"THE TWO SEAMEN HAULED HIM INTO SAFETY""THE TWO SEAMEN HAULED HIM INTO SAFETY"
"THE TWO SEAMEN HAULED HIM INTO SAFETY""THE TWO SEAMEN HAULED HIM INTO SAFETY"
Just then a furious burst of quick-firing guns shook the air. With complete indifference to the fact that half a dozen of their own patrol-boats were hastening towards the hulk, the nearest batteries had opened fire.
Fortunately the patrol-boats flung about and steamed off from the danger-zone as hard as their engines could go.
"What are those fools firing at?" asked Huxtable, making way for the dripping form of the Sub as he descended the conning-tower hatchway. The Lieutenant-Commander knew that the batteries were not firing at the British craft, for she was quite invisible to the gunners. The shells were churning the water all around a dark object drifting with the current.
It was the drum which Dick had thrown overboard. Picked up by the united glare of a dozen search-lights, ineffectually shelled by twenty or thirty quick-firers, the drum floated serenely towards the Bosphorus.
Huxtable saw his chance and took it. So intent were the Turkish gun-layers upon blowing to pieces what they imagined to be the conning-tower of the hostile submarine, that neither they nor the men working the search-lights thought of anything else. Save for the shell-torn water in the immediate vicinity of the drifting drum, the sea was shrouded in intense darkness.
"Cast off there!" ordered the Lieutenant-Commander; "diving stations."
As soon as the two seamen had regained the interior of the vessel, hatches were closed and secured, and the submarine, with her conning-tower just awash, forged gently ahead against the stream. Then under the action of her horizontal rudders she quickly slipped beneath the surface and dived to sixty feet.
"Here we are, sir," reported Dick, indicating on a chart the position of the submarine. "A course due east will take us towards the centre of the Bosphorus, and in the direction of Scutari."
"Good!" ejaculated Huxtable. "Crosthwaite, you're a rattling good fellow. It was a smart idea of yours, slinging the drum overboard. It drew their fire splendidly. I don't suppose the rotten gun-layers have settled it yet."
Dick said nothing in reply. Already he realized that his action had been done on the spur of the moment. The good result was simply a fluke. It seemed an absurd thing to have to confess that he had jettisoned the drum merely as an act of pique. Huxtable took his silence as a sign of modesty, and was still further impressed by the Sub's forethought.
The submarine came to rest on the bed of the sea. To plough blindly through the darkness was to court disaster. Her commander's plan was to await the first blush of dawn, ascend and take a rapid bearing, and then shape a course for the broad expanse of the Sea of Marmora. As he had expected, the Turks imagined that their daring assailant was one of the Russian flotilla of submarines, and their chief attentions were centred upon preventing its return to the Black Sea by means of the twenty-four miles of narrow, intricate waterway between the two inland seas.
At daybreak the submarine made a cautious ascent. Almost as soon as the periscope showed above the surface, Huxtable gave vent to an exclamation of mingled surprise and annoyance, for depicted upon the object-bowl was a large cruiser, lying at anchor within easy torpedo range.
It was the recreantGoeben. The Turco-German battle-cruiser bore distinct traces of the rough handling she had undergone. Her lofty, grey-painted sides were holed in several places, both of her funnels were perforated, while two of her big guns had been removed, either because the turret had been put out of action, or else because the huge weapons were badly wanted for shore defence. In addition she was badly trimmed, and showed a decided list to starboard.
"Just our luck!" grunted Huxtable as he promptly caused the submarine to dive once more. "I would give anything for a torpedo; we couldn't possibly miss her at this range."
Ten minutes later another view was obtained through the periscope. Ahead lay the Sea of Marmora: the hazardous return voyage had begun in earnest.
At noon the submarine rose to the surface. All around the sea was unbroken; not a craft of any description was in sight. Eagerly the officers and men welcomed the chance of being able to inhale the pure air after being cooped up for hours within the narrow limits of the steel hull.
Advantage was also taken of the respite to rig the wireless mast. Since the Turks were already acquainted with the fact that a hostile submarine had appeared at the very threshold of the Ottoman capital, there was no further need to abstain from the use of "wireless". Accordingly a message in code was sent to the British flagship, announcing the good work performed by "E—".
Promptly came the reply, also in code:
"Flag to 'E—'. Do not attempt the Dardanelles until after the night of the 11th instant. Situation developing, and movements of our submarine craft are in consequence undesirable."
"Plain as a pikestaff," commented Huxtable when the message had been decoded. "More German submarines, and our destroyers and minesweepers are operating in the hope of netting them."
"Then we are best off where we are, sir," said Dick,
"M'yes," admitted the Lieutenant-Commander grudgingly. "But here we are without being able to let rip at even the most tempting target. If there had been time to slip down to Tenedos and get a fresh supply of torpedoes from our parentship I wouldn't mind in the least. As it is, we've to mark time for the next three days."
"Might I make a suggestion, sir?" asked Dick.
"By all means," replied Huxtable.
