← catalogue

The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula

by Percy F. Westerman · English · Gutenberg #37600 · 363,433 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula

Author: Percy F. Westerman

Illustrator: W. Edward Wigfull


        
Release date: October 2, 2011 [eBook #37600]
                Most recently updated: January 5, 2015

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37600

Credits: Produced by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIGHT FOR CONSTANTINOPLE: A STORY OF THE GALLIPOLI PENINSULA ***




Produced by Al Haines










[Illustration: Cover art]





[Frontispiece: "FLOATING SERENELY ON THE SURFACE WAS A SUBMARINE; ONE
OF 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 East
Meets 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 Colonel
Crosthwaite, holding up a telegram for his son's inspection.

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

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

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

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

"But at the same time I had hoped to get something, well--something not
altogether approaching the scrap-iron stage."

"Yes, the _Hammerer_ is a fairly old craft, I'll admit," said Colonel
Crosthwaite.  "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 battery
of twelve 6-inch," added Dick, who had the details of most vessels of
H.M. Navy and many foreign Powers at his fingers' ends.  "She's a
weatherly old craft, but it isn't likely she'll take part in an action
with the German High Seas Fleet, when it does come out of the Kiel
Canal.  Things are fairly quiet in the North Sea, except for a few
isolated destroyer actions, and, of course, the _Blücher_ business.
Aboard the _Hammerer_--one of the last line of defence--the chance of
smelling 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 in
the firing-line."

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

"Grumbling just a little," added his father.  "Well, my boy, you may
get your chance yet.  War was ever a strange thing for placing unknowns
in the limelight, and this war in particular.  Now buck up and get your
kit together.  It will mean an all-night railway journey, since you've
to 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 fairly
rapid promotion, and having put in seven months as a midshipman on
board the light cruiser _Seasprite_--which had been engaged in patrol
work in the North Sea--he found himself promoted to Acting
Sub-lieutenant.

His work on the cruiser was, in spite of the dreary and bleak climatic
conditions, interesting and not devoid of incident.  He had not taken
part in any action; his ship had escaped the attentions of hostile
submarines and drifting mines.  There was a spice of risk about the
business 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 "pay
off".  Her ship's company were given leave, which after months of
strenuous watch and ward they thoroughly deserved, and Sub-lieutenant
Crosthwaite found himself once more in his home in a secluded part of
Shropshire.

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

He knew the obsolescent battleship both by observation and repute.  He
had seen her lying in one of the basins of the dockyard extensions at
Portsmouth, looking the picture of neglect in her garb of grey mottled
with the stains of rusty iron.

He had also seen a painting of her when she was in her prime.  That
painting 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 the
pride of the then Channel Fleet.  With her black hull, white upper
works, and buff-coloured masts and funnels, she looked a totally
different vessel from the grey monster that was on the point of being
sent to the scrap-heap.  For twenty years she had existed without
having fired a shot in anger; now on the eve of her career she was to
be given a chance--a very faint chance, Dick thought--of doing her part
against the enemies of King and country.

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

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

"And don't forget to bring us home some war trophies," added
twelve-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 our
end 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 son
drew themselves up and saluted.  Dick entered the train and was whirled
away, while Colonel Crosthwaite returned home for a brief twelve hours
before he, too, would be on his way to his regiment--a promising unit
of Kitchener's Army.

At half-past eight on the following morning Dick passed through the
main gate of Portsmouth Dockyard.  Seamen and dockyard "maties" were
everywhere, working with the utmost activity--for here at least there
was 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 old
piping times of peace, did the dockyard workmen amble quietly with
their work.  Everything was done at the double.  It was a sign of the
times, when the stress and strain of naval warfare requires promptness
and activity.

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

In her new garb of neutral-grey the old ship looked smart and
business-like.  In each of her two barbettes a pair of re-lined 12-inch
guns grinned menacingly.  Her brasswork no longer glittered in the
sunlight: 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 of
the officers, for she showed no flag.  It was yet too soon for the
time-honoured custom of hoisting the white ensign with full naval
honours.

Having duly reported himself, Dick was informed that he was to be in
charge of the gun-room--the cradle of budding Nelsons, for the
_Hammerer_ carried twelve midshipmen in addition to a clerk and two
assistant 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 overlooked
in the matter of detail; and during those three days the ship's company
did a normal week's work.  Meals had to be hurriedly snatched.  Even
the usual formal dinner had to be scrambled through, with grave danger
to the digestions of the youthful officers.  What with coaling,
shipping ammunition and stores, and generally "shaking down", Dick was
glad to tumble into his bunk and sleep the sleep of healthy exhaustion,
until aroused by his servant announcing that it was time to begin
another 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 sealed
orders.

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 rails
and gun-ports were packed with seamen in their white working-rig.

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

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

"Permission, sir!" reported the signalman, as an answering string of
colour announced that the Commander-in-Chief of the port had graciously
condescended to order the _Hammerer_ to do what had been previously
ordered.

"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 utter
confusion; then almost imperceptibly, as the powerful tug in attendance
began 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 marines
presenting arms as the battleship glided past the old _Victory_.
Another call, and the men relaxed their attitude of rigidity.  The last
compliment 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 the
first time since commissioning.

"Rather," announced another, Trevor Maynebrace, who, having an uncle an
admiral, professed somewhat loftily to be "in the know".
"Rather--Rosyth: that's where we are bound, my dear Sefton; there to
swing 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 thundering
long 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 the
open scuttle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scoot," ordered Crosthwaite, addressing Farnworth, one of the junior
midshipmen.  "Scoot as hard as you can, and see what the rumpus is
about."

In two minutes the youngster, his face glowing with excitement, dashed
into 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."




CHAPTER II

Cleared for Action

With admirable and well-kept secrecy the Admiralty had made all
preparations for a strong attack to be delivered at the supposedly
impregnable Dardanelles.  In addition to the ships of the Mediterranean
Fleet, battleships and cruisers were ordered to proceed to the Near
East, until a fleet deemed sufficiently strong for the work in hand had
collected in the Ægean Sea.

The _Hammerer_ was one of the first to leave England for that purpose,
while it was hinted amongst the officers that there was a big surprise
up the sleeve of the Admiralty when the final depositions of the
attacking fleet were completed.

Sub-lieutenant Dick Crosthwaite hailed the news with as much enthusiasm
as the rest of the gun-room, which is saying much; for the youngsters
let off a cheer that, if it did not equal the volume of sound emitted
by the men, had the dire effect of arousing the chaplain and naval
instructor from their afternoon nap.

It was a chance of a lifetime.  Little Tommy Farnworth's announcement
was a true one.  While the Grand Fleet waited and watched in tireless
energy for the German High Seas Fleet, this powerful squadron, detached
without risk of disturbing the superiority of power in home waters, was
silently and rapidly concentrating to match its strength against the
vaunted Ottoman batteries on both sides of the Dardanelles.  For this
purpose the older type of war-ships with their 12-inch guns could be
usefully and profitably employed, since speed--one of the greatest
factors of modern naval warfare--was not so imperative when dealing
with immobile batteries the position of which is already known.

When Ushant was astern and the _Hammerer_ well into the Bay, the
battleship's escort of destroyers turned and parted company.  They had
seen the ship through the waters within the radius of action of the
German submarines.  They were now free to return and take another
battleship clear of the Channel.  No doubt several huge grey-painted
war-ships had been observed through the periscopes of these hostile
under-water craft, but the presence of the swift, alert destroyers was
sufficient to cause even the most reckless German lieutenant-commander
to hesitate to attack.  But for the destroyers more than one of the
Mediterranean-bound war-ships would have fallen an easy prey to the
lurking peril of the deep.

From the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Indian Oceans came ships
proudly displaying the white ensign.  Under cover of complete secrecy,
battleships and battle-cruisers gained the rendezvous without an
inkling of their presence to the outside world.

The _Canopus_, which had been expected to join Admiral Cradock's
ill-starred squadron in the Pacific, and had last been heard of in the
Falkland Islands fight, suddenly turned up in the Ægean.  The
battle-cruisers that enabled Admiral Sturdee to avenge the _Monmouth_
and _Good Hope_ swiftly covered the 6500 miles between the Falkland
Islands and the Piræus; the _Triumph_, after doing yeoman service at
Kiao-Chau, and stopping in the Suez Canal to help put the fear of the
British Empire into the Turkish invaders of Egypt, steamed into the
Archipelago, ready to continue the good work she had so worthily begun.

Not only was the white ensign displayed at the southern gate of the Sea
of Marmora; for a powerful French squadron, without weakening the force
that held the Austrians under the guns at Pola and Trieste, had arrived
to join hands with the former traditional enemy and now close ally of
France; while in the Black Sea the Russians were making their presence
felt upon the Turkish littoral of that inland sea.

The Ottoman Empire, tottering after the last disastrous Balkan War, was
on the point of committing national suicide under the patronage of its
bombastic German tutors.

On the ninth day after leaving Portsmouth the _Hammerer_ was in the
vicinity of Cape Matapan.  She was bowling along at a modest sixteen
knots, a rate that, considering the condition of her engines, reflected
great credit upon the "black squad" and the engine-room staff.

It was two bells in the first dog watch.  Dick Crosthwaite, who was on
duty on the fore-bridge, was talking with the officer of the watch when
a sail was reported astern.

Bringing the glasses to bear upon the vessel, both officers found that
only her masts and funnels showed above the horizon.  There was
something unfamiliar about the appearance of the masts, for one was a
tripod, the other one of the ordinary pre-Dreadnought type.  The only
battleships that sported this combination were the _Lord Nelson_ and
_Agamemnon_--and their position was known to an almost absolute
certainty--and the newly-completed _Queen Elizabeth_.

"Strange," remarked Bourne, the officer of the watch.  "I'd almost bet
my bottom dollar that's the _Queen Bess_ but for two reasons: first,
she's not ready for sea; secondly, she's too powerful a ship to send
out here while there's an impending job for her in the North Sea."

"She's coming on at a tremendous rate," observed Dick.

For several minutes the identity of the overtaking craft remained
unknown; for, acting upon definite instructions, owing to the "tapping"
of important messages by the enemy, the use of wireless had been almost
entirely dispensed with during the voyage.

"Telephone to the fire-control platform, Mr. Crosthwaite," ordered
Bourne.  "Ask them what they make of yonder craft.  Stay!  Send one of
the midshipmen--Maynebrace; he looks as if a little exercise would do
him good."

Midshipman Maynebrace needed no spur.  In a very few moments he had
made his way to the foremast and was climbing the dizzy height by means
of the iron rungs that, riveted to the lofty steel cylinder, formed the
only means of personal communication with the fire-control platform.
The interior of the _Hammerer's_ hollow masts, which were originally
fitted with lifts to convey the ammunition to the now discarded
quick-firing guns in the fighting-tops, were now utilized for the
numerous wires and voice-tubes communicating with the various parts of
the ship.

Up through the lower top and upwards again the midshipman climbed with
the dexterity acquired by long practice, never halting till he
disappeared from view inside the elongated steel-plated box known as
the fire-control platform.

Down again, seemingly at the imminent risk of breaking his neck, young
Maynebrace made his way; then, cool and collected in spite of his
exercise, he saluted the officer of the watch.

"It's the _Lizzie_, sir," he reported, using the abbreviated name by
which the British seamen already knew the wonder ship of the year--the
super-Dreadnought, _Queen Elisabeth_.

"By all the powers!" ejaculated Bourne.  "This takes the proverbial
biscuit.  That's a nasty slight upon poor old Tirpitz: sending our last
word in battleships to the Dardanelles."

"I pity the Turks, sir, when the _Lizzie_ begins to tickle them up with
her fifteen-inchers," said Maynebrace.  "There'll be a few people
surprised, not only out here but at home."

So well had the Admiralty plans been kept a secret that, until the
_Hammerer's_ ship's company saw the super-Dreadnought almost within the
limits of the Ægean Sea, the _Queen Elizabeth's_ presence was totally
unexpected.  The mere fact of her being sent out to the Near East
indicated the gigantic task before the Allies: the forcing at all costs
the hitherto supposedly impregnable defences of the Dardanelles.

Majestic in her business-like garb of grey, and with her eight monster
15-inch guns showing conspicuously against the skyline, the _Queen
Elizabeth_ overhauled and passed her older consort as easily as an
express overtakes a suburban train.

For five minutes the "bunting tossers" on both ships were busily
engaged; then, amid the outspoken and admiring criticism of the
_Hammerer's_ crew, the super-Dreadnought slipped easily ahead and was
soon hull down.

Twelve hours later the _Hammerer_ dropped anchor at the rendezvous off
Tenedos.  She was but one among many, for the Anglo-French fleet
numbered nearly a hundred of various sizes--from the _Queen Elizabeth_
of 27,500 tons down to the long, lean destroyers.  In addition there
were numerous trawlers--vessels that a few weeks previously had been at
work off the coasts of Great Britain.  Now, under conditions of
absolute secrecy, these small but weatherly craft had risked the danger
of a passage across the Bay in the early spring, had braved the
"levanters" of the Mediterranean, and had assembled to do their
important but frequently underrated work of clearing the mines to allow
the advance of the battleships to within effective range of the hostile
batteries.

Next morning, according to time-honoured custom, the _Hammerer's_ crew
assembled on the quarter-deck for prayers.  It was a fitting prelude to
the work in hand, for orders had been issued from the flagship for the
fleet to go into action.

A bell tolled.  To the signal yard-arm rose the "Church pennant": red,
white, and blue, with a St. George's Cross on the "fly" or outer half.
As the crew trooped aft, each man decorously saluted the quarter-deck
and fell in; seamen, stokers, and marines forming three sides of a
square, with the officers in the centre, while the "defaulters", few in
number, were mustered separately under the eagle eye of the ship's
police.

In ten minutes the solemn function was over.  The Chaplain disappeared
down the companion; the Captain gave the stereotyped order "Carry on";
the Commander, taking his cue, gave the word "pipe down", and the scene
of devotion gave place to the grim preparation for "Action".

Stanchions, rails, ventilators, anchor-davits disappeared as if by
magic.  Hatches and skylights were battened down and secured by steel
coverings, and everything liable to interfere with the training of the
guns was either ruthlessly thrown overboard or stowed out of sight.
Hoses were coupled up, ready to combat the dreaded result of any shell
that might "get home" and cause fire on board.  All superfluous gear
aloft was sent below; shrouds were frapped to resist shell-fire, and
the fore-top-mast was housed.  The main-topmast, since it supported the
wireless aerials, had perforce to remain.  In less than an hour the
crew, each man working with a set purpose, had transformed the
_Hammerer_ into a gaunt [Transcriber's note: giant?] floating battery.

