CHAPTER 70 - GALLIPOLI - CAPÍTULO 70
From the starboard rail, looking towards Europe, the low, undulating line of the Gallipoli peninsula could be seen, covered in the greens and ochres of Mediterranean vegetation. In the distance, further north, one could just make out the rising ground leading to Suvla Bay and Cape Helles. Çanakkale was receding behind them, the bustle of the harbour no longer audible. All that could be heard was the throb of the engine beating at a steady rhythm, like a human heart, disturbed only when the stoker shovelled in more coal. The vibration, almost organic, could be felt throughout the vessel: in the railings, in the wooden benches, beneath one’s feet… The water struck the ferry’s hull with a splashing sound that grew louder as the vessel turned westwards, while the wind wailed through the deck cables and mingled with the uneven murmur of the passengers’ conversations. The Hopkins, however, remained silent. The contemplation of the landscape held them in a state close to catharsis, espe...
