Itwas one of the rare occasions when Tom Webb could not carry out the Scout's maxim, "Keep smiling"—at least outwardly. On being slung out of the boat he had been temporarily winded by the edge of the gunwale buffeting his ribs. He had sunk to a considerable depth, and just before he regained the surface he had been compelled to swallow a mouthful—not of honest sea water, but of some vile liquid of which petrol and oil formed component parts. Fortunately the coating of oil on the surface was not thick, otherwise his chance of reappearing would have been very remote.
"Here you are, sir; clap hold of this," exclaimed a deep voice close to his ear, and a large grating was thrust into his grasp.
Rubbing the water from his eyes with his disengaged hand, Webb saw that his benefactor was the coxswain of the cutter. Half a dozen or more men were swimming about, some supporting their less-gifted comrades who were unable to swim.
Owing to the presence of oil the turmoil of broken water had already subsided. Ten yards away the cutter was floating lazily upon the long swell, keel uppermost and with five or six men holding on, or else somewhat foolishly attempting to clamber upon her upturned bilges. Still farther away was the whaler, waterlogged and with only her bow and stern-posts showing above the surface. Quite half a mile off, and still carrying way in spite of having reversed her engines, was the cause of the disaster to the boats.
"Stick it, men," exclaimed Webb encouragingly. "They'll soon pick us up."
At which information, unnecessary since thePortchester Castle'sintention was obvious, the men gave a cheer. Most of them had been "in the ditch" before, and in far more hazardous conditions. This immersion in a warm sea and on a calm day was of the nature of an aquatic picnic, while with the prospect of a speedy rescue none of the men thought it worth while to sacrifice his boots.
The Sub found himself counting the heads of the survivors. Thank God! the number tallied with that of the complete boat's crew. In fact, he was not sure but that there seemed to be more.
"Any casualties?" he enquired of the coxswain, who was lazily swimming close to his young officer.
"Bill Evans, sir; stopped a bullet. Right shoulder, sir. They've got him in tow alongside the cutter. Nothing more."
The coxswain did not think it necessary to inform Webb that he himself had a little memento of the brief scrap with the U-boat's crew, in the shape of a wound just above the left knee. In the water it was hardly noticeable.
The whaler's people, too, seemed to be in the best of spirits. They had closed in around the waterlogged craft, each man gripping the partly submerged gunwale and lustily singing one of the latest ditties, just to emphasize the fact that they were very far from being down-hearted. With them were five or six survivors of the U-boat. Enmity had disappeared, the whaler's men treating their companions in misfortune with the utmost good humour.
Presently Webb felt a hand clutch at his shoulder.
"Here, come off it!" exclaimed the coxswain.
"If you do want a leg-up, don't put your dirty paws on our officer."
The Sub turned his head. Behind him was a German seaman, obviously distressed and in difficulties. He had been holding on to an oar, but the buoyancy of the wood was insufficient to keep his head above the surface.
"Can you swim?" asked Webb.
"Nein," spluttered the Hun. "Me vos no swim——"
"Then hang on to this," continued the Sub, pushing the broad end of the grating within reach of the German. The fellow seized it without a word of thanks.
"Most amiable-looking blighter," commented Webb, regarding the heavy, sullen features of the submariner. "Wonder if you were one of the crowd that jeered at the crew of that torpedoed Italian liner the other day? Shouldn't be at all surprised, but I suppose I must not ask awkward questions. Hallo, what's wrong now?"
A yell of rage attracted the young officer's attention. One of the Germans, either rendered temporarily insane by the fate of the U-boat, or else filled to overflowing with the gospel of "Gott strafe England", had made a sudden and furious attack upon one of the whaler's crew, who a minute or so previously had generously made room for the half-drowned Hun.
The latter, having regained his breath, had drawn a knife and had made several ineffectual attempts to sheathe the blade in the British seaman's body.
Jack Tar was quite equal to the occasion, although interrupted in the midst of "spinning a yarn" with his chum. Evading a sweep with the knife he gripped the German's arm, and drawing up his legs threw them over the shoulders of his assailant. Then, literally sitting on the Hun, he held him under water until he had swallowed a quart of petrol-tainted fluid and was reduced to a state of insensibility. This done, he allowed his assailant's head to appear above the surface, and supported him until the arrival of thePortchester Castle'sboats.
"Why didn't you 'out' him while you were about it, mate?" enquired the man's "raggie".
"No bloomin' fear," was the reply of the magnanimous bluejacket. Then, anxious to excuse himself, he added: "Drownin's too good for that brute. Well, I was a-tellin' you about that there bloke wot sneaked Bill's plug o' bacca. You see it wur like this——"
And as if the incident of the murderous Hun had never occurred, the sailor resumed his yarn.
Five minutes later the saturated but undaunted crews of the capsized boats were safe and sound on board. Nine members of the U-boat's complement were sent below after having been provided with dry clothing by their good-natured foes. The cutter and the whaler were recovered and hoisted inboard, having sustained very little damage. Then, having made their report and been complimented on their work, Webb and Haynes went below to change their soaked uniforms. ThePortchester Castle, this part of her mission successfully accomplished, put about and retraced her course to Gibraltar.
