"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.