The Sub to the Rescue
While Midshipman Farnworth was directing his energies toward the
release of his boat's crew, Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite and his small
party were hotly engaged with the Turkish troops.
At the first onset, by dint of rapid magazine-firing, Dick's men
succeeded in "bluffing" their foes into the belief that they were
attacked by a strong landing-force. So much so that had the Sub given
orders to fix bayonets and charge, the enemy would have bolted.
Unfortunately his instructions from Lieutenant-Commander Huxtable
prevented him from so doing. His orders were to hold the shore until
the prisoners were released, and then to retire to the boats. On no
account was he to penetrate the enemy's defences, lest, in the event of
a strong counter-attack, his retreat would be imperilled and even cut
off.
It was soon apparent that, under the prodigality of magazine-firing,
the men's supply of ammunition would not hold out much longer; but, by
the diminution of the rate of fire, the Turks were not slow to realize
that they had been deceived by the numbers of their attackers.
Taking advantage of every bit of natural and artificial cover, the
bluejackets held grimly to their position, firing deliberately at the
spurts of flame that denoted the presence of the Ottoman riflemen,
whose numbers were constantly being augmented by other troops from
different parts of the island.
Gradually the enemy began to work round to the British right, till the
thin line of bluejackets was in danger of being enfiladed. Then, with
a succession of fierce yells, the Turks sprang to their feet and with
fixed bayonets bore down upon the handful of determined seamen.
A rapid magazine fire swept aside the threatened danger before any of
the foemen came within reach of the British bayonets, but at the cost
of two men wounded and a severe drain upon the remaining ammunition.
Dick looked grave when he heard Farnworth's report. It was quite
evident that the midshipman's task could not be carried out with the
ease that he had expected. But having once set his hand to the plough,
the Sub realized that there was to be no turning back until the work in
hand accomplished. He must hold the position at all costs until the
rescued seamen were safely in the boats.
Presently a man slithered past him in the darkness, and, flinging
himself prone, began to blaze away at the flashes of light a hundred
yards or so on his front. Dick recognized him as the bowman of the
_Hammerer's_ whaler. Then he knew that Farnworth's mission was
approaching completion.
Again the Turks charged, this time well on the right flank; and before
the British line could be re-formed, a score of helmeted Moslems were
pouring over the low stone wall protected that portion of the seamen's
position. Bayonet crossed bayonet, rifle butts swung in the air. The
fierce shouts of the Turks were met with dogged silence, as the
stalwart bluejackets lunged and fired at their fanatical foes.
Dick's revolver turned the scale. The Turks fled, leaving a dozen of
their number dead on the field, and several others more or less
seriously injured.
During the brief respite that followed Dick looked anxiously in the
direction of the tower. He could just discern the dark forms of the
liberated bluejackets as, under the charge of the coxswain of the
whaler, they made for the boats.
Even as he looked a search-light flashed from the hitherto black
expanse of sea. Irresolutely playing upon the shore for a few moments,
it settled upon the extended line of bluejackets and upon the
bullet-splintered barracks whence came the main Turkish fire.
"Lie down, men!" ordered Dick, for with the blaze of light several of
the men knelt up and looked in the direction of the disagreeable
interruption.
His warning came just in time, for a three-pounder shell from the
hostile craft, and, screeching shrilly over the heads of the small
British force, exploded with a terrific crash in the Turkish barracks.
Evidently there was a quantity of highly-inflammable oil stored within
the building, for with extreme violence lurid flames shot skywards,
their brilliancy outclassing the glare of the search-light.
The surviving soldiers ran for dear life, and for the time being all
opposition from that quarter was at an end. But a peril of even
greater magnitude now threatened the force under Crosthwaite's command.
Their retreat was cut off.
With the peak of his cap just showing above a low mound of earth, Dick
directed his attention seawards. So dazzling were the rays of the
search-light that he could discern nothing in the vicinity of the
source of the beam. Whether the Turkish vessel was a destroyer or only
an armed patrol-boat he could not decide. Nor could he detect any
signs of the British submarine. Doubtless Huxtable, at the first
warning of the enemy's approach, had dived. Without torpedoes at his
disposal, it seemed as if he were helpless in the matter. All he could
do was to save his command by resting on the bottom, leaving
Crosthwaite and his men to their fate.
Another and yet another shell came from the Turkish craft, each missile
bursting harmlessly beyond the sheltered British seamen. It seemed
fairly conclusive that the Ottoman craft mounted only one quick-firer,
and that, ignorant of the true position of affairs, she was directing
the fire against the buildings lately held by the Turkish troops.
Meanwhile the rescued prisoners, who, before the first shell had been
fired, had taken their places in the caique, acted with admirable
presence of mind. Instead of bolting precipitately along the pier for
the more substantial cover that they knew was obtainable ashore, they
lay down quietly on the bottom of the boat.
"A bit of a tight corner, sir," exclaimed a voice which Dick recognized
as Farnworth's. The midshipman, taking advantage of a sweep of the
search-light, had cautiously made his way from the tower to the place
where Dick was taking cover.
