Under the White Ensign: A Naval Story of the Great War Page 11

  CHAPTER X

  How the Landing Party Fared

  IT will now be necessary to set back the hands of the clock, andfollow the adventures of Sub-lieutenants Webb and Haynes from thetime when the cutter and the whaler parted company with thesteamboat.

  Tom Webb, being now the senior officer, led the way, steering acompass course, and having to make due allowances for the southerlycurrent from the distant Dardanelles. Only the ripple of the waterfrom the boat's bows, the laboured breathing of the oarsmen, and thecreak of the stretchers broke the silence of the night. The muffledoars were admirably handled, not a plash being audible as the bladesrose cleanly from the phosphorescent water. The superb pulling ofthose Royal Naval Reserve men would have evoked praise from the mostcritical naval officer.

  Gradually the shore loomed up nearer and nearer. Progress was slowbut sure, for Webb had taken the precaution to reserve the rowers'strength for the final lap. On the port hand the land rose abruptly.To starboard a ledge of jagged rocks stretched seaward; while deadahead lay a comparatively broad expanse of land-locked water, itsextent rendered baffling by the deep reflection cast by the highground upon the placid surface.

  Keeping midway between the entrance points Webb steered straight in.The petrol depot was supposed to be on the port-hand side, on gentlyshelving ground hidden from seaward by a line of low cliffs.

  Webb would not have been surprised if, on rounding the entrance,there were signs of activity on shore. A couple of submarines,perhaps, anchored in the seclusion of the creek, and in the act oftaking in quantities of fuel. But all was quiet. Not a sound camefrom the shadowy land; not a light was visible.

  The cutter was in the act of turning to port, when from the highground at the entrance to the creek a rifle-shot rang out, and abullet whizzed within fifty feet of the boat's bows. There was nomistaking the shot. It was not a chance bullet, but a purposely-madesignal.

  "Give way, lads!" exclaimed the Sub, all necessity for silence now atan end. Haynes, too, gave the word for his men to pull their hardest,and now, almost neck and neck, the two boats literally tore throughthe water, greeted by a veritable fusillade from the heights on theleft and from the shelving ground ahead.

  A stifled cry of pain told Webb that one of the boat's crew hadstopped a piece of nickel; but, setting his teeth grimly, the woundedman, despite a bullet wound completely through the left arm, stuckgamely to his oar.

  "By Jove!" muttered the young officer as the blinding glare of thefirst of the unmasked search-lights played fairly upon his eyes,"we're trapped."

  Then other rays darted across the surface of the creek, transformingthe darkness of the night into a state of brilliance almostapproaching that of daylight. A seven-pounder shell, hurtlingoverhead, exploded a hundred yards astern of the whaler, while, allaround the two boats, the water was churned into a series ofminiature waterspouts by a hail of bullets.

  The British craft did not come off unscathed. Splinters from the ashoars and from the gunwales flew in all directions. Already writhingfigures were huddled upon the cutter's bottom-boards, while stifledgroans from the whaler told the unpleasant fact that some of her crewhad been hit.

  "Pull starboard, back port!" ordered Webb. With the opening fire ofthe Turkish light guns he knew that it would be worse than useless toattempt to carry out the operations. It would only be needlesslysacrificing the lives of the men without the faintest chance ofsuccess. All that could be done was to withdraw from the veritabledeath-trap, if such a course were possible.

  The Turks were now using machine-guns, but luckily their aim was bad,for the scythe-like hail of bullets passed harmlessly over the boats.Had the weapons been depressed a mere fraction of an inch, theBritish would have been wiped out to a man.

  Quickly the whaler followed the cutter's example, turning and makingfor the open sea.

  By this time the roar of the hostile fire was deafening. Had thesearch-lights not been running, the flashes of the guns and of thecontinuous musketry were sufficient to turn the hitherto pitchdarkness into a lurid glare. Showing up clearly against the highground on the opposite side of the creek, the boats presented an easytarget. By all the laws and theories of modern warfare they shouldhave been blown clear out of the water; instead, they seemed to beshielded 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'sboat, shot through the head, was lying across the backboard of thestern-sheets. The bowman, hit by a flying fragment of shell, haddropped inertly over the thwart. Others of the crew had sustainedmore or less serious wounds, until only six men were left to use theoars.

