How the Landing Party Fared
IT will now be necessary to set back the hands of the clock, and
follow the adventures of Sub-lieutenants Webb and Haynes from the
time when the cutter and the whaler parted company with the
steamboat.
Tom Webb, being now the senior officer, led the way, steering a
compass course, and having to make due allowances for the southerly
current from the distant Dardanelles. Only the ripple of the water
from the boat's bows, the laboured breathing of the oarsmen, and the
creak of the stretchers broke the silence of the night. The muffled
oars were admirably handled, not a plash being audible as the blades
rose cleanly from the phosphorescent water. The superb pulling of
those Royal Naval Reserve men would have evoked praise from the most
critical naval officer.
Gradually the shore loomed up nearer and nearer. Progress was slow
but sure, for Webb had taken the precaution to reserve the rowers'
strength for the final lap. On the port hand the land rose abruptly.
To starboard a ledge of jagged rocks stretched seaward; while dead
ahead lay a comparatively broad expanse of land-locked water, its
extent rendered baffling by the deep reflection cast by the high
ground upon the placid surface.
Keeping midway between the entrance points Webb steered straight in.
The petrol depot was supposed to be on the port-hand side, on gently
shelving ground hidden from seaward by a line of low cliffs.
Webb would not have been surprised if, on rounding the entrance,
there were signs of activity on shore. A couple of submarines,
perhaps, anchored in the seclusion of the creek, and in the act of
taking in quantities of fuel. But all was quiet. Not a sound came
from the shadowy land; not a light was visible.
The cutter was in the act of turning to port, when from the high
ground at the entrance to the creek a rifle-shot rang out, and a
bullet whizzed within fifty feet of the boat's bows. There was no
mistaking the shot. It was not a chance bullet, but a purposely-made
signal.
"Give way, lads!" exclaimed the Sub, all necessity for silence now at
an end. Haynes, too, gave the word for his men to pull their hardest,
and now, almost neck and neck, the two boats literally tore through
the water, greeted by a veritable fusillade from the heights on the
left and from the shelving ground ahead.
A stifled cry of pain told Webb that one of the boat's crew had
stopped a piece of nickel; but, setting his teeth grimly, the wounded
man, despite a bullet wound completely through the left arm, stuck
gamely to his oar.
"By Jove!" muttered the young officer as the blinding glare of the
first of the unmasked search-lights played fairly upon his eyes,
"we're trapped."
Then other rays darted across the surface of the creek, transforming
the darkness of the night into a state of brilliance almost
approaching that of daylight. A seven-pounder shell, hurtling
overhead, exploded a hundred yards astern of the whaler, while, all
around the two boats, the water was churned into a series of
miniature waterspouts by a hail of bullets.
The British craft did not come off unscathed. Splinters from the ash
oars and from the gunwales flew in all directions. Already writhing
figures were huddled upon the cutter's bottom-boards, while stifled
groans from the whaler told the unpleasant fact that some of her crew
had been hit.
"Pull starboard, back port!" ordered Webb. With the opening fire of
the Turkish light guns he knew that it would be worse than useless to
attempt to carry out the operations. It would only be needlessly
sacrificing the lives of the men without the faintest chance of
success. All that could be done was to withdraw from the veritable
death-trap, if such a course were possible.
The Turks were now using machine-guns, but luckily their aim was bad,
for the scythe-like hail of bullets passed harmlessly over the boats.
Had the weapons been depressed a mere fraction of an inch, the
British would have been wiped out to a man.
Quickly the whaler followed the cutter's example, turning and making
for the open sea.
By this time the roar of the hostile fire was deafening. Had the
search-lights not been running, the flashes of the guns and of the
continuous musketry were sufficient to turn the hitherto pitch
darkness into a lurid glare. Showing up clearly against the high
ground on the opposite side of the creek, the boats presented an easy
target. By all the laws and theories of modern warfare they should
have been blown clear out of the water; instead, they seemed to be
shielded by a special providence.
As the boats withdrew and the range of the hostile fire increased,
the Turks began to aim with better results. The coxswain of Webb's
boat, shot through the head, was lying across the backboard of the
stern-sheets. The bowman, hit by a flying fragment of shell, had
dropped inertly over the thwart. Others of the crew had sustained
more or less serious wounds, until only six men were left to use the
oars.
