A SHIP ON FIRE
Rodier had his full share of the Gallic dash which had won first
honours in airmanship for France, but it was combined with the
coolness and circumspection bred of scientific training, so that Smith
was able to take repose in serene confidence that, barring accidents,
the aeroplane would fly as safely under Rodier's charge as under his
own. Karachi was soon a mere speck amid the sand. In less than
half-an-hour the aeroplane was crossing the swampy delta of the Indus.
Soon afterwards it flew over the Run of Cutch into Gujarat, leaving
the hills of Kathiawar on the right. Sweeping over the head of the
Gulf of Cambay, it crossed the railway line from Bombay to Baroda, and
then the broad river Nerbudda. The city gleaming white in the
sunlight, far to the left, must be Baroda itself. The course traced by
Smith in the few minutes before leaving Karachi, avoided the high
western Ghauts that fringe the Indian coast to far south of Bombay.
Rodier therefore steered somewhat to the east, coming in the course
of twenty minutes to the river Tapti. Seeing a line of mountains
straight ahead, he swung round still more to the east, following the
valley of the river until he had completely turned the mountains, the
northernmost spurs of the Ghauts.
Now he turned south-east once more, crossed the Chandaur chain, and
presently came in sight of the Godaveri river, which traverses the
whole breadth of Hyderabad. Near Indor he left the river on his left.
By this time it was becoming dark. Smith still slept, and Rodier, who
was not able to steer by the stars, was considering whether he had not
better waken his employer when he spied the characteristic glare from
a locomotive furnace far ahead. In half-a-minute he had caught up the
train, and slowed down to make sure of the direction in which the
railway ran. He found that it was almost exactly south-south-east, and
concluded from a glance at the map that he was above the connection of
the Hyderabad railway running from Warangal to the coast of the Bay of
Bengal. Reassured, he resolved to let Smith have his sleep out,
followed the line until it swept eastward at Secunderabad, and then,
steering a little to the left, put the engine once more to full speed.
In less than an hour afterwards he saw a vast expanse of water
glistening in the light of the rising moon, and knew that he had
reached the sea.
Being by this time thoroughly stiff and tired, and knowing, moreover,
that Smith would navigate the aeroplane over the sea with much more
certainty than himself, he shouted to awaken him. This proving
ineffectual, he leant over and nudged his shoulder. Smith was awake in
an instant.
"Where are we?" he cried; but no answer was necessary; he saw the sea
below him, and stretching far to the east, north, and south. He
exchanged places with Rodier, who, too tired even to eat, fell asleep
at once.
"Good thing he woke me," thought Smith. It was one thing to fly over
land, with guiding marks in the shape of rivers, mountains, and other
physical features that could be recognized more or less easily from
the map; and quite another to cross the pathless ocean. But with a
compass and a clear sky the course would present no difficulty to a
seaman, and Smith settled down to a flight that would be without
obstruction for at least seven hundred miles.
He knew that in the Bay of Bengal the prevailing wind at that season
is south-westerly. Whether there was any wind or not it was impossible
to ascertain while the aeroplane was maintaining its enormous speed;
certainly there was none to cause unsteadiness. If wind there was, it
blew in his, favour, and all that he would have to do would be to
allow in steering for a slight northerly drift. He would certainly
sight the Nicobar group, and possibly the Andaman Islands if he did
not make sufficient allowance for the wind; but he was determined not
to alight if he could help it until he arrived at Penang; he had lost
time enough already.
It was the first time he had flown across so wide an expanse of sea,
and he felt a touch of anxiety lest the engine should break down. If
any accident should happen he had made up his mind that the only thing
to be done was to don the lifebuoys, cut the engine loose, and trust
to the buoys to keep them and the planes afloat until their plight was
observed from some passing vessel. In the darkness this would, of
course, prove a vain hope; even in daylight the chance that a vessel
would be in sight was remote. But the die was cast: the engine was as
yet working perfectly; and in three or four hours, all being well, he
would come in sight of land.