Here the prisoners were to be sent ashore until an opportunity occurred to put them on board a vessel bound for England, there to swell the total of ever-increasing numbers of Hun pirates living in a state of comparative ease in a hostile country, while thousands of Britons, who had fought cleanly for King and Country, were languishing, half-starved and in rags, in the hideous prison-camps of Germany.
"Hallo, there's a fellow who evidently wants to pow-wow with you, Tom," said Osborne, as the two officers stood at the head of the gangway, watching the U-boat's survivors being marched ashore.
The German whom Osborne had indicated had stepped forward and was signing vigorously to Webb. Then, to the Sub's surprise, the man produced a small packet and held it out.
"Tanks!" he exclaimed. "For you—many tanks."
Then it was that Webb recognized the man whose life he had been instrumental in saving. The Hun had some sense of gratitude after all, he reflected, as he took the proffered packet.
But before Webb could examine its contents a loud yell distracted his attention from the Hun's gift. The last of the prisoners to leave the ship was the fellow who had attempted to knife one of the whaler's crew. With a show of bravado and out of sheer cruelty, he had deliberately kicked Laddie in the ribs as he passed towards the gangway.
The Hun had one of the shocks of his life. He had underestimated the spirit of an Old English sheep-dog.
Although the kick was a heavy one, Laddie never uttered a sound. Like an arrow from a bow the dog flew straight at the leg that was wearing the offending boot.
Laddie bit hard—so hard that Osborne afterwards declared that he could hear the dog's teeth grinding upon the aggressor's shin-bone. Yelling frantically with pain and terror the German strove to shake off the animal, but, retaining a vice-like hold, Laddie hung on, and finally threw the fellow on deck. As for his comrades, they ran panic-stricken down the brow and across the Mole in spite of the efforts of the guards to keep them under control. Nor did the British bluejackets attempt to interfere. There was no knowing what the angry animal might or might not do, and since the Hun brought the punishment upon himself there was no great anxiety on the part of the crew to intervene.
"That's enough, I think, Mr. Osborne," said Captain M'Bride quietly.
The Lieutenant had his doubts as to whether his pet would, in his fury, listen to his master's voice.
"Come here, Laddie," he ordered sternly.
The dog obeyed instantly, and releasing his grip trotted over to Osborne's feet. Not possessing the luxury of a tail, Laddie wagged the whole of his hind quarters as much as to say: "Now, who says a dog cannot do his bit for his country?"
Limping painfully the brutal German was assisted down the gangway. He had had his lesson.
"What did that Hun give you?" asked Osborne some minutes later.
"I'd forgotten all about it," said Webb, producing the packet from his pocket. "Laddie's little dust-up put all thought of it out of my head. It is from a fellow to whom I gave a hand when we were 'in the ditch'. He didn't seem particularly grateful then, but I suppose he was a bit done up. Hallo, what's this?"
He held up an Iron Cross.
"Heigh-ho!So we are up against Johnny Turk at last," exclaimed Jack Osborne. "And a jolly clean fighter too. A foeman one can admire."
"And treat with all proper respect," added Sub-lieutenant Haynes. "I remember how in the earlier part of the war people at home used to sneer at the lying Turkishcommuniqués, but, by Jove, they were mighty close on the bull's-eye."
"Of course I haven't had any experience of Turkish ways," remarked Webb, "but I know something of the dirty tricks of the Huns in the North Sea and elsewhere. I used to be under the impression that the Turks were an effete, lying nation, only permitted to retain a small slice of Europe by the mutual consent of the Great Powers. See how the Bulgarians and Serbs made them run only a few years ago. And now they're putting up one of the toughest fights that ever figured in history."
A fortnight had elapsed since thePortchester Castlehad left Gib. for the second time. She was now cruising on outer patrol duty in the AEgean Sea, her station being on the eastern or Asiatic shore of that island-studded expanse of water.
"I suppose the Germans stiffen the Turks a bit," said Osborne. "For one thing, the presence of Hun U-boats in these waters has hampered our movements. I wonder what sort of a job ours will be to-night?"
The "job" to which the Lieutenant referred was the destruction of a hitherto carefully concealed petrol depot on the shores of Asia Minor, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Smyrna. It was from a Greek member of a Turkish coasting vessel, captured a few hours previously, that the information had been obtained of the precise position of the depot; and, in spite of the fact that it is almost impossible to trust a Greek, Captain M'Bride determined to put the information to the test. For one thing he held the informer as a hostage, much to the latter's undisguised alarm.
The discovery and destruction of these secret lairs of Germanunterseebootenin the Mediterranean was proceeding systematically, yet there remained a lot of work in that direction. Once the hostile submarines were deprived of the means of replenishing their stores of fuel, the menace to the merchant shipping of the Allies in these waters would cease to exist, and once more the Suez Canal could be fully utilized as an artery of commerce. Hitherto the depredations of modern pirates had succeeded in diverting a considerable portion of Far East shipping round the Cape of Good Hope, thus increasing the cost of freightage and the length of a voyage.
A messenger pattered along the deck and, approaching the three officers, smartly saluted.
"Cap'n's compliments, sir," he said, addressing Lieutenant Osborne. "He wants to see commanding officers of boats in his cabin."
