At the Mercy of the Winds
IT would ill describe the state of mind of the deputy commandant of
the fortress of Heligoland to say that he was thunderstruck at the
latest disaster that had overtaken one of the German air fleet. It
was he who had given the order for the gunners to bring down the
derelict. Their failure to do so only increased his consternation. He
was almost in a state of stupefaction. At one moment he raved at the
indiscretion of the commander of the Zeppelin in attempting to come
to earth in a gale of wind; at another he sat with his hands clasped
tightly across his eyes, as if trying to shut out the inglorious
sight of the hitherto peerless airship drifting helplessly at the
mercy of the elements.
Then came the disconcerting news that one of the spies had escaped.
The ruins of his cell had been hastily examined without any trace
being found of his body, and it was owing solely to the statement of
one of the men, who said he believed he saw the Englishman clinging
to the wreckage, that the authorities came to the hasty, but none the
less accurate, decision that such indeed was the case. This stirred
the second commandant to action. He ordered the whole of the second
flotilla of torpedo-boat destroyers to proceed at once to sea, in the
hope that they might overhaul the errant Zeppelin should the gale
moderate.
In less than ten minutes from the time of receiving the order the
first of the destroyers left South Haven, followed with commendable
celerity by her consorts. Regardless of the high-crested seas they
steamed under forced draught. Dense clouds of black smoke, tinged
with dull-red flame, belched from their squat funnels, which speedily
became white with salt. Swept fore and aft, even at the risk of
carrying away most of the deck gear the frail vessels rushed through
the blackness of the night, spreading fanwise between north-west and
south-west in order to cover the possible limits of the object of the
search.
Meanwhile a wireless message in code was dispatched to the German
Admiralty. It was useless to conceal the magnitude of the disaster,
but one point was omitted. No reference was made to the supposed
presence of the English spy upon the derelict. That information was
sent only to General Heinrich von Wittelsbach, who was on the point
of returning to resume his command.
The fates seemed to be working against Von Wittelsbach. Almost on the
top of his carefully-worded denial to his emperor came the
disquieting report that Hamerton was on board the fugitive Zeppelin.
The commandant's sole hope lay in the destroyers which had been
dispatched in search of the truant. Should they fail, it was more
than likely that the airship would either be driven across to Great
Britain or else fall into the sea. Her huge bulk could hardly pass
unnoticed by the scores of British trawlers at work on the Dogger,
since from the direction of the wind the Zeppelin would be blown
directly over that great fishing ground. In either case Hamerton
stood a fighting chance of being saved, and then the truth would out.
Early on the following morning Von Wittelsbach embarked on a light
cruiser that had orders to await him at Cuxhaven. Twenty minutes
later the vessel anchored in South Haven. The destroyers were even
now returning from their fruitless search; their wireless messages
told the same tale with monotonous and depressing regularity; and to
add to the irony of the situation the short summer's gale had blown
itself out, and the sun shone brilliantly from a cloudless sky. The
sea had subsided, and only a long oily swell served to remind the
fisher folk of the Frisians and the shores of Schleswig-Holstein of
the storm that had wrought havoc on their coasts.
For the rest of the day General von Wittelsbach remained shut up in
the Government House, waiting and waiting, hoping against hope that
the threatened exposure of his duplicity might yet pass away.
Throughout the short summer's night Hamerton clung to his frail
support. He gloried in his position. Nothing seemed to trouble him.
Here he was floating in hundreds of feet in the air, and being rapidly
borne westward by the partially crippled Zeppelin.
The aircraft, being entirely out of control, was nothing more than a
non-dirigible balloon. For the most part she drifted broadside on to
the wind, occasionally describing a pendulum-like motion in a
horizontal plane. Otherwise she was fairly steady, with hardly any
tendency to dip her bow or stern. The air was warm, the threatened
rain had not fallen, the airship seemed far above the surface of the
sea, and showed no inclination of descending. By occasional bearings
from certain well-known stars, the Sub derived the consolation that
the westward drift was still maintained.
Day began to break: a grey light in the north-east betokened the
approaching dawn and the coming of fine weather. This latter
circumstance was not pleasing to the self-constituted crew of the
airship. He realized that with the falling of the wind the progress
of the Zeppelin would naturally be retarded. His wish was to place as
many miles betwixt himself and his prison isle as he could in the
shortest possible time. He had counted upon that; but if hung up in
the middle of the North Sea the airship stood a chance of recapture
by German torpedo craft, or destruction by the guns of the Teutonic
seaplanes, which he fully expected would be sent for that purpose.
The exhilaration of the pure air raised his already buoyant spirits.
He felt as if he could dance a hornpipe even on the narrow girder on
which he sat. Instead, he began to whistle, till the effort reminded
him very forcibly of the pangs of hunger.
