“Sit down and keep perfectly quiet, Charlie,” ordered Bill. “If we start the plane see-sawing, there’ll be the dickens and all to pay.”
Charlie did as he was told. “Don’t worry about me, skipper,” he answered in a somewhat aggrieved tone. “It’s not me that’s raising all the row now.”
The passengers, or possibly they might better be termed prisoners on board the liner, were waving handkerchiefs and calling greetings to the boys. Any break in the monotony of ship life is always made the most of, and Bill surmised that many of these people had been held on board the liner for weeks.
The plane in its sling went slowly upward, watched by the enthusiastic gallery on the promenade deck. The hoist was situated far forward and as the amphibian topped the bulwarks, it was swung aboard and deposited on deck beside an open hatch. No more had she been landed and braced than Charlie jumped out and raced off to seek his parents.
Bill, in the meantime, had his hands full. It was explained to him that inasmuch as the Amtonia was not equipped for the carrying of aircraft, the plane must be dissembled in order to permit its being stowed away in the hold. A number of men were told off to assist him and for the next couple of hours, he was busily engaged directing the work. Wing sections were removed first and lowered through the hatchway. The tail plane came next, and at the same time, the propeller was taken from the engine. Last of all, lines were riven about the hull and made fast to heavy fittings on the plane, such as engine bearers. Then the denuded hull was hoisted from the deck and lowered nose first into the hold. Even then Bill’s work was not completed, for it was necessary, of course, to secure everything below against possible damage from the rolling or pitching of the ship.
Sandwiches and coffee were served to him by a steward, while he was still on deck. He had sent his excuses when the captain had asked him to lunch, as he felt it imperative that he stay with the men on the job.
It was three-thirty before the work was finished to his satisfaction, and with a petty officer as guide, he located the Baron in his cabin. The Amtonia had got under way again several hours earlier. Upon coming topside, he saw that the ship was steaming into the north-east. Close in their wake, the Flying Fish, once more a submarine, ploughed the smooth surface of the ocean.
When Bill entered the captain’s cabin, he found the Baron seated at his desk, reading a paper which had just been handed him by the wireless operator.
“Stand by for a few minutes, Mr. Bolton,” he said, putting the note aside. “Take a seat on the couch. I have need of you again.”
Bill sat down while Baron von Hiemskirk went on talking to the operator.