THE PRICE OF VICTORY.
The wintry night was dark and moonless. There was a slight ground
mist--and consequently no wind.
Ronald Pryor returned to Harbury Court late for dinner, where Beryl and
her sister awaited him. He had had a fagging day in London, spending
nearly half his time with officials of the Air Department, who had at
last become interested in his new engine silencer. Trials of it had
been made at Farnborough and elsewhere, and proof of its effectiveness
had been quite adequate.
“The Department have decided to adopt it!” he announced triumphantly to
Beryl as he entered the long, old-fashioned stone hall, and hung up his
overcoat.
“I knew they would, dear!” cried the enthusiastic air-woman joyously.
“I only hope the secret won’t leak out to the enemy,” he said, and then
went along to wash his hands before sitting down to dinner.
Presently, while they were at table, and Ronnie was describing the
interview he had had with the heads of three Government Departments
and the reading of the confidential reports upon the tests made with
aeroplanes to which the silencer had been fitted, the maid entered
announcing that he was wanted on the telephone.
He left the table, and five minutes later returned with a grave look
upon his countenance.
“What’s the matter, dear?” asked Beryl anxiously, for she dreaded lest
something was amiss.
For a few moments he did not answer, busying himself with his plate.
Then at last, he replied:
“Oh!--well, only that I am flying ‘The Hornet’ again to-night.”
“May I not go with you?” Beryl asked eagerly. “Do let me go. It is over
a week since I went up.”
He hesitated. Truth to tell, what he had heard on the telephone caused
him some misgivings. Over the wire a certain disguised message had been
given to him from headquarters--a request to which he had acceded.
Beryl was in entire ignorance of the affair. He had been asked to
regard it as strictly confidential, hence, he had not mentioned it,
even to his well-beloved.
“Look here, dearest,” he said at last, looking across the big bowl of
flowers in the centre of the table, “I don’t half like you coming with
me to-night. There may be risk, and it is unfair that you should take
it.”
“We are engaged, Ronnie; therefore, if there is any danger, why should
I not share it?” was her prompt reply. “I am not afraid while I am with
you.”
“That’s quite the right spirit, Beryl,” remarked her sister,
approvingly.
“I quite appreciate your bravery, little one,” said Ronnie, “but flight
on this misty night is fraught with more danger than people ever
imagine. Once you are up you are lost, except for your compass. And to
descend is, as you know, full of perils.”
“I quite appreciate all that,” said Beryl. “Don’t you recollect when I
came over from Sandgate to Folkestone, and found a thick fog on this
side? Well, I went on till I found a break in it on the Surrey Downs,
and descended quite safely at Ash, near Aldershot.”
“That was in daylight--not on a dark night like this?”
“But where are you going?” she inquired.
To her question he remained silent. His was a mission in strict
confidence.
Further argument followed between the pair, until at last, by the time
dinner had ended, Ronald Pryor was compelled to accede to her request.
Then, taking a flash-lamp, he went forth across the big meadow to the
hangar and found Collins awaiting him.
“All ready, sir,” the latter announced cheerily. “I heard you quite
well on the ’phone from London, but--well, sir,” he added hesitatingly,
“it’s a bit risky to fly to-night, isn’t it?”
“Is the machine all in order--everything?” asked his master.
“Everything, sir. She only requires wheeling out,” and as he uttered
the words the mechanic opened the great sliding-doors of the hangar.
Then, together, the two men wheeled out the aeroplane, and while Ronnie
mounted into the pilot’s seat Collins swung over the propeller, and his
master tuned up his engine.
Meanwhile, Beryl having put on her air-woman’s kit, with the leather
jacket and cap, joined her lover, whom she found in the hangar poring
over a map showing the East Coast between the Wash and the estuary of
the Thames.
He was taking measurements and making some pencilled calculations,
while she stood expectantly beside him.
“Well, dear!” he asked at last, “are you ready?”