There being no obstruction to fear, he kept at a height of only a
hundred feet above sea level. The sea was calm, gleaming like a sheet
of silver in the moonlight, so that the aeroplane seemed to fly over a
continuous glistening track. Steadily it flew on; Smith had nothing to
do but to sit still, feed the engine with petrol, and keep his eyes
alternately on the compass and the stars.
At length, about six o'clock by his watch--past eleven in the
longitude to which he had arrived--he caught sight ahead of a dark
outline on the water, no doubt a group of islands, though whether the
Andamans or the Nicobars he did not feel sure. Knowing that they were
all hilly in formation, he slackened speed, intending to run down
their coastline rather than cross them. It would not be difficult to
find one of the many channels between them through which he could
continue his flight, past the northern end of Sumatra to Penang. By
taking a southerly course, moreover, he would, be able to assure
himself of his direction.
After a short run parallel with the coastline he came to a wide
channel which he believed to be, and subsequently ascertained to be,
the Ten Degree channel between Little Andaman and Car Nicobar. From
this, if he was right, there would be an uninterrupted course
south-east to Penang. But within half-an-hour of entering the channel,
still flying low, he suddenly ran into a dense cloud of exceedingly
pungent smoke, which completely hid the sea beneath him. It made him
cough, and woke Rodier with a start.
"What's this, mister?" he shouted, rubbing his eyes.
"Forest on fire," shouted Smith in reply, though he was surprised to
meet with the smoke so far from land as he supposed himself to be. He
hastily planed upwards, in case, by some error of navigation, he had
come upon land and might endanger the aeroplane among hills or
tree-tops, and also to avoid the risk of explosion from a stray spark.
Still more surprised was he when, after only a few seconds, the
aeroplane passed completely through the smoke, and he saw the sea
again. At that instant, just as they reached the windward side of the
smoke-cloud, which was evidently blown by an easterly wind, Rodier
gave a cry.
"Mon Dieu! A ship on fire!"
Smith instantly checked the engine, and, swinging round in a narrow
circle, saw a dark shape below him from which smoke was pouring up.
There was no flame, but as the aeroplane dropped gently downwards
Smith saw that Rodier's explanation must be correct, the ship being a
sailing vessel.
A fire at sea is the sailor's worst terror. Urgent as was his own
errand, Smith could not pass without at least inquiry, so he sank
still lower, steering as close alongside the vessel on the windward
side as the planes would allow. He perceived now that she was
dismasted and had a bad list. Lifting his megaphone, he shouted--
"Ahoy there! Who are you?"
No answer reached him, though he saw that the crew were crowding on
deck, gazing up at him, and one man, no doubt the captain, was making
a trumpet of his hands.
"I can't hear owing to the noise of my engine," shouted Smith.
"Haven't you got a megaphone?"
He was acutely conscious at that moment of two disadvantages which the
airman had not yet been able to surmount. He had not yet invented a
noiseless engine, nor could he keep the aeroplane motionless in the
air. If Smith could have transformed his vessel for a few minutes into
a Zeppelin airship he would gladly have done it.
Now a megaphone had been brought to the captain, and his words came,
though faintly, to the ears of the airmen.
"Barque _Elizabeth_, from Calcutta to Dundee with jute. Dismasted in a
cyclone ten days ago west of the Andamans; been adrift ever since.
Fire broke out in cargo in the fore hold; had as much as we could do
to keep it under; no time to rig a jury mast. Afraid of flames
bursting through any minute."
He asked no questions and showed no surprise about the aeroplane. It
was evident that he could give no thought to anything but the
desperate plight of his vessel.
Smith was in great perplexity. He could do nothing for the ship;
perhaps his best course would be to make all speed for the nearest
port and send a steamer to her assistance. An idea struck him.
"Can't you get off in your boats?" he called.
"All carried away but one. She won't hold half of us. Besides, can't
desert the ship."
