‘It is their care that the gear engages, it is their care that the switches lock.’
I laughed again, and swung down the drive towards my work. I was still smiling over this when I arrived at the field and saw the machine looming darkly behind the bell tent.
I had a curious experience then. I found the officer in charge talking into the telephone; he was a subaltern, and rather a good sort. He turned as I entered the tent and nodded to me.
‘Half a minute,’ he said into the telephone. ‘Here is Captain Stenning.’
He was talking to Norman in his look-out station on White Island. I took the instrument and spoke to Norman, and told him the detail of the arrangements I had made. There was very little to discuss. I remember it made a deep impression on me to be talking to Norman as he lay stretched in a crevice of the rocks overlooking Marazan Sound. It made me feel that things were beginning to happen. Norman had little to say. It appeared that he had been very bored all day, and had attempted to pass the time by a telephonic game of draughts with the coastguard at St. Mary’s, sketching the position of the pieces on the back of an envelope. He remarked that he had suffered much from gulls and guano.
After that I went and sat with the subaltern at the mouth of the tent, gossiping in a desultory manner. The night seemed interminable. Every half-hour or so we rang up Norman, always with the same result; there was nothing yet in sight. Always after that we rang up the round of the patrols to make sure that everyone was awake. There were over twenty of those calls; we left them to the corporal, so that by the time he had finished with them it was time for us to speak to Norman again.
At about two in the morning one of the patrols a mile or so south of Barnstaple rang up and said he heard an aeroplane.
When the subaltern heard this he gave a terse, monosyllabic comment that expressed my opinion of the observer very well. He took the telephone from the corporal and was about to speak to the man to tell him not to imagine things, but I caught him by the arm.
‘Steady a moment,’ I said. ‘That’ll be the seaplane going down.’
It hadn’t struck me before—so far as I know, it hadn’t occurred to anyone—that we should hear the machine on its way to the Scillies. It’s the sort of detail that one is apt to forget. But there it was; the man was quite sure it was an aeroplane. He thought from the sound that it was a mile or two to the north of him, and travelling westwards. We rang up Norman to let him know about this, and then we rang up the rest of the patrols to tell them to keep an eye open.
It was really quite interesting. The man at Hartland seems to have missed it, and the next we heard was from the sound-ranging station on the headland above Padstow. They put the machine about a mile out to sea; they waited for five minutes and gave us a second observation, showing by the comparison of the bearings that the machine was travelling down the coast. They gave it as their opinion that the engine was a Rolls Eagle or Falcon, probably an Eagle.
That was the last we heard of her. We never got a report from Land’s End; we rang up half an hour later, but nothing had been heard there. We came to the conclusion that the machine had left the coast for the Scillies somewhere between Land’s End and Padstow.
Then we sat and waited to hear from Norman. I went to the door of the tent and had a look at the night. It was pretty clear by that time that I should have a job of work to do before many hours were out. It was a fine night with a bright moon, a little obscured by cloud. I remember thinking how quiet it was. I strolled over to the machine and mooned about it for a little, drumming with my fingers on the taut fabric of the lower plane. The lamplight in the tent streamed from the open flap and threw a broad belt of colour on the grass; over the tent the aerial loomed mysteriously against a deep blue sky.
I ran over in my mind the various civilian aircraft that I knew were fitted with a single Rolls engine. The information about the engine narrowed the field considerably, but I was still quite unable to identify the machine. I knew of seven machines fitted with one or other of those engines that might conceivably be used for the job, but none of them was a seaplane or amphibian.
Then Norman rang through. They called me from the tent; I went back and spoke to him on the telephone in his lonely crevice on White Island. He spoke as quietly as if he were in the room with me. I remember wondering at his nerve.
‘Is that you, Stenning?’ he said. ‘All right—this is Norman speaking. I can hear the machine quite close now. Yes, it’s bright moonlight here; I’ve got quite a good view of the Sound. There’s a launch in the Sound with her bows run up upon the beach. She came in about a quarter of an hour ago. Yes, on the Pendruan beach about halfway down Marazan. Wait a minute—the aeroplane’s shut off her engine.’
