CHAPTER IV
Trapped in the Magazine
For some moments Crosthwaite stood stock-still. His senses were temporarily disorganized by the appalling discovery and by the acrid fumes. It was not until he felt Sefton's shoulder sink under his grasp that he realized the lad had collapsed.
Holding the torch in his left hand, Dick seized the midshipman by the strap of his field-glasses. Luckily the leather stood the strain well.
Keeping his lips tightly compressed, the Sub, bending as he made his way through the fumes, dragged his companion back along the passage. He felt like a man who has dived too deeply. He wanted to fill his lungs with air, yet he knew that to attempt to do so might certainly end in disaster. The midshipman's inert body, which at first seemed hardly any weight to drag, now began to feel as heavy as lead. Once or twice the Sub stumbled, the effort causing his lungs to strain almost to bursting-point. It required all his self-control to prevent himself relinquishing his burden and jumping to refill his lungs with air which was so heavily charged with noxious fumes.
At length he reached the canvas screen, that, having been soaked in water by the Turkish ammunition party, was still moist. With a final effort he thrust the curtain aside and took in a deep draught of air. It was comparatively fresh. The poisonous gases had failed to penetrate the close-grained fabric. Then, overcome by the reaction, Dick stumbled and fell across the body of his companion.
How long he lay unconscious he knew not, but at length he was aroused by Sefton vigorously working away at the exercises for restoring to life those apparently drowned. Half-stupefied, the Sub resented. He was under the vague impression that he was in the gun-room of the Hammerer and that the midshipmen were playing some practical joke. Then he began to realize his surroundings.
The torch was still alight, but already the charge showed signs of "running down". The air, although close, was not heavily impregnated with fumes. No sound penetrated the rock-hewn vault.
"Buck up, sir!" exclaimed Sefton with a familiarity engendered by the sense of danger. "We'll have to get out of this hole as soon as we can. Are you feeling fit to make a move?"
Dick sat up. His head was swimming. His limbs felt numbed. He wondered why he had been in an unconscious state longer than his companion, until he remembered that throughout that terrible journey along the gas-charged passage Sefton had been dragged with his head close to the ground. Consequently, owing to the fumes being lighter than the air, he was not so badly affected. For another reason: when Dick collapsed, his weight falling across Sefton's body had acted very efficiently in expelling the bad air from the midshipman's lungs, and as the Sub rolled over the subsequent release of pressure had allowed a reflux of comparatively pure air to take the place of that pumped out of Sefton's chest.
"Can't hear any firing," remarked Sefton. "I suppose our fellows have beaten them off."
Dick did not reply. He did not want to raise false hopes. He remembered the strict orders issued to the officers of the demolition party, that in the event of a counter-attack by the Turks they were to fall back immediately upon the boats, and allow the guns of the fleet to deal with the enemy. Yet it seemed strange that there were no sounds of firing, unless some time had elapsed and during that interval the Hammerer and her consorts had completely dispersed the Turkish infantry.
"Light won't last much longer," declared Sefton laconically. "What's the move, sir?"
Dick moved aside the curtain. The air in the passage was now almost normal. There was no longer any danger of asphyxiation.
Retracing their way along the passage, the two young officers made the disconcerting discovery that the tunnel was completely blocked for the last twenty feet towards the entrance. They stood in silence, till Dick flashed the light upon his companion's face. The midshipman's features were perfectly calm.
"A pretty mess up!" he exclaimed, and the two laughed; not that there was cause for mirth, but merely to show each other that they were not going to accept their misfortunes in fear and trembling. "Let's try shouting."
They shouted, but beyond the mocking echo of the voices no reassuring call came to them in return.
"Our fellows have been over-zealous with the gun-cotton," observed Sefton. "They'll miss us presently, and then they'll have a job to dig us out."
But Crosthwaite had other views on the situation, and these were much nearer the mark.
The rifle-firing he had heard that of the demolition party, who in the course of their operations had been attacked by overwhelming numbers of Ottoman troops.
Acting upon instructions the Lieutenant-Commander in charge ordered a retirement. Leaving a section in reserve to cover the retrograde movement, the bluejackets with very little loss descended the steep side of the hill and re-embarked. Then, covered by the guns of the fleet, the rear-guard successfully retired, in spite of a galling fire from a battery of field-pieces that the Turks, under German officers, had brought up.
One of the shells from these guns had resulted in the subsidence of the already tottering masonry, and had effectively imprisoned Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite and Midshipman Sefton in the magazine.
It not until the Hammerer's men fell in on the beach that the two officers were missed. Someone suggested that they might be with the rearguard, now descending from the demolition fort, but inquiries proved that this was not so.
As one man the landing-party of the Hammerer's crew volunteered to return and search for their missing officers. Reluctantly the Lieutenant in charge had to refuse their request. Orders had to be carried out to the letter. Grave consequences might ensue if the devoted bluejackets returned to the scene of action. Not only would they risk their lives in an attempt that might be futile, but the fire of the fleet might be seriously interfered with.
So the boats returned to their respective ships, and Sub-lieutenant Richard Crosthwaite and Mr. Midshipman Sefton were duly reported as missing.
"Let's explore," suggested Dick. "It's no use sitting down and killing time. Let's make ourselves useful and explore while the torch lasts. I suppose you haven't another refill?"
"Half a dozen in my chest, but that's not here," replied the midshipman. "By Jove, I do feel stiff! Why, my jacket's torn, and I've grazed my knee."
"I'm afraid I must plead guilty to that, Sefton," replied Dick. "I had to get you along somehow, and there wasn't time for gentle usage."