"Now to business," exclaimed Osborne gleefully as, accompanied by Webb and Haynes, he made his way aft. They found Captain M'Bride leaning over the table, his head supported by his hands, and his elbows planted upon a large-scale map.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" was his cheery greeting. "We may as well go into final details of this little business. You, Mr. Osborne, will be in charge of the boats. I am sending the steam cutter, the pulling cutter, and the whaler. Now, here is your objective—Akhissareli. According to this chart, there are four fathoms to within fifty yards of the shore so long as you give that ledge of rocks a wide berth. There is a sandy bottom, so you ought to have no difficulty in getting ashore. My experience is that one usually finds soft mud in the inlets in these parts, but this gives emphatic information to the contrary. We'll take the ship in to within ten miles of the shore. The steam cutter can then tow the other boats to save the men a long and arduous pull. Use your discretion, Mr. Osborne, when to cast off the tow, but for goodness' sake don't let the Turks have an inkling of your approach. See that the leading stoker does not let even a solitary spark escape through the funnels. By the Greek's account there'll be a guard of fifteen men, so everything depends upon a complete surprise. I'll leave you to make your own arrangements, but at six bells I'll close with the shore and keep a bright look-out for your signals, so as to pick you up without delay. The Admiral is sending a couple of destroyers to keep an eye on thePortchester Castle, so we ought to be fairly safe from submarine attack. Now, Mr. Osborne, suppose you discuss your plans with your two subordinates, and if I have any criticism to make I'll do so."
As a matter of fact the skipper listened in silence while Osborne discussed the operations with the two sub-lieutenants. He had a high opinion of the young officer's sound judgment, and, listening, had no cause to alter his opinion.
"By the by," remarked Captain M'Bride when the council of war was about to break up, "I suppose you'll see that that pet of yours is left behind? Not that I have any complaint to make against him. He's turned up trumps more than once; but I think it advisable to mention the matter."
"Of course, sir," replied Osborne. "Laddie was hanging round the cook's galley, so he won't know that we're going."
But Osborne was mistaken. The dog instinctively knew that something was about to transpire. Possibly when the leading stoker of the steam cutter, who was one of the animal's special pets, proceeded to raise steam, Laddie spotted a chance of a run ashore.
So while in the darkness—for night had fallen—the landing party mustered for inspection, the dog slipped quietly up the ladder to the cutter on the booms, and concealed himself under one of the seats in the cabin.
By the feeble glimmer of a hand lantern borne by one of the quartermasters, Lieutenant Osborne made a critical inspection of the men's arms and equipment. Then, the landing party having been reported all correct, they were briefly addressed by the Captain, who, having explained the nature of the operations, bade them good luck and a safe return.
The men having embarked, the steam cutter took the two boats in tow and steered solely on a compass course shaped in the direction of the invisible Akhissareli. An hour later, for progress was slow, the loom of the land became visible, while shortly afterwards the rugged outlines of the mountains could be discerned silhouetted against the starlit sky.
"Stop her," ordered Osborne.
Still carrying way the two pulling boats ran close alongside, while their crews silently dropped the heavy ash oars into the muffled rowlocks. For the time being the steamboat was to "stand by", ready to proceed to the assistance of her consorts, should aid be necessary. It was upon the cutter and the whaler that the brunt of the operations was to fall.
Armed with a pair of powerful night-glasses Osborne took up his post on the cabin top and swept the distant shore. Everything appeared to be quiet. Not a sound was to be heard save the distant roar of the surf on a ledge of rocks well to windward of the inlet. Not a light was visible on shore. The place seemed as deserted as the polar regions.
"Sir," whispered a petty officer; "here's this dog of yours."
"How came he on board?" asked Osborne sternly.
"Dunno, sir; he's just come out of the cabin."
Osborne realized that he was on the horns of a dilemma. Unwittingly he had disobeyed an indirect order from his skipper, since he was responsible for the dog. Should Laddie bark or make a sound the success of the enterprise would be jeopardized. Briefly, the situation was this: everything depended upon the animal's behaviour. In one scale of the balance were the lives and liberties of, perhaps, fifty men; in the other the life of a dog.
Quickly the Lieutenant decided how to act.
"Now, Laddie," he said earnestly, "lie down and don't make a sound until I give you permission. Be a good dog."
Then addressing one of the steamboat's crew he continued: "Get a marline-spike from the tool-chest, Walters; that's right. Now listen. I want you to stand by Laddie. Keep one hand in his collar. At the first sign he makes of barking, hit him as hard as you can over the head. You understand?"
"Yes, sir," replied the man. He was a trustworthy and thoroughly steady-nerved bluejacket, who would not be likely to become "jumpy". Laddie's life, then, was safe in his charge, provided Osborne's pet obeyed his master's instructions.
The Lieutenant resumed his watch. By this time both pulling boats were out of sight, swallowed up in the intense darkness. At intervals he glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. The minutes seemed to drag with a persistency hitherto unknown. Surely the two boats were by this time close to their objective?
Suddenly a flash of reddish light stabbed the darkness, then a galaxy of others—a regular blaze of rifle fires. As the report of the first shot reached the Lieutenant's ears, Osborne leant over the edge of the cabin top.