Dick Crosthwaite's action station was in the for'ard port 6-inch
casemate, an armoured box containing one of the secondary battery guns,
capable of being trained nearly right ahead, and through an arc of 135
degrees to a point well abaft the beam.

The major portion of the casemate was taken up by the gun and its
mountings, while a little to the rear of the weapon, and protected by a
canvas screen, was the ammunition hoist, by which projectiles weighing
100 pounds each were sent up from the fore magazine.  Around the walls
were the voice tubes communicating with the conning-tower, the
magazine, and other portions of the ship, while in addition was a
bewildering array of switches and cased wires in connection with the
lighting of the casemate and the firing mechanism of the gun.  Buckets
of water, for use in case of a conflagration, stood on the floor in
close company with a tub full of barley water, at which the parched men
could slake their thirst.  What little space remained was fully
occupied by the gun's crew, who, stripped to their singlets, were
coolly speculating as to the chances of "losing the number of their
mess".

Strangely enough, no one imagined that he was to be one of the unlucky
ones; it is always his pal or some of his shipmates.  It is an optimism
that is shared equally alike by the Tommies in the trenches and the
Jack Tars at their battle-stations.

Craning his neck, the Sub looked through the gun-port.  It was an
operation that required no small amount of manoeuvring, for the
aperture was barely sufficient to allow the chase of the gun to
protrude, while the armoured mounting left very little space between
its face and the curved wall of the casemate.

The _Hammerer_ was third ship of the port column, for the older
battleships were steering in double column, line ahead.  Preceding the
squadron were the mine-sweepers, covered on either flank by strong
patrols of destroyers.

Ten or twelve miles to the north could be discerned a mountainous and
rocky coast terminating abruptly to the west'ard.  Part of the highland
was in Europe, part in Asia, but where the line of demarcation existed
the Sub was unable to determine.  Somewhere in that wall of rock lay
the entrance to the Dardanelles, but distance rendered the position of
the hostile straits invisible.

Away on the port hand lay the island of Imbros.  Under its lee could be
seen the misty outlines of the _Queen Elisabeth_, _Agamemnon_,
_Irresistible_, and the French battleship _Gaulois_, ready to open a
long-range bombardment of the Turkish batteries.

"Think the beggars will fight when they see this little lot?" asked
Midshipman Sefton.

"Why not?" asked the Sub.

"I hope they will," continued the midshipman.  "Especially after all
this trouble.  The Turk is a funny chap.  See how he crumpled up
against the rest of the Balkan States in 1912."

"On the other hand, the Turkish infantryman in '78 was reckoned one of
the best 'stickers' in Europe," said Dick.  "Under European officers
these fellows will fight pretty gamely, and from all accounts there's a
good leavening of German officers and artillerymen in these forts.
Anyhow, we've got to get through.  We've done it before, you know."

"Yes," admitted Sefton; "in the early nineteenth century, with a fleet
of wooden walls.  Duckworth did a grand thing then.  In '78, when
Hornby went through, the case was different.  The Turks didn't open
fire.  Perhaps they funked it, and that's what makes me think they'll
hesitate at the last moment."

Even as the midshipman spoke there came a peculiar screech that sounded
almost above the armoured roof of the casemate.

The two young officers exchanged glances.

It was the first shell from the battery of Sedd-ul-Bahr.




CHAPTER III

The Demolition Party

A double crash announced that the leading battleship of the British
squadron had opened fire with her foremost 12-inch guns.  In two
minutes the action had become general, the whole of the British and
French pre-Dreadnoughts engaging with their principal armament, for as
yet the range was too great for the 6-inch guns and smaller weapons to
be trained upon the distant defences.

Ahead, the mine-sweepers, "straddled" by the hail of projectiles from
Sedd-ul-Bahr and Kum Kale, as well as from mobile batteries cunningly
concealed in difficult ground, proceeded with slow and grim
determination.  All across them the sea was churned by the ricochetting
shells, while ever and anon a terrific waterspout accompanied by a dull
roar showed that they were making good work in clearing away the
hostile mines.

The Turks, in spite of the huge 12-inch projectiles that hailed
incessantly upon the forts, stood to their guns with fanatical bravery.
Tons of brickwork and masonry would be hurled high in the air, after
taking with them the mangled remains of the Ottoman gunners and
up-ending the Turkish weapon as easily as if it were a mere drain-pipe.
Yet a few minutes later the defenders would bring up a field-piece and
blaze away across the ruins at the nearest of the British mine-sweepers.

"Port 6-inch battery to fire," came the order.

Almost simultaneously the six secondary armament guns added their quota
of death and destruction to the slower crash of the heavier weapons in
the barbettes.

The _Hammerer_ and her consorts were rapidly closing the shore, taking
advantage of the already seriously damaged forts.

It was by no means a one-sided engagement.  Shells from the Turkish
defences were ricochetting all around the British warships or expending
themselves harmlessly against the armoured plating.  Other projectiles
tore through the unprotected sides and upper works.  Well it was that
orders had been given out not to man the 12-pounder quick-firers on the
upper deck.  Had these weapons been used the casualties here must have
been very heavy, for the light battery resembled a scrap-iron store.

Suddenly the men serving the gun in the casemate stopped their rapid
yet deliberate work.  A hostile shell had penetrated the 6-inch side
armour almost under the casemate and had burst close to the lower part
of the foremast.  The shock well-nigh capsized the Sub, and almost
caused the man at the ammunition hoist to drop the hundred-pound shell
that he was in the act of transferring to the breech of the weapon.
Suffocating fumes eddied through the ammunition hoist into the confined
space.  In the dim light men were gasping for breath, expecting every
moment to find the magazine beneath their feet blown up.

"Hoist out of action, sir," reported one of the men, as he threw the
contents of a bucket of water down the choked tube.  Although
everything of a supposedly inflammable nature had been got rid of, the
heat generated by the explosion had been sufficient to start a fire,
and the seat of the conflagration was between the armoured floor of the
casemate and the magazine below the water-line.

"That's done it," ejaculated Dick dejectedly.  It was not on account of
the danger, for the men remained calmly within the casemate, trusting
to the fire-party to extinguish the flames that were perilously close
to the magazine.  He was deploring the fact that the jamming of the
ammunition hoist had deprived his gun of its supply of shells.  The
weapon was as much out of action as if the entire gun's crew had been
annihilated.  It seemed so humiliating to be inactive.

"Number one 6-inch, why are you not firing?" inquired an officer in the
conning-tower through one of the voice tubes.  There was a tinge of
anxiety in his voice.  He had noticed the sudden cessation of fire from
that particular weapon, and it looked ominous.

"Ammunition hoist damaged, sir," replied the Sub.

"Any casualties?"

"No, sir."

"Then stand by."

Dick heard the whistle replaced in the tube as the officer completed
his enquiries.  Then hard-a-port the _Hammerer_ described a semicircle,
in order to bring her as yet unengaged starboard battery into action.

By this time the Turkish reply was but a feeble one.  Pounded by the
direct fire from the pre-Dreadnoughts; shattered by the long-range
high-angle fire of the _Queen Elizabeth_ and the _Invincible_, the
forts were little better than mounds of rubbish.

Already the British warships had penetrated more than two miles up the
formidable Straits, the mine-sweepers performing their difficult task
with the utmost coolness and bravery.  Night was coming on.  All that
could be done was to make sure of the complete reduction of the
southernmost forts, and continue the sweeping operations as a prelude
to a farther advance on the morrow.

Two British seaplanes, hovering at a height of nearly a thousand feet
above the hostile positions, reported by wireless that the Turks were
abandoning their shattered forts.  The opportunity had arrived to
consummate the day's work.  A signal was made from the flagship to land
armed parties.  Joyfully the order was received, for the British seaman
is not content with doing a lot of damage from afar; he must needs see
for himself the result of his efforts.

Still maintaining a steady fire with their secondary batteries, the
ships proceeded to hoist out their boats.  Into these dropped seamen
and marines, armed with rifles and bayonets, Maxims were passed into
the boats, and charges of gun-cotton carefully stowed away for future
use in completing the destruction of the Turkish guns.

"At this rate we'll be through in less than a week," remarked
Midshipman Sefton to Dick, as they sat in the stern-sheets of a launch
packed with armed seamen.  The launch was in tow of a steam pinnace,
while astern of her were two more boats, equally crowded.

"Seems like it," answered Crosthwaite, as he looked towards the rapidly
nearing shore--a wild, precipitous line of rocks, surmounted by a pile
of masonry that a few hours before was one of the strongest points of
defence of the Dardanelles.  "The Commander told me that the
mine-sweepers ought to clear away all the mines as far as the Narrows
within the next twenty-four hours.  It's in the Narrows we're going to
have a tough job."

Without a shot being fired--for the _moral_ of the Turks seemed
crushed--the boats grounded on the shore, and rapidly but in perfect
order the demolition party landed, formed up, and began the difficult
climb to the already sorely battered fort.

"What are you doing here, Sefton?" asked the Sub, observing that the
midshipman was following him.  "Your place is in your boat, you know."

"I asked the Commander's permission," replied Sefton.  "It's not every
day that I get a chance of examining a demolished position."

If the truth be told, Sefton was somewhat disappointed.  He expected a
"bit of a scrap" and a chance to use the heavy Service revolver that he
wore in a large, buff-leather holster.  At present it was of no use; it
was an encumbrance.

"Steady, men," cautioned Crosthwaite, as those of the section under his
orders were pressing forward somewhat recklessly.  "There may be an
ambush."

The warning was justifiable, for the strange silence which brooded over
the hillside was somewhat ominous.  The _Hammerer's_ men had landed in
three parties, two being each under the command of a lieutenant, while
Crosthwaite had the third.  Between these bodies of men there a keen
rivalry as to who should first reach the demolished fort; and as each
was advancing by a separate route and was almost entirely hidden from
the others, the Sub's party had no means of judging the pace of their
friendly competitors.

"'Ware barbed wire."

The men brought up suddenly.  They were approaching the nearmost limit
of the shell-torn ground.  Deep cavities had been made in the rocky
soil by the explosions of the heavy projectiles, yet the outer line of
barbed wire was almost intact.  The posts supporting the obstruction
had been blown to atoms, but the wires were twisted and fused into a
long, single, and almost inflexible coil impervious to the attacks of
the seamen provided with wire-cutters.

A ripping sound, followed by a yell, announced the failure of a burly
bluejacket to wriggle under the obstruction.  Pinned down by the barbed
wire, he was unable to move until his comrades, with a roar of laughter
at his hapless plight, succeeded in extricating him.

"We'll prise it up, sir," exclaimed a petty officer.  "The men can then
wriggle underneath."

"Won't do," objected the Sub firmly.  "It will have to be removed."

Two men advanced with slabs of gun-cotton, but again Dick demurred.

"No explosives to be used in the demolition of obstructions," he
ordered.  "They must be kept for the enemy's guns.  We don't want to
alarm the rest of the landing-party.  Bend a rope there, and half a
dozen of you clap on for all you're worth."

A rope was speedily forthcoming.  The stalwart bluejackets, digging
their heels into the sloping ground, tugged heroically.  The stout wire
sagged, quivered, and resisted their efforts.

The Sub realized that the obstruction must be removed.  Although it was
possible to crawl underneath, as the petty officer had suggested, it
would never do to leave a trap like that between the fort and the shore.
In the event of an ambuscade and a retirement to the boats, delay in
negotiating the entanglements might spell disaster.

Another half a dozen men assisted their comrades.  Still the wire, now
at a terrific tension, showed no signs of being wrenched from its hold.

"All together--heave!"

With a burly "Heave-ho" the dozen bluejackets made a fresh effort.
Balked, they gave a tremendous jerk.  Something had to go, but it was
not the wire.  The rope parted with a crack, and twelve seamen were
struggling in a confused heap on the steep hillside, while little
Sefton, caught by the human avalanche, found himself head over heels in
a particularly aggressive thorn-bush.

"Work round to the right there, and see what the infernal wire is made
fast to!" ordered the Sub impatiently.  "Look alive there, or the
others will be at the top before us."

Four or five men hastened to carry out his commands.  The work was of a
difficult nature, for on either side of the rugged path by which the
party had ascended thus far the ground was precipitous and thickly
dotted with bushes.

Figuratively hanging on by their eyebrows the seamen worked along,
following the course of the aggressive wire, till they were lost to
sight beyond a fantastically shaped boulder.

Suddenly one of the men reappeared.

"Here's a blessed 12-pounder, sir," he announced.  "What are we to do
with it?"

Followed by Midshipman Sefton, who in the excitement caused by this
latest discovery had lost all interest in the painful operation of
extracting thorns from various remote portions of his anatomy,
Crosthwaite hastened to the spot with as much haste as the nature of
the ground would permit.  The rest of the men, with the exception of
those detailed to carry the explosives, also scrambled over the
intervening ground.

A ghastly sight met their gaze.  Beyond the boulder, and screened from
seaward by a partly-burnt cluster of brushwood, was a field-piece.  One
wheel of the carriage had been smashed.  The other was held only by a
few spokes, while the muzzle of the weapon was buried deep in the
ground.  Coiled round the chase and jammed between the trunnion and the
carriage was the end of the barbed wire.  The gun was splattered with
the yellow deposit from the explosion of a British lyddite shell, while
all around lay the mangled bodies of the Turkish artillerymen.  Five
yards to the rear of the damaged weapon were the scanty remains of a
limber.  The same shell that had wrought the destruction of the gun and
the men who served it, had completely exploded the ammunition.

"Smash the breech mechanism!" ordered Dick.

Two of the armourer's crew sprang to the gun for the purpose of
breaking the interrupted screw-thread that locks the breech-block in
the gun.  Their efforts were in vain, for the explosion of the shell
had rendered the breech-block incapable of being moved.

A fresh rope was speedily forthcoming.  Its bight was placed under the
heel of the 12-pounder, and by the united efforts of the seamen the
heavy weapon was up-ended and toppled over the slope.  Crashing through
the brushwood, it rolled and bounded for quite a hundred feet, then
with a resounding splash disappeared underneath the waters of the
Dardanelles.  The remains of the carriage were then hurled over, but,
held up by the barbed wire that had caused so much fruitless effort,
the mass of shattered steel effected a twofold purpose in its fall.  It
swept the cliff path clear of brushwood and brought the barbed wire
into a position that it no longer formed an obstruction.

"This way up, men!" exclaimed Dick, pointing to a fairly broad and easy
path in the rear of the gun emplacement.  The Turks had conducted their
defence with considerable cunning, for midway between the fort and the
shore they had, by great exertion and ingenuity, placed several
field-guns in well-sheltered spots, hoping that while the fire of the
Allies was directed upon the visible batteries, their light pieces
could with comparative impunity deliver a galling fire upon the
mine-sweepers and the covering torpedo-boat destroyers.  Unfortunately
for the enemy the far-reaching effect of the heavy shells had resulted
in the silencing of the concealed weapons, the men serving them being
for the most part slain at their posts.  A few had attempted to escape,
but before they got beyond the danger zone they too were wiped out by
the death-dealing lyddite.