“Quite!” was her reply, and a few moments later, after he had put on
his muffler, his overalls, and leather coat, they both climbed into the
machine, and strapped themselves in.
“Light the flares about two o’clock, Collins. I’m making a pretty long
flight, so we can’t be back before then.”
“Very well, sir.”
Then, tuning up again, and having tried the silencer, and found it
in good working order, he ran the machine swiftly across the frosty
grass. Soon he rose, and, skimming the trees, soon soared away into the
darkness.
From where Beryl sat she saw the glow of the little electric bulb set
over the instruments shining into her lover’s strong clean-shaven face,
and, by the compass, gathered that they had described a half-circle,
and, though still rising rapidly, were now heading eastward in the
direction of the sea. The roar of the engine, of course, rendered
speech impossible, while the mist was very chilly causing her to draw
her brown woollen comforter around her cheeks. There was no sign of
light anywhere below--all was a great black void.
They had flown for nearly half-an-hour when, of a sudden, the long
beam of a searchlight shot up from somewhere on their left, and began
slowly to search the sky. Their approach had been heard by one of our
air-stations.
Ronnie, watching the light made no attempt to evade it. Indeed, he
switched on his searchlights in order to reveal himself. He had no wish
to be peppered by our “Archies.”
Next second both of them were blinded by the searchlight full upon
them. In a moment a second, and then a third, light converged upon
them, so that the aviator and his well-beloved were compelled to shade
their eyes with their gloved hands.
For a full three minutes the lights followed them, when the watchers
below, having examined the tri-coloured rings on “The Hornet’s” planes
and being satisfied, shut off.
Beryl saw that her lover was anxiously watching his altimeter, as well
as his compass and clock. It seemed as though he were apprehensive of
something.
Suddenly he began to descend, and pulled across the lever controlling
the silencer, thus cutting off the noise of the exhaust.
“We’re over the sea, now,” he remarked; “can’t you feel the difference
in the atmosphere? Look on the left.”
She did so, peering down into the darkness, and there saw the twinkling
of a light--a ship was signalling rapidly, being answered by another
not far away.
“Where are we going, dear?” Beryl inquired.
“On a mission,” was his abrupt response. And, though she pressed him
for information, he would vouchsafe no further reply.
For a full hour they flew over the North Sea, due east, until suddenly
they turned south, and with the silencer still on, went along
noiselessly save for the shrill wind whistling in the struts.
From ten thousand feet they had now descended to a little over two
thousand, when, all of a sudden, a distant searchlight shot forth.
“That’s the Belgian coast!” Ronnie remarked, and once again he started
to ascend, flying in a complete circle and undecided as to exactly
where he might be. The single shaft of light, like a moving line
in the total darkness, was soon followed by others from the same
neighbourhood. Circles of light could be seen, showing that the clouds
were low--a fact which would favour the intrepid pair.
“We’ll give those lights a wide berth for a little,” Ronnie said
cheerfully, and again he turned northward, and a little later to the
south-east.
As they flew they watched those slowly-moving searchlights until, one
by one, they disappeared.
“They’ve finished their sweep of the skies,” he said at last, with
satisfaction. “If there’s no alarm they won’t open out again for some
time.”
And then he flew in the direction of where the lights had been,
descending until he was again only about two thousand feet above the
sea.
“From the disposition of those lights it seems that we are near our
objective,” he remarked. “I hope you are not nervous, darling?”
“Why should I be with you, Ronnie?” she asked, placing her gloved hand
tenderly upon his shoulder.
“Well, because we’re now entering the danger-zone,” he replied, “and I
think I ought not to conceal it from you. Would you like to turn back?”
“Turn back!” echoed the brave girl. “Never! Where you dare go, I will
go too. Don’t think I’m in the least nervous. If anything happens, it
will happen equally to both of us.”
“Well spoken, my darling,” he said, his hand touching her cheek in the
darkness. “Then we will go forward.”
After that there was a long silence, until below they saw a cluster of
faint lights, with one light flashing at regular intervals.
