As we rose higher and yet higher into the calm starlit sky, the earth
beneath us became increasingly mysterious and misty. Here and there dim
lights showed, single lights of scattered cottages unseen by rural
constables, or improperly obscured lights from the larger houses.
Soon some red and green lights showed away on our left, and I knew that
in the valley there ran the main railway line to London.
By day, at an altitude of 2,500 feet, the whole surface of the earth
appears perfectly flat, hills and valleys seeming to be on the same
level. Therein lies one of the dangers of aerial navigation. The
contour of the earth is quite indistinguishable when one is half a mile
high, therefore the altimeter is not of very great use--and more
especially so at night. The instrument only records the number of feet
above sea-level, and not above the earth. Thus, a pilot flying by night
can very easily pass over a valley and suddenly find himself
encountering a range of high hills with a fatal belt of trees or row of
houses.
Such is exactly what happened to us on that memorable night. We crossed
the valley, and as I steered straight by compass in the direction of
Stockhurst at about thirty miles an hour, I had dipped and of a sudden I
found myself nearing a dark, high hill. Just in time I shot up and
cleared, I believe only by inches, the roof of a house.
Roseye was quick to notice our sudden ascent and how we skimmed over the
house and the trees of somebody's park as we kept our rather zigzag
course.
A clever writer upon aeroplanes has, with much truth, pointed out that
the natural course of a machine is never a direct one, and if a line
could be drawn between two given points it would be found that first it
veered slightly to the left of this line, then gradually worked back to
the true direction, afterwards heading off to the right and again
returning. Thus the true course is in the form of a continuous series
of left and right-hand semicircles.
These eccentric semicircles we were making with the engine running like
clockwork. There were few clouds and, therefore, the chance of a nasty
"nose-dive" was not to be apprehended. Once a machine gets into clouds
it behaves like a ship in a stormy sea, and clouds can easily be met
with after height of three thousand feet.
After passing over the hill I dropped again to 2,000 feet, that being
the best height to fly on a crosscountry journey. There now opened out
to our view a quantity of lights, among which were the red glare of a
furnace, and a long row of small lights which evidently marked the main
street of some little town in defiance of the "order."
I planed down till I could clearly see the obscured lights of a railway
station, and by my map, over which my little four-volt lamp was shining,
I decided it to be Uckfield. I therefore realised that I was bearing
too far south and, further, just at that moment I had a "bump"--as we
call it--or rather I ran into a patch of rarefied air which caused the
machine to plunge heavily and tilt.
Righting her, I rose again rapidly to 3,000 feet to get out of the
danger-zone and, turning east, discerned in the darkness below me yet
another cluster of lights which I approached rapidly, having decided
that it must be Buxted.
Still steering south-east I could see, away on my left in the far
distance, a number of scattered lights in a long line, denoting where
Hastings and St Leonards lay. Beyond those lights, away upon the dark
sea, showed the long beam of a ship's searchlight moving slowly in an
are in the Channel.
Roseye, seated beside me, touched my arm and pointed to it. Again I
nodded in response.
By the map I saw we were now approaching that high ridge which stretches
from Heathfield across to Burwash, the ridge which overlooks Hailsham
and the Pevensey Levels. My altimeter then showed 2,800 feet and all
went well for ten minutes, or so, until just as I approached the railway
line near Heathfield, we became suddenly blinded by the white beam of a
searchlight from below.
Roseye put up both hands to her eyes, but I bent my head and kept on my
course.
I saw her put out her hand as though to turn our own searchlight
downwards and gripped her wrist, preventing her.
I knew that our approach had been heard by the anti-aircraft
listening-post on Brightling Beacon, and that, having picked us up, they
would see the tri-coloured rings beneath my planes. Truly it was
fortunate that I had had them painted there, for I knew that upon the
Beacon they had a very useful anti-aircraft gun.
Beneath my breath, however, I cursed the men with that searchlight for,
following us, it blinded us. My first impulse was to turn away from it
but, next instant, I realised that to do so might arouse suspicion below
and they might open fire. Therefore I kept on though, so intense was
the glare, that I could see nothing of my instruments before me, and
Roseye sat with her gloved hands covering her face.
As suddenly as it had opened upon us, the light was shut off. The naval
gunners on duty below had evidently satisfied themselves that we were
not enemies, and therefore, finding myself too far south for Mayfield, I
made a semicircle until I again came across a railway line going north.
I decided that if I followed it I must find Mayfield station.
It struck me that already Teddy must be hearing my approach. My
luminous wrist-watch showed it to be now past ten. Curious how very
quickly time passes in the air if there is but little wind, and one's
engine is running well. It only seemed as though we had left Holly Farm
a few minutes before. Since we had left I had spoken no word with my
well-beloved, the roar of the exhaust and the shrill whistling of the
icy wind preventing conversation. Yet I could see her well-wrapped-up
figure silhouetted against the sky as, seated alert and watchful, she
was now on the look out for Teddy's signal.
That we were flying far too high I suddenly realised, therefore I planed
down to about 900 feet, and at that altitude we sailed over Mayfield
which was, however, in complete darkness, save for a cycle travelling
along its main street, and a couple of lights at the station whither the
green and red signals had guided us. Passing Mayfield I still descended
to 600 feet, and then again circled round, but neither of us could
discern any flashing signal.
Teddy had with him a strong electric torch, and we had arranged that he
should give me a number of "shorts" followed by a number of "longs" in
order to tell me that all was clear.
But we could discern no signal!
Still lower I descended and circled about until I had actually picked
out the pointed spire of Stockhurst church.
Yet there was still no sign.
Roseye saw how puzzled I had become, and extended her palms to denote
dismay. What could have gone wrong? Where was the hitch?
Back I turned over Mayfield again, and once more took certain bearings,
for night-flying is always fraught with many difficulties, and one can
so very easily get lost. I consulted both map and compass very
carefully, satisfying myself at last that I had made no mistake.