CHAPTER V--FIRST AWAY
Hanging apparently motionless in still air, although virtually she wasdrifting in a southerly direction at a modest ten miles an hour, the"Golden Hind" maintained her altitude for the best part of half an hourbefore any attempt was made to start the motors. She was now to allintents and purposes a non-dirigible balloon, floating aimlessly in theair.
Peter Bramsdean, his work aft accomplished, made his way to thenavigation-room, where he found the baronet and Kenyon watching thegalaxy of lights far beneath them.
"We're drifting over Poole Harbour," observed Fosterdyke. "That'sprohibited for private owned aircraft; but who's to know?"
"I often wonder what would happen," said Peter, "if a non-dirigibledrifted over a prohibited area. Hang it all! The balloonist couldn'tcontrol the wind, neither can the Air Ministry, so what's the poorfellow to do?"
From their lofty post of observation the officers of the "Golden Hind"could see the coast-line standing out distinctly in the starlight. Awayto the south-east the powerful St. Catherine's Light threw its beamathwart the sky in a succession of flashes every five seconds. Nearer,but less distinct, could be seen the distinctive lights of The Needlesand Hurst Castle. Then a curved line of glittering pin-points--theesplanade lamps of Bournemouth. To the south-west the lesser glare ofSwanage and beyond the glow of Anvil Point Lighthouse. Lesser lights,like myriads of glow-worms, denoted scattered towns, villages, anddetached houses ashore, while right ahead and for the most part visibleonly by the aid of binoculars, could be discerned the red, green, andwhite navigation lights of shipping passing up and down the Channel.
The three men watched the nocturnal panorama almost without emotion.The sight would have moved a novice into raptures of delight, but to theveteran airmen there was little new, except perhaps that in the place ofstar-shells, searchlights, "flaming-onions," and exploding shrapnel werethe lights of a nation once more at peace with her neighbours even ifnot so with herself.
Fosterdyke glanced at a clock set upon the bulkhead.
"Time!" he announced laconically.
Indicators clanged in various parts of the ship. Within a few secondsthe six motors, started by compressed air, were roaring. Swayingslightly under the resistance of the gas-bag overhead, the airshipgathered way. In place of complete calm came the rush and whine of thewind as the "Golden Hind" leapt forward.
"May as well be on the safe side," remarked Fosterdyke. "Switch on thenavigation lights, Kenyon. I don't fancy another 'bus barging into us."
He gave an order through a voice tube. Promptly one of the crew appearedfrom below.
"Take her, Taylor," said the skipper, indicating the helm. "Followingwind--no drift. Course S. 3/4 W."
"S. 3/4 W. it is, sir," repeated the man, peering into the bowl of thegyroscope compass.
"Now, you bright beauties, take my tip and turn in," said Fosterdyke,addressing Peter and Kenneth. "There won't be much doing to-night, Ihope, so you may as well make the best of things. If you'll relieve meat four, Kenyon? ... Good."
The chums left the navigation-room and made their way to their cabin.Here, although adjoining one of the motor-rooms, there was comparativelylittle vibration, but the noise was considerable.
"We'll get used to it," observed Peter, as he proceeded to unpack hisluggage, which had been brought from Blandford station and put on boardonly a few minutes before the "Golden Hind" parted company with terrafirma. "Seems like old times. Hanged if I thought I'd ever be upagain."
"Between ourselves I'd prefer a 'bus," confided Kenyon. "Doesn't seemquite the right thing being held up by a gas-bag."
"Be thankful for small mercies, you old blighter!" exclaimed hiscompanion. "Turn in as sharp as you can, 'cause it's your watch in fourhours' time."
It seemed less than ten minutes before Kenyon was awakened. His firstimpression was that he was being roused by his batman, and that illusionwas heightened by the fact that the man held a cup of tea.
"Ten to four, sir," announced the airman. "I've made you somethinghot."
Kenneth thanked the man, drank the tea, and slipped out of his bunk. Hewas aware as he donned his clothes that the "Golden Hind" was pitchingconsiderably. Peter, sound asleep, was breathing deeply. There was asmile on his face; evidently his dreams were pleasant ones.
On his way for'ard Kenyon stopped to exchange a few words with theair-mechanic tending the two after motors.
"Running like clocks, sir," replied the man in answer to Kenneth'senquiry. "If things go on as they are going now, I'm on a soft job."
The first streaks of dawn were showing in the north-eastern sky as therelieving pilot clambered up the ladder and gained the navigation-room.Fosterdyke, busy with parallel rulers and compass was bending over achart.
"Mornin'," he remarked genially, when he became aware of the presence ofhis relief. "Everything O.K. Doing eighty, and there's a stifffollowing wind--force five. Altitude 5500, course S. 3/4 W. That's thelot, I think. We ought to be sighting the Spanish coast in anothertwenty minutes."
Fosterdyke waited until the helmsman had been relieved, then, givinganother glance ahead, he turned to Kenyon.
"We passed something going in a westerly direction at 1.15 A.M.," heannounced. "An airship flying fairly low. About 2000, I should think."
"Not a competitor, sir?"
"Hardly. No one but a born fool would think of taking a westerly courseround the earth if engaged in a race against time. We were passing overBelle Isle, on the French coast, at the time, and it rather puzzled mewhy an airship should be proceeding west from the Biscayan coast."
"French patrol, possibly," suggested Kenyon.
"Or a Hun running a cargo of arms and ammunition to Ireland. Isignalled her, but she didn't reply. Right-o! Carry on."
Fosterdyke went to his cabin, to sleep like a log. He was one of thosefortunate individuals who can slumber almost anywhere and at any time,but rarely if ever did he sleep for more than five hours at a stretch.Even after a strenuous day's mental and physical work he would be "asfresh as paint" after his customary "caulk."
