We faced a dock that had been vacant two days ago, but where now a little steamer lay moored with ropes, smoke coming from its funnel.

There was no other sign of life, but when the German officer shouted about a dozen times the Turkish captain came ashore, wrapped in a great shawl, and spoke to him.
While they two spoke I asked Ranjoor Singh whether that truly had been a British submarine, and he nodded; but he was not able to tell me whether or not it had been hit by gun-fire.

Some of the men overheard, and although we all knew that our course to Gallipoli would be the more hazardous in that event we all prayed that the artillery might have missed.

Fear comes and goes, but a man's love lives in him.
When the Turkish captain and the German officer finished speaking, the Turk went back to his steamer without any apparent pleasure, and we were marched up the gangway after him.

It was pitch-dark by that time and the only light was that of a lantern by which the German officer stood, eying us one by one as we passed.