Hadthe discovery of the petrol store been made a few hours earlier, steps would have been taken to cope with the peril from the sea that menaced the castaways. The defences that had been hurriedly thrown up had been constructed against attack from the landward side; the possibility of being shelled from a German submarine had not previously been taken into account.
Hastily the British seamen set to work to strengthen the parados of the trenches, in order to convert it into an earthwork sufficiently strong to resist the comparatively light shells fired from the hostile submarine.
Bullets from the Senussi now began to sing over the heads of the defenders. Well it was that the Arabs were very indifferent shots at long range, otherwise they would have taken a heavy toll of the seamen who were obliged to present a fair target as they toiled in the open.
The German submarine, which had been approaching rapidly, had now eased down. She was running on the surface, showing her conning-tower and the whole length of her deck. She displayed no colours, but her two quick-firing guns had been hoisted from below, and were manned ready for opening fire.
"I feel pretty certain," said Captain M'Bride to Osborne as the officers kept the hostile craft under observation, "that that submarine is the one which bagged us—and theSunderbundas well. She's been lying off-shore waiting for the weather to moderate in order to replenish her fuel, and now she finds her depot in our possession. It was a rotten blunder on her part, sinking the oldPortchester Castleso close to her temporary base."
"If it hadn't been for the firing, perhaps she would have come right in, sir," remarked Osborne. "Now she has her suspicions."
"The wreck of the ship would in itself give her warning," said the skipper. "Besides, if she did approach we could do little or nothing. It's just as likely that there's an understanding between the Arabs and the Huns. However, we must take things as we find them, and not look for trouble before it comes."
Accompanied by Lieutenant Osborne, the Captain made a tour of the trench, where every man who possessed a rifle was kneeling in front of a loophole, ready at the word of command to pour a destructive volley into the approaching Arabs. At the left flank stood Webb, with the Very's pistol in his hand, awaiting the time to fire the petrol.
"Picturesque sight, Mr. Webb," remarked the Captain composedly, but at the same time his keen eye was trying to detect any sign of "jumpiness" in the young Sub. But there was none; beyond a slightly heightened colour, Webb was as cool as if he had been on the quarter-deck of thePortchester Castle.
Captain M'Bride had aptly described the scene that lay before them. The Senussi were approaching in all the barbaric splendour of their race. Some were on camels, others astride small wiry horses. With loose rein they would dash forward perhaps a hundred yards, wheel, and, firing their rifles somewhere in the direction of the foe, would tear back for fifty yards, repeating the manoeuvre and uttering shrill yells of defiance. On their flanks in the rear were crowds of men on foot, for the most part armed with long broad-bladed spears, two-edged straight swords, and circular hide shields.
Outnumbering the British by ten to one, the Senussi looked, and were, formidable. Had every man of thePortchester Castlepossessed a rifle the odds would have been considerably lowered. With a Maxim the defenders could have regarded the onset as a foregone conclusion in their favour.
It was to be a tough and desperate struggle. Every man realized that—a fight to the death, for a worse fate awaited them should they fall alive into the hands of the savage foe. At all costs the Senussi must be kept on the far side of the sorry breastwork of sand and the hedge of thorns, otherwise sheer weight of numbers would decide the day.
And as if the situation were not serious enough, a U-boat was threatening to shell their puny defences.
"Don't throw away a single shot, men," cautioned the Captain. "Reserve your fire till I give the word."
"She's opening the ball, sir," exclaimed Osborne, as a shell from the U-boat hurtled through the air and exploded away on the right flank, sending up a huge cloud of smoke and sand.
"Wonder what damage that's done?" remarked Captain M'Bride.
"I'll see, sir, if you wish," said the Lieutenant.
"Do, by all means, Mr. Osborne," was the rejoinder. "I'll make my way to the centre and await you there."
Before Osborne returned, two more shells had been fired by the submarine. Whatever damage they might have caused, they also did good, for the bursting projectiles had the effect of cooling the ardour of the approaching Arabs. Absolutely fearless as far as bullets are concerned, they have a wholesome respect for high-explosive shells which would, in their opinion, render a True Believer a sorry spectacle when he came to present himself at the gates of the Mohammedan paradise.
"No casualties, sir," reported Osborne. "The first shell fell short; the others pitched thirty yards over. One has blown a big gap in our zariba, unfortunately."
"Strafe her!" exclaimed Captain M'Bride. "She'll be improving on that before long, I'm afraid."
Even as he spoke there came a loud rumble from seawards—a long drawn-out report, totally unlike the crisp bark of the German submarine's quick-firers. Where the modern pirate had been was merely a dense cloud of greyish smoke.
"She's properly strafed, sir," declared the Lieutenant delightedly, grasping what he absent-mindedly took to be his uniform cap, with the result that on removing his calico headgear he brought a handful of his own hair with it.
