[Illustration: cover art]
THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR
GLORIES OF SEA
AND AIR SERIES
By
PERCY F.
WESTERMAN
THE MYSTERY SHIP
THE RIVAL SUBMARINES
BILLY BARCROFT OF THE R.N.A.S.
A WATCH-DOG OF THE NORTH SEA
A SUB OF THE R.N.R.
THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR
Publishers
PARTRIDGE
LONDON
[Illustration: "She was describing a succession of 'loops,' while her
motors were still running." Frontispiece]
THE DREADNOUGHT
OF THE AIR
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
AUTHOR OF "THE RIVAL SUBMARINES"
ETC., ETC., ETC
Publishers
PARTRIDGE
LONDON
MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. CONCERNING SUB-LIEUTENANT DACRES
II. THE FRENCH INSTRUCTOR
III. REMOVED FROM THE NAVY LIST
IV. THE MYSTERIOUS AIRSHIP
V. A MOMENTOUS TRAIN JOURNEY
VI. CHALLENGED
VII. THE RETURN OF THE AIRSHIP
VIII. WHITTINGHAME'S NARRATIVE
IX. THE FLIGHT TO LONDON
X. THE STOLEN PLANS
XI. THE "METEOR"
XII. THE "METEOR'S" DEBUT
XIII. AN OFFICIAL AND AN UNOFFICIAL INSPECTION
XIV. ACROSS GREENLAND
XV. THE NORTH POLE
XVI. IN THE NICK OF TIME
XVII. ZAYPURU'S BOLD STROKE
XVIII. THE DISASTER TO THE "LIBERTAD"
XIX. INVESTIGATING THE WRECK
XX. A HAZARDOUS PROPOSAL
XXI. WITHIN THE CAVARALE PRISON
XXII. DACRES REMINDS THE ADMIRAL
XXIII. LOCOMOTIVE VERSUS AEROPLANE
XXIV. A BRUSH WITH THE INDIANS
XXV. THE CAPTURE OF THE CAVARALE
XXVI. UNABLE TO RISE
XXVII. PREPARING FOR THE PRESIDENT'S VISIT
XXVIII. A PRISONER OF WAR
XXIX. WORK FOR THE SEAPLANES
XXX. THE FALL OF NAOCUANHA
XXXI. A SURPRISE FOR DACRES
XXXII. A SUBMARINE ENCOUNTER
XXXIII. NEWS OF DURANGO
XXXIV. THE CHASE
XXXV. THE THUNDERSTORM
XXXVI. THE ABANDONED FLYING-BOAT
XXXVII. THE GALAPAGOS FISHERMEN
XXXVIII. CORNERED
XXXIX. DACRES' PROMOTION
THE DREADNOUGHT
OF THE AIR.
CHAPTER I.
CONCERNING SUB-LIEUTENANT DACRES.
IT was Thursday afternoon--Make and Mend Clothes Day as it is known
in the Royal Navy. H.M.S. "Royal Oak," a Super-Dreadnought now
relegated to the second class, lay at moorings off Singapore. Two
cables' length ahead of her swung her sister ship the "Repulse,"
flying the flag of Admiral Maynebrace commanding the Special
Squadron, now on a cruise round the world in order to display the
White Ensign in foreign waters as a gentle reminder to petty
potentates that the British Lion's tail could not be twisted with
impunity.
The heat was terrific. The sun's scorching rays beat down with
relentless violence upon the white awnings that shrouded the warships
from bow to stern. The glare, reflected from the oily sea, seemed to
penetrate everywhere on board in spite of electric fans and the
latest type of ventilators. Officers and men, used though they were
to the heat of the Tropics, were reduced to a state of perspiring
listlessness. Alacrity seemed for the time being no longer the
characteristic of the British seamen. One and all they barely existed
in Nature's stew-pan and waited for the sun to set.
To add to the discomfort the crew of the "Royal Oak" were rankling
under a grievance. Hitherto first in the list for prize-firing, they
had been ousted from their proud position by the flagship: and the
flagship didn't forget to crow over her success. Had the contest been
carried out under equal conditions and the "Royal Oak" had "gone
under" the disappointment would not have been so great; but the
"Repulse" had gained the position of "top-dog" more by a fluke than
anything else.
"Makes one feel jolly rotten," remarked Eccles, the "Royal Oak's"
gunnery jack. "The Service papers at home will publish the results
and add a lot about the superb efficiency of the flagship and the
lamentable falling-off of the 'Royal Oak's' gun-layers. All that sort
of twaddle, you know: penny-a-line stuff from a fellow who does not
know a fifteen-inch from a seven-pounder."
"You'll bet your bottom dollar, Eccles, there won't be a word said
about the flagship making her record with the Beaufort Scale logged
as O (a flat calm), while our packet was shoving her nose into it
with the fo'c'sle awash and everything battened down. Ugh! It makes
me wild," rejoined Commander Bourne. "Healthy rivalry is all very
well, but----"
"I don't know whether you heard the yarn," said Eccles, "but
indirectly an outstanding row between the Admiral and the skipper has
something to do with it: a little misunderstanding they had when they
were at Osborne, I believe. And the fact that Maynebrace is now an
admiral and Staggers only a captain doesn't improve matters. The
owner forgets sometimes that the Admiral's grandfather was an earl
and his only a post-captain."
"I did hear something of the sort," replied Bourne. "It's a pity that
personal matters are taken into consideration in the Service. Anyway,
Captain Staggers would be glad of a chance to pull the Admiral's
leg."