The two officers were alone on the after platform of the little craft. The rest of the officers, having been on deck for some time, were down below. Most of the crew were "standing easy" on the limited expanse of fore deck—the narrow platform extending from the base of the conning-tower to within ten feet of the snub bows.
"If we make for Prince's Island again," suggested Dick, "we could keep that tower under observation. There are some of our men imprisoned in it, and the place appears to be slenderly guarded."
"Dash it all, man!" ejaculated Huxtable; "surely you don't suggest that a submarine should bombard a fort? That, apparently, is the crux of your proposition."
"Not necessarily," replied the Sub. "If it came to the point, our guns would make small beer of the Turkish garrison. But if you would let me have half a dozen men, sir, I'd take Farnworth with me, and make a night attack upon the place. We ought to be able to rescue the prisoners and back on board within half an hour, with very little risk."
"What would happen if, during that half-hour, a couple of Turkish destroyers put in an appearance?" asked Huxtable. "I am inclined to let you tackle the job; but one must weigh the matter carefully. I don't want to lose half a dozen hands, nor do I want to leave Farnworth and you marooned on Prince's Island. That's what it would mean, you know."
Dick did not reply. His mind was set upon the sight of that forlorn party of bluejackets being haled into captivity. Perhaps they might be—but no, the possibility was too remote.
"We'll do what we can," declared Huxtable, who rapidly warming to the plan. "At any rate, it will be occupying our time. Let's go below and have a look at the chart. Mr. Devereux," he called out, "pass the word for all hands to bathe, and then a quarter of an hour's 'stand easy' for the men to smoke."
Eagerly the crew took advantage of the permission, and the immediate vicinity of the submarine soon dotted with the heads of the swimmers as they revelled in the clear waters of the Sea of Marmora. Bedding and blankets were also brought on deck to air while the diminutive "ship's company" were enjoying their pipes and cigarettes.
At two bells in the second dog-watch the submarine cleared for running on the surface. Devereux was in charge, the Lieutenant-Commander having taken the opportunity of snatching a few hours' sleep. At eleven knots she steamed leisurely towards the yet invisible island, for as the sun sank low in the west a slight mist obscured the horizon.
Directly land was sighted the craft was submerged, until only the top of the periscope was visible. Speed was reduced to five knots, to minimize as much as possible her tell-tale wake and the feather of spray as the periscope cleaved the water.
An hour of daylight yet remained as the "E—" arrived within two hundred yards of the ramshackle pier, taking up a position so that the slanting rays of the sun tended to render the slender, pole-like periscope invisible against the background of deep crimson sky and sea.
Beyond the desultory movements of a couple of Turkish sentries there was little sign of activity. Above the tower the Crescent flag of the Ottoman Empire drooped idly in the still air. From the row of huts that served as a barracks for the troops came the sound of stringed instruments, mingled with the melodious voices of the men.
At sunset every man of the garrison, to the number of twenty-two, appeared carrying his praying-carpet. From a minaret arose the voice of themuezzincalling the Faithful to prayer, and with one accord the soldiers prostrated themselves upon the ground with their faces turned in the direction of the Mohammedan holy city of Mecca.
Darkness fell upon the scene. Beyond the shouts of the sentries at regular intervals no sound came from the island. Evidently it was not considered to be a place of strategic importance, for no search-lights were flashed from the shore; but away to the nor'-west and north the sheen of the distant search-lights of Constantinople and Scutari was plainly visible through the faint haze.
Volunteers had already been invited from the submarine. Every man had signified his willingness to engage upon the undertaking, and Dick had considerable difficulty in picking his force, so acute was the disappointment of those he had to reject.
At midnight the submarine was awash, and her frail canvas boat was unfolded and launched. At the most it would hold but five.
Giving a final glance to seaward, Huxtable gripped Dick's hand. Silently two seamen entered the frail boat and waited till the Sub had taken his place. Then, with greased rowlocks and muffled oars, the Berthon made cautiously towards the pier.
Straining eyes and ears, Dick grasped the yoke-lines. Steadily the intervening distance decreased, yet no stern challenge came from the shadowy shore. Unseen and unheard, the canvas boat ran alongside the pier, at the head of which was moored a large caique or Turkish craft peculiar to the Bosphorus and its adjacent waters. At a pinch it would carry twenty or twenty-five people, especially as the sea was calm.
It was the work of a moment to cast off the stout cord that was made fast to the stern to prevent the boat from swaying in upon the piles. Then, as cautiously as they had approached, the crew of the Berthon rowed back to the submarine, towing the captured craft astern.
It was a task of considerable difficulty to locate "E—". In the intense darkness—for not the faintest glimpse of a light could be shown—her position was completely invisible; and it was not until he was within twenty yards of the submarine that Dick detected the periscope and arched girder showing faintly against the subdued glare of the distant search-lights.
"All right?" enquired Huxtable anxiously.
"Yes, sir," replied Crosthwaite in a whisper.
At a sign from the Lieutenant-Commander the rest of the landing-party took their places in the caique. Two of the seamen manned the long, weighted oars, each of which worked on a single thole-pin; then in utter silence the two boats headed towards the shore.
