A perfectly calm blue sea, a blazing June sun, and absolutely nothing
to break the monotony of a blank horizon. The sparrow was deadbeat,
and was travelling slowly to the north and west on a zigzag course,
about two hundred feet high. The sparrow had no right to be there at
all. He hailed from a Yorkshire hedgerow, and nothing but a real
three-day fog and westerly winds could have brought him over such a
waste of waters. He had been flying in a circle all night, swerving at
intervals down to the water in the vain hope of finding rest for his
aching muscles. Now he was heading roughly towards his home with but
slight hopes of ever reaching it.
A faint droning noise to the north made him turn, and low over the
straight-ruled horizon he saw a silvery-white line that every moment
grew larger. He headed towards it, but at a mile range swerved away to
pass astern of it. It was not an inviting object for even a lost
sparrow to rest on. With engines running slow--so slowly that the
blades of the great propellors could be easily seen--with a broad
white-and-black ensign flapping lazily below and astern, the Zeppelin
droned on to the south'ard, a thing of massive grace and beauty on
such a perfect summer's day.
With a vague idea that the monster might lead him home, the sparrow
turned and followed. The Zeppelin slowly drew ahead and rose higher,
while far to the south another monster rose over the skyline, black
against the sun. The great craft passed each other and turned away,
the first one heading back to the north whence he had come, and the
second disappearing to the east, climbing slowly as he went.
The sparrow turned also and fluttered and dipped in pathetic
confidence after his first visitor. The fact of having seen
_something_, however unpleasant and strange-looking, had given him a
new access of strength, and he was able to keep the great silver thing
in easy view. Suddenly the Zeppelin tilted like a hunter at a high
fence, and the note of his engines rose to a dull roar. He climbed
like--well, like a sparrow coming up to a house-top--and at three
thousand feet he circled at full power, levelling off his angle, and
showing a turn of speed which left the frightened bird gaping.
The sparrow fluttered on vaguely, passing at 100 feet above the water,
below the Zeppelin. He had decided that a pilot who played tricks like
that was no sort of use to him, and that he had better stick to his
original idea of working to the north and west, however lonely a
course it might be. He swerved a little at a rushing, whistling noise
that came from above him, and which grew to a terrifying note. A big
dark object whipped past him, and a moment later splashed heavily into
the mirror-like surface below. The rings made by its impact had
hardly started to widen, when there was a great convulsion, and a
column of smoky-white water leapt up behind him, followed by the roar
of an explosion. The sparrow started to climb--to climb as he had
never done in his life. Twice more--his weariness forgotten--he was
urged to further efforts to gain height, by the shock of the great
detonations from the water below. The Zeppelin was down to a thousand
feet now, swinging round on a wider circle. Five hundred feet below,
the sparrow saw a faint streak on the water which faded at one end
into blue sea, and at the other narrowed to a little feather of spray
round a dark point that was travelling like the fin of some slowly
moving fish to the north-westward. The Zeppelin saw it too, and came
hunting back along the line. Bang--bang--bang! Great columns shot up
again ahead and astern of the strange fish, and away went the sparrow
to the south once more. Any course was bad in this place, and it was
better to die alone in the waters than to be pursued by such a
monster of the air. As he went he heard more and more detonations
behind him, until the noise of the droning engine had died, when he
was again alone over the sparkling unfriendly sea. The exertions and
alarm of the last hour had taken the last of his reserve forces, and
in uneven flutterings his flight tended lower and lower, till he was a
bare twenty feet from what he knew must be his grave. Then came a
miracle of war. A bare quarter-mile ahead a thing like a tapering
lance began to rise and grow from the water. It was followed by a grey
black-lettered tower which also grew and showed a rounded grey hull,
moving slowly south with a white band of froth spinning away astern. A
lid on the tower clanged open, and two figures appeared. One raised
something to his eye, and faced south. The other stood on the rail and
pivoted slowly round, staring at sky and sea.
"I wonder what the deuce he was bombing--bit of wreckage, I suppose,"
said the man on the rail.
"Well, it wasn't us anyway. The blind old baby-killer." The man with
the sextant lowered it and fiddled with the shades. "_We've_ got no
boats near, have we, sir?"
"Not for donkeys' miles. I hope it was a Fritz, anyway. I say, look at
that spadger!"
"Where? I don't see it. Stand by. Stop, sir."
"All right, I got you. Here, catch this watch. That spadger's gone
down into the casing, and he'll drown if we dip with him there. Look
out for those Zepps. coming back."
The Captain swung quickly down the foreside of the conning-tower, ran
forward and peered into the casing in the eyes of the boat.
"Zepp. coming, sir,--north of us, just gone behind a bit of cloud."
"Zepp. be damned. Ah! got you, you little beggar." He reached his arm
into a coil of wet rope and rose triumphantly to his feet. The sparrow
cheeped pitifully as he ran aft again and took the ladder in two
jumps. He gave a glance astern and another all round the horizon
before following his sextant-clutching subordinate below. The lid
clanged, and with a sigh, a gurgle, and a flirt of her screws the
submarine slid under, the blank and expressionless eye of her
periscope staring fixedly at an unconscious but triumphant Zeppelin
that was gliding out from a fleecy patch of cloud astern.
* * * * *
"Here you are, Lizzie. Skipper said I was to let him go soon's we got
in, but I just brought 'im to show you. We've 'ad 'im aboard five days
now, and 'e can't 'alf eat biscuit. 'E's as full as 'e can 'old now.
Open the window, old girl, and we'll let 'im out afore I starts
'ugging yer."
The lid of the cap-box opened wide and the sparrow hopped to the
table. He raised his cramped wings and fluffed out his feathers as he
felt his muscles again. There was a flutter and a flip of his impudent
tail, and quicker than the eye could follow him the wanderer was gone.