Good Old Hamerton!
SMITH'S first act was to put the helm hard down, but so fierce was
the wind and so stunning the blows of the steep, crested waves that
the yacht soon lost way. She wallowed sluggishly in the trough of the
sea, cascades of water pouring over her on all sides. A crash, just
audible above the roar of the elements, announced that one of the
panes of the cabin skylight had been broken.
"Up with the mizen!" shouted the skipper.
There was no time to reef the sail. Staggering upon the wedge-shaped
part of the deck abaft the mizen-mast, Smith tore frantically at the
sail-tyers, while the boom charged to and fro with the force of a
sledge-hammer as far as the scope of the sheet permitted.
Wellnigh breathless he regained the cockpit.
"Haul up!" he bawled.
Flapping with a series of whip-like cracks the stout canvas was
hoisted. The men expected every moment to see the sail split asunder
and the mast go bodily over the side. It was with feelings of relief
that they saw the sorely pressed craft swing round head to wind
without the threatened calamities taking place.
"We're all right for a bit," gasped Smith. "Where's the _Boxer_?"
As he spoke a searchlight flashed out of the darkness. For a few
moments it swung in a more or less horizontal direction, as far as
the erratic motion of the destroyer permitted; but as soon as the
beam fell upon the _Diomeda_ the light was immediately screened.
"They've picked us up," said Stirling. "They'll stand by us."
Again the searchlight threw out its rays, and to the astonishment of
both men they saw revealed the British destroyer less than a quarter
of a mile away. In the brilliant light the _Boxer_ could be seen
plugging her bows into the vicious waves. The spindrift was flying
high over her four squat funnels, cascades of foam were pouring from
her fo'c'sle deck, while, owing to the greatly reduced speed, she was
rolling like a barrel.
Then the mysterious searchlight vanished, leaving Smith and his
comrade blinking in the darkness.
"What vessel was that?" asked Stirling.
"Hanged if I know and hanged if I care," replied Smith. "Where's that
lamp? There's the _Boxer_ signalling."
Throughout the whole of the hazardous period the flashing lamp in the
cockpit was still intact. Bracing himself against the swaying
mizen-mast the skipper of the _Diomeda_ replied by a few short
flashes.
Slowly and deliberately the message was flashed from the destroyer,
for the naval men knew that the average yachtsman is more or less of
a duffer at Morse signalling.
"Ride to sea-anchor if you have one. Keep your lights burning;
traffic about. Will stand by you."
"I understand," was Smith's reply, after the message had been roughly
jotted down and transcribed by the aid of a codebook.
Within ten minutes the yacht was riding to her sea-anchor. The
motion, as compared with the straining and plunging while under tow,
was fairly easy, and after lashing an awning over the broken skylight
the crew of the _Diomeda_ were able to "stand easy".
"I'm sorry I snapped you up," remarked the skipper slowly.
"Didn't know that you did."
"But I did. Don't you remember my saying something about being hanged
if I cared, when you asked me what vessel that was that was flashing
her searchlight?"
"After all, it was a silly question," rejoined Stirling. "How could
you be expected to know any more than I should?"
"I believe I do know, though," asserted Smith. "Look away on our port
hand. Do you see those patches of misty light on the sky?"
"Well?"
"They're searchlights playing on the clouds. Evidently the Heligoland
torpedo flotilla are engaged in night manoeuvres; to me it seems like
a trial of aircraft versus submarines and destroyers."
"And the vessel that turned her searchlight on the _Boxer_? She
wasn't sky hunting?"
"No; not just then. You see, she spotted the navigation lights of the
_Boxer_ and the _Diomeda_, and was naturally curious. But there she
goes!" As Smith spoke a narrow ray of light flashed vertically
upwards at apparently less than two miles away to the southward.
Then, describing an ever-widening spiral, the beam searched the
clouds for a considerable time, till, having satisfied herself that
the object which she was in search of was not within range of the
searchlight, the foreign warship screened the light and made off.
"Let's get below; it's fairly habitable," suggested Stirling. "I'm
mighty hungry; and even these oilskins seem to strike cold."
"Very well; you go," was the reply. "I'll stick here till daybreak.
It can't be much longer, and I fancy the wind is dropping a lot."
"It is, but it was thick while it lasted. We must have struck the
tail-end of a summer hurricane." With that Stirling went below,
divested himself of his oilskins, and proceeded to mop up the salt
water from the cabin floor. This done he made coffee, handing out a
cup to his comrade in the cockpit.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Dawn's breaking; seas going down rapidly," replied the skipper
optimistically. "The searchlights haven't been showing for the best
part of half an hour."