It was now light enough to see about him. He found himself just in
front of the ruins of the after nacelle, that looked almost exactly
like a railway carriage with the floor knocked out. Abaft were the
remains of two of the propellers, with only one blade left intact.
The alley way communicating with the midship and foremost cars was
originally outside the outer aluminium envelope. This had been torn
away for a length of nearly a hundred feet, only the longitudinal
girders and a few vertical rods remaining.
Could the Sub successfully make his way over that intervening space
he would be able to find ample floor space in and on each side of the
central nacelle, that had practically escaped damage.
It would be a risky performance, but Hamerton decided to hazard it.
It was like "laying along" the foreyard of a square-rigged ship, only
without the footropes. Instead, there was the grip afforded by the
still-holding aluminium stays, which, although more than an
arm's-length apart, could be made good use of, provided the climber
did not lose his balance when halfway between.
Standing upright upon the narrow metal track Hamerton mentally
measured the distance to the nearmost upright rod. It was roughly
about eight feet. In two rapid but deliberate strides he gained the
first halting place of his short but hazardous journey. Two more
stages gave him increased confidence, and the next thirty feet he
negotiated with comparative ease, in spite of the gentle undulating
motion of the aircraft.
Then came an absence of any support for his hands for a space of
thrice the distance between those he had just passed. Beyond that the
rest of the way would be easy, for several partially-rent plates,
that at one time formed partitions of the envelope, still remained
fixed to the girder.
"Neck or nothing," muttered the Sub. "Here goes!"
Three steps did he take, when his foot slipped. Vainly he tried to
regain his balance; the sag of the badly-supported girder, combined
with the swaying of the airship, prevented him from so doing, and
with outstretched arm he fell sideways off the slender framework.
His left hand caught in the girder, the flat edge rasping the skin
almost to the bone. His fingers gripped as only those of a man used
to working aloft could do: once again his training on the old
_Britannia_ stood him in good stead.
Like a flash he threw his right arm over the girder. There he hung,
dangling in mid-air, with the imminent prospect of dropping eight
hundred feet or so, to be smashed to a pulp as his body struck with
fearful velocity the surface of the North Sea.
Not for a moment did he lose his head when once he felt his hands
gripping the T-shaped girder. He knew that it would only be a waste
of energy to attempt to clamber back; his one and only chance was to
make his way forward to a place where the bent and jagged aluminium
sheathing would afford precarious foothold to enable him to gain the
still-intact platform in the wake of the midship nacelle.
With a slight effort Hamerton raised his legs sufficiently to enable
his heels to rest on the upper face of the girder. His weight was
thus more evenly distributed, and his arms were no longer taxed to
their fullest strength. He was now clinging with hands and feet to
the under side of the aluminium beam, with his nose only a couple of
inches from the lowermost flange of the T-section.
Slowly he edged towards the place whence he hoped to scramble into
safety. Inch by inch, foot by foot--the distance seemed interminable.
Not for an instant did he look down. He knew only too well the fatal
consequences that that indiscretion would entail.
At length his feet touched the metal plate. It was still riveted by
the upper edge of the girder, hanging downwards at an angle of about
thirty degrees and curling to almost a complete circle near its lower
edge.
"Hope to goodness it will hold," thought the Sub. "If it gives, I'm
done."
Cautiously he swung his feet from off the beam. All his weight now
fell upon his fingers. Then his shoe came in contact with the curved
part of the plate. The aluminium sheet gave slightly, but Hamerton
found, to his unbounded relief, that it offered sufficient resistance
to the pressure to permit him to relax his grip with his right hand.
He lost no time, however, in shifting his grasp so that both hands
were on the same side of the girder. Now he was able to half-turn, so
that both feet rested on the curl of the plate.
Summoning his remaining energies, Hamerton sprang. His foothold was
sufficiently good for the purpose, although the twisted plate gave
slightly under the pressure. The next instant he was lying on the
deck with his legs dangling over the edge.
Now that the immediate danger was over, he felt dizzy and sick. For a
moment or so a white mist swam before his eyes. Had the airship
lurched to port he might have fled into space without being conscious
of making an effort to save himself.
After a while the Sub roused himself and took stock of his
surroundings. The platform was barely six feet in width and twenty in
length. On the starboard side was a handrail, which had escaped the
fate that had overtaken the greater part of the suspended portions of
the aircraft. Aft, the platform broke away suddenly, leaving only the
girder which had caused Hamerton such a hazardous journey. The other
end terminated at the bulkhead of the midship nacelle, access to
which was gained by a narrow sliding door.