"I wondered how I got there," declared the midshipman. "Everything seemed a blank. By Jove, sir, you saved my life!"
"I may have had a hand in it," admitted Dick modestly. "Now, suppose we bear away to the left?"
They had regained the central portion of the subterranean works, and were confronted by two small passages, one leading to the left and the other to the right, both diverging slightly. The one the officers followed was not zigzagged, showing that it did not communicate with the open air. Dick proposed that they should abandon their efforts in this direction and explore the right-hand passage.
"I'm game," assented Sefton. "Yes, this looks promising; it twists and turns as if it were intended to stop the splinter of any shell that happened to burst at its mouth."
"No go here!" exclaimed the Sub after traversing about twenty yards. "This has been bashed in. We must thank our 12-inch guns for that. The magazine evidently served the quickfirers both of the north and south bastions. The question is, what is the third passage for?"
"We'll see," replied the midshipman, regarding the rapidly failing light with considerable apprehension.
The tunnel ran in an almost horizontal direction for fifty paces, then gradually descended in a long, stepless incline.
"Steady!" whispered Crosthwaite, laying his hand on Sefton's shoulder and at the same time switching off the torch. "I hear voices."
The officers listened intently. At some considerable distance away men were talking volubly in an unknown tongue. More, there was a cool current of refreshing air wafting slowly up the incline.
"Stand by to scoot," continued Dick. "Gently now; we'll get a little closer. It's quite evident those chaps are Turks."
"Why?" asked Sefton.
"By a process of elimination. They're not speaking English; they're not French. The lingo is too soft for German, so only Turkish remains. Got your revolver ready?"
"Yes," said the midshipman, his nerves a-tingle.
"Then don't use it unless I give the word. Slip the safety-catch and be on the safe side. We don't want an accidental discharge."
Softly the Sub groped his way, Sefton following at arm's-length behind him. After traversing another fifty paces Dick stopped. Ahead he could see a mound of rubble reaching almost to the roof of the tunnel. It was night: not a star was to be seen. A driving rain was falling, while across the murky patch formed by the partly obstructed mouth of the tunnel the search-lights of the British fleet travelled slowly to and fro as they aided the mine-sweepers in their long, arduous task. Not a shot was being fired. The Turkish batteries silenced, at least temporarily, required no attention at present from the deadly British guns.
The sound of the voices still continued. The speakers were chattering volubly, yet there was no sign of them.
Gaining confidence, Crosthwaite advanced till farther progress was arrested by the barrier of rubble.
Feeling for a foothold, and cautiously making sure that the projecting stones would bear his weight, the Sub climbed to the summit of the barrier, then, lying at full length, peered over the edge.
A heavy shell had accounted for the damage done to this exit from the magazine, for a huge crater, twenty feet in diameter, yawned ten feet beneath him. Not only had the pit been torn up, but masses of rock had been wrenched from the of the cliff, as well as from the top and sides of the tunnel.
On the irregular platform thus formed were nearly a score of Turkish troops—artillerymen in greatcoats and helmets somewhat similar to those worn by the British during the last Sudan campaign. With them were two officers in long grey cloaks and fezes. All seemed to be talking at the same time, irrespective of disparity in rank. Some of the men were piling sand-bags on the seaward front of the crater, others were looking upwards as if expecting something from above.
Presently the expected object appeared, lowered by a powerful tackle. It was the carriage of a large field-piece.
"Those fellows show pluck, anyhow," thought Dick. "After the gruelling they've had, and seeing their forts knocked about their ears, they set about to place fresh guns in position. These field-pieces, well concealed, will take a lot of finding, unless we can stop the little game."
Meanwhile Sefton had climbed the barrier and lay by the side of his companion. Silently the two watched the development of the Turks' operations. They had not long to watt.
A pair of wheels followed the carriage, and then after a brief interval the huge gun, "parbuckled" from the edge of the cliff, was lowered into position. In less than half an hour the piece was reassembled; ammunition was brought down, and finally brushwood placed in front on the sand-bags and over the gun; while to show how complete had been the Germanizing of Turkey, a field-telephone had been laid between the emplacement and those on either side, which, of course, was invisible to the two British officers.
For some time the Turkish officers kept the trawlers and attendant destroyers under observation with the field-glasses. The men were obviously impatient to open fire, yet for some inexplicable reason they were restrained. Possibly it was to lure the mine-sweepers into a sense of security, or else the Turks thought fit to ignore the small craft and await the chance of a surprise attack upon the covering British battleships and cruisers.
Being well within the mouth of the tunnel, Dick and the midshipman were not exposed to the driving rain. But on the other hand the Turkish artillerymen were without any means of protection from the downpour, and, since they could not show their zeal by opening fire, they did not hesitate to show their resentment at being kept out in the open.
At length one of the Turkish officers gave an order. The men formed up with a certain show of smartness, broke into a quick march, and disappeared beyond a projection of the cliff. Only one man was left as sentry, and he hastened to get to leeward of a friendly rock. From where the two Englishmen lay, the point of his bayonet could just be discerned above the top of the boulder.
Then Dick directed his attention seaward. He mentally gauging the distance between the shore and the nearest of the mine-sweepers. These vessels were steaming slowly ahead, with sufficient way to stem the ever-running current from the Sea of Marmora to the Ægean. Certainly for the whole time Dick and his companion had been on the lookout there had been no explosion of a caught mine. Apparently the sweepers had almost completed their work up this particular area, and were making a final test to make certain that no hidden peril had escaped them.
The Sub nudged his companion, and the pair retraced their steps until they had put a safe distance between them and the sentry.
"Look here," said Crosthwaite. "We've two things to do. First, to warn our people of the formation of a new Turkish battery, and secondly, to rejoin our ship. The question is: how are we to set about it?"