Every man carried a rifle and bayonet and sixty rounds of ammunition. The safety catches of the rifles were set, to guard against an accidental discharge of any of the weapons; while orders had been given not to fix bayonets, lest the steel, shining dully in the faint starlight, should betray the presence of the British seamen to the Turkish sentries.
Unchallenged, the boats rubbed alongside the pier. Dick stealthily ascended the perpendicular ladder till his head showed above the planking of the gangway. He could hear the muffled tread of the sentry pacing his beat in front of the tower. He could not hope to escape detection much longer; but provided a couple of men were at his back, he felt certain that they would be sufficient to commence the attack until the rest of the boarding-party could fall in and double for their objective.
One by one the seamen ascended, until only one man was left in each boat to act as boat-keeper. Crouching and holding their rifles at the trail, the bluejackets followed Crosthwaite and the midshipman.
Half-way along the pier they crept; then came the strident hail of the Ottoman sentry.
Without a pause Dick advanced. The challenge was repeated, then a bullet whizzed high above the heads of the landing-party.
"Double!" shouted the Sub.
The planks trembled under the rush of many feet as the men raced down the pier. The sentry was running for dear life, yelling at the top of his voice, to the accompaniment of a rousing British cheer which was quickly taken up by the prisoners within the tower.
Releasing the safety catches of their rifles, all but two of the submarine's men threw themselves on the ground in anticipation of an attack from the troops in the barracks. The two, headed by Farnworth, made their way to the door of the tower.
"Stand clear, there!" said the midshipman in a loud voice, as a warning to any of the prisoners who might be on the other side of the door; then holding the muzzle of his revolver a few inches from the lock, he fired twice in quick succession.
The stout oaken door and its antiquated iron lock were not proof against the heavy Webley bullets, and with a crash the woodwork gave way. Farnworth pushed aside the remains of the door and entered. Within was a square room, absolutely deserted.
"Where are you, men?" he shouted.
"Up here, sir," replied someone; then another voice exclaimed: "Lumme, Bill! if 'tain't Mister Farnworth."
The midshipman had been sent to rescue his own boat's party—the survivors of the ill-starred whaler that had been cast ashore in Yenikeui Bay.
Farnworth looked up. He imagined that he saw an opening in the vaulted ceiling, but there were no signs of a ladder.
"Can't you men get down?" he asked.
"We're locked in," was the lugubrious response. "They planks a ladder up here in daytime, but we don't know what they does with it at night."
One of the two men of the submarine's crew bent down, while the second clambered on his shoulders. Even then, when both stood erect, the uppermost could not reach the side of the aperture.
By this time the crackle of musketry told the midshipman that the rest of his comrades were engaged with the scanty Turkish garrison. It was not Crosthwaite's intention to take the offensive, having once gained possession of the tower. All he meant to do was to hold the Turks in check until the prisoners were liberated, and then to return to the boats.
Farnworth was for the moment at a loss how to act. Without a ladder it seemed impossible to reach the opening in the vaulted roof. Time was of extreme importance, for the noise of the musketry might bring hostile patrol-boats upon the scene. It was even likely that the island was in telegraphic communication with Scutari and Constantinople, in which case a swift destroyer might put in an appearance before the landing-party returned to the submarine.
"Shall I fetch the hand lead-line, sir?" asked one of the seamen who had accompanied him. "There's one in the boat. We can sling it right over the tower."
"And then?" asked the midshipman.
"One of us'll swarm up. The line will hold, I'll allow."
"Carry on!" said Farnworth.
The man took to his heels and ran towards the pier. A long-drawn couple of minutes ensued, but he did not return. The firing seemed to increase. Evidently the numbers of the Turkish garrison were considerably in excess of what the landing-party had estimated. Instead of bolting precipitately, the soldiers were putting up a stiff fight.
The midshipman went to the door. On the threshold he nearly stumbled over the body of the messenger.
"Here's the lead-line, sir," announced the seaman faintly. "They've plugged me right enough."
"Where?" asked Farnworth anxiously.
"Through both thighs, sir," was the reply. "There isn't much pain, but I had to crawl the last twenty yards. Don't worry about me, sir."
A bullet splaying against the stonework within a couple of feet of his face reminded the midshipman that he was exposed to the enemy's fire. Grasping the wounded man by the arms, he dragged him into temporary shelter.
Without a word the second sailor took the lead-line and hurried into the open. Swinging the sinker until it obtained considerable velocity, he released the leaden weight. Flying upwards at a tangent, it sped fairly over the parapet of the tower, falling to the ground on the other side. Then, deftly securing the end of the line to an iron ring in the masonry, the dauntless seaman made his way to the farther face of the building and, gripping the thin yet strong rope, began to swarm up.
It was a hazardous performance. At any moment the line might part, and bullets were mushrooming against the stonework all around the brave climber. Yet, unscathed, he gained the summit of the tower and drew himself over the low parapet.