The path Dick had indicated was the one by which the field-pieces had
been lowered from the higher ground.  It was obstructed in several
places by craters torn by the explosion of the British shells, but
these afforded no difficulty to the bluejackets.

Wellnigh breathless with their exertions, they reached the fort only to
find, to their chagrin, that they had been forestalled by their
friendly rivals, for the British flag floated proudly on the captured
position.

So devastating had been the fire from the ships that the fort was
little better than a shattered heap of brickwork and masonry.
Armour-plated shields had been rent like paper, guns of immense size
been dismounted and hurled aside like straws.  Bodies of the devoted
Ottoman garrison lay in heaps.  Everything was smothered with a
yellowish hue from the deadly lyddite and melanite.  Yet several of the
huge 80-ton guns were seemingly serviceable.  These had to be rendered
totally useless by means of slabs of gun-cotton placed well within the
muzzle and fired electrically.

Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite was studiously engaged in making a rough
plan of the fort when Sefton, his soot-grimed face red with excitement,
approached him.

"I believe I've found a magazine or something, sir," he exclaimed.
"It's a funny sort of shop--like a tunnel.  There are half a dozen
Turks there----"

"Eh?" ejaculated Dick incredulously.

"Dead as door-nails," Sefton hastened to explain.  "They look as if
they had been suffocated.  But the air's pure enough down there now."

Placing his notebook in his pocket, the Sub walked with Sefton across
the littered open space in the centre of the fort till they came to a
salient angle that faced the northern or landward side.  Here the
rubble rose to a height of about twenty feet.  In places the wall,
composed of armour-plate and concrete, had been riven from top to
bottom, huge slabs of masonry being held up only by mutual support.  On
the top of the debris were half a dozen bluejackets, taking advantage
of the daylight that still remained in flag-wagging a message to one of
the destroyers.

"Here's the show," announced Sefton, pointing to a narrow passage
between two immense artificial boulders.

At one time the opening had been much wider, and had been provided with
stone steps, but the irresistible shock had contracted the passage, and
had buried most of the steps under a heap of rubble.

"We want a lantern for the job," observed Dick.  "How did you manage to
see?  You ought not to have gone on an exploring expedition without
someone accompanying you."

"I've brought my electric torch," said the midshipman, studiously
ignoring the latter portion of the Sub's remarks.

Unnoticed by the signalling party, the two young officers descended.
For twenty yards they had to exercise considerable effort in order to
negotiate the bulging sides, but beyond this the passage opened to a
width of nearly six feet.

"Mind where you tread," cautioned Sefton, flashing his lamp on the
ground.  "They are not dangerous, but it isn't pleasant."

Either lying on the stone floor or propped up in a sitting position
against the wall were the bodies of several Turkish infantrymen.  Most
of them were tunicless, while half a dozen 100-pounder shells lying on
the ground showed that these men were engaged in bringing ammunition
from the magazine when death in the form of lyddite fumes overtook
them.  There were no visible marks of wounds, so it was fairly safe to
conclude that no shell had burst within the tunnel.  Further, it showed
that somewhere underneath the ruined fort was a still intact store of
projectiles which would have to be rendered useless to the Turks before
the demolition party returned to their ship.

"Didn't those fellows give you a turn?" enquired Dick.

"A bit at first," admitted the midshipman.  "Then when I realized that
if they had meant mischief they would have plugged me long before I saw
them, I began to think something was wrong with them--and there was."

For nearly a hundred feet the passage zigzagged.  With the exception of
the dip near the main entrance the floor was almost level.  At
intervals were niches covered with steel slabs.  The place had been
electrically lighted, but owing to the destruction of the power-house
the lamps were extinguished.  Sefton's surmise was correct.  It was a
magazine, for the peculiar pattern of the electric bulbs in their
double glass coverings told Dick the reason for the precaution.

"This is as far as I have been," announced Sefton, pointing to a heavy
canvas screen.

"Then we had better both go carefully," added Dick, drawing his
revolver, an example that the midshipman eagerly hastened to follow.
"Don't go letting rip, mind, without you want to blow the whole crowd
of us to pieces.  Use your revolver as a moral persuader if there
should be any of the enemy skulking here."

Telling the midshipman to keep close to the wall, and to hold the torch
at arm's-length with the rays directed into the unexplored part of the
tunnel, Dick pulled aside the curtain, half-expecting to find himself
confronted by a dozen more or less intimidated ammunition-bearers.

The place was deserted.

"We'll carry on," said the Sub.  "By Jove, what a big show!  Absolutely
shell-proof, I should imagine."

"I can only just hear the row outside," added the midshipman, as the
muffled reports of the guncotton explosions showed that the demolition
party were doing their work thoroughly.

The magazine was a vault hewn out of the solid rock.  It had evidently
been in existence for some years, certainly before the modernizing of
the fortifications.  The ammunition stowed here consisted of shells for
the smaller quick-firers, as the absence of tram-lines for conveying
the projectiles that were too heavy to man-handle proved.

"Krupp ammunition," reported Sefton, flashing his torch upon the base
of one of the brass cylinders.  "My word, when our fellows bust that
lot up, won't the Turks feel a bit sick!"

"We'll get the men to bring the firing-charges as soon as possible,"
said Dick.  "If we had known of this before, it would have saved no end
of work.  There would have been no need to have destroyed every gun
singly."

"Can't say I envy the fellow who has to fire the stuff," added Sefton.
"Hello, what's that?"

The noise of the detonating charges had ceased.  Instead came the
unmistakable crackle of rifle-firing.

"Look alive!" ordered the Sub.  "Our fellows are being attacked."

Brushing aside the canvas screen the two officers made their way along
the tunnel as swiftly as the dancing beams of the midshipman's torch
permitted.

Before they reached the rise leading to the open air there was a
terrific concussion.  A waft of hot, pungent fumes bore down upon Dick
and his companion.  They were compelled to stop, almost choking in the
stifling atmosphere.  The rays from the torch failed to penetrate the
dense brownish cloud of smoke and dust.

"Carry on," spluttered Dick; then noticing that the midshipman seemed
on the point of asphyxiation, he seized the torch and, dragging his
companion, made for the open air.

Suddenly he came to an abrupt halt.  The gap between the crumbling
walls no longer existed.  They were trapped.




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.

[Illustration: "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?




CHAPTER VII

The "Hammerer's" Whaler

Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite  was on the horns of a dilemma.  His orders
were to attempt the rescue of the crew of the mine-sweeper; he was also
told to act in concert with the whaler of the _Tremendous_.  The latter
was nowhere in sight.  Which ought he to do?  Proceed to the wreck, or
go in search of the missing boat?

He made up his mind quickly.  The trawler, although badly damaged, did
not appear to be breaking up.  If any of her crew were on board, having
survived the breakers thus far, they ought to be able to hold on a
little longer.  He would search for the other whaler, or at least
communicate the news of her being missing to Lieutenant Bourne and
leave the two gigs to take up the search.

"If she's capsized she'll drop dead to leeward," declared Midshipman
Farnworth, referring to the lost boat.  "We'll back in, sir; I think
that will be the best way."

"Certainly," agreed Dick cordially.  He realized that the midshipman
knew what he was about.  Under the circumstances it was the safest way.

Watching for an opportunity when a "smooth" occurred between the heavy
crested seas, the midshipman contrived to get his boat's bows on to the
general direction of the waves, which, owing to the shoaling of the
depth, were almost on the point of breaking.  A cauldron of foaming
water stretched dead to leeward, and towards it the _Hammerer's_ whaler
was slowly backed, the men ready at the hurried word of command to pull
ahead directly a particularly vicious breaker bore down.

Although a smart look-out was kept, no sign of the _Tremendous's_ boat
was to be seen.  It was like looking for the proverbial needle in a
haystack, for, although the outlines of the encircling cliffs could be
discerned against the rain-laden sky, objects on the water would be
most difficult to distinguish even at a comparatively short distance.

"This is as far as we dare go," remarked the Sub.  "We'll be fairly in
broken water if we drift in any farther.  There's no sign of the boat
and her crew."

Bidding the men "give way", Dick awaited developments with certain
misgivings.  His expectations were presently to be realized, for the
rowers, already exhausted by their efforts, were powerless to make the
boat gain a foot.  For twenty minutes they stuck gamely to their oars,
driving the long, narrow craft through the crested waves, yet, owing to
the force of the wind and the send of the sea, it seemed impossible to
gain an offing.

Meanwhile, all unbeknown to the _Hammerer's_ whaler, the boat of which
they were in search had accomplished her errand.  The heavy waves that
had accounted for the two whalers becoming separated had smashed three
oars of the _Tremendous's_ whaler.  Before the spare ones could be
substituted and the water baled out, the light craft had drifted many
yards to leeward.

The Sub-lieutenant in charge, actuated by a sense of rivalry, took
unnecessary risks in keeping his boat almost broadside on to the waves,
merely turning her nose into the worst of the breakers.

Unseen and unheard, the boat under Crosthwaite's orders backed within
fifty yards astern of her, and while the _Hammerer's_ whaler was going
to leeward in a vain attempt to find her consort, the object of her
search came in sight of the wreck.

Boarding on the lee side, the Sub in charge of the _Tremendous's_
whaler succeeded in getting the whole of the mine-sweeper's crew into
his boat, and, dangerously overladen, the whaler began her bid for
safety.  More by good luck than by good management the party crossed
the dangerous bay, and having fallen in with the two gigs, the rescued
men were distributed between the boats.

"Seen anything of the _Hammerer's_ whaler?" asked Lieutenant Bourne
anxiously, for, until the transhipment of the major portion of the
trawler's people was being effected, he was under the impression that
Dick and his crew were following in the wake of the other boat.

The Sub-lieutenant had to reply that he had not.

Bourne did not give way to recriminations.  It not a time for
reproaches.  Ordering a rocket to be fired, he led his little flotilla
from under the lee of the reef and awaited a recognition of his signal.

"There's the gig signalling, sir!" exclaimed one of the seamen to Dick.
"They'll be coming to look for us."

"Pity them if they did," thought the Sub grimly, as he groped for the
flashing-lamp under the stern-sheets.

Holding the lamp well above his head, for owing to the erratic motion
of the boat he was unable to stand up, Dick made the preparation
signal--a series of short flashes.  This was promptly answered, but
from the fact that the light was frequently interrupted, the Sub knew
that the intervening waves made the chances of an intelligible signal
very remote.

"Close on a lee shore," he morsed.  "Do not proceed to our assistance.
Propose to beach boat and proceed to rendezvous by the beach."

Back came the reply:

"Am proceeding to your assistance."

"Hang it!" ejaculated Dick.  "They've missed the 'Do not'.  I'll try
again."

Before he could get the lamp in position a ripple of flashes burst
through the darkness, followed by the sharp crackle of musketry.
Bullets began to fall perilously near to the boat.

"That's done it," continued Crosthwaite.  "The light's drawn the
enemy's fire."

"Do not proceed to our assistance; no assistance required," signalled
the Sub, deliberately making a redundancy in order that there would be
less possibility of a further misreading.

"I understand," came the reply in Morse; then the light vanished.
Already it had shared the attention of the fire of the Turkish troops.

The Sub looked at the jaded expressions on the faces of his men.  They
were almost "done up".  Clearly they could not row much longer.

"My lads!" he exclaimed.  "We're in a tight corner, but we won't go
under tamely.  Back her in, and we'll see if we can't send those
fellows to the right-about."

At the prospect of a scrap the boat's crew forgot their fatigue.
Promptly they began to back the whaler towards the shore.

"Unship the rudder," ordered the Sub.  "Two oars will be sufficient to
give her way.  The rest of you look to your small-arms.  Keep the
sight-protectors on your rifles until you're ashore."

One thing--a most important business--Dick did not forget to do.  He
hurled the signal-book over the side.  Heavily weighted, it sank like a
stone.  Happen what may, the enemy would not gain possession of that
highly important and confidential manual.

Carried at a great rate by wind and waves, the doomed whaler was not
long in striking bottom.  Her heel hit a rock with tremendous force,
while her bows, lifted by a heavy wave, shot up clear of the water,
throwing several of the crew off their thwarts.  Then, surging
broadside on, the boat was filled with the next wave and hurled on her
side upon the beach.

Agilely, and without sustaining any injuries, the officers and men
leapt clear of the boat, and struggling through the "undertow" as the
wave receded from the beach, succeeded in gaining the shore.
Instinctively they took cover and waited for orders.

The men found themselves on a broad, gently shelving beach interspersed
by clusters of weather- and sea-worn rocks.  Between the fringe of the
breakers and the base of the cliffs was a distance of nearly fifty
yards.  The sea being practically tideless, there was no danger of
being cut off by the water.

Two hundred feet or more above, the Turkish soldiers on the summit of
the cliff were still blazing away in the supposed direction of the
boats, which had now rowed well clear of the bullet-flecked patch of
angry water.  The landing of the _Hammerer's_ whaler had been unnoticed
by them in the darkness and confusion, while fortunately Dick did not
precipitate matters by giving orders to his men to open fire.

For quite five minutes the whaler's crew kept under cover; till,
finding that they were not the mark of the Ottoman fire, the Sub gave
the word for the men to advance until they reached the base of the
cliff.

"All present?" asked Dick.  "Any man injured?"

"All correct, sir," replied the coxswain.  "Two rifles are missing, but
Job Trayner and Bill Symes brought the ammunition chest ashore."

"Well done!" exclaimed Crosthwaite.

It was indeed fortunate that, even in the midst of peril when the boat
struck, the two seamen had had the courage and forethought to bring
ashore the small teak case containing the small-arms ammunition;
equally so that most of the men had secured their pouches, which,
during their arduous efforts to gain headway, had been laid aside.

"Follow me, my lads!" said the Sub.  "All being well, another half an
hour will see us safely in the boats."

It was not easy going, for at every five or six yards a projecting
ridge of rock had either to be skirted or surmounted--a task rendered
doubly difficult by the darkness and the slippery state of the ground
caused by the heavy downpour of rain.

Presently Dick came to an abrupt halt and held up his hand.  The single
line of men stopped, some gripping their rifles in anticipation of an
attack.

The young officer found his progress barred by a small creek or gully
that extended into a ravine, and evidently received a river or stream,
for there was a considerable amount of water running towards the sea.

It was imperative that this inlet should be crossed, but the Sub
hesitated: not that he was loath to attempt to swim the stretch of
intervening water, for already he was soaking owing to the dash through
the surf.  The nature of the opposite bank was the difficulty, for as
far as he could make out in the darkness, the stream had worked the
rocks smooth, and a ledge of stone quite five feet above the surface
offered a wellnigh impassable barrier to a swimmer to draw himself
clear of the water and surmount.

