CHAPTER XIX
At the Mercy of the Winds
It would ill describe the state of mind of the deputy commandant of the fortress of Heligoland to say that he was thunderstruck at the latest disaster that had overtaken one of the German air fleet. It was he who had given the order for the gunners to bring down the derelict. Their failure to do so only increased his consternation. He was almost in a state of stupefaction. At one moment he raved at the indiscretion of the commander of the Zeppelin in attempting to come to earth in a gale of wind; at another he sat with his hands clasped tightly across his eyes, as if trying to shut out the inglorious sight of the hitherto peerless airship drifting helplessly at the mercy of the elements.
Then came the disconcerting news that one of the spies had escaped. The ruins of his cell had been hastily examined without any trace being found of his body, and it was owing solely to the statement of one of the men, who said he believed he saw the Englishman clinging to the wreckage, that the authorities came to the hasty, but none the less accurate, decision that such indeed was the case. This stirred the second commandant to action. He ordered the whole of the second flotilla of torpedo-boat destroyers to proceed at once to sea, in the hope that they might overhaul the errant Zeppelin should the gale moderate.
In less than ten minutes from the time of receiving the order the first of the destroyers left South Haven, followed with commendable celerity by her consorts. Regardless of the high-crested seas they steamed under forced draught. Dense clouds of black smoke, tinged with dull-red flame, belched from their squat funnels, which speedily became white with salt. Swept fore and aft, even at the risk of carrying away most of the deck gear the frail vessels rushed through the blackness of the night, spreading fanwise between north-west and south-west in order to cover the possible limits of the object of the search.
Meanwhile a wireless message in code was dispatched to the German Admiralty. It was useless to conceal the magnitude of the disaster, but one point was omitted. No reference was made to the supposed presence of the English spy upon the derelict. That information was sent only to General Heinrich von Wittelsbach, who was on the point of returning to resume his command.
The fates seemed to be working against Von Wittelsbach. Almost on the top of his carefully-worded denial to his emperor came the disquieting report that Hamerton was on board the fugitive Zeppelin. The commandant's sole hope lay in the destroyers which had been dispatched in search of the truant. Should they fail, it was more than likely that the airship would either be driven across to Great Britain or else fall into the sea. Her huge bulk could hardly pass unnoticed by the scores of British trawlers at work on the Dogger, since from the direction of the wind the Zeppelin would be blown directly over that great fishing ground. In either case Hamerton stood a fighting chance of being saved, and then the truth would out.
Early on the following morning Von Wittelsbach embarked on a light cruiser that had orders to await him at Cuxhaven. Twenty minutes later the vessel anchored in South Haven. The destroyers were even now returning from their fruitless search; their wireless messages told the same tale with monotonous and depressing regularity; and to add to the irony of the situation the short summer's gale had blown itself out, and the sun shone brilliantly from a cloudless sky. The sea had subsided, and only a long oily swell served to remind the fisher folk of the Frisians and the shores of Schleswig-Holstein of the storm that had wrought havoc on their coasts.
For the rest of the day General von Wittelsbach remained shut up in the Government House, waiting and waiting, hoping against hope that the threatened exposure of his duplicity might yet pass away.
Throughout the short summer's night Hamerton clung to his frail support. He gloried in his position. Nothing seemed to trouble him. Here he was floating in hundreds of feet in the air, and being rapidly borne westward by the partially crippled Zeppelin.
The aircraft, being entirely out of control, was nothing more than a non-dirigible balloon. For the most part she drifted broadside on to the wind, occasionally describing a pendulum-like motion in a horizontal plane. Otherwise she was fairly steady, with hardly any tendency to dip her bow or stern. The air was warm, the threatened rain had not fallen, the airship seemed far above the surface of the sea, and showed no inclination of descending. By occasional bearings from certain well-known stars, the Sub derived the consolation that the westward drift was still maintained.
Day began to break: a grey light in the north-east betokened the approaching dawn and the coming of fine weather. This latter circumstance was not pleasing to the self-constituted crew of the airship. He realized that with the falling of the wind the progress of the Zeppelin would naturally be retarded. His wish was to place as many miles betwixt himself and his prison isle as he could in the shortest possible time. He had counted upon that; but if hung up in the middle of the North Sea the airship stood a chance of recapture by German torpedo craft, or destruction by the guns of the Teutonic seaplanes, which he fully expected would be sent for that purpose.
The exhilaration of the pure air raised his already buoyant spirits. He felt as if he could dance a hornpipe even on the narrow girder on which he sat. Instead, he began to whistle, till the effort reminded him very forcibly of the pangs of hunger.
