The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula
Page 19
CHAPTER XIX
The Sub to the Rescue
While Midshipman Farnworth was directing his energies toward therelease of his boat's crew, Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite and his smallparty were hotly engaged with the Turkish troops.
At the first onset, by dint of rapid magazine-firing, Dick's mensucceeded in "bluffing" their foes into the belief that they wereattacked by a strong landing-force. So much so that had the Sub givenorders to fix bayonets and charge, the enemy would have bolted.Unfortunately his instructions from Lieutenant-Commander Huxtableprevented him from so doing. His orders were to hold the shore untilthe prisoners were released, and then to retire to the boats. On noaccount was he to penetrate the enemy's defences, lest, in the event ofa strong counter-attack, his retreat would be imperilled and even cutoff.
It was soon apparent that, under the prodigality of magazine-firing,the men's supply of ammunition would not hold out much longer; but, bythe diminution of the rate of fire, the Turks were not slow to realizethat they had been deceived by the numbers of their attackers.
Taking advantage of every bit of natural and artificial cover, thebluejackets held grimly to their position, firing deliberately at thespurts of flame that denoted the presence of the Ottoman riflemen,whose numbers were constantly being augmented by other troops fromdifferent parts of the island.
Gradually the enemy began to work round to the British right, till thethin line of bluejackets was in danger of being enfiladed. Then, witha succession of fierce yells, the Turks sprang to their feet and withfixed bayonets bore down upon the handful of determined seamen.
A rapid magazine fire swept aside the threatened danger before any ofthe foemen came within reach of the British bayonets, but at the costof two men wounded and a severe drain upon the remaining ammunition.
Dick looked grave when he heard Farnworth's report. It was quiteevident that the midshipman's task could not be carried out with theease that he had expected. But having once set his hand to the plough,the Sub realized that there was to be no turning back until the work inhand accomplished. He must hold the position at all costs until therescued seamen were safely in the boats.
Presently a man slithered past him in the darkness, and, flinginghimself prone, began to blaze away at the flashes of light a hundredyards or so on his front. Dick recognized him as the bowman of the_Hammerer's_ whaler. Then he knew that Farnworth's mission wasapproaching completion.
Again the Turks charged, this time well on the right flank; and beforethe British line could be re-formed, a score of helmeted Moslems werepouring over the low stone wall protected that portion of the seamen'sposition. Bayonet crossed bayonet, rifle butts swung in the air. Thefierce shouts of the Turks were met with dogged silence, as thestalwart bluejackets lunged and fired at their fanatical foes.
Dick's revolver turned the scale. The Turks fled, leaving a dozen oftheir number dead on the field, and several others more or lessseriously injured.
During the brief respite that followed Dick looked anxiously in thedirection of the tower. He could just discern the dark forms of theliberated bluejackets as, under the charge of the coxswain of thewhaler, they made for the boats.
Even as he looked a search-light flashed from the hitherto blackexpanse of sea. Irresolutely playing upon the shore for a few moments,it settled upon the extended line of bluejackets and upon thebullet-splintered barracks whence came the main Turkish fire.
"Lie down, men!" ordered Dick, for with the blaze of light several ofthe men knelt up and looked in the direction of the disagreeableinterruption.
His warning came just in time, for a three-pounder shell from thehostile craft, and, screeching shrilly over the heads of the smallBritish force, exploded with a terrific crash in the Turkish barracks.Evidently there was a quantity of highly-inflammable oil stored withinthe building, for with extreme violence lurid flames shot skywards,their brilliancy outclassing the glare of the search-light.
The surviving soldiers ran for dear life, and for the time being allopposition from that quarter was at an end. But a peril of evengreater magnitude now threatened the force under Crosthwaite's command.Their retreat was cut off.
With the peak of his cap just showing above a low mound of earth, Dickdirected his attention seawards. So dazzling were the rays of thesearch-light that he could discern nothing in the vicinity of thesource of the beam. Whether the Turkish vessel was a destroyer or onlyan armed patrol-boat he could not decide. Nor could he detect anysigns of the British submarine. Doubtless Huxtable, at the firstwarning of the enemy's approach, had dived. Without torpedoes at hisdisposal, it seemed as if he were helpless in the matter. All he coulddo was to save his command by resting on the bottom, leavingCrosthwaite and his men to their fate.
Another and yet another shell came from the Turkish craft, each missilebursting harmlessly beyond the sheltered British seamen. It seemedfairly conclusive that the Ottoman craft mounted only one quick-firer,and that, ignorant of the true position of affairs, she was directingthe fire against the buildings lately held by the Turkish troops.