"Many passengers?"
"Only my daughter."
"His daughter, Roddy. I wish we could do something, but I don't know
what."
"Ah! go down and lift her off, mister."
Smith reflected. A girl would probably weigh little more than the
petrol they had consumed. The suggestion was feasible, and if the
captain's daughter had pluck enough to risk the journey, no doubt her
father would be glad to know that she at least was safe.
"We can but make 'em the offer," he said to Rodier; then shouted
through the megaphone: "We're coming down. Get your men to clear the
deck aft, and show lights and stand by to lend a hand."
All this time the aeroplane was moving slowly in circles over the
vessel, being still careful to keep on the windward side for fear of
sparks. When Smith's instructions had been carried out, he selected a
landing place just abaft the mizzen and, warping his planes
alternately, brought the aeroplane gently to the deck. Fortunately
the bulwarks were sufficiently low not to catch the planes or the
stays supporting them.
Smith and Rodier stepped on deck, and were instantly surrounded by a
group of the officers and crew.
"Get for'ard," shouted the captain to the men. "D'you want to see a
blaze?"
He was left with the first mate.
"I'm in a pretty fix, sir," he said, after a rapid glance at Smith.
"We drifted south and southeast after the storm, then lay becalmed for
a day or two; yesterday an east wind sprang up and carried us
northward."
"What are your bearings?" asked Smith. "I'm in the Navy."
"You don't say so, sir! Yesterday's observations gave us latitude nine
degrees forty-seven minutes south and longitude ninety-four degrees
thirty-two minutes east."
"Well, look here, the best thing I can do is to run for a port and
send you help."
"I'd take it very kind if you would, sir. I was thinking of sending my
daughter off in the boat to-morrow with a few men; but we've managed
to keep the fire under so far, and if there's a chance of getting help
within a day, say, perhaps we can keep all together. It's terribly
risky in these seas in an open boat."
"Well, I'll set a course for Penang--"
"Port Blair's nearer, sir, in South Andaman."
"But I'm more likely to find a fast steamer at Penang. And as to your
daughter, captain, she'd better come along with us."
"In that what-you-may-call-it, sir?"
"Yes, certainly. We can easily carry her, and make a comfortable seat
for her behind ours if you give us a cushion. We've come from London,
so she needn't be afraid."
"From London! Near seven thousand miles! Jigger me if ever I heard the
like of it! What do you think of that, Mr. McWhirter?"
"Rather a long un," replied the mate.
"Well, hang me, if you've come across the Bay of Bengal, you're sartin
sure to be able to make Penang. She shall go with you, and that'll be
one load off my mind. Go and fetch her, Mr. McWhirter. She's rather a
superior gal, sir, though I say it myself. She's had a rattling good
eddication; talks French like a native, and as for music and singing,
I've never heard any gal as could touch her, that's a fact. Here she
is."
Smith was not sorry that the outflow of paternal pride was checked. He
wanted to get on. A girl of about twenty came forward with the mate.
She was very self-possessed, and met Smith's look frankly.
"My daughter, Mr. ----. I don't know your name, sir," said the
captain.
"My name's Smith." He doffed his cap.
"Now, Margy, my girl, Mr. Smith, who's in the Navy, is going to be so
kind as to take you in his what-you-may-call-it to Penang, and send a
steamer to take us off or tow us in, as the case may be."
The girl looked startled, glancing from Smith to the aeroplane, and
then at her father.
"I think I'd rather stay with you, Father," she said quietly.
"And I'd rather you didn't," he said bluntly. "You don't know the risk
as I do, my gal," he added kindly. "The blessed ship may blaze at any
moment."
"I know, Father; but we've been in danger for several days, and I've
got used to it."