"Flash a message with the torch," suggested Sefton.
"I thought of that, but dismissed it," remarked the Sub. "For one thing the light's pretty feeble, and our people mayn't spot it. If they did they might think it was a false message sent by the enemy. And another thing: the Turks might notice the glare in the mouth of the tunnel."
"And we would get collared," added the midshipman.
"That's hardly the point. Our liberty is a small matter, but being made prisoners we should have no chance of letting our trawlers know that there is a masked battery being placed in position. No; I think the best thing we can do is to swim for it."
"I'm game," declared Sefton.
"It's quite possible that we'll pull it off all right," continued Dick. "You see there's a steady current always setting down the Dardanelles. That means that if we miss the nearest destroyer or trawler, we'll get swept across the bows of one farther down. Take off your gaiters and see that your bootlaces are ready to be undone easily. We won't discard any more of our gear till we're ready to plunge into the water. That's right; now follow me."
Returning to the barrier at the entrance of the tunnel, the Sub wriggled cautiously over the obstruction until he could command a fairly extensive view of the gun emplacement and its surroundings. The rest of the artillerymen had not returned, while apparently the sentry, having been left to his own devices, had sought shelter from the rain and was enjoying a cigarette.
Softly Dick dropped down, alighting on a pile of cut brushwood. He waited till Sefton had rejoined him, and the pair crept slowly and deliberately towards a gap left between the rock and the end of the semicircular rampart of sand-bags.
Suddenly the Sub came to a dead stop almost within a handbreadth of the levelled bayonet of the Turkish sentry.
CHAPTER V
A Dash up The Narrows
The Turk challenged. In the dim light he was not able to discern the uniform of the young officer. Perhaps he took him for one of the German taskmasters. At all events he merely held his rifle at the ready and made no attempt to fire.
The slight delay gave Dick his chance. Dropping on one knee he gripped the sentry by his ankle, at the same time delivering a terrific left-hander that caught the fellow fairly in that portion of his body commonly known as "the wind".
The Turk fell like a log. His rifle dropped from his nerveless grasp, fortunately without exploding. The back of his head came in violent contact with a lump of rock and rendered him insensible.
"You've killed him," whispered Sefton.
"Not much," replied Crosthwaite coolly. "He's got a skull as thick as a log of wood. At any rate we'll be spared the trouble of having to gag and truss him up. You might remove the bolt from his rifle and throw it away. It may save us a lot of bother if the fellow does pull himself together sooner than I expect."
It was hazardous work descending the almost sheer cliff, for the spot where the officers had emerged was midway between the fort and the beach, and, being in a totally different part to the place where they had landed, they were unfamiliar with the locality.
Once Sefton slipped, and rolled twenty feet through the brushwood, finally landing in a cavity caused by the explosion of a shell. On two occasions the Sub almost came to grief through the rock giving way beneath his feet, but by dint of hanging on like grim death he succeeded in regaining a firm foothold. The drizzling rain, too, made the ground slippery, and added to the difficulties; but after ten minutes' arduous exertions they found themselves on the stone-strewn beach.
"Now stop," ordered Dick. "Sling your revolver and ammunition into the sea. We want to travel light on the job. Ready? I'll set the course if you'll keep as close as you can. Thank goodness we're not in the Tropics, and that there are no sharks about!"
He might have added that amongst those rocks cuttle-fish were frequently to be found; but fearing there might be a limit to his young companion's pluck, he refrained from cautioning him on that point. It was a case of "ignorance is bliss" as far as Sefton was concerned.
The water was cold—much colder than that of the adjacent Mediterranean—yet it would be possible for the active swimmers to endure half an hour's swimming without risk of exhaustion. Long before that, they fervently hoped they would be safe on board a British vessel.
"Breast stroke—and don't splash," cautioned Dick, as the midshipman started off with powerful overhand stroke. Any suspicious movement in the water might bring a heavy rifle-fire upon the two swimmers from the numerous Turkish infantry who had reoccupied the position after the retirement of the demolition party. The Sub could hear them distinctly as they vigorously plied mattock and shovel in throwing up entrenchments on either side of the demolished fort.
Ahead, and less than half a mile from the shore, was a destroyer, moving slowly against the current and sweeping the shore with her search-lights. At first the Sub imagined she was stationary, but before the swimmers had covered fifty yards they were caught by the current, and swept southwards so rapidly that Dick realized that there was no chance of making for her. Their best plan was to swim at right angles to the shore, and let the drift help them to shape an oblique course that would bring them in the track of the mine-sweepers.
"How goes it?" enquired Crosthwaite laconically, after ten minutes of silence.
"All correct, sir," replied the middy confidently.
"We'll make that chap all right," continued Dick, pointing to a black shape "broad on his starboard bow" as he expressed its position.
Two minutes later he was not so certain. The vessel seemed to be changing course. Just then a search-light played full upon the heads of the swimmers. There it hung with irritating persistency.
"Hope they don't think we're a couple of drifting mines, sir," remarked Sefton. "Perhaps they'll give us a few rounds."
That possibility had entered Dick's mind. Raising his arm out of the water he waved it frantically. In so doing he completely forgot the other side of the question, and a crackle of musketry from the shore announced the disconcerting fact that the alert Turks had noticed the commotion in the water.
The bullets ricochetted all around the swimmers. The Sub turned and gave a swift glance at his companion. He was still "going strong", unperturbed by the leaden missiles that sung like angry bees.
A lurid flash burst from the fo'c'sle gun of the destroyer.
