craft passed
rapidly to the shore from many French and British transports. Great
men-o'-war, grey and cold, lay without sign of life; destroyers cruised
slowly and meditatively, and pinnaces foamed along in energetic haste.

The two troopers watched the scene with interest. They were still very
hazy as to the actual degree of the success of the landing, or really
how far across the Peninsula the original force had progressed. The
papers said everything had been wonderfully successful, but Mac was
rather sceptical. At any rate, they were not wasting any time in
pushing the mounted men in as infantry. The future was obscure and
uncertain; but, with a feeling of eerie anticipation, he felt the
freshness of the dawn of a new mysterious life, when men met men in
mortal fight, when the false standards of civilization went to the
devil, and man was man. It was good to be alive; to be one of that
brigade of fine hefty fellows on the edge of the great adventure, when
they would join in the greatest sport on earth.

From across the misty uplands to the north-east, like the crushing of a
cart over a gravelly road, came the rattle of musketry fire. Then, as
the visibility increased, war-ships manoeuvred into position, and fired
slowly and deliberately at unknown inland targets. Occasionally the
troop-ship shook from the shattering crash of the _Queen Elizabeth's_
guns. Reflecting was not one of the trooper's habitual occupations;
but undoubtedly these first scenes and sounds of the real thing were
occasions for thought. A bugle-call for parade cut short further
philosophizing, and preparations for disembarkation found him faced
with questions far more worthy of mental effort than un-trooper-like
sentiments concerning what might or what might not occur in the future.
The leading difficulty was, of course, to get twice the permitted
amount of equipment into the kit, and some must be discarded. He had
two blankets, and decided to dispose of the lighter, then, changing
into a clean shirt, he threw away the old one. Everything was finally
reduced to the absolute minimum, and packed as neatly as possible in
the temporary kit.

* * * * *

Cape Helles was not the destination of the Mounted Rifle Brigade. In
mid-afternoon the _Grantully_, under slow steam, passed northwards
along the coast thirteen miles, and dropped anchor again in the middle
of another fleet of transports about two miles off Anza