"Hurrah! She's done for!" exclaimed Farnworth excitedly.
As he spoke a light blinked from the submarine. Huxtable was about to send a message to the landing-party. Since they were unable to signal in return to say that they were ready, the Lieutenant-Commander waited for a brief interval, then began to flash the message.
"Return at once. Am waiting to pick you up."
Crosthwaite promptly obeyed the order. Unmolested his men marched to the pier-head. Deeply laden, the two boats pushed off and rowed slowly towards the submarine, on which a lantern was displayed to enable them to locate her position.
"Help! Aid me!" shouted a voice in broken English, before the boats had covered half the distance between the shore and the "E—".
A violent splashing in the phosphorescent water, followed by reiterated appeals for aid, caused Dick to steer the canvas boat in the direction of the commotion. A seaman in Turkish uniform was swimming for dear life. His strength was fast failing him, and it seemed impossible that he could hold out long enough to reach the shore. With his remaining energies he grasped the gunwale of the frail Berthon and hung on desperately.
"Don't take him on board," ordered Dick, as one of the seamen grasped the Turk by the collar. "You'll upset us if you do; but hold on to him."
The Sub's first intention was to return, towing the man into shallow water, and there let him shift for himself. On second thoughts he remembered that his orders to return to the submarine with the utmost dispatch were peremptory. However undesirable it was to take a prisoner on board, in addition to the rescued men of the Hammerer's whaler, his humane feelings would not allow him to refuse aid to his enemy.
"Give way!" ordered Dick.
The men bent to their oars. The Sub steered for the now discernible "E—", while the Turk, held in the iron grip of his rescuer, was ignominiously towed through the water.