For a brief instant the Sub was in a state of suspense; then he gave a gasp of relief, for the projectile was not aimed at the two dark objects in the ray of the search-light. With a crash it landed on the hillside, and the rifle-firing ceased with commendable promptness.
The destroyer turned and, still maintaining a high speed, made straight for the two swimmers.
"Way enough!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully. "They're going to pick us up."
Suddenly, as the vessel's engines were reversed, the destroyer lost way. The creaking of tackle announced that her crew were lowering one of the Berthon boats—and within four hundred yards of the Turkish batteries.
Yet for some reason the field-pieces did not open fire until Dick and the midshipman were picked up and were in the act of being transferred from the boat to the destroyer Calder. Then, with a vivid and a sharp detonation, a shell burst a couple of hundred feet short of the British craft, quickly followed by another that missed by similar distance beyond.
Having revealed their identity, Dick and his companion were taken below and furnished with dry clothing. Quickly the Sub returned on deck and approached the Lieutenant-Commander on the bridge.
"Field-pieces lowered over the cliff, eh?" ejaculated that officer. "Jolly plucky of those fellows. We're engaged in trying to draw their fire. Sorry I can't put you on board the Hammerer. The battleships and cruisers have withdrawn until the mine-field is cleared a little higher up. They're going to tackle Chanak and Kilid Bahr to-morrow. We're just off to reconnoitre. The Calder's taking the European and the Irwell is trying her luck on the Asiatic side."
"Can I be of any service, sir?"
"I'm afraid not—as far as I can see at present. We'll find room for you in the conning-tower."
The Calder's search-lights had now been switched off. She was steaming slowly in a northerly direction, and had already passed the innermost of the mine-sweepers and their attendant destroyers.
Dick entered the limited expanse of the conning-tower, in which was a Naval Reserve sub-lieutenant and two seamen. The Lieutenant-Commander, called by courtesy the Captain, stood without on the bridge, in company with the mate and a yeoman of signals.
Presently the Lieutenant-Commander glanced at the luminous dial of his watch.
"Time!" he exclaimed decisively, in the tone of a referee at a boxing tournament. "Full speed ahead."
The engine-room telegraph-bell clanged. Black smoke tinged with lurid red flames belched from the four squat funnels, and, like a hound released from leash, the Calder raced on her perilous mission, her whole fabric quivering under the rapid pulsations of her engines.
The Calder was not one of the latest type of destroyers. Her tonnage was a little over 550, her speed supposed to be 24 knots, but by dint of terrific exertion on the part of her "black squad" that rate was considerably exceeded.
Almost everything depended on her pace. She had to draw the fire from the hostile batteries. If she were hit and sunk the British navy would be the poorer by the loss of a useful destroyer and a crew of seventy gallant men—and nothing would be gained except the glory of having died for their country. If on the other hand the Calder returned in safety, the British Admiral would be in possession of important information with reference to the position of new batteries that the Turks had thrown up to supplement those which were already known to be in existence. Moreover, there had been a report that The Narrows had been obstructed by a boom in addition to rows of mines, and a verification of the information or otherwise was urgently required before further extensive operations could be conducted.
On and on the Calder tore. Now she was abreast of the powerful batteries of Tekeh and Escali. Almost ahead, owing to the sinuosity of The Narrows, lay the huge fortress of Chanak. Each of these positions mounted guns heavy enough to blow the frail destroyer clean out of the water, while there was known to be rows of deadly mines which might be anchored sufficiently far beneath the surface to allow a craft of the Calder's draught to pass unscathed—but they might not. It was facing death at every revolution of the propellers.
Yet for some unknown reason the Turks made no attempt to open fire. It might be that they relied upon their mines, and were loath to disclose their positions by opening fire upon an insignificant destroyer. If such were the case, it showed that the Ottoman had learned a new virtue—forbearance under provocation.
It was useless to suppose that the enemy had not spotted the swiftly-moving destroyer. The flame-tinged smoke was enough. Besides, she had already crossed the path of three powerful fixed search-lights that swept the entire width of the Dardanelles.
"The beggars are going to spoof us," remarked the Naval Reserve officer to Dick. "We'll have our run for nothing. I wish they'd do something."
Before Crosthwaite could reply, the whole of the European shore between Tekeh and Kilid Bahr seemed to be one blaze of vivid flashes. Then, to the accompaniment of a continuous roar that would outvoice the clap of thunder, a hundred projectiles sped towards the daring British destroyer, some falling short, others bursting ahead and astern, while many flew harmlessly overhead. Yet in all that tornado of shell the Calder survived. Although her funnels were riddled with fragments of the bursting missiles and a shell penetrated her wardroom, she sustained no vital damage.
Zigzagging like an eel, in order to baffle the Turkish gun-layers, she held grimly on her way, her skipper, standing coolly on the bridge, sweeping the shore with powerful night-glasses.
Fragments of metal rattled against the thin armour of the conning-tower. Wafts of cordite drifted aft as the crew of the 4-inch on the foc'sle blazed away against the powerful shore batteries. A dozen streams of smoke from the perforated funnels eddied aft in the strong breeze caused by the destroyer's speed, and rendered it impossible for the after 4-inch gun to be worked.
Making a complete circle the Calder entered the belt of dense smoke previously thrown out by the funnels. A lot depended upon this manoeuvre, for she was lost sight of by the Turkish gunners. While they were congratulating themselves upon having sunk another of the Giaour's ships, the destroyer emerged from the bank of vapour, and in a position that necessitated an alteration in the sighting of the hostile guns.