"We've been in a worse one," replied the Sub coolly. "Our men are as
steady as anything. If we can escape the shelling--and they haven't
spotted us yet, or else they are rotten shots--we can sit tight. If
that craft--I fancy she's only a patrol-boat--puts in alongside the
pier to see what damage she's done, we'll do our best to rush her.
Dash it all! Who says we are not having a good fling for our money?"
He spoke cheerfully, but at the same time he thoroughly realized the
seriousness of the situation. Even should the patrol-boat tie up
alongside the pier, which was doubtful, and he succeeded by a coup de
main in capturing her, the triumph would be of short duration. Bottled
up in the limited expanse of the Sea of Marmora, with the impassable
Dardanelles at one end and the equally well-defended Bosphorus at the
other, escape in anything except a submarine craft was impossible.
"Whatever are those fellows up to?" enquired Farnworth, as two more
shells, fired in quick succession, burst far inland.
"They're giving their friends a taste of their own pills," replied
Dick. "It's great! They've mistaken the troops for our men."
Such indeed was the case, for the search-light was slowly yet surely
following the retreating, panic-stricken Turkish soldiers, while shell
after shell hurtled towards the fugitives as fast as the gun could be
discharged.
Suddenly came the report of a double concussion--so quickly that the
detonations sounded as a single crash. Then came another.
"By Jove! The skipper is tackling the patrol-boat with our little
anti-aircraft gun!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Once more the midshipman was right in his surmise. Taking advantage of
the darkness, rendered doubly baffling to the Turks on the patrol-boat
owing to the contrast afforded by the search-light, the
Lieutenant-Commander of "E--" had boldly brought his craft within close
range of the enemy craft.
He knew the risk. One shot from the Ottoman quick-firer would send the
submarine to the bottom like a stone. On the other hand, the
patrol-boat was nothing more than an old iron tug, on which a light
quick-firer had been mounted. Formidable enough when operating against
troops unprovided with guns, the Turkish craft was vulnerable even to
the smallest quick-firer.
Taken completely by surprise as the first British shell played havoc
with her bridge and search-light projector, the patrol circled in a
vain endeavour to escape. A second shell ripped a large hole in her
water-line, causing her to reel violently and commence to list heavily
to starboard.
Only once did the patrol-boat attempt to reply to the devastating
shell-fire of the submarine: but the missile, hastily and badly aimed,
flew wide, exploding a couple of thousand yards away.
Huxtable's reply was to send a shell crashing against the frail shield
of the Turkish gun. The explosion did its work thoroughly, for the gun
crew were wiped out and the weapon dismounted.
Twenty seconds later, so destructive had been the effect of the shell
upon the compartmentless hull of the craft, the patrol-boat disappeared
beneath the surface, her boilers exploding with tremendous violence as
she did so.
"Hurrah! She's done for!" exclaimed Farnworth excitedly.
As he spoke a light blinked from the submarine. Huxtable was about to
send a message to the landing-party. Since they were unable to signal
in return to say that they were ready, the Lieutenant-Commander waited
for a brief interval, then began to flash the message.
"Return at once. Am waiting to pick you up."
Crosthwaite promptly obeyed the order. Unmolested his men marched to
the pier-head. Deeply laden, the two boats pushed off and rowed slowly
towards the submarine, on which a lantern was displayed to enable them
to locate her position.
"Help! Aid me!" shouted a voice in broken English, before the boats
had covered half the distance between the shore and the "E--".
A violent splashing in the phosphorescent water, followed by reiterated
appeals for aid, caused Dick to steer the canvas boat in the direction
of the commotion. A seaman in Turkish uniform was swimming for dear
life. His strength was fast failing him, and it seemed impossible that
he could hold out long enough to reach the shore. With his remaining
energies he grasped the gunwale of the frail Berthon and hung on
desperately.
"Don't take him on board," ordered Dick, as one of the seamen grasped
the Turk by the collar. "You'll upset us if you do; but hold on to
him."
The Sub's first intention was to return, towing the man into shallow
water, and there let him shift for himself. On second thoughts he
remembered that his orders to return to the submarine with the utmost
dispatch were peremptory. However undesirable it was to take a
prisoner on board, in addition to the rescued men of the _Hammerer's_
whaler, his humane feelings would not allow him to refuse aid to his
enemy.
"Give way!" ordered Dick.
The men bent to their oars. The Sub steered for the now discernible
"E--", while the Turk, held in the iron grip of his rescuer, was
ignominiously towed through the water.
"All present, sir!" reported Crosthwaite.
"Any casualties?" enquired Huxtable anxiously.
"Three, sir."
The Lieutenant-Commander looked worried. The interior of a submarine
is no place for a wounded man. There was no medical attention
available. The sufferers had to rely solely upon the rough yet
good-natured attentions of their comrades. Nevertheless Huxtable had
good cause to congratulate himself and his subordinate upon the result
of the operations. Not only had a hostile craft been sunk, but all the
survivors of the _Hammerer's_ landing-party had been rescued.
And yet the business was far from being accomplished. A tedious
wait--at least a nerve-racking ordeal--had to be followed by the return
dash through the mine-strewn Dardanelles.