"No go, sir!" he shouted. "There's a blessed hatchway, but it's locked."
"If I send my revolver up to you, can you blow it off its hinges?" enquired Farnworth anxiously.
"Steady a bit, sir!" replied the man. "Stand clear a moment. All clear, sir?"
"All clear," repeated the midshipman, wondering what the seaman was about to do, yet feeling sure that the reliant fellow had hit upon a feasible plan.
The man had noticed the flagstaff on which during the day the Ottoman flag had been flying. At sunset the Crescent flag had been struck, but instead of untoggling it from the halyards the indolent Turk to whom the duty was entrusted had merely rolled the bunting and secured it to the pole by a bight of the cords.
The sailor deftly detached the flag from the halyards, then, unshipping the twenty-foot pole from its sockets, lowered it to the ground. Half a minute later, with the captured Ottoman ensign rolled round his waist, he rejoined the midshipman.
"Here we are, sir!" he exclaimed. "All we've to do is to push one end of this bloomin' pole up the trap-door and I'll soon swarm up."
Not without considerable difficulty, the midshipman and the seaman succeeded in getting the stout "stick" into the lowermost room of the tower. When set on end it projected from beyond the opening in the vaulted roof.
"I won't be long, sir," declared the man confidently, as he moistened his horny palms prior to climbing the pole. "If you'd let me have your pistol, sir, as you suggested——"
Just then another seaman burst into the room.
"Mr. Crosthwaite's compliments, sir," he exclaimed, saluting the midshipman, "and he would like to know if you've liberated the prisoners yet. We've got a hard job to keep the enemy back. They've made two attempts to rush us."
"Ask him to give me five minutes more," replied Farnworth.
By this time the climber had disappeared through the opening. The deafening report of the midshipman's revolver told that its borrower had blown off the lock of one of the doors, and before the second shot rang out five of the prisoners were sliding down the sole means of communication with the ground.
One of them, possessing himself of the wounded man's rifle and ammunition, dashed out to assist in holding back the Turkish troops. The others, under the midshipman's orders, hastened to the pier-head to obtain the rifles of the two boat-keepers, for every available armed man was needed to fight a rear-guard action.
"All present?" demanded Farnworth, as the last of the rescued crew of theHammerer'swhaler slid to the ground, followed by the indomitable bluejacket who had played such an important part in the rescue.
"All correct, sir," replied Coxswain Webb. "Leastwise, what's left of us."
"Then fall in," ordered the midshipman. "Coxswain, march these men to the pier-head. You'll find two boats there. Embark, and await further instructions."
He could tell the position of Crosthwaite's party by the flashes of their rifles as they replied to the heavy yet almost ineffectual fire of superior numbers. But before he could cover the intervening stretch of rising ground the whole scene was suddenly flooded with brilliant light.
A Turkish patrol-boat had arrived to investigate the cause of the firing. The retreat of the slender British force was cut off.
While Midshipman Farnworth was directing his energies toward the release of his boat's crew, Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite and his small party were hotly engaged with the Turkish troops.
At the first onset, by dint of rapid magazine-firing, Dick's men succeeded in "bluffing" their foes into the belief that they were attacked by a strong landing-force. So much so that had the Sub given orders to fix bayonets and charge, the enemy would have bolted. Unfortunately his instructions from Lieutenant-Commander Huxtable prevented him from so doing. His orders were to hold the shore until the prisoners were released, and then to retire to the boats. On no account was he to penetrate the enemy's defences, lest, in the event of a strong counter-attack, his retreat would be imperilled and even cut off.
It was soon apparent that, under the prodigality of magazine-firing, the men's supply of ammunition would not hold out much longer; but, by the diminution of the rate of fire, the Turks were not slow to realize that they had been deceived by the numbers of their attackers.
Taking advantage of every bit of natural and artificial cover, the bluejackets held grimly to their position, firing deliberately at the spurts of flame that denoted the presence of the Ottoman riflemen, whose numbers were constantly being augmented by other troops from different parts of the island.
Gradually the enemy began to work round to the British right, till the thin line of bluejackets was in danger of being enfiladed. Then, with a succession of fierce yells, the Turks sprang to their feet and with fixed bayonets bore down upon the handful of determined seamen.
A rapid magazine fire swept aside the threatened danger before any of the foemen came within reach of the British bayonets, but at the cost of two men wounded and a severe drain upon the remaining ammunition.
Dick looked grave when he heard Farnworth's report. It was quite evident that the midshipman's task could not be carried out with the ease that he had expected. But having once set his hand to the plough, the Sub realized that there was to be no turning back until the work in hand accomplished. He must hold the position at all costs until the rescued seamen were safely in the boats.
Presently a man slithered past him in the darkness, and, flinging himself prone, began to blaze away at the flashes of light a hundred yards or so on his front. Dick recognized him as the bowman of theHammerer'swhaler. Then he knew that Farnworth's mission was approaching completion.
