Threedays later, No. 0916, in company with three other patrol-boats of similar type, left Malta for Grecian waters. They were not alone, for acting as a parent ship was the sea-plane carrierFleetwing.
Osborne would not have recognized in theFleetwingone of his old vessels of the Royal British and Pacific Company. In pre-war days she had been employed as an intermediate steamer between Vancouver and Yokohama, calling at Honolulu each way. In those days she was known as theFlightaway, and was painted black, with white deck-houses; she sported two funnels and two masts, the former being colour-washed in a vivid yellow hue.
In her new rôle the renamed vessel was completely disguised. A uniform garb of "battleship grey" covered her from truck to water-line. Her foremast had disappeared, while, from her bows to well abaft the position of her funnels, a long, gradually sloping platform had been built for the purpose of enabling the sea-planes to ascend while the vessel was under way. Then, since the foremost funnel interfered with the "clear run" of the launching platform, it had been removed, and a pair of smaller ones erected in its place, so that theFleetwingnow had three funnels set on a triangular base—two well abreast, the third and original one being on the centre line.
As if these drastic conversions were not enough, the ship had been (to use a nautical expression) "gutted" aft, and a huge tank built in. The top of this was flush with the upper deck, while its base was far below the water-line. In this receptacle were stowed four large "kite" balloons, while adjacent was the necessary gear for inflating and repairing their unwieldy yet necessary fabrics.
Practically the whole of the remaining portions of the main deck was a vast repairing workshop. High-class machines of all sorts and descriptions filled every available space, while a veritable forest of belting gave a stranger the impression that he was in some large factory ashore, rather than on board a converted liner. There were also carpenters', plumbers', shipwrights' and painters' shops—in short, every necessary for the care and maintenance of those delicate yet supremely important adjuncts to a modern navy—the sea-planes.
Had it been considered desirable, the patrol-boats could have been slung on board the parent ship; but, as the weather was fine and the sea comparatively smooth, No. 0916 and her consorts were to proceed under their own power in order to give their crews an opportunity of manoeuvring in company.
Somewhere to the south'ard of Cape Matapan, theFleetwingreceived wireless information that a large German submarine had been particularly active in these waters, and, while expressing the advisability of extreme vigilance, the authorities ordered that steps should be taken to capture or destroy the enemy.
Towards the position in which the U-boat was last reported seen, the patrol-boats sped, keeping a far-flung formation extending over a front of three miles. A mile astern came theFleetwing, while overhead flew a couple of sea-planes of the most recent type.
They were tri-planes with a huge wing-spread of over two hundred feet, the planes being in adjustable sections to ensure compact storage and rapid assemblage. Power was supplemented by means of six 200-horse-power motors, coupled in twin units and driving three 15-feet propellers. While taxi-ing on the surface a water-propeller was provided, giving the sea-plane a speed of fifteen knots; while when in flight her speed could be altered at will, ranging from a minimum of 40 to the terrific rate of 180 miles per hour.
Each of the sea-planes carried a crew of ten men, and was armed with a 3-inch non-recoil quick-firer; while as a specialized means of offence against submarines she carried a torpedo-tube discharging a 3-inch projectile.
The torpedo was fired by the ignition of a small charge of petrol gas, and could be aimed with considerable accuracy. At the head of the weapon was a small fan, the use of which was to prevent premature explosion of the charge on impact with the surface of the water. The depth at which the torpedo exploded could be regulated by adjusting the fan to a certain position on its threaded axis.
The sea-planes had been up for less than ten minutes when a wireless was received reporting the position of the quarry. The U-boat was "sounding" at a depth of twelve fathoms—too deep for the aerial torpedoes to reach with accuracy. Her grey hull could be discerned by the airmen with tolerable ease as she lay upon the sandy bottom.
It was now theFleetwing'stask to get the submarine to bestir herself. The German captain would be too wily to attempt to rise to the surface with the churning of four high-speed propellers sounding over his head. So the patrol-boats eased down while the sea-plane carrier forged ahead, thrashing the water with her twin screws, the sea-planes describing vast circles over the spot where the U-boat lay.
