The state of his cabin hardly troubled Fosterdyke. He never even went
to investigate the extent of the damage, for the moment the airship's
motors were re-started he hastened back to the navigation-room.
"Got a fix yet, Bramsdean?" were his first words.
Peter handed him a slip of paper.
"Well out of our course, sir," he remarked.
The position was given as lat. 3 deg. 15' 20" S., long. 58 deg. 20' 5"
E.
"We are," agreed Fosterdyke gravely. "Well to the west'ard. We ought to
be within sight of the Seychelles."
"Any chance of getting petrol there, I wonder?" asked Bramsdean.
"Judging by the name it seems a likely place to get 'Shell brand.'"
"Don't prattle, Peter," exclaimed Kenneth, facetiously.
Fosterdyke laughed at the joke.
"Rotten puns, both of them," he said. "All the same I wish we had
another two hundred gallons of 'Pratt's' or 'Shell' or any other old
brand of petrol. But it's no use going still farther out of our course
on the off-chance of getting juice, so we'll just carry on."
With the passing of the cyclone the wind fell light. What little there
was was dead aft. The sea, viewed from an altitude of three thousand
feet, appeared as smooth as glass, although in reality there was a long
rolling ground swell.
In order to economise the petrol consumption the speed of the "Golden
Hind" was reduced to ninety miles an hour. Should the favouring wind
hold, the airship stood a good chance of making the Australian coast.
If it changed and blew from the south-east, then Fosterdyke's chances of
winning the race would be off.
Just before eleven o'clock in the morning of the day following the
storm, Frampton, one of the crew on duty in the navigation-room,
reported a boat about three miles away on the port bow.
By the aid of glasses it was seen that the boat was a ship's cutter
moving slowly under sail in an easterly direction. Her crew were hidden
from view by a spare sail rigged as an awning over the stern sheets.
"Something wrong there," remarked Bramsdean. "A small boat hundreds of
miles from the nearest land requires some explanation. Inform Sir
Reginald, Frampton; tell him I propose coming down within hailing
distance."
Before Fosterdyke could reach the navigation-room the noise of the
"Golden Hind's" aerial propellers had attracted the attention of the
occupants of the cutter, and six or seven men, whipping off the awning,
began waving strips of canvas and various garments.
Slowing down and descending to fifty feet, the airship approached the
boat. The latter was hardly seaworthy. Her topstrake had been stove in
on the starboard side, and had been roughly repaired by means of a piece
of painted canvas. Her sails were patched in several places, while in
default of a rudder she was being steered by means of an oar.
"Poor chaps! Look at them!" ejaculated Kenneth. "They're almost done
in."
The boat's crew were indeed in desperate straits. They were ragged,
gaunt, and famished. Their faces and hands were burnt to a brick-red
colour with exposure to the wind and tropical sun. Three of them,
seeing that help was at hand, had collapsed and were lying inertly on
the bottom-boards.
Viewed from a height of fifty feet the length of the ocean rollers
became apparent. The sea was not dangerous, since there were no
formidable crests to the long undulations, but there was considerable
risk of the lightly built fuselage sustaining damage should the boat
surge alongside. On the other hand, it was almost a matter of
impossibility to get the men on board otherwise than by the airship
descending and resting on the surface. Obviously they were far too weak
to attempt to climb the rope-ladder, while the use of bowlines was open
to great objection both as regards the length of time and the risk of
injury to the rescued men.
Being a ship's boat the cutter was provided with slinging gear. The
question was whether in her damaged state the boat would break her back
in being hoisted; but Fosterdyke decided to take the risk.
Accordingly wire hawsers were lowered from the two bow-hawser pipes, and
by dint of careful manoeuvring the shackles were engaged. Then, under
the lifting power of additional brodium introduced into the for'ard
ballonets, the "Golden Hind" rose vertically until the boat was clear of
the water. The motor winches were then started and the cutter hauled up
until her gunwales were almost touching the underside of the airship's
nacelle.
One by one the exhausted men were taken on board the airship by means of
the hatchway through which Kenyon had gone to the rescue of Enrico
Jaures. This done, two of the "Golden Hind's" men dropped into the boat
and passed slings round her. When these took the weight of the cutter
the wire hawsers were unshackled and the two men clambered back to the
airship, which had now risen to nearly a thousand feet. One end of each
sling was then slipped, and the boat, falling like a stone, splintered
to matchwood as she struck the surface of the sea.
The seven rescued men were given food and drink in strictly moderate
quantities. Vainly they begged for more, but Fosterdyke knew the danger
of starving men being allowed to eat and drink their fill. Nor did he
attempt to question them at that juncture, beyond ascertaining that
there were no more boats belonging to their ship. They were put into
bunks and made to sleep.
It was not until ten o'clock on the following morning that four of the
rescued men put in an appearance in Fosterdyke's cabin. The remaining
three were too ill to leave their bunks.
They were, they said, the sole survivors of the American barque _Hilda
P. Murchison_, thirty days out from Albany, Western Australia, and bound
for Karachi. Three hundred miles east of the Chagos Archipelago an
explosion took place, but whether external or internal the survivors did
not know. One of them thought it might have been a mine. But it was
severe enough to sink the _Hilda P. Murchison_ in less than five
minutes, and the sole survivors were the first mate and six hands of the
duty watch, who managed to scramble into the only boat that had not been
shattered.
Without food and with only a small barrico of water, they set off to
make their way back to Australia, knowing that with the prevailing winds
they stood a much better chance of making land there than if they
attempted a three-hundred-mile beat to windward, with the risk of
missing the Chagos Archipelago altogether.
That was eight days ago. They contrived to exist upon raw fish, tallow
candles--which they found in a locker--and half a pint of water per man
per diem.
Once they sighted a vessel, but their signals for assistance were
unnoticed. Then they encountered a white squall, the tail end of a
storm that ripped their sails before they could stow canvas, and carried
away the rudder.
The blow was succeeded by a flat calm. For hours the cutter drifted
idly, her roughly repaired sails hanging listlessly in the sultry air.
Almost overcome by hunger, fatigue, and the tropical heat, they were on
the point of despair when the timely arrival of the British airship
snatched them from a lingering death.
"I hope we'll be able to set you ashore at Fremantle within the next
eight or ten hours," said Fosterdyke. "Meanwhile we'll get in touch
with the wireless station there and report your rescue. Oh, yes, you
may smoke in the for'ard compartment, but you'll find this ship as 'dry'
as the land of the Stars and Stripes."
During the rest of the day progress was well maintained. The westerly
breeze increased to half a gale, which meant an addition of thirty to
forty miles an hour to the airship's speed. Barring accidents the
"Golden Hind" would reach Fremantle with petrol still remaining in her
tanks.
"It's not often one gets a westerly wind in the Twenties," observed the
baronet. "South-east Trades are the usual order of things. We're lucky.
Normally we should have to go as far south as 40 deg. to rely upon a
westerly wind."
"It will help us from Fremantle to New Zealand," said Peter. "I
remember reading in the paper not so many months ago of the skipper of a
sailing vessel who tried for days to beat up from Melbourne to
Fremantle. Finally he gave up beating to wind'ard as a hopeless job, so
he turned and ran before the westerly breeze, sailed round the Horn and
the Cape of Good Hope, and actually arrived at Fremantle several days
before another vessel that had left Melbourne at the same time as he
did."
"Let's hope we'll find an equally favouring wind to help us across the
Pacific," remarked Fosterdyke. "We'll want it."