Again the Turks charged, this time well on the right flank; and before the British line could be re-formed, a score of helmeted Moslems were pouring over the low stone wall protected that portion of the seamen's position. Bayonet crossed bayonet, rifle butts swung in the air. The fierce shouts of the Turks were met with dogged silence, as the stalwart bluejackets lunged and fired at their fanatical foes.
Dick's revolver turned the scale. The Turks fled, leaving a dozen of their number dead on the field, and several others more or less seriously injured.
During the brief respite that followed Dick looked anxiously in the direction of the tower. He could just discern the dark forms of the liberated bluejackets as, under the charge of the coxswain of the whaler, they made for the boats.
Even as he looked a search-light flashed from the hitherto black expanse of sea. Irresolutely playing upon the shore for a few moments, it settled upon the extended line of bluejackets and upon the bullet-splintered barracks whence came the main Turkish fire.
"Lie down, men!" ordered Dick, for with the blaze of light several of the men knelt up and looked in the direction of the disagreeable interruption.
His warning came just in time, for a three-pounder shell from the hostile craft, and, screeching shrilly over the heads of the small British force, exploded with a terrific crash in the Turkish barracks. Evidently there was a quantity of highly-inflammable oil stored within the building, for with extreme violence lurid flames shot skywards, their brilliancy outclassing the glare of the search-light.
The surviving soldiers ran for dear life, and for the time being all opposition from that quarter was at an end. But a peril of even greater magnitude now threatened the force under Crosthwaite's command. Their retreat was cut off.
With the peak of his cap just showing above a low mound of earth, Dick directed his attention seawards. So dazzling were the rays of the search-light that he could discern nothing in the vicinity of the source of the beam. Whether the Turkish vessel was a destroyer or only an armed patrol-boat he could not decide. Nor could he detect any signs of the British submarine. Doubtless Huxtable, at the first warning of the enemy's approach, had dived. Without torpedoes at his disposal, it seemed as if he were helpless in the matter. All he could do was to save his command by resting on the bottom, leaving Crosthwaite and his men to their fate.
Another and yet another shell came from the Turkish craft, each missile bursting harmlessly beyond the sheltered British seamen. It seemed fairly conclusive that the Ottoman craft mounted only one quick-firer, and that, ignorant of the true position of affairs, she was directing the fire against the buildings lately held by the Turkish troops.
Meanwhile the rescued prisoners, who, before the first shell had been fired, had taken their places in the caique, acted with admirable presence of mind. Instead of bolting precipitately along the pier for the more substantial cover that they knew was obtainable ashore, they lay down quietly on the bottom of the boat.
"A bit of a tight corner, sir," exclaimed a voice which Dick recognized as Farnworth's. The midshipman, taking advantage of a sweep of the search-light, had cautiously made his way from the tower to the place where Dick was taking cover.
"We've been in a worse one," replied the Sub coolly. "Our men are as steady as anything. If we can escape the shelling—and they haven't spotted us yet, or else they are rotten shots—we can sit tight. If that craft—I fancy she's only a patrol-boat—puts in alongside the pier to see what damage she's done, we'll do our best to rush her. Dash it all! Who says we are not having a good fling for our money?"
He spoke cheerfully, but at the same time he thoroughly realized the seriousness of the situation. Even should the patrol-boat tie up alongside the pier, which was doubtful, and he succeeded by a coup de main in capturing her, the triumph would be of short duration. Bottled up in the limited expanse of the Sea of Marmora, with the impassable Dardanelles at one end and the equally well-defended Bosphorus at the other, escape in anything except a submarine craft was impossible.
"Whatever are those fellows up to?" enquired Farnworth, as two more shells, fired in quick succession, burst far inland.
"They're giving their friends a taste of their own pills," replied Dick. "It's great! They've mistaken the troops for our men."
Such indeed was the case, for the search-light was slowly yet surely following the retreating, panic-stricken Turkish soldiers, while shell after shell hurtled towards the fugitives as fast as the gun could be discharged.
Suddenly came the report of a double concussion—so quickly that the detonations sounded as a single crash. Then came another.
"By Jove! The skipper is tackling the patrol-boat with our little anti-aircraft gun!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Once more the midshipman was right in his surmise. Taking advantage of the darkness, rendered doubly baffling to the Turks on the patrol-boat owing to the contrast afforded by the search-light, the Lieutenant-Commander of "E—" had boldly brought his craft within close range of the enemy craft.
He knew the risk. One shot from the Ottoman quick-firer would send the submarine to the bottom like a stone. On the other hand, the patrol-boat was nothing more than an old iron tug, on which a light quick-firer had been mounted. Formidable enough when operating against troops unprovided with guns, the Turkish craft was vulnerable even to the smallest quick-firer.
Taken completely by surprise as the first British shell played havoc with her bridge and search-light projector, the patrol circled in a vain endeavour to escape. A second shell ripped a large hole in her water-line, causing her to reel violently and commence to list heavily to starboard.
Only once did the patrol-boat attempt to reply to the devastating shell-fire of the submarine: but the missile, hastily and badly aimed, flew wide, exploding a couple of thousand yards away.
