TWO MEN IN A LAUNCH
In the confusion ensuing upon the fall of the gun Frank crept unseen up
the gully. He chuckled as he heard the infuriate curses of the German
officer. The cause of the disaster would never be known. Whether it
were ascribed to the carelessness of the men or to the accidental
slipping of a ring mattered nothing: the gun was lying at a spot whence
it would be almost impossible to remove it; very likely it was damaged
beyond repair. Frank's satisfaction was only alloyed by regret that to
attempt the same feat with the other guns of the battery was out of the
question.
"Now what's to be done?" he thought, when, having put a considerable
distance between himself and any risk of danger, he stopped to think
over his position. One result of the establishment of the battery on
the heights must be his abandonment of the sepulchre. Whatever might be
the reason for placing the battery just there, if the guns began to play
they would draw upon them the shells of the British fleet, and the
sepulchre was near enough to be anything but a safe asylum. The troops
pursuing him were not far to the north. With no permanent refuge he
could not hope to evade them much longer. Sari Bair was becoming too
hot to hold him. He must move on.
But in what direction? No part of the peninsula was any longer safe.
To go southwards was mere folly: he would only come to the forts, about
which there was no doubt a strong concentration of troops. And that way
there was no outlet but the sea. Northwards, where the peninsula was
wider, there would be more room to move; but after what had happened he
would be watched for at every little farm, on all the roads, and if he
were not actually captured, lack of food would ultimately enforce his
surrender. "What an ass I was not to make for the harbour at Gallipoli
that night," he thought, "and try to smuggle myself on Kopri's vessel!"
But repentance had come too late. Here he was, caged; nothing could now
alter that; and if he were caught in the end--well, these last few days
had given him an amount of joyous excitement which he could never
forget. Even the reflection that he had now lost the privileges of a
civilian, and would probably be shot at sight, did not much trouble him.
"Kismet!" he thought: "I must have breathed in the fatalistic spirit of
the country."
"But I'm not done yet," he added to himself. "It's Bulgaria now, I
suppose. I'd better get away first to the east, out of the way of those
fellows hunting me, and then work round as quickly as I can to the
north-west. Lucky I stuffed my pockets pretty full of loaves; but it's
quarter rations. I don't know when I'll be able to get more."
The booming of guns to the south reminded him that fellow-countrymen
were only a few miles away--a galling remembrance. They could do
nothing for him. "Alone, alone, all, all alone!"--where had he read
those words, and how little he had understood till now what they
meant!--"Oh, chuck it, Frank Forester!" he said to himself. "It's no
good grousing. Come on!"
He struck off across the shoulder of the hill, and made his way down the
bed of a stream skirting the western side of Kojadere, and flowing
almost due south until with a sharp turn to the left it fell into the
Dardanelles a mile or so north of Maidos. For the greater part of the
distance it was close to a road, and Frank had to keep a careful
look-out. But the country was rugged and desolate: there were no
villages and to all appearance no houses; only once did he catch sight
of anything on the road--a bullock wagon lumbering slowly in the
opposite direction.
The ground was for the most part on a low level, and in order to
ascertain his distance from the coast he turned off to the left, where
there were hills rising nearly two hundred feet. After a long and
tiring climb he reached a cliff at the eastern extremity of the Kalkmaz
Dagh which, projecting a little into the sea, gave him a direct view
downward into Maidos and the strait beyond. A Turkish warship lay just
above the Narrows; torpedo boats and vessels which, though he did not
know it, were mine-layers, were moored here and there; and crossing the
channel from Chanak was the motor launch, with its awning over the
fore-deck, which he had noticed once or twice before. "Abdi's on the
other side now," he thought.
He watched the launch through his glasses as it threaded its way through
the congestion of lighters and small cargo vessels lying off Maidos, to
a jetty north of the town. A number of passengers came ashore. The
launch was tied up and the crew also landed--all but one man, who sat
down in the stern and appeared to be eating his dinner. Frank almost
unconsciously took out one of his loaves. "Didn't know I was so
hungry," he muttered. He ate half the loaf, which was little larger
than a scone, put the remainder back, then took it out again for a final
mouthful. The man on the launch was still eating. Frank watched him
enviously, and almost hated him when he saw him wrap up a portion of his
meal and stow it away. "He has too much and I too little," he thought.
"I daresay he'd sell what's left. Wish I could get at him!"
This started a train of thought, or rather a series of questions. Why
not go down to the launch? Why not make use of his military uniform?
What chance was there that the man on the launch had heard that an
English fugitive was masquerading as a Turkish officer of artillery?
Indeed, why not bluff it out, get command of the launch, and run down
the strait towards the open sea? British warships were there. Was he
prepared to face a twofold risk--run the gauntlet of Turkish vessels and
batteries, and also draw fire from a British ship?
It was a ticklish problem, that would not wait long for a solution. At
any moment the launch might be ordered off. If the attempt was to be
made, it must be made at once. "Too risky," he thought. "I might be
spotted before I reached it. It's nearly a mile away: might be gone by
the time I could get down. It's absurd."
Sunk in this pessimism he sat with his chin on his hand, looking at the
launch, on which the man now lay stretched on his back, gazing down the
strait towards Kilid Bahr, where the shore bent round to the west, and
beyond which there were British vessels. It was only four or five miles
to Kilid Bahr; in the clear air the distance seemed shorter. He thought
of the alternative--further hide-and-seek in the hills, long wanderings,
semi-starvation, cold. "Hanged if I don't have a shot," he said to
himself.
Below him ran the road from Boghali through Maidos, at the edge of the
strait. There was no other way of reaching the launch unless he made a
long detour round the hills. The afternoon was already far advanced. A
detour would take much time, and taking it he would lose sight of the
launch. On the road, so far as he could see it, there was no traffic.