Presently another message was received that the submarine was moving. She was about to take stock of the apparently solitary vessel. If she did rise to the surface the patrol-boats could almost with certainty destroy her, either by gun-fire or by ram. On the other hand, if she exposed the tips of her periscopes only, such tactics would not be likely to result in definite destruction.
Breathlessly Osborne and Webb awaited developments, ready at the first warning to urge No. 0916 at full speed towards the enemy.
Still the sea-planes circled. It was the only means of keeping in touch with their prey, for the former were travelling through the air at fifty miles an hour, compared with the latter's maximum submerged speed of fifteen knots. Trained downwards, and only a few degrees from the perpendicular, were the grey-painted torpedo-tubes of each tri-plane.
Presently the upward movement of the U-boat ceased. Her periscopes rippled the surface. Something glistening shot from the sea-plane nearest overhead. Like a silvery dart the object plunged seawards, struck the water with hardly a splash, and disappeared.
Almost simultaneously a column of foam was hurled skywards, to the accompaniment of a muffled detonation.
"Missed!" was the laconic wireless message from the air-craft that had discharged the missile. "She's heading nor'east."
Two more aerial torpedoes were fired, with no better result than to send the U-boat scurrying off at a depth of ten fathoms. It was now the patrol-boats' turn to take up the pursuit.
Directed by the aerial pilots the four swift craft converged. Then began a sort of marine waltz, the lively vessels dodging to and fro, circling and crossing each other's bows in a most daring fashion —all with the idea of confusing the fugitive U-boat.
In this they succeeded. With their nerves shaken by the narrow escape from the explosions of the torpedoes, and in the knowledge that they were hunted by an unknown number of the dreaded patrol-boats, the Huns were literally in a panic. Their sole idea was to keep at a safe depth and steal away from their pursuers, trusting that the latter would be unable to discern their presence by the "surface wake" and the trail of air-bubbles.
But the U-boat had reckoned without the sea-planes. Remorselessly, the wireless reports from the observers kept the patrol-boats in close touch with their prey. Ceaselessly, the churning of the small yet powerful propellers betokened the grim fact that for once the modern pirate could not shake off pursuit.
Suddenly a huge air-bubble rose to the surface, agitating the water in ever-widening circles. No. 0916, fairly in the thick of the maelstrom, was swept from fo'c'sle to taffrail. Then, almost as quickly as it had risen, the sea calmed down under the influence of a rapidly-spreading patch of iridescent oil.
"How about it?" wirelessed No. 0916.
"Get out of the light and we'll see," was the sea-plane's laconic reply. Then a minute later: "She's properly strafed."
In her blind dash for safety the U-boat had crashed, bows on, against a rock that rose abruptly for ninety feet to within nine fathoms of the surface. In spite of her strong construction the steel bows collapsed like an egg-shell. An inrush of water under terrific pressure followed, and yet another of the Kaiser's boasted submarines had ceased to exist, save as a waterlogged wreck upon the bed of the Mediterranean.
"Strangesail bearing N.N.E. seven miles: No. 0916 will proceed and investigate." This was the reading of a signal hoisted on theFleetwingwithin four hours of the destruction of the submarine.
The sea-plane carrier and her convoy had now entered the southern limits of the AEgean Sea. Broad on the port quarter could be discerned the rugged outlines of the Grecian peninsula, while ahead were the distant Cyclades, a veritable jumble of small islands, most of which are well-known names in ancient history, when Greece was Greece—a resolute and hardy nation compared with which the modern Greek nation is as clay in relation to steel.
It was now towards Milos, the nearmost of these islands, that a small felucca-rigged craft was making. Had she held on her former course, which was N.N.W., she might not have aroused the suspicions of theFleetwing'sofficer of the watch; but on sighting the lofty hull of the sea-plane carrier the felucca had promptly hauled to the wind. That in itself was a strange manoeuvre, since the wind was in a quarter that enabled her to have a leading breeze on her former course.
