Airship Part 2

"May as well be on the safe side," remarked Fosterd.y.k.e. "Switch on the navigation lights, Kenyon. I don't fancy another 'bus barging into us."

He gave an order through a voice tube. Promptly one of the crew appeared from below.

"Take her, Taylor," said the skipper, indicating the helm. "Following wind--no drift. Course S. W."

"S. W. it is, sir," repeated the man, peering into the bowl of the gyroscope compa.s.s.

"Now, you bright beauties, take my tip and turn in," said Fosterd.y.k.e, addressing Peter and Kenneth. "There won't be much doing to-night, I hope, so you may as well make the best of things. If you'll relieve me at 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 comparatively little vibration, but the noise was considerable.

"We'll get used to it," observed Peter, as he proceeded to unpack his luggage, which had been brought from Blandford station and put on board only a few minutes before the "Golden Hind" parted company with terra firma. "Seems like old times. Hanged if I thought I'd ever be up again."

"Between ourselves I'd prefer a 'bus," confided Kenyon. "Doesn't seem quite the right thing being held up by a gas-bag."

"Be thankful for small mercies, you old blighter!" exclaimed his companion. "Turn in as sharp as you can, 'cause it's your watch in four hours' time."

It seemed less than ten minutes before Kenyon was awakened. His first impression was that he was being roused by his batman, and that illusion was heightened by the fact that the man held a cup of tea.

"Ten to four, sir," announced the airman. "I've made you something hot."

Kenneth thanked the man, drank the tea, and slipped out of his bunk. He was aware as he donned his clothes that the "Golden Hind" was pitching considerably. Peter, sound asleep, was breathing deeply. There was a smile on his face; evidently his dreams were pleasant ones.

On his way for'ard Kenyon stopped to exchange a few words with the air-mechanic tending the two after motors.

"Running like clocks, sir," replied the man in answer to Kenneth's enquiry. "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 the relieving pilot clambered up the ladder and gained the navigation-room. Fosterd.y.k.e, busy with parallel rulers and compa.s.s was bending over a chart.

"Mornin'," he remarked genially, when he became aware of the presence of his relief. "Everything O.K. Doing eighty, and there's a stiff following wind--force five. Alt.i.tude 5500, course S. W. That's the lot, I think. We ought to be sighting the Spanish coast in another twenty minutes."

Fosterd.y.k.e waited until the helmsman had been relieved, then, giving another glance ahead, he turned to Kenyon.

"We pa.s.sed something going in a westerly direction at 1.15 A.M.," he announced. "An airship flying fairly low. About 2000, I should think."

"Not a compet.i.tor, sir?"

"Hardly. No one but a born fool would think of taking a westerly course round the earth if engaged in a race against time. We were pa.s.sing over Belle Isle, on the French coast, at the time, and it rather puzzled me why 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. I signalled her, but she didn't reply. Right-o! Carry on."

Fosterd.y.k.e went to his cabin, to sleep like a log. He was one of those fortunate 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 "as fresh as paint" after his customary "caulk."

Left in the company of the airman at the helm, Kenyon prepared to accept responsibility until eight o'clock. He took up his position at the triplex gla.s.s window, the navigation-room being the only compartment where celluloid was not employed for purposes of lighting. It was a weird sight that met his gaze. Overhead and projecting from beyond the point of the nacelle was the blunt nose of the gas-bag, the port side tinted a rosy red as the growing light glinted on it, the starboard side showing dark grey against the sombre sky. A thousand feet below were rolling ma.s.ses of clouds, their nether edges suffused by dawn. Between the rifts in the bank of vapour was apparently a black, unfathomable void, for as yet the first signs of another day were vouchsafed only to the airman flying far above the surface of the sea. Already the stars had paled before the growing light. Wisps of vapour--clouds on a higher plane to the denser ones below--were trailing athwart the course of the "Golden Hind," until, overtaken by the airship's high speed, they were parted asunder, to follow in the eddying wake of the powerful propellers.

In the navigation-room, being placed right for'ard, the jerky motion of the fuselage that was noticeable in Kenyon's cabin was greatly exaggerated. It was a totally different sensation from being in an aeroplane when the 'bus entered a "pocket." It reminded Kenyon of a lift being alternately started up and down with only a brief interval between. Rather vaguely the pilot wondered what he would be like at the end 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 alt.i.tude by the fact that the airship was automatically controlled in that direction, was merely keeping the vessel on her compa.s.s course.