"I'll see what it is like, sir," volunteered Trayner.  "Maybe it's not
so bad as it looks."

The man lowered himself into the water and struck out.  By dint of
swimming obliquely upstream he contrived to gain the other side almost
opposite the place where the others waited.  Both up and down stream he
swam for a considerable distance, till the Sub cautiously ordered him
to return.

"Felt like a mouse in half a bucket of water, sir," explained Trayner.
"Sides are as smooth as a ship's sides--p'r'aps worse.  I'll have
another shot a little way up the creek."

"You've done enough for the present, Trayner," said Dick, noticing the
strained look about the man's eyes.  "Two of you work away to the left
and two to the right.  Return as smartly as you can, and report."

The men went off, leaving Dick and the main party literally to cool
their heels by the side of the baffling gully.  Presently the pair who
had gone towards the opening of the creek returned with the information
that there was a shallow bar where the stream joined the sea, and that
it was easy to ford.

Before they had finished their report the other two reappeared.

"There's a way over about a couple of hundred yards up, sir," announced
one.  "There's a path on either side of this gully, and, what's more,
the one on this side goes up towards the top of the cliff.  Looks as If
it's used a goodish bit, sir.  If I might make so bold as to suggest,
sir----"

"Carry on, Webb."

"There's a wholesome type o' craft lying alongside--wholesome as boats
along these parts, sir.  She's felucca-rigged.  P'r'aps if we could cut
her out----"

"It's dead to windward, and as there's a bar at the entrance we
couldn't get her across in heavy weather," objected Crosthwaite.
"We'll push on, or we'll find the boats gone when we arrive at the
rendezvous."

Traversing the fifty yards of rocky beach, the men reached the spot
where the bar crossed the entrance.  Here the danger arose of being
spotted by the Turks on the cliff, for even in the darkness the
milk-white foam showed up distinctly and made a bad background to the
moving seamen.  Yet one thing was in their favour.  The attention of
the troops seemed to be wholly directed upon a supposed target in the
centre of the bay.

"One at a time, men; don't----"

Dick broke off as the giant beam of a powerful search-light flung its
long arm athwart the bay.  The Turks, well supplied by modern
accessories of war, had brought up a portable search-light mounted on a
motor-lorry, the wheels of which were specially adapted to traversing
difficult ground.

The Sub realized that it was neck or nothing.  If his party did not
cross at once while the beam trying to pick up the object at which the
riflemen had been firing so long, the search-light would be trained
upon the beach, so that in the event of a landing being effected, the
Turks could make their dispositions accordingly.  On the other hand,
the search-light would reveal the presence of the three boats at the
rendezvous, with the result that Lieutenant Bourne would have to push
off without waiting for the crew of the _Hammerer's_ whaler.

Undiscovered, the boat's crew succeeded in wading along the bar,
frequently waist-deep in foam.  From this point the remaining portion
of the beach presented but little difficulty.  There were obstructions
in the shape of rocks and little streams making their way to the sea,
but nothing of a serious nature.  After three-quarters of an hour's
smart marching the men arrived at the rendezvous on the under the lee
of Bender Dagh Point.

The boats had left.  Dick and his party were stranded upon a hostile
shore.




CHAPTER VIII

A Prisoner of War

The men took their misfortune with the utmost composure.  Some of them
exchanged witticisms, regarding the business in the light of having
gone ashore on leave and having missed the "liberty boat".  One thing
they regretted was not being able to smoke, since the glimmer of a
match might draw the enemy's fire; so they "stood easy" under the
shelter of an overhanging rock and chewed "Navy Plug", while the Sub
and the midshipman discussed the situation.

"Bourne has evidently come to the conclusion that the boat's crew have
lost the number of their mess," remarked Dick.  "When one comes to
consider matters, it is not surprising."  And he pointed to the turmoil
of broken water in Yenikeui Bay.  "It is just possible that the Admiral
will send a destroyer to investigate as soon as it gets daylight; but
the question is, how are they going to pick us up under fire?"

"We can only hang on, sir," replied Farnworth.  "Perhaps the Turks will
clear out at sunrise, and we will be able to see if the boat's capable
of floating.  Should the sea moderate, it ought to be easy."

"I don't believe in hanging on," said Dick.  "I think the wind's
veering.  It was almost due south, now it's sou'-east.  Unless I'm much
mistaken it will settle down to east'ard, and the sea on the other side
of the bay will go down considerably."

"And then, sir?"

"We'll collar that craft our fellows discovered in the creek.  From
their accounts I should imagine it to be a felucca.  They're fine,
weatherly craft, and with the wind abeam she ought to skip over the bar
like greased lightning.  I'll get the men on the move."

Under the circumstances Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite did not believe in
giving orders without explaining to the boat's crew his intentions.
Calling the men to attention, he briefly outlined his plan of
operation.  Were it not for the necessity for silence, the seamen would
have cheered; instead, they showed by the grim expression on their
faces that they would willingly follow their young officer, and trust
implicitly to his good judgment.

"That's a blessing!" ejaculated Farnworth as the hostile search-light
was switched off.  "Those fellows evidently have come to the conclusion
that they've been had."

Dick was not so sanguine.  It might be possible that the projector
required adjustment, and the beam had to be shut off in consequence.
But after an interval of five minutes, during which time there were no
signs of activity on the part of the Turks--for their rifle-fire had
died away shortly after the arrival of the boat's crew at the
rendezvous--he concluded that it would be fairly safe to order the
party to retrace their steps.

The Sub's prognostics concerning the change of wind had become
verified.  It now blew directly into the faces of the party, the
stinging rain adding to their discomforts.  Already the small streams
through which they had previously waded with the water a little above
their ankles were now more than knee-deep, and momentarily increasing
in volume and impetuosity.

Suddenly, while climbing over an exceptionally slippery ledge of rock,
Dick's feet slipped from under him.  Making a vain and frantic attempt
to obtain a grip, he fell a distance of six or seven feet, his boots
clattering on the stones.  Before he could rise he was astounded to
hear a challenge.

Twenty paces from him could be distinguished the figures of about a
score of Turkish troops.

The British seamen acted promptly.  They realized that now there was no
going back.  Over the ledge they dropped, and, as Dick regained his
feet, the men waited only to fix bayonets, then with their officers
charged the foe.

They were greeted by a ragged volley that did no damage, most of the
bullets ringing overhead.  Not caring to wait for cold steel that
glittered ominously in the dim light, the Ottomans broke and fled.

As they did so they were greeted by a fusillade from others of their
countrymen on the beach and from the summit of the cliff.  In the
succession of lurid flashes Dick's eye caught sight of a field-piece
partly concealed by a breastwork of stones.

Calling for his men to empty their magazines in rapid volleys that
completely deceived the enemy as to the number that opposed them, the
Sub led the boat's crew to the attack.

With a rousing British cheer that outvoiced the rattle of musketry the
impetuous seamen obeyed.  A tough tussle, an interchange of bayonet
thrusts, and the Turks momentarily melted away, leaving the field-piece
in the hands of the meagre boat's crew.

"What shall we do with this 'ere gun, sir?" a stalwart bluejacket.
"Slew 'er round and give 'em a dose?"

Before the Sub could reply, the search-light flooded the scene with its
dazzling rays.  Almost simultaneously came the tap-tap-tap of a Maxim,
and a sheaf of bullets whizzing overhead and splitting the rocks behind
with fragments of nickel.

"Disable the gun!" shouted Dick.  "Take the trail lever, one of you."

With a quick movement the Sub opened the breech-block.  A sailor seized
the lever with which the Turkish Krupps are trained in a horizontal
plane.  Poising the steel bar above his head, the man brought it down
with tremendous force upon the out-swung piece of mechanism.  The
interrupted thread, deeply dented by the blow, was rendered useless,
while the breech-block itself, partly wrenched from its massive hinges,
was for the time being incapable of service.

Already three of the small party were shot down.  To retire was to
court annihilation in the form of a scythe-like hail of Maxim bullets
that swept the ridge behind: a barrier that had to be surmounted if
escape were contemplated in that direction.  To remain where they were
meant being under a galling fire from the cliffs, and with very little
natural protection from the surrounding ground.  A third solution
remained: to advance and sell their lives dearly.

Thrusting his revolver into his holster, Dick picked up the rifle and
bayonet of one of the fallen men and shouted to the party to advance.

Taking full advantage of every little bit of natural cover the men
pressed forward, firing as rapidly as they could recharge and empty
their magazines.

Still uncertain of the number that opposed them, and thinking that the
attack was part of a landing in force, the Turks gave way until their
retrograde movement was checked by fresh bodies of troops hastening to
repel the threatened assault.

Into the midst of the scene of confusion--for Turk was fighting Turk in
the opposing movement of the disorganized throng--Dick and his handful
of men hurled themselves.

Partly dazzled by the search-light which was playing obliquely upon the
mêlée from the high ground, the Sub set about him like a young Berserk.
A blow from the butt-end of a Turkish rifle shattered his bayonet close
to the hilt.  Gripping his rifle by the muzzle end of the barrel, Dick
swung it right and left, clearing a gap in the dense ranks of his
assailants.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of young Farnworth putting
up a stiff fight with three tall and muscular Turks, while a few feet
away from the midshipman was a German officer in the act of levelling
his revolver, and awaiting an opportunity of firing at the plucky
British lad.

Down swung Dick's rifle, purposely missing his antagonist's guard.
Shortening the weapon, the Sub dashed it into the Turk's face, then
drawing his revolver, fired three shots in rapid succession at the
fez-bedecked Teuton.

"That's settled your little game, you brute," thought Dick savagely, as
the German pitched forward on his face.  Hitherto the Sub had fought
for fighting's sake.  He bore no particular animosity against any of
his Moslem antagonists, but the sight of the German standing out of
immediate danger and awaiting an opportunity to coolly pick off the
midshipman, directly he was not masked by his immediate foes, had
aroused Dick's deepest ire.

When he looked again young Farnworth was no longer standing.  The lad
had been overcome by the numerical superiority of his attackers.

Again and again Dick fired, till the hammer of his revolver falling
with a dull click told him that the weapon was empty.  Hurling it at
the near-most of his foes, the Sub stooped to regain his rifle.  As he
did so a stalwart Bashi Bazouk struck him a heavy blow on the head with
the butt-end of his gun, and without a groan Dick fell within a yard of
the body of his brother officer.

It was broad daylight when the Sub recovered his senses.  He found
himself lying in a large, whitewashed room, the walls of which were of
immense thickness and pierced on one side by four narrow pointed
windows, through which the sun was pouring fiercely.

He was stretched upon a low bed.  Close beside him was Midshipman
Farnworth, his head almost enveloped in bandages.

The only other occupant of the room a tall, sinewy man dressed in the
uniform of a Turkish seaman--jumper and trousers very similar to those
worn by the British tar, and a dark-red fez.  He had discarded his
boots and wore a pair of scarlet soft-leather slippers.

"How can do?" he asked, seeing that Dick bestirring himself.

"Where am I?" demanded the Sub.

"Plis'ner of war.  You in Fort Medjidieh.  Me good man.  Help Englis
officer.  How can do?"

"Get me something to drink then," said Dick, for his throat was burning
like a limekiln.

"No beer, no have got," declared the Turk imperturbably.

"Confound the fellow!  He evidently imagines that British subjects
drink nothing but beer," thought the Sub.  "No, I don't want beer," he
aloud; "bring me something cool--cold--not hot, savvy?"

"Me--Ahmed Djezzar--go.  Me your fliend," announced the man; and
placing his hand over his heart and bowing subserviently, he
noiselessly glided out of the room, locking the door as soon as he was
outside.

"Rummy proceedings, 'pon my soul," soliloquized Dick.  "The fellow says
I'm a prisoner of war.  I suppose he's right; but there's one thing to
be said: up to the present they have treated me pretty decently.  The
Turks are streets above the Germans in the way they handle their
prisoners.  I wonder what the game is?"

Taking into consideration the dirty and untidy habits of the Turks, the
room was fairly clean and presentable.  If his informant was right,
Dick Crosthwaite was now in a portion of one of the fortresses actually
on The Narrows, and roughly twenty-one miles from Yenikeui.  During the
interval between the times of his having been rendered unconscious in
the affray on the beach and of recovering his senses, he had been
carried over hilly roads running practically parallel to the Asiatic
shores of the Dardanelles.

Why his captors should have gone to this trouble he knew not.  He could
only come to the conclusion that, fearing a landing in force to the
south of Kum Kale, they had removed their prisoners to quarters where
for the time being they were not likely to be recaptured.

Propping himself up by his elbow Dick listened intently.  To his
intense disappointment he heard no sounds of guns--not even a distant
rumble.  Did it mean the operations had been abandoned?

He began wondering what had happened to the rest of the boat's crew;
why his captors should have detailed a Turkish bluejacket to attend the
two wounded officers; and why Ahmed Djezzar had so vehemently expressed
himself as being a friend.  These and a hundred other thoughts flashed
through his mind, until his reveries were interrupted by the
reappearance of the Turk bearing a metal tray on which was a brass cup
and a jug filled with sherbet water.

Dick drank eagerly.  As he did so a faint suspicion that the liquid
might be poisoned entered his brain, only to be quickly dismissed,
since he recognized that if his captors had wished to dispose of him
they had already had ample opportunities.  Nevertheless the sherbet
water was drugged, and it had the result of sending the Sub to sleep
for several hours.

He awoke, feeling considerably refreshed, to find that young Farnworth
was sitting up in bed and regarding him with eagerness.

"Thought you'd never wake up, sir," he remarked.  "You've been sleeping
heavily for at least twelve hours."

"How are you feeling?" asked Dick.

"Pretty rotten," admitted the midshipman.  "Head feels like a block of
wood.  But it isn't that: it's the beastly knowledge that we are off
the fun for the time being."

"You put up a jolly stiff fight, anyhow."

"I did my best," replied Farnworth modestly; "but it's beastly
humiliating being collared like this, and not knowing how things are
going.  There's a Turkish bluejacket hanging about----"

"I know," said Dick.  "A fellow who made a point of stating that he was
our friend.  Why I can't make out."

"He tells me we've had a proper set-back," continued the midshipman
wearily.  "Of course I don't know whether he's telling the truth or
not, but he swears that the Turks have captured one of our submarines."

"Rot!" ejaculated Crosthwaite derisively.  "Captured?  Not a bit of it.
It's a lie."

"Anyway there was a lot of heavy firing about five hours ago.  It only
lasted twenty minutes.  The fellow swears that the submarine was
stranded, and that they've captured officers and crew.  The Turks hope
to get the vessel off and take her to Constantinople."