"_Boxer_ still standing by, I hope?"
"Rather. I can just see her outlines against the sky. It will be
quite light in twenty minutes."
As soon as the grey light in the north-eastern sky was strong enough
to enable things to be seen with sufficient clearness the _Boxer_
bore up to leeward of the yacht. By means of a megaphone the
lieutenant-commander shouted to Smith to get the sea-anchor aboard,
and prepare to be taken in tow.
This, by reason of the sea that was still running fairly high, was a
difficult task, and by the time the yacht was again wallowing astern
of the destroyer it was a quarter to five.
For the next two hours good progress was made. Almost momentarily the
waves grew calmer, so that the _Boxer_ was able without undue risk to
her charge to increase speed to twelve knots. Never before had the
stanch old yacht travelled at that rate. Her following wave was a
sight to behold, towering and threatening to break inboard over her
pointed stern, yet never able to overtake her. After the night of
anxiety both men found the motion most exhilarating, and there was
every chance of sighting Old England's shores well before noon.
Suddenly Stirling grasped his companion's arm, then pointed to an
object well above the skyline on the starboard bow.
"Where's the telescope?" asked Smith. "I believe it's an airship."
With some difficulty, owing to the motion of the yacht, the skipper
got the glass to bear.
"It is," he affirmed. "And a thundering big one."
"One of ours?"
"I don't think so. The British ones show a dull yellow or light brown
with the sun shining on them. This chap's a peculiar shade of grey.
I'll semaphore to the _Boxer_ and ask if they've spotted her."
But before Smith could get the two hand-flags from the signal locker
the destroyer's gunner, followed by three seamen, came running aft.
Steadying himself by the wire rail, the warrant-officer raised a
megaphone to his lips.
"We're going to cast you adrift,"' he shouted. "Make sail and steer
sou'-sou'-west. There's a foreign airship in difficulties. We're off
to investigate. Will return and pick you up later."
"Aye, aye," shouted Smith. "What nationality is she?"
The gunner shook his head and tapped the megaphone suggestively.
Without its aid conversation was inaudible.
Hardly had Smith cast off the hawser and the crew of the _Boxer_
gathered it aboard when the destroyer set off at full speed in order
to intercept the drifting airship.
Having set staysail, jib, and mizen, the skipper of the _Diomeda_
shaped a course as indicated by the _Boxer_, while Smith's telescope
was brought into constant use by one or the other of the crew.
"She's descending," announced Stirling. "By Jove, she'll fall into
the sea in a minute--no, she's steady. They have evidently emptied
the water-ballast tanks. Here, you take the telescope."
The _Boxer_ had apparently come within the proper distance of the
airship, for although it was almost an impossibility to gauge
relative distances through a telescope, Stirling could see the
destroyer circling to starboard.
"They've got a line on board," he declared excitedly. "The airship is
turning head to wind. The _Boxer_ is returning. I say, what luck for
the _Westminster Daily Record_! 'Exciting salvage of a Zeppelin by a
British destroyer in the North Sea--by our Special Correspondent.'
How will that look?"
"I shall be able to look the better if you'll kindly hand me the
telescope," said Smith grimly. "Thanks! I am a rotter though. If I
had only had the forethought to bring a camera--can't be helped.
She's badly damaged, I can see. No one on board. Yes, there is, by
Jove. There's a fellow in a greatcoat standing just in front of the
midship car, or whatever they call it."
Nearer and nearer came the destroyer, with the Zeppelin straining and
seesawing at the end of a hawser against the fairly stiff breeze.
Presently the semaphore on the _Boxer's_ bridge began to work.
As soon as Smith made the acknowledgment he seized a pencil and
jotted down the movements of the signal arms; then by the aid of a
diagram in the signal book he deciphered the message.
"Carry on under sail. Cannot take you in tow. Have sent by wireless
to Harwich for assistance."
"I understand," replied the _Diomeda's_ skipper by semaphore; then
taking up the telescope he directed it towards the airship.
[Illustration: "'GREAT SCOTT!' HE EXCLAIMED; 'IT'S HAMERTON'"]
The Zeppelin was now less than half a mile off. By the aid of the
glass Smith could see the solitary figure on the suspended platform.
"Great Scott," he exclaimed, "it's Hamerton!"
"Never!"
"Fact. I can see him as plain as a pikestaff."
"Hurrah!" shouted Stirling. "Now what price the German Government's
explanations? And, old man, what a scoop! _The Westminster_ first,
the rest nowhere. Good Old Hamerton!"