"Yes, sir," replied the man. "She'll be steadier when we trim the planes."

"Might have thought of that before," soliloquised Kenyon. He remarked that the six "wings" were secured in a horizontal position. For the present the "Golden Hind" was kept up solely by the lift of the brodium in the ballonets. Not until it was fully light would Fosterd.y.k.e reduce the gas in the ballonets and rely upon the planes for "lift."

A quarter of an hour later, while Kenyon was engaged in making an entry in the log, the helmsman reported land ahead.

The "Golden Hind" was approaching the Spanish coast, not in the hostile way in which her namesake did, but on a friendly voyage across a country that, if not exactly an ally, is bound by strong ties to Great Britain.

The airship was soon pa.s.sing over Santander. Ahead the Cantabrian Mountains 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 Fosterd.y.k.e appeared in the navigation-room. Under his orders the airship's speed had been sensibly diminished. He intended to put to a practical test the lifting powers of the six planes.

Close behind him came Bramsdean, on whom the duties of officer of the watch devolved for the next four hours.

"Well, old bird," he observed, genially addressing his chum. "How goes it?"

"Fresh as paint," replied Kenyon, "but as hungry as a hunter."

"Then hook it," continued Peter. "The cook's dished up a sumptuous breakfast."

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 six comparatively small wings were being tilted to an effective angle, while a large quant.i.ty of brodium was being exhausted from the alternate ballonets into the pressure-flasks, until there was only enough "lift" remaining in the envelope to prevent it dropping earthwards and thus disturbing the stability of the fuselage by acting as top-hamper.

Simultaneously instructions were telegraphed to the air mechanics standing 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 not far short of 150 miles an hour.

"No ailerons," explained Fosterd.y.k.e. "Horizontal and vertical rudders only. 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 a spinning nose-dive or looping the loop. But we'll do a volplane, just to test the gliding powers of the 'bus."

He touched a switch by which a warning bell rang in each of the motor rooms. This was to inform the mechanics that the electric current would be simultaneously cut off from the six motors, so that there would be no need on their part to endeavour to locate faults that did not exist.

"Cut out!" ordered Fosterd.y.k.e.

Bramsdean promptly depressed a small switch by the side of the indicator-board. This automatically cut off the ignition. The propellers made a few more "revs." and then came to a standstill. In almost absolute silence, save for the whine of the wind in the struts and tension wires the "Golden Hind" began her long, oblique glide earthward.

Suddenly Kenyon gripped the baronet's arm.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "Airship!"

Fosterd.y.k.e did as requested. The "Golden Hind" was manoeuvring high above La Mancha, the undulating well-watered plain between the Montes del Toledo and the Sierra Morena. Six thousand feet beneath the airship the town of Ciudad Real glinted in the slanting rays of the morning sun.

"Our shadow--that's all," declared Fosterd.y.k.e.

"No, not that," protested Kenneth. "More to the left."

He grasped a pair of binoculars and looked at the object that had attracted his attention. It was a somewhat difficult matter, owing to the refraction of the triplex gla.s.s in front of the navigation-room, where, in contrast to the rest of the windows, fire-proofed celluloid had not been employed.

Before Kenyon had got the airship in focus the baronet had also spotted it. Apparently it had just left its shed and was heading in a south-easterly direction, differing a good four points from that followed by the "Golden Hind."

"By Jove!" exclaimed Kenyon. "It's a Fritz! I can spot the black crosses on the envelope."

"In that case," added Fosterd.y.k.e, calmly, "Count Karl von Sinzig has stolen a march on us. He's one up!"

CHAPTER VI.

--Z64 SCORES.

Count Karl von Sinzig was certainly the "first away." Typically Teutonic, he had succeeded in throwing dust in the eyes of his rivals. Acting upon the principle "Do others or they'll do you," he was leaving no stone unturned to pull off the big prize; and, figuratively speaking, a good many of the stones were too dirty for a clean sportsman to handle.

