There was a dreadful silence aboard the battleship following the
explosion of that Turkish shell. Both the boys had been knocked down
by the concussion. They sat up, looking rather stupid, and Amos was
rubbing the back of his head as though it had come in for a smart blow
when it struck the metal deck.
Jack looked him over anxiously.
“Not hurt, I hope, Amos?” he exclaimed, when he could find his breath.
“Er--I guess only a bump or so,” stammered the other, trying to smile,
although the effort was a dismal failure because it made his head hurt.
“Say, that was a peach of a crack, wasn’t it? They got our range that
time all right, seems like, and more may follow that shell.”
“They’ve changed the course of the ship, I think,” said Jack, “for the
purpose of blocking that very game. I wonder how much damage it did
aboard?”
“I’m almost afraid to find out,” Amos admitted, “because some of the
poor fellows may be lying around terribly hurt, or else blown into
bits.”
Gaining their feet they pushed in the direction of the spot where
the shell had burst. It was forward on the port side, and from this
fact they knew the missile must have come from a battery or fort on
Gallipoli and not the Asiatic side of the straits.
Despite the fact that there was nothing but the best of steel to be
struck by the monster shell, so powerful was the explosive contained
in the same that much material damage had been effected. Luckily few
of the crew chanced to be within reach of the explosion. Three men
received minor wounds, no one was killed, and the damage, the boys
quickly learned, was not likely to interfere in the least with the work
laid out for the _Thunderer_ on that morning.
“If one of those big things ever burst close to a fellow,” Amos
commented as he examined the effect of the gunfire, “it would be all
day with him.”
“One thing sure,” Jack added, “he would never know what hurt him. It
would be like being struck by lightning; they say the victim sees a
flash, and that is the end of it. He never lives long enough to hear
the thunder, even when it comes hot on the heels of the lightning.”
The boys were greatly interested in the humble and dangerous though
necessary work of the numerous mine-sweepers. Glory there was none for
the brave-hearted men aboard the small boats that kept stubbornly at
their labor, despite the fire to which they were frequently subjected.
Now and then one might be hit and go down, whereupon the crew of a
few men must take their chances with the sharks known to infest those
waters when there was so much fighting going on.
“They are heroes, every one of them,” Amos declared, when they talked
of the remarkable courage shown by the men aboard these small craft.
“Just as much as the fellow who does some striking deed in the
spotlight, and is rewarded by the Nation’s praise, as well as the
Victoria Cross. But _they_ never expect to be known, and are content
to just go on and do their work the best way they can see, content if
success crowns their efforts.”
“Yes, and right now, Amos, while we’re talking about the risks they
run, if you look at that sweeper over near the shore you’ll see she’s
sinking.”
“You’re right, Jack; she must have been struck by a shot of some kind
from one of those concealed shore batteries. These Turks are pretty
clever about hiding their guns, and suddenly making a killing. The
meanest patch of brush may shelter three or four guns that even the
aviators above fail to see.”
“I think the commanders on the warships dread those hidden batteries
more than they do the big guns at Kilid Bahr or Chanak up in the
Narrows,” Jack went on to say.
“Then they ought to do something to find out where they are located, I
should think,” was the opinion expressed by his comrade.
“The mine-sweepers are helping to do that, for it seems the gunners
lying hidden among the gullies ashore find it hard to resist smashing
one when they get an opportunity. And that, you know, Amos, shows the
watchers on the warships just where to send some of their big shells.”
All this while the busy birdmen were circling the battle field, and
constantly seeking to impart important information which, from their
lofty eyrie, they were enabled to collect.
“They can see a thousand things from up there, you know,” Jack was
saying presently when they watched one of the airmen dropping little
bombs that made a great smoke, but which were intended simply as
signals to the fleet.
“Yes, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they could watch the movements of
a submarine far below the surface of the water. I really wonder why
aeroplanes haven’t been used to follow and destroy some of the German
submersibles that have commenced preying on British commerce.”
“Perhaps they have, for all we can say,” Jack told him. “I know from
experiments that when you’re fifty feet above a shallow body of water
you can, in calm weather, see the bottom everywhere. That’s how the
fish-hawk picks out the prize it wants for its dinner.”
Their exchange of remarks had to be frequently interrupted, for there
were violent bursts of cannonading that rendered conversation next to
impossible. Many of the British and French warships were now inside the
strait, and doing their utmost to silence the enemy batteries.
This was not all by any means. From other positions many miles away
came the heaviest of booming. The boys understood that this marked
the presence of the super-dreadnaught _Queen Elizabeth_, which from
a station out in the open sea could drop enormous shells from her
sixteen-inch guns on the Turkish forts in the Narrows, doing great
damage.
After the time when Jack and his cousin had the privilege of witnessing
that battle in the straits the conditions changed radically. Thanks to
those same floating mines that sank a number of vessels, the frontal
attack had to be given up, and a new campaign inaugurated, troops by
the tens of thousands being landed on Gallipoli, to try and push the
stubborn Turks from their lines.