‘Where’s she putting down?’ I asked. ‘In the sea or in the Sound?’
There was a silence. Away in the darkness I could hear a mouse or something chittering in the field. At last Norman spoke again. ‘They’ve lit a lantern in the stern of the launch,’ he said, ‘and two more that they’ve placed upon the shore down by the water, near the entrance to the Sound. Do you think those are the landing-lights?’
‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘She’ll probably put down beside the one in the launch, heading towards the two fixed ones. They point into the wind, I suppose?’
He didn’t answer, but a little later he said: ‘I can hear the machine again now. Not the engine—I can hear the squealing of the wires in the wind.’
‘She must be very close to you,’ I said.
Then he saw her. ‘Right. She’s coming in to land now, gliding down on to the water. Stenning! She’s a float seaplane with two floats on the undercarriage—but I don’t see anything under the tail. She’s a single-bay machine—one lot of struts in the wings. She’s quite a normal design, but I don’t know what type she is. She’s painted some dark colour on the wings and white or silver on the fuselage. I can’t see any registration letters. Are you there? Can you hear what I’m saying? All right—you’ve got that. She’s just landed on the water of the Sound—she’s lost way, and they’re turning her in to the beach with the engine throttled right down. You’ve got all that? Right you are. Now get off the line while I speak to the Yard. I’ll ring you again in a minute or two.’
I laid down the receiver and turned to the subaltern. ‘My God, they’ve got a nerve!’ I muttered absently. ‘Fancy trying it again in the same place after last time.’
He looked at me curiously. ‘What happened then?’ he asked.
I hadn’t realised that he had been told so little. ‘The odd spot of murder,’ I said shortly. ‘They’ve got the nerve of the devil.’ I said no more, because I didn’t quite know how much he knew. I had been pretty taciturn all the evening, so that I think he may have been a little in awe of me. He didn’t ask any more questions.
In a minute or two Norman was on the line again. ‘They’ve got the machine up against the beach,’ he said, ‘but the engine is still running. I can’t see what they’re doing down there.’
‘She won’t stay long,’ I said. ‘If the engine’s still running it means that she’ll be off again quite soon.’ I looked at my watch; it was about half-past three. ‘If she starts now,’ I said, it’ll be touch and go whether I shall be able to pick her up, you know. It’ll be damn dark still by the time she passes here.’
‘I don’t think she’ll be long,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she’s aground on the beach—she seemed to move a little then. I think there are people standing in the water, holding her. They’ve still got the engine running.’
‘No reason why they should stop it if they aren’t going to re-fuel,’ I said. ‘It won’t take them long to load up the cargo. It’s only about a hundred pounds’ weight, you know.’ I could see the subaltern out of the corner of my eye, half crazy with curiosity at the one-sided conversation.
‘I hope to God the destroyer’s in her station,’ muttered Norman. ‘Hullo. They’re turning the seaplane round. I can see the men wading in the
water now.’
‘She’ll be off in a minute,’ I said.
There was a pause. ‘She’s going off,’ he said. ‘They’re taxi-ing towards this shore, towards the Crab Pot, astern of the launch.’
‘Damn it,’ I said. ‘She’ll be here too soon.’
Over the wire there came the same level, quiet voice. ‘She’s starting on her run now, making straight for the two lights down on the shore. She’s about half-way across the Sound. Now she’s lifting—she’s in the air now, up over the lights.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘Stenning! Can you hear what I’m saying? The machine is in the air on the return journey now. You’ve got that? Good. She went straight up over the lights and then swung round to the right, out to sea. When I saw her last she was heading about due north, and still turning. I can still hear the engine, but it’s getting fainter. It’s up to you to have a go at her now.’
‘Right you are,’ I said. ‘I’ll do my best. But it’ll be damn dark when she gets here.’