"Internal explosion," suggested the skipper. "Well, we've something to be thankful for. Half our difficulties wiped out in one fell swoop."
Slowly the smoke dispersed, for there was now practically no wind. The sea, momentarily agitated by the explosion, had resumed its oil-like aspect. Not a vestige of wreckage was visible to mark the grave of yet another of the inglorious pirates. It was indeed a just retribution. The U-boat, in common with other German war-ships, had been in the habit of discharging her torpedoes without previously setting the sinking mechanism according to the recognized rules of war. Therefore, in the event of a torpedo missing its mark, it would, at the end of its run, float, and thus become a sort of derelict mine, instead of sinking to the bottom as these weapons are supposed to do.
When the submarine attacked thePortchester Castleshe had let loose two torpedoes, one of which hit the mark. The other, passing under the vessel's stern, came to a standstill a couple of miles off. By sheer chance the U-boat, while in the act of shelling the shore, had bumped upon the warhead of the missile she had discharged several hours previously, with the result that she was practically blown to pieces with all her officers and crew.
Three hearty cheers from the sun-baked British seamen greeted the strafing of the craft that was directly responsible for their present precarious position. Then, having given relief to their pent-up feelings, the sturdy sailors directed their attention once more to the danger that threatened them from the landward side.
The Senussi, not knowing what had occurred, and still showing considerable reluctance to enter the region where the German shells had fallen, were "marking time". The camel-men had withdrawn behind a range of sand-hills, but the glint of spear-heads denoted pretty conclusively that the foe had not decided upon a discreet retirement.
Several times an intrepid sailor stood upon the breastwork, with the intention of drawing the enemy's fire; but even this tempting bait did not succeed. The Senussi were evidently going to tire the defenders by a period of nerve-racking inactivity.
"It's this rotten waiting for something to turn up that makes you jumpy," declared Webb to Osborne, as during the prolonged lull the Lieutenant made his way along the trench to see how his chum fared. "I don't mind so much when these beggars start a rush, but it's the suspense of expecting them."
"Like our troops on the Somme," rejoined Osborne. "It's the five minutes' wait before the whistle goes for the men to go over the top of the parapet, that is such a strain. Once they're off they don't seem to notice their surroundings. But I've rather bad news, old man. I've just reported to the skipper that one of those shells has played Old Harry with the water barricoes. Only three left—and you can guess what thirst is in this sun-baked spot."
"How long will that last?" asked the Sub.
"Ten days with the utmost economy," said the Lieutenant gravely.
"I say, Osborne——" began Webb.
"Well?"
"Isn't it a good thing, after all, that poor old Laddie isn't with us? What a horrible time he would have without anything to drink!"
"He would have had half my share whatever happened," declared Osborne resolutely. "But, unfortunately, there is no necessity for that. I wish there were."
Webb made no further remark upon the subject. He knew that Osborne was still awfully cut up about the loss of his pet, and now, rather clumsily, he had touched upon the matter of the dog's death.
"We do look a pretty pair," he remarked, setting out on a fresh tack. "Our fond parents wouldn't recognize us if they could see us now."
"They would be very pleased to," was his chum's rejoinder; "or rather, we should both be most delighted to see them at home. I've had enough of African sands to last a lifetime. And these flies!"
A petty officer, mopping the perspiration from his face, wriggled past his comrades in the narrow trench, and approached the Lieutenant and his chum.
"Cap'n's compliments, sir," he said as he saluted. "He'd like to have a word with Mr. Webb."
Webb found Captain M'Bride consulting with the gunner and the bos'n. Seeing Webb hesitate, he signed to him to approach.
"I've a little job on hand, Mr. Webb," he said. "After due consideration I've decided that you are the best officer I can spare for the business. We're short of water. Up to the present there is no sign of theRestormelputting in an appearance to search for us. The niggers are evidently going to protract their assault and subject us to a state of siege. So since help is not forthcoming, we must fetch it. In short, I want you to take the whaler and make a dash for Crete. Mr. Cox" (indicating the bos'n) "has examined the boat, and finds that she's seaworthy. A few slight repairs will have to be made, but they won't take long. The distance is roughly 180 miles, but perhaps you'll fall in with a vessel before that."
"Hope it won't be a U-boat, sir," remarked the Sub.
"You're game? I need not remind you that it is a risky voyage for an open boat."
"I'm quite willing, sir," said Webb resolutely.
"As I thought," added the skipper. "Well, good luck! The weather looks promising, and ten to one you'll get a fair slant of wind directly you're a few miles from shore."
Delighted at the prospect of being afloat once more, yet reluctant to have to leave his comrades in dire peril, Webb hastened to make preparations for his hazardous voyage in the open whaler. He realized the risk—he also realized the tremendous responsibility, for if he failed in the enterprise the rest of the survivors of thePortchester Castlewere doomed.
