The words were hardly out of his mouth when a dull, rasping sound announced the unpleasant fact that the submarine was sc.r.a.ping over the shingly bottom. To reverse the motors to back off the ledge would mean instant detection.

Ten seconds of breathless suspense followed. During that time the submerged craft was still forging ahead, till without losing way she slid into deep water. She was safely within the secret haven.

"By Jove, I've got her! There she is!" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Commander.

It was now dawn, with sufficient light to discern the outlines of the _unterseeboot_. She had warped out from her insh.o.r.e berth, and was now lying at anchor in about the same position as when d.i.c.k had first discovered her. Her deck was showing about two feet above the surface.

Alongside was the Berthon boat with two men on board. On the submarine the only signs of life were a couple of seamen patrolling the limited extent of deck.

"Stand by--both tubes," ordered the Lieutenant-Commander. He was determined to take no risks of a miss.

The twenty-one-inch gleaming steel cylinders, set to the minimum depth, were already in the tubes. The torpedo gunner and his mate were grimly alert, grasping the ball-ended levers that were to liberate the charge of compressed air.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the British submarine swung to starboard, until her skipper knew that the fixed tubes were pointed straight towards their quarry.

"Ready--fire starboard!"

With a hiss as the air, hitherto compressed to two hundred pounds to the square inch, rushed from its compression chamber, the deadly missile sped on its way. Beyond the swish of the inrushing water that was automatically admitted to compensate the loss of weight caused by the speeding torpedo, not a sound broke the deadly stillness pervaded the interior of the submarine.

Four seconds later a dull roar betokened the fact that one torpedo was sufficient for the work of destruction.

"Blow main ballast tank," ordered the skipper.

No need for caution now. The victor could appear on the surface with impunity. She rose almost vertically, for she had almost lost way.

With the water pouring in cascades from her steel deck she flung herself free from the encircling embrace of the sea, and curtsied to the morning air.

Hatches were quickly opened, and officers and men rushed on deck to see with their own eyes the result of their successful work.

Already the _unterseeboot_ had vanished for the last time. An ever-widening circle of sullen water heavily tinged with oil, and surmounted by a cloud of pungent smoke that was slowly dispersing in the calm air, marked the spot where the luckless submarine had plunged to the bottom.

The canvas boat was still afloat. Some distance from the point of impact of the torpedo she had withstood the suction of the sinking vessel, and was now bobbing sluggishly to the undulations caused by the rebound of the disturbed water from the sides of the creek. The two German seamen, staring with wide-open eyes as if terrified by the appalling nature of the catastrophe, were crouching in the Berthon, while through the oil-spread water a third man was laboriously swimming towards her.

"We'll let them go," decided the skipper. "They can tell their pals of the convoy that their second journey is for nothing. Besides, under forthcoming conditions, we have no room for prisoners of war."

"There's another bloke, sir," sung out one of the crew. "He's pretty nigh done for, I'll allow."

The Lieutenant-Commander looked in the direction indicated. A fourth member of the complement of the ill-starred _unterseeboot_ swimming listlessly and aimlessly. He was apparently in the last stages of exhaustion, and although his plight was observed by the men in the canvas boat, either they were too callous or too stunned by the after-effects of the catastrophe to attempt to row to his a.s.sistance.

"Is there plenty of water, Mr. Crosthwaite?" asked the skipper.

"Plenty, sir."

"Easy ahead," ordered Huxtable. "Stand by with a line, men."

Slowly the submarine approached the drowning man. Too much way would not only be a detriment to his rescue, but would hazard the safety of the vessel.

Two coils of rope were hurled at the luckless German, but although both fell almost within arm's length of him he made no effort to grasp them.

"Good heavens!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Farnworth, "he's blind."

"He's going!" shouted a man. "If he gets his head under the oil he'll never come up again."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the skipper as a brawny bluejacket kicked off his sea-boots and, without attempting to rid himself of his fearnought coat and sweater, plunged overboard.

A dozen strokes brought him to the wellnigh unconscious Teuton.

Seizing the fellow by the collar, his rescuer towed him alongside the submarine, where willing hands hauled both on deck, the German muttering and gibbering incoherently, not knowing whether he was in the hands of friend or foe.

"Lay on your oars!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander in German to the men in the Berthon, who were now beginning to pull for the sh.o.r.e.

They only redoubled their efforts; and it was not until the submarine overhauled the boat, and ranged up so close that there was not room to swing an oar, that the Germans sullenly obeyed the summons to surrender.

Their astonishment was great when their disabled comrade was carefully lowered into the boat and they were told to push off. Promptly they obeyed, but as soon as they gained the beach the unwounded men leapt out and hastened up the mountain path. Before a projecting rock hid them from sight they stopped and made derisive gestures at their humane foes, then they vanished from sight.

The skipper shrugged his shoulders.

"Kultur," he remarked. "Those are the fellows who, had we been struggling for dear life, would have jeered at our despairing efforts."

"But what can you expect from a navy that has no honourable traditions, sir?" asked d.i.c.k.

CHAPTER XIV

Through Unseen Perils

The submarine's Lieutenant-Commander sent one wireless message prior to starting on his dash for the Sea of Marmora. Under the circ.u.mstances it was desirable, in spite of the chance of its being intercepted by the enemy.

The message was to the Admiral, to the effect that, acting upon information supplied by Sub-Lieutenant Richard Crosthwaite, of H.M.S.

_Hammerer_, who with Midshipman Farnworth succeeded in effecting his escape from the enemy, the officer commanding H.M. Submarine "E--"

succeeded in torpedoing and destroying a German _unterseeboot_ in the neighbourhood of Smyrna; and that he was in possession of information that suggested the antic.i.p.ated arrival of other German submarines from their North Sea bases.

Back came the reply:

"Admiral heartily congratulates officer commanding 'E--' on his brilliant exploit, and Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite and Midshipman Farnworth on their escape."

"Good!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lieutenant-Commander Huxtable. "Unship the wireless mast. We won't need that again until we've done something to shake the Turks up."

Running awash, the submarine skirted the sh.o.r.e till the outlines of k.u.m Kale appeared in sight. Then diving to a depth of eight fathoms, in order to be well clear of the keels of any British battleships cruising in the vicinity, she headed for The Narrows.

With a suddenness peculiar to the Mediterranean a strong wind had sprung up, causing a heavy sea to run at the entrance to the Dardanelles, and as a result the submarine jumped violently in a vertical direction as each wave pa.s.sed forty to sixty feet above her.

"Thank goodness it won't be for long," remarked the skipper. "It's the current against the wind that makes such a beast of a jump. I wouldn't like to tackle the anch.o.r.ed mines with this tumble on; but you'll find we'll pick up smooth water as soon as we leave Eski Hissarlik on our port quarter."

For three hours the submarine literally groped her way, running at seven knots against a current the velocity of which is rarely less than five. At the end of that interval she showed her periscope with the utmost diffidence. An observation revealed Kephez Point broad on the starboard beam, and the battered fort of Kilid Bahr a couple of points on the port bow.

"We've fouled something, sir," reported the Acting Sub-lieutenant of the submarine, a youngster but recently promoted from midshipman.

"By Jove, we have!" agreed his superior officer, as he glanced through the small observation-scuttle in the side of the conning-tower.

"Awkward--confoundedly awkward!"