Читать книгу Two American Boys with the Dardanelles Battle Fleet - Sherman Crockett - Страница 3

Table of Contents

“This old Greek powerboat seems to be making pretty fair time, isn’t it, Amos?”

“It certainly is, Jack, which fact gives me a whole lot of solid satisfaction, I tell you.”

“Lucky for us the water happens to be fairly smooth this spring. They say the Ægean Sea can kick up a lively circus when it takes the notion.”

“The old stories told of the Greek mariners prove that. You know, Jack, we’re fairly surrounded by places that have been made famous in ancient history.”

“Right you are, Amos, and I reckon the Straits of the Dardanelles, that in the days of Leander used to be called the Hellespont, is one of the most noted sheets of water in the wide world.

“Yes, dozens of old-time cities like ancient Troy were situated around the Sea of Marmora. The Persians crossed the straits when they tried so hard to conquer brave little Macedonia and Thrace. Then there was Alexander the Great, who led his wonderful army into Asia by the same route. I guess you could talk for hours about the thrilling events that have taken place along the Dardanelles.

“And now, Amos, to think that in these modern days the Turk is ably defending the water road to Constantinople against his one-time friends and backers, the British and French.

“Times have changed, Amos, and I reckon the Turk is on his way to scuttle out of Europe at last. He came from Asia, you know. Constantinople wasn’t founded by the followers of Mahomet, but taken as a prize of war.”

“Well,” answered Amos, “I only hope that this time we’ll be lucky enough to find my brother Frank. We’ve made two attempts back in Belgium and France, and arrived just in time to learn he had been sent to other fields where skilled airmen were badly needed.”

“Three is often the lucky number, Amos, and somehow I’ve got a hunch that this time we’re bound to run across your brother, who has done such good work for the Allies.”

“I hope so, Jack, I certainly hope so; and one thing sure, I’ll never forget the splendid way you’ve shared my fortunes, no matter how dark they seemed. You’re a cousin and a chum in a million.”

“Forget all that, please, Amos. I’m straining my eyes through this glass in hopes of picking up some sign of land ahead beyond that island yonder; or perhaps seeing the smudge of smoke from the Allies’ battleships on the hazy horizon. Here, take a look, and let me know if you can make out anything.”

Perhaps it might be just as well, while the two manly-looking American lads on board the big Greek powerboat are thus engaged, to go a little into details, and explain who they are. It is necessary, also, that the reader know what strange mission took them into the dangerous waters of the Mediterranean while the world war was in progress.

Of course, those readers who have had the privilege of enjoying the two previous volumes of this series[1] do not need an introduction to Jack and Amos, since they have already followed the pair through many extraordinary adventures when near the firing line in Belgium and Northern France.

There are, however, doubtless others who are making the acquaintance of the two chums for the first time in these pages, and for their sake a brief explanation is necessary.

Amos Turner and Jack Maxfield were not only related through ties of blood, being cousins, but for a long time they had been the most devoted of chums. Blue-eyed Jack had spent some time on a Western ranch, and learned many things there through actual experience that his friend knew only in theory, although Amos had been for some time interested in the Boy Scout movement.

The boy with the dark eyes lived near Chicago, and his father, Colonel Rodney Turner, was known as an ex-military man whose book on tactics had been used throughout the English-speaking world. The stern martinet had traveled extensively, and in this way became personally acquainted with a number of soldiers of world-wide reputation.

There was an older brother, Frank Bradford Turner, a bright boy, but inclined at one time to be wild (and was sometimes called Tom, a nickname of early days). When the old gentleman missed a pocketbook, which he remembered distinctly of having placed in a desk drawer where he kept his papers, he fully believed Frank had given way to temptation and taken it.

The boy had simply denied ever seeing it, but the circumstances were so very suspicious that it ended in a quarrel, and his being sent away from home.

Frank had not been seen by any one for several years, and must have grown to manhood, for he was ten years older than Amos.

Then, one day, an astonishing discovery was made in the Turner home. The drawer of the Colonel’s desk became wedged, and, being now in failing health, he called in Amos to get it out, and oil the edges so it might work smoother.

Amos, discovering that one or two papers had been dragged off the top of the pile in taking the drawer out, thrust his hand into the cavity to capture them, and immediately held up the long-missing pocketbook. It had fallen off in opening the drawer, and was never stolen after all.

