Saving the Old "Hammerer"
"Effendi, I speak truth. It is not my wish that I fight the English."
"How came you to speak English?" demanded Huxtable.
The examination of the rescued Turkish sailor was in progress. The man had recovered from the effects of the explosion and his subsequent exposure in the water. He was tall, lithe, olive-featured, and of an open countenance.
"I have served in English ship: one that traded between Smyrna and Malta, effendi," he replied. "My name it is Osman Kosmoli. I am an Armenian and a Christian."
"Eh?" interrupted the Lieutenant-Commander incredulously. "A Christian? I thought Christians were not allowed to serve in the Ottoman navy."
"Before the war, no; after the war, yes," replied Kosmoli composedly. "So long as a man he is a sailor it no matter. I no want to fight. They make me. I thank effendi for saving my life," and he bowed his head at Dick, who was sitting by the side of the Lieutenant-Commander.
Crosthwaite thrust his hand into his coat pocket and produced the document that von Eitelheimer had vainly endeavoured to induce him to sign.
"Then tell me what this means," he said.
The Armenian took the paper and read it slowly to himself. His eyebrows contracted as he did so.
"Bad, very bad!" he exclaimed.
"Read it aloud," ordered Dick.
It was another example of German perfidy, purporting to be a declaration expressing extreme disapproval of the Allies' operations against the Turks. It was a bogus confession to the effect that the British and French were guilty of deliberate acts against the Moslem religion, and that the avowed object of their expedition was to stamp out Mohammedanism in the Near East.
"A thundering good job you didn't sign it," remarked Huxtable. "The document would have been photographically reproduced and distributed broadcast throughout Persia, Egypt, Afghanistan, and India with the object of inciting the Mohammedan populace."
"What was to prevent von Eitelheimer from forging my signature?" asked Dick.
"He could have done so," admitted the Lieutenant-Commander, "but it wouldn't be quite the same thing. If you and young Farnworth had signed it and stated your rank, the signatures could not very well be disputed by our own people. They would naturally conclude that the autographs, if genuine, were obtained by fraud, but that is not the point. Ten to one von Eitelheimer, had you agreed to sign, would have made some excuse to have Turkish personages of high standing to witness the attestation. A document like that would cause no end of religious ferment amongst the Moslem world. Now, you see, we have evidence to prove that the Germans are at the root of the business, and I hope you will be able to hand the document personally to the Admiral for transmission to the proper authorities. By Jove, Crosthwaite! it has nipped a dangerous conspiracy in the bud."
"I'd like to have a few words with von Eitelheimer on the subject, sir," declared Dick.
"You may some day: you never know your luck," rejoined Huxtable oracularly.
At last the time-limit expired, and the "E—" was at liberty to attempt her hazardous return voyage. All hands knew that the perils which beset them were far greater than those they had successfully evaded on the run to Constantinople; for it was now practically impossible to creep through the Dardanelles. With a six- or seven-knot current bearing the submarine along, in addition to the "way" necessary to keep the craft under helm control, there was imminent risk of charging one of the hundreds of anchored mines before steps could be taken to avoid it; while should the submarine run aground the impact would inevitably shatter her hull.
Huxtable essayed the task in broad daylight. It was just possible, by keeping a sharp look-out and making quick use of the helm, to detect the presence of the moorings of these destructive weapons of modern warfare.
He took up his position at the for'ard scuttle of the conning-tower, while Devereux and Crosthwaite remained by the observation scuttles on either side of the elongated steel box.
Hour after hour passed. The "E—" was still proceeding without mishap, steered by a compass course. She was now well within the Dardanelles. The fixing of her position was merely a matter of guesswork, since the periscope could not be used without risk of being fired at from the alert batteries. Twice she had to circle, owing to the water shoaling, and attempt a fresh course. It was the only means of keeping to the deep-water channel as it wended its tortuous way through the intricate Narrows.
Suddenly Dick gave an exclamation of surprise. Less than thirty feet from the scuttle, a large, ill-defined grey object darted past. Before he could call the skipper's attention to it, the thing had vanished. For several minutes the "E—" swayed and pitched in the undulations caused by the moving mass.
"A submarine, sir—that I can swear to," reported Crosthwaite.
