On Land and Sea at the Dardanelles Part 36

wired to headquarters.'

The other c.o.xswain who was at the periscope at the moment, looked up.

'Then the wires must ha' been down, Joe. She's a coming right now.'

'Let's have a look,' exclaimed Williams, springing across.

'Ay, you're right, Bill. There she is. A big un, too!'

'And, lumme,' he added with a growl, 'a blighted torpedo boat a escorting of her!'

''Tis only one o' them tin Turkish rattle-traps,' said Bill with a pitying air. 'The old man'll slap a tin fish into her afore she knows what's. .h.i.t her.'

As he spoke, the engines were already quickening, and G2 had begun to glide away at the top speed of her powerful electrics. The deep hum of the dynamos filled the long interior, and on every face was a look of eager expectancy.

As for Ken, his heart was throbbing like the dynamos themselves. The feeling that his father, whom he had hardly hoped ever to see again, was within a mile or so, had plunged him into such a state of tense excitement that it was all he could do to control it.

He turned to speak to Williams, but the latter had gone forward, and was standing by the torpedo in the fore tube.

The other c.o.xswain, too, had gone to his place, and Sub-Lieutenant Hotham had taken his seat at the forward periscope.

For four minutes, which seemed to Ken like four hours, the submarine drove onwards in silence. Then came a sharp order from the commander, and she began to rise.

'What's she coming up for?' asked Roy of Ken in a low voice.

'She's got to, so as to fire her torpedo. You can't fire so long as you're submerged.'

'But if they see us, they'll let loose with their guns.'

'They've only got the periscopes to shoot at. Take more than Turkish gunners to hit them.'

'Stand by!' came the crisp order from Commander Strang. 'Three points to port--one more. Don't miss her, whatever you do, Williams. She's got the legs of us, and we shan't get a second shot.'

'That's right. Steady now. Shut down! Let go!'

Ken heard a sharp hiss as the compressed air drove the long gray Whitehead out of its tube, and sent it flas.h.i.+ng away on its deadly errand. Young Hotham sat still as a statue, his eyes glued to the periscope. The rest of the crew seemed hardly to breathe. As for Ken, his mouth was dry. To him, more than to any one else aboard, the success or failure of the shot meant much.

Five, ten, fifteen seconds--then Hotham gave a sharp cry.

'Got her. Got her, by the living jingo! Oh, good shot, Williams!'

As he spoke a dull shock made the whole hull of G2 quiver.

'Hurrah!' shouted Ken, and the cheer was echoed by a score of voices.

'Struck her just aft the engines,' exclaimed Hotham jubilantly. 'Settled her hash all right. Gad, they've got pluck. They're still shooting. Ah, did you hear that, Carrington?'--as the submarine quivered again slightly.

'That was a sh.e.l.l. It struck the water not ten yards away.'

'But that's the last,' he continued. 'She's c.o.c.king her bows up. Phew, the whole bottom's knocked out of her. There she goes. She's sinking. Poor beggars, they haven't time to get out a boat, and we'll never reach 'em in time to save any of them.'

'Her stern's under. Bow's straight up in the air!' He paused a moment.

'All over,' he added quietly. 'She's gone.' Commander Strang's voice rang out from farther aft. Ken felt the vessel rising, and a few moments later a slight swaying told that she was on the surface. Up went the hatch, and the terrible clatter of the petrol engines replaced the deep purr of the dynamos.

'I'd give a finger to be on deck,' said Ken to Roy, and for once Roy did not jeer. He merely nodded, for he knew how desperately anxious Ken was about his father.

Ken had not long to wait. A few minutes later, an order was pa.s.sed for Carrington to go up, and Ken darted up the steel ladder like a lamplighter.

Outside, he found the sun gone, the sky covered with clouds, and a threat of rain in the cool air. But it was not the weather he thought of. His eyes were at once fixed upon a large steamer about two miles off to the southward. Clouds of sooty smoke were pouring from her funnels, and a yeasty wake trailed away behind her. Taking warning by the fate of her escort, she was doing all she knew to escape.

'Will she beat us? Will she get away?' Ken asked anxiously of one of the gun crew.

'Will she spread her little wings an' turn into a waterplane?' replied the man with a grin. 'Bless you, soldier, she couldn't do more'n fourteen knots when she come out o' the builder's yard, and that's two more'n she's going now. You watch an' see how far she gets away.'

A very few moments' watching was enough to convince Ken that G2 was overhauling her prey hand over fist. Within less than a quarter of an hour a mile of the steamer's lead had gone. Another five minutes and the distance between the two was barely twelve hundred yards.

'Hallo, they're getting gay!' remarked the big bluejacket, as rifles began to spit and bullets to throw up little jets of spray around the rus.h.i.+ng submarine.

Presently one clanged against the conning tower itself. Commander Strang gave an order, and a little row of bunting ran up on the tiny mast of the submarine.

'"Heave to, or I'll sink you," that means,' observed Ken's friend.

The only response was a thicker hail of bullets. But the low deck of G2, flying onwards as she was at about twenty-two land miles an hour, made a poor target, and the Turks failed to do any damage beyond knocking a little paint off.

'Confound 'em!' growled Strang. 'They haven't got sense enough to come in out of the rain. Give 'em a sh.e.l.l, Watson.'

The long gray 12-pounder was ready. Her vicious-looking muzzle swung round. There was a ringing bang, and the sh.e.l.l, small but charged with deadly lyddite, spun away on its errand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'A black-browed officer came to the rail.']

Ken, watching eagerly, saw a bright flash light the side of the steamer, close under her stern, and as a cloud of smoke floated up, the crash of the explosion came back to his ears.

The big steamer staggered and yawed right out of her course.

'Capital!' said Strang with strong approval. 'That's hashed her steering.

Signal 'em to heave to, or the next will be in their engine-room.'

There were a few more scattering rifle shots, but the officers on the transport soon stopped that. The transport herself, with her rudder in rags, was out of all control. Her engines were stopped, and she lay sullenly waiting for her saucy little enemy.

Strang gave a sigh of relief.

'Glad they had the sense to shut up,' he said to Ken. 'If they'd gone on shooting I should have had to sock it into them, and I didn't want to break my promise to your old Pacha.'

The submarine, smartly handled as usual, glided up close under the tall side of the transport, and Strang hailed her in French.

A black-browed officer, with angry eyes, came to the rail, and answered in the same language.

'You have British and French prisoners aboard,' said Strang sharply. 'You will be good enough to put them all into a boat and send them across.'