Speedily the Turk was lifted into the boat. For a few moments he felt a trifle uncertain of the manner of his reception, but he was quickly put at his ease by the young Sub, who, finding that the airman spoke French, was able to maintain a simple conversation.
"You are a prisoner of war, sir," said Captain M'Bride, through Haynes's interpretation, when the airman was brought on board the Portchester Castle. "We are quite agreeable to letting you have plenty of liberty, providing you give us your parole. You will be well treated, and, subject to certain restrictions, allowed freedom of movement. If, on the other hand, you are discovered engaging upon any action likely to prejudice the safety of the ship, then the penalty will be death."
The airman, who announced himself as Afir-al-Bahr, Flight-lieutenant of the Ottoman Navy, showed unmistakable signs of sincere gratitude for his rescue and generous treatment. He swore by Mohammed and his father's beard—the most binding oath that a Mussulman can take—to abide faithfully by the terms under which his parole was granted.
Later on in the day he became quite communicative. He admitted that his heart was not in his work. He was one of the educated class of Turks who realized, perhaps too late, that Germany had selfish ulterior motives in her profuse expressions of friendship for her near Eastern ally. He was sensible of the friendliness of Great Britain towards the Ottoman Empire in times past, and regretted the turn of events that had compelled the Porte to throw in its lot with the Hun.
"But since we are enemies," he added, "we must fight bravely until Allah wills that Ottoman and Englishman shall again sheathe the sword."
"Quite a decent sort," declared Webb to his chum Osborne later in the afternoon. "Did you notice how tactfully he evaded a chance question on the part of the skipper? He couldn't have given a direct answer without betraying some of the Turkish war plans. By Jove! what a contrast to those Hun officers we had on board the old Zealous. Comparisons may be odious, but a German is a jolly sight more odious."
"Seen this, you fellows?" asked the junior watch-keeper, holding out a slip of paper. "Something doing this trip, I fancy."
It was a decoded wireless message, brief and to the point.
"Mail-boat Sunderbund reported torpedoed, latitude 34° 15' 20" N., long. 22° 4' 16" E. Passengers and crew taken to boats, supposed making for Alexandria. Portchester Castle to proceed and investigate to eastward of position; Restormel to westward. Immediate."