"You can put that marline-spike down, Walters," he said quietly. Then, leaping into the stern-sheets and snatching up the voice-tube, he gave the order "Full speed ahead".
Even as the steamboat gathered way, half a dozen search-lights were unmasked ashore. Two of the giant beams swung seawards, the rest being directed upon the enclosed water of the creek. At the same time the rattle of musketry was augmented by the deeper bark of quick-firers and the ominous tap-tap-tap of machine-guns.
Instinctively Osborne realized that, far from being a surprise, the landing expedition had been properly ambushed. Treachery had been at work. The Greek who, fortunately, was still detained on board thePortchester Castlehad deliberately misled the British. Instead of the operations being directed against a secret petrol depot, the boats found themselves up against a powerful and well-organized system of shore batteries and a strong force of troops to oppose their landing.
Clearly Osborne knew his duty. At all costs the steamboat must dash in and rescue her consorts or perish in the attempt.
Suddenly one of the seaward-directed searchlights swung rapidly past the steam cutter and, hesitating, played fairly upon the hull of a large torpedo-boat that was making at full speed in the direction of Akhissareli.
For a brief instant Osborne hesitated. He knew that British destroyers were in the vicinity, and possibly this was one tearing to the assistance of thePortchester Castle'sboats. He dare not make a private signal lest the shore batteries should spot the steamboat's presence. On the other hand, there were two factors that tended to upset the friendly destroyer theory. The Turks ashore had made no attempt to fire upon the approaching craft; her outlines, as shown up by the search-lights, were unfamiliar. As she drew nearer, Osborne knew conclusively that it was a Turkish torpedo-boat, no doubt attempting to run the gauntlet of the Allied fleets.
"Let her have it," shouted Osborne, at the same time ordering the helm to be ported ten degrees, in order to bring the steamboat on a slightly converging course with that of the Ottoman torpedo craft, which, by reason of superior speed, was rapidly overtaking the British boat.
The gun-layer of the quick-firer obeyed instantly. With a lurid flash, accompanied by an ear-splitting detonation, the first shell sped on its errand of destruction. Well and truly laid was the gun, for the projectile, striking the lightly armoured conning-tower of the torpedo-boat, literally pulverized it. Five seconds later a second shell, hitting the Turkish craft just abaft the second funnel, played havoc in the engine-room. Columns of steam, gleaming like tarnished silver in the glare of the search-light, poured through the shattered deck, as, listing heavily, the torpedo-boat circled to starboard. Feebly she replied to the steamboat's fire. Momentarily she lost way, for the lucky shot had crippled her engines; while the survivors of her crew on deck, imagining that she was about to founder, or else panic-stricken by the destruction wrought by the shell, threw themselves overboard and began to swim for the shore.
That particular piece of work accomplished—the action had lasted less than a minute—Osborne again steadied the steam cutter on her course to the rescue of the trapped landing party.
Itwill now be necessary to set back the hands of the clock, and follow the adventures of Sub-lieutenants Webb and Haynes from the time when the cutter and the whaler parted company with the steamboat.
Tom Webb, being now the senior officer, led the way, steering a compass course, and having to make due allowances for the southerly current from the distant Dardanelles. Only the ripple of the water from the boat's bows, the laboured breathing of the oarsmen, and the creak of the stretchers broke the silence of the night. The muffled oars were admirably handled, not a plash being audible as the blades rose cleanly from the phosphorescent water. The superb pulling of those Royal Naval Reserve men would have evoked praise from the most critical naval officer.
Gradually the shore loomed up nearer and nearer. Progress was slow but sure, for Webb had taken the precaution to reserve the rowers' strength for the final lap. On the port hand the land rose abruptly. To starboard a ledge of jagged rocks stretched seaward; while dead ahead lay a comparatively broad expanse of land-locked water, its extent rendered baffling by the deep reflection cast by the high ground upon the placid surface.
Keeping midway between the entrance points Webb steered straight in. The petrol depot was supposed to be on the port-hand side, on gently shelving ground hidden from seaward by a line of low cliffs.
Webb would not have been surprised if, on rounding the entrance, there were signs of activity on shore. A couple of submarines, perhaps, anchored in the seclusion of the creek, and in the act of taking in quantities of fuel. But all was quiet. Not a sound came from the shadowy land; not a light was visible.
The cutter was in the act of turning to port, when from the high ground at the entrance to the creek a rifle-shot rang out, and a bullet whizzed within fifty feet of the boat's bows. There was no mistaking the shot. It was not a chance bullet, but a purposely-made signal.
"Give way, lads!" exclaimed the Sub, all necessity for silence now at an end. Haynes, too, gave the word for his men to pull their hardest, and now, almost neck and neck, the two boats literally tore through the water, greeted by a veritable fusillade from the heights on the left and from the shelving ground ahead.
A stifled cry of pain told Webb that one of the boat's crew had stopped a piece of nickel; but, setting his teeth grimly, the wounded man, despite a bullet wound completely through the left arm, stuck gamely to his oar.
"By Jove!" muttered the young officer as the blinding glare of the first of the unmasked search-lights played fairly upon his eyes, "we're trapped."