Huxtable's reply was to send a shell crashing against the frail shield of the Turkish gun. The explosion did its work thoroughly, for the gun crew were wiped out and the weapon dismounted.
Twenty seconds later, so destructive had been the effect of the shell upon the compartmentless hull of the craft, the patrol-boat disappeared beneath the surface, her boilers exploding with tremendous violence as she did so.
"Hurrah! She's done for!" exclaimed Farnworth excitedly.
As he spoke a light blinked from the submarine. Huxtable was about to send a message to the landing-party. Since they were unable to signal in return to say that they were ready, the Lieutenant-Commander waited for a brief interval, then began to flash the message.
"Return at once. Am waiting to pick you up."
Crosthwaite promptly obeyed the order. Unmolested his men marched to the pier-head. Deeply laden, the two boats pushed off and rowed slowly towards the submarine, on which a lantern was displayed to enable them to locate her position.
"Help! Aid me!" shouted a voice in broken English, before the boats had covered half the distance between the shore and the "E—".
A violent splashing in the phosphorescent water, followed by reiterated appeals for aid, caused Dick to steer the canvas boat in the direction of the commotion. A seaman in Turkish uniform was swimming for dear life. His strength was fast failing him, and it seemed impossible that he could hold out long enough to reach the shore. With his remaining energies he grasped the gunwale of the frail Berthon and hung on desperately.
"Don't take him on board," ordered Dick, as one of the seamen grasped the Turk by the collar. "You'll upset us if you do; but hold on to him."
The Sub's first intention was to return, towing the man into shallow water, and there let him shift for himself. On second thoughts he remembered that his orders to return to the submarine with the utmost dispatch were peremptory. However undesirable it was to take a prisoner on board, in addition to the rescued men of theHammerer'swhaler, his humane feelings would not allow him to refuse aid to his enemy.
"Give way!" ordered Dick.
The men bent to their oars. The Sub steered for the now discernible "E—", while the Turk, held in the iron grip of his rescuer, was ignominiously towed through the water.
"All present, sir!" reported Crosthwaite.
"Any casualties?" enquired Huxtable anxiously.
"Three, sir."
The Lieutenant-Commander looked worried. The interior of a submarine is no place for a wounded man. There was no medical attention available. The sufferers had to rely solely upon the rough yet good-natured attentions of their comrades. Nevertheless Huxtable had good cause to congratulate himself and his subordinate upon the result of the operations. Not only had a hostile craft been sunk, but all the survivors of theHammerer'slanding-party had been rescued.
And yet the business was far from being accomplished. A tedious wait—at least a nerve-racking ordeal—had to be followed by the return dash through the mine-strewn Dardanelles.
"Effendi, I speak truth. It is not my wish that I fight the English."
"How came you to speak English?" demanded Huxtable.
The examination of the rescued Turkish sailor was in progress. The man had recovered from the effects of the explosion and his subsequent exposure in the water. He was tall, lithe, olive-featured, and of an open countenance.
"I have served in English ship: one that traded between Smyrna and Malta, effendi," he replied. "My name it is Osman Kosmoli. I am an Armenian and a Christian."
"Eh?" interrupted the Lieutenant-Commander incredulously. "A Christian? I thought Christians were not allowed to serve in the Ottoman navy."
"Before the war, no; after the war, yes," replied Kosmoli composedly. "So long as a man he is a sailor it no matter. I no want to fight. They make me. I thank effendi for saving my life," and he bowed his head at Dick, who was sitting by the side of the Lieutenant-Commander.
Crosthwaite thrust his hand into his coat pocket and produced the document that von Eitelheimer had vainly endeavoured to induce him to sign.
"Then tell me what this means," he said.
The Armenian took the paper and read it slowly to himself. His eyebrows contracted as he did so.
"Bad, very bad!" he exclaimed.
"Read it aloud," ordered Dick.
It was another example of German perfidy, purporting to be a declaration expressing extreme disapproval of the Allies' operations against the Turks. It was a bogus confession to the effect that the British and French were guilty of deliberate acts against the Moslem religion, and that the avowed object of their expedition was to stamp out Mohammedanism in the Near East.
"A thundering good job you didn't sign it," remarked Huxtable. "The document would have been photographically reproduced and distributed broadcast throughout Persia, Egypt, Afghanistan, and India with the object of inciting the Mohammedan populace."
"What was to prevent von Eitelheimer from forging my signature?" asked Dick.
"He could have done so," admitted the Lieutenant-Commander, "but it wouldn't be quite the same thing. If you and young Farnworth had signed it and stated your rank, the signatures could not very well be disputed by our own people. They would naturally conclude that the autographs, if genuine, were obtained by fraud, but that is not the point. Ten to one von Eitelheimer, had you agreed to sign, would have made some excuse to have Turkish personages of high standing to witness the attestation. A document like that would cause no end of religious ferment amongst the Moslem world. Now, you see, we have evidence to prove that the Germans are at the root of the business, and I hope you will be able to hand the document personally to the Admiral for transmission to the proper authorities. By Jove, Crosthwaite! it has nipped a dangerous conspiracy in the bud."
