By this time the roar of the hostile fire was deafening. Had the search-lights not been running, the flashes of the guns and of the continuous musketry were sufficient to turn the hitherto pitch darkness into a lurid glare. Showing up clearly against the high ground on the opposite side of the creek, the boats presented an easy target. By all the laws and theories of modern warfare they should have been blown clear out of the water; instead, they seemed to be shielded by a special providence.
As the boats withdrew and the range of the hostile fire increased, the Turks began to aim with better results. The coxswain of Webb's boat, shot through the head, was lying across the backboard of the stern-sheets. The bowman, hit by a flying fragment of shell, had dropped inertly over the thwart. Others of the crew had sustained more or less serious wounds, until only six men were left to use the oars.
Nor did the whaler fare better. Four dead men lay upon the bottom-boards, seven badly wounded were striving to make light of their terrible injuries. Even when face to face with death the gallant British seamen "stuck it", with grim smiles on their faces and light-hearted jests on their lips. Several of the oars had been splintered; there were half a dozen bullet holes through the planks 'twixt wind and water, to say nothing of numerous perforations in the top-strakes of the gunwales. Yet the whaler still kept afloat, thanks to the determination and resource of her crew, who stuffed strips torn from their scarves into the shot holes and plied balers vigorously, despite the galling fire to which they were unable to reply.
In vain Webb looked for the steam cutter; but while scanning the entrance to the creek he saw something that called for instant action—something that in a measure accounted for the fact that the boats had not been destroyed. The Turkish quick-firers and most of the small arms were directing a fairly concentrated storm of shot and shell across the entrance, thus creating an almost impassable barrage. Clearly the Sub saw the object of these tactics: the enemy were trying to force the two boats into surrendering, rather than blow them out of the water.
Webb found himself asking the question "For why?" He could give no satisfactory reply. He was in a very tight corner; but he had been in similar predicaments before, and his resource and courage had brought him through. Why not now?
"By Jove!" he muttered; "if we can get in close to the shore those cliffs will shelter us. They don't seem to have posted any troops there, and certainly there are no quick-firers."
Acting promptly he altered helm. The rowers, finding their boat heading towards the shore, regarded their young officer with evident concern, until they saw the cool resolute look upon the Sub's face. Then they knew that he had something in view that might extricate them from the deadly trap.
The whaler, too, followed suit, and, before the Turks realized the fact, both boats were sheltered from the hostile fire.
The Sub now steered the cutter parallel with the line of low cliffs and at a distance of about three boats' lengths from their base. At intervals the two craft had to edge outwards in order to avoid the jagged reefs that jutted out from the precipitous cliffs; yet progressing slowly, for the men at the oars were either wounded or well-nigh exhausted, the cutter, followed by the whaler, crept towards the open sea. And still no sign of the steamboat that was supposed to be standing by to cover their movements.
Suddenly Webb spotted something ahead that filled him with vague apprehension. He stood upright in order to verify his suspicions. There was no mistake: stretched right across the narrowest part of the entrance was a formidable barrier composed of wire hawsers supported on floating iron-spiked balks of timber.