Then other rays darted across the surface of the creek, transforming the darkness of the night into a state of brilliance almost approaching that of daylight. A seven-pounder shell, hurtling overhead, exploded a hundred yards astern of the whaler, while, all around the two boats, the water was churned into a series of miniature waterspouts by a hail of bullets.
The British craft did not come off unscathed. Splinters from the ash oars and from the gunwales flew in all directions. Already writhing figures were huddled upon the cutter's bottom-boards, while stifled groans from the whaler told the unpleasant fact that some of her crew had been hit.
"Pull starboard, back port!" ordered Webb. With the opening fire of the Turkish light guns he knew that it would be worse than useless to attempt to carry out the operations. It would only be needlessly sacrificing the lives of the men without the faintest chance of success. All that could be done was to withdraw from the veritable death-trap, if such a course were possible.
The Turks were now using machine-guns, but luckily their aim was bad, for the scythe-like hail of bullets passed harmlessly over the boats. Had the weapons been depressed a mere fraction of an inch, the British would have been wiped out to a man.
Quickly the whaler followed the cutter's example, turning and making for the open sea.
By this time the roar of the hostile fire was deafening. Had the search-lights not been running, the flashes of the guns and of the continuous musketry were sufficient to turn the hitherto pitch darkness into a lurid glare. Showing up clearly against the high ground on the opposite side of the creek, the boats presented an easy target. By all the laws and theories of modern warfare they should have been blown clear out of the water; instead, they seemed to be shielded by a special providence.
As the boats withdrew and the range of the hostile fire increased, the Turks began to aim with better results. The coxswain of Webb's boat, shot through the head, was lying across the backboard of the stern-sheets. The bowman, hit by a flying fragment of shell, had dropped inertly over the thwart. Others of the crew had sustained more or less serious wounds, until only six men were left to use the oars.
Nor did the whaler fare better. Four dead men lay upon the bottom-boards, seven badly wounded were striving to make light of their terrible injuries. Even when face to face with death the gallant British seamen "stuck it", with grim smiles on their faces and light-hearted jests on their lips. Several of the oars had been splintered; there were half a dozen bullet holes through the planks 'twixt wind and water, to say nothing of numerous perforations in the top-strakes of the gunwales. Yet the whaler still kept afloat, thanks to the determination and resource of her crew, who stuffed strips torn from their scarves into the shot holes and plied balers vigorously, despite the galling fire to which they were unable to reply.
In vain Webb looked for the steam cutter; but while scanning the entrance to the creek he saw something that called for instant action—something that in a measure accounted for the fact that the boats had not been destroyed. The Turkish quick-firers and most of the small arms were directing a fairly concentrated storm of shot and shell across the entrance, thus creating an almost impassable barrage. Clearly the Sub saw the object of these tactics: the enemy were trying to force the two boats into surrendering, rather than blow them out of the water.
Webb found himself asking the question "For why?" He could give no satisfactory reply. He was in a very tight corner; but he had been in similar predicaments before, and his resource and courage had brought him through. Why not now?
"By Jove!" he muttered; "if we can get in close to the shore those cliffs will shelter us. They don't seem to have posted any troops there, and certainly there are no quick-firers."
Acting promptly he altered helm. The rowers, finding their boat heading towards the shore, regarded their young officer with evident concern, until they saw the cool resolute look upon the Sub's face. Then they knew that he had something in view that might extricate them from the deadly trap.
The whaler, too, followed suit, and, before the Turks realized the fact, both boats were sheltered from the hostile fire.
The Sub now steered the cutter parallel with the line of low cliffs and at a distance of about three boats' lengths from their base. At intervals the two craft had to edge outwards in order to avoid the jagged reefs that jutted out from the precipitous cliffs; yet progressing slowly, for the men at the oars were either wounded or well-nigh exhausted, the cutter, followed by the whaler, crept towards the open sea. And still no sign of the steamboat that was supposed to be standing by to cover their movements.
Suddenly Webb spotted something ahead that filled him with vague apprehension. He stood upright in order to verify his suspicions. There was no mistake: stretched right across the narrowest part of the entrance was a formidable barrier composed of wire hawsers supported on floating iron-spiked balks of timber.
The obstruction had not been there when the boats entered the land-locked estuary. It was a device planned under the supervision of German officers, and was simple in its design and operation. The balks had been bunched together close on shore. From the outermost one a flexible steel hawser crossed the entrance and was secured to a powerful capstan on the opposite bank. With no strain upon it the hawser lay on the bottom of the creek, and the navigable channel was clear. Directly the cutter and the whaler had passed over the hawser a strain was taken on it, with the result that the balks of timber were hauled into position, forming a "boom" too strong to be severed by the "way" of a rowing boat, too buoyant to be pushed under water to allow a craft to pass above, and with too great a strain on the connecting hawser to permit a boat to force her way underneath. It was like being in a bottle with the neck tightly corked.
"What do you make of it?" shouted Tom to the Sub in charge of the whaler.
"A tough job," replied Haynes. "D'you think that there's a live wire attached to that contraption?"
"I'll soon find out, old son," rejoined Webb. There was no time to be lost, for the Turks, realizing that the boats were temporarily sheltered, would almost certainly rush a couple of machine-guns to the summit of the cliff. At close range, for the boats were now within twenty yards of the shore, the British landing party would be at the mercy of the enemy.
