On Land and Sea at the Dardanelles Part 28

Roy sprang to his feet, but Ken caught him by the arm.

'Steady! Don't hurry, or you'll give the show away. It's not likely they're all gone.'

'Every man Jack of 'em,' Roy answered, as he walked boldly out on to the beach.

Ken glanced round sharply. It seemed as though Roy were right. So far as he could see, the whole population of the beach had departed for the scene of the explosion.

'There are the boats,' said Roy. 'Three, four--yes, half a dozen of them.

Now we shan't be long.' 'They're great clumsy brutes of things,' Ken answered. Hang it all! There isn't one we can manage between us.'

'Wait. There's a smaller one beyond. That might do us.' muttered Roy, hurrying forward.

Ken followed quickly. As Roy had said, this boat which lay by itself was decidedly smaller than the others. It had, however, been pulled clear of the water.

'Good, she's got a pair of oars,' said Roy. 'Give us a hand to launch her, Ken.'

She was a considerable weight, and the shingle was deep and soft. There is no tide in these waters, so the beaches are dry like those of a lake. In spite of their best efforts, it took them some little time to get her afloat.

They had only just succeeded and Ken was scrambling aboard, when rapid steps came hurrying down the beach.

'Halt!' came a sharp voice speaking in Turkish. 'Who goes there?'

CHAPTER XIII

THE SWEEPERS

'Hurry!' hissed Roy.

'No use,' was the low-voiced answer. 'He'd get us both before we were out of range.' As he spoke, Ken turned and stepped swiftly back to the beach.

'Friend,' he answered, speaking in the same language. 'Despatches for Chanak from Colonel Gratz.'

The sentry, a burly Turk, armed with a Mauser rifle, pulled up opposite Ken.

'Despatches,' he repeated suspiciously. 'Why are they being sent by boat?

And who gave you leave to use this boat?'

In a flash Roy saw that this was a man of more intelligence than the average run of Turkish soldiers, and that it would be useless to try and bluff him. The only chance was to put him out.

'We had our orders,' he said. 'You can look at them if you wish.' He pretended to take something out of his pocket, at the same time stepping forward. Then, like a flash, he drove his fist with all his might into the Turk's face.

The man reeled backwards, but did not fall. Next moment he uttered a shout that rang through the night.

'We've done it now,' growled Roy, as he leaped past Ken, and caught the wretched sentry by the throat with a grip that effectually prevented any further sound.

'Take his rifle, Ken,' he said sharply. 'It's all right. I'll gag him. You get into the boat.'

How he did it Ken did not know, but within an incredibly short time Roy had sprung into the water, pushed the boat off, and scrambled aboard.

'I'll take the oars,' he said unceremoniously, and Ken, though himself a useful man with sculls, made no objection. Roy's strength, he knew, was greater than his own.

In a trice Roy had flung off his Turkish overcoat and British tunic. The blades bent as he sent the boat hissing through the water.

There was no tiller, but Ken found a broken scull at the bottom of the boat with which he contrived to steer. He kept her head due south, but fairly close in sh.o.r.e, and what between Roy's powerful efforts, and the strong current which always flows out of the Sea of Marmora into the Aegean, they were soon going almost as fast as a man could run.

'It'll be Heaven's own luck if no one heard that yell,' muttered Roy, as he bent all his giant strength to the oars.

'I wish it had been your fist and not mine,' Ken replied with some bitterness.

'But I couldn't have got near him,' Roy answered simply. 'You see, I don't speak the lingo.'

The vicious crack of a rifle interrupted the conversation, and a bullet slapped the water just astern, and went skipping away in a series of ducks and drakes.

'They're on to us,' muttered Ken between set teeth. Roy said nothing. He only pulled a little harder. By the way the oars bent, Ken almost feared they would snap.

Another spit of white flame from the beach, another, and another. Still they were unhit, and every moment the distance was increasing. They had got beyond the low beach, and were under the cliffs to the southward.

'We may do it yet,' muttered Ken. 'They can't see us in this light. And there are not more than two chaps firing.'

There was a moment's pause in the firing. Ken's spirits rose. He thought--hoped that the Turks had given it up as a bad job. Then, just as it seemed as though they were really out of range, there rang out a regular volley, and all around them the water splashed in little jets of pale foam. There came a thud, the boat quivered slightly, and white splinters flew near Ken's feet, one cutting him slightly on the shin.

'Hit?' panted Roy, as he saw Ken wince.

'Nothing. It's the boat,' answered Ken briefly, as he bent to examine the damage.

A few seconds later, and they had rounded the projecting point of rock on which stands the old lighthouse. The firing ceased.

Roy slackened a little.

'Much damage?' he asked curtly.

'Holed her badly,' Ken answered. 'She's leaking like a sieve.'

'Rotten luck!' growled Roy. 'And just as we'd dodged the blighters. Can you do anything with it?'

'Ram a handkerchief in--that's all. Of course, I can bale.'

'Well, keep her afloat as long as you can. It won't be exactly healthy if we have to land anywhere here. All forts, isn't it?'

'Yes, down as far as Tekeh. Not that the forts will do us any harm, even if they're warned. We're too small and too close in for gun fire. But there's no place to land for nearly two miles--not until you get to what they call the Fountain.'

Apparently the forts were not warned. As the 'Triumph' had been slamming 12-inch sh.e.l.ls into them only the previous night, the chances were that the telephone wires were cut. Roy kept going with long steady strokes, while Ken, working even harder, baled frantically the whole time.

So they drove on without speaking for about a quarter of an hour.