Havingselected his crew—a matter of personal difficulty—since no man cared to volunteer to exchange a post of peril for a duty only slightly less hazardous—Sub-lieutenant Webb proceeded to prepare the boat for her voyage.
The whaler was one of the Service type, twenty-seven feet in length. She had two masts, slightly raking aft, and carried "dipping lug" fore and mainsails—a powerful rig, but one that requires smart and careful handling when going about in a strong breeze.
The bos'n—the carpenter warrant officer having been lost in the struggle for the shore—had instructed the carpenter's crew to nail several pieces of planking across the bows, covering the rough deck with canvas from some spare sails. Empty barricoes, of which a number had been cast upon the beach, were lashed to the thwarts, thus affording considerable buoyancy in the event of the boat being capsized. These were the only alterations made in preparing the whaler for her run across to the distant island of Crete.
The number of hands selected for the voyage was the very minimum required to work the boat. More would unduly weaken the little garrison ashore; the victualling problem had also to be taken into account.
"I can only let you have a gallon of water, sir," decided the bos'n, "and dry biscuit and salt beef enough for two days. Sure 'tis short rations, but you know, sir, how things go. There are half a dozen lemons, too, sir; some were washed up before they had been in the water very long, so I don't suppose they're brackish. A fine thing to quench the thirst, Mr. Webb."
Having bade his comrades a hearty adieu, the Sub ordered the whaler to be pushed off. Three cheers were given for the voyagers, the compliment being returned in right good earnest by the boat's crew.
"Give way, lads," ordered Webb. "Long easy strokes. We'll soon pick up a breeze."
Steadily the shore receded. Ahead the placid water was ruffled by a dark-blue line that betokened a smart breeze. Sitting bolt upright and holding the yoke-lines, the Sub could not help at frequent intervals turning his head and looking back at the inhospitable sandy shore. So fierce was the sun that the radiating heat made the barren dunes appear to quiver, distorting objects ashore. Everything there seemed quiet. No rifle-shots pulsated on the still air. Beyond a few seamen, patrolling the beach to look out for further jetsam, there were no signs of life. The torrid heat had thrown its languorous spell upon Britons and Senussi alike.
"It's hot enough here, in all conscience," thought Tom. "It must be like a slow oven ashore." For an hour the men toiled at the oars, the sweat pouring from their brick-red faces; yet uncomplainingly they maintained their long swinging strokes, as if they were pulling across a harbour rather than setting out for a 180-mile voyage.
"Here's the breeze, lads," exclaimed Webb as a faint zephyr fanned his face. "Well on the starboard quarter, too. Stand by to make sail."
Thankfully the jaded men boated oars. Willing hands stepped the two masts, and quickly the powerful dipping lugs were bellying to the quartering breeze. The water gurgled pleasantly under the whaler's forefoot, while a long white wake was a silent testimony to the boat's speed through the blue water.
"Five to six knots now, sir, I'll allow," replied the coxswain in reply to his officer's query. "She's footing it fine."
"That's what I estimate," agreed the Sub. "If it holds, another thirty hours ought to bring us within sight of land."
"Not much doubt about it holding, sir," declared the man, glancing to windward. "Unless I'm much mistaken there'll be a power o' wind afore nightfall—more'n we'll want," he added under his breath.
"Cover up that hard tack there," ordered the Sub, as the first spray flew over the gunwale and threatened to soak the scanty supply of biscuits. "A pull on your fore-sheet there. That's better; now she feels it."
The whaler was moving now, cutting through the rising waves like a race-horse. Every stitch of canvas was drawing, while feathers of spray dashed over the weather bow. But, in spite of these encouraging conditions, the wind was backing slowly yet steadily. By sunset it was broad on the starboard beam.
As darkness set in Webb relieved the coxswain at the tiller. Few words were spoken between them, for the Sub's attention was mainly directed to windward, ready to cope with any sudden increase of wind. Either seated or lying on the bottom-boards, the men were engaged in the time-honoured custom of "chewing the rag" before "turning in" on their hard couch. Scraps of conversation caught the Sub's ears. He smiled grimly, for the boat's crew were not discussing the chances of the hazardous voyage, or the plight of their comrades they had left behind: an animated discussion was in progress as to which team won the English Cup in a certain year of that remote period previous to the outbreak of the greatest war the world has yet seen.
At eight bells the "watch below" turned in, their outlines just discernible in the starlight as, in unpicturesque attitudes, each sleeper adapted himself as comfortably to his individual tastes as hard and unyielding bottom-boards permitted. Their comrades, told off for the night watches, crouched under the lee of the gunwale, sheltering from the keen wind, for with the setting of the sun the temperature had fallen considerably. Clad only in sub-tropical uniforms and being unprovided with greatcoats, the men felt acutely the contrast between the heat of the day and the chilliness of the night. When at length the order came to reef sails, they obeyed smartly and cheerfully. The very act of doing something was as balm to their cold and cramped limbs.
