I now began to feel chilled and miserable; the excitement of the outset had dwindled, and a reaction, enhanced by the rigours of the night and the foregoing drama, mastered me. Happily the Attila had by this time weathered enough of difficulties. Rising through the cloud-belt, she left the angry winds and rain once more below her. Some of the crew ascended to the deck and released me from my bondage. It was now getting late, so after thanking Hartmann for his courtesy, I descended into my berth to sleep off the ill effects of exposure, and dream horrible dreams of wrecks and drowning victims.
CHAPTER X.
THE FIRST BLOW.
I rose late the next morning somewhat the worse for my exposure, but nevertheless far too interested in my voyage to heed a mere cold and a few rheumatic twinges. No sooner, indeed, was I awake than I leapt out of my berth, and busying myself energetically with my toilet, was speedily pacing the bulwarked passage of which mention has already been made. The zone through which we were ploughing was cloudy, and a strong bitter head wind was blowing. Looking over the bulwarks I could see nothing but driving mists, and above the vast aëroplane a thinner layer of mist, through several rifts in which the sun thrust his slanting columns of light. No one was visible in the passage, but I heard a medley of excited voices which suggested that some controversy was in progress on the upper deck.
Listening attentively, I became convinced that some unusual affair was in hand, and anxious to miss nothing of interest, I entered an arch that led into one of the courts, and passed up the enclosed spiral staircase to the scene of this animated talking. On gaining the deck I saw nearly all the crew standing in groups round the citadel. Burnett was there gesticulating wildly to Brandt, so stepping briskly up to them I asked the cause of this muster.
“Ah, you here!” said Burnett. “In time for the first blow, eh! Well, there will be something to see shortly, eh, Brandt!” and the anarchist-philosopher addressed smiled approvingly. But his merriment recalled the bland purring of a cat over a captured mouse.
“What’s up, then?” I continued, somewhat startled, for during the pause the ominous words “ironclad,” “bombs,” uttered by some of the eager disputants around, had caught my ear.
“The captain has sighted an ironclad, and we are about to try conclusions,” said Brandt. The words had scarcely passed his lips when the inner door of the citadel swung ajar, and through the enclosure into our midst stalked the redoubtable captain himself.
“Comrades,” he said, “below us steams a large British ironclad just sighted through the mist. I propose to test her mettle—it will serve as a practical test of our bomb-fire—are you agreeable?”
A burst of applause greeted this iniquitous proposal, and a sturdy rascal stepped out of the throng and saluted him. Hartmann bent forward. “Well, Norman,” he said.
“May I strike the first blow, captain?” A chorus of similar applications followed. Hartmann thus appealed to suggest that the applicants should draw lots for the privilege, and the ruffians proceeded forthwith to settle their claims in this fashion.