Snatching up an india-rubber mat that lay in the stern-sheets Webb made his way for'ard, over the thwarts and the pack of wounded men. Then, clambering on the nearest balk of timber, he threw the insulated material over one of the wires and forced it against the next cable. Nothing resulted. That pair, at all events, did not convey any powerful and death-dealing current of electricity.
"A couple of hands for'ard," ordered the Sub. "Bring a hammer and chisel from the boat's bag and start cutting through this wire gear."
Volunteers were quickly forthcoming—two seamen who had been but slightly wounded. While they were tackling the task, knee-deep in water owing to the timber sinking under their weight, Webb tested the remaining wire ropes. To his intense satisfaction they were comparatively harmless; but the fact remained that there were six 2-inch flexible wires to be cut through before the boats could gain the open sea.
Desperately the two seamen attacked the stubborn wire with cold chisel and hammer. It was a slow business, for the steel was extremely tough, while the lack of anything in the nature of an anvil caused much of the force of the hammer to be wasted.
"One nearly through, sir," reported the seaman with the chisel. His hands were streaming with blood, owing to lacerations made by the severed strands, each of which was as tough and as sharp as a sailmaker's needle. "Wish we had a hacksaw," he added.
"No good wishing for something we haven't got," said Webb. "We'll do it all in good time. Let me give you a spell."
But before the Sub could make his way along the partly submerged timber Haynes exclaimed:
"Stand by; here they come!"
Webb listened intently. He could distinguish the thud of many feet, and the high-pitched sort of cheer that Turkish infantry frequently give vent to when advancing at the double.
"Back with you!" he ordered, addressing the two seamen on the balk. "Stand to your arms, men!"
The Sub had made up his mind. It must be a fight to the death. There could be no surrender. Yet it was a forlorn hope. At the utmost, only a dozen rifles would be able to reply to the renewed attack.
Another and totally different sound wafted across the sea, at first so faintly that Webb was afraid to trust the evidence of his own senses. The sound increased in volume. Now it was unmistakable—the chug-chug of the steam cutter's engines.
Snatching up a Very's pistol and inserting a cartridge, Webb fired into the air. The green light from the signal-cartridge threw a sickly glare upon the scene, hitherto shrouded in intense darkness; for, although the greater portion of the creek was one blaze of search-lights, the darkness under the cliffs was almost impenetrable.
Well it was that Webb had fired the signal, for the steamboat was heading for the centre of the creek. Instantly the boat altered helm and tore down upon the two trapped craft. She was charging at full speed against the formidable boom. "Steamboat ahoy!" shouted Webb at the full force of his lungs. "Slow down; there's an obstruction ahead of you."
The warning was unheeded. Either Osborne had failed to hear his chum's voice, or else he had made up his mind to charge the boom, in the hope that the steamboat's sharp bow would shear through the danger.
The outermost wire of the boom parted like packthread under the terrific impact of ten tons of deadweight, travelling at fifteen knots. By good luck the boat had struck the boom immediately between two of the balks of timber, otherwise her planks would have been ripped like paper by the formidable steel spikes.
The second wire sagged but held. A whole section of the boom swayed, the side nearest the cutter slipping under the water, while the other side reared five or six feet in the air, narrowly missing the bows of the whaler in its descent.
For quite twenty yards the steamboat was forced astern by the rebound of the hawser; then, just as she was forging ahead once more, Osborne ordered the engines to be stopped. Very docilely the boat ran alongside the insurmountable barrier.
"All aboard here—all hands!" ordered Osborne, addressing the survivors of the cutter and the whaler.
The bow gun of the steamboat was spitting venomously at parties of Turks who had now appeared upon the top of the cliffs. Distinctly silhouetted against the glow of the search-lights they made an excellent target, while the boats, lying close alongside the steeply rising ground, were practically invisible, save for the flashes of the steamboat's gun.
Assisted by their slightly wounded comrades, the disabled seamen were helped along the swaying timber and received on board the steam cutter. Webb and Haynes were the last to leave. The latter had come off lightly, having sustained nothing more than a graze across the forehead.
"Bear a hand, old man!" exclaimed Webb, after a vain attempt to scramble upon the boat's side.
"Hit?" enquired Haynes laconically.
"Don't know. Fancy I must be," replied the Sub dully.
Had not Haynes grasped his comrade by the shoulders Webb would have dropped inertly from the balk of timber into the sea. Everything was turning a dazzling white before his eyes. His nerveless hands were holding on to the top-strake of the cutter, yet he was unconscious of the fact.
"Buck up!" exclaimed Haynes encouragingly. "Now, up she comes!"
With a determined effort the Sub of the whaler heaved his chum upon the cutter's waterways.
"Where are you hit, old man?" he asked, but the question was unanswered. Sub-lieutenant Tom Webb was unconscious.
Withassistance Dicky Haynes contrived to carry his brother Sub to the diminutive cabin, where three badly wounded men had already been placed in comparative shelter. More for his chum, Dicky Haynes was unable to do for the present. His duty required him to be on deck to assist the already hard-worked Osborne.