It was grimly exciting, this game of dodging the fire of a hundred guns. Without giving a thought to the fact that the conning-tower afforded little or no protection, Dick revelled in the situation, now that the first salvo had been fired. Possibly the sight of the Lieutenant-Commander scorning to take shelter helped to steady Dick's nerves. He felt as much at home on that frail craft, the plating of which was a little thicker than cardboard, as he did behind a heavy-armoured casemate of the Hammerer.
From both sides of the Dardanelles shells, large and small, hurtled through the air. It seemed as if nothing could prevent the projectiles from Kilid Bahr and the adjacent batteries ricochetting into Chanak and the forts on the Asiatic shore. Yet, hit many times, the Calder held grimly and swiftly on her course till she came abreast of Nagara.
"THE CALDER HELD GRIMLY AND SWIFTLY ON HER WAY"
She had traversed the whole extent of The Narrows. Mines she missed, possibly by a few feet. More than once torpedoes, launched from the tubes mounted on the shore, tore past her, the trail of foam looming with a peculiar phosphorescence, showing how near they had been to getting home; while the shells that struck her, although inflicting considerable damage, failed to strike in any vital part.
Satisfied that no boom existed at Nagara, and that the Turkish cruisers and destroyers which were thought to have left the Sea of Marmora and had taken shelter beyond Nagara were not in their expected anchorage, the Lieutenant-Commander of the Calder ordered the helm to be put hard over.
Listing outwardly as she turned till her normal water-line showed three feet above the water, the destroyer began her return journey. Before she recovered her normal trim a 4-inch shell penetrated her thin plating, and, fortunately without exploding, missed one of the boilers by a fraction of an inch and disappeared out of the starboard side.
Then, as the destroyer steadied on her helm, the aperture a few seconds previously clear of the water was now eighteen inches beneath the surface. It poured a regular cascade that threatened to flood the engine-room.
In an instant one of the artificers saw the danger and acted promptly. Seizing a bundle of oily waste he thrust it into the irregular-shaped hole, and coolly sat with his broad shoulders hard against the impromptu plug and kept it in position.
"There's the Irwell," suddenly exclaimed the Royal Naval Reserve officer, who was looking through one of the slits in the conning-tower on the port side.
Dick also looked. At two cables' length from them was their consort, which, having circled to starboard, had closed in upon the Calder. Both were now running on parallel courses and at approximately the same speed.
The Calder's skipper also saw the other destroyer. He realized the danger of the formation, for both craft were in a direct line of fire from the forts.
"Hard-a-port!" he shouted.
The quartermaster heard in spite of the terrific din. Round spun the wheel of the steam steering-gear, and with a lurch that gave those below the impression that she was turning turtle, the destroyer made a complete circle. By the time she had steadied on her helm the Irwell was nearly a mile ahead.
A repetition of the terrible fire from Kum Kale greeted the Calder as she tore past the southern-most of the forts, badly mauled but still in fighting trim. Her exploit had been successfully accomplished.
"Can anyone oblige me with a cigarette?" asked the Lieutenant-Commander, as he was rejoined by the officers from the conning-tower.
The Royal Naval Reserve officer hastened to comply.
"Good heavens, sir!" he exclaimed. "You've been hit."
"Yes," assented the skipper coolly. "A piece of shell. It's spoilt my greatcoat, I'm afraid, but what's worse, took my cigarette-case to blazes—and it was a presentation one, worse luck. That's why I had to ask for something to smoke. No, it isn't a case for the medico; a Maltese jeweller will do a bit of business over this affair, I think."
Handing over the charge of the bridge to the second in command, the skipper went below to receive the reports of the surgeon, the chief artificer-engineer, and the gunner as to the damage to personnel and hull and fittings. This done he retired to his cabin—which was considerably draughty, owing to the attentions of a couple of Turkish shells which had passed completely through it without exploding—and proceeded to draft his report to the Admiral.
Presently Dick remembered that he had not seen anything of young Sefton during the dash up The Narrows. Going in search of him, he found the midshipman busily engaged in helping the doctor, a surgeon probationer of the Royal Naval Reserve entered for service during the war. There was plenty to be done, for the casualties amounted to four men seriously wounded and about a dozen others suffering from slight injuries.
"Can't say I liked the job at first, sir," remarked the midshipman confidently, "but the skipper told me to go below. It felt absolutely rotten being boxed up without knowing what's going on. One thing is certain: I'll take jolly good care not to specialize in engineering if I can help it. I mean to go for the executive branch for all I'm worth."
"You've made yourself pretty useful, I hear," said Crosthwaite, who had been told by the surgeon how the midshipman worked like a nigger.
"I suppose so," admitted Sefton modestly. "When you're helping to patch up a man who has been horribly knocked about, you forget what's going on on deck. Where are we now, sir?"
"Making for the fleet off Tenedos," replied the Sub. "We'll be put on board the old Hammerer before another hour's up, unless something unforeseen occurs. My word, the wind is piping up! We're in for a good hard blow, I believe."
Without further incident the Calder rejoined the rest of the squadron. In answer to a signal a picket boat put off from the Hammerer to take off the two missing officers, who parted from their rescuers with thanks and promises to restore their borrowed garments at the first available opportunity.
Next day it blew half a gale. Under these climatic conditions operations were hopeless, and the fleet remained in the open roadstead, rolling heavily in the terrific seas. In such weather even the steadiest ship would be unable to use her guns with any degree of accuracy, while it was equally certain that none of the Turkish mine-laying vessels could come out to drop fresh mines in the place of those already removed by the British trawlers.
But, on the other hand, the Ottoman land forces were not handicapped by the climatic conditions. They were doubtless hard at work throwing up new trenches and batteries, and installing fresh guns from the apparently inexhaustible supply from the arsenals of their Teutonic taskmasters.
