Saving the Old "Hammerer"
"Effendi, I speak truth. It is not my wish that I fight the English."
"How came you to speak English?" demanded Huxtable.
The examination of the rescued Turkish sailor was in progress. The man
had recovered from the effects of the explosion and his subsequent
exposure in the water. He was tall, lithe, olive-featured, and of an
open countenance.
"I have served in English ship: one that traded between Smyrna and
Malta, effendi," he replied. "My name it is Osman Kosmoli. I am an
Armenian and a Christian."
"Eh?" interrupted the Lieutenant-Commander incredulously. "A
Christian? I thought Christians were not allowed to serve in the
Ottoman navy."
"Before the war, no; after the war, yes," replied Kosmoli composedly.
"So long as a man he is a sailor it no matter. I no want to fight.
They make me. I thank effendi for saving my life," and he bowed his
head at Dick, who was sitting by the side of the Lieutenant-Commander.
Crosthwaite thrust his hand into his coat pocket and produced the
document that von Eitelheimer had vainly endeavoured to induce him to
sign.
"Then tell me what this means," he said.
The Armenian took the paper and read it slowly to himself. His
eyebrows contracted as he did so.
"Bad, very bad!" he exclaimed.
"Read it aloud," ordered Dick.
It was another example of German perfidy, purporting to be a
declaration expressing extreme disapproval of the Allies' operations
against the Turks. It was a bogus confession to the effect that the
British and French were guilty of deliberate acts against the Moslem
religion, and that the avowed object of their expedition was to stamp
out Mohammedanism in the Near East.
"A thundering good job you didn't sign it," remarked Huxtable. "The
document would have been photographically reproduced and distributed
broadcast throughout Persia, Egypt, Afghanistan, and India with the
object of inciting the Mohammedan populace."
"What was to prevent von Eitelheimer from forging my signature?" asked
Dick.
"He could have done so," admitted the Lieutenant-Commander, "but it
wouldn't be quite the same thing. If you and young Farnworth had
signed it and stated your rank, the signatures could not very well be
disputed by our own people. They would naturally conclude that the
autographs, if genuine, were obtained by fraud, but that is not the
point. Ten to one von Eitelheimer, had you agreed to sign, would have
made some excuse to have Turkish personages of high standing to witness
the attestation. A document like that would cause no end of religious
ferment amongst the Moslem world. Now, you see, we have evidence to
prove that the Germans are at the root of the business, and I hope you
will be able to hand the document personally to the Admiral for
transmission to the proper authorities. By Jove, Crosthwaite! it has
nipped a dangerous conspiracy in the bud."
"I'd like to have a few words with von Eitelheimer on the subject,
sir," declared Dick.
"You may some day: you never know your luck," rejoined Huxtable
oracularly.
At last the time-limit expired, and the "E--" was at liberty to attempt
her hazardous return voyage. All hands knew that the perils which
beset them were far greater than those they had successfully evaded on
the run to Constantinople; for it was now practically impossible to
creep through the Dardanelles. With a six- or seven-knot current
bearing the submarine along, in addition to the "way" necessary to keep
the craft under helm control, there was imminent risk of charging one
of the hundreds of anchored mines before steps could be taken to avoid
it; while should the submarine run aground the impact would inevitably
shatter her hull.
Huxtable essayed the task in broad daylight. It was just possible, by
keeping a sharp look-out and making quick use of the helm, to detect
the presence of the moorings of these destructive weapons of modern
warfare.
He took up his position at the for'ard scuttle of the conning-tower,
while Devereux and Crosthwaite remained by the observation scuttles on
either side of the elongated steel box.
Hour after hour passed. The "E--" was still proceeding without mishap,
steered by a compass course. She was now well within the Dardanelles.
The fixing of her position was merely a matter of guesswork, since the
periscope could not be used without risk of being fired at from the
alert batteries. Twice she had to circle, owing to the water shoaling,
and attempt a fresh course. It was the only means of keeping to the
deep-water channel as it wended its tortuous way through the intricate
Narrows.
Suddenly Dick gave an exclamation of surprise. Less than thirty feet
from the scuttle, a large, ill-defined grey object darted past. Before
he could call the skipper's attention to it, the thing had vanished.
For several minutes the "E--" swayed and pitched in the undulations
caused by the moving mass.
"A submarine, sir--that I can swear to," reported Crosthwaite.
