CHAPTER XXV
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?"