Webb had been wise to reef in time. The wind was now for'ard of the beam and increasing in violence. Directly water showed a tendency to come over the lee gunwale he had given the order to shorten sail.
He was very anxious—not on account of the rising wind and sea, but because it was now only just possible to keep the whaler on her course.
"If the wind backs another point it will head us," he remarked to the coxswain.
"'Fraid it will, sir," was the imperturbable reply. "I'd as lief up helm and run for Malta as make board after board and not gain more'n a few yards to wind'ard."
The Sub had to admit the force of the petty officer's remarks. The whaler, being unprovided with a drop keel, would make a very indifferent performance to windward. There were no tidal currents to help her—the Mediterranean being tideless—and what "drift" there was would be against her, since the currents in this part of the vast inland sea are set up solely by the force of the prevailing wind. In these circumstances it might take a week or more to reach Crete, and by that time the comrades they had left behind would be conquered by famine, even if they succeeded in holding in check the savage foes who menaced them.
Yet there was another chance. The whaler would soon be in the regular steamer track between Port Said and the Western Mediterranean seaports. In normal times the probability of aid from passing vessels would be great; but now, owing to the U-boat menace, things were very different.
A moaning sound pierced the darkness of the night. In an instant Webb grasped the situation. A squall was sweeping down.
"Check sheets!" he shouted, at the same time putting the helm down ever so slightly, so as not to get the boat "in irons".
The squall hit the boat hard. Green seas poured over her bows, effectually awaking the sleepers. So fierce was the strength of the wind that the Sub was compelled to order the canvas to be close-reefed.
By dint of strenuous baling the whaler was kept afloat; yet she was sagging to leeward like an empty cask. Worse, the wind was now absolutely dead ahead, and more than enough for the meagre amount of sail that was still set.
"Think she'll stick it?" shouted Webb to the coxswain.
"No, I don't, sir," replied that worthy bluntly. "Better ride to our gear while there's time."
The petty officer's advice was sound. To attempt to carry on was a suicidal policy. As quickly as possible the oars and yard were lashed together, the foresail being still bent to its spar. To these a scope of grass rope was attached, and the whole of the gear thrown overboard, the kedge having been previously bent to the lower part of the canvas to ensure it floating "up and down".
To this rough-and-ready sea-anchor the whaler rode in comparative safety, for, although the seas were breaking all around, there was a complete absence of crested, dangerous waves in the wake of the floating gear, fifty yards ahead of the boat.
"So well, so good," thought Webb. "But, unfortunately, though we may have saved our own skins, the fact remains that we are not helping Captain M'Bride and our comrades ashore."
"She's riding handsomely, sir," remarked the coxswain. "And we've plenty of sea-room. Short and sharp this has been in coming up, and maybe 'twill be short and sharp when it does pipe down."
Slowly the minutes sped. The inactivity, combined with a prolonged lack of sleep, was beginning to tell upon the young officer. Once or twice he found his head involuntarily dropping on his chest.
"All right, sir," said the coxswain, who had "spotted" his superior officer's movements. "Just you have forty winks. Nothin' doin'; and I'll pass the word if there is."
It seemed less than a few minutes when Webb was roused by the petty officer touching him on the shoulder.
"Vessel o' sorts bearin' down, sir."
There was no time to be lost if help was to be forthcoming in that direction. Already the black outlines of a large ship were looming through the night mirk.
The whaler was without means of signalling. Webb found himself wishing that he had brought the Very's pistol with him, until he reflected that it might perform an even greater service in the defence of the zariba. There were no rockets in the boat; neither flashing lamp nor flare. Not even matches, for the very scanty stock had been used up in a fruitless attempt to light the binnacle lamp, which had been found lying in the bottom of the boat when she had come ashore half-filled with water. Nor was there a rifle on board. Every available weapon was required by the men facing the Senussi.
"Stand by to give a hail, men," cautioned the Sub. "When I give the word, then all together. Luckily she'll pass to leeward of us."
At Webb's order the night echoed to the stentorian tones of the whaler's crew. It must have been impossible for the officer of the watch not to have heard the combined efforts of the strong-lunged men.
"She's not slowing down, sir," said one of the men, after a pause.
"Give her time," replied the Sub, hoping against hope that the vessel would respond to the appeal for aid.
But no; instead of reversing engines she ported helm, and at full speed was soon lost to sight in the darkness.
"Rale haythens, sure they be!" muttered an Irishman indignantly.
Webb took the acute disappointment philosophically. These were times when unprecedented horrors encompassed the mariner—cold-blooded murder in the darkness of the night by cowardly lurking U-boats. Cases had been known of German vessels of war luring their victims to destruction by false signals of distress, and it was more than likely that the officer of the watch of the unknown ship, hearing the hail, had come to the conclusion that it was a decoy cry from a hostile submarine, and had altered her course in order to avoid a torpedo.