  Nor did the whaler fare better. Four dead men lay upon thebottom-boards, seven badly wounded were striving to make light oftheir terrible injuries. Even when face to face with death thegallant British seamen "stuck it", with grim smiles on their facesand light-hearted jests on their lips. Several of the oars had beensplintered; there were half a dozen bullet holes through the planks'twixt wind and water, to say nothing of numerous perforations in thetop-strakes of the gunwales. Yet the whaler still kept afloat, thanksto the determination and resource of her crew, who stuffed stripstorn from their scarves into the shot holes and plied balersvigorously, despite the galling fire to which they were unable toreply.

  In vain Webb looked for the steam cutter; but while scanning theentrance to the creek he saw something that called for instantaction--something that in a measure accounted for the fact that theboats had not been destroyed. The Turkish quick-firers and most ofthe small arms were directing a fairly concentrated storm of shot andshell across the entrance, thus creating an almost impassablebarrage. Clearly the Sub saw the object of these tactics: the enemywere trying to force the two boats into surrendering, rather thanblow them out of the water.

  Webb found himself asking the question "For why?" He could give nosatisfactory reply. He was in a very tight corner; but he had been insimilar predicaments before, and his resource and courage had broughthim through. Why not now?

  "By Jove!" he muttered; "if we can get in close to the shore thosecliffs will shelter us. They don't seem to have posted any troopsthere, and certainly there are no quick-firers."

  Acting promptly he altered helm. The rowers, finding their boatheading towards the shore, regarded their young officer with evidentconcern, until they saw the cool resolute look upon the Sub's face.Then they knew that he had something in view that might extricatethem from the deadly trap.

  The whaler, too, followed suit, and, before the Turks realized thefact, both boats were sheltered from the hostile fire.

  The Sub now steered the cutter parallel with the line of low cliffsand at a distance of about three boats' lengths from their base. Atintervals the two craft had to edge outwards in order to avoid thejagged reefs that jutted out from the precipitous cliffs; yetprogressing slowly, for the men at the oars were either wounded orwell-nigh exhausted, the cutter, followed by the whaler, crepttowards the open sea. And still no sign of the steamboat that wassupposed to be standing by to cover their movements.

  Suddenly Webb spotted something ahead that filled him with vagueapprehension. He stood upright in order to verify his suspicions.There was no mistake: stretched right across the narrowest part ofthe entrance was a formidable barrier composed of wire hawserssupported on floating iron-spiked balks of timber.

  The obstruction had not been there when the boats entered theland-locked estuary. It was a device planned under the supervision ofGerman officers, and was simple in its design and operation. Thebalks had been bunched together close on shore. From the outermostone a flexible steel hawser crossed the entrance and was secured to apowerful capstan on the opposite bank. With no strain upon it thehawser lay on the bottom of the creek, and the navigable channel wasclear. Directly the cutter and the whaler had passed over the hawsera strain was taken on it, with the result that the balks of timberwere hauled into position, forming a "boom" too strong to be severedby the "wa
y" of a rowing boat, too buoyant to be pushed under waterto allow a craft to pass above, and with too great a strain on theconnecting hawser to permit a boat to force her way underneath. Itwas like being in a bottle with the neck tightly corked.

  "What do you make of it?" shouted Tom to the Sub in charge of thewhaler.

  "A tough job," replied Haynes. "D'you think that there's a live wireattached to that contraption?"

  "I'll soon find out, old son," rejoined Webb. There was no time to belost, for the Turks, realizing that the boats were temporarilysheltered, would almost certainly rush a couple of machine-guns tothe summit of the cliff. At close range, for the boats were nowwithin twenty yards of the shore, the British landing party would beat the mercy of the enemy.

  Snatching up an india-rubber mat that lay in the stern-sheets Webbmade his way for'ard, over the thwarts and the pack of wounded men.Then, clambering on the nearest balk of timber, he threw theinsulated material over one of the wires and forced it against thenext cable. Nothing resulted. That pair, at all events, did notconvey any powerful and death-dealing current of electricity.

  "A couple of hands for'ard," ordered the Sub. "Bring a hammer andchisel from the boat's bag and start cutting through this wire gear."

  Volunteers were quickly forthcoming--two seamen who had been butslightly wounded. While they were tackling the task, knee-deep inwater owing to the timber sinking under their weight, Webb tested theremaining wire ropes. To his intense satisfaction they werecomparatively harmless; but the fact remained that there were six2-inch flexible wires to be cut through before the boats could gainthe open sea.