“Look!” he said. “That is Zeebrugge. Beyond--that fainter light over
there--is Ostend.”
He consulted a roughly drawn map which he now produced, and which bore
certain cryptic marks in red and blue; he directed Beryl’s attention to
a speck of light to the north, saying: “That surely is Heyst!”
Then he pointed “The Hornet’s” nose upwards, and rose until they were
enveloped in a cloud of fog in order to evade the inquisitiveness of
any searchlights, afterwards flying in a circle directly over the port
of Zeebrugge, which both knew to contain strong defences and long-range
anti-aircraft guns.
For a full quarter of an hour they hovered over the town, their
presence entirely unsuspected on account of the roaring exhaust being
silenced. Then, carefully, he once more descended to mark out his
objective--the new German submarine base. Between two spots seen far
below he was undecided. There were many faint lights burning in the
town, but one, he decided, was in the centre of the submarine base.
Without uttering a word to his companion, who sat strapped in her
narrow seat cramped, breathless, and half-frozen, he passed and
re-passed over the German base three or four times.
Suddenly as he went a quick swish sounded below them, and, peering
down, Beryl saw a big burst of flame, followed by a terrific explosion,
the concussion of which gave the machine a serious tilt.
Bang!--bang!--_bang!_ sounded so quickly in succession that hardly had
one ceased before the other reached them.
Below, the bright red flashes, angry points of light in the blackness
of the night, showed vividly, while at the moment that the searchlights
shone forth Ronnie, having dropped his bombs, climbed swiftly into the
bank of cloud.
Higher and higher they went, until below them they only saw the clouds
aglow with the glare, whether by the incendiary fires they had caused
among the enemy or the searchlights they knew not.
“‘The Hornet’ has done considerable damage this time!” Ronnie laughed
hoarsely, as the altimeter showed that they were still ascending. “I
saw that the second bomb dropped plumb into the fitting-shop! It has,
no doubt, put an end to Fritz’s activity for a good many days to come.”
“What do you intend doing now?” asked Beryl. “Going home?”
“Home? No. I’ve got four more bombs for them, yet.”
As he spoke, however, they heard the sharp bark of the enemy’s
anti-aircraft guns. Yet no shell whistled near them.
The Hun is a bully, and hence a coward. Taken unawares, as he was at
Zeebrugge that night, when he heard nothing and saw nothing, it was but
natural that he should fire even into the air in order to scare off the
British raider.
But Ronald Pryor was not the man to be scared off. He had had an
objective to reach and he had reached it, but he had not yet finished,
and did not intend to take any bombs back.
He knew that as long as he kept above the low clouds, and as long as
his machine was silent, as it would remain, it would be impossible for
the gunners below to hit him. Therefore he drew away seaward again,
according to his compass, then back to land, and for half-an-hour flew
round the little town of Heyst.
Now and then, as they passed from one cloud to another, they watched
the lights of Zeebrugge searching for them, until it seemed that the
alarm had died down.
At two points, however, they could see great fierce fires
burning--conflagrations they had caused in the heart of the submarine
base. One of Ronnie’s bombs had, as was afterwards known, dropped upon
the oil-tanks, and, the blazing oil having been scattered over a large
area, had caused devastation throughout the neighbourhood.
“Hark! What’s that?” asked Beryl holding her breath, her quick ears
having detected a familiar sound.
Ronnie, listening, suddenly said:
“Ah! I quite expected that--their airmen are up, looking for us! Now
we may have a little excitement. Collins put the gun ready. Is it all
right?”
“Quite,” said the girl. Long ago Ronnie had taught her how to
manipulate the Lewis gun. Therefore, she placed her hand upon it and
drew the shoulder-piece towards her, swinging the machine-gun easily
upon its pivot.