"Let her rip!" ordered Osborne, addressing the motor engineer-artificer. "We want to get this job over before dark, if possible. I suppose," he added in an aside to his chum, "it's only another wild-goose chase."
"We're generally lucky," rejoined Webb the optimist. "However, I shouldn't think that yonder craft is likely to cause trouble. My word, isn't she footing it!"
The last sentence referred to the patrol-boat, which was now cleaving the tranquil waters at a knot above the contract speed. Her powerful motors had been running sufficiently to enable them to be "tuned up" to perfection. She was overhauling the felucca hand over fist.
Upon seeing the unwanted motor craft approach, the sailing vessel, knowing that escape by flight was out of the question, fell off on her former course, at the same time hoisting her colours. By the aid of their binoculars Osborne and Webb made the simultaneous discovery that the felucca was a Greek—or at any rate that was the nationality she wished to assume for the present.
"By Jove, they're heaving something overboard!" declared the Sub. "I distinctly saw splashes under her counter. Wonder if they are mines?"
"I'm sorry for those fellows if that is the case," said Osborne grimly. "At any rate, if we don't follow in her wake we're safe enough. Other questions dealing with the matter will be tackled later."
Apparently the crew of the felucca were particularly anxious for the objects they had thrown overboard to sink; for, finding that a couple of almost waterlogged bales were floating astern, one of the men leapt overboard and slashed furiously at them with a knife. Then, his task accomplished, finding that he could not overtake the sailing craft, he struck out for the distant shore.
"Think he'll do it?" enquired Webb. "It's a fearful long way."
"Yes, I do," replied Osborne. "These Levanters are splendid swimmers, and the sea is particularly warm. He's good for ten miles, I should say. However, on second thoughts, I think we'll pick him up, and then devote our attentions to the felucca."
The swimmer, finding that the patrol-boat had altered helm and was heading in his direction, took in the situation most philosophically. Treading water he awaited the approach of his captors, and, grasping a rope thrown to him, swarmed on board with the greatest agility.
"Me think you German ship," he explained nonchalantly.
As he stood dripping on the deck his face was towards the setting sun. On the other hand, the two officers who were confronting him were standing back to the dazzling light.
"Oh, indeed!" rejoined Osborne, signing to two of the crew to stand by. "German ship? No, you won't get me to swallow that yarn, Georgeos Hymettus."
At the sound of his name the Greek started violently, and made an attempt to throw himself overboard. In this he nearly succeeded. For, as he had divested himself of his clothing as far as the waist in order to swim the better, his wet skin afforded little hold. After a brief yet furious struggle he was secured and taken below.
By this time the felucca was less than two cables' lengths ahead. Her crew must have observed the struggle on the patrol-boat's deck. Without waiting to be hailed, they promptly lowered the huge lateen sails and awaited their captor's approach.
"Now what's all this running-away business about?" enquired the Lieutenant, addressing a gaudily dressed Greek who was evidently the skipper. "Where are your papers? Where's your passenger list? I find you had a passenger," he added significantly.
The master disappeared into a small deck-house abaft the mainmast. Webb, revolver in hand, followed.
Meanwhile the two dozen ruffianly-looking fellows who formed the felucca's crew—she carried an unusually large complement—had gone for'ard, and were standing in a group around the primitive windlass. Amidships were Osborne and two of the patrol-boat's crew. Two more were standing on No. 0916's deck, fending her off with boat-hooks. The remaining members of the crew were down below in the motor-room.
Suddenly the muffled report of a revolver shot rang out, and a moment later Webb reappeared, holding the still smoking revolver, and with his left hand clasped firmly against his mouth. He was gasping heavily, while his eyes were twitching with pain. By his movements his chum saw that he was incapable of seeing.
"This way, Tom!" shouted Osborne. He could not go to the aid of his chum, for, with the report of the pistol shot, the rest of the crew of the felucca made a concerted rush upon the handful of British. Flourishing their knives and uttering wild yells, in the hope of striking terror into the breasts of their numerically inferior antagonists, they came tearing aft, headed by a tall, broad-shouldered man brandishing an automatic pistol.
