hether to open fire, to lie low or to fall back; whether to
bring on a battle or avoid it. But the Fleet to-day is working like an
army; the ships are widely scattered each one on its own, except in so
far as wireless may serve, and that is why I say de Robeck is working
under conditions just as unusual to him as mine are to me.

My station is up in the conning tower with de Robeck. The conning tower
is a circular metal chamber, like a big cooking pot. Here we are, all
eyes, like potatoes in the cooking pot aforesaid, trying to peep through
a slit where the lid is raised a few inches, _ad hoc_, as these blasted
politicians like to say. My Staff are not with me in this holy of
holies, but are stowed away in steel towers or jammed into 6-inch
batteries.

So we kept moving along and at 4.30 a.m. were off Sedd-el-Bahr. All
quiet and grey. Thence we steamed for Gaba Tepe and midway, about 5
o'clock, heard a very heavy fire from Helles behind us. The Turks are
putting up some fight. Now we are off Gaba Tepe!

The day was just breaking over the jagged hills; the sea was glassy
smooth; the landing of the lads from the South was in full swing; the
shrapnel was bursting over the water; the patter of musketry came
creeping out to sea; we are in for it now; the machine guns muttered as
through chattering teeth--up to our necks in it now. But would we be out
of it? No; not one of us; not for five hundred years stuffed full of
dullness and routine.

By 5.35 the rattle of small arms quieted down; we heard that about 4,000
fighting men had been landed; we could see boat-loads making for the
land; swarms trying to straighten themselves out along the shore; other
groups digging and hacking down the brushwood. Even with our glasses
they did not look much bigger than ants. God, one would think, cannot
see them at all or He would put a stop to this sort of panorama
altogether. And yet, it would be a pity if He missed it; for these
fellows have been worth the making. They are not charging up into this
Sari Bair range for money or by compulsion. They fight for love--all the
way from the Southern Cross for love of the old country and of liberty.
Wave after wave of the little ants press up and disappear. We lose sight
of them the moment they lie down. Bravo! every man on our great ship
longs to be with them. But the main battle called. The Admiral was keen
to take me when and where the need might most arise. So we turned South
and steamed s