“Keep cool, darling! Don’t fire till I tell you,” he urged. “We’re
going over the town again to give them a farewell salute--all
explosives this time. I want to get those warehouses at the docks! I
can see them plainly now--the fires show them up. By Jove, they’ll get
a shock when they find themselves bombed again, won’t they?” and he
laughed merrily as he turned “The Hornet’s” nose back in the direction
of Zeebrugge. Flying as low as he dared, he approached the spot where
the red flames leapt up far below, and the smoke greeted their nostrils
with increasing intensity.
By this time the searchlights had been switched off, though Hun
machines could be heard in the air. Those who controlled the
searchlights knew that their aeroplanes would work best in the
darkness, being fitted with small searchlights themselves.
Leisurely, Ronnie came over the town, flying high and in silence,
until, when just over where the darting flames were showing up the
buildings all around, he suddenly released his remaining bombs--all but
one.
Terrific explosions sounded in quick succession, and, though so far
above, they could both feel the concussion. Indeed, “The Hornet” very
narrowly escaped a serious nose-dive in consequence. Next moment they
saw that the row of buildings facing the docks was aflame from end
to end, and beginning to burn almost as fiercely as the submarine
oil-depôt.
Ronnie, however, did not have it all his own way.
Ten seconds after dropping those bombs, and causing panic in the
occupied Belgian port, the sky was again ablaze with searchlights. At
that moment Ronnie was out of one cloud, and travelling very swiftly
into another.
The searchlights were, however, too quick for him, and picked him up.
“H’m!” he grunted. “They’ve found us at last! Now for home!”
Hardly had he spoken when the anti-aircraft guns from below commenced
to bark sharply, with now and then a deep boom. They could both hear
the shells whistling close to them, but so high were they by this time
that accurate aim by the enemy was well-nigh impossible.
In such a circumstance the wisest course was to fly in a wide circle,
descending and ascending, a course which Ronnie, expert airman that he
was, adopted.
Those were highly exciting moments! Beryl held her breath. Her hand
was upon the Lewis gun, but her lover had given no order. In her
observer’s seat she sat alert, eager, with every nerve strained to
its fullest tension. They were in the danger-zone, surrounded by what
seemed a swarm of aeroplanes, which had ascended in order to prevent
their returning to sea.
The little bulb in front of Ronnie burnt on, shedding its meagre light
over instruments and maps. Beryl saw by the altimeter--which she had
so often watched when flying the machine alone--that they were up five
thousand six hundred feet.
The dark waters were beneath them. A stray shell from the enemy would
cast them both down--deep down into the North Sea.
More than once they heard the whirr of an aeroplane-engine quite close
to them, but going forward, slipping through the air without noise,
thanks to Pryor’s silencer, which the authorities had now recognised
as a remarkable and highly useful invention in aerial warfare, they
managed to evade their adversaries. The strain of it all was, however,
terrible.
Upon the misty clouds below shone the glow of searchlights from
land and sea, lighting up the billow mists, until they were quite
picturesque undulations, like a fairy landscape. Yet through those
mists they saw the deadly enemy flying to and fro in search of them as
they went out to sea in silence.
Beryl watched it all from her observer’s seat. She knew that their raid
had been successful, and that enormous damage had been done to the Hun
submarine base. On her left showed the faint lights of Ostend, where
she had spent one summer with her sister Iris and her husband, two
years before the war. She had walked along the Digue in a smart summer
gown, and she had gambled at _boule_ and eaten ices in the great
Casino which, according to report, was now used as a German hospital.
Ah, how times had changed! She had never dreamt that she would be
flying as an enemy over that sandy coast.
Ronnie, with all his wits about him, was heading straight for the
English coast north of the Thames when, of a sudden, there arose from
the dark void below the rapid throb of an enemy seaplane, which, a few
seconds later, opened out its searchlight.
A moment afterwards it had fixed “The Hornet.”
Then began a desperate fight for life. The German aviator, having
marked his prey, rose like a hawk, and then bore down upon him swiftly,
his searchlight glaring into Beryl’s face like some evil eye.
The girl unstrapped herself and rose in order to be able to handle the
machine-gun without encumbrance, for they were now flying upon an even
keel.
