs. Porter,
And on her daughter,
A regular snorter;
She has washed her neck in dirty water,
She didn’t oughter,

    The dirty cat.”

And Monty, hearing them, whispered one of his delightfully out-of-place remarks: 

“Aren’t they wonderful, Rupert?  I could hug them all, but I wish they’d come to Mass.”

The moon, moreover, showed us comforting things.  There was the old Redbreast lying off Cape Helles.  There were the lighters, crowded with men, pushing off from the beach to the waiting boat.

“You could get off on any one of those lighters,” said I to Monty.  “Why don’t you go?”

“Why, because we’ll leave this old place together.”

After he said this I must have fallen from sheer weariness into a half-sleep.  The next thing I remember was Monty’s saying:  “Look alive, Rupert! We’re moving now.”  Glancing round, I saw that my company was the last left on the beach.  I marshalled the men—­twenty-eight of them—­on to the lighter.