Left in the company of the airman at the helm, Kenyon prepared to acceptresponsibility until eight o'clock. He took up his position at thetriplex glass window, the navigation-room being the only compartmentwhere celluloid was not employed for purposes of lighting. It was aweird sight that met his gaze. Overhead and projecting from beyond thepoint of the nacelle was the blunt nose of the gas-bag, the port sidetinted a rosy red as the growing light glinted on it, the starboard sideshowing dark grey against the sombre sky. A thousand feet below wererolling masses of clouds, their nether edges suffused by dawn. Betweenthe rifts in the bank of vapour was apparently a black, unfathomablevoid, for as yet the first signs of another day were vouchsafed only tothe airman flying far above the surface of the sea. Already the starshad paled before the growing light. Wisps of vapour--clouds on a higherplane to the denser ones below--were trailing athwart the course of the"Golden Hind," until, overtaken by the airship's high speed, they wereparted asunder, to follow in the eddying wake of the powerfulpropellers.
In the navigation-room, being placed right for'ard, the jerky motion ofthe fuselage that was noticeable in Kenyon's cabin was greatlyexaggerated. It was a totally different sensation from being in anaeroplane when the 'bus entered a "pocket." It reminded Kenyon of alift being alternately started up and down with only a brief intervalbetween. Rather vaguely the pilot wondered what he would be like at theend of twenty-one days of this sort of thing.
"Bucking a bit, isn't she, Thompson?" he remarked to the helmsman, who,relieved of the responsibility of maintaining a constant altitude by thefact that the airship was automatically controlled in that direction,was merely keeping the vessel on her compass course.
"Yes, sir," replied the man. "She'll be steadier when we trim theplanes."
"Might have thought of that before," soliloquised Kenyon. He remarkedthat the six "wings" were secured in a horizontal po
sition. For thepresent the "Golden Hind" was kept up solely by the lift of the brodiumin the ballonets. Not until it was fully light would Fosterdyke reducethe gas in the ballonets and rely upon the planes for "lift."
A quarter of an hour later, while Kenyon was engaged in making an entryin the log, the helmsman reported land ahead.
The "Golden Hind" was approaching the Spanish coast, not in the hostileway in which her namesake did, but on a friendly voyage across a countrythat, if not exactly an ally, is bound by strong ties to Great Britain.
The airship was soon passing over Santander. Ahead the CantabrianMountains reared themselves so high in the air that the "Golden Hind"had to ascend another three thousand feet to ensure an easy crossing.
At eight o'clock Fosterdyke appeared in the navigation-room. Under hisorders the airship's speed had been sensibly diminished. He intended toput to a practical test the lifting powers of the six planes.
Close behind him came Bramsdean, on whom the duties of officer of thewatch devolved for the next four hours.
"Well, old bird," he observed, genially addressing his chum. "How goesit?"
"Fresh as paint," replied Kenyon, "but as hungry as a hunter."
"Then hook it," continued Peter. "The cook's dished up a sumptuousbreakfast."
Kenyon made a hurried but ample meal. He was anxious to see how the"Golden Hind" manoeuvred as an aeroplane.
Upon returning to the navigation-room he found that the sixcomparatively small wings were being tilted to an effective angle, whilea large quantity of brodium was being exhausted from the alternateballonets into the pressure-flasks, until there was only enough "lift"remaining in the envelope to prevent it dropping earthwards and thusdisturbing the stability of the fuselage by acting as top-hamper.
Simultaneously instructions were telegraphed to the air mechanicsstanding by the six motors to increase the number of revolutions.
The change was instantly appreciable. No longer did the "Golden Hind"pitch. She settled down to a rapid, steady motion, her speed being notfar short of 150 miles an hour.
"No ailerons," explained Fosterdyke. "Horizontal and vertical ruddersonly. Saves a lot of trouble and complication of gear."
"Stunts not permissible, sir?" asked Kenyon.
"No," he replied. "They are not. We're out to do something definite,not to let the Spanish have an exhibition of an airship making aspinning nose-dive or looping the loop. But we'll do a volplane, justto test the gliding powers of the 'bus."
He touched a switch by which a warning bell rang in each of the motorrooms. This was to inform the mechanics that the electric current wouldbe simultaneously cut off from the six motors, so that there would be noneed on their part to endeavour to locate faults that did not exist.
"Cut out!" ordered Fosterdyke.
Bramsdean promptly depressed a small switch by the side of theindicator-board. This automatically cut off the ignition. The propellersmade a few more "revs." and then came to a standstill. In almostabsolute silence, save for the whine of the wind in the struts andtension wires the "Golden Hind" began her long, oblique glide earthward.
Suddenly Kenyon gripped the baronet's arm.
"Look!" he exclaimed. "Airship!"
Fosterdyke did as requested. The "Golden Hind" was manoeuvring highabove La Mancha, the undulating well-watered plain between the Montesdel Toledo and the Sierra Morena. Six thousand feet beneath the airshipthe town of Ciudad Real glinted in the slanting rays of the morning sun.
"Our shadow--that's all," declared Fosterdyke.
"No, not that," protested Kenneth. "More to the left."
He grasped a pair of binoculars and looked at the object that hadattracted his attention. It was a somewhat difficult matter, owing tothe refraction of the triplex glass in front of the navigation-room,where, in contrast to the rest of the windows, fire-proofed celluloidhad not been employed.
Before Kenyon had got the airship in focus the baronet had also spottedit. Apparently it had just left its shed and was heading in asouth-easterly direction, differing a good four points from thatfollowed by the "Golden Hind."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Kenyon. "It's a Fritz! I can spot the blackcrosses on the envelope."
"In that case," added Fosterdyke, calmly, "Count Karl von Sinzig hasstolen a march on us. He's one up!"