RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
'It seemed shabby to leave you to do all the fighting, but if I had come
into it I'm afraid you'd have been left without a ship.'
The speaker was Lieutenant Strang, who stood on the deck of G2, which had
risen again and was lying alongside the launch.
'It was your fellows who won the battle for us,' answered Captain
Carrington cheerfully. 'I wish to congratulate you on the possession of
two such men as Williams and Johnston.' Williams stepped forward and
touched his cap.
'If you please, sir, the captain here and his son and Horan, they did as
much as any. But all on 'em fought like good 'uns.'
'What are your losses, sir?' asked the lieutenant of Captain Garrington.
'Two killed, three rather badly wounded.'
'You got off lightly. There don't seem to be many Turks left.'
'Only nine alive, and of those four are wounded.'
'Are the launch's engines all right?'
'Nothing wrong with them,' answered the captain, 'so Williams tells me.'
'Well, it's getting late and very thick. You had better follow me, and I
will escort you to the place we spoke of. The Turks who are sound can take
the boat and be towed until we are off one of the islands, when we can
cast them off and they can land.'
Ken stepped up to his father, and said something in a low voice. A
slightly startled expression appeared on the captain's face.
'You think it possible, Ken?' he said sharply.
'I do. I believe we could get through.'
'Then I will suggest it to Lieutenant Strang.
'Lieutenant Strang,' he called. 'Before we start I have a suggestion to
make. I will come across if you will permit me.'
'Certainly, sir.'
The launch lay so close to the submarine that it was easy for the Captain
to spring across. Strang met him, and for some moments the two talked in
whispers.
At first the commander of the submarine seemed unwilling to agree to the
captain's proposal, but presently Ken, who was watching breathlessly, saw
him nod his head.
Then the captain smiled, and turning leaped lightly back on to the launch.
'It's all right, Ken,' he said. 'We are going to try it.'
'Hurrah!' cried Ken in high delight.
'Try what?' demanded Roy. 'Hang it all! Don't keep us in the dark. What's
all the mystery about?' Ken glanced at his father.
'All right,' said the latter. 'Every one must know and agree before we
start.'
'Gentlemen,' he said, addressing the anxious crowd who surrounded him, 'my
son has suggested that we might do something better than go and lie up for
an indefinite time in the hiding-place which would be our only possible
refuge on these shores, and where we should be in constant danger from the
enemy. His idea is that we might make a dash back down the Straits.'
'Mais, it would be ze madness!' exclaimed an elderly Frenchman, with a
gray imperial and a blood-stained bandage around his head. 'Zey would sink
us.'
'So they would under ordinary circumstances,' agreed the captain. 'But the
night and--more than that--the fog are in our favour. Besides this launch
is Turkish, and we have several people aboard who can speak the language.'
'But ze mines!' objected the Frenchman.
'There again we are fairly safe. The launch is of such shallow draught
that she will easily pass over the mine-fields. Floating mines we must of
course risk, but there are not likely to be many about, for the Turks only
send them down when an attack is expected. One other point is in our
favour. This launch is fast. With any luck, we shall be through the
Straits and in safety long before daylight.'
The Frenchman nodded.
'Vair well, Monsieur le Capitaine. For me, I am satisfied.'
'I think we all are,' said an elderly Englishman named Symons.
The captain looked round, but no one offered any objection.
'Then it is decided,' he said quietly, and proceeded to issue his orders
as briskly as he had done, years before, on his own quarter-deck.
The Turks were transferred to the empty boat, and taken in tow by the
submarine. Johnston went back to G2, but Williams remained as engineer in
charge of the launch. The dead Turks were put overboard, and the traces of
the fight quickly removed.
Then Strang bade them farewell and good luck, the engines began to move,
the screw churned the water, and the prize, heading westwards, sped
rapidly towards the mouth of the Straits.
Williams, who was the sort of man who could tackle anything in the way of
machinery, from a sewing machine to a Dreadnought's turbines, soon got the
hang of the launch's engines.
'They're a bit of all right,' he said to Ken and Roy, who had volunteered
as stokers and oilers. 'Blowed if I thought them Turks had anything as
good. But I reckon this here craft come from Germany.'
'She certainly can leg it,' observed Ken, as he noticed how the whole
fabric of the little craft quivered under the drive of the rapidly
revolving screw.
'Ay, and I reckon we'll need all she's got afore we're through,' replied
Williams dryly, as he squirted oil into a bearing.
'We ought to be all right if the fog holds,' said Ken.
'Ay, if it does. I'll allow it's thick enough up here, but there ain't no
saying what it'll be down in them straits. Fogs is uncertain things at
best and you never can tell when you'll run out o' one into clear
weather.'
