The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Prisoner of War

  The men took their misfortune with the utmost composure. Some of themexchanged witticisms, regarding the business in the light of havinggone ashore on leave and having missed the "liberty boat". One thingthey regretted was not being able to smoke, since the glimmer of amatch might draw the enemy's fire; so they "stood easy" under theshelter of an overhanging rock and chewed "Navy Plug", while the Suband the midshipman discussed the situation.

  "Bourne has evidently come to the conclusion that the boat's crew havelost the number of their mess," remarked Dick. "When one comes toconsider matters, it is not surprising." And he pointed to the turmoilof broken water in Yenikeui Bay. "It is just possible that the Admiralwill send a destroyer to investigate as soon as it gets daylight; butthe question is, how are they going to pick us up under fire?"

  "We can only hang on, sir," replied Farnworth. "Perhaps the Turks willclear out at sunrise, and we will be able to see if the boat's capableof floating. Should the sea moderate, it ought to be easy."

  "I don't believe in hanging on," said Dick. "I think the wind'sveering. It was almost due south, now it's sou'-east. Unless I'm muchmistaken it will settle down to east'ard, and the sea on the other sideof the bay will go down considerably."

  "And then, sir?"

  "We'll collar that craft our fellows discovered in the creek. Fromtheir accounts I should imagine it to be a felucca. They're fine,weatherly craft, and with the wind abeam she ought to skip over the barlike greased lightning. I'll get the men on the move."

  Under the circumstances Sub-lieutenant Crosthwaite did not believe ingiving orders without explaining to the boat's crew his intentions.Calling the men to attention, he briefly outlined his plan ofoperation. Were it not for the necessity for silence, the seamen wouldhave cheered; instead, they showed by the grim expression on theirfaces that they would willingly follow their young officer, and trustimplicitly to his good judgment.

  "That's a blessing!" ejaculated Farnworth as the hostile search-lightwas switched off. "Those fellows evidently have come to the conclusionthat they've been had."

  Dick was not so sanguine. It might be possible that the projectorrequired adjustment, and the beam had to be shut off in consequence.But after an interval of five minutes, during which time there were nosigns of activity on the part of the Turks--for their rifle-fire haddied away shortly after the arrival of the boat's crew at therendezvous--he concluded that it would be fairly safe to order theparty to retrace their steps.

  The Sub's prognostics concerning the change of wind had becomeverified. It now blew directly into the faces of the party, thestinging rain adding to their discomforts. Already the small streamsthrough which they had previously waded with the water a little abovetheir ankles were now more than knee-deep, and momentarily increasingin volume and impetuosity.

  Suddenly, while climbing over an exceptionally slippery ledge of rock,Dick's feet slipped from under him. Making a vain and frantic attemptto obtain a grip, he fell a distance of six or seven feet, his bootsclattering on the stones. Before he could rise he was astounded tohear a challenge.

  Twenty paces from him could be distinguished the figures of about ascore of Turkish troops.

  The British seamen acted promptly. They realized that now there was nogoing back. Over the ledge they dropped, and, as Dick regained hisfeet, the men waited only to fix bayonets, then with their officerscharged the foe.

  They were greeted by a ragged volley that did no damage, most of thebullets ringing overhead. Not caring to wait for cold steel thatglittered ominously in the dim light, the Ottomans broke and fled.

  As they did so they were greeted by a fusillade from others of theircountrymen on the beach and from the summit of the cliff. In thesuccession of lurid flashes Dick's eye caught sight of a field-piecepartly concealed by a breastwork of stones.

  Calling for his men to empty their magazines in rapid volleys thatcompletely deceived the enemy as to the number that opposed them, theSub led the boat's crew to the attack.

  With a rousing British cheer that outvoiced the rattle of musketry theimpetuous seamen obeyed. A tough tussle, an interchange of bayonetthrusts, and the Turks momentarily melted away, leaving the field-piecein the hands of the meagre boat's crew.