Dick looked serious.  He had seen enough of war to know that often the
improbable does happen, yet he could not understand how a British
submarine could have been taken.  Why should it have got into shoal
water at all? he wondered.

Just then Ahmed entered, accompanied by a "hakim" or native doctor.
The latter, although unable to speak English, could converse fluently
in French, a language with which both the Sub and the midshipman were
well acquainted.

Deftly the doctor unbound Dick's head and examined the contused
scalp-wound.  Then he did a like office to Farnworth, chatting affably
the while on all kinds of subjects, the war excepted.  Try as he would,
without going straight to the point, Dick could not bring the doctor to
say a word relating to the hostilities.

"You are both progressing nicely," he declared.  "By the day after
to-morrow you will be fit to go out and take the air."

No sooner had the medical man left than Ahmed took up his parable:

"Me want to help Englis officers," he said.  "Me good Ottoman and no
like the Germans.  We fight.  Why?  Because they make us.  All fault of
Young Turks.  German officers, they bad mans.  Some time I shoot one in
de back."

He paused to watch the result of his pro-British declaration.  Finding
that his listeners showed no signs of enthusiasm over his plans for
ridding the world of at least one German officer, Ahmed continued:

"Me know plenty Englis officers, when dey was in the Ottoman Navy.  All
gone now--hard cheese.  Why you laugh?"

"I was only smiling at your wonderful knowledge of the English
language," replied Farnworth.

"Yaas--wonerful, dat is so.  Now I tell you dis; de German General, von
Sanders, ordered you plis'ners to be sent to Skutari.  Telim Pasha, he
say 'no'.  Telim Pasha friend of Englis and of Ahmed Djezzar.  When
Englis army come: how many soldiers?"

Ahmed raised his eyebrows inquiringly.  The Sub shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied shortly.

"P'laps twenty tousand?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

For a brief instant Ahmed showed signs of disappointment.

"Dey come soon?" he asked.

"I cannot tell," replied Dick, beginning to feel nettled by the
fellow's inquisitiveness.  "Now, clear out; we want to have a rest."

The man obeyed.  As before he locked the door after him.  Directly the
door clicked Dick sprang swiftly and noiselessly out of bed, crossed
the room, and placed his ear to the keyhole.  Hearing nothing, he
peered through the narrow slit;  then with a grim smile on his face he
returned to his bed, at the same time holding up a warning finger to
check the mystified midshipman's enquiry.

"Hello!  There's a sea-plane!" exclaimed Dick about a quarter of an
hour later.  He hastened to one of the windows, while Farnworth,
walking unsteadily from the effects of his injuries, took up his stand
at an adjoining one.

The whirr of the aerial propellers grew louder and louder.  The Turkish
soldiers, lolling about in the courtyard within the fort, overcame
their lethargy sufficiently to raise their heads and follow the course
of the aeroplane.

Presently it passed almost overhead, proceeding in a south-westerly
direction.  It was flying low--at about two hundred feet.  On the under
side of the main plane were two red crescents--the distinguishing marks
of the Turkish air-craft.

Hearing the whirr of the blades, other soldiers hurried from the
buildings.  Amongst them were two German officers.

The latter waited until the sea-plane was out of sight; then, allowing
their swords to clank noisily over the stones, they walked towards the
opposite side of the quadrangle, the Turkish soldiers standing stiffly
at attention as they did so.

At that moment someone hailed them.

Turning on their heels the officers retraced their steps.  Curiosity
prompted Dick to crane his head to follow their movements.  Not
altogether to his surprise he discovered that the owner of the
peremptory voice was the self-styled Ahmed Djezzar.  In spite of being
in the uniform of a Turkish bluejacket the two Germans saluted.

"No luck," he reported, speaking in German--a language that, after many
mentally and bodily painful hours at school and a subsequent "roasting"
at Osborne and Dartmouth, Dick could follow, with comparative ease.
"No luck.  The English swine do not seem communicative.  I'll try them
again; then, if that fails, we'll take other measures."




CHAPTER IX

In Captivity

"You were wondering what I was doing just now," Dick.

"When you tiptoed to the door?" asked Farnworth.

"Yes.  I couldn't explain at the time, because friend Ahmed had his ear
glued to the keyhole.  He's not listening now.  He's just had two
German officers kow-towing to him."

"Eh?" ejaculated the midshipman incredulously.

"Fact!  I had my suspicions, and now they are fully confirmed.  The
fellow's name is no more Ahmed Djezzar than mine is.  He's a German.
You noticed he was very persistent in asking questions about the
British Expeditionary Force in the Dardanelles?"

"Yes, sir; and you jolly well boomed him off.  He didn't appear to like
it."

"He's got some infernal scheme under way.  He's just told the other
fellows, who are evidently inferior in rank to him in spite of his rig
as a Turkish bluejacket, that he hasn't been at all successful at
pumping us, up to the present, but that he means to have another shot
at it.  Failing this, he hints at strong measures, so we must be
prepared to undergo a little discomfort."

"What do you propose to do, sir?"

"Let him have it hot if he starts his 'Me friend of Englis officers'.
This room would be all right for half a dozen rounds.  I think I could
alter the shape of his figurehead.  Hello, there's that seaplane
returning, and, by Jove, they're firing!"

The officers rushed to the windows once more.  Although they could not
see immediately overhead, they had a fairly comprehensive view of the
sky from west through north to north-east.

The courtyard was now filled with Turkish soldiers and sailors, all
roused at the noise of the approaching air-craft.  Most of them had
their rifles and were preparing to open fire, while upon the broad
rampart on the far side men were making ready with a couple of
anti-aircraft guns.

"One of our sea-planes in pursuit, I think," observed Farnworth
excitedly.

"I think you're right.  Hello--here's the Turkish aeroplane."

The monoplane was travelling fast in a northerly direction.  The pilot
was not visible, but the observer had faced about and was firing with a
rifle at the pursuer, which had not yet come within the British
officers' range of vision.

Even as Dick and his companion watched, a bullet cut through a pair of
tension wires to the right-hand main plane.  The sea-plane started to
bank, slipped, and fell sideways like a wounded bird.  More and more it
tilted till both pilot and observer were flung from their seats.

Frantically grasping the thin air they dropped with ever-increasing
velocity, till their line of descent was hidden by the intervening
buildings; but the officers distinctly heard two separate thuds as the
bodies struck the earth.

With its propeller still revolving rapidly, the disabled monoplane
described erratic curves.  Suddenly the Turkish soldiers bolted for
dear life, as the uncontrollable air-craft plunged almost vertically
downwards into the courtyard.  With a fearful crash it landed twenty
yards from the window at which the Sub and his companion had taken
stand.  The litter of framework and canvas trailed on the ground like
the gear of a dismasted racing yacht; then, as the petrol took fire, a
column of flame rose fifty feet in the air.

"There she is!" almost shouted the midshipman.

Less than two hundred feet above Fort Medjidieh glided a large biplane.
The motor had been switched off, for the crew had vol-planed down from
a far greater height in order to make sure of their work.

"A Frenchman!" ejaculated Crosthwaite, for the tricolours on the under
side of the main planes were clearly visible.  "Hope he'll drop a
couple of heavy bombs upon these ragamuffins.  I'd be quite willing to
the risk of any pieces hitting me."

The courtyard was now deserted, but from the doors and windows abutting
on the open space, red-fezzed Turks peeped timorously, some of them
plucking up courage to fire at the daring sea-plane.  As for the crews
of the anti-aircraft guns, they scurried off without letting fly a
single round.  The two German officers who had been conversing with the
so-called Ahmed tried to restrain them, but in vain.  One of the
officers then began to train the nearest gun, but he, too, thought
better of it, for holding his sword to prevent himself being tripped
up, he ignominiously ran for shelter.

By this time the biplane had restarted its motor and was banking
steeply.  None of the shots fired at it had taken effect, nor did the
aeroplane attempt to drop any bombs.  Apparently its mission had been
to chase the inquisitive Turkish monoplane, and to observe the nature
of the defences of Fort Medjidieh.  Having thrice circled over the
hostile position with contemptuous indifference to the desultory
fusillade, it returned towards its base.

Directly it turned tail the Turkish infantrymen and artillerymen issued
from their shelters in swarms, and for five minutes--long after the
French air-craft was out of range--a terrific waste of ammunition
testified to the tardy zeal of the Ottoman soldiery.

During this time Dick saw nothing of Ahmed.  The Teuton--for such he
was--had made himself scarce.  Nor did he put in an appearance during
the rest of the day, the evening meal being brought in by a Nubian.

After breakfast on the following day the British officers were taken
out for exercise under the escort of a file of soldiers.  Their walk
was limited to the extent of the courtyard, so that the Sub had no
opportunity of taking mental notes of the details of the interior of
the fort, for the heavy guns commanding The Narrows were hidden from
sight by the barrack quarters.

Twenty minutes were allowed them.  The Sub was able to smoke, some
excellent cigarettes being given him by the corporal in charge of the
party.  At the expiration of the time the prisoners were marched back
to their quarters, where they found Ahmed, unruffled and obsequious,
awaiting them.

"Well, Ahmed," said Dick, with well-assumed jocularity, "we didn't see
much of you yesterday.  I thought perhaps you had been sent to take the
captured British submarine to Constantinople."

The man looked completely taken aback.  He suppressed an exclamation
the commencement of which sounded remarkably like a German oath.

"You have been told by dese odder Ottomans then?  What dey tell you,
eh?"

Something in the fellow's tone gave Crosthwaite his cue.

"So you didn't get the submarine after all?" he asked.

Ahmed shrugged his shoulders.

"You know too much," he said.  "I must find out de soldier what tell
you about de Englis sailors who broke de wreck to bits, so no good to
Ottoman."

"Look here, Ahmed," continued the Sub.  "You asked me a question the
other day.  Now I want to ask you one.  What happened to the rest of my
men when we were taken prisoners?"

The man looked suspiciously at his questioner.

"Me no tell," he said slowly, "No can do.  P'lap I tell if you say how
many Englismans come to fight us on land.  P'laps if dey too many we
Ottomans no fight.  Me no want more fight, an' plenty odders no fight."

Dick was sitting on the of his during the conversation.  Now he stood
up, erect and determined.

"Look here, Herr Major," he said sternly, hazarding the German's rank
since the two captains had saluted the pseudo-Turkish seaman.  "Don't
try to bamboozle us.  It can't be done.  You haven't the pluck to sail
under your own colours: you must needs pretend you're a Turk--and a
precious rotten pretence it is.  You told your pals you were going to
have one more attempt.  You've done so, and made a horrible mess of it.
Now try your other plan; but take it from me, you've a couple of
Englishmen to deal with.  Clear out!"

Too astounded for words, the German could only look sheepishly at the
man who had given him a "dressing-down".  His mouth worked as if he
were trying to utter some malediction.  Then, cowed by the Sub's bearing
and obviously frightened at Dick's clenched fists, he backed towards the
door.

On the threshold he paused, with his hand on the key.

"Swine, English swine!" he shouted.  "You'll be sorry for this."

Amid the scornful laughter of Dick and the midshipman the German
slammed the door and locked it.

"That's done it," remarked Dick.  "Now for reprisals, I suppose."

"He was in a tear!" said Farnworth, with a laugh at the thought of the
fellow's discomfiture.  "But, by Jove, sir, how you kidded him over
that submarine business!"

"It was quite a fluke," explained Dick.  "I had my doubts about the
capture of one of our submarines, but evidently one has been lost.
Naturally our fellows wouldn't let a thing like that remain in the
hands of the enemy, and by that Teuton's admission it is pretty certain
that we've destroyed the craft to prevent her being made use of by the
Turks.  Hello, the fun's going to commence!"

This remark was caused by the sounds of the tramp of feet in the
corridor.  The door was unlocked, and a party of Turkish soldiers,
headed by a German in the uniform of a captain in the Ottoman service,
burst unceremoniously into the room.

Not a word was spoken.  The German pointed to various articles and to
the door.  Acting upon this mute order the soldiers removed the British
officers' beds, chairs, and other pieces of furniture.

A couple of lithe Turks seized each of the prisoners and stripped them
of their uniforms.  In five minutes Dick and his companion were left
standing in nondescript garments in the midst of a bare room.

"Part of the programme, I suppose," commented the Sub.  "Meagre rations
and a Spartan existence.  I hope they won't chuck in the bastinado as
an extra."

That night the prisoners slept on straw, their supper consisting of
rice and cold water.  It was part of the policy of the German officer,
who, under the mistaken impression that an Englishman exists simply for
the sake of eating roast beef, thought to compel the Sub and his
companion to betray the nature of the operations against the
Dardanelles.

Five long weeks passed in this tedious waiting.  During this time the
prisoners had ample opportunities of watching the Turkish soldiers
drilling under their German officers and non-coms.  The latter drove
the Ottomans almost beyond the limits of endurance.  Blows and kicks
were showered upon the Kismet-imbued Turks, who, possibly regarding
such treatment as necessary for efficiency, betrayed no signs of
resentment.

Another thing the Sub noticed was the supremely contemptuous
indifference the German officers paid to marks of respect.  They would
swagger across the courtyard, the Turkish troops saluting with an
alertness that vied with the smartness of Prussian troops on the
parade-ground at Potsdam, yet the officers hardly ever condescended to
return the compliment.

During the whole of that time the prisoners once caught sight of the
pseudo Ahmed.  On that occasion he had discarded his Turkish
bluejacket's clothes and was rigged out in the uniform of a German
major of artillery.  A number of field-guns had just arrived at the
fort, and the major was in charge of the battery.  It seemed as if the
German instructors, knowing the terrific damage done by the British
naval guns against permanent forts, and also with the lessons of Liége
and Namur fresh in their minds, intended to rely not upon guns of
position, but upon powerful mobile weapons, for the defence of the
historic waterway.

The captives were no longer allowed to take exercise in the open air.
Instead, they regularly practised simple Swedish drill in order to keep
their muscles in good condition, for, as Farnworth observed, "one never
knew what might turn up".  In spite of their meagre fare they contrived
to keep fairly fit and active.

"Guns!" exclaimed Farnworth one morning.

"Target practice," added Dick; but after waiting a minute he added;
"No; by Jove, it's the real thing!  We're having another go at
hammering at Turkey's gate."

For three hours the firing continued with unabated violence.  Fort
Medjidieh, being out of the scope of the operations, made no attempt to
use its guns, but the field-battery went off in mad haste.

At length the interchange of gunnery ceased.  Towards evening the
battery returned, minus one gun, while several of the artillerymen bore
traces of being badly knocked about.  From six to sunset wounded
Turkish troops began to pour into the fort, some hardly able to walk.
Yet no attempt was made to alleviate their pain.  They were simply
ordered to their barrack-rooms, and had to rely upon their own efforts
and those of their comrades to attend to their wounds.

