ON THE DECK OF THE ‘ATTILA.’
It was late the next morning when thought and feeling came back to me,
the blurred imagery of my dreams mingling strangely with the memories of
the preceding night. Despite a slight headache, and a suspicion or two
of giddiness, I felt as well as could be expected, and lying back snugly
on my pillow began to meditate rising. For once my resolution was quick
in the making. My uncle used to say that, all things considered, life
was not worth the trouble of dressing. But on this particular morning it
most certainly was. The apprehensions of the past night had given way to
a hopeful spirit, while the interest of exploring this aëronef thrilled
me through and through. I was about to spring out of the berth in
readiness for the labours of the toilet when Burnett looked in through
the door.
“All right! Glad to hear it. Where are we? Over the North Sea. Take my
advice, and get up sharp. The captain has asked to see you. You’ll find
me knocking about somewhere round here when you’re ready.”
Thoroughly alive to the situation, I was not long in getting into my
clothes. But my disgust was great on finding sundry half-dried splashes
of blood on my coat, a souvenir of my luckless pursuer. In the
excitement and darkness I had overlooked these hideous traces which now
seemed to threaten me with the brand of Cain. Throwing aside the
polluted garment, I stepped into the outer chamber, my pleasure quite
overcast for the moment. Burnett was there, and a hearty breakfast was
awaiting me, to which I promised to do summary and sweeping justice. The
room, but feebly apparent the foregoing night, was now flooded with the
sunlight, but the height at which we floated rendered the air most
chilly and penetrating. The silvery grey colour of the walls, floor,
chairs, benches, tables, and even the dishes and mugs, wrought on me an
impressive effect, curiously set off by the red cap worn by Burnett.
Through the open doorway gleamed the same silvery grey livery of the
flooring and bulwark of the passage already mentioned, and, framed, as
it were, in silver, glowed a truly magnificent cloud-picture. This
skyscape, however, was unstable, mass after mass of mist, shaped into
turrets, battlements, and mountains, rolled by in picturesque splendour,
bearing artistic testimony to the speed at which we or they were moving.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Burnett. “Here, eat your breakfast, and then
I’ll show you round our cloud empire. Or perhaps you had best see the
captain as soon as possible.”
I said I thought that would be best.
“But where’s your coat, man? Oh, I remember. Wait and I’ll fetch you one
of mine.”
In a short time the missing garment was made good, and I was falling to
with avidity:—
“How do you manage your meals and service here? Have you cooks or
servants?”
“Of course not. We are anarchists, and everything depends on private
initiative. Every man is as good as another, and every man is a
volunteer. Later on you will be expected to bestir yourself also.”
“But how do you avoid chaos?”
“There is no chaos to avoid. Outside the engine-room and conning-tower
there is little a man cannot quickly learn to do at need. We are very
simple in our wants—that is part of our creed—and, consequently, have a
deal of leisure. The watches are the worst part, for the captain is very
particular.”
“Ah, wait a minute. What authority has he?”
“The authority of the soul of this enterprise, and its best man. We
would voluntarily support him in a crisis. Five days ago a couple of
Italians turned rusty. He shot both where they stood, and the men in
their hearts approved of it. But he is an iron man. Wait till you see
him?”
“Is any one on the _Attila_ free to go where he likes?”
“Yes, except into the captain’s quarters. To pass there a permit is
required to all except myself, Schwartz, and Thomas. The engine-room
watchers pass through every three hours, and a passage runs from it to
the conning-tower and magazine below. You may guess what the latter
contains.”
“How many men are aboard?”
“Twenty-five, excluding ourselves. Eight are Germans, six Englishmen,
four French, two Russians, one an Italian, and the others Swiss, some of
those whom Hartmann employed at Berne.”
“Berne; was that where the _Attila_ was built?”
“That’s it. Hartmann, Schwartz, and his Swiss workmen put her together.
He made money there, as you know, and this was his grand investment. It
was kept beautifully dark in the wooded grounds of his villa. We are
going there now, so you will see the place for yourself.”
“But does any one know of the _Attila_?”