It was now light enough to see about him. He found himself just in front of the ruins of the after nacelle, that looked almost exactly like a railway carriage with the floor knocked out. Abaft were the remains of two of the propellers, with only one blade left intact. The alley way communicating with the midship and foremost cars was originally outside the outer aluminium envelope. This had been torn away for a length of nearly a hundred feet, only the longitudinal girders and a few vertical rods remaining.
Could the Sub successfully make his way over that intervening space he would be able to find ample floor space in and on each side of the central nacelle, that had practically escaped damage.
It would be a risky performance, but Hamerton decided to hazard it. It was like "laying along" the foreyard of a square-rigged ship, only without the footropes. Instead, there was the grip afforded by the still-holding aluminium stays, which, although more than an arm's-length apart, could be made good use of, provided the climber did not lose his balance when halfway between.
Standing upright upon the narrow metal track Hamerton mentally measured the distance to the nearmost upright rod. It was roughly about eight feet. In two rapid but deliberate strides he gained the first halting place of his short but hazardous journey. Two more stages gave him increased confidence, and the next thirty feet he negotiated with comparative ease, in spite of the gentle undulating motion of the aircraft.
Then came an absence of any support for his hands for a space of thrice the distance between those he had just passed. Beyond that the rest of the way would be easy, for several partially-rent plates, that at one time formed partitions of the envelope, still remained fixed to the girder.
"Neck or nothing," muttered the Sub. "Here goes!"
Three steps did he take, when his foot slipped. Vainly he tried to regain his balance; the sag of the badly-supported girder, combined with the swaying of the airship, prevented him from so doing, and with outstretched arm he fell sideways off the slender framework.
His left hand caught in the girder, the flat edge rasping the skin almost to the bone. His fingers gripped as only those of a man used to working aloft could do: once again his training on the old Britannia stood him in good stead.
Like a flash he threw his right arm over the girder. There he hung, dangling in mid-air, with the imminent prospect of dropping eight hundred feet or so, to be smashed to a pulp as his body struck with fearful velocity the surface of the North Sea.
Not for a moment did he lose his head when once he felt his hands gripping the T-shaped girder. He knew that it would only be a waste of energy to attempt to clamber back; his one and only chance was to make his way forward to a place where the bent and jagged aluminium sheathing would afford precarious foothold to enable him to gain the still-intact platform in the wake of the midship nacelle.
With a slight effort Hamerton raised his legs sufficiently to enable his heels to rest on the upper face of the girder. His weight was thus more evenly distributed, and his arms were no longer taxed to their fullest strength. He was now clinging with hands and feet to the under side of the aluminium beam, with his nose only a couple of inches from the lowermost flange of the T-section.
Slowly he edged towards the place whence he hoped to scramble into safety. Inch by inch, foot by foot—the distance seemed interminable. Not for an instant did he look down. He knew only too well the fatal consequences that that indiscretion would entail.
At length his feet touched the metal plate. It was still riveted by the upper edge of the girder, hanging downwards at an angle of about thirty degrees and curling to almost a complete circle near its lower edge.
"Hope to goodness it will hold," thought the Sub. "If it gives, I'm done."
Cautiously he swung his feet from off the beam. All his weight now fell upon his fingers. Then his shoe came in contact with the curved part of the plate. The aluminium sheet gave slightly, but Hamerton found, to his unbounded relief, that it offered sufficient resistance to the pressure to permit him to relax his grip with his right hand.
He lost no time, however, in shifting his grasp so that both hands were on the same side of the girder. Now he was able to half-turn, so that both feet rested on the curl of the plate.
Summoning his remaining energies, Hamerton sprang. His foothold was sufficiently good for the purpose, although the twisted plate gave slightly under the pressure. The next instant he was lying on the deck with his legs dangling over the edge.
Now that the immediate danger was over, he felt dizzy and sick. For a moment or so a white mist swam before his eyes. Had the airship lurched to port he might have fled into space without being conscious of making an effort to save himself.
After a while the Sub roused himself and took stock of his surroundings. The platform was barely six feet in width and twenty in length. On the starboard side was a handrail, which had escaped the fate that had overtaken the greater part of the suspended portions of the aircraft. Aft, the platform broke away suddenly, leaving only the girder which had caused Hamerton such a hazardous journey. The other end terminated at the bulkhead of the midship nacelle, access to which was gained by a narrow sliding door.