For three days it blew heavily, accompanied by a continuous deluge of rain. The delay was galling, and increased the desire of the officers and men of the fleet to complete the good work that up to the present had progressed with every prospect of ultimate and speedy success.
"What do you think of that for confounded cheek, Crosthwaite?" asked Bourne, handing the Sub a typewritten document which contained news of the war that had been received by wireless and distributed amongst the fleet. "A Turkish bulletin with German editing requires a lot of swallowing."
Dick took the proffered paper and read:
"The Dardanelles Operations.—Berlin reports that on Monday the Anglo-French fleet made a desperate attack upon the southern forts of the Gallipoli Peninsula. In spite of a terrific artillery fire little damage was done to the forts. A strong English landing-party was repulsed with heavy losses."
"If they call our demolition party a strong force, I pity them when we do land a few army corps!" remarked Bourne. "However, the more people are fooled the more bitter the grim realization. Carry on."
"The same evening a number of enemy light cruisers and destroyers attempted to ascend The Narrows," read Dick aloud, for the benefit of some of the midshipmen. "Three cruisers and at least six destroyers were observed to sink under the accurate fire of our Turkish allies. The Anglo-French fleet, apparently realizing the hopelessness of the operations, has dispersed."
"To Tenedos, to pay another visit in a day or two," added Maynebrace. "We'll be through in a fortnight. And I believe the wind's dropping. The glass has been rising steadily for the last three hours."
The midshipman's prognostics were correct, for on the following morning the wind and sea had subsided considerably.
From the flagship a general signal was made. Its meaning was greeted with an outburst of acclamation, for it was brief and to the point:
"The fleet will weigh and engage at close range."
CHAPTER VI
To the Rescue
"Another picnic!" exclaimed Sefton joyfully, as the bugles sounded for "Action Stations". "Look—there's the French squadron piling it on. They are every bit as keen as we are to have a sniff in."
If anything, the opening phases of the bombardment were tamer than on the occasion of the last operations. The combined fleets delivered a tremendous fire at gradually decreasing ranges, while the Turks gradually diminished the rapidity of their reply. It was for the most part a gigantic waste of Krupp's ammunition, for very few of the British and French ships were hit.
Against the fortifications at the entrance to the Straits the battleships directed their fire, and at half-past one all the forts had ceased to reply to the salvoes of the Allied ships.
Meanwhile the Hammerer and her consorts had penetrated a considerable distance up the Dardanelles. Here they gave and received hard knocks, for the range averaged only two thousand yards. Several gaping holes appeared in the unarmoured portions of the Hammerer's hull, her funnels were torn through and through, her after-bridge had been swept away, and almost every boat she carried was splintered.
Yet her crew, well protected by the armoured barbettes and casemates, and the broad nine-inch belt extending two-thirds of her length, suffered little loss; and when at half-past two the Vengeance, Irresistible, Albion, Swiftsure, Ocean, and Majestic steamed up to assist in the bombardment, the forts quickly ceased firing.
During the lull in the firing Dick Crosthwaite had to go on deck to superintend the clearing away of some of the remains of the after-bridge, which interfered with the training of the starboard 6-inch gun.
As he did so he saw the Irresistible listing heavily. Whether mortally injured by gun-fire, torpedo, or mine, he knew not at the time, but it was certain that she was done for. An attempt was being made to take her in tow, but already the stanch old craft was heeling too much.
Seeing the plight of the battleship, the Turks again opened fire, sending a hail of projectiles at the stricken ship. Her consorts attempted to intervene and screen her from the harassing storm of shell, for her devoted crew, working hard in a vain effort to check the inrush of water by means of collision mats, were fully exposed to the fire of the Turkish guns.
Reluctantly the order was given to abandon ship, and in response to signals for assistance British destroyers dashed up, and, manoeuvring with the utmost skill and coolness under the galling fire, actually ran alongside the fast-sinking vessel.
Most of the Irresistible's crew succeeded in leaping upon the decks of the destroyers; a few had to take to the water, and were promptly hauled out by ready helpers. The rescuers were only just in time, for, amid a cloud of smoke and steam, the ship sank in deep water.
The catastrophe was not the only one, for within a very few minutes after the sinking of the Irresistible, the Ocean, a slightly larger battleship, having struck a mine, sank, with very little loss of life.
It was a black day for the Allies, for the French had not come off without serious losses. The Bouvet, fouling a mine, the detonation of which caused her principal magazine to explode, sank with appalling suddenness, taking with her practically the whole of the crew. The Gaulois, badly mauled by gun-fire, was obliged to haul out of line, and it was rumoured that she had to be beached on the island of Imbros.
A new and hitherto unexpected danger had threatened the British and French battleships—a danger against which ordinary mine-sweeping was impracticable.
Owing to the continual current down the Dardanelles, it occurred to the minds of the German officers serving with the Turkish forces to set adrift numbers of floating mines. These formidable engines of destruction were launched from the southern outlet of the Sea of Marmora, while to make the chances of their fouling a ship doubly certain they were released in pairs, each couple being connected by fifty or a hundred feet of wire. The bight of the wire getting caught across the bows of a ship would result in the mines swinging inwards and exploding upon contact with the vessel's sides.
Wisely the British Admiral ordered a retirement, until steps could be taken to cope with this latest scheme of defence on the part of the enemy, and as night fell the fleet steamed towards its anchorage.
The weather was now beginning to change back to a spell of hard winds and rain, which in itself would cause a temporary suspension of operations, and the officers and men of the fleet had to face the dismal prospect of "standing by" instead of returning to the attack with renewed zest and animated by a desire to revenge their losses.