Osborne and his men stood their ground. But for the fact that Webb had been temporarily rendered incapable, they would have retired to the deck of the patrol-boat, sheered off, and made good use of their quick-firers. Until the Sub's rescue was assured, his comrades had to make good their front.
An excellent shot from Osborne's revolver brought the mate of the felucca sprawling on his face. Three others of the crew were stopped by the British fire, but even then the rush was maintained, two of the Greeks making in the direction of the hapless Sub, who was groping towards his comrades.
With a bound Osborne gained Webb's side, grasping his shoulder with his left hand. At the same time he dropped one of the Sub's two assailants, while the other, making no further attempt to close, hurled his knife with deadly precision at the Lieutenant.
Stepping adroitly aside, Osborne missed the glittering blade by a hair's-breadth. The missile, sinking a couple of inches into the hardwood tiller, quivered like a twanged harp-string. Simultaneously Webb's revolver dropped from his grasp.
To retreat, leaving the weapon for the use of the enemy, was to court disaster. Since Osborne could not stoop to recover it without running grave risks of being taken unawares, he kicked the revolver overboard, and, still holding Webb's shoulder, dragged the unresisting Sub to the side.
Here the two seamen were still holding their own, though hardly pressed. One, bleeding from a clean cut in the left shoulder, had already accounted for three of his assailants. His revolver being empty, he had snatched at a knife that was sticking in the bulwarks. His companion, using his weapon with deadly skill and precision, had disabled four before the hammer clicked ineffectually upon the empty chamber.
Grasped by the coxswain of the patrol-boat, Webb was hauled unceremoniously on board his own craft. Now remained the task of the rest of the boarding-party, to regain the deck of No. 0916 without giving the felucca's men a chance of rushing them during the retrograde movement.
At this critical juncture the bowman of the patrol-boat created a diversion. Taking a turn with the bight of a rope in order to hold the two vessels, the seaman sprang to the felucca's deck, brandishing the gun-metal-tipped boat-hook. Under the formidable blows dealt by the hefty bluejacket, the Greeks went down like ninepins. Knives were as nought when opposed to the powerfully wielded pole of ash. Heads were cracked like egg-shells, arms snapped like match-sticks, and shin-bones broken like glass under the shower of blows. Even in his work of self-defence Osborne could not help admiring the business-like work of his stalwart coxswain.
The struggle was over. Osborne, well-nigh breathless with his exertions, was compelled to lean against the wall of the deck-house. Those of the seamen who had come out of the ordeal practically unscathed, busied themselves by collecting the knives of the vanquished crew of the felucca, and securing the treacherous Greeks who had not been reduced to a state of unconsciousness or helplessness. One by one the prisoners were passed below into the recesses of the felucca's hold, the hatches were clapped on, and the British white ensign hoisted in place of the mercantile flag of a treacherous and effete nation.
By this time darkness was on the point of setting in. The short period of twilight was giving place to intense darkness, for there was no moon and the stars were obscured by opaque clouds. TheFleetwingand the rest of the patrol-boats were already lost to sight.
Having recovered his breath, the Lieutenant went on board No. 0916. He found Webb lying on deck, his head supported by a bundle of sailcloth, and one of the bluejackets bathing his face with sea-water.
"How goes it, old man?" enquired Osborne.
"Better now," replied 'Webb, striving somewhat ineffectually to force a smile. "That brute suddenly threw something in my face—ammonia, I fancy. Just had time to fire my revolver, and then I found myself gasping for breath. Felt as if my throat was gripped by pincers, and my eyes were completely bunged up. Yes, thanks, I can see, but it's still mighty painful. How's the Greek skipper?"
"Dead as a bloomin' door-nail, sir," volunteered the seaman who was assiduously attending to the injured Sub. "You plugged him properly, sir. Served the swine right, I'll allow."
"S'pose so," admitted Webb. "I wonder what it was that those fellows hove overboard?"
"I wonder," rejoined Osborne. "We may find out yet, especially as we have our old pal Georgeos Hymettus laid by the heels. Well, old man, excuse me; I've a lot to attend to."