"Then it's a dashed German one," declared Huxtable. "None of our own were to operate in the Narrows until we reported ourselves. That's rotten luck."
His face bore a grim expression as he spoke, then he broke into a boisterous laugh.
"We're in luck, Crosthwaite," he exclaimed.
"How, sir?" asked the Sub, puzzled at the rapid change in his superior's manner.
"How? Don't you see? The Turks have been expecting that German unterseeboot. Consequently they've made preparations. They've ceased to throw out floating mines, and have given her directions for a safe course through the anchored minefield, and we're in the same channel. By Jove! I'll risk it! We'll pop up and see where we are. I shouldn't be surprised if we were close to Sedd-ul-Bahr, or somewhere within range of the guns, otherwise the German submarine would be running awash with her ensign displayed."
Although Huxtable had declared that he would not be surprised at the result of his observation, when the periscope showed above the surface he was completely taken aback. He had considerably underrated the speed of the current, and instead of being still within the Dardanelles, Cape Helles was sighted bearing three miles N.W. What was more, "E—" was within two thousand yards of the Hammerer and the Tremendous, both battleships being engaged in a long-range bombardment of the Turkish trenches on the Gallipoli Peninsula.
Concealment was no longer necessary. Running awash, the submarine "made her number", thus revealing her identity; and in response to a request the Hammerer dispatched a picket-boat to take off her two missing officers and the survivors of her whaler's crew.
"Well, good-bye, Crosthwaite, old boy, and good luck!" exclaimed the genial Huxtable, as the picket-boat, skilfully handled by Midshipman Sefton, came alongside the submarine. "Hope you haven't been disappointed on the score of excitement. I did my level best to give you a good time."
"That you did, sir," replied the Sub. "By Jove! it makes me want to kick myself for not applying for submarine service when I had the chance."
"It's never too late to mend," rejoined the Lieutenant-Commander. "Once more, good luck to you!"
The picket-boat backed astern, and was soon pelting at a good eighteen knots towards her parent ship. The two midshipmen were exchanging their experiences with great gusto, while Dick, standing beside the coxswain, was trying to convince himself that it was not all a dream that he had really been to Constantinople and back again.
Suddenly the coxswain pointed towards the battleship.
"Something amiss there, sir," he exclaimed. "Bless me, if she ain't hard aground!"
Even as he spoke a furious cannonade from skilfully-hidden shore batteries was opened upon the luckless Hammerer, which, having struck a shoal, presented a fixed target to a hundred Turkish guns. All around her the water was churned by the bursting projectiles. To attempt to take the picket-boat any nearer would be almost suicidal.
"Easy ahead," ordered Dick, at the same time signing to the coxswain to put the helm hard over.
Anxiously the Sub awaited developments. The Hammerer, badly pounded, was replying fiercely and resolutely to the galling fire. Thick clouds of smoke poured from her twin funnels as her powerful engines, running at full speed astern, strove to release her from the grip of the shoal.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Sefton. "Look, sir!"
Considering that Dick was looking all the time, the advice was unnecessary. Yet the midshipman's excitement was justifiable, for a striking example of British pluck was about to be shown.
Steaming slowly astern, the Tremendous backed into the shell-torn inferno. Reckless of the hail of projectiles, a swarm of bluejackets clustered on her poop, while from under her quarter a boat carrying a hawser sped towards her disabled consort. In an incredibly short space of time, communication was established between the two battleships; but, just as the Tremendous gathered way, a shell severed the stout hempen rope.
Another attempt was made, but hardly was the boat clear of her parent ship when a projectile ploughed through her bows. Enshrouded in a cloud of smoke and steam, the pinnace disappeared beneath the waves.
Undaunted, the Tremendous sent out a third hawser. Working under great difficulties, the crew of the Hammerer succeeded in getting the stiff wire rope on board and attaching it to a chain "necklace" round the base of her after turret.
"She's moving!" exclaimed Farnworth.
Slowly the Hammerer glided astern for almost her own length; then, with a bang that was audible above the roar of the guns, the hawser parted.