Dick was just about to sit down to a hasty meal—it was his first opportunity of doing so since the Hammerer went into action that morning—when the "Officers' Call" was sounded.
"Now what's in the wind?" he mentally enquired as he dashed on deck.
The Sub was not kept long in doubt. A message had been received from the flagship stating that one of the mine-sweepers, the St. Rollo, had gone ashore at Yenikeui on the Asiatic shore, and about six miles SW. by S. of Kum Kale. The Hammerer and the Tremendous were asked for volunteers to attempt the rescue of the crew. It was expressly stated that, owing to the shoaling nature of the coast at the point, gigs or whalers must be employed, but a destroyer would be cruising in the vicinity to pick up the rescue parties on their return.
It was taken for granted that the business was a dangerous one, otherwise the boats would be ordered to proceed to the spot. The mere fact that volunteers were asked was in itself significant. Not only was there grave risk of being fired upon by the Turkish troops, who doubtless would muster in force at the spot where the mine-sweeper grounded, but it was now a pitch-dark night with a falling glass and a rising sea.
"What boats have we fit for service, Mr. Box?" the Captain, addressing the carpenter.
The warrant-officer had the information at his fingers' ends, for, as soon as the Hammerer had drawn out of range, one of the first of many tasks of the carpenter's crew was to set to work and patch up the boats that were most capable of being made seaworthy again.
"Now, gentlemen," continued the owner. "You know what is required and the condition of the boats. Who will volunteer?"
Almost all the executive officers and every one of the midshipmen signified their willingness to answer the call for aid.
"Thank you, gentlemen," exclaimed the skipper, with ill-disguised appreciation of the result of his question. "Your answer is exactly what I expected. Mr. Bourne will take charge of the gig, and Mr. Crosthwaite will take the whaler. They will each have a midshipman with them."
The Captain had not made his choice without due consideration. Bourne, he knew, was a capable officer in a boat, while Dick Crosthwaite had had a great amount of experience in that sort of work, both at Dartmouth and during his commission on the Seasprite. In fact the Sub had been specially reported to the Admiralty for the smart way in which on several occasions he had taken away a boat to board merchant ships during the light cruiser's patrol work in the North Sea. In these days of steam propulsion, small-boat work in the British Navy rarely gets the attention it deserves, and comparatively few officers can handle a sailing boat with any great degree of smartness. Dick's qualification, therefore, was the exception rather than the rule.
Saluting, the Sub hastened to make his preparations. His first act was to choose a midshipman. He would have selected Sefton but for the fact that that young gentleman had received a slight wound in the hand from a flying fragment of shell. Maynebrace he dismissed from his mind; the youngster was too impetuous, and apt to lose his head in a tight corner. Eventually the Sub decided to ask Farnworth to accompany him, and the lad literally jumped at the chance.
Dick had no difficulty in getting together a crew, for the men belonging to Farnworth's boat simply clamoured to be taken. This was a decided advantage, since all the party were used to the whaler.
While Farnworth was busily engaged in seeing that the boat was ready, comparing the articles placed in her with the list in his "Watch Bill", the Sub made his way to the chart-room and obtained a copy of the largest-scale chart of Yenikeui and neighbouring coast. Rolling up the plan he placed it in a cylindrical watertight case and hurried to the quarter-deck, where the whaler's crew had already fallen in, and all hands for lowering were waiting at the falls.
The whaler seemed a frail craft to take away on a dark and boisterous night. Being only of moderate beam in proportion to her length of twenty-seven feet, she was fairly swift under oars or sail in calm or moderate weather, but was a "wet boat" whenever she had to encounter any crested waves.
Nevertheless her pointed stern enabled her to manoeuvre in broken water, such as had to be expected in Yenikeui Bay, where it would be almost a matter of impossibility to approach the stranded trawler in a steam cutter or pinnace.
"All correct, sir," reported Midshipman Farnworth.
The Sub thoroughly examined the boat, not that he doubted his subordinate. It was a case of "two heads being better than one", for in the excitement it was quite possible for necessary articles to be overlooked.
"Boathooks, balers, spare oars, anchor and cable, signal flags and rockets, flashing lamp, compass, lead-line—where's the lead-line?"
That important article was missing. It was speedily forthcoming, and the Sub proceeded to take stock of the rest of the inventory.
"You have the telescope and signal-book, Mr. Farnworth?"
"Here, sir," reported the midshipman.
The men's rifles were already in the boat, secured by light lashings, termed "beckets", under the thwarts. Spare ammunition in a box was stowed under the stern-sheets.
Satisfied that they were all in order, Dick awaited Lieutenant Bourne's appearance. Already that officer's boat, the gig, was ready for lowering.
"Keep half a dozen boats' lengths astern of me, Mr. Crosthwaite," ordered the Lieutenant, as senior officer of the expedition. "When the trawler is sighted we'll confer as to the best means of approaching her. Judging by the direction of the wind, we ought to find a certain amount of shelter under Bender Dagh Point—you know where that is?"
Dick assented. It was a precipitous crag fringed by a partly submerged reef that extended obliquely with the shore for nearly half a mile.
"Very good; carry on!" continued Bourne.
The boats' crews climbed into their respective crafts. Amid the good wishes of the rest of the officers Bourne took his place in the stern-sheets of the gig, and Crosthwaite in the whaler.
"Lower away!"
Smartly the falls of the whaler were paid out, and as the boat became waterborne the bowman and the coxswain promptly released the disengaging gear.
"Give way!"
As one the blades of the supple ash oars dipped as the rowers bent to their task, and the boat shot forward on her dangerous errand.