And Osborne spoke without exaggeration. Here he was, with some of his scanty crew disabled, with a prize on his hands, and out of touch with his parent ship, while in addition it was black night with a dangerous and badly charted shore under his lee. It was "up to him" to extricate his command from the difficulties that beset her, and with characteristic grit and determination Osborne set about his task.
Lieutenant Osborne'sfirst 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 theFleetwingannouncing 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.
image: 06_ninepins.jpg
image: 06_ninepins.jpg
[Illustration: "THE GREEKS WENT DOWN LIKE NINEPINS"]
[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 fromScraggerandGrunter, 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 hercoup 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, theScraggerandGrunterwere quickly upon the scene.
"'What the dickens do you mean by wirelessing us?" enquired the genial Lieutenant-commander of theScraggerwith 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 theScragger. "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?"
"That'sall very well," confided Webb, when the destroyer had taken charge of the captured felucca; "but I fancy we'll find out all about our mystery craft. She seemed mighty keen on recapturing our prize. Having, as she thought, driven us off, she paid us no further attention until we pitched into her. It is just possible that her object was to rescue our friend Georgeos Hymettus."
Upon No. 0916's arrival at Mudros, the skilful and dangerous spy was conveyed ashore under a strong guard. Placed upon his trial he made a full and abject confession of his misdeeds. Totally lacking in honour andesprit de corps, he unhesitatingly denounced his accomplices. As an intermediary between the German Government and the Greek king he had caused immense harm to the Allies, apart from the damage done with his assistance by the U-boats in Mediterranean waters. On his escape from Alexandria, Hymettus had undertaken a secret mission on behalf of the so-called Royalist faction of Greece. This was with the idea of dealing a counter-stroke against the Venezelists, who held most of the islands in the Archipelago. Should he fail to accomplish the principal object, he was to furnish a list of names of Greeks favourably inclined to the Allies. This document was found on him when he was rescued from the sea. For safety's sake he had hidden it in a fold of his skirt, for he was in the old national Greek dress when on board the felucca, and unaccountably he had forgotten to destroy the paper during the period of captivity in the patrol-boat's forepeak.
During the court martial it also transpired that the vessel which had attacked Osborne's command and had attempted the recapture of the felucca was thePyrgos, a steam yacht belonging to a strong adherent to the Germanized royal family of Greece. It was not with the sole desire of rescuing Hymettus that the daring attempt was made. The spy would have been ruthlessly abandoned by his employers but for the fact that he bore incriminating documents. Hence the mysterious tactics of thePyrgosthat had led to her destruction, and to the failure to regain the written evidence of Tino's treachery.
The confession of Georgeos Hymettus did not save his miserable life. Condemned to be shot, the sentence was confirmed and duly carried out—not with the idea of vengeance, but as a deterrent to other cosmopolitan rogues who infest the shores of the Levant.
Two days later, Osborne and Webb were making their way from their temporary shore quarters to the harbour, where they suddenly ran up against Captain M'Bride.
"Well met, Osborne!" exclaimed the genial skipper. "We only arrived last night, and I was on my way to look you up. About that dog of yours. No, don't get excited. What a fellow you are! I have a letter from my chum on theTarbox, but nothin' doin'. I hear you've been given a command. Well, hearty congratulations!"
"Yes, a patrol-boat," replied the Lieutenant. "She's quite a decent little craft." He was too bashful to refer to his achievement. "We're laid up for repairs. Strained the connecting-rods while we were towing some old hooker. But about Laddie, sir?"
M'Bride gripped Osborne's arm and turned him in the direction of the harbour.
"Come along," he said. "Let's see what we can do by making enquiries of the destroyer flotilla. They've only just arrived from Salonika. And you too, Mr. Webb. I believe you are almost as keen about the animal as Osborne."
Under the lee of the stranded hull of an immense dummy battleship, that was finishing a life of strenuous activity in the utilitarian yet humble capacity of a breakwater, lay seven long, lean destroyers. They had just completed a stretch of duty off the Grecian coast, and, relieved by their "opposite numbers", were about to re-bunker, replenish stores and provisions, and give their crews a well-earned spell of rest.
