The coast line seemed rushing toward the incoming sea-plane, bouncing about in the wide wash.
Henri sighted a friendly looking cove, and excitedly sang out the word for which his chum was waiting:
“Now!”
With the signal Billy laid the hatchet with sounding blows upon the cable—and none too soon the tough strands parted.
The sea-plane with the final snap of the hacked cable dashed into the drift and plowed half its length in the sandy soil. The Zeppelin bobbed away into the gathering dusk.
Following the bump, Captain Johnson set the first foot on the sand. Stretching himself, he fixed a glance of concern on the sea-plane.
“I wonder if there is a joint in that craft that isn’t loose?” he questioned. “But,” he added, with a note of sorrow, “it’s not likely she will ever see her station again, and so what’s the difference?”
“It was some voyage, though,” suggested Freeman in the way of comfort.
“It was bully,” maintained Billy. “If we had traveled any other way, Henri there would no doubt by this time have been wearing red trousers and serving the big guns around Paris, and I might have been starving while trying to get change for a ten-dollar bill in that big town.”
“Do you think you will like it better,” asked Freeman, “to stand up before a firing squad with a handkerchief tied ’round your eyes?”