As soon as it grew dark, Dick and his companion in misfortune threw
themselves upon their straw beds.  Being unprovided with lights, they
generally turned in at sunset and talked until overtaken by sleep.

They had not been lying down for more than ten minutes when the door
opened, and the German Major, accompanied by a subaltern, entered.
They had evidently come straight from the scene of action, for they
wore long grey coats bespattered with mud and the yellow stains of
lyddite, their faces were grimed with smoke and dust.  Each wore a
sword under his coat, with the hilt projecting through a vertical slit.
The Major also carried a revolver in a holster slung across his left
shoulder, and counterbalanced by a sling to which was attached a case
containing a pair of binoculars.  They were accompanied by a soldier
bearing a lamp.  This he set down on the floor, and, having saluted,
left the room.  The subaltern locked the door after him.

"Good evening, gentlemen," began the Major in good English which
contrasted with the jargon which he had used in his rôle of a Turkish
seaman.  "We have occasion to do business."

"But not with us," added Dick readily.

"I think so," corrected the Major.  "And you will be glad of it when
you hear our proposal.  Perhaps you are unaware that to-day the French
landed at Kum Kale.  We quickly sent them to the right-about, and they
had to re-embark in disorder.  Unfortunately for us, during the
operations two Turkish officers of high rank were taken prisoners and
conveyed on board an man-of-war that was covering the re-embarkation of
the French troops.  I trust I have made myself clear?"

"Proceed, then," said Dick.

"The loss of these two officers was duly reported to Turkish
head-quarters, and Enver Bey immediately telegraphed that we should
offer two British in exchange.  Would you be willing to sign an
undertaking, in the event of your being released, not to take up arms
against the Allies?"

"That we would not," declared the Sub emphatically.

"I thought you would not.  A true soldier--whether he be in the Navy or
Army--would never do so.  Still, the idea occurred to me: a thousand
pardons.  Now here is a statement for the British Admiral.  All you
have to do is for both of you to sign your names and add your rank in
the space provided, and the exchange will be carried out promptly."

The Major produced a folded paper from the breast pocket of his
greatcoat, while the subaltern held out a fountain pen.

"Why don't you sign?" asked the German.

"One minute," said Dick.  "The writing is in Turkish characters."

"That is quite evident," remarked the Major suavely; "but that does not
alter the text of the communication."

"You ought to know that all correspondence between belligerents is in
French, Herr Major," said the Sub.  "Under the circumstances I decline
to have any truck with it."

"Truck?" asked the German in a puzzled tone.  "What does that mean?"

"That I won't sign."

"Then there are other English officers who would be only too pleased to
do so," suggested the Major tentatively.

"It's my opinion you're trying another of your dirty tricks," continued
Dick.  "No, don't get excited," he added, as the German's hand flew to
his sword-hilt.  "That proves what I say.  I think we may as well come
to an understanding."

The German backed and said a few words to his companion.  It was enough
to confirm Dick's suspicions, for the subaltern also laid his hand upon
his sword.

With a well-directed blow the Sub planted his clenched fist squarely
upon the point of the Major's chin.  With hardly a sound he fell
senseless upon the pile of straw.

[Illustration: "WITH A WELL-DIRECTED BLOW DICK PLANTED HIS CLENCHED
FIST SQUARELY UPON THE POINT OF THE MAJOR'S CHIN"]

Out flashed the other German's sword.  Rashly he raised the blade to
deliver a cut.  Had he used the point the result might have been
different, for before the blow could fall the stalwart British officer
gripped him round the waist, then with a sudden heave threw him
headlong upon the floor.  The back of his head came in contact with the
stone paving, and with a groan he lost consciousness.

"Buck up, Farnworth!" exclaimed Dick.  "Pull that fellow's coat off and
see how it fits you.  We'll borrow these gentlemen's uniforms and see
what happens."




CHAPTER X

A Bid for Freedom

"By Jove, Farnworth, I little thought that I should have to undergo the
humiliation of wearing this shameful uniform!" exclaimed Dick, as,
attired in the tunic, greatcoat, trousers, and long boots of the German
Major, he disdainfully shook himself.  Circumstances compelled him to
buckle on the sword, but the binoculars he, somewhat rashly, discarded
as an encumbrance.  "Nearly ready?  Farnworth, I'm not paying you a
compliment when I say you look a proper swaggering Prussian officer of
the von Forstner type with that insipid little moustache of yours.
It's my beard that worries me.  Hello!  Good business!  Here's a pair
of pocket scissors in this rascal's tunic.  You might clip off my
ragged whiskers as close as you possibly can--leave the moustache.
Hurry for all you're worth, for time's precious!"

The midshipman set to work with a will to remove the six weeks' growth
of beard from his superior officer's face, for during the period of
incarceration they had been unable to shave.

Farnworth stood back a pace and surveyed his handiwork in the
upslanting rays of the lamp set upon the floor.

"Oh, my maiden aunt, sir!" ejaculated Farnworth.  "You look absolutely
'It'--von Kluck and von Hindenburg rolled into one."

The Sub smiled at the way in which the midshipman had "got his own
back".

"Let's hope so for the next few hours," he remarked.  "Now, to prevent
mistakes, we'll gag and lash up these two minions of the Kaiser.  Take
their handkerchiefs and tear them in halves.  That's right; now set our
old friend Ahmed up, while I prop the fat subaltern against him.  When
our resources are limited we must needs go to work methodically and
sparingly."

The two unconscious men were propped up back to back.  The right arm of
the Major was lashed to the left arm of the subaltern just above the
elbows, and the former's left to the right arm of the junior officer.
The halves of the second handkerchief were used to gag the senseless
men.

"How about their legs, sir?" asked Farnworth.

"We'll pass a strip round them.  That old belt which for the last six
weeks has been an inferior substitute for my braces will do.  That's
done it."

The two Germans were now lying full length on the ground back to back.
To all appearances they were securely trussed up, but even then the
midshipman was not satisfied.

"I've my old belt," he announced.  "Couldn't we trice their feet up and
make them to that window-bar?  It would puzzle the world's champion
contortionist to wriggle free then, I fancy."

"Very good," assented Dick.  "We'll heave together.  My word, they are
a weight!"

The sill of the long, narrow window was within eighteen inches of the
ground, while the whole length of the aperture was furnished with three
vertical iron bars, additionally secured at mid-length by a short
cross-bar.

Passing the second belt between the turns round the ankles of the two
Germans, Farnworth tied the other end to the lowermost part of the
middle bar by means of a clove-hitch.  It was thus impossible for the
bound and gagged men to regain their feet without assistance.

"Now we'll chance our luck," said Dick.  "When we cross the courtyard
I'll jabber to you in German, and you'll reply 'Ja, ja!' to everything
I say.  Ten to one the Turks won't twig my rotten rendering of this
tongue-twisting jargon, but that won't matter.  If we spoke English
they might smell a rat, for a good many Turks have a smattering of it.
By the by, I'll take charge of that document which our old friend asked
us to sign.  I'm curious to know what it all means."

Unlocking the door, Dick and the midshipman unhesitatingly stepped out
into the corridor.  The passage was deserted.  Relocking the door and
thrusting the key into the pocket of his greatcoat, the Sub,
accompanied by his companion, walked noisily along the corridor,
allowing his sword to clank loudly upon the stones.  This style of
"sabre-rattling" he knew from observation to be one of the chief
characteristics of the German officer in the Ottoman service.

After traversing about twenty yards the two officers came to a broader
passage running at right angles to the former.  The turning to the
right, Dick knew, led to the courtyard.  It was dimly lighted.  Nearly
a score of Turkish soldiers were squatting Oriental fashion on the
stones, some smoking, most of them engaged in mending clothes, and all
were talking rapidly.

Through the crush Crosthwaite and Farnworth made their way, the Turks
backing against the wall in obvious fear of their supposed taskmasters.
At the entrance stood a soldier on guard.  Upon hearing the officers
approach, he drew himself up and saluted.  Not for one moment did he
show any signs of suspicion, a circumstance that gave Dick additional
confidence.  His one dread was that they might meet with some of the
German officers, and be held up by some trivial question in an attempt
at conversation.

Fortunately the square was practically deserted.  Half a dozen
artillerymen bent double under loads of blankets and accoutrements were
proceeding in single file from one store to another, while on the flat
roof of one side of the barrack buildings stood a sentry in charge of
the pair of anti-aircraft guns, Away to the right a search-light was
slowly playing upon the waters of the Dardanelles, while the sky was
illuminated by the reflected glare of dozens of other search-lights
upon the sides of The Narrows.

Dick led the way to a large stone arch, which, he knew, communicated
with the open country, for through it the battery of field-artillery
had departed and returned.  The wall on either side was protected by a
thick wall of sand-bags, evidently placed there as the result of bitter
experience, when the British and French 12-inch shells came falling
obliquely from the sky.

The archway was nearly twenty paces in length.  About midway, and on
opposite sides, were small doors.  They were open, and disclosed long
galleries lighted by lanterns of a similar type to those used in
magazines on board ship in pre-electricity days.  Along the side
passage ran a pair of narrow-gauge rails, while just within one of the
doors stood a couple of trucks, each carrying a large locomotive
torpedo fitted with a war-head.

Dick came to an abrupt halt.  Even in the midst of his bid for freedom
his professional instinct would not let the opportunity pass.  These
sinister weapons, he knew, could not be for use on board a ship, since
there was no accommodation for vessels alongside the water-front of
Fort Medjidieh.  Besides, warships taking torpedoes on board would most
certainly do so in places remote from the range of British guns--most
probably at Constantinople or Skutari.

They were powerful weapons, longer and of greater diameter than the
British Whiteheads, while from the German characters engraved on parts
of the mechanism the Sub concluded that they must be the formidable
Schwartz-Kopff torpedoes.  Moreover, they were intended to be fired
from shore stations.  Carefully screened from observation,
torpedo-tubes had been placed in position, so that a direct hit at any
hostile warship attempting to force The Narrows was almost a certainty.

The Sub would dearly have liked to follow the narrow-gauge line of
rails, but the risk was too great.  No doubt he would be able to
discover the exact locality of the firing-station, but realizing it
would serve no useful purpose if he did so and was caught in the act,
he resumed his way through the main archway.

The doors were closed and barred by massive beams, but a wicket
attracted his attention.  Somewhat dubious as to what would be awaiting
him on the other side, Dick cautiously shot the bolt and pushed open
the means of exit.

It was not perhaps in keeping with his role as a Prussian officer to
open a door cautiously, but well it was that he did so.  Ten feet from
the door was a grey-painted sentry-box, in which stood a
ferocious-looking Bashi Bazouk, his shawl simply bristling with
weapons.  Fortunately his face was turned away from the wicket-gate,
and the noise it made was not sufficient to attract his attention.

But it was not the Turkish irregular that caused Dick's heart to give a
violent thump in spite of his usually cast-iron nerves.  A little
farther away a regiment of infantry was drawn up in quarter-column,
while in front, and almost at the angle nearest the British officers,
were seven or eight Germans, both of the line and of the artillery, all
engaged in studying by the aid of a lantern a map which had been spread
upon the ground.

"Where's von Eitelheimer?" demanded one in the uniform of a colonel.
"He ought to be here."

"He and Lieutenant Schwalbe went to see the two cursed Englishmen, Herr
Colonel," replied a German sergeant-major.  "The Major said it was most
important to get the prisoners' signatures before the regiment marches."

"Quite right," assented the Colonel.  "Nevertheless he ought to be here
before this.  Hurry, Schneider, and tell Major von Eitelheimer that----"

Dick waited to hear no more.  Softly closing the door, he gripped
Farnworth by the arm and hurried him back under the archway until they
reached the transverse passage.

"We've precious little time," he explained hurriedly, at the same time
lowering his voice to a whisper.  "They're sending a fellow to look for
our pal Ahmed and the fat subaltern.  We'll risk it and try this way."

The subsidiary passage ran parallel to the eastern face of the
fortress.  At intervals there were large recesses converted into
armoured casemates, each containing a 9-inch Krupp gun of a pattern of
the early 'nineties.  Since the ordnance on this side was intended
solely for defence against a land attack, the guns were not so
formidable as those enfilading the Dardanelles, yet the Sub realized
that Fort Medjidieh would be a hard nut to crack if invested by an
expeditionary force unprovided with the heaviest siege artillery.

At each casemate a line branched off from the main narrow-gauge track,
showing that the tramway was originally intended to supply the heavy
guns with ammunition.  Making use of the rails for transporting
torpedoes was the result of recent considerations.

Save for a few Turkish artillerymen who were lolling about, and who
promptly made themselves scarce when they saw the German uniforms
approaching, the gallery was deserted.  Without actually meeting
anyone, Dick and his companion reached the bend of the passage
immediately under the south-eastern angle of the fortress.

Overhead the sounds of bustle and activity could be faintly heard
through the massive steel armour-plate, additionally protected by a
thick bank of earth faced with sand-bags.  The purr of electric dynamos
betokened the fact that the seaward search-lights were in full
operation.  Here the tramway dipped abruptly, egress being prevented by
a heavy steel sliding-door.

"Rotten luck!" exclaimed Dick in a whisper.  "Let's try that port-hole
and see how the land lies."

The two officers made their way between the sliding carriage of the
huge Krupp gun and the armoured wall of the casemate.  There was just
room enough between the chase of the weapon and the side of the
embrasure for the Sub to wriggle.  The walls here were not less than
fifteen feet in thickness, and since the gun was "run in" there was
enough space between the muzzle and the sill of the embrasure for both
officers to observe the scene that lay before them.

Away on their right front was exposed a broad sweep of the Dardanelles,
the swiftly-flowing water gleaming like burnished silver in the complex
rays of the search-light.  Almost immediately opposite were the
outlines of Fort Kilid Bahr, backed by rugged hills towering to a
height of nearly seven hundred feet.

Southward Fort Chanak reared its grim pile, from which search-lights
innumerable swept sea, land, and sky, while fifteen or twenty miles to
the southwest the sky was agleam with the flashes of heavy guns,
showing that Sedd-ul-Bahr and Kum Kale were exchanging a vigorous
cannonade with the ships of the Allied fleets.

Here it was that Dick made an important discovery.  Fort Medjidieh was
apparently not to be held in the event of a bombardment.  It was to be
used as a decoy to attract the British and French fire, while at a
distance of not less than four hundred yards from the deep moat, rows
and rows of deep, narrow, and zigzagged trenches were completed or in
the act of being constructed.

Hundreds of Turks were busy, working by lantern-light, in digging
themselves in, while the whole system of earthworks literally bristled
with machine-guns.  At the back of each trench, Dick noticed, were
light canvas screens stretched upon wooden frames, and painted a
similar colour to that of the surrounding soil.  These screens were
ready to be drawn across the trenches on the approach of hostile
air-craft, In order that the observers would be unable to locate the
position of the defences.