With the first streaks of dawn the wind moderated, although dead ahead. The seas, still high, no longer maintained their vicious, crested aspect. It was now safe to rehoist sail, and, accordingly, the sea-anchor was brought on board and the masts restepped.
The Sub had already made up his mind to steer westward. With luck he might reach Malta, or at least fall in with some of the numerous war-ships that make Valetta their base.
As luck would have it, the "traveller", or iron ring that runs up and down the mast and to which is attached the yard, was jerked upwards during the operation of making sail. Slackening the halyard made no difference. The elusive ring remained at a tantalizing distance of two or three inches above the tallest man's outstretched hand, and there was no boat-hook to bring it down.
Webb was about to order the mast to be unstepped, when one of the men swarmed up the swaying pole and recovered the "traveller". As he did so he happened to glance to windward.
"A sail!" he shouted. "Coming bows on."
For a few minutes all on board the whaler were in a state of suspense. The vessel was approaching rapidly, but to a great extent was obscured by the cloud of black smoke that was carried ahead by the following wind.
"Hurrah, lads!" exclaimed the coxswain. "She's a destroyer."
Soon there was no doubt on the matter. She was a large four-funnelled torpedo-boat destroyer with a red, white, and green ensign at each masthead, indicating her to be a unit of the Italian Navy. The one fly in the ointment was the disconcerting sight of the bow twelve-pounder gun manned and trained upon the whaler.
"Steady,lads! Aim low. Don't throw a single shot away."
Calmly and resolutely Captain M'Bride's voice travelled along the whole length of the trench. Every man possessing a rifle gripped the weapon resolutely, while the rest of the defenders, armed with whatever means of defence came to hand, braced themselves for the coming desperate struggle.
It was close on sunset. Not a breath of wind tempered the still stifling heat. The gale of wind that had beset the whaler had not yet reached the sun-baked sand-dunes where thePortchester Castle'ssurvivors still held grimly to their scanty defences.
After a series of feints extending over the greater part of the day, the Senussi were at last about to make a determined onslaught. The camel-men had dismounted and sent their docile animals out of harm's way, but the horsemen had massed in a long curved line of foot. There was some semblance of military order in the array, taught no doubt by their former Turkish instructors, for on each flank, and on rising ground, riflemen were posted so as to pour a converging force upon the British, while the horsemen, supported by hundreds of dismounted Arabs armed with sword and spear, charged the extreme left of the defences.
This was a masterly stroke that Captain M'Bride had not anticipated, for here the trench ran in a diagonal direction to the sea, and if carried would expose the rear of the centre to a flanking and enfilading fire. But what the attackers did not know was the existence of a novel form offougasse—the row of petrol tins.
Clearly the foremost of the assailants were visible in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Behind them followed a cloud of sand, thrown up by the horses' hoofs, through which could be discerned the indistinct forms of a howling mob of fanatical warriors armed with cold steel. In the forefront rode a tall bearded fellow with green jibbah and turban. With his right hand he brandished a long, straight two-edged sword, while in his left he bore a green banner with a scarlet crescent.
"They are not fighting under Turkish colours," remarked Captain M'Bride to Dacres, who stood by his side. "A sort of Holy War banner, I take it."
Evidently Afir-al-Bahr was of the same opinion, and, finding that he had not to fight against a force under the Turkish Crescent, he picked up a huge axe that had come ashore in one of the ship's boats.
"What's that fellow doing?" enquired the skipper hurriedly.
Dacres, whose service in Egypt had made him fairly proficient with the language of the Eastern Mediterranean States, spoke a few words to the Turkish airman.
"I think it's all right, Captain M'Bride," explained Dacres. "The man has no intention of breaking his parole. He knows quite well that if he should fall alive into the hands of the Senussi their treatment would be much worse than ours. He told me that some time ago a party of these meek and mild gentlemen mutinied, and murdered their Ottoman officers."
"Then let him carry on," decided the skipper. He gave a quick glance in the direction of the oncoming foe. The foremost were now within two hundred yards.
"Volley firing by sections—ready!"
A well-timed volley burst from the British trench. The high-velocity bullets, fired at point-blank range, wrought havoc in the crowded ranks of the Senussi. Saddles were emptied by the dozen, and before the stricken riders had time to fall to the ground the second section poured in a murderous fire.
Yet undaunted the Senussi pressed on, the standard-bearer, apparently unhurt, still brandishing his gleaming weapon. Then, slowly yet surely, he began to lean forward until he lay across the horse's neck. The banner dropped from his nerveless grasp just as a bullet, striking the animal on its white blaze, brought man and steed to the ground.