  "What shall we do with this 'ere gun, sir?" a stalwart bluejacket."Slew 'er round and give 'em a dose?"

  Before the Sub could reply, the search-light flooded the scene with itsdazzling rays. Almost simultaneously came the tap-tap-tap of a Maxim,and a sheaf of bullets whizzing overhead and splitting the rocks behindwith fragments of nickel.

  "Disable the gun!" shouted Dick. "Take the trail lever, one of you."

  With a quick movement the Sub opened the breech-block. A sailor seizedthe lever with which the Turkish Krupps are trained in a horizontalplane. Poising the steel bar above his head, the man brought it downwith tremendous force upon the out-swung piece of mechanism. Theinterrupted thread, deeply dented by the blow, was rendered useless,while the breech-block itself, partly wrenched from its massive hinges,was for the time being incapable of service.

  Already three of the small party were shot down. To retire was tocourt annihilation in the form of a scythe-like hail of Maxim bulletsthat swept the ridge behind: a barrier that had to be surmounted ifescape were contemplated in that direction. To remain where they weremeant being under a galling fire from the cliffs, and with very littlenatural protection from the surrounding ground. A third solutionremained: to advance and sell their lives dearly.

  Thrusting his revolver into his holster, Dick picked up the rifle andbayonet of one of the fallen men and shouted to the party to advance.

  Taking full advantage of every little bit of natural cover the menpressed forward, firing as rapidly as they could recharge and emptytheir magazines.

  Still uncertain of the number that opposed them, and thinking that theattack was part of a landing in force, the Turks gave way until theirretrograde movement was checked by fresh bodies of troops hastening torepel the threatened assault.

  Into the midst of the scene of confusion--for Turk was fighting Turk inthe opposing movement of the disorganized throng--Dick and his handfulof men hurled themselves.

  Partly dazzled by the search-light which was playing obliquely upon them?l?e from the high ground, the Sub set about him like a young Berserk.A blow from the butt-end of a Turkish rifle shattered his bayonet closeto the hilt. Gripping his rifle by the muzzle end of the barrel, Dickswung it right and left, clearing a gap in the dense ranks of hisassailants.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of young Farnworth puttingup a stiff fight with three tall and muscular Turks, while a few feetaway from the midshipman was a German officer in the act of levellinghis revolver, and awaiting an opportunity of firing at the pluckyBritish lad.

  Down swung Dick's rifle, purposely missing his antagonist's guard.Shortening the weapon, the Sub dashed it into the Turk's face, thendrawing his revolver, fired three shots in rapid succession at thefez-bedecked Teuton.

  "That's settled your little game, you brute," thought Dick savagely, asthe German pitched forward on his face. Hitherto the Sub had foughtfor fighting's sake. He bore no particular animosity against any ofhis Moslem antagonists, but the sight of the German standing out ofimmediate danger and awaiting an opportunity to coolly pick off themidshipman, directly he was not masked by his immediate foes, hadaroused Dick's deepest ire.

  When he looked again young Farnworth was no longer standing. The ladhad been overcome by the numerical superiority of his attackers.

  Again and again Dick fired, till the hammer of his revolver fallingwith a dull click told him that the weapon was empty. Hurling it atthe near-most of his foes, the Sub stooped to regain his rifle. As hedid so a stalwart Bashi Bazouk struck him a heavy blow on the head withthe butt-end of his gun, and without a groan Dick fell within a yard ofthe body of his brother officer.

  It was broad daylight
when the Sub recovered his senses. He foundhimself lying in a large, whitewashed room, the walls of which were ofimmense thickness and pierced on one side by four narrow pointedwindows, through which the sun was pouring fiercely.

  He was stretched upon a low bed. Close beside him was MidshipmanFarnworth, his head almost enveloped in bandages.

  The only other occupant of the room a tall, sinewy man dressed in theuniform of a Turkish seaman--jumper and trousers very similar to thoseworn by the British tar, and a dark-red fez. He had discarded hisboots and wore a pair of scarlet soft-leather slippers.

