"They're signalling, sir," reported the coxswain, indicating the Portchester Castle, which now lay about a quarter of a mile on the port beam of the Douro. "They want to know what the delay is for."
"Tell them that the vessel's engines are disabled, that an attempt has been made to destroy her by means of bombs, and that we have six prisoners. Ask instructions how to proceed."
A signalman perched upon the guard-rail of the Douro's shattered bridge quickly sent the message. After a brief interval came the order:
"Cutter to be recalled. Bring off prisoners. Inform commanding officer of Douro that we propose to take her in tow."
Without resistance the six Huns were bundled into the boat. The Hun who had attacked Webb in the hold was now quite incapable of so doing, even had he been inclined. With a bandage applied to his lacerated throat he crouched in the stern-sheets, anxiously watching with ill-concealed terror Laddie's fierce-looking blue eyes.
The Portuguese skipper was profuse in his expressions of thanks when Sub-lieutenant Webb took his departure. For the time being all danger was at an end. There was every reason to believe that the Douro would in safety make her destination.
"Very good, carry on," was Captain Staggles's stereotyped remark after Tom had made his report. The Sub saluted and went aft, wondering dimly what manner of man his new skipper could be, since his spoken expression of the Sub's conduct was limited to four words.
For the next twelve hours the Portchester Castle towed the crippled Douro. Late in the afternoon the latter was taken over by a couple of tugs that had been summoned from the Tagus by wireless. Free to resume her interrupted voyage, the British armed merchantman acknowledged the dip of the Portuguese ensign, and was soon reeling off the miles that separated her from Gibraltar.