In an instant another Arab had snatched up the green flag, and, with redoubled shouts, the dense and now disorganized mob came thundering across the level stretch of ground in front of the zariba.
It was now Osborne's time to take up the work with which the absent Webb had charged him. Already one of the bright-red petrol cans had been holed by a couple of accurately placed shots, and the highly volatile fluid was escaping and soaking into the hot sand. The Lieutenant could even detect the pungent fumes of the evaporating spirit. Raising the short, smooth-bored pistol, Osborne pressed the trigger. The missile—a red rocket—burst against the perforated tin, just as the foremost of the assailants were leaping over the mound that partly concealed the line of tins.
The next instant flames shot twenty feet or more into the air—a fire so intense that the heat could be distinctly felt by the defenders of the trench, while the zariba quivered in the current of air set up by the sudden rise of temperature.
Five seconds later the adjacent tin exploded, and then another and another, until the tongues of fire darted a good fifty feet skywards.
That part of the attack was checked and beaten back. The fire barrage was impassable; but on the enemy's left their impetuous rush brought them right up to the zariba.
Dauntlessly the Arabs sought to tear away the prickly barrier. Rifles cracked, but the number of small arms at the disposal of the British was insufficient to annihilate—it could only diminish—the great superiority of the enemy's forces.
Several of the seamen, armed with knives and marline-spikes lashed to the end of oars and poles, rendered yeoman service by the use of these improvised pikes. Others, having provided themselves with a supply of large stones, hurled them across the intervening barrier at the nearmost of their assailants.
Nor was Afir-al-Bahr to be denied. With his axe he fought desperately, dealing smashing blows whenever a fanatical Arab succeeded in getting within reach.
For some moments the situation was extremely critical. The improvised pikes were no match for the long broad-bladed, razor-edged spears, and the advantage of fighting behind the zariba was fast disappearing as the fearless and desperate Senussi persevered in the work of tearing away the wall of thorns.
Against these tremendous odds the handful of thePortchester Castle'screw fought magnificently, making the best use of their ungainly weapons. British courage and dogged pluck were there. The men meant to hold their position at all costs, but already the numbers were being thinned by the relentless pressure of the Arab assault.
At this critical juncture Captain M'Bride, realizing that the British left was in no immediate danger—for the contents of the whole line of exploded petrol cans were blazing furiously—rushed up every available rifleman. In a few moments the attack, that had had every appearance of being successful, broke down. The Arabs melted away, the survivors retreating in disorder, leaving fifty or more of their number huddled in front of the partly demolished zariba, and others at varying distances from the defences.
"We've been and gone and done it now," commented Major Fane.
"How's that?" queried Dacres, as he held out his left wrist for his chum to apply a bandage to a deep but clean gash caused by the partly-parried thrust of a spear.
"We've fired all the petrol except the two tins we held in reserve. We have none available to repeat the dose."
"I fancy they've had quite enough, eh, what?" rejoined Dacres. "Thanks, old man, it feels absolutely all right. A trifle on the tight side, perhaps, but for an amateur, Billy, you know how to doctor a fellow. Hallo, Osborne; how goes it? My word, that petrol flare shook 'em up a bit; but we needn't have used the lot. I was just saying——"
"It is indeed unfortunate," interposed Captain M'Bride. "We certainly ought not to have used the whole quantity. I had no idea that it would make such a furnace. Nearly lifted my eyebrows off, by Jove!"
"It's my opinion that the Arabs won't come up for a second dose," remarked Dacres.
"If they do they'll exercise more caution," said the skipper. "We must be prepared for a night attack. I've told off a party to pick up the rifles, ammunition, and spears of the Senussi left on the field. Mr. Osborne, will you see that the zariba is repaired?"
The Lieutenant saluted, and hurried away to carry out the Captain's order. Already twenty additional Mauser rifles had been brought in, and about four hundred rounds of ammunition. These were served out to the seamen, the recipients being specially cautioned to keep the captured ammunition apart from the British Service cartridges, so that no confusion would arise in the event of a possible attack during the hours of darkness.
Osborne had not allowed the lessons of the grim conflict to pass without gaining useful hints. At his suggestion the zariba was increased in thickness, the height remaining the same, while the ground for a width of twenty yards in front was liberally "salted" with sharp-pointed thorns that were buried "business end uppermost" in the sand, leaving a couple of inches projecting as a trap for unwary and unshod feet.
Since there was not anotherfougasseto fire, the Lieutenant loaded the Very's pistol and lashed it to the stump of a bush about a hundred yards from the trenches. To the trigger he tied a thin piece of cord, obtained by unreeving the strands of a length of rope, and secured the other end to a picket driven deeply into the sand. In the event of any of the Senussi creeping up to the defences at night, contact with the cord would instantly give the alarm.