“No outsider probably who would be believed if he said anything. We have
our friends down below, of course—never you fear—but they are mum. The
hour has not yet struck, but the preparations for the festival are being
merrily carried out. The _Attila_ is a secret for the present. To avoid
being seen we take every precaution possible, and never approach the
ground except at night; in the daytime, well, there are clouds, and, if
none, we simply mount higher, and then our colour is enough to conceal
us.”
“But what if you meet a balloon?”
“Oh, there’s very little chance of that. And if there was, the
balloonist might find cause to regret the meeting. But come, and I’ll
take you round to the captain. He is a better spokesman than I.”
“Right you are.”
We stepped out on to the passage, and rushing to the bulwark (if I may
so call it) I gazed rapturously into the abyss below. It was indeed a
glorious sight. The clouds hung around and below us, but here and there
through their rents flashed the blue of a waste of rolling waters. Ever
and anon these gaps would be speckled with rushing sea-birds, whose
cries, mellowed by the distance, broke on the ear like music. Above in
the clear blue sky shone the sun at the keystone of his low winter arch,
lighting up the cloud masses with a splendour words cannot describe. Far
ahead through a break on my right a faint thin streak like distant land
seemed visible.
“Hallo,” I cried, “look there, land!”
Burnett shaded his eyes.
“I can see nothing. Ah, yes! By Jove! who’s on watch? We ought to be
rising.”
As he spoke a sudden pitch of the aëronef nearly upset us—the speed
rapidly increased, and the wind became positively cutting.
“We are rising fast,” said Burnett. “See, we are leaving the cloud-bank
far below us.”
But a new marvel had just caught my eye, and, clinging to the hand-rail,
I gazed upwards in astonishment. The wall of the chamber behind us was
continuous with the main mass of the aëronef, which, looking from where
we stood, exhibited the graceful lines of a ship’s hull. Round this hull
and presumably half-way up it ran the railed passage where we were
standing, communicating here and there with doorways let into the grey
side. Some thirty feet above us this side curved upwards and inwards so
as to terminate in a flat, railed deck on which a few moving heads were
just visible. But above this again rose a forest of thin grey poles
running up to a vast oblong aëroplane which stretched some way beyond
the hull. All these props were carefully stayed together, and those
towards the bow were somewhat higher than those in the stern; provision
being thus made for the inclination of the aëroplane consistently with
due maintenance of the hull’s equilibrium below. In the latter part of
the nineteenth century much progress had been made in experiments with
aëroplanes; those of Maxim being particularly suggestive and
interesting. I was, therefore, at no loss to probe the significance of
this portion of the mechanism.
“The captain wishes to see you,” said Burnett, who was talking to a
sullen-looking fellow by the doorway; “come along.”
[Illustration: I GAZED UPWARDS IN ASTONISHMENT.]
He stepped briskly along the passage, and, when we had gone some fifteen
yards, turned up one of the alleys. Entering behind him I came to a
small court surrounded with rooms and cabins, leaving which we ascended
a spiral staircase to the upper deck. Glancing hastily around I saw five
or six men pacing about chatting, while from other courts below came the
sounds of singing and laughter. This deck, which capped the entire hull,
was no less than eighty yards in length with an extreme breadth of at
least thirty-five. Broad at the stern it narrowed off to a sharp point
at the bow. The props attached to the aëroplane were set in six rows,
curving close together amidships where there stood a small circular
citadel, evidently the stronghold of the captain. Here were mounted
three or four cannon of the quick-firing sort fashioned out of the same
grey substance as the _Attila_, but the utility of which in a vessel
carrying dynamite was not immediately obvious. The citadel itself bore
no outward signs of comfort. It had four square windows and a plain hole
of an entrance let into bare shining walls. An exterior wall six feet
high, surmounted with spikes, and having here and there a recess
sheltering a machine gun, enclosed it. A fitter abode for the man I
could not conceive. Sullen, isolated, and menacing, it inspired me with
a vague premonitory dread.
Burnett strode up to the entrance and pressed a knob. I heard the ting
of an electric bell, and a man (Thomas, if I remember aright) came out
and said the captain would see me alone. Mastering some natural
excitement I bowed and followed him in. We passed through the inner
portal and found ourselves in a narrow hall, flights of steps from which
led down into the inmost vitals of the _Attila_. On our right was a door
half open. My escort motioned me to enter and, pulling the door to, left
me face to face with Hartmann.