He spoke again. ‘They’ve still got the landing lights showing.’
‘They’ll probably leave those out for a bit,’ I said. ‘A dud engine might bring her back.’
‘So much the better, if the launch isn’t in a hurry to leave,’ he said. ‘We don’t want the aeroplane to see my rocket or the searchlights if we can help it. I’d like to give her at least ten minutes to get clear.’
‘Wait till you see them take in the landing-lights,’ I suggested. ‘They can’t leave those on the beach.’
I held the line and waited. There was absolute silence in the tent; I could feel them looking at me expectantly. Presently I nodded to my mechanic, and looked again at my watch.
‘In about twenty minutes’ time,’ I said quietly. ‘Get her going at about four, or a little after.’
He grinned at me and nodded. ‘All ready to start up any time,’ he said. ‘Not half a moon out here. You won’t want no lights for taking off.’ He expectorated cheerfully. I saw the corporal look at him askance, and resented it. I liked my mechanic. He had been with me on several long trips abroad. He was a man of my own type. We laughed at the same things, and at the same people.
Then Norman spoke again. ‘I’m going to let her go now,’ he announced. ‘I can’t hear the seaplane any longer, and the launch seems to be moving about a bit. I think she must be well clear now. Yes, I’ve got a rocket here all ready. I’m going to poop it off. Hold the line, and I’ll tell you what happens.’
I have always wondered at his nerve. The men in the launch were only three hundred yards away; he knew that they must be armed. He knew that as soon as his rocket went up they would know what had happened, would know that he was there, would know that they were caught. He banked everything on their first impulse being to escape to sea. He bet his life on that. As it turned out, he was right; they only fired one or two shots at the place where the rocket had gone up from, and he had arranged that ten or fifteen yards away to his flank.
I heard the rush of the rocket clearly through the telephone. Then Norman was back again, speaking in his quiet, level tones.
‘Stenning there? It’s going all right, I think. Did you hear them shooting? Only one or two, and nothing close. The launch is off—left the lights on the shore and making for the open sea all out. Oh, good, sir! Damn good! What? The sloop and the destroyer are out there—I can’t see which is which, but they’ve got their searchlights on a vessel. Yes, she’s well inside the three-mile limit. A small tramp, with one funnel in the middle. They’re closing on her now. I think they’ve got her all right.’
‘Oh, damn good,’ I cried. ‘Damn good work!’
He spoke again. ‘I think they’ve got the steamer now,’ he said. ‘Look here. Do what you can with the aeroplane. The odds are about five to one against you, but do what you can. Don’t worry if you lose her—there’ll probably be evidence on the steamer that will help us with the English organisation. The Navy are coming to fetch me off from here as soon as they’ve made sure of the steamer. Are you all right? Have you got everything fixed up as you like it?’
‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘I’ll get into the air pretty soon, I think, and get my wireless going.’
‘Right you are. I’m packing up now. We’ve got that ship all right; I can see the destroyer alongside, and the sloop standing off a little way. Cheer-oh, and good luck.’
‘I’ll need it,’ I said, and put down the instrument. I turned to the Sapper officer and told him briefly what had happened, that we had got the vessel that had brought the dope to England.
‘That’s the stuff,’ he said phlegmatically.
I left him and went out to the machine. It was a little before four o’clock; it was time I got under way. I talked for a minute or two to the mechanic; then he left me and went clambering about over the engine. I took my leather coat and helmet from the lower plane and began to dress.
It was getting a little grey towards the east. The moon was still high and there was plenty of light for me to see to get off the ground. The subaltern came out and watched me as I made my final preparations. I talked to him for a little about the wireless and the reports that he was to put through to me. He wished me luck.
‘Ready when you are,’ said the mechanic.
I clambered up on to the rounded fuselage of the machine and slid heavily down into the cockpit. I busied myself there for a minute or two, head down in the cockpit, settling into my seat and peering at my faintly luminous instruments. Then I sat up.