Even as he looked a hand grasped the edge of the sliding panel, apparently with the intention of drawing it open. In a moment Hamerton was on his feet. His dizziness was past, the new phase of danger that threatened him aroused all his energies. It was quite possible that several of the crew might have remained on board; if so, there were complications ahead.
In vain Hamerton sought for a weapon with which to defend himself. There was nothing: all the twisted aluminium bars within reach were firmly secured to the platform. He must make the best use of his fists.
It required considerable effort to double his powerful hands, owing to the strain of hanging on to the girder, combined with the lacerated condition of his palms. But having arrived thus far in his bid for freedom, Hamerton was not the man to knuckle under tamely; he meant to make a hard fight for liberty.
The sliding panel was giving the unknown a lot of trouble. Owing to the violent shocks that the airship had experienced, every part of the framework had been strained, and in this instance the door was tightly jammed.
Another hand appeared in sight. It was not that of a second man, but only the left hand of the still unseen member of the crew. For fully half a minute the fellow wrenched at the non-yielding door, then, giving up his task as a bad job, he relaxed his hold.
A dull thud, followed by a deep groan, told the Sub that the danger had been exaggerated. Without hesitation he made his way to the door, and with a heave of his brawny shoulders sent the panel clattering into the recess intended for it.
Lying at full length on the floor of the car was a man dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant of the German Navy. His forehead was caked with dried blood, his clothes were rent till there was little to choose between the rags which covered Hamerton's frame and those of the injured man.
"It is quite evident that this poor fellow is the only member of the crew left on board," reasoned the Sub, "unless, of course, there are some lying stunned in the wreck of the fore nacelle. Otherwise they would have come to his assistance long before this."
He bent over the wounded officer. The lieutenant was quite unconscious. His chief injury, Hamerton found by a hasty examination, consisted of a bruise over the right temple. In the centre of the forehead was a deep, clear cut that could be treated lightly, although the appearance of the congealed blood made the wound look far more dangerous than it actually was.
"I wonder where I can find some water?" thought Hamerton. "I'll investigate."
The midship car was principally devoted to officers' cabins, there being two on the port side of the through gangway and one to starboard. The contents of all three had been completely wrecked by the concussion. Water bottles and jugs lay smashed to fragments upon the floor. In the midst of the debris he noticed a razor; this he carefully set aside, vowing to remove the straggling beard that was beginning to make itself particularly aggressive at the first opportunity.
For'ard of the nacelle, and adjoining the place formerly occupied by the motors, were two large tanks, one on either side of the gangway. One had been "started", a large rent showing in the sheet metal. The other was intact, and full of water.
"Salt!" ejaculated Hamerton disgustedly. "Water ballast, of course. It may come in handy though."
Continuing his forward pilgrimage the Sub reached the wreckage of the foremost car. Here the twelve-pounder gun had fallen through the floor, leaving jagged portions of the floor plates sufficiently wide to allow the Sub to gain the interior. In one corner of a subdivision of the compartment stood a metal freshwater tank, and close to it, in a rack, a number of cups. Without delay the Sub, carefully carrying a small quantity of water, made his way back to where the wounded officer lay.
The German was still insensible. Drawing a handkerchief from the unconscious man's pocket Hamerton dipped it in the water and proceeded to wash the cut in his forehead. As he did so he recognized that fate had thrown an old acquaintance across his path, for the officer was Lieutenant Schwalbe, the same who had effected Hamerton's arrest on board the Diomeda.
Having attended to the injured man as well as the limited means at his disposal would admit, the Sub decided that it was time he made an examination of the aircraft that had under remarkable circumstances come under his command.
Looking down over the rail he found that the Zeppelin was maintaining a height of about a thousand feet. Unknown to him the vessel had dropped to less than a fifth of that distance just before dawn, but with the rise of temperature following sunrise she had regained her former altitude.
The sea was still foam-flecked, and, although it was impossible to form an accurate description of the state of the waves from that height, Hamerton had reason to suppose that the gale had not yet blown itself out.
Allowing the average rate of the derelict to be forty-five miles an hour, he came to the conclusion that she was now—unless the direction had changed—within a hundred and fifty miles of the Northumberland or Berwickshire coast.
As far as the eye could see the surface of the water was unbroken by any vessel large or small. The North Sea seemed entirely deserted.
The pangs of hunger, that had been temporarily banished while the Sub was attending to the injured Schwalbe, now reasserted themselves, and after a short search Hamerton discovered the officers' pantry, practically intact. After the hard fare he had been accustomed to during his enforced detention at Heligoland the meal that followed seemed the best he had ever had in his life, his appetite whetted by the bracing air and the joyous satisfaction that he had regained his freedom.