"I'd like to have a few words with von Eitelheimer on the subject, sir," declared Dick.
"You may some day: you never know your luck," rejoined Huxtable oracularly.
At last the time-limit expired, and the "E—" was at liberty to attempt her hazardous return voyage. All hands knew that the perils which beset them were far greater than those they had successfully evaded on the run to Constantinople; for it was now practically impossible to creep through the Dardanelles. With a six- or seven-knot current bearing the submarine along, in addition to the "way" necessary to keep the craft under helm control, there was imminent risk of charging one of the hundreds of anchored mines before steps could be taken to avoid it; while should the submarine run aground the impact would inevitably shatter her hull.
Huxtable essayed the task in broad daylight. It was just possible, by keeping a sharp look-out and making quick use of the helm, to detect the presence of the moorings of these destructive weapons of modern warfare.
He took up his position at the for'ard scuttle of the conning-tower, while Devereux and Crosthwaite remained by the observation scuttles on either side of the elongated steel box.
Hour after hour passed. The "E—" was still proceeding without mishap, steered by a compass course. She was now well within the Dardanelles. The fixing of her position was merely a matter of guesswork, since the periscope could not be used without risk of being fired at from the alert batteries. Twice she had to circle, owing to the water shoaling, and attempt a fresh course. It was the only means of keeping to the deep-water channel as it wended its tortuous way through the intricate Narrows.
Suddenly Dick gave an exclamation of surprise. Less than thirty feet from the scuttle, a large, ill-defined grey object darted past. Before he could call the skipper's attention to it, the thing had vanished. For several minutes the "E—" swayed and pitched in the undulations caused by the moving mass.
"A submarine, sir—that I can swear to," reported Crosthwaite.
"Then it's a dashed German one," declared Huxtable. "None of our own were to operate in the Narrows until we reported ourselves. That's rotten luck."
His face bore a grim expression as he spoke, then he broke into a boisterous laugh.
"We're in luck, Crosthwaite," he exclaimed.
"How, sir?" asked the Sub, puzzled at the rapid change in his superior's manner.
"How? Don't you see? The Turks have been expecting that Germanunterseeboot. Consequently they've made preparations. They've ceased to throw out floating mines, and have given her directions for a safe course through the anchored minefield, and we're in the same channel. By Jove! I'll risk it! We'll pop up and see where we are. I shouldn't be surprised if we were close to Sedd-ul-Bahr, or somewhere within range of the guns, otherwise the German submarine would be running awash with her ensign displayed."
Although Huxtable had declared that he would not be surprised at the result of his observation, when the periscope showed above the surface he was completely taken aback. He had considerably underrated the speed of the current, and instead of being still within the Dardanelles, Cape Helles was sighted bearing three miles N.W. What was more, "E—" was within two thousand yards of theHammererand theTremendous, both battleships being engaged in a long-range bombardment of the Turkish trenches on the Gallipoli Peninsula.
Concealment was no longer necessary. Running awash, the submarine "made her number", thus revealing her identity; and in response to a request theHammererdispatched a picket-boat to take off her two missing officers and the survivors of her whaler's crew.
"Well, good-bye, Crosthwaite, old boy, and good luck!" exclaimed the genial Huxtable, as the picket-boat, skilfully handled by Midshipman Sefton, came alongside the submarine. "Hope you haven't been disappointed on the score of excitement. I did my level best to give you a good time."
"That you did, sir," replied the Sub. "By Jove! it makes me want to kick myself for not applying for submarine service when I had the chance."
"It's never too late to mend," rejoined the Lieutenant-Commander. "Once more, good luck to you!"
The picket-boat backed astern, and was soon pelting at a good eighteen knots towards her parent ship. The two midshipmen were exchanging their experiences with great gusto, while Dick, standing beside the coxswain, was trying to convince himself that it was not all a dream that he had really been to Constantinople and back again.
Suddenly the coxswain pointed towards the battleship.
"Something amiss there, sir," he exclaimed. "Bless me, if she ain't hard aground!"
Even as he spoke a furious cannonade from skilfully-hidden shore batteries was opened upon the lucklessHammerer, which, having struck a shoal, presented a fixed target to a hundred Turkish guns. All around her the water was churned by the bursting projectiles. To attempt to take the picket-boat any nearer would be almost suicidal.
"Easy ahead," ordered Dick, at the same time signing to the coxswain to put the helm hard over.
Anxiously the Sub awaited developments. TheHammerer, badly pounded, was replying fiercely and resolutely to the galling fire. Thick clouds of smoke poured from her twin funnels as her powerful engines, running at full speed astern, strove to release her from the grip of the shoal.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Sefton. "Look, sir!"
Considering that Dick was looking all the time, the advice was unnecessary. Yet the midshipman's excitement was justifiable, for a striking example of British pluck was about to be shown.