It was a long pull of five miles dead to leeward, and in all probability a doubly hard row back in the teeth of the wind and sea. To avoid undue chances of discovery by the Turkish batteries the boats were unable to be towed, but it was understood that on the return journey they might be "given a pluck" by a destroyer as soon as the rescuer party drew out of effective rifle range from the shore.
Hardly a word was exchanged between the Sub and the junior officer from the time of leaving the ship to the arrival of the four boats at the rendezvous. Farnworth had all his work cut out to keep in touch with the gig, for the night was thick with rain. That in a sense was fortunate, for it beat down the crested waves considerably. The midshipman had not to steer a compass course, since Bourne was responsible for the navigation, and as long as the two boats of the Hammerer kept together all was well.
Dick, muffled in oilskins and sou'wester, kept a bright look-out for the flashing signals from the ship, since it might be possible that orders for recall might be made, in the event of the crew of the stranded vessel getting away in their own boats.
Suddenly, and before the Sub realized that the boats were so near land, the precipitous outlines of Bender Dagh Point loomed through the darkness, a few points on the whaler's starboard bow. Not a light appeared on shore, for which the officers were devoutly thankful; but above the moaning of the wind and the hiss of the rain could be heard the ominous sound of surf lashing the rocky beach.
A cast of the lead-line gave eight fathoms. At present there was no fear of getting into shoal water, for the reef rose from a submerged bank having only half that depth. As long as the soundings gave not less than five fathoms the Sub knew that there was enough sea room to clear the saw-like ridge of rocks.
"By Jove! What a death-trap!" ejaculated Farnworth, as the whaler followed the gig round the extremity of the reef.
Dick nodded acquiescence. As a sailor he had a wholesome respect for a lee shore. He feared the perils of the coast far more than the chance of falling into a hostile ambush.
"Lay on your oars!" he ordered.
The boats of the Tremendous were already at the rendezvous. Here it was comparatively calm water, only a long oily roll setting in over the reef. The four small craft lay at a boathook's length apart while the officers discussed the plan of operation.
"I propose that the two whalers make their way alongside the wreck," said Bourne. "The gigs can lay off and cover them should they be fired upon. If anything befall either, and the crew cannot be rescued without endangering the others, the men must make their way ashore as best they can. We cannot afford to lose two boats."
"And what then?" asked the lieutenant of the Tremendous.
"They'll have to make an attempt to skirt the shore of the bay," continued Bourne. "The chart shows that there is a beach extending almost as far as Bender Dagh Point. We would then stand a chance of picking them up, as it would be practicable to run a boat ashore under the lee of the reef. You quite understand?"
The rest of the officers signified assent.
"Very well: the sooner we get to work the better. Nor'west by west a quarter west ought to bring us in sight of the wreck. Now carry on."
The two whalers pulled almost neck and neck at half a dozen boats' lengths apart, while at a good cable's length astern, and quite invisible to the rest, followed the gigs.
At a quarter of the distance across the bay the boats began to feel the effect of the seas. Half-way the crested waves, broad on the port quarter, began to break over the gunwales. Two men were detailed to keep baling, but in spite of their efforts the Hammerer's whaler was in danger of being swamped. To keep on the course was to court destruction. It was only by watching the waves, and meeting the more menacing ones nearly bows on, that the frail craft was able to live in the turmoil of angry water.
"Lumme! won't we have a job to clean our bloomin' rifles when we get back," muttered the "stroke" in tones loud enough for the Sub to hear.
Dick smiled grimly. It was a typical grumble of a British seaman. He paid no heed to the present danger; the possibility of not returning to the ship never occurred to him. He was anticipating the irksome task of removing the effects of salt water from his rifle and bayonet.
"See anything, Jones?" asked Dick of the bow-man, raising his voice to enable the man to hear above the roar of the elements.
The bowman faced about and, shading his eyes, peered through the mirk. For a few moments he gazed steadily.
"Something on our starboard bow, sir," he reported, "but it may be a rock. Luff, sir, luff—there's a brute a-coming."
Farnworth tugged at the yoke-line, at the same time ordering the men to "back water, port—pull starboard!"
"Give way, all."
Forward dashed the whaler to meet the wall of water as near as possible. It seemed as if nothing could prevent the frail craft from being overwhelmed by the avalanche of foam. The oarsmen, "keeping their eyes in the boat", saw nothing of the danger. The midshipman gripped the tiller-lines tightly and set his teeth. Dick realized the peril, but with great self-control moved hardly a muscle of his face, although he fully expected to find himself and his boat's crew struggling for dear life in the water within the next few seconds.
Like a feather the boat's bows rose in the air as she began to climb the wall of water. It seemed as if the strenuous efforts of the rowers would be totally insufficient to enable her to mount the towering barrier. The bowman, missing the resistance to his blade, collapsed in a heap on the thwart. Even in this moment of peril the Sub felt inclined to smile at the grotesque attitude of the unfortunate man.
Then, with less than half a dozen bucketfuls of water in her, the whaler hung irresolute on the crest of the wave, and commenced her rapid plunge down the other side.
Two more waves of less height followed in quick succession. Then in the ensuing "smooth", Farnworth steadied the boat on her course.
"That's her, sir!" sung out the bowman, who had extricated himself from his undignified position. "Well on the starboard bow now, sir."
The man was right. It was the unfortunate trawler. She lay with a considerable list to port, with the waves breaking right over her. Her mast and funnel had gone by the board. It was too dark to see whether any of her crew remained.
But in the meanwhile what had happened to the Tremendous's whaler, for there was no sign of her? Had she, Dick wondered, been overwhelmed by the heavy breakers which had all but swamped his boat?