Meanwhile the rescued prisoners, who, before the first shell had beenfired, had taken their places in the caique, acted with admirablepresence of mind. Instead of bolting precipitately along the pier forthe more substantial cover that they knew was obtainable ashore, theylay down quietly on the bottom of the boat.
"A bit of a tight corner, sir," exclaimed a voice which Dick recognizedas Farnworth's. The midshipman, taking advantage of a sweep of thesearch-light, had cautiously made his way from the tower to the placewhere Dick was taking cover.
"We've been in a worse one," replied the Sub coolly. "Our men are assteady as anything. If we can escape the shelling--and they haven'tspotted us yet, or else they are rotten shots--we can sit tight. Ifthat craft--I fancy she's only a patrol-boat--puts in alongside thepier to see what damage she's done, we'll do our best to rush her.Dash it all! Who says we are not having a good fling for our money?"
He spoke cheerfully, but at the same time he thoroughly realized theseriousness of the situation. Even should the patrol-boat tie upalongside the pier, which was doubtful, and he succeeded by a coup demain in capturing her, the triumph would be of short duration. Bottledup in the limited expanse of the Sea of Marmora, with the impassableDardanelles at one end and the equally well-defended Bosphorus at theother, escape in anything except a submarine craft was impossible.
"Whatever are those fellows up to?" enquired Farnworth, as two moreshells, fired in quick succession, burst far inland.
"They're giving their friends a taste of their own pills," repliedDick. "It's great! They've mistaken the troops for our men."
Such indeed was the case, for the search-light was slowly yet surelyfollowing the retreating, panic-stricken Turkish soldiers, while shellafter shell hurtled towards the fugitives as fast as the gun could bedischarged.
Suddenly came the report of a double concussion--so quickly that thedetonations sounded as a single crash. Then came another.
"By Jove! The skipper is tackling the patrol-boat with our littleanti-aircraft gun!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Once more the midshipman was right in his surmise. Taking advantage ofthe darkness, rendered doubly baffling to the Turks on the patrol-boatowing to the contrast afforded by the search-light, theLieutenant-Commander of "E--" had boldly brought his craft within closerange of the enemy craft.
He knew the risk. One shot from the Ottoman quick-firer would send thesubmarine to the bottom like a stone. On the other hand, thepatrol-boat was nothing more than an old iron tug, on which a lightquick-firer had been mounted. Formidable enough when operating againsttroops unprovided with guns, the Turkish craft was vulnerable even tothe smallest quick-firer.
Taken completely by surprise as the first British shell played havocwith her bridge and search-light projector, the patrol circled in avain endeavour to escape. A second shell ripped a large hole in herwater-line, causing her to reel violently and commence to
list heavilyto starboard.
Only once did the patrol-boat attempt to reply to the devastatingshell-fire of the submarine: but the missile, hastily and badly aimed,flew wide, exploding a couple of thousand yards away.
Huxtable's reply was to send a shell crashing against the frail shieldof the Turkish gun. The explosion did its work thoroughly, for the guncrew were wiped out and the weapon dismounted.
Twenty seconds later, so destructive had been the effect of the shellupon the compartmentless hull of the craft, the patrol-boat disappearedbeneath the surface, her boilers exploding with tremendous violence asshe did so.
"Hurrah! She's done for!" exclaimed Farnworth excitedly.
As he spoke a light blinked from the submarine. Huxtable was about tosend a message to the landing-party. Since they were unable to signalin return to say that they were ready, the Lieutenant-Commander waitedfor a brief interval, then began to flash the message.
"Return at once. Am waiting to pick you up."
Crosthwaite promptly obeyed the order. Unmolested his men marched tothe pier-head. Deeply laden, the two boats pushed off and rowed slowlytowards the submarine, on which a lantern was displayed to enable themto locate her position.
"Help! Aid me!" shouted a voice in broken English, before the boatshad covered half the distance between the shore and the "E--".
A violent splashing in the phosphorescent water, followed by reiteratedappeals for aid, caused Dick to steer the canvas boat in the directionof the commotion. A seaman in Turkish uniform was swimming for dearlife. His strength was fast failing him, and it seemed impossible thathe could hold out long enough to reach the shore. With his remainingenergies he grasped the gunwale of the frail Berthon and hung ondesperately.
"Don't take him on board," ordered Dick, as one of the seamen graspedthe Turk by the collar. "You'll upset us if you do; but hold on tohim."
The Sub's first intention was to return, towing the man into shallowwater, and there let him shift for himself. On second thoughts heremembered that his orders to return to the submarine with the utmostdispatch were peremptory. However undesirable it was to take aprisoner on board, in addition to the rescued men of the _Hammerer's_whaler, his humane feelings would not allow him to refuse aid to hisenemy.