Remorse began immediately to gnaw at the old soldier’s heart. He called himself all manner of names, and was suffering keenly, under the belief that he would now never see his oldest born again.

It was learned, through accident, that Frank had traveled in African wilds with a noted explorer. Then, later on, in England, he had taken to aviation, and made a practical air pilot of himself. They even discovered that he had offered his services to the British Government at the outbreak of hostilities, and was even then engaged in his hazardous calling somewhere along the front.

Since the Colonel himself was in too feeble a state of health to think of going across the ocean to look for his wronged boy, Amos proposed that he and Jack undertake the sacred duty. And so they started, well supplied with money, and bearing besides a letter to General Kitchener, who had been, at one time, while in Egypt, a great friend of Colonel Turner, a man whose system of tactics he admired highly.

Meeting the “man of destiny,” upon whom England was placing most of her faith in this terrible crisis, the boys had no difficulty in securing from him a paper that later on smoothed over many difficulties they chanced to encounter while in the fighting zone.

Dozens of times they had made petty officials stare when they saw what a strong endorsement these American lads carried. Often men high in military authority had virtually made a salute at sight of the letter actually penned by Kitchener of Khartoum, whose name was a sign manual wherever men wore the khaki of the British army, as well as the Territorials, as the men from Canada, Australia and New Zealand were called.

After encountering many perils, all of which have been entertainingly described in previous pages, the boys had actually hit upon a strong clue. They heard about the astonishingly daring work of an Allied aviator named Frank Bradford, who, besides other feats, had made a long flight up into the Rhine country and severely damaged some ammunition stores and works of the Germans, returning in safety through dangers without limit.

The more the two lads investigated and asked questions the more firmly Amos became convinced that this Frank Bradford, winning fame as the most skillful of all the Allied air pilots, could be no other than his long-missing brother. For some reason of his own, Frank had chosen to be known by only a portion of his real name; but the descriptions tallied with the remembrance Amos had of his brother.

They had followed the trail from Belgium over into Northern France, and had high hopes of coming upon the object of their long search there; but only met with still another disappointment. Aviators were sorely needed in the region of the Dardanelles, where the Allied fleet was trying to force a passage through the narrow channel that led to the Sea of Marmora, and Constantinople. This peninsula was being desperately defended by an army of Turks, officered by hundreds of expert Germans, and with scores of forts and batteries to hold the assailants in check.

Frank had just a short time before started for the East, and thither, as soon as they could get aboard a steamer at Boulogne, the two boys followed him. They touched at Italy, and from there managed to get to a seaport in Greece, where the real difficulties of the undertaking began to confront them.

Just when they were ready to give up all hope of finding a chance to take passage on any sort of boat, and were even contemplating trying to purchase a small naphtha launch of some sort, they learned that a large powerboat was starting for some Turkish port. The commander, who went under the name of Captain Zenos, agreed to take them somewhere near the scene of operations, when they could find some way of getting in touch with British Headquarters, and learning what they wished to know about Frank Bradford.

They had been for some time passing cautiously among the numerous islands of the famous Ægean Sea, and were heading for the Gallipoli Peninsula that lies between it and the heavily fortified Dardanelles Straits.

After using the glass which his chum had handed him, Amos declared that it began to look as though they might be heading for the island mentioned.

“We are, by this time,” he went on to say, “getting somewhere near our destination, and, since we have paid in advance, I’ve been wondering whether the captain might not mean to land us at any old place, just to get rid of us.”

Jack glanced around before replying, as though to make certain there was no chance of his being overheard. At the time it happened that the crew of seven dark-faced and brawny Greeks were engaged in doing something up forward, under the supervision of their captain, so that Jack felt perfectly free to speak what he had on his mind.

“I’ve been meaning to mention a certain matter for some time, Amos, and it strikes me there’s no use holding it back any longer,” he said, half under his breath.

“Is it about Captain Zenos, Jack?” immediately demanded the other, who doubtless must have noticed the cautious look his companion gave toward the skipper and rough crew of the big powerboat that was churning the water so noisily.

“Just what it is,” came the immediate reply. “To tell you the honest truth, Amos, I don’t like the man’s looks any too well. He watches us from time to time as if he meant to play us some sort of mean trick. We must keep our eyes open, or something not down on the bills may happen to us pretty soon.”