"Hear that?" asked little Dick Alderney, the midshipman of the watch.
"Rather," agreed Sub-lieutenant Basil Dacres emphatically. "It almost
gives one a cue."
Basil Dacres was a tall, alert-looking young officer of nineteen. His
features were clean cut, his complexion tanned to a deep brown by
reason of exposure to the sun and the salt breezes of three of the
five oceans. His athletic frame betokened a zest for sport, for in
spite of the heat he paced the deck with an elasticity of tread that
denoted exceptional physical energy. It did not take long for an
observer to come to the right conclusion that Basil Dacres' solemnity
of manner when on duty was an acquired one. Those dancing clear blue
eyes betrayed the inborn love of a high-spirited nature. Even the
rigid rules and regulations of the Service could not break his
fondness of practical Joking.
Yet, somehow, he contrived to wriggle out of the dire consequences
without dishonour, and upon calming down he would enter into the
preparatory stages of perpetrating another joke. Upon the eve of his
departure from home on the present commission this trait asserted
itself. Dacres' little pranks were invariably intended to be of a
harmless nature, but sometimes the result surpassed his expectations.
Dacres' father was a retired colonel who, possessed of ample private
means, kept a large establishment in the West End. The colonel was
absolutely military to the backbone, a martinet even in home life,
although "his bark was worse than his bite." One thing is certain,
Basil Dacres never inherited the lighter vein from his father, for
the latter was never known to have spoken a funny sentence except by
a sheer accident; and then, when the rest of the mess laughed, he was
completely puzzled to know why.
It happened that the Thursday on which the sub was to leave to join
his ship was his mother's at-home day, and Mrs. Dacres' at-homes were
always well-attended. On this occasion there were present a colonial
bishop and his wife in addition to the usual "smart-set" in which the
hostess moved.
Now Mrs. Dacres' Georgian silver tea service was the envy and
admiration of her guests, and Mrs. Colonial Bishop had been
previously told to pay particular attention to the magnificent
teapot. In came the head footman, resplendent in his fine livery and
powdered hair, and placed the tray in front of the hostess. The
far-famed teapot, enveloped in a huge cosy, was for the time being
hidden from admiring and covetous eyes.
"Pouring-out" was one of the great events of Mrs. Dacres' at-homes:
it was a sort of sacrifice at the altar of conventionality.
The hostess, after having asked whether the guests took cream and
sugar, made a preliminary flourish ere removing the covering that hid
the gorgeous silver teapot. The act was a silent appeal for
attention, and all eyes were fixed in anticipation upon the piece of
plate that held the fragrant beverage.
With the dexterity of a practised conjuror Mrs. Dacres lifted the
cosy. . . .
In the place of the teapot was a huge tortoise that blinked solemnly
at the sudden transit from darkness into light, and proceeded to
slowly waddle across the slippery silver tray.
The next instant, amidst a chorus of shrieks, tortoise and
tea-things, including the choicest Crown Derby, clattered on the
floor.
The sub's departure took place under a cloud. His mother's farewell
was somewhat chilly, while the colonel spoke his mind in a very blunt
manner.
"Mark my words, you confounded young fool!" he said, "unless you stop
this sort of thing there'll be trouble. It will end with your being
court-martialled and kicked out of the Service. And, by Jove! if you
are, don't look to me for any sympathy."
But the funny part about the whole business was that Basil knew
nothing about the tortoise episode until after the tea cosy was
removed. His part of the joke was to take the blame upon his broad
shoulders and to chuckle at the idea that he had been accused of what
he had not done. He was not asked for an explanation, nor did he give
one. He had no wish that punishment should fall upon the real
culprit--his ten-year-old brother, Clarence; for the fond parents
never for one moment suspected that guile could be found in their
cherub-faced youngest-born child.
"Give you a cue--what about?" asked the midshipman.
The sub brought himself up with a round turn. He realized that
perhaps it was not altogether wise to confide in his subordinate over
the plan that had readily resolved itself in his brain.
"H'm!" he ejaculated. "Eccles seems rather up the pole about the
prize-firing result. I suppose it's natural."
"Well, aren't you, sir?" asked Alderney. "I know I am, and so are the
rest of the gun-room. Just fancy! the midshipmen of the flagship,
whom we licked hollow at cricket, actually had the cheek to row round
the ship with a cock perched on a jack-staff in the bows, and the
whole crowd crowing like anything. Beastly bad form, I call it. After
all, gunnery isn't everything, as the Admiral ought to know he had
with the 'Aphrodite.'"
"The submarine? Yes, I remember. She's 'M. I.' now. That business has
given us a good lead in submarines and pretty well knocked the Flying
Branch into a cocked hat, worse luck."
And Dacres shook his shoulders deprecatingly. He had volunteered for
the Service with the Naval Wing of the Royal Flying Corps, but owing
to an unexpected decision on the part of the First Lord to cut down
that part of the Service his offer had been declined.
Just then Sinclair, the duty-sub for the First Dog Watch, came on
deck, and Dacres, freed from his responsible duty of doing nothing in
particular, made his way below to the gun-room.
There the conversation was mainly upon the bumptiousness of the
flagship. Dacres said little, but thought the more. After a while he
went to the half-deck and knocked at the Gunnery Lieutenant's cabin
door. He was there for nearly an hour, at the end of which time he
applied for leave till eight bells (noon) on the following day. This
he obtained without difficulty, then changing into mufti he went
ashore.