"Ay, that's true, and you've been an uncommon plucky girl, I _will_
say. She ain't like them females that faint and go into high strikes
and fidget your life out," he said to Smith, who observed the girl's
face flush. "Now, my dear, you'll go with Mr. Smith, and please your
old father. There ain't a morsel of danger; he's come safe all the way
from London, and I never see a better bit of manoeuvring, I _will_
say, than when he brought the what-you-may-call-it down on the deck as
light as a feather. It'll be a big sight safer than this poor old
hulk, and I'll be thankful to know as you're safe in Penang. You can
berth with my old friend Sam Upton and his missis, and please God
I'll come for you in a day or two."
"I assure you, Miss--Miss Margaret," said Smith, "that there's really
very little risk. We've come six thousand odd miles safely, and it's
not far to Penang, you know. You won't be the first lady to fly in an
aeroplane."
"Ma foi, non!" cried Rodier, unable to keep silence any longer. "I
myself, mademoiselle, have kept company in an aeroplane with a lady.
Ah, bah! vous parlez français; eh bien! cette femme-là a été ravie,
enchantée; elle m'a assuré que ce moment-là fut le plus heureux de sa
vie."
"Shut up, Roddy," whispered Smith, smiling, however, as he caught a
twinkle of amusement in the girl's eyes.
"I will go if you wish," she said to the captain, without replying to
Rodier.
"That's right. Mr. McWhirter, will you please get a couple of cushions
and put them in the thingummy where Mr. Smith shows you."
The seat was quickly prepared. Meanwhile Smith consulted with Rodier
on the somewhat delicate problem how to make a start from the deck,
which obviously did not afford more than a few feet of running-off
space. Rodier hit on a solution, and by the time the passenger's seat
was ready the necessary arrangements had been made.
"Now, my gal," said the captain, "step aboard. You sing like a bird;
it's only right you should fly like one." It was obvious that the
worthy seaman was making clumsy efforts to be cheerful. "I'll see you
in two days, or three at most; we've got a raft ready, you know, in
case the fire beats us. But, bless you, I shouldn't be surprised if we
have a fire-engine coming through the sky next; there's no knowing
what these clever young sparks won't be inventing. God bless you!"
The girl threw her arms round her father's neck. Smith turned away;
there were tears in the old man's eyes. The captain conducted her to
her place. Then he took Smith aside.
"You'll look after my gal, sir?" he said in an undertone. "She's all
I've got. Suppose you _do_ come down; what then?"
"I shall jettison the engine and keep afloat by the planes. We've a
couple of life buoys, too. But I don't think we shall come down, so
make yourself easy, and we'll save your vessel."
"There's one man that never forgets a good turn, and that's John
Bunce. Where shall I find you in Penang, sir, if I get there safe?"
"Oh! I shan't be there. I'm going straight on to the Solomon Islands."
"Well, sir, if you're ever Rotherhithe way, you'll find me at 197
Prince's Road; I'm retiring after this voyage. Margy'll be proud to
give you a cup of tea, and I _will_ say I'd like you to hear her
sing."
"All right, I won't forget. All ready, Roddy?"
"Ready and waiting, mister."
Smith went to his place.
"Are you quite comfortable, Miss Bunce?" he said, noticing that the
girl was pale and nervous. "I'm sorry I can't give you my seat, but my
man and I must sit together. You'll forgive us for turning our backs
on you."
The girl smiled faintly without speaking. Several of the crew had
ranged themselves on each side of the aeroplane, to hold it steady
until the propellers had worked up a good speed. Smith started the
engine; the deafening whirr began: then at the word "Go!" the sailors
released their holds and the aeroplane lurched forward just clear of
the bulwarks. Margaret Bunce clutched the rail nervously. One or two
of the men had been somewhat slow in letting go, causing the aeroplane
to cant over in a manner that was alarming to the onlookers. But long
practice with the aeroplane in all kinds of gusty weather had
developed in Smith an instinct for the right means of meeting an
emergency of this nature. Like a bicyclist, he did the right thing
without thinking. The vessel righted itself at a touch on the warping
lever, and in two or three seconds she was sailing rapidly away from
the ship.