An Unknown Antagonist
LIEUTENANT OSBORNE'S first step was to take the captured felucca in
tow. Leaving one man on board to attend to the helm, he steered the
patrol-boat ahead, with a hawser made fast to the bitts of the prize.
A wireless message was then sent to the _Fleetwing_ announcing the
successful issue of the enterprise, and requesting further
instructions. After a brief interval the sea-plane carrier replied:
"Under urgent orders for Salonika. Take prize into Mudros and report
to Senior Naval Officer."
"Hallo, something in the wind," soliloquized Osborne. "Urgent orders
for Salonika. That looks like business. Meanwhile we're entirely on
our own, and confronted with the task of navigating the felucca into
Mudros. Well, I suppose there are worse jobs knocking around."
Yet the order involved work of no mean skill. Osborne was a stranger
to the waters in the vicinity of the Cyclades. Once clear of that
dangerous locality he was in well-known "ground", but there was the
always present danger of a hostile submarine. In ordinary conditions
the swift patrol-boat was more than a match for the U-boat, but,
hampered by her tow, No. 0916's superiority in speed and manoeuvring
was eliminated.
[Illustration: "THE GREEKS WENT DOWN LIKE NINEPINS"]
A glance at a chart, or even at a map of the AEgean Sea, will give
some idea of the intricate navigation that called for Osborne's skill
and courage. Dozens of islands lay athwart the direct course, reefs
abounded, while intricate currents traversed this part of the
tideless sea in directions that were hardly ever constant. A change
of wind might divert the current eight or ten degrees without having
any appreciable effect upon its velocity, while, in addition, the
islands were badly lighted, especially during this critical epoch in
the history of modern Greece.
Throughout the night Osborne remained on deck, standing in the low
wheel-house beside the helmsman. Fortunately the sea was calm and the
glass high, while there was little or no shipping about, which was as
well, since No. 0916 and her tow were without navigation lights.
When day broke, the Lieutenant snatched a few minutes' well-earned
rest, awaking to find Sub-lieutenant Webb touching him gently on the
shoulder.
"Yes, fit as ninepence," replied the Sub in answer to Osborne's
enquiry. "But that's not the reason why I roused you. There's a
strange-looking packet coming up astern. She's overhauling us pretty
rapidly."
Osborne leapt from his bunk, buckled on his belt, and rammed his cap
on his head the rite of "dressing" when on active service.
"Is she showing her colours?" he asked.
"Nothing," replied Webb. "We signalled her, but she took no notice."
Upon gaining the deck the Lieutenant found that the overtaking vessel
was a steamer of about five hundred tons. She looked like a yacht
with her schooner bows, raking masts, and white topsides. He
estimated her speed at about fourteen knots, and since she was
following almost in the wake of No. 0916 and her tow, it seemed
fairly evident that she was desirous of making a closer acquaintance
with the patrol-boat.
The unanswered signal, "What ship is that?" still fluttered from the
yard-arm of the patrol-boat's diminutive mast, and since the wind was
blowing steadily abeam there could be no doubt of the ability of the
stranger to read the flags.
That in itself was suspicious; yet what hostile nation was there that
would dare to send a vessel, other than a submarine, into waters
firmly held by the Allied fleet? And of the countries bordering the
Mediterranean Sea the only one strictly neutral was Spain. It was
very unlikely that a Spanish yacht would be cruising in these waters,
and especially so for her to stand in pursuit of a British armed
craft.
Osborne glanced at the felucca. The helmsman had just been relieved,
No. 0916 slowing down to enable the change of crew to be effected.
"All right there, Smith?" he hailed.
"All correct, sir," was the reply. "The lubbers under hatches are as
quiet as mice."
"Very good," continued the Lieutenant. "I may have to cast you
adrift. If so, can you manage to set sail on the foremast and steer
to the west'ard? We'll wireless for assistance and pick you up."
"Ay, ay, sir," was the imperturbable response.
The possibility of being adrift, single-handed, with a crew of
cut-throats in the hold, never troubled the bluejacket in the
slightest. He was a firm believer in the creed, "Duty is duty".
The patrol-boat was already cleared for action, but until Osborne was
certain of the intentions of the approaching vessel he refrained from
casting off the hawser. It was as well to mislead the stranger
concerning the speed of No. 0916.
