The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula

by Percy F. Westerman

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art]

  [Frontispiece: "FLOATING SERENELY ON THE SURFACE WAS A SUBMARINE; ONEOF THE MOST MODERN OF THE GERMAN _UNTERSEEBOOTEN_"]

  The Fight for Constantinople

  A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula

  BY

  PERCY F. WESTERMAN

  Author of "The Dispatch-Riders" "The Sea-girt Fortress" "When EastMeets West" "Captured at Tripoli" &c. &c.

  _Illustrated by W. E. Wigfull_

  BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

  LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

  Contents

  CHAP.

  I. Under Sealed Orders II. Cleared for Action III. The Demolition Party IV. Trapped in The Magazine V. A Dash up The Narrows VI. To The Rescue VII. The "Hammerer's" Whaler VIII. A Prisoner of War IX. In Captivity X. A Bid for Freedom XI. A Modern Odyssey XII. The German Submarine XIII. Torpedoed XIV. Through Unseen Perils XV. Disabled XVI. A Daring Stroke XVII. Within Sight of Constantinople XVIII. A Midnight Encounter XIX. The Sub to the Rescue XX. Saving the Old "Hammerer"

  Illustrations

  "Floating serenely on the surface was a submarine; one of the most modern of the German _Unterseebooten_ . . . _Frontispiece_

  "The '_Calder_' held grimly and swiftly on her way"

  "With a well-directed blow Dick planted his clenched fist squarely upon the point of the Major's chin"

  "Before the Turkish irregulars could penetrate the deception the two British officers were through"

  "The two seamen hauled him into safety"

  THE FIGHT FOR CONSTANTINOPLE

  CHAPTER I

  Under Sealed Orders

  "Dick, my boy, here are your marching orders," announced ColonelCrosthwaite, holding up a telegram for his son's inspection.

  "Marching orders, eh?" queried Sub-lieutenant Richard Crosthwaite witha breezy laugh. "Hope it's something good."

  "Can't get out of the old routine, Dick. I suppose I ought to call ityour appointment. It's to the _Hammerer_. Why, my boy, you don't lookvery happy about it: what's up?"

  "Nothing much, pater," replied the Sub, as he strove to conceal theshade of disappointment that flitted over his features. "I must takewhatever is given me without demur----"

  "Of course," promptly interposed his parent. "That's duty all theworld over."

  "But at the same time I had hoped to get something, well--something notaltogether approaching the scrap-iron stage."

  "Yes, the _Hammerer_ is a fairly old craft, I'll admit," said ColonelCrosthwaite. "I've just looked her up in Brassey's----"

  "Launched in 1895, completed during the following year; of 14,900 tons;has a principal armament of four 12-inch guns, and a secondary batteryof twelve 6-inch," added Dick, who had the details of most vessels ofH.M. Navy and many foreign Powers at his fingers' ends. "She's aweatherly old craft, but it isn't likely she'll take part in an actionwith the German High Seas Fleet, when it does come out of the KielCanal. Things are fairly quiet in the North Sea, except for a fewisolated destroyer actions, and, of course, the _Bl?cher_ business.Aboard the _Hammerer_--one of the last line of defence--the chance ofsmelling powder will be a rotten one."

  "In the opinion of those in authority, Dick, these ships are wanted,and officers and men must be found to man them. Everyone cannot be inthe firing-line."

  "I'm not grumbling exactly," explained Dick. "Only----"

  "Grumbling just a little," added his father. "Well, my boy, you mayget your chance yet. War was ever a strange thing for placing unknownsin the limelight, and this war in particular. Now buck up and get yourkit together. It will mean an all-night railway journey, since you'veto join your ship at Portsmouth at 9 a.m. to-morrow."

  Dick Crosthwaite was on ten days' leave, after "paying off" the old_Seasprite_. The outbreak of war had been responsible for his fairlyrapid promotion, and having put in seven months as a midshipman onboard the light cruiser _Seasprite_--which had been engaged in patrolwork in the North Sea--he found himself promoted to ActingSub-lieutenant.

  His work on the cruiser was, in spite of the dreary and bleak climaticconditions, interesting and not devoid of incident. He had not takenpart in any action; his ship had escaped the attentions of hostilesubmarines and drifting mines. There was a spice of risk about thebusiness that appealed to him--a possibility that before long the_Seasprite_ would have a chance of using her guns in real earnest.