Steaming slowly astern, theTremendousbacked into the shell-torn inferno. Reckless of the hail of projectiles, a swarm of bluejackets clustered on her poop, while from under her quarter a boat carrying a hawser sped towards her disabled consort. In an incredibly short space of time, communication was established between the two battleships; but, just as theTremendousgathered way, a shell severed the stout hempen rope.
Another attempt was made, but hardly was the boat clear of her parent ship when a projectile ploughed through her bows. Enshrouded in a cloud of smoke and steam, the pinnace disappeared beneath the waves.
Undaunted, theTremendoussent out a third hawser. Working under great difficulties, the crew of theHammerersucceeded in getting the stiff wire rope on board and attaching it to a chain "necklace" round the base of her after turret.
"She's moving!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Slowly theHammererglided astern for almost her own length; then, with a bang that was audible above the roar of the guns, the hawser parted.
By the time theTremendoushad checked her way and had re-established communication, twenty minutes had elapsed. Already theHammerer'stop-hamper was little more than a tangled skein of steel. Her fore topmast had gone; her mainmast had been severed ten feet below the lower fighting-top. One of her funnels had gone by the board; the other was holed in twenty different places and looked little better than a sieve. Only the funnel-guys prevented it from sharing the fate of the former. Yet she kept up a heavy fire with unabated violence, while, to relieve the pressure of the Turkish batteries, two armoured cruisers closed and directed their attention upon the hostile guns.
Suddenly Dick sprang to the wheel, unceremoniously pushing aside the coxswain, whose whole attention was centred upon the stranded battleship.
"Full speed ahead both engines!" he shouted.
His quick eye had discerned a suspicious swirl on the surface within a cable's length of the picket-boat's starboard bow. Even as the little craft shot ahead, from the centre of the disturbed water appeared a periscope. It was not the periscope of a British submarine, of that Dick felt certain. It was a hostile craft, about to take her bearings prior to discharging a torpedo at the motionlessHammereror her almost equally handicapped consort.
"Stand by, men!" ordered the Sub.
The picket-boat, having a dead weight of fifteen tons exclusive of the crew, was capable of dealing a heavy blow, but Crosthwaite realized that that would mean her own destruction. Already he had weighed up the situation. It was risking the lives of a mere handful of officers and men in an attempt to save the huge battleship and her complement of nearly eight hundred.
With a heavy crash the keel of the picket-boat came in violent contact with a submerged object. It was something more substantial than the slender periscope, which, shattered by the impact, had vanished. For a moment the British craft seemed on the point of turning turtle; then, with a sickening movement, she slid over the obstruction into deep water.
It was evident that the picket-boat would not survive the collision. The artificers, having taken steps to prevent an explosion of the boilers, abandoned the engine-room as the water rose above the beds of the engines. A minute later the crew were swimming for their lives.
"She's off, sir," announced a petty officer who was swimming strongly by the side of the Sub-lieutenant. "They'll pick us up all right."
TheHammerer, thanks to the efforts of theTremendous, aided by her own engines going full speed astern, had shaken herself free from the dangerous shoal. Still replying briskly to the Turkish batteries, she glided into deep water, circled, and steamed slowly towards the spot where her picket-boat had disappeared.
"We'll get some of the shells meant for her," spluttered Sefton, who had not yet succeeded in getting rid of a few mouthfuls of salt which he had taken in when the picket-boat sank under him.
"No fear; she'll screen us," answered Dick cheerfully. "We'll—"
The sentence was never completed. A flying splinter of shell, dropping from an immense height, had struck the Sub on the head. Sefton was just in time to grab his superior officer by the coat-collar before he sank.
"Bear a hand, Farnworth!" he exclaimed. "We can't let old Crosthwaite go, but I'm afraid it's a case!"
*****
It was a fortnight later when Dick Crosthwaite opened his eyes. He was lying in Bighi Hospital at Malta, with his head swathed in surgical bandages. He felt horribly weak, and was unable to recollect the circumstances that led to his being in bed in a shore hospital.
Two men were standing a short distance from his cot. Their backs were turned towards him, as they faced the open window. One he recognized as the genial captain of theHammerer, the other was a fleet-surgeon on the hospital staff.
"Then you feel fairly confident that you'll be able to pull him through?" asked theHammerer'sskipper.
"There's every chance. He's as hard as nails, and will bob up like a cork."
"Rather a confusion of similes, my dear O'Loghlin," remarked the Captain with a chuckle. "All the same I'm glad to hear it. I want to ask you a favour. Let me know the moment Crosthwaite regains consciousness. I am particularly anxious, being his skipper, to be the first to tell him the good news."
"Very good, sir," replied the doctor. "I'll bear that in mind."
"It won't be detrimental to his recovery?"
"Faith, that it won't! It will buck him up considerably when he knows he's to get the D.S.O. He'll be up and fit for duty before we force the Dardanelles, you mark my words. He'll be in at the death when we take Constantinople."
"I hope so, too," agreed the captain of theHammerer. "We can't afford to lose the services of such a promising young officer. I hope I'll live to see him attain flag rank."
Dick raised himself on one elbow.
"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed.