"By Jove! Kenyon, what's that over on our starboard bow?" exclaimed
Bramsdean.
Kenneth raised his binoculars and focussed them on a dark object in the
direction indicated.
"That," he replied after a brief survey, "is a Zepp. There's not much
mistake about that. She is also in difficulties apparently, since Zepps
don't generally assume an angle of forty-five degrees. It is also
reasonable to assume that it is Z64, since we know that von Sinzig was
keeping a course slightly divergent to ours. The southerly wind has
evidently driven her northward."
Fosterdyke was asleep in his cabin, but upon hearing the news he hurried
to the navigation-room.
"Are we Pharisees or Good Samaritans, sir?" enquired Kenyon. "Do we
pass by on the other side, or do we stop to render assistance?"
"It strikes me that something more than assistance is required," replied
the baronet. "Obviously our friend von Sinzig is out of the running.
His airship is down and out. If there are any of the crew on board,
we'll be just in time to prevent them losing the number of their mess."
Z64 was in a very bad way. The after part of the envelope was half
submerged. The rearmost gondola was entirely so. The foremost car was
rising and falling owing to the slight buoyancy of the for'ard
ballonets. At one moment it was thirty or forty feet above the water,
at another it was smacking the surface and sending the spray far and
wide.
"Keep to windward," ordered Fosterdyke.
"There are men still on board," replied Peter. "A dozen more or less
are hanging on to the catwalk."
"It'll be rather a proposition to get them off," said the baronet. "We
haven't a boat; neither apparently have they, and I don't like the idea
of running alongside a half-submerged gas-bag. With this heavy swell
there's no knowing what might happen."
"We might run out a hawser and take her in tow," suggested Kenyon. "I
mean, tow her until we get the crew off by means of an endless line."
"Might do," half agreed Fosterdyke. "It would be decidedly awkward if
our head fell away and we drifted in broadside on to the wreckage.
We'll try it. Tell Jackson to get a hawser ready, and see there is a
slip fitted in case we have to cast off in a hurry."
Already several of the ballonets that at first sight seemed beyond
repair had been patched up, while the fortunate discovery of two flasks
of compressed brodium gave the "Golden Hind" considerable buoyancy, so
that she was no longer dependent upon the lift of her six planes. Yet
the prospect of having to take on board the weighty Hun crew would
seriously threaten the buoyancy of the airship.
"Luckily we are within sight of our goal," said Fosterdyke. "We can
sacrifice a quantity of our stores. The reserve fresh water tank can be
started, too. Two hundred and fifty gallons less of water ought to make
a considerable difference."
Leading Hand Jackson, with the help of four or five of the crew, soon
made the necessary preparations. By this time the "Golden Hind" had
approached to within a hundred yards of the disabled Zeppelin, the crew
of which, half in doubt as to what was going to happen, were signalling
and shouting frantically for help.
"Rescuing the crew of the _Hilda P. Murchison_ was child's play to
this," commented Kenyon. "Goodness only knows how we are going to
establish communication. Her blessed envelope is in the way."
Thrice the "Golden Hind" sailed over her crippled rival. The trailing
hawser glided over the rounded surface of the gasbag, but none of the
men made any attempt to leave the gondolas and secure the rope. It
afterwards transpired that the aluminium envelope was sagging and
whipping to such an extent that the vertical shaft through it by which
access could be made to the upper surface of the gas-bag was
impracticable. Anyone attempting to ascend by that way would almost
certainly be crushed to death.
"Can't the lubbers see the hawser?" asked Fosterdyke, impatiently. "Or
have they all got the wind up so frightfully that they can't lift a hand
to help themselves? Get in that hawser, Jackson. We'll try approaching
to leeward this time and see if they've got the sense to veer a rope."
The manoeuvre required very careful execution. The "Golden Hind,"
descending until her fuselage was but a few feet above the sea,
approached carefully. She had to be kept under control up to a certain
point, when way had to be taken off her. If she stopped too soon, she
would drift away before communication could be established; if she
carried on even a few yards too much, there was a danger of her
overlapping envelope colliding nose on with the wrecked Zeppelin.
This time the Huns showed decided activity. They bent a line to an
inflated indiarubber lifebelt and threw the latter into the sea.
Unfortunately, they did not take into account the fact that the Zeppelin
was drifting to leeward as fast as the lifebelt. When they realised
what was happening one of the crew jumped overboard and towed the line a
hundred yards or so away.
"Now there's a chance of doing something," commented Fosterdyke,
telegraphing for a touch ahead with Nos. 1 and 2 motors.
As the "Golden Hind" passed immediately over the life-buoy a grapnel,
lowered from the after-part of the fuselage, engaged the rope, and in a
remarkably short space of time a stout hawser connected the British
airship with the still buoyant bows of the German.