  Then came orders for the light cruiser to proceed to Greenock and "payoff". Her ship's company were given leave, which after months ofstrenuous watch and ward they thoroughly deserved, and Sub-lieutenantCrosthwaite found himself once more in his home in a secluded part ofShropshire.

  Although he fully appreciated the brief spell of leisure, his activemind was dwelling upon the prospects in store for him. With thecertificates he had gained he considered, with all due respect for MyLords' discretion, that nothing short of an appointment on one of thesuper-Dreadnoughts or battle-cruisers would be a fitting reward for hiszeal and activity. Hence it came as a decided set-back when he foundhimself appointed to the old _Hammerer._

  He knew the obsolescent battleship both by observation and repute. Hehad seen her lying in one of the basins of the dockyard extensions atPortsmouth, looking the picture of neglect in her garb of grey mottledwith the stains of rusty iron.

  He had also seen a painting of her when she was in her prime. Thatpainting was an object of value to his uncle, Captain John Crosthwaite,R.N., for he had hoisted his pennant on the _Hammerer_ when she was thepride of the then Channel Fleet. With her black hull, white upperworks, and buff-coloured masts and funnels, she looked a totallydifferent vessel from the grey monster that was on the point of beingsent to the scrap-heap. For twenty years she had existed withouthaving fired a shot in anger; now on the eve of her career she was tobe given a chance--a very faint chance, Dick thought--of doing her partagainst the enemies of King and country.

  That same evening Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite bade his mother andsisters good-bye, and, accompanied by the Colonel and Dick's two youngbrothers, drove to the station.

  "Au revoir, Dick!" exclaimed his brother George, with all the dignityof a public-school boy of fourteen.

  "And don't forget to bring us home some war trophies," addedtwelve-year-old Peter.

  Dick laughingly assented, then grasped his father's hand.

  "Good-bye, Dad," he said.

  "Good-bye, my lad; and don't forget to do your level best and keep ourend up. It's no use mincing matters: we've a tough, uphill job.Good-bye, my lad; and may God bless you!"

  Conscious that several pairs of eyes were upon them, father and sondrew themselves up and saluted. Dick entered the train and was whirledaway, while Colonel Crosthwaite returned home for a brief twelve hoursbefore he, too, would be on his way to his regiment--a promising unitof Kitchener's Army.

  At half-past eight on the following morning Dick passed through themain gate of Portsmouth Dockyard. Seamen and dockyard "maties" wereeverywhere, working with the utmost activity--for here at least therewas no slacking.

  Wagon-loads of stores came bounding along over the hard granite setts,drawn by stalwart bluejackets in working kit; no longer, as in the oldpiping times of peace, did the dockyard workmen amble quietly withtheir work. Everything was done at the double. It was a sign of thetimes, when the stress and strain of naval warfare requires promptnessand activity.

  Under the ruined buildings that formerly were surmounted by thesemaphore tower--ruins that suggested the scene of a German raid--theSub made
his way to the South Railway Jetty, alongside of which wasmoored H.M.S. _Hammerer_, almost ready to proceed to sea.

  In her new garb of neutral-grey the old ship looked smart andbusiness-like. In each of her two barbettes a pair of re-lined 12-inchguns grinned menacingly. Her brasswork no longer glittered in thesunlight: it had been daubed over with the same hue of neutral paint.The only dashes of colour about her were the blue-and-gold uniforms ofthe officers, for she showed no flag. It was yet too soon for thetime-honoured custom of hoisting the white ensign with full navalhonours.

  Having duly reported himself, Dick was informed that he was to be incharge of the gun-room--the cradle of budding Nelsons, for the_Hammerer_ carried twelve midshipmen in addition to a clerk and twoassistant clerks.

  For the next three days the Sub had hardly a minute to call his own.It was a hasty, yet complete, commissioning, nothing being overlookedin the matter of detail; and during those three days the ship's companydid a normal week's work. Meals had to be hurriedly snatched. Eventhe usual formal dinner had to be scrambled through, with grave dangerto the digestions of the youthful officers. What with coaling,shipping ammunition and stores, and generally "shaking down", Dick wasglad to tumble into his bunk and sleep the sleep of healthy exhaustion,until aroused by his servant announcing that it was time to beginanother day's arduous duty.

  At length the _Hammerer_ was ready to sail to her unknown destination;for it was an understood thing that she was to proceed under sealedorders.