Williams's warning made Ken feel distinctly uneasy, and every few minutes
he kept looking out to see what the weather was doing. But so far from
clearing, the mist seemed to thicken, until it was as gray and wet as the
Channel on a late autumn day. Night, too, was closing down, and soon it
was so dark that one end of the vessel could not be seen from the other.
The distance to the mouth of the Straits was about thirty miles, and the
Straits themselves have a length of thirty-five. The launch was good for
fifteen knots, and though it would not be possible to go at full speed
through the Narrows, they hoped, barring accidents, to do the journey in
about five hours.
Having done two hours' work, Ken and Roy were relieved, and after a much
needed wash, went into the cabin for a mouthful of food. Then Ken went
forward, to find his father, wearing a rough black oilskin, combining the
duties of look-out and skipper. At the wheel was a young Englishman named
Morgan, an amateur yachtsman who knew the Straits like the palm of his
hand.
'Where are we now, dad?' asked Ken.
'Opposite Bulair.'
'What--in the Straits?'
'At their mouth, Ken.'
'We haven't wasted much time, then.'
'Indeed we haven't. But I am afraid we shall have to slow a bit now. The
fog is thicker than ever, there are no lights, and we don't want to come
to an ignominious end by piling ourselves up on the cliffs.
'Still the fog's our best friend,' he continued, 'and we have plenty of
time before us. If we average no more than half-speed we should be clear
before daylight.'
For another twenty minutes they carried on at full speed through the
choking smother, then Captain Carrington rang to reduce speed.
'We're off Gallipoli now,' he said. 'That's where I should have been by
this time, Ken, if G 2 had not popped up just at the proper moment.'
'It isn't exactly a salubrious spot,' Ken answered with a smile. 'The
"Lizzie" has been chucking her 15-inchers into the town whenever she
hadn't anything else to do.'
For the next two hours the launch nosed her way cautiously
south-westwards, through the wet smother. Most of the time she kept fairly
close under the Asiatic shore. There were fewer forts that side, and less
danger therefore of attracting attention.
During the whole of that time she never sighted so much as a rowing boat.
The Straits were as empty as a country lane on a winter night.
About eleven Ken, who had done another spell of stoking, went forward
again to where his father kept his ceaseless watch.
'Getting near the Narrows, aren't we?' he asked in a low voice.
'We are, Ken. If my reckoning is right Nagara Point is almost on our port
bow.'
'There's a light of some sort just ahead, sir,' said Morgan from the
wheel.
'I see it too,' said Ken quickly. 'Can it be from the fort?'
Quickly the captain rang to slow still more. With barely steerage way the
launch moved noiselessly forward. There followed some moments of
breathless silence, while the three stared at the dull mysterious glow
which was now almost exactly ahead.
'It's a craft of some sort,' said Ken in a sharp whisper. 'The light's
moving.'
'You're right. Starboard a trifle, Morgan.'
Again a pause. Then Ken spoke again.
'It's a tug, father. She's towing a string of barges. She's going across
to Maidos.'
'Then I know what they're doing,' said Morgan.' They're taking stores
across from the Asiatic side. I heard they had started that game since our
submarines began to worry them in the Marmora.'
'I thought as much,' Captain Carrington answered quietly. 'Then it is up
to us to stop it.'
Ken glanced quickly at his father, but there was not light to see his
face. It was Morgan who voiced his thought.
'We shall bring the fire of all the batteries down on us,' he said.
'Of course,' Captain Carrington's voice was calm as ever. 'Starboard
another point, Morgan. Ken, call Dimmock. He's an ex-gunnery lieutenant,
and can handle the 6-pounder.'
'I'm here already, sir,' came a voice out of the gloom. I saw the light,
and guessed what was up.'
'I can help, father,' said Ken. 'Ah, and here's Roy.'
All three sprang forward to the gun. It had already been loaded and a
dozen spare shells were ready alongside.
'This is luck,' said Roy in a gleeful whisper, as he ranged himself
alongside the gun. He, like the rest, was perfectly well aware that the
first shot they fired would bring down on them the concentrated fire of
all the batteries on both shores, and that their chances of escape were
hardly worth considering. But this did not weigh for a moment, if they
were able to strike a blow for the Empire.
The revolutions were increasing, the launch moved more rapidly down upon
her quarry.
'Three barges!' exclaimed Roy. 'Big 'uns, too! I say, there must be tons
of stuff aboard. Jove, won't the Turks be sick?'
'We must get the tug first,' said Dimmock, who, though a man of forty, was
as keen as a boy. 'If we can slap it into her first, we can deal with the
barges at our leisure.'
As he spoke he was squinting along the barrel, his right hand busy with
the sighting screw.
'Hang this fog!' he muttered. 'I can hardly see what I'm shooting at.'
The launch was now within little more than a hundred yards of the tug
which was puffing noisily along, her string of barges tailing heavily down
the current, and her crew utterly unaware of the hidden danger gliding
down upon them through the fog.