Nor did the whaler fare better. Four dead men lay upon the
bottom-boards, seven badly wounded were striving to make light of
their terrible injuries. Even when face to face with death the
gallant British seamen "stuck it", with grim smiles on their faces
and light-hearted jests on their lips. Several of the oars had been
splintered; there were half a dozen bullet holes through the planks
'twixt wind and water, to say nothing of numerous perforations in the
top-strakes of the gunwales. Yet the whaler still kept afloat, thanks
to the determination and resource of her crew, who stuffed strips
torn from their scarves into the shot holes and plied balers
vigorously, despite the galling fire to which they were unable to
reply.
In vain Webb looked for the steam cutter; but while scanning the
entrance to the creek he saw something that called for instant
action--something that in a measure accounted for the fact that the
boats had not been destroyed. The Turkish quick-firers and most of
the small arms were directing a fairly concentrated storm of shot and
shell across the entrance, thus creating an almost impassable
barrage. Clearly the Sub saw the object of these tactics: the enemy
were trying to force the two boats into surrendering, rather than
blow them out of the water.
Webb found himself asking the question "For why?" He could give no
satisfactory reply. He was in a very tight corner; but he had been in
similar predicaments before, and his resource and courage had brought
him through. Why not now?
"By Jove!" he muttered; "if we can get in close to the shore those
cliffs will shelter us. They don't seem to have posted any troops
there, and certainly there are no quick-firers."
Acting promptly he altered helm. The rowers, finding their boat
heading towards the shore, regarded their young officer with evident
concern, until they saw the cool resolute look upon the Sub's face.
Then they knew that he had something in view that might extricate
them from the deadly trap.
The whaler, too, followed suit, and, before the Turks realized the
fact, both boats were sheltered from the hostile fire.
The Sub now steered the cutter parallel with the line of low cliffs
and at a distance of about three boats' lengths from their base. At
intervals the two craft had to edge outwards in order to avoid the
jagged reefs that jutted out from the precipitous cliffs; yet
progressing slowly, for the men at the oars were either wounded or
well-nigh exhausted, the cutter, followed by the whaler, crept
towards the open sea. And still no sign of the steamboat that was
supposed to be standing by to cover their movements.
Suddenly Webb spotted something ahead that filled him with vague
apprehension. He stood upright in order to verify his suspicions.
There was no mistake: stretched right across the narrowest part of
the entrance was a formidable barrier composed of wire hawsers
supported on floating iron-spiked balks of timber.
The obstruction had not been there when the boats entered the
land-locked estuary. It was a device planned under the supervision of
German officers, and was simple in its design and operation. The
balks had been bunched together close on shore. From the outermost
one a flexible steel hawser crossed the entrance and was secured to a
powerful capstan on the opposite bank. With no strain upon it the
hawser lay on the bottom of the creek, and the navigable channel was
clear. Directly the cutter and the whaler had passed over the hawser
a strain was taken on it, with the result that the balks of timber
were hauled into position, forming a "boom" too strong to be severed
by the "way" of a rowing boat, too buoyant to be pushed under water
to allow a craft to pass above, and with too great a strain on the
connecting hawser to permit a boat to force her way underneath. It
was like being in a bottle with the neck tightly corked.
"What do you make of it?" shouted Tom to the Sub in charge of the
whaler.
"A tough job," replied Haynes. "D'you think that there's a live wire
attached to that contraption?"
"I'll soon find out, old son," rejoined Webb. There was no time to be
lost, for the Turks, realizing that the boats were temporarily
sheltered, would almost certainly rush a couple of machine-guns to
the summit of the cliff. At close range, for the boats were now
within twenty yards of the shore, the British landing party would be
at the mercy of the enemy.
Snatching up an india-rubber mat that lay in the stern-sheets Webb
made his way for'ard, over the thwarts and the pack of wounded men.
Then, clambering on the nearest balk of timber, he threw the
insulated material over one of the wires and forced it against the
next cable. Nothing resulted. That pair, at all events, did not
convey any powerful and death-dealing current of electricity.
"A couple of hands for'ard," ordered the Sub. "Bring a hammer and
chisel from the boat's bag and start cutting through this wire gear."
Volunteers were quickly forthcoming--two seamen who had been but
slightly wounded. While they were tackling the task, knee-deep in
water owing to the timber sinking under their weight, Webb tested the
remaining wire ropes. To his intense satisfaction they were
comparatively harmless; but the fact remained that there were six
2-inch flexible wires to be cut through before the boats could gain
the open sea.
