Hanging apparently motionless in still air, although virtually she was
drifting in a southerly direction at a modest ten miles an hour, the
"Golden Hind" maintained her altitude for the best part of half an hour
before any attempt was made to start the motors. She was now to all
intents and purposes a non-dirigible balloon, floating aimlessly in the
air.
Peter Bramsdean, his work aft accomplished, made his way to the
navigation-room, where he found the baronet and Kenyon watching the
galaxy of lights far beneath them.
"We're drifting over Poole Harbour," observed Fosterdyke. "That's
prohibited for private owned aircraft; but who's to know?"
"I often wonder what would happen," said Peter, "if a non-dirigible
drifted over a prohibited area. Hang it all! The balloonist couldn't
control the wind, neither can the Air Ministry, so what's the poor
fellow to do?"
From their lofty post of observation the officers of the "Golden Hind"
could see the coast-line standing out distinctly in the starlight. Away
to the south-east the powerful St. Catherine's Light threw its beam
athwart the sky in a succession of flashes every five seconds. Nearer,
but less distinct, could be seen the distinctive lights of The Needles
and Hurst Castle. Then a curved line of glittering pin-points--the
esplanade lamps of Bournemouth. To the south-west the lesser glare of
Swanage and beyond the glow of Anvil Point Lighthouse. Lesser lights,
like myriads of glow-worms, denoted scattered towns, villages, and
detached houses ashore, while right ahead and for the most part visible
only by the aid of binoculars, could be discerned the red, green, and
white navigation lights of shipping passing up and down the Channel.
The three men watched the nocturnal panorama almost without emotion.
The sight would have moved a novice into raptures of delight, but to the
veteran airmen there was little new, except perhaps that in the place of
star-shells, searchlights, "flaming-onions," and exploding shrapnel were
the lights of a nation once more at peace with her neighbours even if
not so with herself.
Fosterdyke glanced at a clock set upon the bulkhead.
"Time!" he announced laconically.
Indicators clanged in various parts of the ship. Within a few seconds
the six motors, started by compressed air, were roaring. Swaying
slightly under the resistance of the gas-bag overhead, the airship
gathered way. In place of complete calm came the rush and whine of the
wind as the "Golden Hind" leapt forward.
"May as well be on the safe side," remarked Fosterdyke. "Switch on the
navigation lights, Kenyon. I don't fancy another 'bus barging into us."
He gave an order through a voice tube. Promptly one of the crew appeared
from below.
"Take her, Taylor," said the skipper, indicating the helm. "Following
wind--no drift. Course S. 3/4 W."
"S. 3/4 W. it is, sir," repeated the man, peering into the bowl of the
gyroscope compass.
"Now, you bright beauties, take my tip and turn in," said Fosterdyke,
addressing Peter and Kenneth. "There won't be much doing to-night, I
hope, so you may as well make the best of things. If you'll relieve me
at four, Kenyon? ... Good."
The chums left the navigation-room and made their way to their cabin.
Here, although adjoining one of the motor-rooms, there was comparatively
little vibration, but the noise was considerable.
"We'll get used to it," observed Peter, as he proceeded to unpack his
luggage, which had been brought from Blandford station and put on board
only a few minutes before the "Golden Hind" parted company with terra
firma. "Seems like old times. Hanged if I thought I'd ever be up
again."
"Between ourselves I'd prefer a 'bus," confided Kenyon. "Doesn't seem
quite the right thing being held up by a gas-bag."
"Be thankful for small mercies, you old blighter!" exclaimed his
companion. "Turn in as sharp as you can, 'cause it's your watch in four
hours' time."
It seemed less than ten minutes before Kenyon was awakened. His first
impression was that he was being roused by his batman, and that illusion
was heightened by the fact that the man held a cup of tea.
"Ten to four, sir," announced the airman. "I've made you something
hot."
Kenneth thanked the man, drank the tea, and slipped out of his bunk. He
was aware as he donned his clothes that the "Golden Hind" was pitching
considerably. Peter, sound asleep, was breathing deeply. There was a
smile on his face; evidently his dreams were pleasant ones.
On his way for'ard Kenyon stopped to exchange a few words with the
air-mechanic tending the two after motors.
"Running like clocks, sir," replied the man in answer to Kenneth's
enquiry. "If things go on as they are going now, I'm on a soft job."
The first streaks of dawn were showing in the north-eastern sky as the
relieving pilot clambered up the ladder and gained the navigation-room.
Fosterdyke, busy with parallel rulers and compass was bending over a
chart.
"Mornin'," he remarked genially, when he became aware of the presence of
his relief. "Everything O.K. Doing eighty, and there's a stiff
following wind--force five. Altitude 5500, course S. 3/4 W. That's the
lot, I think. We ought to be sighting the Spanish coast in another
twenty minutes."
Fosterdyke waited until the helmsman had been relieved, then, giving
another glance ahead, he turned to Kenyon.
"We passed something going in a westerly direction at 1.15 A.M.," he
announced. "An airship flying fairly low. About 2000, I should think."
"Not a competitor, sir?"
"Hardly. No one but a born fool would think of taking a westerly course
round the earth if engaged in a race against time. We were passing over
Belle Isle, on the French coast, at the time, and it rather puzzled me
why an airship should be proceeding west from the Biscayan coast."
"French patrol, possibly," suggested Kenyon.
"Or a Hun running a cargo of arms and ammunition to Ireland. I
signalled her, but she didn't reply. Right-o! Carry on."
Fosterdyke went to his cabin, to sleep like a log. He was one of those
fortunate individuals who can slumber almost anywhere and at any time,
but rarely if ever did he sleep for more than five hours at a stretch.
Even after a strenuous day's mental and physical work he would be "as
fresh as paint" after his customary "caulk."