The bow gun was still firing. Not that any of the enemy were visible, but merely to let them know that sections of the cliffs in the vicinity of the steamboat were decidedly "unhealthy". The Turkish infantry had suffered fairly heavily when they appeared above the crest, and the renewed fire from the steam cutter was sufficient to keep them at a discreet distance.
"Easy astern!" ordered the Lieutenant. "One of you nip below and see if she's strained."
A seaman disappeared down the hatchway of the fore-cabin, quickly reappearing with the disconcerting news that there was water on the floorboards.
"A couple of hands to try and locate the leak," continued Osborne. Then grasping the flexible voice-tube he gave the leading stoker instructions to couple up the steam bilge-pump.
Having drawn clear of the boom, and left the pulling cutter and the whaler to their fate, the steamboat forged ahead, and put a safe distance betwixt her and the trap that had all but proved fatal to the unfortunate landing party.
The result of running ahead was to increase the rush of water through the holed plank, which, located close to the bulkhead at the fore-end of the stokehold, was awkward to get at. Moreover, a hole in a diagonal-planked craft is specially difficult to repair, even in a temporary fashion. In spite of the action of the powerful pumps the water was gaining, although the transverse bulkhead kept the engine-room from being flooded. Yet the danger of the boat foundering had to be faced.
With fire-tinged smoke pouring from her funnels the cutter continued her retreat. As long as she kept on a certain bearing, she was masked by the cliffs from the search-light and the direct fire of the Turkish quick-firers yet Osborne knew that by so doing he was running a risk of piling the little craft upon one of the numerous ledges of rock that jutted out from the shore.
"Vessel dead ahead, sir," reported the look-out man.
A couple of hundred yards away and right athwart the steamboat's course was a long, low-lying craft, apparently hove-to. She showed no lights, nor had she attempted to hail the approaching British boat. To pass her to starboard meant almost certain disaster upon the rocks; to alter helm to pass her to port would result in the steamboat entering the field of the search-lights, and consequently make her an easy target for the hostile guns.
"Stand by, there!" exclaimed Osborne. "Let her have it directly I give the word. Steady on your helm, coxswain. Keep her at that."
For a few seconds Lieutenant Osborne kept his glasses focused on the mysterious craft. Was she a Turkish patrol-boat intent upon cutting off the steam cutter's retreat, or one of the British motor craft sent to assist the landing party?
Suddenly the Lieutenant gave a chuckle of delight.
"It's our old friend the Turkish torpedo-boat," he remarked to Haynes. "We gave her what-ho! on our way to pick you up. Her crew jumped overboard and swam for it."
One thing still puzzled him. The torpedo-boat, when abandoned by her panic-stricken crew, was a couple of miles farther to the south-west. Now, although apparently without way, she had almost grounded on the north-eastern shore of the extensive bay.
"Can't be the current," mused Osborne. "That sets southerly from the Dardanelles. Perhaps it's a counter-current, though."
The latter theory was correct. A strong run of water, deflected from the opposite side of the bay, had set the derelict in a totally different direction from the one Osborne had imagined.
"We'll have her, old man," he exclaimed to Haynes. "It will be something to make up for the rotten business. Stand by, bowmen. Out fenders!"
With hardly the faintest bump, for there was no sea on, the steam cutter was brought alongside the abandoned Turkish craft. Although badly damaged about the upper works and hulled several times above the water-line, the latter was still "as tight as a bottle". A couple of hands were placed on board to take the helm, and the cutter, lashed alongside fore and aft, began to gather way. Gradually speed worked up to five knots, as the little captor and her comparatively large prize drew away from the dangerous shore.
Osborne realized that he was not yet "out of the wood". Ahead was a stretch of brilliantly illuminated water, where the search-lights, playing above and over the cliffs, were able to throw direct rays upon the sea. Yet, as the steamboat and her prize entered the light, the Turks refrained from reopening fire. They had spotted the captured torpedo-boat; the steam cutter lashed alongside was hidden from their view by the greater bulk of her capture. They recognized the former as a unit of the Ottoman Navy. She was known to be attempting a run from the Dardanelles to Smyrna; and yet there could only be one reason why she should be proceeding in a westerly direction.
When at length the Turks realized that the torpedo-boat was a prize, they brought every available gun to bear upon her. For several minutes the water all around was churned into columns of foam. Several fragments of shell struck the prize. The steamboat, snugly sheltered under her lee, escaped without further damage. Foiled in their endeavour, the enemy reluctantly ceased fire.
As soon as they were out of range the boat's crew were able to devote themselves to their wounded comrades. For the first time that night a lamp was lighted in the after-cabin.
Tom Webb had recovered consciousness when, having left Haynes in charge, Lieutenant Osborne went below to see how his brother officer and close companion fared.
The Sub's injuries consisted of a painful, though not dangerous, flesh wound in the muscles of the right leg—a nasty laceration caused by one of the sharp spikes of the boom. Webb, in his desperate work, had not noticed the wound until he had attempted to climb over the side of the steamboat. In addition he had a contused wound on the top of his head, although he had no idea of how or when the injury was received.
"I always was noted for my thick skull, Osborne," he remarked, with a rather sorry endeavour to follow out the Scout's maxim of "Keep smiling". "But I'm sorry for what has happened."