As they stood there on the deck of the _Thunderer_ and watched the
stirring drama of sea and land forces in conflict, the two American
boys realized that they were in touch with one of the grandest combats
the world had ever known. History would so record it, they felt sure,
as they gazed with rapt attention, taking in all the marvelous sights.
Another shell burst against the side of the battleship, and must have
made more or less of a dent in her armor. This was to be expected;
indeed few of those many staunch warships would pass through this
combat without signs to show for their perilous adventure. But if they
survived the fighting, those dents would always be looked upon as marks
of approval; just as a veteran’s wounds give him cause for personal
pride.
Several more of the crew had been injured by shrapnel bursting
overhead; for the enemy tried by every means in his power to damage the
vessels, and those who manned them.
An officer, seeing that the boys were standing in a very exposed
position, came, and with the compliments of the Vice-Admiral invited
them to change to a place where they would at least be safe from this
overhead peril. They were not slow to accept, for neither of them cared
to be reckless while so many missiles of death were flying through the
air.
They had one opportunity to witness the result of the gunfire aboard
the battleship. A shell burst amidst a copse ashore two miles away, and
they distinctly saw men being hurled into the air, as well as parts of
a dismantled cannon. A hearty cheer from the whole crew told what they
thought of that shot.
“Look at that destroyer shooting along, Jack!” suddenly called out
Amos, pointing as he spoke to a slender vessel of great speed that was
flying with the grace of a swallow past the battleship.
“There’s something up, as sure as you live!” suggested Jack,
immediately deeply interested.
“She seems to be heading right up the straits, and acts as if they
meant to try and run through the Narrows yonder,” Amos suggested.
“Oh, hardly that!” Jack told him. “There wouldn’t be one chance in ten
she could run the batteries on the shore in that narrow part of the
straits. They’d sink her with their smaller guns; but even if she did
get through, of what use would she be in the Sea of Marmora, with the
Turkish fleet to reckon with?”
“But see how she still keeps flying on, Jack, as if she had wings. I
never saw such speed before with any kind of boat. What can be the
object of it all, do you think?”
“I expect it’s what I spoke about a while ago, Amos. She has been sent
out to serve as a floating target for the concealed batteries of the
Turks.”
“What colossal nerve!” cried Amos, almost holding his breath as he
watched the swift progress of the destroyer. “She offers herself as a
target for all the guns they can bring to bear on her. The chances are
three to one they’ll never come back again after making the circuit.”
“Those aboard have their orders, and they’ll carry them out despite
all the Turkish guns within ten miles. They may go down, but if, by
sacrificing themselves, they show up one or two hidden batteries that
can be destroyed by the battleships, they will have died gloriously,
like thousands of others of their kind have done since the days of the
Spanish armada.”
Thrilled by the spectacle of valor exhibited by the crew of the little
destroyer, the two lads stood and kept their eyes riveted on the
flitting boat. They could not remember the time when they had felt such
a deep interest in anything. When presently the first shell exploded
near the destroyer Amos gave a cry of alarm.
“Oh, that was a close shave, let me tell you, Jack!” he exclaimed.
“I wonder if the brave commander or any of his crew could have been
killed, or seriously wounded by that shell. And, Jack, doesn’t the
destroyer look sort of familiar to you? I honestly believe it’s the
very same boat we were on last night.”
“That would be hard to say,” his chum explained, “because most of them
are built along similar models, and it would be easy to mistake one for
another. You can see a dozen of the scout-boats right now inside the
straits. But that particular one has for some reason been picked for
this daring game of drawing the fangs of the enemy, by tempting the
gunners in their hidden batteries to take a chance.”
“Whoever the commander is I take off my hat to him,” asserted Amos,
suiting the action to the word.
“Oh! it strikes me that bravery is becoming mighty common these days,
Amos. Already there have been dozens of astonishing feats carried out
on both sides that make those stories in history look pretty poor.”
“That’s right,” said Amos, “tell me what is there in Leonidas and his
three hundred deathless Spartans holding the pass of Thermopylæ beside
some of the things that are happening all around us every day, what
with these fearless aviators, the men who go down under the ocean
in submarines, and those who laugh at death, like the crew of that
destroyer are doing this very minute?”
“I’m hoping they get through all right, after all,” Jack wished. “You
can see that by now they’ve reached the last Allied warship. Still
they keep right on, changing their course constantly so that the white
bubbles in their wake look like a snake. There, did you hear that shot
from the shore? I can see the smoke, but there isn’t a sign of a cannon
in sight. I reckon that was a time when the destroyer got a bite.”
Hardly had his last word been spoken than there was a mighty crash. The
_Thunderer_ had sent her compliments at the Turkish shore battery so
cleverly hidden, and the location of which had been revealed by that
one incautious shot.