“Hold on, dear!” the pilot exclaimed, and then suddenly he banked his
machine over, swerving away none too soon from the hostile seaplane.
Again he worked up, avoiding the quick swoop of his adversary, who
suddenly opened fire.
A heavy shower of bullets passed them harmlessly, whistling all around
them, while from somewhere--possibly from a German warship--a high
explosive shell burst perilously near them, causing “The Hornet” to
roll and wallow in a most disconcerting manner.
Again and again Ronnie’s adversary fired full upon him, but all to no
purpose. Then suddenly a second machine came up from somewhere, and
that also let loose its machine-gun. Quick spurts of blood-red flame
showed first upon one side then upon the other, yet Ronnie remained
quite cool, awaiting his chance of gaining an advantage and to strike.
A piece of the high explosive shell had torn the fabric of one of the
planes. That was all the damage they had sustained up to the present.
Surely no woman could ever have a more exciting or so perilous an
experience, midway between sky and sea!
Suddenly, after climbing and diving, Ronnie saw his opportunity, and,
making a sudden swerve, cried to Beryl:
“Get ready!”
“I’m ready,” she answered.
Again he climbed, and as he rose past the machine which was pressing
him so closely, he said:
“Fire!”
In an instant Beryl’s gun spluttered, sending forth its leaden hail
full into the centre of the German machine. Beryl held her breath,
and watched the enemy’s searchlight quiver, rise, and then suddenly
pointing downwards, swiftly become smaller and smaller as it descended
towards the sea.
“He’s gone!” cried Ronnie with relief. “Pilot and observer both killed,
I should say.”
“They must have dropped into the sea!” gasped the girl, awe-stricken.
Next second, however, the other machine loomed up to exact vengeance.
Beryl had swiftly replenished the gun with ammunition, and was again in
readiness for the word from her lover to fire.
Ronnie, fully alive to the fact that he was being pressed by the second
machine, dived and banked, then climbed as rapidly as he could, yet,
alas! he could not shake off his pursuer.
In silence, with the wind whistling through the struts and the piece
of torn fabric flapping, he pressed on, striving to escape from his
relentless pursuer, who, no doubt, intended to shoot him down as
reprisal for the destruction of his Hun comrade.
Again the enemy machine opened out his searchlight, and, holding him as
a mark, fired rapidly. For a moment Ronnie did not reply. All his nerve
was concentrated upon obtaining the advantage a second time.
Up and down, to and fro, the two machines banked, rose and fell,
but Ronald Pryor could handle his machine as though it were part of
himself. At last he drew up, and, setting his teeth as he pointed “The
Hornet’s” nose direct at his adversary, he blurted out:
“Fire!”
Beryl laid the gun straight at the aeroplane, touched it, and again
death rained forth.
Yet almost at that very same moment the Hun also opened fire. The
spluttering was deafening for a few seconds, when, to the girl’s alarm,
she suddenly saw her lover fall helpless and inert over his instruments.
“Gad, Beryl,” he managed to gasp, “they’ve got me--the brutes! Phew,
how it burns!”
The girl, who had not for a second lost her nerve, instantly realised
the peril, and without a moment’s delay--nay, even without a word--she
clambered across into the pilot’s seat and took the levers, being
compelled to crush past her wounded lover as she did so, and not
knowing the nature of his wound.
“That’s right, Beryl! Fight to the last!” the man gasped. “Bank her,
then go right down and rise again. You may beat him off by that. Try,
darling! Do--do your best!” he whispered, and then he sank back in the
blackness of unconsciousness.
Beryl, as an expert air-woman, knew all the tricks of evasion while
flying. She knew that her lover’s advice was the best, and she carried
it out to the very letter.
Just as she banked, the Hun machine sent out another splutter of lead.
Those angry spurts of red fire seemed to go straight into her face,
but, though the bullets tore more holes in the fabric of the left plane
and broke a strut, they whizzed harmlessly past her.