At frequent intervals between the trenches, concrete emplacements for
heavy field-guns had been constructed, their fronts and sides being
well protected by sand-bags hidden by coarse grass and thorn-bushes.
Already a dozen huge guns were in position, while others were being
hauled up by traction-engines to within a few feet of the site, whence
they were dragged on to the platforms by dint of abundance of manual
labour.

These, apparently, were the reserve line of defence, for farther afield
a myriad of men were working like ants on a disturbed ant-heap; but the
darkness and the increased distance prevented Dick from coming to any
definite conclusion as to the nature of their toil.  Dearly would he
have liked to have had his binoculars, and he regretted the hasty
decision that led to the discarding of those belonging to Major von
Eitelheimer.

Almost beneath the place where he crouched, and between the moat and
the sea-front, was a stretch of rocky ground averaging a hundred yards
in width.  Here the narrow-gauge line reappeared.  With methodical
craftiness the Turks had refrained from carrying the line across the
moat, where it would be exposed to shell-fire.  Instead, they had gone
to the extreme pains of driving a tunnel underneath the deep ditch, so
that the means of transporting the torpedoes to their firing-station
were entirely concealed and protected.

Almost at the water's edge were two torpedo-tubes, around which a party
of officers and men in German naval uniforms were busily engaged in
making some adjustment to the intricate mechanism.

"Men from the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, by Jove!" muttered Dick.
"Wouldn't I like to send a shot through the war-head of that 'tinfish'!
It would tickle those fellows a bit.  I've half a mind to try."

"What's the move, sir?" whispered the midshipman, seeing his superior
officer place his hand on his revolver holster.

Fortunately the Sub's calmer councils prevailed.  He realized upon
second thoughts that with a weapon to which he was not accustomed there
was a good chance of a miss.  It would be of more service to the
British naval and military authorities to be informed of all the
preparations for defence that the officers had observed, rather than
attempting to destroy at long odds a couple of torpedo-tubes and the
torpedo gunners.

It was fairly safe to assume that these tubes had only recently been
placed in position.  For one reason, the concrete platforms looked
fairly new; for another, Dick was certain that the torpedoes that had
been fired at the _Calder_ during her observation-dash up The Narrows
had not been discharged from that position.  It showed that, however
gallant the dash had been, it was useless unless contingent measures
were immediately forthcoming before the Turks could erect new guns and
torpedo-firing stations.

All these observations Dick and his companion made with great rapidity.
A naval training teaches a man to observe and act promptly.  Every
minute was precious, for by this time the German sergeant-major might
have made the discovery of his two unconscious officers.

As a matter of fact, the fellow had gone straight to the room in which
"the cursed Englishmen" were supposed to be detained, but finding the
door locked, he concluded that Major von Eitelheimer and
Second-lieutenant Schwalbe had finished their business with the
prisoners, and had gone to their quarters before proceeding on parade.

"We'll have to get clear of this, Farnworth," declared Dick.  "Are you
game for a twenty-foot drop?  It'll mean neck or nothing."

"Or perhaps a broken ankle, sir," added the midshipman.  "I saw a pole
with a hook at one end a little way along the gallery.  I'll get it."

Farnworth backed through the embrasure and hurried off.  Without
arousing any suspicion, for the Turkish artillerymen still kept out of
sight of the supposed German officers, he removed the pole from its
slings.  It was about fifteen or eighteen feet in length, and, as the
midshipman had stated, was provided with a large steel hook.

With very little difficulty he passed it, hook end inwards, to the Sub,
who recognized it as being part of the equipment of Turkish
fire-brigades.  He had seen men using this device on a previous visit
to the Near East, when a disastrous fire broke out in the Galata
district of the capital of the Ottoman Empire.  Whenever a fire showed
signs of getting beyond the control of the firemen with their primitive
appliances, these poles were employed to pull down adjacent houses and
thus limit the conflagration to a certain area.

"Spiffing!" declared Dick.  "Now down you shin, while I keep the hook
from slipping."

Extreme caution was necessary, since, twenty feet above them, a pair of
search-lights were in full operation.  These were a blessing in
disguise, for the contrast threw the outer face of the wall and the
bottom of the ditch, into deep shadow, although occasionally the
projectors were trained so low that the beams played upon the steep
slope of the opposite side of the moat.

Allowing Farnworth sufficient time to descend, the Sub agilely
followed, notwithstanding the fact that he was encumbered with the
heavy German overcoat.

"What shall we do with this, sir?" whispered the midshipman, giving the
pole a slight shake.

"We'll have to use it to get out of the moat," replied Dick.  "Bear
away a little to the right.  We stand a better chance of dodging that
infernal search-light.  I fancy even our borrowed uniforms would not
allay suspicion if the Turks spotted us shinning up the wall.  Steady!
'Ware barbed wire."

The two officers pulled up only just in time to escape the sharp points
of a triple row of entanglements, that in the darkness had escaped
their notice.  Well it was that they had not attempted to leap from the
embrasure, otherwise the momentum would have carried them headlong into
the veritable trap.

By mutual aid the two comrades succeeded in crawling through the wire.
The presence of the entanglements was a warning, and they proceeded
with even greater caution.

A couple of yards beyond this barrier Dick's ankle came in contact with
another wire.  It was barbless.

"What luck!" muttered the Sub.  "If the current had been switched on it
would have been all up," for the copper tape was intended to conduct an
electric current of sufficient voltage to destroy any living thing that
came in contact with it.

Nevertheless they took precautions.  It would never do to risk contact
with another wire in case it might be charged; so unbuckling his
scabbard, which being painted a dull grey did not reflect the light, he
wrapped around it several folds of a silk handkerchief which had
formerly belonged to Major von Eitelheimer.  Holding the insulated
scabbard in front of him, Dick proceeded towards the remote face of the
ditch, Farnworth treading in his footsteps.

"Lie down," whispered the Sub hoarsely.

Both officers did so, as a giant beam swinging overhead gradually
descended till the lower arc struck half-way down the wall against
which the fugitives were lying.  Had the fugitives attempted to climb a
minute earlier, they would have been "picked up" by the dazzling rays.

Suddenly the sharp rattle of musketry, punctuated by the deeper
bark-bark of quick-firers, came from the eastern part of Fort
Medjidieh.  Up swung the troublesome beam until it pointed within ten
degrees of the vertical.  Other search-lights were likewise trained
skywards.

A thousand feet or more in the air glided seven water-planes, looking
no bigger than swallows.  Detected by the alert Turks, they were
subjected to a heavy fire.  Shells seemed to burst perilously close,
yet serenely they pursued their course at regular intervals like a
flight of wood-pigeons.

An appalling crash, against which the noise of the fusillade paled into
insignificance, told that a bomb dropped from the leading sea-plane had
landed almost in the centre of the fort.  Although, from where they
lay, the British officers could form no accurate idea of where it fell,
they knew that the powerful missile had pitched not far from the
quarters they had involuntarily occupied only a short while ago.

"Blest if I want to be sky-highed by our own sea-planes!" declared
Dick.  "Let's make a bolt for it."

Profiting by the confusion caused by the fall of the bomb, and by the
fact that the attention of the Turkish search-light was directed
skywards, the two fugitives set the pole in position, engaging the hook
in the coping-stone of the wall.

Hand over hand Farnworth climbed to the top, where he threw himself on
the sandy soil until the Sub rejoined him.  As he did so the second and
third bombs dropped almost simultaneously, exploded--one close to a
search-light in the wall, the other in the moat; the blast of the
detonation sending a shower of stones and dust over the two prostrate
figures.

The troops engaged in throwing up earthworks and digging trenches had
promptly vanished on hearing the explosion of the first bomb.  A few
had delayed bolting to their burrows sufficiently long to draw the
canvas screens over the deep narrow trenches.  Here and there a shot
rang out from the earthworks, but for the most part the Turks in that
locality were restrained from firing lest the flashes should indicate
the position of the trenches.

Dick led the way, purposely choosing a direction that would take the
fugitives towards the mountainous interior.  He knew that on their
flight being discovered a strict search would be made along the shore;
while on the other hand the Turks would not be likely to look for them
in the interior.  His idea was to make a circuitous detour, and regain
the Allies' position in the vicinity of the French troops operating
near Kum Kale.  Already his eyes had marked a gap between the triple
rows of trenches where it seemed possible to pass through the hostile
lines.

Suddenly the ground gave way beneath the feet of the two officers.
With futile efforts they grasped at the earth to save themselves, then,
encompassed by a cloud of dust, they dropped headlong into a deep pit.




CHAPTER XI

A Modern Odyssey

Farnworth regained his feet with great agility and assisted Dick to
rise.  Feeling considerably shaken by his unexpected tumble, the Sub
was temporarily winded.  For the moment he imagined that his ankle had
been sprained, and on placing his hand upon that part of his leg he
made the discovery that it was bleeding freely.

"By Jove, sir!" whispered the midshipman, "we've had a narrow squeak.
Look!"

The reflection from the search-light made it possible to discern their
immediate surroundings.  The pit had vertical sides and measured
roughly thirty feet by ten, and was about eight feet in depth.  It had
been covered by a thin layer of rushes supported by slender poles, but
the fall of the two officers had resulted in the collapse of the
greater part of the covering of the booby-trap.  But what had
occasioned Farnworth's exclamation was that the floor was plentifully
studded with sharp wooden spikes, and it was only owing to the fact
that Dick and his companion had stumbled over from the innermost side
that they had escaped being impaled.  Had they been members of an
attacking force and had fallen into the trap while advancing against
the fort, they would almost to a certainty have been transfixed by the
wicked-looking spikes.

"We have," assented Crosthwaite dryly, "judging by the state of von
Eitelheimer's trousers.  One of the spikes has ripped them pretty
badly, and, what is more, has given my ankle a little gash.  Hope to
goodness the beggars haven't poisoned the spikes!"

"I'll give you a leg up, sir," suggested the midshipman.  "We'll have
to go jolly slow till we get outside the earthworks.  The whole place
is a honeycomb of death-traps."

"No, I'll give you a hoist--I'm heavier than you," said Dick.  "Wait
till I've knocked a bit of thatch off at the end of the pole.  It will
serve as a guide."

Having done so, the Sub bent down while his companion clambered on his
back.  Farnworth was then able to raise himself on to the brink of the
booby-trap and gain the upper ground.  Then, lying at full length, he
attempted to help his comrade up, but without success.  The sides of
the pit afforded no foothold.

"Can you dig out a niche with your sword, sir?" he asked.

"I'll try; but the stuff's so infernally soft," declared Dick.  "Hallo,
what's up now?"

"Turks!" announced Farnworth.

At that moment a search-light, that for the last ten minutes had been
directed skywards, flung its rays athwart the ground, and the
midshipman's grey uniform was shown up as if made of silver.  To escape
detection was impossible, for about a dozen Turkish infantrymen were at
that moment hurrying towards the outlying trenches.  With the outcome
of local knowledge they were shaping a course to clear the edge of the
pitfall.

Quickly Farnworth made up his mind and acted promptly.  With a
commanding gesture he stopped the men and ordered them to approach.
This they did smartly and without suspicion.  A corporal in charge of
the party saluted, and, shouting an order to his men, brought them up
with some semblance of order.

Imperiously the midshipman signed to them to assist his companion out
of the pitfall.  This they did with extreme alacrity, prompted by fear
of their supposed German officers.  Having regained his temporary
freedom, Dick, without any attempt at thanks, ordered them in German to
replace the dislodged cover to the pit.  One of the Turks understood
sufficient German to know what was required; the squad set to work,
while Dick and his companion unconcernedly walked off.

"We must trust to luck not to find a German in this section of the
advanced trenches," said Dick as they drew well clear of the scene of
their late misadventure.  "We'll have to risk it, for there's no other
way."

Cautiously picking their path between numerous rifle-pits and concealed
machine-guns, the two fugitives made for a part of the defences where a
gap appeared to exist between the trenches.  Here men were hard at work
under the direction of Turkish officers.  The latter saluted as the
supposed German officers approached, but made no attempt to converse
with them.  Instead they urged their men to greater efforts, as if
everything depended upon satisfying their Teutonic masters in the art
of war.

By this time the Allied air squadron had disappeared.  Without
sustaining injury, and having done considerable damage to Fort
Medjidieh, the sea-planes returned to their parent ship, the _Ark
Royal_.  Once more the Turkish search-lights directed part of their
activities to sweeping the surrounding country.

Arriving at the farthermost line of trenches, Dick coolly mounted the
parapet and took a careful survey of their general direction and
character.  He noticed that they were extraordinarily deep and narrow,
so that unless a shell actually pitched into a trench the danger to the
Turkish defenders was comparatively small.  Another matter which
attracted his attention was the number of machine-guns.  Not only were
there dozens concealed a hundred yards or so to the rear of the
foremost trenches, but the parapets of the trenches fairly bristled
with these deadly weapons.  Roughly, there was one to every five yards,
each gun being protected by a heavy V-shaped shield.  The Turks had
thoroughly mastered the principles of modern warfare under European
conditions, and the task of the Allied Expeditionary Force was to be a
very stiff one.

The Sub and his companion quite realized the extreme risk they were
running.  To be captured in the disguise of German officers meant an
ignominious death as spies, but their audacity completely disarmed
suspicion.  To all appearances they were zealously visiting the Turkish
troops engaged in perfecting the landward defences.

After a lengthy survey Dick leisurely descended the low parapet, and,
accompanied by the midshipman, strolled towards the soldiers engaged in
erecting barbed-wire entanglements in front of the trenches and
clearing away the brushwood that might afford cover to an attacking
force.

Then, watching their opportunity, the twain walked steadily past the
workers and gained the comparatively open country.

Since an attack was not for the present expected, no outlying pickets
had been posted.  On descending a slight irregularity in the terrain
Dick and the midshipman found themselves out of the direct glare of the
search-light, while every step took them farther and farther away from
the scene of their captivity during the last six weeks.

"Which way now, sir?" asked Farnworth.

"Due east until it gets light.  Then we'll have to lie low during the
day, and shape a course for the neighbourhood of Kum Kale as soon as it
becomes dark again."

"I'm beginning to feel jolly hungry, sir."

"And so am I," admitted Dick.  "The problem of how we are to attend to
the victualling department must not be lost sight of.  But for the
present we must put as great a distance as possible between us and our
pursuers--and I hope they won't look for us in this direction."

On and on they plodded steadily, maintaining silence and straining
their ears for sounds of human beings.  Being night the peasantry took
good care not to be about, for the civilian population, consisting
almost entirely of old men, women, and children, had been warned of the
danger of being in the vicinity of the defences after sunset.

