which our shell has fallen. At last, after possibly four or five shots, the aeroplane makes the signal "O K," showing that one of our shots has got home in the gun emplacement, and rapid fire opens from all guns which bear on the side engaged.

An instance of the unfailing supply of the lighter side of things was afforded one day when the ship was under fire from Turkish batteries. Everyone was under cover more or less, though it is a very difficult matter to get men who have never been under fire to take cover adequately. The human is a curious animal when he wants to see what is happening, and, as a rule, it was not until a ship had been badly hit and men killed or wounded that the necessity to seek cover seemed to be taken to heart. On the occasion already mentioned the Turks were doing some very good shooting, and a fairly large high-explosive shell burst on the water close to us on the starboard side just abaft the bridge. A large number of shell fragments came inboard, scattering groups of men, who were watching events, without injuring any of them. Their hurried flight caused much hilarity amongst the gun-layers and others already in cover, but any sense of fear on the part of those so dispersed rapidly gave place to a desire to collect souvenirs in the shape of shell-splinters. A piece of shell which has actually come aboard your own ship while you are in her possesses a value to the finder which is peculiarly personal. Consequently the fo'c's'le and waist of the ship immediately became a hunting ground for eager collectors; and as most people know the amount of gear on a ship's deck, it will be understood that there were possibilities of a find in a variety of places. However, the first men on the scene rapidly collected all that could be found, and a large number sought in vain for a memento of the occasion. Amongst these was a member of the crew whose late arrival precluded any chance of finding souvenirs, but whose brain was not slow in supplying a substitute for the much-sought-after booty. Every warship carries a blacksmith's forge, and scattered about in its vicinity are nearly always to be found a number of small pieces of iron of all shapes and sizes, many of them remarkably like shell-splinters. The late-comer quickly turned his attention to these, and, making a rapid collection of the most likely looking fragments, he joined the still eager searchers. Presently, as the enthusiasm waned for want of spoil, he produced a number of deadly looking fragments, some of which he gave to empty-handed shipmates, while others he parted with for small sums. These are now probably looked upon in sundry homes as the "bit o' shell that nearly wiped out poor Bill."

I suppose active service always brings with it periods of dullness and monotony, when any little incident like the foregoing is welcomed with relief. Another event of this kind which seems to me worth recounting caused a good deal of amusement at the time.

On our ship there was a small coterie of non-executive officers, whose particular duties were not called into use when the ship was under fire. The novelty of being fired at having worn off, and the danger of unnecessarily exposing oneself realised, they decided, after interrogating sundry experts on the subject, that the safest place in the ship, short of the indignity of descending below the armoured deck, was the gun-room. We carried no midshipmen, so that the gun-room was occupied only by one or two warrant officers whose duty, during action, mostly lay on deck. It was here, therefore, that the aforesaid coterie gathered as soon as we came under fire, to indulge in a quiet game of bridge. The prolonged immunity of this particular spot from shell-fire had lulled into a sense of security any feelings of apprehension as to the likelihood of a shell finding its way there, the more so as it was not only on the lower deck but on the disengaged side. But the joyful band of card-players received a severe shock. Firing had been in progress for some time, and a few shells of the enemy had pitched near the ship while a game of bridge was in full swing. Suddenly a terrific crash on the starboard side, followed by a big explosion, denoted the arrival of a shell in their immediate vicinity. It had penetrated the side exactly opposite the gun-room, and, bursting, fortunately in a store-room (thus to some extent localising the damage), hurled several large fragments through the open door into the midst of the players without actually touching one of them. The luckiest escape was that of an officer who was standing in the doorway at the time leaning with one hand high up on the side of the entrance. A fragment of shell passed beneath his arm close over the heads of the players and buried itself in the casing on the inside of the ship. The whole flat outside was filled with dust and débris, and it was some moments before the occupants could get sufficiently sorted out to realise that no injuries had been received. Needless to say, this rude disturbance caused a somewhat hurried exit from the "safest" place in the ship, and great was the chaff which had to be endured by the erstwhile inhabitants, the more so as this was the only hit scored by the enemy on that day.

CHAPTER IV
TRAWLERS IN THE DARDANELLES

The work of the trawlers in the Dardanelles demands special mention. The men running these vessels are in the majority of cases elderly, and the ships themselves were never intended to come under fire; yet these men have constantly been in very hot places, and have gone there knowing what was in store for them.

The ships have been used for every conceivable kind of work. They have carried stores, troops, mails and munitions. They have been engaged in mine-sweeping, patrolling and towing nets. They have tackled the elusive submarine; in fact, they have done everything that can be thought of short of bombarding forts, and they would cheerfully take this job on if required. Here is the typical day of a trawler during general ferry work, on which I took passage.

We left Kephalo early in the morning, calling first at Anzac, then at Helles; from there to Rabbit Island and Tenedos; back to Helles, and, if required, to Anzac again. Generally from Helles this trawler would go direct to Kephalo. The round is seventy odd miles. Every morning on starting, the skipper knew the ship would come under shell-fire at Anzac almost without fail, as the anchorage is commanded by the Turkish guns, and any sign of movement, or of ships arriving or leaving, invariably brought its accompaniment of shells. I gathered from him that this had been his daily lot for four months.

He was a fine type of North Sea skipper, and took everything as it came with a stoicism which was admirable. He didn't like it—nobody does; but it was his job, and there was an end of it!

The day on which I took passage with him was typical of all the others. We left Kephalo at seven in the morning, the sun well up and already hot, blue sky, blue sea and a very light breeze. Anzac, our first port of call, showed up clearly some twelve miles off, standing out, by reason of its distinctive character, from the rest of the coast. Rising between the flat sandy beaches—C beach and Brighton beach—it looked as if the Sari Bair range had suddenly been chopped off or slipped into the sea. Here were no foot-hills sloping gently to the coast, but abrupt sandstone precipices looking very unfinished in the brilliant morning light.

The fact that our reception, of which I had already been