The Fouled Propellers
FOR the next few days the chums heard nothing more of the spy and his
disguised tracker, nor did they deem it wise to make enquiries. It
was not until the end of the week that news circulated rapidly
through the native quarter to the effect that a Greek and an Arab,
arrested by order of the Kafir authorities, had broken out of their
place of detention. Europeans "not in the know" heard the same story.
Vaguely they wondered how such an escape could be effected, in the
face of the strict measures taken for the safe custody of malefactors
and criminals. And when Osborne and Webb were told of the incident
they glanced at each other in a way that denoted that they were not
at all surprised.
"We'll hear more about Georgeos Hymettus," declared Webb.
One morning orders were received for the surviving members of the
ill-fated _Portchester Castle's_ ship's company to hold themselves in
readiness for embarkation on the transport _Sinai_, which was about
to sail for Malta.
Dacres and Major Fane had already bidden farewell to their former
companions in peril. They had left a few days after the _Paradox_
arrived at Port Said--the former for England, the Major, with his
leave cancelled at his own request, to resume duty with a Soudanese
battalion somewhere in the vicinity of Khartoum.
"Looks like getting into harness again," remarked the Sub on hearing
the news. "Well, I, for one, am not sorry. Things are a bit slow out
here, in spite of our little encounter with the spy. And I'm afraid
we didn't shine over that."
"A common failing with fellows who take on the amateur-detective
business," commented Osborne, who was never reticent in owning up to
the errors for which he was responsible. "However, that's over and
done with," he added cheerfully. "A little bird whispered to me that
we're to be sent to the Grecian Archipelago. From all accounts
there's going to be trouble with the so-called Royalist section of
the Greek nation. The rotten way in which these fellows are carrying
on is enough to make any self-respecting Greek of ancient history
literally squirm in his grave. There's only one thing, in my opinion,
that prevents Tino's army from marching northwards from Athens, and
taking the Allied forces at Salonika in the rear."
"And what's that?" enquired Webb.
"The Navy--the British and French fleets," replied the Lieutenant.
"With Athens and Corinth under the guns of the fleet, and a stern
reminder that 'He who is not for us is against us', the
double-dealing Tino will have to tread warily."
Early on the following day the depleted ship's company of the
_Portchester Castle_ boarded the vessel that was to take them to
Malta. Under her quarter-deck awnings Osborne and Webb were pacing up
and down, looking, without any qualms of regret, at the sun-baked
town and port of Alexandria.
At that moment a small coasting steamer, flying the Greek mercantile
ensign, fussily slipped from the quay-side and steamed seawards.
"She's bound for Crete with stores for the Venezelists," remarked
Osborne. "I saw her departure mentioned in yesterday's orders."
The Lieutenant was right, up to a certain point. Had he known exactly
the nature of the vessel's cargo, he might have evinced far greater
interest in her; for, stowed away in the dark and ill-ventilated
fore-hold, was the spy Hymettus.
On his escape from prison--a feat rendered comparatively easy by the
connivance of the authorities--he decided that the wireless business
was far too risky--at least for the present. He had also developed a
sense of distrust against his supposed Arab accomplice,
notwithstanding the active aid given him by the latter in shaking off
the bonds of captivity. He had, therefore, succeeded in giving Major
Ferriter the slip, and, by his intimate knowledge of the native
quarter of Alexandria, had been able to secrete himself until
arrangements were made for him to stow himself away on board the
Greek tramp.
The _Sinai's_ run from Alexandria to Valetta was brief and
uneventful. There was not even a false alarm of the appearance of a
U-boat's periscopes. For the present, at least, German submarines had
been effectually "warned off" the Egyptian coast; yet, as there was
likely to be a fresh outburst on the part of these modern pirates,
the authorities were strenuous in their efforts to anticipate the
next display of maritime frightfulness.
"By Jove, what luck!" ejaculated Osborne soon after the _Sinai_ had
moored to a buoy in the Grand Harbour. "I've got a command, Webb, my
boy. They've given me 0916."
"Good luck, old man!" replied Webb heartily; then with a tinge of
regret: "I suppose it means that we won't see much of each other in
future."
"Wrong again, my festive," said Osborne. "You've been appointed to
the same packet."
"That's good," declared the Sub. "Any idea what she's like?"