"Then it's a dashed German one," declared Huxtable. "None of our own
were to operate in the Narrows until we reported ourselves. That's
rotten luck."
His face bore a grim expression as he spoke, then he broke into a
boisterous laugh.
"We're in luck, Crosthwaite," he exclaimed.
"How, sir?" asked the Sub, puzzled at the rapid change in his
superior's manner.
"How? Don't you see? The Turks have been expecting that German
_unterseeboot_. Consequently they've made preparations. They've
ceased to throw out floating mines, and have given her directions for a
safe course through the anchored minefield, and we're in the same
channel. By Jove! I'll risk it! We'll pop up and see where we are.
I shouldn't be surprised if we were close to Sedd-ul-Bahr, or somewhere
within range of the guns, otherwise the German submarine would be
running awash with her ensign displayed."
Although Huxtable had declared that he would not be surprised at the
result of his observation, when the periscope showed above the surface
he was completely taken aback. He had considerably underrated the
speed of the current, and instead of being still within the
Dardanelles, Cape Helles was sighted bearing three miles N.W. What was
more, "E--" was within two thousand yards of the _Hammerer_ and the
_Tremendous_, both battleships being engaged in a long-range
bombardment of the Turkish trenches on the Gallipoli Peninsula.
Concealment was no longer necessary. Running awash, the submarine
"made her number", thus revealing her identity; and in response to a
request the _Hammerer_ dispatched a picket-boat to take off her two
missing officers and the survivors of her whaler's crew.
"Well, good-bye, Crosthwaite, old boy, and good luck!" exclaimed the
genial Huxtable, as the picket-boat, skilfully handled by Midshipman
Sefton, came alongside the submarine. "Hope you haven't been
disappointed on the score of excitement. I did my level best to give
you a good time."
"That you did, sir," replied the Sub. "By Jove! it makes me want to
kick myself for not applying for submarine service when I had the
chance."
"It's never too late to mend," rejoined the Lieutenant-Commander.
"Once more, good luck to you!"
The picket-boat backed astern, and was soon pelting at a good eighteen
knots towards her parent ship. The two midshipmen were exchanging
their experiences with great gusto, while Dick, standing beside the
coxswain, was trying to convince himself that it was not all a dream
that he had really been to Constantinople and back again.
Suddenly the coxswain pointed towards the battleship.
"Something amiss there, sir," he exclaimed. "Bless me, if she ain't
hard aground!"
Even as he spoke a furious cannonade from skilfully-hidden shore
batteries was opened upon the luckless _Hammerer_, which, having struck
a shoal, presented a fixed target to a hundred Turkish guns. All
around her the water was churned by the bursting projectiles. To
attempt to take the picket-boat any nearer would be almost suicidal.
"Easy ahead," ordered Dick, at the same time signing to the coxswain to
put the helm hard over.
Anxiously the Sub awaited developments. The _Hammerer_, badly pounded,
was replying fiercely and resolutely to the galling fire. Thick clouds
of smoke poured from her twin funnels as her powerful engines, running
at full speed astern, strove to release her from the grip of the shoal.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Sefton. "Look, sir!"
Considering that Dick was looking all the time, the advice was
unnecessary. Yet the midshipman's excitement was justifiable, for a
striking example of British pluck was about to be shown.
Steaming slowly astern, the _Tremendous_ backed into the shell-torn
inferno. Reckless of the hail of projectiles, a swarm of bluejackets
clustered on her poop, while from under her quarter a boat carrying a
hawser sped towards her disabled consort. In an incredibly short space
of time, communication was established between the two battleships;
but, just as the _Tremendous_ gathered way, a shell severed the stout
hempen rope.
Another attempt was made, but hardly was the boat clear of her parent
ship when a projectile ploughed through her bows. Enshrouded in a
cloud of smoke and steam, the pinnace disappeared beneath the waves.
Undaunted, the _Tremendous_ sent out a third hawser. Working under
great difficulties, the crew of the _Hammerer_ succeeded in getting the
stiff wire rope on board and attaching it to a chain "necklace" round
the base of her after turret.
"She's moving!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Slowly the _Hammerer_ glided astern for almost her own length; then,
with a bang that was audible above the roar of the guns, the hawser
parted.
