CHAPTER XXII
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?"