Even as he looked a hand grasped the edge of the sliding panel,
apparently with the intention of drawing it open. In a moment
Hamerton was on his feet. His dizziness was past, the new phase of
danger that threatened him aroused all his energies. It was quite
possible that several of the crew might have remained on board; if
so, there were complications ahead.
In vain Hamerton sought for a weapon with which to defend himself.
There was nothing: all the twisted aluminium bars within reach were
firmly secured to the platform. He must make the best use of his
fists.
It required considerable effort to double his powerful hands, owing
to the strain of hanging on to the girder, combined with the
lacerated condition of his palms. But having arrived thus far in his
bid for freedom, Hamerton was not the man to knuckle under tamely; he
meant to make a hard fight for liberty.
The sliding panel was giving the unknown a lot of trouble. Owing to
the violent shocks that the airship had experienced, every part of
the framework had been strained, and in this instance the door was
tightly jammed.
Another hand appeared in sight. It was not that of a second man, but
only the left hand of the still unseen member of the crew. For fully
half a minute the fellow wrenched at the non-yielding door, then,
giving up his task as a bad job, he relaxed his hold.
A dull thud, followed by a deep groan, told the Sub that the danger
had been exaggerated. Without hesitation he made his way to the door,
and with a heave of his brawny shoulders sent the panel clattering
into the recess intended for it.
Lying at full length on the floor of the car was a man dressed in the
uniform of a lieutenant of the German Navy. His forehead was caked
with dried blood, his clothes were rent till there was little to
choose between the rags which covered Hamerton's frame and those of
the injured man.
"It is quite evident that this poor fellow is the only member of the
crew left on board," reasoned the Sub, "unless, of course, there are
some lying stunned in the wreck of the fore nacelle. Otherwise they
would have come to his assistance long before this."
He bent over the wounded officer. The lieutenant was quite
unconscious. His chief injury, Hamerton found by a hasty examination,
consisted of a bruise over the right temple. In the centre of the
forehead was a deep, clear cut that could be treated lightly,
although the appearance of the congealed blood made the wound look
far more dangerous than it actually was.
"I wonder where I can find some water?" thought Hamerton. "I'll
investigate."
The midship car was principally devoted to officers' cabins, there
being two on the port side of the through gangway and one to
starboard. The contents of all three had been completely wrecked by
the concussion. Water bottles and jugs lay smashed to fragments upon
the floor. In the midst of the debris he noticed a razor; this he
carefully set aside, vowing to remove the straggling beard that was
beginning to make itself particularly aggressive at the first
opportunity.
For'ard of the nacelle, and adjoining the place formerly occupied by
the motors, were two large tanks, one on either side of the gangway.
One had been "started", a large rent showing in the sheet metal. The
other was intact, and full of water.
"Salt!" ejaculated Hamerton disgustedly. "Water ballast, of course.
It may come in handy though."
Continuing his forward pilgrimage the Sub reached the wreckage of the
foremost car. Here the twelve-pounder gun had fallen through the
floor, leaving jagged portions of the floor plates sufficiently wide
to allow the Sub to gain the interior. In one corner of a subdivision
of the compartment stood a metal freshwater tank, and close to it, in
a rack, a number of cups. Without delay the Sub, carefully carrying a
small quantity of water, made his way back to where the wounded
officer lay.
The German was still insensible. Drawing a handkerchief from the
unconscious man's pocket Hamerton dipped it in the water and
proceeded to wash the cut in his forehead. As he did so he recognized
that fate had thrown an old acquaintance across his path, for the
officer was Lieutenant Schwalbe, the same who had effected Hamerton's
arrest on board the _Diomeda_.
Having attended to the injured man as well as the limited means at
his disposal would admit, the Sub decided that it was time he made an
examination of the aircraft that had under remarkable circumstances
come under his command.
Looking down over the rail he found that the Zeppelin was maintaining
a height of about a thousand feet. Unknown to him the vessel had
dropped to less than a fifth of that distance just before dawn, but
with the rise of temperature following sunrise she had regained her
former altitude.
The sea was still foam-flecked, and, although it was impossible to
form an accurate description of the state of the waves from that
height, Hamerton had reason to suppose that the gale had not yet
blown itself out.
Allowing the average rate of the derelict to be forty-five miles an
hour, he came to the conclusion that she was now--unless the
direction had changed--within a hundred and fifty miles of the
Northumberland or Berwickshire coast.
As far as the eye could see the surface of the water was unbroken by
any vessel large or small. The North Sea seemed entirely deserted.
The pangs of hunger, that had been temporarily banished while the Sub
was attending to the injured Schwalbe, now reasserted themselves, and
after a short search Hamerton discovered the officers' pantry,
practically intact. After the hard fare he had been accustomed to
during his enforced detention at Heligoland the meal that followed
seemed the best he had ever had in his life, his appetite whetted by
the bracing air and the joyous satisfaction that he had regained his
freedom.