"It wasn't your fault, or anyone's, as far as I can make out," said the Lieutenant. "We were had properly. These things are bound to occur in war-time. It's lucky it's no worse."
"Rather humiliating, though," continued Webb. "Getting in a proper rat-trap without the chance of firing a shot."
"We fired many a round, only you know nothing about it," announced Osborne. "We were quite hotly engaged——"
"What's that noise I hear?" interrupted the injured officer, as a grinding, rasping sound penetrated into the cabin.
"Oh, that? Nothing much," replied Osborne modestly. "We've a prize lashed alongside—a Turkish torpedo-boat. She got in our way after the boats had cast off, and we winged her. Later on we fell in with her again, and finding her abandoned but seaworthy, we took possession of her. So you see, Tom, it hasn't been altogether a fruitless expedition. We've lost the pulling cutter and the whaler, and collared a torpedo-boat in exchange."
"Good business!" exclaimed Webb. "I'd like to cheer, Osborne, only my throat's burning; and I can't grin my appreciation; the bump on my head has stretched my cheeks so tightly that if I did I really believe I'd crack the skin. You know——"
"Destroyer bearing down on the starboard bow, sir," reported Haynes in his best professional manner.
Osborne hurried from the cabin. Feeble though the lamplight was, it was sufficient to dazzle his eyes and render him incapable of seeing anything distinctly.
"Bring a signalling lamp with you," he ordered, at the same time making a leap for the torpedo-boat's deck.
Out of the darkness flashed the destroyer's search-light full upon the prize. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, for the oncoming craft, recognizing the torpedo-boat as a Turkish vessel, would perhaps start blazing away without further ado.
Promptly the steamboat's signalman made her private number. The destroyer acknowledged, and the danger was at an end. Circling and easing down, the British war-ship approached within hailing distance.
"Portchester Castle'ssteamboat and prize, eh?" shouted her Lieutenant-commander. "You're lucky to have collared their torpedo-boat. We've been on the look-out for her the last week. Can we render any assistance?"
Osborne considered. It was still a long way back to thePortchester Castle. Already the wind was rising, and the sea, hitherto calm, promised to become at least choppy before very long.
"Will you relieve us of our prize?" he asked.
"Certainly," was the reply. "We'll tow her into Lemnos."
Admirably manoeuvred, the destroyer came close enough to enable a line to be thrown to the prize's fore-deck. To the line was attached a stout wire hawser, the end of which was made fast to the torpedo-boat's for'ard bollard. Half a dozen sailors from the destroyer boarded and took possession of the capture, while Osborne and his men returned to the steamboat. The lashings securing the latter alongside the prize were then cast off, and in less than ten minutes the destroyer and her tow were swallowed up in the darkness.
"That's a load off my mind," soliloquized Osborne, as speed was increased to fifteen knots. By this time the leak had been temporarily plugged, the water that had made its way into the fore-cabin had been ejected, and there was every chance of the steamboat making a quick run back to her parent ship.
"Where be the dawg, sir?" enquired one of the steamboat's crew. "I can't see 'im nowheres aboard."
"Laddie!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Where are you? Come here, old boy."
There was no response. In ordinary circumstances Laddie would be within a paw's length of his master. Even though the animal might be sulking after the Lieutenant's admonition (and the dog was not given to sulking), the mere utterance of his name would bring him bounding to his master in an ecstasy of delight.
"Anyone seen Laddie recently?" sang out the Lieutenant, addressing the men up for'ard.
"I saw him a-followin' you when you got aboard that tawpeda-boat, sir," declared a young able-seaman. "He were close on your heels when you jumped, sir."
"Have a look down below," continued Osborne anxiously.
A search of the fore-cabin produced no desired result. In the diminutive engine-room, the leading stoker examined every nook and cranny of the compartment housing that box of tricks of intricate machinery. Reluctantly Osborne came to the conclusion that his pet was missing. The able-seaman, questioned further, was firm in his belief that he had seen Laddie following his master, but he could not say whether the animal actually boarded the prize. Nor could any of the other men express a definite opinion on that point.
It was just possible that the dog might have missed his footing, and have fallen between the steamboat and her capture. Failing being crushed between the two craft he might have fallen into the sea, and, unnoticed in the bustle, had been lost in the darkness.
Two hours later the steamboat—the sole survivor of the three boats that had left the ship—ran alongside thePortchester Castle.
"By Jove, Osborne!" exclaimed Captain M'Bride, who in his anxiety had remained all night on deck. "What has happened?"
"They were properly on the alert, sir," replied the Lieutenant. "We were trapped, and were unable to accomplish our mission. However, we fell in with a Turkish torpedo-boat, engaged her, and compelled the crew to abandon ship. On the return run we again fell in with the torpedo-boat, took possession, and towed her until relieved by one of our destroyers."
"That evens things up a bit," remarked the skipper. "And the cutter and the whaler?"
"Had to be abandoned, sir. They found themselves on the wrong side of a boom."
"And our casualties?"
"Mr. Webb wounded, Mr. Haynes wounded slightly. Five men killed and nine wounded, and——"
"And——?" repeated Captain M'Bride.
"Laddie missing, sir," continued Osborne.