'It's no use, dad,' said Ken, as another shell cut away the top of the stumpy funnel. We can't get away. Let's finish, fighting.'
'Turn and try to ram her?'
'Yes, and Dimmock might by luck get a shell into her. He's a pretty nippy shot in spite of being out of practice.'
'All right, Ken. I'd rather die fighting than running.'
He raised his voice.
'Mr Morgan, put her hard aport! Dimmock, here's your chance for a last shot.'
Round came the launch, turning on her keel like a racing yacht, and straight she sped for her big pursuer. The latter was evidently taken aback by this unexpected manoeuvre, and for a moment her searchlight lost the launch.
The moment the glare was gone the hull of the destroyer showed up dark against the mist.
'Now's your chance, Dimmock!' cried Ken, and almost instantly the little gun spoke, and the crash was followed by a flash which lit the destroyer's deck.
'Oh, good shot, Dimmock!' exclaimed the captain. 'That shell exploded right under her bridge.
For a moment the destroyer yawed right off her course, but she was under control again in a few seconds, and her forward gun spoke once more.
The flash was followed by a tremendous shock, and the launch, with her rudder and part of her stern carried away, spun round helplessly, and began to drift downstream.
'That's finished it,' groaned Roy.
Again the destroyer's gun roared, and the deckhouse melted in a shower of splinters. Ken, struck on the leg by one of them, toppled over helplessly. His leg felt numb, he could not move. There was nothing for it now but to await the inevitable end.
Crash! Vaguely Ken realised that this was a heavier gun than the 12-pounders of the destroyer. He heard a shell roar overhead, then from the destroyer, now no more than a hundred yards away, rose a blinding flash.
'Hurrah!' he heard Roy shout, but the reason he could not imagine. He made a desperate effort to struggle up, felt the blood gush hot from his wound. His head spun, he fell back and knew no more.
Coming back to consciousness after being knocked out is always a slow and painful business. The first thing that Ken's muddled brain took in was the surprising fact that he was lying in a real bed between beautifully clean sheets.
He had not been in such a bed for more than six months, and he could not understand it at all.
Slowly he opened his eyes, and looked up at a whitewashed ceiling. Through a window opposite the sun was shining and a warm breeze blowing.
'I suppose I'm dreaming,' he said at last, and was surprised to hear how weak and husky his voice seemed.
Some one rose quickly from a chair beside the bed.
'My dear lad,' came his father's voice.
Ken stared at him.
'Is it real?' he asked vaguely. 'Where am I?'
'Absolutely genuine, my boy,' answered Captain Carrington, smiling. 'You are in hospital in Lemnos, and here you've been for two days. We began to think you were never coming round again.'
'I'm sorry I frightened you,' said Ken, 'but I wish you'd tell me how I got here. I had a sort of impression that I ought to be at the bottom of the Dardanelles.'
'The marvel is that we were not all there,' answered his father gravely. 'It was the cruiser "Carnelian" that saved us at the very last moment by putting a six-inch shell into the Turkish destroyer.'
'But how on earth did she come to be there, right up the Straits?' Ken asked amazedly.
'That was Strang's doing. The good chap sent a wireless asking them to look out for us.'
'Jove, that was smart of him,' Ken said smilingly. 'But Roy, dad? Is Roy all right?'
'Quite right. He has rejoined his regiment.'
Ken's face fell.
'What about me, dad? Don't say I shan't be able to do the same.'
'There is no need to say anything of the sort, my boy,' replied his father quickly. 'The only trouble with you is that you lost more blood than was good for you. The splinter cut a small artery. I have no doubt whatever that you will be able to rejoin in a month or so.'
'A month! It may be all over by then.'
'It won't,' said the other gravely. 'It will take more than a month to open the Dardanelles. You'll get your fill of fighting before this business is over. Those who know best say that it will take three months at least to beat the Turks.'
'That's all right,' said Ken, with reckless disregard for the hopes of the British Empire. 'I want a chance of doing my bit in the trenches alongside Dave and Roy.'
For a moment or two Captain Carrington watched his son in silence.
'You'll be doing your bit under rather different conditions in future,' he said quietly.
Ken stared. 'What do you mean, dad?'
For answer his father picked up the khaki tunic which hung over the end of the bed, and showed Ken the sleeve.
On it was the star indicating the rank of Second-Lieutenant in His Majesty's Army.