Alongside the little stone jetty lay Captain M'Bride's gig. Into this the three officers stepped. The men "gave way", and the boat sped towards the nearmost destroyer.
"If that's not your dog it's his double, Osborne," remarked Captain M'Bride, pointing to a large animal that was sedately pacing the diminutive quarter-deck of the destroyer, at the heels of a couple of officers.
"Laddie!" shouted Osborne, oblivious of the fact that he was a subordinate officer in the presence of his former skipper.
"Hold on!" protested Captain M'Bride laughingly. "Do wait till we get alongside. He'll be overboard if we don't."
The warning came too late. Osborne had made no mistake in recognizing his long-lost pet, although he had erred in calling to him.
In a trice Laddie cleared the rail, plunged into the water, and swam vigorously towards the gig.
Steering wide of the swimming animal, Captain M'Bride brought the boat alongside the destroyer, and, literally racing up her short accommodation-ladder, gained the shelter of the quarter-deck.
"Now haul the brute into the boat," he exclaimed. "If he soaks you to the skin, that's your funeral, Osborne, not mine."
The possibility of being drenched never deterred Osborne. Grasping the dog by the scruff of the neck, he hove him over the side into the gig; and the next moment the interested onlookers could hardly distinguish the Lieutenant from the dog, so violently excited were both.
"Your dog, I presume?" explained the destroyer's Lieutenant-commander. "Well, take the brute; he's been a regular nuisance to us for the last two months. Of course, I only say this because I don't mean it, Mr. Osborne. If it were of any use I'd offer you a tenner on the spot."
It was quite evident from Laddie's appearance that he had been well cared for. His coat, in spite of the wetting, was in excellent condition. He had, in fact, been "adopted" by the ship's company, and, although their regret at his departure was undoubted, officers and men realized that Osborne had the higher claim.
"He was discovered trapped in a coal bunker of the captured torpedo-boat," explained the Lieutenant-commander. "Goodness only knows what he was doing there! We thought he was a Turkish dog, so we didn't trouble to report the circumstance. We just adopted him. It was only this morning that Captain M'Bride happened to mention the matter; and, when we told him, he was off on shore like a young hurricane."
"I'm awfully grateful," began Osborne.
"Yes, yes, and we are very, very modest. We don't like being overwhelmed with thanks, my dear fellow. Well, s'long! If you have a chance, bring Laddie on board while we're here. By the by, we called him Mustapha, and we rather wondered why he didn't cotton to it."
"Shows your rotten ignorance, Sefton," said Captain M'Bride in mock reproof. "A fellow who tries to give a Turkish name to a respectable, thoroughbred English sheep-dog deserves to be cashiered. Come along, Osborne; you hardly look dignified in those saturated togs."
"Come and have lunch with us, sir," said Osborne as the gig returned to the quay. "We've fairly snug shore quarters, and I think there's something going."
Captain M'Bride consented, and the three officers set off towards the low, rambling stone building in which Osborne and Webb had taken up their temporary abode.
Their way lay along a narrow and somewhat crowded street of the native quarter. In places the three officers had to make their way in single file, Captain M'Bride leading, Webb coming next, and Osborne bringing up the rear, with Laddie sticking closely to his heels.
Suddenly Webb was jostled violently, his head coming in contact with his former skipper's back. Turning, he found Osborne still staggering from the effect of a blow, while Laddie was at the throat of a ruffianly Greek whose outstretched hand was grasping a glittering knife.
Itall happened in such a brief space, and so unexpectedly, that Captain M'Bride and Webb had but a hazy notion of what had taken place.
A crowd had gathered quickly, but by the time Laddie was pulled off the prostrate Greek the would-be assassin was dead.
"Narrow squeak, by Jove!" remarked Captain M'Bride. "The beggar tried to knife you, Osborne. Hallo, what's happened to the dog?"
"What's happened to the dog?" repeated Osborne in a voice that hardly sounded like his own. "Laddie, boy, what has the brute done to you?"