  The Captain and most of the officers on duty were on the fore-bridge.Aft mustered the marine guard and the band, while the stanchion railsand gun-ports were packed with seamen in their white working-rig.

  On the jetty were the dockyard Staff-captain's men, ready at the wordof command to slip "springs" and hawsers; but the usual setting of thepicture of a departing man-of-war was absent. No throng of relativesand friends of the crew gathered on the farewell jetty. The time ofdeparture was a secret. In war-time the great silent navy is shown toperfection; and no crowd of civilians is permitted to see what mayprove to be the last of a leviathan going forth to do her duty in theNorth Sea.

  A signalman, holding the halyard in his hand, awaited a glance from theCaptain. It came at last. Up fluttered a hoist of bunting--the formalasking for permission to proceed.

  "Permission, sir!" reported the signalman, as an answering string ofcolour announced that the Commander-in-Chief of the port had graciouslycondescended to order the _Hammerer_ to do what had been previouslyordered.

  "Stand clear!"

  To the accompaniment of the shrill trill of the bos'n's mates' pipes,the working parties surged hither and thither in apparently utterconfusion; then almost imperceptibly, as the powerful tug in attendancebegan to pull the ship's bows clear of the jetty, the _Hammerer_started on her voyage into the great unknown.

  A bugle-call--and every officer and man stood to attention, the marinespresenting arms as the battleship glided past the old _Victory_.Another call, and the men relaxed their attitude of rigidity. The lastcompliment had been paid to the authorities of the home port--the_Hammerer_ was outward bound.

  "Any idea of the rendezvous?" asked Jack Sefton, one of the midshipmen,as the lads forgathered in the gun-room to "stand easy", almost for thefirst time since commissioning.

  "Rather," announced another, Trevor Maynebrace, who, having an uncle anadmiral, professed somewhat loftily to be "in the know"."Rather--Rosyth: that's where we are bound, my dear Sefton; there toswing at moorings till the ship's bottom is smothered in barnacles.They'll keep us in reserve to fill up gaps caused by casualties, and,judging by recent events, we'll have to cool our heels a thunderinglong time."

  "You're quite sure, Maynebrace?" asked the Sub.

  "Quite--well, nearly so," admitted the midshipman.

  "Then what do you make of that?" continued Dick, pointing through theopen scuttle.

  Broad on the starboard beam rose the frowning cliffs of Dunnose. Theland was that of the Isle of Wight, so that the _Hammerer's_ course wasapproximately south-west.

  She was not alone. On either side, at ten cables' distance, were twolong, lean destroyers of the River class, their mission being tosafeguard the ship from the attack of a lurking German submarine.

  "H'm!" muttered the discomfited middy. "P'r'aps there's been analteration of plans. Looks as if we're bound for Plymouth."

  "Or the Mediterranean, perhaps," remarked Jolly, the clerk, who lookedanything but his name.

  He was a weedy-limbed youth, narrow-chested and knock-kneed. He was asshort-sighted as a bat, and wore spectacles with lenses of terrificpower. To those not in the know, it seemed astonishing how he managedto pass the doctor; but Jolly's father was a post-captain, and thatmade all the difference. Unable owing to physical disabilities toenter the executive branch and follow in his father's footsteps, thelad had taken the only alternative career open to him that theAdmiralty provides for short-sighted youths, and had entered theservice as an assistant clerk.

  Maynebrace gave the representative of the accountant branch a look ofscorn.

  "I don't think!" he said with a sneer. "Our Mediterranean Fleet isquite large enough for all emergencies. We'd be of no use for theEgyptian business. Our draught of water is too much for the Canal;besides, the _Swiftsure_ and _Triumph_ will attend to that littleaffair. No; I reckon it's Plymouth, and then the North Sea via CapeWrath."

  Just then the muffled sound of a tremendous roar of cheering, issuingfrom four hundred lusty throats, was faintly borne to the ears of themembers of the gun-room. Again and again it was repeated.

  "Scoot," ordered Crosthwaite, addressing Farnworth, one of the juniormidshipmen. "Scoot as hard as you can, and see what the rumpus isabout."

  In two minutes the youngster, his face glowing with excitement, dashedinto the gun-room.

  "Glorious news!" he exclaimed. "The owner's opened the sealed orders.We're off to the Dardanelles. We'll have the time of our lives."