In the various landings in Gallipoli it naturally came about that the Navy, after the actual disembarkation of the troops, had a great deal of work to do in connection with the incessant stream of material, stores, etc., and this necessitated more or less permanent beach-parties, composed of bluejackets who lived and had their being with the soldiers at the base camps. A naval captain, as beach master, one or two lieutenants and midshipmen to run the picket-boats, and a number of seamen ratings comprised these parties. It was their duty to see to the handling of the transports, landing of stores, and the various other jobs which come natural to a sailor where sea and shore meet. The bluejacket takes a different view of life from the soldier. This is not surprising, for his mode of life and training is peculiar to the Navy. Certainly the sailors on the beaches were generally regarded with considerable interest by their military companions. A Major with whom I came in contact gave me an entertaining account of the naval camp situated close to his dug-out. It appeared at the commencement of activities on shore that the collecting of souvenirs, in the shape of shell-splinters, shrapnel cases, or anything of this nature, was greatly in vogue, and developed into something of a fine art. As a rule, when the Turks began to shell the beaches, every one whose occupation would allow, dived into his dug-out and remained there until the firing had ceased. The sailors' camp was no exception to this; but however hot the fire, one or more heads would invariably be seen projecting from the entrance to the dug-out somewhat like a tortoise looking out from his shell. An instinctive knowledge seemed to be possessed by the owners of the heads where a shell in flight was likely to pitch. The moment the explosion had taken place a number of men carrying spades would emerge from the dug-outs, race across the sand and scrub to the spot and begin a furious digging competition for fragments.

Sailors have been trained from youth up to regard anything and everything, from a piece of string to a traction engine, as likely to be of use at some time or other. Consequently their dug-outs were museums of all the flotsam and jetsam which a military base provides in war-time, and, I imagine, a good deal which does not come into this category.

The Major, who seemed so entertained with the beach-party and its doings, told me that immediately after the Suvla Bay landing, and during the advance on the left flank, it was his duty to take charge of a considerable amount of unused Turkish field-gun ammunition amounting to some 700 rounds. Now there is probably nothing which appeals to the collector of battlefield souvenirs so much as a complete cartridge case and shell. This makes a beautiful trophy when polished and gives the possessor somewhat the same feeling as a schoolboy who obtains a rare unused stamp which he knows to be genuine.

The ammunition in question was to be sent down to the base, where instructions would be given as to its disposal. Oddly enough, soon after arrival it appeared to be slowly and steadily diminishing, and reports reached the Major of dark figures having been seen flitting about the store at night. On his return to the base the number of shells had been reduced to some 300, and for a long time their disappearance was wrapped in mystery. One day, however, when on his way to call on a brother officer, the Major's direction lay through the beach-parties' camp. Whilst passing one of the dug-outs he was surprised to hear a sharp explosion and to see four sailors hurl themselves into the open through the diminutive doorway. One had a somewhat blackened face and very little eyebrows or front hair, whilst the others were in the evident enjoyment of a good joke. Inquiries elicited the fact that the hurried exit was caused by the premature explosion of a shell-fuse which was being coaxed into yielding up its active properties with the aid of a jack-knife or some similar weapon. A closer inspection of the dug-out disclosed the fact that amongst many other trophies of war a considerable number of the missing shells played a large part in the decoration of the interior. Most of them had already undergone the aforesaid operation, and, with charges drawn, now stood ready to be sent home, when opportunity should offer, to grace the parlour mantelpiece.

In the matter of clothes the sailors showed a marked disinclination to wear anything provided for them. They were supplied with khaki, as white would be far too conspicuous; but, being ashore, and feeling, I suppose, something of a sense of relaxed discipline, it was almost impossible to get them to wear the clothes served out. Consequently you saw the strangest collection of garments being worn in the beach-parties' camp. An order to wear the clothes provided would produce a return to regulation dress for a day, or possibly two, after which most of the men would again be wearing the kit which suited their particular tastes. It was found hopeless to try and enforce the rule. After all, in a case of this kind, and under the peculiar circumstances, it is perhaps better to indulge a man's fancy as long as it does not affect the work in hand and keeps him cheerful and happy.

A naval officer, whose duties lay on shore, told me this story one day which I think is good enough to relate.

He was outside his dug-out one afternoon and chanced to see two men passing in strange raiment. The combination of gait and the fact that both were wearing navy flannels told him at once that they were blue-jackets. Anxious to know what their special mission might be, he stopped and questioned them.

"Where are you going?"

"Motor-lighter K—, sir."

"Do you belong there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Well, sir," (hesitating) "we've just been up to the trenches."

"Were you sent there with orders?"

"Er—no, sir."

"How long have you been up there?"

"'Ow long, sir?" (then to companion) "When was it we went up, Bill?" (indistinct murmurs from diffident comrade—then to Captain) "I should say about four days, sir."

Finally the Captain ordered them down to a picket-boat in which he was about to visit the flagship, and they were put in the midshipman's charge under arrest. On the way out the Captain heard the two adventurers discussing their detention with some bitterness, always ending with the same refrain, which was repeated several times, thus: "Fine thing, this—under arrest. Well I'm ——! And they treat yer like a gentleman in the trenches—treat yer like a gentleman, I say."

It is difficult to imagine the point of view of men leaving the trenches with regret.

I believe I am right in saying that at the original landing at Helles many blue-jackets in charge of the landing-parties, whose boats had been sunk by the terrible fire, though they themselves escaped uninjured, joined with the soldiers in the advance on bare feet and with boat-hooks for weapons.

Here is an incident which came under my personal notice, and though not really belonging to this chapter on beach-parties is nevertheless indirectly connected with the subject. It serves to illustrate the humorous spirit obtaining in the fleet, and occurred on a ship to which I was attached for some time. Our gunner, a man who had seen a great deal of service in almost every part of the world, was blessed with a large sense of the ridiculous. Now, the ship's carpenter seemed to possess an extraordinary attraction for shells, inasmuch as in whatever part of the ship he happened to be when we were under fire a shell invariably seemed to arrive in his close vicinity. This had happened so often that it got on his nerves. It occurred to the gunner that the shining hour might be improved by a little gentle attention on his part. It must be understood that what he did was done entirely to amuse himself and not from a wish to play to the gallery. One day, when several shells had fallen near us and to which we were not replying at the time, he ensconced himself behind an iron door leading from the battery on to the quarter-deck, which door was standing open at right angles to the doorway itself. Having provided himself with an iron bar, he kept vigil there in the hope that an occasion might arise which would take the carpenter past his hiding-place. His wait, though long, was not unrewarded. The unwary carpenter came along the battery and out on to the quarter-deck, and at the moment of passing the gunner the latter delivered a tremendous blow on his own side of the iron door with the bar. The effect on the carpenter exceeded the gunner's wildest dreams, and caused infinite amusement amongst those of us who witnessed the incident, for we had been wondering what could be the meaning of the gunner's manoeuvres.