By the time the _Tremendous_ had checked her way and had re-established
communication, twenty minutes had elapsed. Already the _Hammerer's_
top-hamper was little more than a tangled skein of steel. Her fore
topmast had gone; her mainmast had been severed ten feet below the
lower fighting-top. One of her funnels had gone by the board; the
other was holed in twenty different places and looked little better
than a sieve. Only the funnel-guys prevented it from sharing the fate
of the former. Yet she kept up a heavy fire with unabated violence,
while, to relieve the pressure of the Turkish batteries, two armoured
cruisers closed and directed their attention upon the hostile guns.
Suddenly Dick sprang to the wheel, unceremoniously pushing aside the
coxswain, whose whole attention was centred upon the stranded
battleship.
"Full speed ahead both engines!" he shouted.
His quick eye had discerned a suspicious swirl on the surface within a
cable's length of the picket-boat's starboard bow. Even as the little
craft shot ahead, from the centre of the disturbed water appeared a
periscope. It was not the periscope of a British submarine, of that
Dick felt certain. It was a hostile craft, about to take her bearings
prior to discharging a torpedo at the motionless _Hammerer_ or her
almost equally handicapped consort.
"Stand by, men!" ordered the Sub.
The picket-boat, having a dead weight of fifteen tons exclusive of the
crew, was capable of dealing a heavy blow, but Crosthwaite realized
that that would mean her own destruction. Already he had weighed up
the situation. It was risking the lives of a mere handful of officers
and men in an attempt to save the huge battleship and her complement of
nearly eight hundred.
With a heavy crash the keel of the picket-boat came in violent contact
with a submerged object. It was something more substantial than the
slender periscope, which, shattered by the impact, had vanished. For a
moment the British craft seemed on the point of turning turtle; then,
with a sickening movement, she slid over the obstruction into deep
water.
It was evident that the picket-boat would not survive the collision.
The artificers, having taken steps to prevent an explosion of the
boilers, abandoned the engine-room as the water rose above the beds of
the engines. A minute later the crew were swimming for their lives.
"She's off, sir," announced a petty officer who was swimming strongly
by the side of the Sub-lieutenant. "They'll pick us up all right."
The _Hammerer_, thanks to the efforts of the _Tremendous_, aided by her
own engines going full speed astern, had shaken herself free from the
dangerous shoal. Still replying briskly to the Turkish batteries, she
glided into deep water, circled, and steamed slowly towards the spot
where her picket-boat had disappeared.
"We'll get some of the shells meant for her," spluttered Sefton, who
had not yet succeeded in getting rid of a few mouthfuls of salt which
he had taken in when the picket-boat sank under him.
"No fear; she'll screen us," answered Dick cheerfully. "We'll--"
The sentence was never completed. A flying splinter of shell, dropping
from an immense height, had struck the Sub on the head. Sefton was
just in time to grab his superior officer by the coat-collar before he
sank.
"Bear a hand, Farnworth!" he exclaimed. "We can't let old Crosthwaite
go, but I'm afraid it's a case!"
* * * * *
It was a fortnight later when Dick Crosthwaite opened his eyes. He was
lying in Bighi Hospital at Malta, with his head swathed in surgical
bandages. He felt horribly weak, and was unable to recollect the
circumstances that led to his being in bed in a shore hospital.
Two men were standing a short distance from his cot. Their backs were
turned towards him, as they faced the open window. One he recognized
as the genial captain of the _Hammerer_, the other was a fleet-surgeon
on the hospital staff.
"Then you feel fairly confident that you'll be able to pull him
through?" asked the _Hammerer's_ skipper.
"There's every chance. He's as hard as nails, and will bob up like a
cork."
"Rather a confusion of similes, my dear O'Loghlin," remarked the
Captain with a chuckle. "All the same I'm glad to hear it. I want to
ask you a favour. Let me know the moment Crosthwaite regains
consciousness. I am particularly anxious, being his skipper, to be the
first to tell him the good news."
"Very good, sir," replied the doctor. "I'll bear that in mind."
"It won't be detrimental to his recovery?"
"Faith, that it won't! It will buck him up considerably when he knows
he's to get the D.S.O. He'll be up and fit for duty before we force
the Dardanelles, you mark my words. He'll be in at the death when we
take Constantinople."
"I hope so, too," agreed the captain of the _Hammerer_. "We can't
afford to lose the services of such a promising young officer. I hope
I'll live to see him attain flag rank."
Dick raised himself on one elbow.
"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed.
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Fight for Constantinople, by Percy F. Westerman