Desperately the two seamen attacked the stubborn wire with cold
chisel and hammer. It was a slow business, for the steel was
extremely tough, while the lack of anything in the nature of an anvil
caused much of the force of the hammer to be wasted.
"One nearly through, sir," reported the seaman with the chisel. His
hands were streaming with blood, owing to lacerations made by the
severed strands, each of which was as tough and as sharp as a
sailmaker's needle. "Wish we had a hacksaw," he added.
"No good wishing for something we haven't got," said Webb. "We'll do
it all in good time. Let me give you a spell."
But before the Sub could make his way along the partly submerged
timber Haynes exclaimed:
"Stand by; here they come!"
Webb listened intently. He could distinguish the thud of many feet,
and the high-pitched sort of cheer that Turkish infantry frequently
give vent to when advancing at the double.
"Back with you!" he ordered, addressing the two seamen on the balk.
"Stand to your arms, men!"
The Sub had made up his mind. It must be a fight to the death. There
could be no surrender. Yet it was a forlorn hope. At the utmost, only
a dozen rifles would be able to reply to the renewed attack.
Another and totally different sound wafted across the sea, at first
so faintly that Webb was afraid to trust the evidence of his own
senses. The sound increased in volume. Now it was unmistakable--the
chug-chug of the steam cutter's engines.
Snatching up a Very's pistol and inserting a cartridge, Webb fired
into the air. The green light from the signal-cartridge threw a
sickly glare upon the scene, hitherto shrouded in intense darkness;
for, although the greater portion of the creek was one blaze of
search-lights, the darkness under the cliffs was almost impenetrable.
Well it was that Webb had fired the signal, for the steamboat was
heading for the centre of the creek. Instantly the boat altered helm
and tore down upon the two trapped craft. She was charging at full
speed against the formidable boom. "Steamboat ahoy!" shouted Webb at
the full force of his lungs. "Slow down; there's an obstruction ahead
of you."
The warning was unheeded. Either Osborne had failed to hear his
chum's voice, or else he had made up his mind to charge the boom, in
the hope that the steamboat's sharp bow would shear through the
danger.
The outermost wire of the boom parted like packthread under the
terrific impact of ten tons of deadweight, travelling at fifteen
knots. By good luck the boat had struck the boom immediately between
two of the balks of timber, otherwise her planks would have been
ripped like paper by the formidable steel spikes.
The second wire sagged but held. A whole section of the boom swayed,
the side nearest the cutter slipping under the water, while the other
side reared five or six feet in the air, narrowly missing the bows of
the whaler in its descent.
For quite twenty yards the steamboat was forced astern by the rebound
of the hawser; then, just as she was forging ahead once more, Osborne
ordered the engines to be stopped. Very docilely the boat ran
alongside the insurmountable barrier.
"All aboard here--all hands!" ordered Osborne, addressing the
survivors of the cutter and the whaler.
The bow gun of the steamboat was spitting venomously at parties of
Turks who had now appeared upon the top of the cliffs. Distinctly
silhouetted against the glow of the search-lights they made an
excellent target, while the boats, lying close alongside the steeply
rising ground, were practically invisible, save for the flashes of
the steamboat's gun.
Assisted by their slightly wounded comrades, the disabled seamen were
helped along the swaying timber and received on board the steam
cutter. Webb and Haynes were the last to leave. The latter had come
off lightly, having sustained nothing more than a graze across the
forehead.
"Bear a hand, old man!" exclaimed Webb, after a vain attempt to
scramble upon the boat's side.
"Hit?" enquired Haynes laconically.
"Don't know. Fancy I must be," replied the Sub dully.
Had not Haynes grasped his comrade by the shoulders Webb would have
dropped inertly from the balk of timber into the sea. Everything was
turning a dazzling white before his eyes. His nerveless hands were
holding on to the top-strake of the cutter, yet he was unconscious of
the fact.
"Buck up!" exclaimed Haynes encouragingly. "Now, up she comes!"
With a determined effort the Sub of the whaler heaved his chum upon
the cutter's waterways.
"Where are you hit, old man?" he asked, but the question was
unanswered. Sub-lieutenant Tom Webb was unconscious.