The mechanic was standing ready by the propeller.
‘Switch off?’
‘Switch is off.’
He began to turn the propeller slowly, blade by blade. I stared round over the field, looking more spacious than it really was in the dim light, and decided which way I would take off. There was very little wind.
The mechanic stopped turning the propeller, settled one blade into a convenient position, and stood waiting for me, both hands grasping the blade above his head beyond the long tapering nose of the machine.
‘Contact.’
I thrust an arm out of the cockpit and fumbled with the switch on the fuselage.
‘Contact,’ I said. ‘Let her rip.’
He flung the propeller round and swung clear; the engine fired with a cough and steadied into a regular, even beat. I left her to warm up for a little; then ran her up to full power and throttled down again.
I waved my hand and the mechanic pulled the chocks from under the wheels. I settled my goggles securely on my helmet, and nodded to the officer. Then I opened the throttle a little and we went rolling over the grass towards the hedge.
Close to the hedge I swung her round and faced up into the wind. Before me the field stretched, wide and dim. I remember that I was glad to be flying again. I was getting back to the work that was peculiarly my own. On the ground I was one among many, but in the air it was different. There weren’t many people in England that were better in the air than I. That heartened me, but there was another point, I remember, that appealed to me very strongly at the time. It’s not often that people like me get a chance of doing something that’s worth while in England. We knock about, fly, make money and lose it, get drunk, get sober again, play golf … and do damn-all good to ourselves or anybody else. But just once and again we get our chance—the chance to do with our cunning hands what the whole world of cunning heads cannot achieve.
I pushed open the throttle, and we went rolling over the grass and up into the air above the shadowy hedge. I let her climb on steadily straight ahead as I always do when flying at night, and looked back to mark the faint glow of the lighted tent. The country was in utter darkness. I saw one light in what I imagined to be Taunton, and then I picked up one or two coloured lights from the railway signals. For the rest, it was as black as the pit below me.
I turned and flew back over the tent at about a thousand feet. Then I set about winding down my aerial and getting into touch with the wireless. I got through to them witho
ut difficulty. As soon as I plugged in my telephones and switched on I heard the voice of the corporal monotonously droning from the tent his call signal and my own.
I spoke to the officer, and as I did so I turned again in the dim light and made for the north coast, near Watchet, climbing steadily as I went. A glance at the map will show that the peninsula of Devon and Cornwall narrows considerably in the region of Taunton, forming a sort of neck barely thirty miles from north to south, from Watchet to Lyme Regis. It was for this reason that we had chosen Taunton. Travelling all out I could cover that thirty miles in about a quarter of an hour; in daylight I should have the whole of it in view from the sea on one side to the sea on the other at any height above three thousand feet, given decent visibility. It would be luck if I succeeded in picking up the seaplane, but I had a good sporting chance.
The east began to show very grey. I kept in conversation with the subaltern as I flew on. There was very little cloud about to worry me; I climbed to about seven thousand feet and steadied her at that. It was high for observation in the half-light—very high. I had two reasons for it. In the first place, putting myself in the other man’s shoes, if I had to fly over land unostentatiously I should fly high, and it seemed to me that I ought to be above him at the beginning of the pursuit. The second reason was that if I were well above him I should have an additional advantage of speed over him, in that I could gain an extra ten or twenty miles an hour by putting my nose down and gradually losing height.
When I was nearly up to Watchet the Sapper broke off the desultory conversation that we had been keeping up. In a minute or two he spoke again.
The sound-ranging people had reported an aeroplane near Padstow. They had not sighted it, but reported that it appeared to be travelling northwards along the coast. They identified it with the machine that had gone down before.
The time was then twenty minutes past four. I scaled off the distance on the map, made a guess at the speed of a float seaplane with a Rolls Eagle, and came to the conclusion that she would pass Taunton a little before five. I asked the Sapper to wake up the look-out on Hartland who had missed the machine before, and set to patrolling between Taunton and Watchet.