By dint of hard work, these preparations were completed before the short twilight gave place to intense darkness. It was now blowing hard from the nor'east, and, in spite of the fact that only a narrow strip of ground lay between the rear of the trenches and the sea, the defences were exposed to irritating clouds of fine sand that penetrated almost everything—even the intricate breech-mechanism of the magazine rifles.
"I wonder how the whaler is faring?" was the question that rose to the lips of almost every member of the shipwrecked crew, not once but many times. With the rising breeze the men realized that the boat had a dead beat to wind'ard, and that, even if she could still carry canvas, her progress towards the distant goal would be very, very slow.
The night was cold, for the sand radiated its heat with remarkable rapidity, while the on-shore wind was bitterly keen. Without adequate clothing the men suffered acutely, their condition accentuated by the quick contrast with the scorching rays of the sun during the day. Those not detailed for sentry work huddled together in the trenches, the wounded being provided with awnings fashioned from the boats' sails stretched between pairs of oars. Slowly the hours passed, for, although not a single watch belonging to the castaways had survived the prolonged immersion in salt water, a fairly accurate count of time could be kept by means of the position of certain well-known stars.
At about midnight the sky was overcast, and even this means of calculating time was at an end. In utter silence the sentries maintained a vigilant look-out, while their comrades either dozed fitfully or lay awake, shivering with cold, and on thorns of expectancy for the night attack.
Suddenly the tense stillness of the night was broken by a sharp report, followed by the appearance of a vivid light two hundred feet or more in the air. The Very pistol had been discharged.
Instantly the defenders sprang to their feet. Those having rifles manned the loopholes, opened the "cut-offs" of the magazines, and prepared to pour a withering fire into the expected mass of Senussi.
But nothing in the nature of a wild chorus of war-cries pierced the darkness. In the distance could be heard sounds of commotion amongst the Arabs, who had encamped at about two or three miles from the scene of the previous encounter. In front of the zariba all was quiet.
"Did you see anything, Wilson?" asked Osborne of one of the sentries.
"Nothing, sir," was the reply. "And when that rocket went off it was as clear as day, in fact my eyes are still dazzled by the light."
"Perhaps it was a sniper or a scout," suggested Dacres, who at the first alarm had hurried to his post.
"If so, I fancy he's made himself scarce," added Osborne.
"By the by, Osborne," remarked Major Fane, "did you set that cord up fairly tight when you fixed it to the trigger?"
"As taut as I dared," replied the Lieutenant. "It wanted only a four-pound pull to set off the cartridge."
"Then I fancy I can explain," continued the Major. "You didn't make any allowance for the contraction of the cord with the dew."
Osborne bit his lip. He was too straightforward to offer excuses. He knew perfectly well the effect of damp upon rope, and at this critical time he had omitted to make practical use of his knowledge. The false alarm had turned out every man when they badly needed sleep and rest.
The Very's pistol was reloaded and the trigger-line slacked off. Once more the men not on sentry sought to gain some hours of slumber in their uncomfortable surroundings.
The rest of the night passed without further incident, the enemy making no further attempt to molest the camp. With the dawn the defenders were roused. A small quantity of water, half a biscuit, and a morsel of salt beef were served out, and on this scanty ration each man had to exist for the next six hours.
"Where's that Turkish fellow?" enquired Osborne. "He hasn't put in an appearance for his food."
No one had seen him, for owing to his religious scruples the Ottoman aviator had constructed his shelter at a little distance to the rear of the trench.
"I seed 'im makin' for his caboodle just after that there set-to last night, sir," volunteered one of the seamen. "Shall I rout 'im out?"
"No, I'll go," said Dacres. "I can speak his lingo." And crossing the intervening stretch of sand he reached the artificial hollow that the Turk had dug out.
Afir-al-Bahr was lying on his side; his "prayer-carpet", which devout Mohammedans carry with them in all circumstances, was spread at his feet. To all appearance the Turk was sleeping peacefully—but it was the sleep of death. During the attack on the zariba he had received a mortal wound; yet, with a remarkable reticence, he had crawled away to die in solitude.
They buried him hastily in the hollow he had constructed. No volleys were fired over his grave—cartridges were too precious for that; no "Last Post" rent the air, since no bugle was available. Yet the homage of thePortchester Castle'sship's company to a brave and gallant enemy—a man who had done his level best to blow the ship to pieces, and had afterwards fought side by side with his country's foes—was none the less sincere.
Hardly had the last rites been accomplished when signs of renewed activity were visible amongst the Senussi. During the night their numbers had been augmented by other bands of desert nomads, until the present strength more than exceeded the force that had delivered the previous attack with such disastrous results.
Yet the Arabs appeared to be in no immediate hurry. Evidently they guessed that the defenders were scantily supplied with food and water. They could afford to wait until the British, faint with hunger, and weakening under the effect of the enervating, torrid atmosphere, would be unable to offer any strenuous resistance.