  "How can do?" he asked, seeing that Dick bestirring himself.

  "Where am I?" demanded the Sub.

  "Plis'ner of war. You in Fort Medjidieh. Me good man. Help Englisofficer. How can do?"

  "Get me something to drink then," said Dick, for his throat was burninglike a limekiln.

  "No beer, no have got," declared the Turk imperturbably.

  "Confound the fellow! He evidently imagines that British subjectsdrink nothing but beer," thought the Sub. "No, I don't want beer," healoud; "bring me something cool--cold--not hot, savvy?"

  "Me--Ahmed Djezzar--go. Me your fliend," announced the man; andplacing his hand over his heart and bowing subserviently, henoiselessly glided out of the room, locking the door as soon as he wasoutside.

  "Rummy proceedings, 'pon my soul," soliloquized Dick. "The fellow saysI'm a prisoner of war. I suppose he's right; but there's one thing tobe said: up to the present they have treated me pretty decently. TheTurks are streets above the Germans in the way they handle theirprisoners. I wonder what the game is?"

  Taking into consideration the dirty and untidy habits of the Turks, theroom was fairly clean and presentable. If his informant was right,Dick Crosthwaite was now in a portion of one of the fortresses actuallyon The Narrows, and roughly twenty-one miles from Yenikeui. During theinterval between the times of his having been rendered unconscious inthe affray on the beach and of recovering his senses, he had beencarried over hilly roads running practically parallel to the Asiaticshores of the Dardanelles.

  Why his captors should have gone to this trouble he knew not. He couldonly come to the conclusion that, fearing a landing in force to thesouth of Kum Kale, they had removed their prisoners to quarters wherefor the time being they were not likely to be recaptured.

  Propping himself up by his elbow Dick listened intently. To hisintense disappointment he heard no sounds of guns--not even a distantrumble. Did it mean the operations had been abandoned?

  He began wondering what had happened to the rest of the boat's crew;why his captors should have detailed a Turkish bluejacket to attend thetwo wounded officers; and why Ahmed Djezzar had so vehemently expressedhimself as being a friend. These and a hundred other thoughts flashedthrough his mind, until his reveries were interrupted by thereappearance of the Turk bearing a metal tray on which was a brass cupand a jug filled with sherbet water.

  Dick drank eagerly. As he did so a faint suspicion that the liquidmight be poisoned entered his brain, only to be quickly dismissed,since he recognized that if his captors had wished to dispose of himthey had already had ample opportunities. Nevertheless the sherbetwater was drugged, and it had the result of sending the Sub to sleepfor several hours.

  He awoke, feeling considerably refreshed, to find that young Farnworthwas sitting up in bed and regarding him with eagerness.

  "Thought you'd never wake up, sir," he remarked. "You've been sleepingheavily for at least twelve hours."

  "How are you feeling?" asked Dick.

  "Pretty rotten," admitted the midshipman. "Head feels like a block ofwood. But it isn't that: it's the beastly knowledge that we are offthe fun for the time being."

  "You put up a jolly stiff fight, anyhow."

  "I did my best," replied Farnworth modestly; "but it's beastlyhumiliating being collared like this, and not knowing how things aregoing. There's a Turkish bluejacket hanging about----"

  "I know," said Dick. "A fellow who made a point of stating that he wasour friend. Why I can't make out."

  "He tells me we've had a proper set-back," continued the midshipmanwearily. "Of course I don't know whether he's telling the truth ornot, but he swears that the Turks have captured one of our submarines."

  "Rot!" ejaculated Crosthwaite derisively. "Captured? Not a bit of it.It's a lie."

  "Anyway there was a lot of heavy firing about five hours ago. It onlylasted twenty minutes. The fellow swears that the submarine wasstranded, and that they've captured officers and crew. The Turks hopeto get the vessel off and take her to Constantinople."

