Partly dazzled by the search-light which was playing obliquely upon the mêlée 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 close to the hilt. Gripping his rifle by the muzzle end of the barrel, Dick swung it right and left, clearing a gap in the dense ranks of his assailants. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of young Farnworth putting up a stiff fight with three tall and muscular Turks, while a few feet away from the midshipman was a German officer in the act of levelling his revolver, and awaiting an opportunity of firing at the plucky British lad. Down swung Dick's rifle, purposely missing his antagonist's guard. Shortening the weapon, the Sub dashed it into the Turk's face, then drawing his revolver, fired three shots in rapid succession at the fez-bedecked Teuton. "That's settled your little game, you brute," thought Dick savagely, as the German pitched forward on his face. Hitherto the Sub had fought for fighting's sake. He bore no particular animosity against any of his Moslem antagonists, but the sight of the German standing out of immediate danger and awaiting an opportunity to coolly pick off the midshipman, directly he was not masked by his immediate foes, had aroused Dick's deepest ire. When he looked again young Farnworth was no longer standing. The lad had been overcome by the numerical superiority of his attackers. Again and again Dick fired, till the hammer of his revolver falling with a dull click told him that the weapon was empty. Hurling it at the near-most of his foes, the Sub stooped to regain his rifle. As he did so a stalwart Bashi Bazouk struck him a heavy blow on the head with the butt-end of his gun, and without a groan Dick fell within a yard of the body of his brother officer. It was broad daylight when the Sub recovered his senses. He found himself lying in a large, whitewashed room, the walls of which were of immense thickness and pierced on one side by four narrow pointed windows, through which the sun was pouring fiercely. He was stretched upon a low bed. Close beside him was Midshipman Farnworth, his head almost enveloped in bandages. The only other occupant of the room a tall, sinewy man dressed in the uniform of a Turkish seaman--jumper and trousers very similar to those worn by the British tar, and a dark-red fez. He had discarded his boots 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 Englis officer. How can do?" "Get me something to drink then," said Dick, for his throat was burning like a limekiln. "No beer, no have got," declared the Turk imperturbably.