It was truly a flight for life. Flying “The Hornet,” as she was doing,
she had no means by which to retaliate or to drive off the enemy. Their
lives now depended upon her skill in manipulating the machine. This
she did with marvellous judgment and foresight. To the very letter
she carried out the orders of the man now lying back wounded and
unconscious.
Beneath her breath she whispered a prayer to Almighty God for
assistance, and set her teeth. Again the Hun seaplane spurted forth
a venom of fire upon her, but with a dexterous turn she banked, and
once more avoided him. He intended to shoot her down into the black
waters below, but she had her wounded lover at her side, and thought
only of his welfare. She recollected her own response when Ronnie had
suggested that she should remain at home, and when she saw that cruel
eye of bright light following her so steadily she grew more and more
determined.
At last she decided upon flying by the compass quite straight towards
the Essex coast, and seeing if her adversary could overtake her. At
first it seemed a very perilous course, because the Hun coming up
behind, shot at her continually, and once more the fabric was torn in
one place near her elbow. But as she flew on in silence she all at once
made a discovery. She listened. Her pursuer was gradually overtaking
her. If he did, then she was entirely defenceless, and must share the
same terrible fate as the machine that Ronnie had sent down into the
sea.
The tension of those fateful moments was terrible. Yet she summoned all
her woman’s pluck--the pluck that had come to the female sex in these
days of war--and kept on flying in the direction of home.
Her ear caught something, for it was trained to the noise of aeroplanes.
Again she listened. That eye of light which was following her so
ruthlessly was still upon her, yet by the noise, she knew that the
hostile engine was not firing correctly. The throb was not even and
incessant.
Had Providence intervened to save her?
She drew a long breath, and opened out so that she put all speed into
her machine. From the pace she was going she knew that the wind had
sprung up, and in her favour, too. “The Hornet” was a fast machine, yet
the Huns had machines quite as mobile, and she had no means of knowing
the make of aeroplane against which her speed was pitted.
She flew--flew as no woman had ever flown before. Half-crushed beneath
her in the pilot’s seat lay Ronnie, oblivious to everything. She had
placed her arm tenderly round his neck, but on withdrawing her hand in
the darkness she had felt it strangely sticky--sticky with blood!
Ronald Pryor was evidently wounded in the neck. Perhaps he was already
dead. He might have been, for all the brave girl knew. But that sound
of the mis-firing of her enemy gave her courage, and she kept on--on
and on--until, very slowly, she drew away from that bright evil eye
that was bent upon her destruction.
Again came a splutter of lead upon her. Again she knew that bullets
had gone through the fabric, but no great damage had been done to the
machine.
She feared more for the petrol-tank than for herself. A shot in the
bottom of that tank would mean a certain dive into the sea. Of a sudden
another spurt of fire showed deep below them, and a shell coming up
from somewhere, friendly or hostile she could not tell, exploded, and
nearly wrecked them both. It was from some ship at sea--a British
ship, no doubt, which, seeing aircraft with a searchlight going in the
direction of the East coast at that hour of the morning, had naturally
opened fire upon it.
At last, after nearly half-an-hour, Beryl still with her eye upon the
compass and sailing again upon an even keel and in an increasing wind,
glanced over her shoulder and saw the light of the enemy grow dimmer,
and then gradually disappear. She had entered a thick cloud, and
sailing on in silence, would, she knew, be at once lost to the view of
her enemy.
Five minutes later, when Beryl at last realised that she had escaped,
she again placed her left arm tenderly round her lover and endeavoured
to raise him, but without avail.
Was he dead? The thought struck her with horror! He had done what had
been asked of him, but perhaps he, like so many others, had paid the
toll of war!
Though perhaps her hand trembled a little upon the levers, yet she
settled herself again as well as she could, and with her eye upon both
map and compass she sped along over those dark waters, tossed by the
increasing wind which had arisen behind her.