'I'm beastly rusty,' continued Dimmock. 'Still, I hardly think I can miss
her at this range.'
As he spoke his finger pressed the electric button, and the gun barked
with that ear-splitting crack peculiar to the 6-pounder.
The tug staggered and rang like an iron drum.
'Not much miss about that!' cried Roy triumphantly. 'You must have got her
slap in the boilers.'
'No, it was too high,' said Dimmock in a discontented tone.' This gun
jumps a bit. Sharp there, with that other shell.'
Roy slipped it in as though it were a toy, the breech-block snicked to,
and five seconds later a second report roused the echoes.
'That's better,' said Dimmock, as a flash of flame rose from the midships
section of the tug. 'Ah, there goes her funnel! She's a goner.'
He was right. The tug swung round to the current, and, with engines
stopped, drifted idly down the Straits.
'What's the matter? They haven't begun to fire yet,' said Roy quickly, as
he thrust a third shell into the open breech.
[Illustration: 'Up shot a sheet of crimson flame.']
'So much the better for us,' Ken answered. 'Mr Dimmock, this one ought to
do for the nearest barge.'
Hastily Dimmock sighted again at the blunt, low-lying object which loomed
dimly ahead in the wet darkness.
Once more the smart little gun spoke, but the crack of the report had
hardly sounded before it was drowned by the most appalling crash. Up from
the stricken barge shot a sheet of crimson flame, a blaze of fire which
mounted a hundred feet into the murky air, and in spite of fog and mist
flung its glare upon the iron cliffs on either side the narrow straits.
The launch shuddered as though she had struck a reef, and the blast from
the explosion flung every soul who was standing up flat upon her decks.
Hard upon the roar came a wave, a wave which rose high over the bows of
the long, slim craft, and swept across her in a torrent of cold, salt
water.
It washed Ken back against the rail, which he clutched at desperately, and
so saved himself from going overboard.
Dazed and confused, he struggled to his feet.
'Roy!' he cried thickly, 'Roy!'
'All right. We're all right,' came a hoarse reply, and Roy's tall figure
rose from close under the opposite rail, and grasping Dimmock, lugged him
to his feet.
'Gad, that's done the trick!' he panted. 'The other barges are gone. So's
the tug. We've bust the whole caboodle.'
From aft came Captain Carrington's voice, shouting for 'Full speed ahead!'
Time, too, for the gunners in the forts, recovering from their paralysed
amazement, were already getting busy and the roar of great guns was
followed by the rocket-like hiss of shells.
Like a frightened hare the launch gathered speed and darted away
downstream. Shells, each big enough to smash her to kindling, fell on
every side, but the gunners on both sides were firing too high, and by a
series of miracles the launch was not touched.
Searchlights sprang out, their white fingers feeling through the murk. But
no searchlight ever made will penetrate a thousand yards of fog, and the
dull glares only served to warn the steersman of the launch of dangers to
be avoided.
'Jove, we'll do it yet, Ken,' cried Roy, shouting so as to be heard above
the thunderous din of the guns.
'It will be a miracle if we do,' Ken answered. 'Remember we have to run
the gauntlet all the way down.'
'It doesn't follow,' Roy said quickly. 'They haven't seen us, and they'll
take it for granted that it must have been a submarine. Why, even the
sweepers haven't ventured up here.'
'I only hope you're right,' replied Ken fervently.
'Ah!' he broke off, as a shell whizzed over so near they felt the wind of
it. 'That was close.'
By this they had passed Nagara, and turning due south were rushing past
the big fort of Kosi Kale. For the moment the tempest of shell had died
away behind them.
'I told you so,' said Roy jubilantly. 'They've chucked it. If we don't
whack into a beastly mine we shall get clear.'
Indeed, it almost seemed as though he was right. The firing slackened,
then stopped completely, and the launch, still untouched, sped through the
gloom. Her crew, almost unable to credit such amazing luck, stood about
the decks staring out into the darkness, occasionally exchanging a word or
two in low voices.
'We're in the Narrows,' said Ken. 'See that luminous patch over to the
left. That's Chanak.'
'Almost the same spot where the trawlers were scuppered,' answered Roy.
'Just so. If Fort Hamidieh doesn't open out, we ought really to be all
right. We shall be in broader waters.' He took out his watch and glanced
at its luminous dial.
'In three minutes we shall know one way or the other,' he added.
For the next hundred and eighty seconds there was no sound but the steady
swish of the bow wave and the beat of the powerful engines.
Ken shut his watch with a snap.
'All right. We're past.'
The words were not out of his mouth before there came a ringing report,
and a shell, screaming through the air, smacked into the water about a
length astern.
'A twelve-pounder!' said Ken sharply, as he turned. 'Ah!' as a blaze of
light sprang out about half a mile aft, 'that's why they stopped firing.
There's a destroyer after us.'