"Give way!" ordered Dick.
The men bent to their oars. The Sub steered for the now discernible"E--", while the Turk, held in the iron grip of his rescuer, wasignominiously towed through the water.
"All present, sir!" reported Crosthwaite.
"Any casualties?" enquired Huxtable anxiously.
"Three, sir."
The Lieutenant-Commander looked worried. The interior of a submarineis no place for a wounded man. There was no medical attentionavailable. The sufferers had to rely solely upon the rough yetgood-natured attentions of their comrades. Nevertheless Huxtable hadgood cause to congratulate himself and his subordinate upon the resultof the operations. Not only had a hostile craft been sunk, but all thesurvivors of the _Hammerer's_ landing-party had been rescued.
And yet the business was far from being accomplished. A tediouswait--at least a nerve-racking ordeal--had to be followed by the returndash through the mine-strewn Dardanelles.
CHAPTER XX
Saving the Old "Hammerer"
"Effendi, I speak truth. It is not my wish that I fight the English."
"How came you to speak English?" demanded Huxtable.
The examination of the rescued Turkish sailor was in progress. The manhad recovered from the effects of the explosion and his subsequentexposure in the water. He was tall, lithe, olive-featured, and of anopen countenance.
"I have served in English ship: one that traded between Smyrna andMalta, effendi," he replied. "My name it is Osman Kosmoli. I am anArmenian and a Christian."
"Eh?" interrupted the Lieutenant-Commander incredulously. "AChristian? I thought Christians were not allowed to serve in theOttoman navy."
"Before the war, no; after the war, yes," replied Kosmoli composedly."So long as a man he is a sailor it no matter. I no want to fight.They make me. I thank effendi for saving my life," and he bowed hishead at Dick, who was sitting by the side of the Lieutenant-Commander.
Crosthwaite thrust his hand into his coat pocket and produced thedocument that von Eitelheimer had vainly endeavoured to induce him tosign.
"Then tell me what this means," he said.
The Armenian took the paper and read it slowly to himself. Hiseyebrows contracted as he did so.
"Bad, very bad!" he exclaimed.
"Read it aloud," ordered Dick.
It was another example of German perfidy, purporting to be adeclaration expressing extreme disapproval of the Allies' operationsagainst the Turks. It was a bogus confession to the effect that theBritish and French were guilty of deliberate acts against the Moslemreligion, and that the avowed object of their expedition was to stampout Mohammedanism in the Near East.
"A thundering good job you didn't sign it," remarked Huxtable. "Thedocument would have been photographically reproduced and distributedbroadcast throughout Persia, Egypt, Afghanistan, and India with theobject of inciting the Mohammedan populace."
"What was to prevent von Eitelheimer from forging my signature?" askedDick.
"He could have done so," admitted the Lieutenant-Commander, "but itwouldn't be quite the same thing. If you and young Farnworth hadsigned it and stated your rank, the signatures could not very well bedisputed by our own people. They would naturally conclude that theautographs, if genuine, were obtained by fraud, but that is not thepoint. Ten to one von Eitelheimer, had you agreed to sign, would havemade some excuse to have Turkish personages of high standing to witnessthe attestation. A document like that would cause no end of religiousferment amongst the Moslem world. Now, you see, we have evidence toprove that the Germans are at the root of the business, and I hope youwill be able to hand the document personally to the Admiral fortransmission to the proper authorities. By Jove, Crosthwaite! it hasnipped a dangerous conspiracy in the bud."
"I'd like to have a few words with von Eitelheimer on the subject,sir," declared Dick.
"You may some day: you never know your luck," rejoined Huxtableoracularly.
At last the time-limit expired, and the "E--" was at liberty to attempther hazardous return voyage. All hands knew that the perils whichbeset them were far greater than those they had successfully evaded onthe run to Constantinople; for it was now practically impossible tocreep through the Dardanelles. With a six- or seven-knot currentbearing the submarine along, in addition to the "way" necessary to keepthe craft under helm control, there was imminent risk of charging oneof the hundreds of anchored mines before steps could be taken to avoidit; while should the submarine run aground the impact would inevitablyshatter her hull.
Huxtable essayed the task in broad daylight. It was just possible, bykeeping a sharp look-out and making quick use of the helm, to detectthe presence of the moorings of these destructive weapons of modernwarfare.
He took up his position at the for'ard scuttle of the conning-tower,while Devereux and Crosthwaite remained by the observation scuttles oneither side of the elongated steel box.