Left in the company of the airman at the helm, Kenyon prepared to accept
responsibility until eight o'clock. He took up his position at the
triplex glass window, the navigation-room being the only compartment
where celluloid was not employed for purposes of lighting. It was a
weird sight that met his gaze. Overhead and projecting from beyond the
point of the nacelle was the blunt nose of the gas-bag, the port side
tinted a rosy red as the growing light glinted on it, the starboard side
showing dark grey against the sombre sky. A thousand feet below were
rolling masses of clouds, their nether edges suffused by dawn. Between
the rifts in the bank of vapour was apparently a black, unfathomable
void, for as yet the first signs of another day were vouchsafed only to
the airman flying far above the surface of the sea. Already the stars
had paled before the growing light. Wisps of vapour--clouds on a higher
plane to the denser ones below--were trailing athwart the course of the
"Golden Hind," until, overtaken by the airship's high speed, they were
parted asunder, to follow in the eddying wake of the powerful
propellers.
In the navigation-room, being placed right for'ard, the jerky motion of
the fuselage that was noticeable in Kenyon's cabin was greatly
exaggerated. It was a totally different sensation from being in an
aeroplane when the 'bus entered a "pocket." It reminded Kenyon of a
lift being alternately started up and down with only a brief interval
between. Rather vaguely the pilot wondered what he would be like at the
end of twenty-one days of this sort of thing.
"Bucking a bit, isn't she, Thompson?" he remarked to the helmsman, who,
relieved of the responsibility of maintaining a constant altitude by the
fact that the airship was automatically controlled in that direction,
was merely keeping the vessel on her compass course.
"Yes, sir," replied the man. "She'll be steadier when we trim the
planes."
"Might have thought of that before," soliloquised Kenyon. He remarked
that the six "wings" were secured in a horizontal position. For the
present the "Golden Hind" was kept up solely by the lift of the brodium
in the ballonets. Not until it was fully light would Fosterdyke reduce
the gas in the ballonets and rely upon the planes for "lift."
A quarter of an hour later, while Kenyon was engaged in making an entry
in the log, the helmsman reported land ahead.
The "Golden Hind" was approaching the Spanish coast, not in the hostile
way in which her namesake did, but on a friendly voyage across a country
that, if not exactly an ally, is bound by strong ties to Great Britain.
The airship was soon passing over Santander. Ahead the Cantabrian
Mountains reared themselves so high in the air that the "Golden Hind"
had to ascend another three thousand feet to ensure an easy crossing.
At eight o'clock Fosterdyke appeared in the navigation-room. Under his
orders the airship's speed had been sensibly diminished. He intended to
put to a practical test the lifting powers of the six planes.
Close behind him came Bramsdean, on whom the duties of officer of the
watch devolved for the next four hours.
"Well, old bird," he observed, genially addressing his chum. "How goes
it?"
"Fresh as paint," replied Kenyon, "but as hungry as a hunter."
"Then hook it," continued Peter. "The cook's dished up a sumptuous
breakfast."
Kenyon made a hurried but ample meal. He was anxious to see how the
"Golden Hind" manoeuvred as an aeroplane.
Upon returning to the navigation-room he found that the six
comparatively small wings were being tilted to an effective angle, while
a large quantity of brodium was being exhausted from the alternate
ballonets into the pressure-flasks, until there was only enough "lift"
remaining in the envelope to prevent it dropping earthwards and thus
disturbing the stability of the fuselage by acting as top-hamper.
Simultaneously instructions were telegraphed to the air mechanics
standing by the six motors to increase the number of revolutions.
The change was instantly appreciable. No longer did the "Golden Hind"
pitch. She settled down to a rapid, steady motion, her speed being not
far short of 150 miles an hour.
"No ailerons," explained Fosterdyke. "Horizontal and vertical rudders
only. Saves a lot of trouble and complication of gear."
"Stunts not permissible, sir?" asked Kenyon.
"No," he replied. "They are not. We're out to do something definite,
not to let the Spanish have an exhibition of an airship making a
spinning nose-dive or looping the loop. But we'll do a volplane, just
to test the gliding powers of the 'bus."
He touched a switch by which a warning bell rang in each of the motor
rooms. This was to inform the mechanics that the electric current would
be simultaneously cut off from the six motors, so that there would be no
need on their part to endeavour to locate faults that did not exist.
"Cut out!" ordered Fosterdyke.
Bramsdean promptly depressed a small switch by the side of the
indicator-board. This automatically cut off the ignition. The propellers
made a few more "revs." and then came to a standstill. In almost
absolute silence, save for the whine of the wind in the struts and
tension wires the "Golden Hind" began her long, oblique glide earthward.
Suddenly Kenyon gripped the baronet's arm.
"Look!" he exclaimed. "Airship!"
Fosterdyke did as requested. The "Golden Hind" was manoeuvring high
above La Mancha, the undulating well-watered plain between the Montes
del Toledo and the Sierra Morena. Six thousand feet beneath the airship
the town of Ciudad Real glinted in the slanting rays of the morning sun.
"Our shadow--that's all," declared Fosterdyke.
"No, not that," protested Kenneth. "More to the left."
He grasped a pair of binoculars and looked at the object that had
attracted his attention. It was a somewhat difficult matter, owing to
the refraction of the triplex glass in front of the navigation-room,
where, in contrast to the rest of the windows, fire-proofed celluloid
had not been employed.
Before Kenyon had got the airship in focus the baronet had also spotted
it. Apparently it had just left its shed and was heading in a
south-easterly direction, differing a good four points from that
followed by the "Golden Hind."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Kenyon. "It's a Fritz! I can spot the black
crosses on the envelope."
"In that case," added Fosterdyke, calmly, "Count Karl von Sinzig has
stolen a march on us. He's one up!"