The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli PeninsulaWesterman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
History
The Fight for Constantinople: A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula
Westerman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
Adventure stories; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Juvenile fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Juvenile fiction
Directly land was sighted the craft was submerged, until only the top
of the periscope was visible. Speed was reduced to five knots, to
minimize as much as possible her tell-tale wake and the feather of
spray as the periscope cleaved the water.
An hour of daylight yet remained as the "E--" arrived within two
hundred yards of the ramshackle pier, taking up a position so that the
slanting rays of the sun tended to render the slender, pole-like
periscope invisible against the background of deep crimson sky and sea.
Beyond the desultory movements of a couple of Turkish sentries there
was little sign of activity. Above the tower the Crescent flag of the
Ottoman Empire drooped idly in the still air. From the row of huts
that served as a barracks for the troops came the sound of stringed
instruments, mingled with the melodious voices of the men.
At sunset every man of the garrison, to the number of twenty-two,
appeared carrying his praying-carpet. From a minaret arose the voice
of the _muezzin_ calling the Faithful to prayer, and with one accord
the soldiers prostrated themselves upon the ground with their faces
turned in the direction of the Mohammedan holy city of Mecca.
Darkness fell upon the scene. Beyond the shouts of the sentries at
regular intervals no sound came from the island. Evidently it was not
considered to be a place of strategic importance, for no search-lights
were flashed from the shore; but away to the nor'-west and north the
sheen of the distant search-lights of Constantinople and Scutari was
plainly visible through the faint haze.
Volunteers had already been invited from the submarine. Every man had
signified his willingness to engage upon the undertaking, and Dick had
considerable difficulty in picking his force, so acute was the
disappointment of those he had to reject.
At midnight the submarine was awash, and her frail canvas boat was
unfolded and launched. At the most it would hold but five.
Giving a final glance to seaward, Huxtable gripped Dick's hand.
Silently two seamen entered the frail boat and waited till the Sub had
taken his place. Then, with greased rowlocks and muffled oars, the
Berthon made cautiously towards the pier.
Straining eyes and ears, Dick grasped the yoke-lines. Steadily the
intervening distance decreased, yet no stern challenge came from the
shadowy shore. Unseen and unheard, the canvas boat ran alongside the
pier, at the head of which was moored a large caique or Turkish craft
peculiar to the Bosphorus and its adjacent waters. At a pinch it would
carry twenty or twenty-five people, especially as the sea was calm.
It was the work of a moment to cast off the stout cord that was made
fast to the stern to prevent the boat from swaying in upon the piles.
Then, as cautiously as they had approached, the crew of the Berthon
rowed back to the submarine, towing the captured craft astern.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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