Hour after hour passed. The "E--" was still proceeding without mishap,steered by a compass course. She was now well within the Dardanelles.The fixing of her position was merely a matter of guesswork, since theperiscope could not be used without risk of being fired at from thealert batteries. Twice she had to circle, owing to the water shoaling,and attempt a fresh course. It was the only means of keeping to thedeep-water channel as it wended its tortuous way through the intricateNarrows.
Suddenly Dick gave an exclamation of surprise. Less than thirty feetfrom the scuttle, a large, ill-defined grey object darted past. Beforehe could call the skipper's attention to it, the thing had vanished.For several minutes the "E--" swayed and pitched in the undulationscaused by the moving mass.
"A submarine, sir--that I can swear to," reported Crosthwait
e.
"Then it's a dashed German one," declared Huxtable. "None of our ownwere to operate in the Narrows until we reported ourselves. That'srotten luck."
His face bore a grim expression as he spoke, then he broke into aboisterous laugh.
"We're in luck, Crosthwaite," he exclaimed.
"How, sir?" asked the Sub, puzzled at the rapid change in hissuperior's manner.
"How? Don't you see? The Turks have been expecting that German_unterseeboot_. Consequently they've made preparations. They'veceased to throw out floating mines, and have given her directions for asafe course through the anchored minefield, and we're in the samechannel. By Jove! I'll risk it! We'll pop up and see where we are.I shouldn't be surprised if we were close to Sedd-ul-Bahr, or somewherewithin range of the guns, otherwise the German submarine would berunning awash with her ensign displayed."
Although Huxtable had declared that he would not be surprised at theresult of his observation, when the periscope showed above the surfacehe was completely taken aback. He had considerably underrated thespeed of the current, and instead of being still within theDardanelles, Cape Helles was sighted bearing three miles N.W. What wasmore, "E--" was within two thousand yards of the _Hammerer_ and the_Tremendous_, both battleships being engaged in a long-rangebombardment of the Turkish trenches on the Gallipoli Peninsula.
Concealment was no longer necessary. Running awash, the submarine"made her number", thus revealing her identity; and in response to arequest the _Hammerer_ dispatched a picket-boat to take off her twomissing officers and the survivors of her whaler's crew.
"Well, good-bye, Crosthwaite, old boy, and good luck!" exclaimed thegenial Huxtable, as the picket-boat, skilfully handled by MidshipmanSefton, came alongside the submarine. "Hope you haven't beendisappointed on the score of excitement. I did my level best to giveyou a good time."
"That you did, sir," replied the Sub. "By Jove! it makes me want tokick myself for not applying for submarine service when I had thechance."
"It's never too late to mend," rejoined the Lieutenant-Commander."Once more, good luck to you!"
The picket-boat backed astern, and was soon pelting at a good eighteenknots towards her parent ship. The two midshipmen were exchangingtheir experiences with great gusto, while Dick, standing beside thecoxswain, was trying to convince himself that it was not all a dreamthat he had really been to Constantinople and back again.
Suddenly the coxswain pointed towards the battleship.
"Something amiss there, sir," he exclaimed. "Bless me, if she ain'thard aground!"
Even as he spoke a furious cannonade from skilfully-hidden shorebatteries was opened upon the luckless _Hammerer_, which, having strucka shoal, presented a fixed target to a hundred Turkish guns. Allaround her the water was churned by the bursting projectiles. Toattempt to take the picket-boat any nearer would be almost suicidal.
"Easy ahead," ordered Dick, at the same time signing to the coxswain toput the helm hard over.
Anxiously the Sub awaited developments. The _Hammerer_, badly pounded,was replying fiercely and resolutely to the galling fire. Thick cloudsof smoke poured from her twin funnels as her powerful engines, runningat full speed astern, strove to release her from the grip of the shoal.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Sefton. "Look, sir!"
Considering that Dick was looking all the time, the advice wasunnecessary. Yet the midshipman's excitement was justifiable, for astriking example of British pluck was about to be shown.
Steaming slowly astern, the _Tremendous_ backed into the shell-torninferno. Reckless of the hail of projectiles, a swarm of bluejacketsclustered on her poop, while from under her quarter a boat carrying ahawser sped towards her disabled consort. In an incredibly short spaceof time, communication was established between the two battleships;but, just as the _Tremendous_ gathered way, a shell severed the stouthempen rope.
Another attempt was made, but hardly was the boat clear of her parentship when a projectile ploughed through her bows. Enshrouded in acloud of smoke and steam, the pinnace disappeared beneath the waves.
Undaunted, the _Tremendous_ sent out a third hawser. Working undergreat difficulties, the crew of the _Hammerer_ succeeded in getting thestiff wire rope on board and attaching it to a chain "necklace" roundthe base of her after turret.