Fosterdyke waited until the "Golden Hind" had swung round and was
pointing "down wind," then he ordered easy ahead with the two for'ard
motors. This gave sufficient tension to the hawser, which was now
inclined at an angle of about thirty degrees.
A "snatch-block" with an endless line was then allowed to run down to
the hawser.
"Now the rest is easy," declared Fosterdyke, but for once at least he
was greatly mistaken.
The first of the Huns arrived in a bowline on board the "Golden Hind."
"How many are there?" asked Fosterdyke.
"Ve vos dwanty," replied the German, holding up the fingers of both
hands twice in order to make his meaning clearer.
More Huns emerging from the for'ard gondola of Z64 confirmed the man's
statement. One was evidently an officer, but his features did not in
the least resemble those of Count von Sinzig, whose photograph had
appeared some time back in the illustrated papers.
Seventeen Huns were transhipped in about as many minutes. The
eighteenth was half-way along the tautened hawser when Fosterdyke
shouted, "Let go!"
Leading-Hand Jackson obeyed the order instantly. The ring of the
Senhouse slip was knocked clear, and the hawser fell with a splash into
the sea. The "Golden Hind," released from the drag of the partly
water-logged Zeppelin, shot ahead.
She was only just in time. The baronet had noticed a tongue of flame
issuing from the centre gondola of Z64. How the fire was caused was a
mystery, since had the Huns wished to destroy the wreckage they would
have waited until the last man was clear of the Zeppelin. Possibly the
wiring of the electric stove had short-circuited when in contact with
the salt water.
In less than fifteen seconds from the time the hawser had been slipped
the hydrogen escaping from the leaky ballonets was ignited. The
aluminium gasbag was surrounded by flames. The heat caused the gas in
the still intact ballonets to expand, affording sufficient lifting power
to heave the wreckage almost clear of the water. The remaining Huns,
keenly alive to the terrible danger, promptly jumped into the sea.
Then with a terrific glare the remaining ballonets burst, and the
shattered wreckage, sizzling as it came into contact with the cold
water, disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a steadily widening
circle of oil surmounted by a dense pall of black smoke to mark the
scene of the end of Z64.
Before the evil-smelling vapour had dispersed the "Golden Hind," turning
head to wind, was over the spot searching for possible survivors. For
half an hour she cruised round, but her efforts to rescue the three Huns
were unavailing. The men had either been stunned by the explosion or
had been hit by falling wreckage. Amongst them was Unter-Leutnant Hans
Leutter, who, by resolutely refusing to leave his command until the rest
of the crew were safe, had proved that all Hun officers were not of the
von Sinzig type.
Several of the rescued Germans could speak English--but they were
decidedly reticent. In the back of their minds they rather feared that
they were in for a bad time. They knew that their late kapitan had been
practically outlawed and that he was "wanted" by the authorities for
having, amongst other misdemeanours, destroyed the Fremantle aerodrome
by means of an incendiary bomb. They rather expected that they would be
blamed for the acts of their fugitive superior.
On the other hand, they were grateful to their rescuers for having saved
their lives, and with typical Teutonic reasoning they eventually decided
that one way to repay the kindness and to ingratiate themselves in the
eyes of the Englishman would be to give away their former officers.
The spokesman led off by informing Sir Reginald Fosterdyke that
Unter-Leutnant Hans Leutter was the person who dropped the incendiary
bomb from the observation basket in the hope that it would destroy the
"Golden Hind."
"He was, of course, acting under Count von Sinzig's orders," remarked
Fosterdyke, drily. "Where is Herr Leutter?"
"Dead," was the reply. "He was one of the three left on Z64."
"And Count von Sinzig was one of the other two?"
The German airman shrugged his shoulders and made a gesture of disgust.
He still rankled over his kapitan's cowardly desertion. It was long
obvious to all the survivors of Z64 that von Sinzig had no intention of
summoning aid. Eight hours had elapsed since he began his flight in the
Albatross. In that time he must have sighted several vessels, since the
scene of the disaster was not many miles from one of the great Atlantic
trade routes.
"Kapitan Count von Sinzig left Z64 soon after daybreak this morning,
mein Herr," replied the German. "At seven o'clock, to be exact."
"Left--how?" demanded Fosterdyke, sharply.
"In an Albatross monoplane. He was last seen going east-north-east."
Fosterdyke dismissed his informant and turned to Kenyon and Bramsdean.
"The cunning old rascal!" he exclaimed. "I see his little game now.
He's completing the final stage by aeroplane. I suppose by this time
he's won the Chauvasse Prize; but I don't envy him."
"Will you enter a protest, sir?" asked Peter.
"Protest? Not much," replied the baronet, emphatically. "These
seventeen Huns can do the protesting if they want to, and I rather fancy
they will."
"There's many a slip," quoted Kenyon. "He may not complete the course
after all."