He rose to his feet, made his way down the hillside, gained the road,
and set off quickly southward.
In a few minutes, rounding a corner, he overtook a transport wagon drawn
by two oxen. It flashed upon him that he would attract less attention
if he got a lift on it. Stepping up to the front of the wagon, he hailed
the driver.
"Give me a lift," he said. "I've walked from Sari Bair, where we are
placing a battery. It's very tiring, walking over the hills."
"That is true, effendim," said the man. "Your excellency may do as he
pleases."
Frank got up beside the driver. The wagon lumbered on. As it neared
Maidos it passed people here and there; they saluted the supposed
officer without suspicion. It passed a house ruined by a shell.
"They said the English were our friends," remarked the wagoner.
"Time will show who are our true friends," answered Frank.
They were now entering the northern outskirts of the town. Frank saw
many signs of the havoc wrought by indirect fire from the British fleet.
In the distance soldiers were moving about. He thought it time to get
down. Tipping the driver, he jumped to the ground, and turned off to
the left towards the jetty. The launch was still tied up: he could just
see its awning.
When he was still some little distance from it he had a shock. From the
opposite direction, and nearer to the jetty than himself, a Turkish
officer was approaching it. He was bound to get there first. For a
moment Frank thought of turning tail; he had not yet been observed; but
it occurred to him that the officer might possibly come back in a few
minutes: it was worth while waiting to see.
Near at hand was a deep hole in the ground, the work of a shell. Beside
it was a broken transport wagon. He sat on this, took a cigarette from
the case which, with an automatic lighter, he had found in the pocket of
the great-coat, and began smoking like any idler. A shed at the shore
end of the jetty partly hid him from view.
The officer went on board the launch. Frank had a second shock. It was
the Kurd Abdi. Apparently he had not been to Chanak after all. Perhaps
he had deferred his departure for the sake of making one more attempt to
capture the fugitive. It was plain that he was intending to cross the
strait now, for the man in charge of the launch was making preparations
to start.
Frank was as it were paralysed for a few moments. The game was up. But
no: while the man was pouring petrol into the tank, Abdi had gone
forward and was making himself comfortable under the awning forward.
There was just a chance for boldness. Making up his mind instantly,
Frank strolled unconcernedly down the jetty. The launch man was bending
over his engine; beyond him Abdi was half concealed by the awning.
Frank halted a few yards from the launch, where his face could not be
seen by the Kurd, and hailed the engine man in a low tone. The man
looked up, and Frank beckoned him ashore. He hesitated a moment; then
the officer's uniform was effective: he jumped on to the jetty and came
to Frank's side. With a show of mystery Frank led him a few yards and
said:
"His excellency is crossing to Chanak."
"The Governor?" asked the man.
"Yes: you are ordered to wait. Not a word to any one. Go at once to
headquarters and ask for Major Ahmed Talik. There will be a valise to
carry down. You understand?--Major Ahmed Talik. It is not to be talked
about. Make haste!"
"But my passenger, effendim?"
"He must wait. I will explain to him."
"My orders! I am not to leave the launch."
"Do you argue with me?" said Frank sternly. "Go at once."
The man hastened to excuse himself, and set off, somewhat bewildered,
towards the town.
"Why keep me waiting, dog of a dog-son?" called Abdi from the launch.
The man turned, but Frank signed to him imperatively to go on, then
sauntered back along the jetty, one hand holding the cigarette, the
other fingering the revolver in his pocket. Abdi had raised himself
from his recumbent posture, and in a crouching attitude was peering out
from beneath the low awning. The glow of the sun, setting over the
hills behind, struck full upon his eyes: Frank's were shadowed. Frank
half turned as if watching the retreating launch man, all the time
slowly approaching the vessel, thus gaining ground without revealing his
face.
Then he suddenly swung round, and jumped on board. The launch rocked.
"Wallahy! Would you upset me?" cried Abdi.
Frank stood in front of him, pointing his revolver, but in such a
posture that the weapon could not be seen by chance observers on shore.
Half under the awning Abdi was at a disadvantage. He was so much taken
aback by Frank's sudden movement, and so much overcome with amazement
when he at last recognised the features of the newcomer, that he was
incapable of shouting an alarm, and the sight of the revolver within a
few feet of his head disposed him to listen to what Frank was saying.
"Salam," said Frank quietly, "we are going for a little trip together.
No, no: keep your hands down. Don't move any further from under the
awning. You recognise me, I see. I am the Englishman you have been
hunting--and this is my revolver. It is loaded.--Do you hear? Keep
still.--You have a revolver too, in that belt to which I see your
restless hand groping. Well, I collect revolvers. I have two of yours
already; the other will be safer with me. No: keep your hands up; if
you hurry me I may shoot too soon. On your life don't make a movement!"
he ended fiercely.
With his right hand holding his revolver at the Kurd's head, he stooped,
and with a quick movement of his left hand wrested the revolver from the
other's belt.
"Now get back under the awning to the comfortable place you have
arranged for yourself," he said.
The Kurd hesitated and flashed a downward glance at the knives in his
belt.
"I will count three," Frank went on. "If you are not comfortable when I
come to three ... one ... two----"
With a snarling curse Abdi crept backward to the cushions at the further
end of the awning, and collapsed there.
Transferring the revolver to his left hand, Frank, also moving backward,
came to the engine. It was not his first trip in a motor launch, and a
rapid examination showed him that the boatman had got everything ready.
Nothing remained but to switch on the current, turn the crank and cast
off the hawser. These movements he made, his eyes scarcely leaving the
discomfited Kurd for a moment. Then he threw the engine into gear and
seized the helm, and the little craft sidled from the jetty, and shot
away over the dancing wavelets of the Dardanelles.