  Dick looked serious. He had seen enough of war to know that often theimprobable does happen, yet he could not understand how a Britishsubmarine could have been taken. Why should it have got into shoalwater at all? he wondered.

  Just then Ahmed entered, accompanied by a "hakim" or native doctor.The latter, although unable to speak English, could converse fluentlyin French, a language with which both the Sub and the midshipman werewell acquainted.

  Deftly the doctor unbound Dick's head and examined the contusedscalp-wound. Then he did a like office to Farnworth, chatting affablythe while on all kinds of subjects, the war excepted. Try as he would,without going straight to the point, Dick could not bring the doctor tosay a word relating to the hostilities.

  "You are both progressing nicely," he declared. "By the day afterto-morrow you will be fit to go out and take the air."

  No sooner had the medical man left than Ahmed took up his parable:

  "Me want to help Englis officers," he said. "Me good Ottoman and nolike the Germans. We fight. Why? Because they make us. All fault ofYoung Turks. German officers, they bad mans. Some time I shoot one inde back."

  He paused to watch the result of his pro-British declaration. Findingthat his listeners showed no signs of enthusiasm over his plans forridding the world of at least one German officer, Ahmed continued:

  "Me know plenty Englis officers, when dey was in the Ottoman Navy. Allgone now--hard cheese. Why you laugh?"

  "I was only smiling at your wonderful knowledge of the Englishlanguage," replied Farnworth.

  "Yaas--wonerful, dat is so. Now I tell you dis; de German General, vonSanders, ordered you plis'ners to be sent to Skutari. Telim Pasha, hesay 'no'. Telim Pasha friend of Englis and of Ahmed Djezzar. WhenEnglis army come: how many soldiers?"

  Ahmed raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The Sub shook his head.

  "I don't know," he replied shortly.

  "P'laps twenty tousand?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea."

  For a brief instant Ahmed showed signs of disappointment.

  "Dey come soon?" he asked.

  "I cannot tell," replied Dick, beginning to feel nettled by thefellow's inquisitiveness. "Now, clear out; we want to have a rest."

  The man obeyed. As before he locked the door after him. Directly thedoor clicked Dick sprang swiftly and noiselessly out of bed, crossedthe room, and placed his ear to the keyhole. Hearing nothing, hepeered through the narrow slit; then with a grim smile on his face hereturned to his bed, at the same time holding up a warning finger tocheck the mystified midshipman's enquiry.

  "Hello! There's a sea-plane!" exclaimed Dick about a quarter of anhour later. He hastened to one of the windows, while Farnworth,walking unsteadily from the effects of his injuries, took up his standat an adjoining one.

  The whirr of the aerial propellers grew louder and louder. The Turkishsoldiers, lolling about in the courtyard within the fort, overcametheir lethargy sufficiently to raise their heads and follow the courseof the aeroplane.

  Presently it passed almost overhead, proceeding in a south-westerlydirection. It was flying low--at about two hundred feet. On the underside of the main plane were two red crescents--the distinguishing marksof the Turkish air-craft.

  Hearing the whirr of the blades, other soldiers hurried from thebuildings. Amongst them were two German officers
.

  The latter waited until the sea-plane was out of sight; then, allowingtheir swords to clank noisily over the stones, they walked towards theopposite side of the quadrangle, the Turkish soldiers standing stifflyat attention as they did so.

  At that moment someone hailed them.

  Turning on their heels the officers retraced their steps. Curiosityprompted Dick to crane his head to follow their movements. Notaltogether to his surprise he discovered that the owner of theperemptory voice was the self-styled Ahmed Djezzar. In spite of beingin the uniform of a Turkish bluejacket the two Germans saluted.

  "No luck," he reported, speaking in German--a language that, after manymentally and bodily painful hours at school and a subsequent "roasting"at Osborne and Dartmouth, Dick could follow, with comparative ease."No luck. The English swine do not seem communicative. I'll try themagain; then, if that fails, we'll take other measures."