"She's moving!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Slowly the _Hammerer_ glided astern for almost her own length; then,with a bang that was audible above the roar of the guns, the hawserparted.
By the time the _Tremendous_ had checked her way and had re-establishedcommunication, twenty minutes had elapsed. Already the _Hammerer's_top-hamper was little more than a tangled skein of steel. Her foretopmast had gone; her mainmast had been severed ten feet below thelower fighting-top. One of her funnels had gone by the board; theother was holed in twenty different places and looked little betterthan a sieve. Only the funnel-guys prevented it from sharing the fateof the former. Yet she kept up a heavy fire with unabated violence,while, to relieve the pressure of the Turkish batteries, two armouredcruisers closed and directed their attention upon the hostile guns.
Suddenly Dick sprang to the wheel, unceremoniously pushing aside thecoxswain, whose whole attention was centred upon the strandedbattleship.
"Full speed ahead both engines!" he shouted.
His quick eye had discerned a suspicious swirl on the surface within acable's length of the picket-boat's starboard bow. Even as the littlecraft shot ahead, from the centre of the disturbed water appeared aperiscope. It was not the periscope of a British submarine, of thatDick felt certain. It was a hostile craft, about to take her bearingsprior to discharging a torpedo at the motionless _Hammerer_ or heralmost equally handicapped consort.
"Stand by, men!" ordered the Sub.
The picket-boat, having a dead weight of fifteen tons exclusive of thecrew, was capable of dealing a heavy blow, but Crosthwaite realizedthat that would mean her own destruction. Already he had weighed upthe situation. It was risking the lives of a mere handful of officersand men in an attempt to save the huge battleship and her complement ofnearly eight hundred.
With a heavy crash the keel of the picket-boat came in violent contactwith a submerged object. It was something more substantial than theslender periscope, which, shattered by the impact, had vanished. For amoment the British craft seemed on the point of turning turtle; then,with a sickening movement, she slid over the obstruction into deepwater.
It was evident that the picket-boat would not survive the collision.The artificers, having taken steps to prevent an explosion of theboilers, abandoned the engine-room as the water rose above the beds ofthe engines. A minute later the crew were swimming for their lives.
"She's off, sir," announced a petty officer who was swimming stronglyby the side of the Sub-lieutenant. "They'll pick us up all right."
The _Hammerer_, thanks to the efforts of the _Tremendous_, aided by herown engines going full speed astern, had shaken herself free from thedangerous shoal. Still replying briskly to the Turkish batteries, sheglided into deep water, circled, and steamed slowly towards the spotwhere her picket-boat had disappeared.
"We'll get some of the shells meant for her," spluttered Sefton, whohad not yet succeeded in getting rid of a few mouthfuls of salt whichhe had taken in when the picket-boat sank under him.
"No fear; she'll screen us," answered Dick cheerfully. "We'll--"
The sentence was never completed. A flying splinter of shell, droppingfrom an immense height, had struck the Sub on the head. Sefton wasjust in time to grab his superior officer by the coat-collar before hesank.
"Bear a hand, Farnworth!" he exclaimed. "We can't let old Crosthwaitego, but I'm afraid it's a case!"
* * * * *
It was a fortnight later when Dick Crosthwaite opened his eyes. He waslying in Bighi Hospital at Malta, with his head swathed in surgicalbandages. He felt horribly weak, and was unable to recollect thecircumstances that led t
o his being in bed in a shore hospital.
Two men were standing a short distance from his cot. Their backs wereturned towards him, as they faced the open window. One he recognizedas the genial captain of the _Hammerer_, the other was a fleet-surgeonon the hospital staff.
"Then you feel fairly confident that you'll be able to pull himthrough?" asked the _Hammerer's_ skipper.
"There's every chance. He's as hard as nails, and will bob up like acork."
"Rather a confusion of similes, my dear O'Loghlin," remarked theCaptain with a chuckle. "All the same I'm glad to hear it. I want toask you a favour. Let me know the moment Crosthwaite regainsconsciousness. I am particularly anxious, being his skipper, to be thefirst to tell him the good news."
"Very good, sir," replied the doctor. "I'll bear that in mind."
"It won't be detrimental to his recovery?"
"Faith, that it won't! It will buck him up considerably when he knowshe's to get the D.S.O. He'll be up and fit for duty before we forcethe Dardanelles, you mark my words. He'll be in at the death when wetake Constantinople."
"I hope so, too," agreed the captain of the _Hammerer_. "We can'tafford to lose the services of such a promising young officer. I hopeI'll live to see him attain flag rank."
Dick raised himself on one elbow.
"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed.
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