"He's broken his jaw," declared Webb.
"Yes, a double fracture," added a young officer in the uniform of the Veterinary Corps. "You ought to have him shot, sir, and put him out of his misery."
Poor Laddie seemed the least concerned of any of the group. His jaw had dropped, and he presented a rather pathetic figure, with his wide-open eyes fixed upon his master.
Osborne leant heavily upon his chum's shoulder. "Tom," he whispered. "Don't have him shot if it can be possibly avoided. I—I——"
Then, with a stifled groan, he collapsed insensible at the feet of the astonished and horrified Sub-lieutenant.
A stretcher was quickly upon the scene, and, attended by a couple of surgeons, Osborne was removed to the Naval Sick Quarters. Examination revealed the presence of a deep knife-thrust that had narrowly missed the left lung.
"It's a case of revenge, without doubt," declared the senior medical officer to Captain M'Bride. "Mr. Osborne was the principal witness against the spy Hymettus, and one of the Greek's relatives or associates has tried the vendetta touch. Dangerous? Yes; it's no use mincing matters. Even if complications do not ensue—and these Greeks are not at all particular as to the antiseptic condition of their knives—Osborne will have a hard struggle for his life. One thing his appearance tells me: that he is a clean-living fellow, and that's greatly in his favour. By all means look in this evening, and I'll tell you how he is progressing."
Throughout the rest of the day Osborne lay unconscious. Towards night he began to speak, wildly and disjointedly. The nurse on duty noticed that in the midst of his incoherence he seemed to be imploring someone to save Laddie from being shot.
"That's his pet dog," said the principal medical officer when the sister reported the circumstance. "I've heard all about it from Captain M'Bride. He seemed devotedly attached to the animal, and, I believe, if the dog has to be destroyed, it seems likely that Mr. Osborne's chances will be greatly diminished. It's certainly remarkable, but the fact remains. If, when he recovers consciousness, he can be convinced that the dog is alive, half the battle will be won."
That night the Lieutenant was in the throes of fever, battling, although unconscious, with the grim Angel of Death.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Sub-lieutenant Webb sat in the verandah of his quarters, nervously handling his heavy Service revolver. Not once, but many times, he had borne himself manfully in tight corners. He had been cheek by jowl with death without flinching. But now he was confronted with a problem that taxed his resolution almost to the uttermost.
With Osborne's words ringing in his ears he sat and fumbled irresolutely with the loaded weapon. Such a lot depended upon the next few moments, when a veterinary officer would arrive and give his verdict upon Laddie. If the dog's case were considered hopeless, Webb would be the executioner of his chum's pet. Osborne, he knew, would wish it. And yet, if anything could be done——
A shadow fell athwart the verandah.
Webb looked up enquiringly. A young fellow in military uniform stood without.
"Hallo!" remarked the stranger with a slight drawl. "I say, put that pistol away, you won't need it. You don't seem to remember me?"
"I can't," replied Webb.
"I was in that little affair when your chum was stabbed," continued the army officer. "It was I who suggested the dog should be shot—but I've changed my opinion. You and I, Mr. Webb, are going to save that animal—and we start at once."
"You think he's a chance?" enquired Tom hopefully.
"It's a pure experiment on my part," continued the veterinary officer. "I have hopes that it will succeed. It depends largely upon the dog. Compound fracture of an animal's jaw is considered 'na poo'. You see it takes eighteen days for the bones to set, and in that time the brute's starved to death. How long are you here?"
"About a month, I expect, Mr.——?"
"Dixon, my name. A month? Plenty of time on your hands? Good. Same here. We're having quite a slack after a most unholy rush. Hope it'll last. If not, you'll have to continue the treatment single-handed."
"I say, it's awfully good of you," began Webb.
"Not at all," expostulated Dixon. "I saw how concerned Osborne was. A fellow who can conceal his own injuries in his anxiety for his pet is a pal worth having. He's some grit, has Osborne. Where's the dog?"
"In there," replied the Sub, indicating his private room.