"Yes; a Yankee-built, sixty-footer motor-patrol boat. You know the
type well enough: V-sectioned with flush deck, and a small
chart-house and steering platform for'ard. She's a flier, from all
accounts. Goes twenty-six knots with her three eight-cylindered
160-horse-power motors. She carries two officers and a crew of six."
"Sounds promising," remarked Webb. "Wonder where our cruising ground
will be?"
"In and around the Archipelago," replied the Lieutenant. "Part of our
duties is, I believe, to dance attendance upon the sea-plane carrier,
_Fleetwing_. She's a stranger to me, but I dare say we'll both make
her acquaintance before very long. Well, buck up, and get ashore.
Here's a tender coming alongside. We've quite enough to do before
Monday."
With the commissioning of 0916, Osborne for the first time assumed
full responsibility as the skipper of a command. Used, since his
entry into the Merchant Service, to the huge bulk of a steamer, he
might have found the quick, lively motion of the sixty-footer
decidedly awkward, had it not been for his previous experiences on
board an eight-ton yacht. Nevertheless the handling of a twenty-six
knotter, especially in a crowded harbour, required considerable skill
combined with a steady nerve.
"It's the first few hours that count," confided the Lieutenant to his
subordinate and chum Webb, as the patrol-boat prepared to cast off
for a preliminary run into the open water of the Mediterranean. "I
remember a chief officer in the Royal British and Pacific--a fellow
with forty years' experience. His Company gave him command of one of
their tugs--a sort of comfortable home billet to fill in the rest of
his time. Hang it if he didn't run full tilt into a caisson the very
first trip, battered the face of the caisson like an old tin can, and
buckled the bows of the tug till they resembled a concertina! That
little bust-up cost the Company a cool ten thousand pounds."
Fully equipped with stores, provisions, and munitions, and carrying
six hundred gallons of petrol, No. 0916 stole cautiously towards the
mouth of the harbour. Not until St. Elmo Point was broad on the port
quarter did Osborne give the order for full speed ahead.
With a jerk the powerfully engined craft leapt forward. It gave Webb
the sensation of being on a lift that had been started too suddenly.
With the spray flying in silvery cascades on either side of her
knife-like bow, the patrol-boat cut through the water at a dizzy
speed, yet docile to the touch of the helmsman's hand.
Suddenly a nerve-racking jar shook the frail craft. Her starboard
propeller was still running normally, tending to thrust her head to
port, while the port propeller, having struck some wreckage, had been
"brought up", stopping the motor almost dead.
"Fouled something, by Jove!" ejaculated Osborne. "Be sharp there,
Wilkins. See if there's anything round the blades. Hope to goodness
they're not 'stripped'."
"No fear of that, sir," replied the man addressed. "The blades have
held, or the motor would have started to race. I see it, sir," he
added, as he leant over the broad transome and peered into the limpid
water. "It's a length of rotten grass rope round the boss as tight as
a chunk of metal."
The Lieutenant also surveyed the cause of the mishap. Round and round
the port propeller, and "laid" as evenly as rope round a drum, was a
length of two-inch grass line. About twenty feet of this still
trailed astern, terminating in a piece of painted wood.
"Some boat's old mooring broken adrift," commented Osborne. "Horrible
nuisance, to say the least of it."
"We can run back with the starboard engine, and get the dockyard
divers to clear it," observed Webb. "Fortunately we're not so very
far off."
"Beastly ignominious," objected the Lieutenant. "Crawling home like a
lame duck on one's trial trip. It seems to me that if we go easy
astern, both engines, the reverse action will unwind the rope."
"But----" began Webb.
"I'll try it, at all events," decided Osborne, without waiting to
hear his chum's objection. "Easy astern!"
With the motors well throttled down and the two clutches slipped in
as easily as possible, No. 0916 gathered sternway; but, before the
propeller had made fifty revolutions, the starboard engine was
stopped by a steady yet irresistible strain. Ten seconds later the
port propeller, momentarily freed from the rope, fouled the
obstruction and wound it round the shaft in the opposite direction.
Osborne had omitted to take into account the trailing length of rope,
and now the patrol-boat was helpless, drifting at the mercy of the
winds.
Attempts to turn the heavy fly-wheels round by hand proved
unavailing, so firmly were the propeller shafts held in the vice-like
grip.