For one thing von Sinzig had obtained his airship by fraud, although none of the other compet.i.tors were aware of the fact. Formerly in the German Air Service, the count managed to smuggle one of the Zeppelins out of the shed at Tondern, taking it by night to an aerodrome in East Prussia.

According to the terms of the Peace Treaty, Germany was to surrender all her airships. How she evaded the stipulation is now well known. The Zeppelins at Tondern and other air stations in Sleswig-Holstein were destroyed by fire deliberately, to prevent them falling into the hands of the Allies. This act of bad faith was similar to the scuttling of the Hun fleet at Scapa; and the tardiness of the Allies to obtain reparation merely encouraged the Huns to other acts of pa.s.sive defiance. But, although the destruction of the airships was taken as an accepted fact, it was unknown outside certain Junker circles that one of the Zeppelins had been removed before the conflagration.

Revolutions and counter-revolutions, in which the fire-eating von Sinzig had several narrow escapes from death, led the count to seek pastures new; and about this time the publication of M. Chauva.s.se's terms for the international contest suggested to the Junker count the possibility of making good his financial losses.

Gathering a crew of airmen who had had experience in Zeppelins during the war, von Sinzig flew the airship to Spain, crossing Austria and the north of Italy during the night, and carefully avoiding French territory on his aerial voyage.

In a secluded part of the mountainous Estremadura he had practically his own way. The Alcaldes of the nearest surrounding villages were easily bribed to leave the mysterious airship and its foreign owner severely alone. From stores of German war material "sold" to Spain von Sinzig obtained gas cylinders, petrol, spares, and even a baby "Albatross"--a small yet powerful monoplane. With folding wings this machine could with ease be stowed away in the car of the airship. With German thoroughness the Count, looking well ahead, foresaw that the Albatross would probably serve a most useful purpose in helping him to win the coveted prize.

The honour of being the first man to fly round the world took quite a subsidiary place in von Sinzig's plans. Since Germany did not own a square inch of territory outside Europe, he was compelled to make use of alien lands in which to alight. That was a handicap, and the thought of it rankled. There was some consolation to be derived from the prospect of wresting the big prize from a hated Englishman, a despised Yankee, or a miserable yellow j.a.p. And he meant to do it--somehow.

Already Germans had resumed their "peaceful penetration" of Great Britain and the United States. Commercial travellers, representing German houses and at the same time potential spies, were able to ascertain with little difficulty particulars concerning the British and American compet.i.tors for the Round-the-World Flight. The moment von Sinzig learnt of the date of Sir Reginald Fosterd.y.k.e's departure from England, he antic.i.p.ated the time by starting the day before the British airship was supposed to leave Gibraltar.

This was a comparatively easy matter. According to the terms of the contest, compet.i.tors had to obtain a clearance certificate from an official of the International Airways Board. Provided the flight were completed within twenty days of the date of the certificate the princ.i.p.al condition was complied with, while it was furthermore specified that the certificate could be post-dated to the extent of twelve hours to allow for the time taken up in transmission from the Board's representative to the actual compet.i.tor.

In von Sinzig's case he scored again. Employing a swift motor-car, he obtained the official vise at Madrid, and was back at the rendezvous within two and a half hours, the atrocious roads notwithstanding.

Everything was in readiness for the start, and at ten in the morning Z64 left her shed and, flying at a comparatively low alt.i.tude, made off in a south-easterly direction.

The German was counting on forty-eight hours' start of his English rival--possibly more. He had been informed that the "Golden Hind" proposed leaving England on the following Monday. Fosterd.y.k.e really meant to have started on that day, and only the exuberant demonstration of the crowd outside Air Grange had made him alter his plans. It was a lucky stroke, for Fosterd.y.k.e's secret intelligence department was at fault. According to information received from Germany, Count von Sinzig was a non-starter. Incidentally it was the count who had set that rumour afloat. It was but one of the many petty artifices upon which he built his hopes of carrying off the Chauva.s.se Prize.

Chuckling to himself, Count von Sinzig stood beside the helmsman of Z64, quite in ignorance of the fact that a few thousand feet above him was the British airship which he fondly thought was resting in her shed in far-off England.

CHAPTER VII.

--DELAYS.