  Desperately the two seamen attacked the stubborn wire with coldchisel and hammer. It was a slow business, for the steel wasextremely tough, while the lack of anything in the nature of an anvilcaused much of the force of the hammer to be wasted.

  "One nearly through, sir," reported the seaman with the chisel. Hishands were streaming with blood, owing to lacerations made by thesevered strands, each of which was as tough and as sharp as asailmaker's needle. "Wish we had a hacksaw," he added.

  "No good wishing for something we haven't got," said Webb. "We'll doit all in good time. Let me give you a spell."

  But before the Sub could make his way along the partly submergedtimber Haynes exclaimed:

  "Stand by; here they come!"

  Webb listened intently. He could distinguish the thud of many feet,and the high-pitched sort of cheer that Turkish infantry frequentlygive vent to when advancing at the double.

  "Back with you!" he ordered, addressing the two seamen on the balk."Stand to your arms, men!"

  The Sub had made up his mind. It must be a fight to the death. Therecould be no surrender. Yet it was a forlorn hope. At the utmost, onlya dozen rifles would be able to reply to the renewed attack.

  Another and totally different sound wafted across the sea, at firstso faintly that Webb was afraid to trust the evidence of his ownsenses. The sound increased in volume. Now it was unmistakable--thechug-chug of the steam cutter's engines.

  Snatching up a Very's pistol and inserting a cartridge, Webb firedinto the air. The green light from the signal-cartridge threw asickly glare upon the scene, hitherto shrouded in intense darkness;for, although the greater portion of the creek was one blaze ofsearch-lights, the darkness under the cliffs was almost impenetrable.

  Well it was that Webb had fired the signal, for the steamboat washeading for the centre of the creek. Instantly the boat altered helmand tore down upon the two trapped craft. She was charging at fullspeed against the formidable boom. "Steamboat ahoy!" shouted Webb atthe full force of his lungs. "Slow down; there's an obstruction aheadof you."

  The warning was unheeded. Either Osborne had failed to hear hischum's voice, or else he had made up his mind to charge the boom, inthe hope that the steamboat's sharp bow would shear through thedanger.

  The outermost wire of the boom parted like packthread under theterrific impact of ten tons of deadweight, travelling at fifteenknots. By good luck the boat had struck the boom immediately betweentwo of the balks of timber, otherwise her planks would have beenripped like paper by the formidable steel spikes.

  The second wire sagged but held. A whole section of the boom swayed,the side nearest the cutter slipping under the water, while the otherside reared five or six feet in the air, narrowly missing the bows ofthe whaler in its descent.

  For quite twenty yards the steamboat was forced astern by the reboundof the hawser; then, just as she was forging ahead once more, Osborneordered the engines to be stopped. Very docilely the boat ranalongside the insurmountable barrier.

  "All aboard here--all hands!" ordered Osborne, addressing thesurvivors of the cutter and the whaler.

  The bow gun of the steamboat was spitting venomously at parties ofTurks who had now appeared upon the top of the cliffs. Distinctlysilhouetted against the glow of the search-lights they made anexcellent target, while the boats, lying close alongside the steeplyrising ground, were practically invisible, save for the flashes ofthe steamboat's gun.

  Assisted by their slightly wounded comrades, the disabled seamen werehelped along the swaying timber and received on board the steamcutter. Webb and Haynes were the last to leave. The latter had comeoff lightly, having sustained nothing more than a graze across theforehead.

  "Bear a hand, old man!" exclaimed Webb, after a vain attempt toscramble upon the boat's side.

  "Hit?" enquired Haynes laconically.

  "Don't know. Fancy I must be," replied the Sub dully.

  Had not Haynes grasped his comrade by the shoulders Webb would havedropped inertly from the balk of timber into the sea. Everything wasturning a dazzling white before his eyes. His nerveless hands wereholding on to the top-strake of the cutter, yet he was unconscious ofthe fact.

  "Buck up!" exclaimed Haynes encouragingly. "Now, up she comes!"

  With a determined effort the Sub of the whaler heaved his chum uponthe cutter's waterways.

  "Where are you hit, old man?" he asked, but the question wasunanswered. Sub-lieutenant Tom Webb was unconscious.