A shave and a wash still further heightened his satisfaction, and, the deficiencies of his wardrobe demanding attention, he had no scruples in throwing overboard his ragged parti-coloured uniform of captivity and donning a greatcoat and trousers of one of the officers of the airship.
"By Jove! I wonder how the crew got to the platform on top of the envelope?" he exclaimed. "I really must see what the 'Mount Misery' of a Zeppelin is like."
His first effort in that direction was to make a thorough examination of the sub-compartments of the midship car, but no signs of a means of gaining the elevated deck were forthcoming. Nor would he again risk the hazardous way along the single girder to the remains of the after nacelle.
Again he went for'ard. Almost immediately within the bow nacelle, and to the right of the sliding door, was a vertical flight of steps formed by means of steel bars set across an angle of the compartment.
"These must lead somewhere," he argued, "although they don't appear to. So here goes!"
From the third step he was able to touch the aluminium plating that formed the ceiling of the nacelle. His hand came in contact with a metal knob that had in the gloom hitherto escaped his notice.
Backwards and forwards he strove to move this object. It seemed immovable. He tugged, pushed, twisted it all to no purpose.
"Like everything else on board this blessed packet the thing's jammed," he growled. "I'll get a cold chisel from the armourer's chest and cut a hole through the plate. Great Christopher Columbus! what's that?"
A bell was ringing violently in some part of the aircraft. Perhaps, after all, there were more of the crew still at their posts on the upper platform?
He was about to descend, when, his eyes getting more accustomed to the gloom, he caught sight of a bolt placed at less than a foot from the knob that had so completely baffled his efforts.
He drew back the bolt. The flap above his head immediately swung back on a pivot, disclosing a long tunnel-like shaft. Simultaneously the bell ceased to ring.
"What a silly ass I am!" declared Hamerton. "I see the game. By touching that knob a bell rings for the purpose of warning those on deck that someone is ascending. That is quite feasible, since two persons could not pass each other in this exaggerated tin-whistle pipe."
Without hesitation he commenced to climb. The interior of the tube was of polished aluminium and reflected shafts of light that entered from the open top. He could see the blue sky overhead.
It was a long climb, for the vertical passage was nearly fifty feet in height. It reminded the Sub of the interior of a battleship's mast. A faint scent of hydrogen assailed his nostrils. Whether it was an accidental leakage sufficiently serious to affect the buoyancy of the airship or merely the natural wastage from the ballonettes the Sub knew not.
Upon gaining the upper platform Hamerton's first act was to inspect the fore-and-aft shelters. Both were deserted. They were also practically intact. The standard compass for'ard was in working order. More by force of habit than anything else he glanced at the card. The Zeppelin's bows were pointing due east—exactly the opposite direction to the way he wanted.
This was a most disconcerting discovery. To be ignominiously borne back into German territory was humiliating. Rather than let that happen he would attack the ballonettes, liberate the hydrogen, and allow the aircraft to settle, half-water-logged, on the North Sea.
Hamerton glanced at his watch and found it was a quarter to five. That puzzled him, since by the position of the sun it must be nearer eight o'clock. A second look showed him that his watch had stopped. He remembered that, contrary to custom, he had omitted to wind it.
Presently a thought struck him. Walking to the end of a transverse bridge he looked downward. A long way below and far from the perpendicular a large shadow was cast upon the sea. It was the shadow of the airship across the sun's rays. For a full minute he watched it intently, then he gave a sigh of relief.
In his mild panic in noting the direction of the Zeppelin's bows he had forgotten that, drifting at the mercy of the winds, she was liable to swing horizontally in any direction. By observing the direction of the path of the shadow his mind was set at rest. The airship was drifting nearly sou'-sou'-west.
"That's much better, thanks be!" he ejaculated fervently. "If this continues I shall land, not in the north, but somewhere in Norfolk or Suffolk. Perhaps within sight of Lowestoft. But I'll swear the blessed ship is lower than she was. I wonder where I can find the altitude gauge? And the wind is falling too. That shadow shows we are travelling at a bare twenty knots."
Just then the Sub gave a hasty look round over the vast circle of sea. Something caught his eye. He looked steadily for a few seconds to make sure there was no mistake.
Less than five miles off was a large torpedo-boat destroyer, pelting along at top speed. Her commander had spotted the Zeppelin, of that there could be no doubt. Was the oncoming craft one of the German destroyers, dispatched to recapture or destroy the errant airship?