"I almost wish they'd make a move, by Jove, I do!" remarked Dacres. "Suppose I oughtn't to say it though, since the longer they wait the more chance we have of rescue; but it's slow work hanging on to a mound of sand and expecting those fellows to make a rush."
"Looks as though your half-expressed wish will be gratified, old man," replied Major Fane, as a swarm of white-robed men edged along to the right of the defenders' position, taking considerable care to keep good cover. "See their move? They're making for the beach. If they get behind us, there'll be the deuce to pay!"
The tactics of the Senussi necessitated a rearrangement of the defenders. At Captain M'Bride's order, those of the riflemen who had been armed with rifles taken from the dead Arabs were detached from the centre and moved to a flanking position, so as to command the approach along the shore. Those seamen who had brought their own rifles were still retained in front of the zariba, so as to check any frontal attack.
Meanwhile Osborne, assisted by two volunteers, boldly left the shelter of the trenches and began to dig up the scorched and blistered petrol tins. These they set up in a conspicuous place a few yards in front of the original line, coolly completing the task in spite of an erratic fire from the Arab sharpshooters.
"What's the move?" enquired Dacres when the Lieutenant returned safely to shelter.
"It may work; it's a little ruse," replied Osborne. "They'll see the tins easily enough. I've put the best side of them facing outwards. If they think that we'll be able to repeat the curtain-of-fire business, they'll think twice before making a frontal attack. It's quite bad enough to be taken in the rear of both flanks, without a direct rush."
"There's the green banner again," exclaimed Fane. "That looks like business."
"Steady, my lads," shouted the heroic skipper. "Let 'em have it."
The rattle of musketry sounded along the shore. The result surpassed all expectation, for, to the defenders' surprise, scores of Senussi toppled over on the sand, some writhing, although for the most part those who fell lay still. The rush ended abruptly, the rest of the Arabs turning and running at full speed for the shelter of the dunes.
"That's knocked the stuffing out of them," declared Captain M'Bride. "Now, lads, there's another haul of equipment."
A dozen or more of the seamen who did not possess rifles made their way through the zariba, and approached the fallen foe with the intention of despoiling them of their arms. While engaged in this task, quite fifty of the fallen Senussi sprang to their feet, and fell upon the tricked men. The ruse was disastrous as far as the defenders were concerned, for those remaining in the trenches dare not fire for fear of hitting their comrades. Before a rescue-party could approach, the over-eager despoilers, hopelessly outnumbered, were cut down to a man, while the cunning Arabs, pursued by a fierce fire from the vengeful defenders, succeeded in regaining the main body with severe losses.
The handful of thePortchester Castle'screw who had fallen in this daring ruse could ill be spared. Although they had fought and died gamely, and had accounted for more of the enemy than their own numbers, the relative loss went against the beleaguered force. They had gained experience at a high price.
Another grave discovery was brought home to the sorely pressed men. Their ammunition was running short. Magazine rifle-fire is apt to make heavy inroads upon the stock of cartridges, and, although the men had exercised considerable restraint and had hardly thrown away a single shot; the fact remained that the supply had dwindled down to less than a couple of hundred.
"And the worst of it is," confided Major Fane, "we have those four women—passengers from theSunderbund—in our hands. They are as plucky as one could wish; by Jove, they are! If the worst comes to the worst——"
"Yes, Major," added Captain M'Bride quietly. "I understand. We must never let them fall alive into the hands of these brutes."
Throughout the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon the Senussi continued their wearing-down tactics, making numerous feints, either singly or simultaneously at different points; yet no definite attack matured. All the while a long-range fire was directed upon the defences, and although the enemy wasted prodigious quantities of ammunition the net result was two men severely, and four slightly wounded.
"Now they mean business, I fancy," said Major Fane, as a tremendous hubbub, in which the beating of drums figured largely, came from the enemy position. "These fellows seem to fancy the hours before sunset."
A vast semicircle of dark-featured Arabs, their strength now exceeding three thousand, told pretty plainly that the defences were to be rushed from all available directions. This time, save for a few exceptions, all the attackers were on foot, although in the centre rode another green-turbaned Amir, bearing the emerald-hued banner that was to bring victory to the Faithful.
Even as the survivors of thePortchester Castlestood ready for the order to open fire, the air was torn by the shrill screech of a heavy projectile, quickly followed by another and another. With a succession of terrific crashes, twelve-pounder shells burst fairly amidst the dense serried ranks of the Senussi. It was more than fanatical courage could stand. They broke and fled, leaving the green banner torn to shreds in the grasp of the lifeless Amir.
Too utterly done up even to cheer, the rescued garrison gazed seawards. Less than two miles from shore, and pelting onwards at a good twenty-five knots, was a British destroyer. It was rescue in the very nick of time.