Without warning, the pursuing craft opened fire with a couple of
light guns that were hitherto concealed behind hinged plating in the
bows. Yet, contrary to all the international rules of war, she still
made no attempt to display her colours.
The projectiles flew wide, one ricochetting a hundred yards on the
patrol-boat's starboard quarter, the other churning up a column of
spray a cable's length ahead; but there was now no doubt as to the
unknown vessel's intentions.
With the report of the guns a succession of shrieks emanated from the
patrol-boat's forepeak. The spy, Hymettus, almost frantic with
terror, was clamouring to be released.
"You're all right, my festive bird," chuckled Osborne as he gave the
signal for the hawser to be cast off. "A little of that won't hurt
you. I'll warrant you didn't study other people's feelings when you
helped the Huns to torpedo our merchant craft."
With her wireless sending out messages for aid, No. 0916, relieved of
her tow, shot ahead at full speed. Had Osborne wished, he could have
sought safety in flight; but such was not his intention. He meant to
keep in touch with the mysterious armed vessel, and, should her
shooting prove inferior, engage her at maximum range.
"She's using seven-pounders," declared Webb. "And jolly rotten
shooting! Sort of can't-hit-a-haystack-at-ten-yards, eh, what?"
Osborne nodded. All the same, he kept the patrol-boat on a zigzag
course in order to avoid running unnecessary risks. A chance shot,
scoring a direct hit, would simply pulverize the lightly built hull
of the patrol-boat.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Webb. "What are those fellows doing? They've
abandoned the pursuit."
The stranger was starboarding her helm. Still firing erratically, she
was standing in pursuit of the felucca. The latter, with her enormous
fore-yard hoisted half-way (in spite of the assistance of tackles,
Smith was unable to raise it another inch), was driving before the
steady breeze on a course almost at right angles to that of the
patrol-boat. Obviously the armed yacht, or whatever she was, had some
important reason for bearing down upon the insignificant felucca.
"Wireless from _Scragger_ and _Grunter_, sir," reported the operator.
"Both destroyers coming up at full speed."
"That's good," remarked Osborne, addressing his chum. "We'll nab her
right enough. But," he added, after a brief survey of the situation,
"why shouldn't we have a cut in? We'll risk it, by Jove we will!"
Round swung No. 0916, listing to an alarming angle under the abrupt
change of helm. Then, steadying, she tore off at full speed straight
for her unknown assailant.
Osborne had scored a decided advantage, for, approaching the
mysterious craft well on her quarter, his boat was immune from
hostile fire. The enemy vessel had quick-firers mounted for'ard only,
and could not be brought to bear abaft the beam. Unless she altered
helm she was powerless to reply to the hail of small yet highly
powerful shells from the patrol-boat.
It was turning the tables with a vengeance. A well-aimed projectile
demolished the enemy's bridge and chart-house. Another started a fire
for'ard--probably where the ammunition for the fo'c'sle guns was
placed on deck, for a series of explosions followed in quick
succession. Two shells, getting home 'twixt wind and water, gave the
stranger her _coup de grâce_, for listing heavily to port she at
length turned completely over. For a few minutes the whole of her
keel was exposed; then, with a muffled roar as the boilers exploded,
the hull slid beneath the waves.
In vain No. 0916 searched for survivors. There were none, so swift
had been the destruction of the unknown craft. A few lifebuoys were
recovered, but these gave no clue as to her identity.
"Destroyers bearing down, sir," reported one of the bluejackets,
while Osborne was directing the operation of taking the felucca in
tow once more. Pelting along at thirty-three knots, the _Scragger_
and _Grunter_ were quickly upon the scene.
"'What the dickens do you mean by wirelessing us?" enquired the
genial Lieutenant-commander of the _Scragger_ with feigned
indignation. "You've done the job yourself, and pretty neatly, I
should imagine."
"You might have been jolly useful," replied Osborne modestly. "It was
just luck, you see."
"Well, what was the vessel? Do you know her name and nationality?"
"There was nothing to show what she was," replied the skipper of No.
0916.
"Then I suppose it will remain a mystery," added the
Lieutenant-commander of the _Scragger_. "There are some queer cusses
of craft knocking around in these waters. Well, we'll take your prize
in tow, and you'll be able to keep in company, hands down. 'The
Phantom Buccaneer; or, Blown to Bits by a Pigmy!' Some sort of a
title for a novel, eh?"