"Avast stunting!" declared Fosterd.y.k.e. "Let's get on with it. Full speed to Gib."

Everyone on board realised that every minute was precious. With her six motors running "all out" the "Golden Hind" quickly worked up to her maximum speed of 180 miles an hour. At that rate the petrol consumption was alarming, but Fosterd.y.k.e faced the fact cheerfully. While he was obtaining the necessary certificates and making an official declaration to the authorities at Gibraltar, the airship could replenish her somewhat depleted fuel tanks.

But Sir Reginald had not taken into account the vagaries of red tape and petty officialdom.

At 11 A.M. the "Golden Hind" sighted the historic Rock. Five minutes later she slowed down and turned head to wind off the west side of the fortress. With the a.s.sistance of a dockyard mooring-party, a stout galvanised steel wire was lowered from the bow compartment of the fuselage and secured to a large mooring buoy off the Detached Mole. Then with sufficient gas in her ballonets to keep her buoyant the "Golden Hind" floated head to wind at 50 feet above the Bay of Gibraltar.

Almost before the mooring operations were completed the water in the vicinity was crowded with boats of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions, while the water-front was packed with a dense concourse of interested spectators, representatives of the umpteen nationalities to be found living on the few square miles of thickly-populated rock.

"Nothing you want ash.o.r.e, I suppose?" enquired Fosterd.y.k.e as he prepared to descend a wire ladder, the end of which was being steadied by a couple of bluejackets in a picket-boat.

"Thanks, no," replied Kenyon.

"That's good," continued the baronet, fervently. "Hate having to execute commissions. Not that I don't like obliging people, but I'm so deucedly forgetful. Right-o; stand by. I'll be back in less than a couple of hours, I hope. Come along, Bramsdean."

Agilely Fosterd.y.k.e swarmed down the swaying ladder, followed at a safe distance by Peter, who carried a parcel of doc.u.ments and a Mercator's chart on which the proposed route was marked for the benefit of the International Air Committee's representative and also the "Competent Military Authorities" of the various garrisons where the "Golden Hind" was scheduled to land.

Peter Bramsdean had plenty of experience of petty officialdom at the Air Ministry. He well remembered the time--running into hours all told--of weary waiting in draughty corridors until it pleased certain individuals holding high places to signify their condescension (conveyed by a pert damsel in brown overall and a pigtail tied with an enormous bow) to receive the insignificant lieutenant.

Here it was much the same. The officials who were considered indispensable in the matter of signing various doc.u.ments were "out to lunch."

A look of horrified amazement overspread the features of the minion to whom Fosterd.y.k.e suggested that time would be saved by sending for them. The British Empire might totter; the chance of winning fame by being the first airman to fly round the globe be lost; but by no possibility must such trivial details prevent officialdom from having its lunch--a movable feast occupying normally from one o'clock till three.

"Hang it all, Bramsdean!" exclaimed Fosterd.y.k.e explosively during one of the numerous periods of forced inaction. Clearly the usually unruffled baronet was showing signs of annoyance. "Hang it all! It was ever thus. Petty hirelings whose one idea of efficiency is to raise obstacles and to quibble over unimportant details; those are the stumbling blocks. For twopence I'd cut the cackle and carry on."

"And be disqualified at the winning post," reminded the cautious Peter. "We're wasting precious time----"

"It'll be an unofficial compet.i.tion, then," declared Fosterd.y.k.e. "The honour of achieving the flight will be enough. The money prize can go hang. Come along, let's make tracks."

"I vote we look up the Commissioner at his private quarters," suggested Bramsdean. "After all, the 'Golden Hind' won't have refilled her petrol tanks yet."

"'Spose not," growled Fosterd.y.k.e. "Someone's illegible signature's required for the indents, I presume. Right-o, Bramsdean, let's rout out this indispensable."

Somewhat to Peter's surprise the official was discovered with little difficulty. He had just finished his lunch, and as the meal had been a satisfying one, he was in high good humour.

"So Count von Sinzig has five hours' start, eh?" remarked the worthy representative of the International Air Board. "That's nothing. You'll make that up easily. The doc.u.ments? Ah--yes--quite so. Unfortunately, the seals are in my office. I'll be along there very shortly."

"Isn't your signature enough?" asked the baronet.