"Something moving," reported the midshipman, "and precious close, too."

The two officers halted and listened intently.

Not so very far away on their right front came a succession of soft
thuds, as if caused by someone dropping a number of sand-bags with
considerable regularity.

"Camels," whispered the Sub.

He was right.  A convoy bearing supplies was on its way from the
interior towards the Dardanelles forts.  They passed along a rough
track within fifty feet of the spot where the officers lay hidden--a
hundred or more patient beasts heavily laden, and in charge of a number
of natives.  About a dozen Bashi Bazouks, fierce-looking fellows whose
weapons gleamed in the dull light, served as an escort.

The fugitives waited until the sounds of the passing convoy had died
away.

"Bear more to the left," whispered Dick.  "We're converging too much
upon a hill road.  We'll have to foot it pretty briskly, for it must be
sunrise within an hour."

"Isn't it about time we discarded our rotten togs?" asked Farnworth,
whose whole being felt repugnance at the idea of having to don the
dishonourable uniform of Germany.

"They'll come in useful again before very long, unless I am much
mistaken," declared Dick.  "Now, steady.  We're beginning the ascent of
Biyuk Dagh.  We'll be fairly beyond pursuit now, I fancy."

"I feel as if I'd like to burst into song out of sheer delight, after
being cooped up for nearly six weeks," declared Farnworth.

"No, don't," said Dick hurriedly and with well-feigned anxiety.  "It
would be hard luck to pile the whole of the agony upon me: wait till
you're back in the gun-room."

The midshipman smiled grimly.  He had a most atrocious voice when it
came to singing, and he knew it.  Far from being sensitive on the
point, he took the Sub's banter in good part.

Up and up the fugitives toiled, until from sheer breathlessness they
were compelled to throw themselves upon the ground.  The sight that met
their was superb.

The whole of The Narrows and a large portion of the rest of the
Dardanelles was plainly visible: a narrow silvery streak under the
beams of innumerable search-lights.  Beyond, also marked by the sources
of dozens of slowly-swaying beams of light, were the forts on the
European side, backed by the lofty hills of the narrow Gallipoli
peninsula.  Twenty miles away a regular galaxy of light marked the
position of the Allied fleets, the search-lights of which kept
ceaseless watch and ward against any possible, nay probable, attempt on
the part of the Turks to assail them by means of their destroyers and
torpedo-boats.

"Reminds me of Spithead on review nights as seen from the top of
Portsdown Hill," declared Farnworth.  "I wish I were there now!  No, I
don't.  I'd rather be over there."

And he pointed in the direction of the British fleet, amongst which
lay, as far as he knew, the old _Hammerer_.

"Better be moving," suggested Dick.

Although he said nothing about the matter to his companion, he was
beginning to become painfully aware of the injury to his ankle.  So
long as he kept in motion the injury troubled him but little; during
his enforced rest it began to burn and throb.  The pangs of hunger were
also making themselves felt.  With the rising of the sun he knew that
another discomfort--thirst--would be added to their lot.

Long before the fugitives reached the summit of the steep mountain,
dawn was upon them.  With a rapidity that almost equalled the shortness
of the tropical break of day, it grew light; then above the crest of a
yet unsurmounted hill rose the sun.

"Phew!  It is hot," ejaculated Farnworth, opening his greatcoat.  Then
he stopped and burst out into laughter.

"We are a proper pair, sir," he exclaimed.

Their faces were grimed with dirt and dust; their grey uniforms were
discoloured with mud and rent in several places, owing to their
encounter with the prickly bushes.  Dick's rough-and-ready "shave" with
the scissors had left enough bristles to give him a truly ferocious
appearance, while Farnworth's face was streaked with dried blood from
several scratches he had received during the hazardous journey from
Fort Medjidieh.

Acting upon their previous plans the two officers "laid low" during the
greater part of the day.  Fortunately they were able to assuage their
thirst at a rivulet that trickled down the mountainside, but the pangs
of hunger had become most acute.

Although there was plenty of activity in and around the forts, there
were no signs of life in the vicinity of the fugitives; so at about
four in the afternoon--according to Crosthwaite's estimate from the
position of the sun--they resolved to run the risk of detection and
push on in search of food.

An hour's steady walk brought them to a rough mountain track.  This
they followed by a parallel course, not daring to keep to the path, and
after twenty minutes they came in sight of a village.

It was a miserable collection of hovels, situated in a narrow valley,
yet it boasted of a small mosque with a slender minaret.  There were no
signs of any men, but, in the rough pasture close to the hamlet, veiled
women were tending flocks of sheep and goats.

"We'll tackle the business openly," declared Dick.  "If we tried to
sneak up to the nearest hut and collar some grub there might be a
rumpus.  If, on the other hand, they think we are German officers
they'll be only too glad to provide us with food in order to get rid of
our presence."

Pulling themselves together the two pseudo-German officers swaggered
boldly into the village.  From barred lattices, yashmaked women peeped
timorously.  A few ragged children scampered off, crying loudly at the
sight of the Franks.  Half a dozen lean dogs quarrelling over a heap of
garbage directed their attention with savage growls to the strangers,
until Dick drove them off by planting a well-aimed stone in the
leader's ribs.

Hearing the commotion, a dignified old man came from one of the larger
of the houses close to the mosque.  He was the imaum or priest.  With a
courteous salutation he invited the supposed German officers to enter,
but before crossing the threshold he signified that they would have to
remove their boots.

Nothing loath, Dick and the midshipman complied.  A youth brought a
basin of water, a towel, and two pairs of soft-leather slippers.  The
needful Eastern ceremony of washing the feet of distinguished
travellers was fully appreciated by the tired wayfarers.

Entering the house, the officers were regaled with a repast of roasted
goat's flesh and cakes made of flour and millet, with unsweetened
coffee and curdled milk.  The men attacked the meal ravenously, while
the imaum, seated tailorwise on a low divan, watched them with studious
gravity.

"Medjidieh?" asked Dick after they had satisfied their hunger.

The old man pointed in a westerly direction, and said something to the
youth.  The latter immediately picked up his sandals and made for the
door.

Gravely saluting the hospitable Mahommedan priest, Dick and the
midshipman took their departure.  Peremptorily dismissing the lad who
had been sent to act as a guide, the officers retraced their steps
until a ridge of intervening ground hid them from the village.

"Decent old sort," commented Farnworth.  "I wonder if he would have
been so awfully keen in giving us grub if he knew who we really were?"

"Can't say," replied Dick.  "One thing: hanged if I could bring myself
to a display of Prussian arrogance, but by not doing so I might be
giving the show away.  Now we'll work our way round the village and
resume our former direction.  I made out we were on the way to
Medjidieh.  That ought to throw any possible pursuers off the track."

Skirting the village necessitated a wide detour, but before sunset the
fugitives calculated that they had put twenty miles between them and
their prison-fortress.  It ought to be fairly safe to attempt a dash
for the coast in the neighbourhood of Kum Kale.

The heat was now terrific in spite of the altitude, so Dick suggested
that they should have "watch below" until the sun had sunk considerably
in the heavens.  A thicket afforded a complete shelter from the
pitiless rays, and with a blissful disregard of the danger from
scorpions and other reptiles the two officers crept into the shade and
were soon sound asleep.

Suddenly they were awakened by the dull buzz of an aerial propeller.
Crawling from their place of repose, Dick and the midshipman saw a
French monoplane flying barely two hundred feet above the ground.

"We'll try and attract that fellow's attention," exclaimed Dick.  "I
don't suppose he can give us a lift, but he may be able to----"

There was no time to complete the sentence.  Dashing out in the open,
the Sub waved his arms, shouting at the top of his voice:

"A nous, camarade.  Nous sommes Anglais."

Overhead swept the aeroplane.  The observer leant over the chassis and
critically surveyed the two figures in German uniforms.  He shouted
something, but the words were unintelligible, although he could
distinctly hear the Sub's call for aid.

"Nous sommes prisonniers Anglais--prisonniers échappés!" bawled Dick
frantically.

The Frenchman again waved his hand.  The monoplane calmly continued its
course, then, majestically circling, it began to descend.

"Hurrah!" shouted the midshipman.  "Who says the age of miracles has
passed?"

Even as he spoke an irregular volley burst from a slight depression in
the ground about five hundred yards from where the officers stood.
Sharply banking, the aeroplane rose to a safe distance, dropping a bomb
as she did so, then began to retrace its course.

"Look out!" exclaimed Dick warningly, as the monoplane passed nearly
overhead.

Almost at the first report of the rifles the fugitives withdrew from
their exposed position.  They were now in danger from another
direction, as Dick had foreseen.

A small black object dropped from underneath the chassis of the
aeroplane.  Rapidly gathering speed it fell within twenty yards of the
Sub and his companion.  It was a bomb; but owing either to faulty
mechanism or to the fact that it alighted on soft sand, it failed to
explode, otherwise the officers would have been blown to pieces.

"What luck!" muttered Farnworth.  "I suppose those fellows took us for
a pair of treacherous German skunks.  It wasn't their fault."

"Anyhow, I'm not going to wait till those chaps come up to
investigate," added Dick, referring to the still invisible riflemen.
"So here's off!  Keep to the dip in the ground and avoid the sand.  We
don't want to leave our tracks."

Breaking into a steady run the fugitives hurried away from the
direction of the interrupters of their peace of mind.  Already the
monoplane was a mere speck in the distance.

"Take cover!" hissed Dick breathlessly.  "They're on our track."

Once again the two comrades sought shelter in a thicket.  They were not
a minute too soon, for amid a cloud of dust about fifty Turkish
irregulars galloped madly down the path.  They were armed with Mauser
and Mannlicher rifles and carbines, and in addition a regular armoury
of revolvers and knives, while several wore long curved swords.  Some
of them had been wounded by the explosion of the bomb, and rode with
the blood streaming down their faces.  Yet each man urged his steed to
its utmost capacity as if with a set purpose, and hardly looking to the
right or left they passed by, leaving only a cloud of suffocating dust
that hung listlessly in the still, hot air.

"I thought they were after us," said Dick, after a safe interval had
elapsed, "but I think I'm mistaken.  They've some other little game on."

"Perhaps they didn't see us at all," suggested Farnworth.

"Pretty well certain they didn't, for by this time all the Turkish
troops in the district must have heard of our escape and of our
disguises.  Well, let's carry on."

For several hours they plodded wearily along the steep mountain path,
their senses keenly on the alert, since they now knew that cavalry were
in the vicinity.  It was somewhat disconcerting to know that a body of
irregulars lay between them and the coast, but both Dick and the
midshipman were curious to know why these horsemen had hurried in the
direction of Kum Kale, since they were not sufficiently numerous to
constitute a danger to any considerable force.

Happening to look over his shoulder, the Sub saw that another body of
men was overtaking them.

It was a mixed column of horse and foot, accompanied by wagons--in fact
a small convoy.

"If we strike away to the right we'll miss them easily, sir," suggested
the midshipman.

Dick shook his head.

"We'll only get 'bushed' at night, that is if the stars are hidden," he
said.  "Besides, we're pretty well done up; so we'll lie low and let
these fellows pass.  I'm rather anxious to see what they are up to."

The convoy was still a long way off, the advance-guard being quite
three miles from where the officers stood.  It was slowly making its
way up the mountain side, the moving line resembling a huge snake as it
wound along the intricate path.

"We're safe enough here," announced Dick, when they had taken up their
position between two fantastically-shaped rocks about fifty yards from
the road.

The overhanging mass afforded complete shelter from the sun, while the
broken ground in the rear would afford excellent cover in case they had
to put a greater distance between them and the approaching convoy.

"Bluejackets!" exclaimed Farnworth.

"You're right," agreed Dick quietly.  "Some of them are, at all events.
This looks interesting."

It took more than an hour for the convoy to get abreast of the place
where the fugitives lay concealed.  The column was headed by a dozen
Turkish irregular cavalry, similar in appearance to those who had
passed earlier in the day.  Following them came a company of infantry,
escorting a number of open wagons drawn by small, hardy-looking ponies.
The wagons were heavily laden with tins of petrol.  Following them were
about fifty bluejackets, not of the Ottoman navy, but in the rig of the
Imperial German navy.  They were accompanied by five or six German
officers in white-duck uniforms, all of them mounted.  At some distance
in the rear came six trucks each containing four large torpedoes, while
the convoy terminated in another troop of Turkish horsemen.

"Fishy, very fishy!" declared Crosthwaite after the column had passed.
"Petrol and torpedoes."

"Suggestive of submarines, sir," remarked Farnworth.

"Exactly.  Now the question is, where are those fellows taking that
gear to?  Even supposing the French had evacuated the district around
Kum Kale, there would be no particular object in taking them there.  A
submarine could take in her stock of torpedoes at Constantinople, and
be piloted through the mine-fields in The Narrows.  They might be en
route for Smyrna, but, since there is a railway available, it doesn't
seem at all likely.  Evidently a hostile submarine is operating
outside."

"A German?" hazarded Farnworth.

"I hope not; but there is no saying what these fellows will be up to.
Everything seems in their favour in that direction.  They can torpedo
our ships, and we have nothing afloat to go for in return.  Still, in
sinking their submarines we haven't done so badly, and I guess while
we've been cooped up here our fellows have nabbed a few more.  Anyway,
it would be interesting to find out where those torpedoes are going.  I
vote we follow at a respectable distance until dusk, and then close on
them a bit."

"I'm game, sir," consented the midshipman.

While daylight lasted they had no difficulty in following the trail.
They were in luck's way, for they found a haversack containing some
dates and half a loaf.  The food, washed down by a little spring water,
revived them considerably, the midshipman declaring that he felt
"absolutely bucked".

Towards sunset Dick gave the word for an increased speed, and before
darkness set in they were within two hundred yards of the slowly-moving
rear-guard.  By dint of taking cover and advancing with the utmost
caution they managed to keep in touch with the object of their
investigations.

At about midnight the Turco-German force halted.  It was evident that
they feared no surprise, for fires were lighted at a safe distance from
the explosives, and the men were permitted to smoke and talk freely.
The irregulars dismounted and, having hobbled their horses, joined the
others around the fires.

It was now bitterly cold, and the glow of the burning wood was
tantalizing to the worn and tired Sub and his companion.  Well it was
that they had not discarded the German greatcoats, otherwise their
limbs would have been numbed by the fall in the temperature.

They welcomed the order to resume the march with far more eagerness
than did the men to whom it applied, for Dick could hear the German
officers rating both their own countrymen and the unfortunate Turks.

Judging by the position of the Pole Star, Dick knew that the convoy was
proceeding in a south-easterly direction.  The course would bring them
to the sea-coast some distance to the east of Kum Kale and not far from
the Bay of Yenikeui, where the Sub's whaler had met with misfortune.

"

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/37600