The two men entered. Laddie was lying on a folded blanket, with his injured jaw supported by his paw.
"He does not seem in much pain," remarked Webb.
"No, it's too early. The nervous system of a dumb animal is somewhat different to ours. When mortification sets in—but we mustn't give that a chance," said Dixon. "I've had a dental training, you know, and that's why I think I'll be able to fix it up all right. The first job is to take an impression. Steady his head, will you?"
Gently but firmly Dixon pressed a lump of soft wax against the inside of Laddie's jaw. The dog submitted without protest. Instinctively he realized that what was being done was for his good.
"Ripping fine impression!" declared the operator, regarding the wax model with professional satisfaction. "That'll do for the present. I'll nip off to the work-room and make a plate."
Before long, Dixon returned with a vulcanite plate that exactly fitted the inside of the patient's jaw. Then the under side of the dog's mouth was encased in plaster of Paris, the whole being secured with india-rubber straps.
"That'll do," remarked the veterinary officer. "Feed him with beef-tea and arrowroot. I'll be round early to-morrow."
The grave report concerning Osborne which reached Webb that night urged the Sub to even greater efforts. He would willingly give up his rest in order to save Laddie, knowing that Osborne's life depended largely upon the success of the daring experiment.
Next morning Dixon looked grave. "H'm!" he remarked. "That plate's cracked. Part of the dog's jaw has dropped an eighth of an inch."
"Is it a failure?" asked Webb anxiously.
"Never say die till you're dead," said the other. "Failure? Not if I know it. I'll make something that won't crack."
He was as good as his word, for within an hour he was back with a second plate, made, this time, out of hard dental alloy.
Once more Laddie's jaw was set, and from that time things went well. Other vets., hearing of the weird operation, came to visit the canine patient, and all expressed their opinion that Dixon would win through with his case.
Unremittingly Webb attended to his part of the contract, keeping Laddie well supplied with nourishing liquids. One morning—it was the seventh day of Osborne's illness—Captain M'Bride came to Webb's quarters.
"I've just seen the principal medical officer," he announced, hardly able to conceal the state of his mind. "Osborne recovered consciousness at four this morning. His first enquiry was whether Laddie were alive; and, of course, he could be truthfully informed that he was, and that the animal was well on the road to recovery. Osborne is, I believe, now out of danger. We'll be able to see him in another ten days, I hope, and bring Laddie restored to health as tangible evidence. And, by the by, here's something of a personal nature that will interest you—a copy of a part of to-day's Orders."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Webb, the wind completely shaken out of his sails. "What's that for?"
"Bravery and discretion under circumstances of great peril," replied Captain M'Bride. "You've won it fairly, Webb. I congratulate you."
For Webb, Sub-lieutenant no longer, had been specially promoted to Lieutenant and awarded the D.S.O. for services in connection with the rescue of the crew of the minedPortchester Castle.
"And Osborne—and Haynes?" asked Webb. "They did quite as much as I."
Captain M'Bride shrugged his shoulders.
"I cannot offer any opinion," he replied. "All I know is that they were mentioned in my dispatch. Perhaps recognition in their case will come later."
On the seventeenth day following Laddie's operation, the plate and the plaster of Paris were removed. To everyone's satisfaction the operation was perfectly successful.
"Good old boy!" exclaimed Webb. "Now we'll take you to your master."
Osborne was reported to be fit to receive visitors that afternoon. A regular crowd of officers expressed their intention of paying congratulatory calls, but at the suggestion of the surgeon the number was limited to three—Captain M'Bride, and the two men who had been chiefly instrumental in Laddie's recovery, Webb and Dixon.
"I think, in view of previous experience, it would be as well to walk in the centre of the street," said Captain M'Bride, as the trio made their way along the lane where Osborne had been treacherously struck down.
"Rather, sir!" agreed Webb; then—"Oh, dash it all! Now what's going to happen?"
For a large native cur, emerging from a squalid hovel, had suddenly hurled himself upon the unsuspecting Laddie, and in an instant both dogs were engaged in a terrific combat.