By the time the Tremendous had checked her way and had re-established communication, twenty minutes had elapsed. Already the Hammerer's top-hamper was little more than a tangled skein of steel. Her fore topmast had gone; her mainmast had been severed ten feet below the lower fighting-top. One of her funnels had gone by the board; the other was holed in twenty different places and looked little better than a sieve. Only the funnel-guys prevented it from sharing the fate of the former. Yet she kept up a heavy fire with unabated violence, while, to relieve the pressure of the Turkish batteries, two armoured cruisers closed and directed their attention upon the hostile guns.
Suddenly Dick sprang to the wheel, unceremoniously pushing aside the coxswain, whose whole attention was centred upon the stranded battleship.
"Full speed ahead both engines!" he shouted.
His quick eye had discerned a suspicious swirl on the surface within a cable's length of the picket-boat's starboard bow. Even as the little craft shot ahead, from the centre of the disturbed water appeared a periscope. It was not the periscope of a British submarine, of that Dick felt certain. It was a hostile craft, about to take her bearings prior to discharging a torpedo at the motionless Hammerer or her almost equally handicapped consort.
"Stand by, men!" ordered the Sub.
The picket-boat, having a dead weight of fifteen tons exclusive of the crew, was capable of dealing a heavy blow, but Crosthwaite realized that that would mean her own destruction. Already he had weighed up the situation. It was risking the lives of a mere handful of officers and men in an attempt to save the huge battleship and her complement of nearly eight hundred.
With a heavy crash the keel of the picket-boat came in violent contact with a submerged object. It was something more substantial than the slender periscope, which, shattered by the impact, had vanished. For a moment the British craft seemed on the point of turning turtle; then, with a sickening movement, she slid over the obstruction into deep water.
It was evident that the picket-boat would not survive the collision. The artificers, having taken steps to prevent an explosion of the boilers, abandoned the engine-room as the water rose above the beds of the engines. A minute later the crew were swimming for their lives.
"She's off, sir," announced a petty officer who was swimming strongly by the side of the Sub-lieutenant. "They'll pick us up all right."
The Hammerer, thanks to the efforts of the Tremendous, aided by her own engines going full speed astern, had shaken herself free from the dangerous shoal. Still replying briskly to the Turkish batteries, she glided into deep water, circled, and steamed slowly towards the spot where her picket-boat had disappeared.
"We'll get some of the shells meant for her," spluttered Sefton, who had not yet succeeded in getting rid of a few mouthfuls of salt which he had taken in when the picket-boat sank under him.
"No fear; she'll screen us," answered Dick cheerfully. "We'll—"
The sentence was never completed. A flying splinter of shell, dropping from an immense height, had struck the Sub on the head. Sefton was just in time to grab his superior officer by the coat-collar before he sank.
"Bear a hand, Farnworth!" he exclaimed. "We can't let old Crosthwaite go, but I'm afraid it's a case!"
*****
It was a fortnight later when Dick Crosthwaite opened his eyes. He was lying in Bighi Hospital at Malta, with his head swathed in surgical bandages. He felt horribly weak, and was unable to recollect the circumstances that led to his being in bed in a shore hospital.
Two men were standing a short distance from his cot. Their backs were turned towards him, as they faced the open window. One he recognized as the genial captain of the Hammerer, the other was a fleet-surgeon on the hospital staff.
"Then you feel fairly confident that you'll be able to pull him through?" asked the Hammerer's skipper.
"There's every chance. He's as hard as nails, and will bob up like a cork."
"Rather a confusion of similes, my dear O'Loghlin," remarked the Captain with a chuckle. "All the same I'm glad to hear it. I want to ask you a favour. Let me know the moment Crosthwaite regains consciousness. I am particularly anxious, being his skipper, to be the first to tell him the good news."
"Very good, sir," replied the doctor. "I'll bear that in mind."
"It won't be detrimental to his recovery?"
"Faith, that it won't! It will buck him up considerably when he knows he's to get the D.S.O. He'll be up and fit for duty before we force the Dardanelles, you mark my words. He'll be in at the death when we take Constantinople."
"I hope so, too," agreed the captain of the Hammerer. "We can't afford to lose the services of such a promising young officer. I hope I'll live to see him attain flag rank."
Dick raised himself on one elbow.
"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed.
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