For nearly two hours she flew on. By dint of great effort she
managed to move Ronnie into a position which she hoped might be more
comfortable. She spoke to him, but there was no answer. He lay there
inert and motionless, strapped in his seat. When she withdrew her
ungloved hand it was again wet with blood.
She pressed forward, putting “The Hornet” along at the full pace of
which the machine was capable. The little clock showed the hour to be
nearly three, therefore she judged that she must be nearing the English
coast again. Her surmise proved correct, for ten minutes later she
saw the glimmer of a searchlight on the sky straight ahead--the light
of one of our air-stations. Therefore, turning slightly to the north,
she again opened the silencer as a precaution, and, with her engine
suddenly roaring, made straight for it.
Ere long half-a-dozen beams of intense light were searching the skies
for the incoming machine, which the watchers below were eager to
examine, and it was not long before one of the beams caught and held
“The Hornet” in its blinding rays, lighting up the white, inanimate
face beside her, and showing the dark stain of wounds.
Then three other beams became concentrated for a few moments upon her,
and again, one after another, shut off, until she was once more in
darkness.
The position of the lights, however, told her where she was--over a
certain town a few miles inland, and taking her bearings, she rose
higher, and began to describe a wide circle in order to find the four
bright flares which she knew Collins had lit in the meadow at Harbury.
Another half-hour she spent in vain search, until, of a sudden, she saw
points of light deep down on her left. Straining her eyes she managed
at last to make out that there were four, looking close together from
that height. Therefore she quickly descended, while as she did so she
saw Morse flashes from a signal-lamp telling her the direction of the
wind, in order that she might land head on to it.
Ten minutes later she came safely to earth, when Collins ran up, having
chased the machine across the field.
In a moment Beryl told him with breathless haste what had occurred, and
with but few words they at once carried Ronald back to the house, and
laid him upon the sofa in the study. Then Collins rushed to the car,
and drove away madly to fetch the nearest doctor.
The latter arrived with but little delay, and Beryl, her sister’s arm
round her, stood outside the door, awaiting his verdict.
The examination occupied some time, but at last the medical man came
forth.
“He is very severely wounded, Miss Gaselee,” he said, “but there is
still a spark of life left--a very meagre spark. By careful attention
and nursing he may possibly pull through. He is not yet conscious, but
we will put him to bed, and I will remain and see what I can do. We can
only hope.”
Beryl, thankful that Ronnie still lived, quickly bestirred herself for
his comfort, and it was not long before the senseless man was carried
up to his own room, where the doctor remained watching him for many
hours.
* * * * *
Days passed--days of breathless and terrible anxiety--during which
the doctor forbade Beryl to see the wounded man. In the papers there
had been published accounts of the enormous damage done to the enemy
submarine base at Zeebrugge by a “British aeroplane,” but the name of
the intrepid aviator was not given. Only the authorities and those
at Harbury Court knew the truth. The authorities preserved a wise
reticence, for the publication of facts is not always in the interests
of the country.
Ronnie’s wounds proved far more serious than were at first believed,
and even the specialist who came down from Harley Street was not at all
hopeful of his recovery. Nevertheless, the fine physique of the patient
proved in his favour, and a fortnight later Beryl was allowed to see
him for the first time.
From that moment Beryl became his nurse, and slowly he recovered;
slowly, because both his right arm and his right leg had been so
injured that they would be entirely useless in future, and he could
never fly again.
Only the thought of his invention, and the great advantage it would
give to our aviators for night-flying in the future, comforted him,
when at last he was able to be wheeled about in his chair by Beryl.
And was it surprising that when, three months later, the pair were
married in the old, ivy-clad, church, half-a-mile from Harbury Court,
the illustrated papers published a pathetic picture of the bridal
couple emerging from the porch, the bridegroom on crutches, and
described it as “a romantic war-wedding”?
THE END.
_Miller, Son, & Compy., Limited, Printers, Fakenham and London._
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
End of Project Gutenberg's Beryl of the Biplane, by William le Queux