A shave and a wash still further heightened his satisfaction, and,
the deficiencies of his wardrobe demanding attention, he had no
scruples in throwing overboard his ragged parti-coloured uniform of
captivity and donning a greatcoat and trousers of one of the officers
of the airship.
"By Jove! I wonder how the crew got to the platform on top of the
envelope?" he exclaimed. "I really must see what the 'Mount Misery'
of a Zeppelin is like."
His first effort in that direction was to make a thorough examination
of the sub-compartments of the midship car, but no signs of a means
of gaining the elevated deck were forthcoming. Nor would he again
risk the hazardous way along the single girder to the remains of the
after nacelle.
Again he went for'ard. Almost immediately within the bow nacelle, and
to the right of the sliding door, was a vertical flight of steps
formed by means of steel bars set across an angle of the compartment.
"These must lead somewhere," he argued, "although they don't appear
to. So here goes!"
From the third step he was able to touch the aluminium plating that
formed the ceiling of the nacelle. His hand came in contact with a
metal knob that had in the gloom hitherto escaped his notice.
Backwards and forwards he strove to move this object. It seemed
immovable. He tugged, pushed, twisted it all to no purpose.
"Like everything else on board this blessed packet the thing's
jammed," he growled. "I'll get a cold chisel from the armourer's
chest and cut a hole through the plate. Great Christopher Columbus!
what's that?"
A bell was ringing violently in some part of the aircraft. Perhaps,
after all, there were more of the crew still at their posts on the
upper platform?
He was about to descend, when, his eyes getting more accustomed to
the gloom, he caught sight of a bolt placed at less than a foot from
the knob that had so completely baffled his efforts.
He drew back the bolt. The flap above his head immediately swung back
on a pivot, disclosing a long tunnel-like shaft. Simultaneously the
bell ceased to ring.
"What a silly ass I am!" declared Hamerton. "I see the game. By
touching that knob a bell rings for the purpose of warning those on
deck that someone is ascending. That is quite feasible, since two
persons could not pass each other in this exaggerated tin-whistle
pipe."
Without hesitation he commenced to climb. The interior of the tube
was of polished aluminium and reflected shafts of light that entered
from the open top. He could see the blue sky overhead.
It was a long climb, for the vertical passage was nearly fifty feet
in height. It reminded the Sub of the interior of a battleship's
mast. A faint scent of hydrogen assailed his nostrils. Whether it was
an accidental leakage sufficiently serious to affect the buoyancy of
the airship or merely the natural wastage from the ballonettes the
Sub knew not.
Upon gaining the upper platform Hamerton's first act was to inspect
the fore-and-aft shelters. Both were deserted. They were also
practically intact. The standard compass for'ard was in working
order. More by force of habit than anything else he glanced at the
card. The Zeppelin's bows were pointing due east--exactly the
opposite direction to the way he wanted.
This was a most disconcerting discovery. To be ignominiously borne
back into German territory was humiliating. Rather than let that
happen he would attack the ballonettes, liberate the hydrogen, and
allow the aircraft to settle, half-water-logged, on the North Sea.
Hamerton glanced at his watch and found it was a quarter to five.
That puzzled him, since by the position of the sun it must be nearer
eight o'clock. A second look showed him that his watch had stopped.
He remembered that, contrary to custom, he had omitted to wind it.
Presently a thought struck him. Walking to the end of a transverse
bridge he looked downward. A long way below and far from the
perpendicular a large shadow was cast upon the sea. It was the shadow
of the airship across the sun's rays. For a full minute he watched it
intently, then he gave a sigh of relief.
In his mild panic in noting the direction of the Zeppelin's bows he
had forgotten that, drifting at the mercy of the winds, she was
liable to swing horizontally in any direction. By observing the
direction of the path of the shadow his mind was set at rest. The
airship was drifting nearly sou'-sou'-west.
"That's much better, thanks be!" he ejaculated fervently. "If this
continues I shall land, not in the north, but somewhere in Norfolk or
Suffolk. Perhaps within sight of Lowestoft. But I'll swear the
blessed ship is lower than she was. I wonder where I can find the
altitude gauge? And the wind is falling too. That shadow shows we are
travelling at a bare twenty knots."
Just then the Sub gave a hasty look round over the vast circle of
sea. Something caught his eye. He looked steadily for a few seconds
to make sure there was no mistake.
Less than five miles off was a large torpedo-boat destroyer, pelting
along at top speed. Her commander had spotted the Zeppelin, of that
there could be no doubt. Was the oncoming craft one of the German
destroyers, dispatched to recapture or destroy the errant airship?