"I'll strip and dive in, sir," volunteered the intrepid Wilkins.
"Maybe I'll be able to tease the ends clear."
"No, I think not, Wilkins," replied the youthful skipper, giving a
glance at the fairly lifting waves. "You'll get your head stove in if
you attempt to try conclusions with her quarter. It's humiliating,
but we'll have to send out a wireless for assistance."
The patrol-boat was now drifting broadside on towards the shore, the
nearest points of which were distant about a mile and a half. Between
these, a deep bay that contracted with comparative regularity could
be discerned. To the nor'west the greater part of the island of Gozo
opened clear of the smaller island of Comino.
A cast with the lead gave fifteen fathoms. For the present there was
no need to anchor. With safety the disabled craft could approach
until the depth shoaled to five fathoms.
"No immediate danger so long as the ground tackle holds," declared
Osborne. "There's a fair amount of wind, and a decent sea, but
they'll send out a vessel to tow us back in less than an hour, I
fancy."
Webb, too, thanked his lucky stars that the weather conditions were
moderate. He found himself picturing a huge unwieldy vessel, with her
gaping seams held together with ropes, drifting helplessly towards
that self-same shore, notwithstanding the ineffectual drag of four
anchors cast from the stern. For No. 0916 was off the mouth of St.
Paul's Bay, the reputed scene of the Apostle's shipwreck upon the
"island which is called Melita".
Webb's reveries were interrupted by the sight of a huge grey shape
coming into view round a projecting cliff. The shape gradually
resolved itself into a large transport, outward bound for the Near
East, and making for Valetta _en route_.
"Pretty rotten pickle!" ejaculated Osborne savagely. "Here we are as
helpless as a log, and in full view of those fellows."
"I don't suppose they'll notice us," said Webb. "We're lying close
in. I say," he added, laying down his position-finder, "we're
drifting pretty rapidly; isn't it about time we dropped the hook?"
"Yes," assented the Lieutenant. "We'll anchor at once. All clear
for'ard?"
"All clear, sir."
With a plash the mass of metal disappeared beneath the waves, taking
with it nearly forty fathoms of chain before Osborne gave the order
to check the cable. No. 0916, no longer drifting broadside to wind
and waves, rode jerkily at the end of the length of chain.
By this time the transport was in full view at a distance of
one-and-a-half sea miles, and was slowing down in order to prevent
damage to the shore by her bow wave.
"Periscopes on the port bow, sir!" shouted one of the patrol-boat's
crew, indicating with his outstretched arm a couple of objects that
looked like a pair of short sticks, at a distance of less than a
hundred yards.
Osborne realized the situation in the twinkling of an eye. The
U-boat, for such she undoubtedly was, had been lying in wait for
passing vessels worthy of her attention. It was a piece of the
greatest audacity on her part to attempt to operate within a mile of
the island of Malta; but, hearing nothing of the nature of a
propeller churning the water in her immediate vicinity, she had come
to the conclusion that it was safe to display the tips of her
periscopes. And now, within easy torpedo range, was a large vessel
packed with troops and munitions.
Osborne gave the word to open fire. In spite of the "lively"
platform, the gun-layer of the for'ard quick-firer was equal to the
occasion. In a trice a gleaming cylinder disappeared into the open
breech-block of the gun. The metallic clang, denoting that the
breech-block had been closed, had hardly sounded when the weapon
barked.
The eyes of all on the patrol-boat were fixed on the target--the two
pole-like periscopes that were now almost in line as the submerged
boat swung round so as to bring her torpedo-tubes to bear upon her
intended victim.
A column of water thrown fifty feet in the air hid the gun-layer's
objective from them. A cloud of smoke denoted, however, that the
shell had struck something offering more resistance than water,
while, in addition, there was no ricochet.
What happened to the U-boat was never known. Whether she sank like a
stone, or was able to crawl blindly for some sheltering lair,
remained a secret; but the transport passed on her way unmolested.
Three hours later, No. 0916 was safely berthed in Valetta harbour.
Here the fouled rope was removed and slight defects made good.
"After all," remarked 'Webb, "perhaps it was a jolly good thing that
we did get into that little jamboree. It was a fairly exciting trial
trip, eh, what?"