[CHAPTER XXVI--"WELL PLAYED, SIR!"]
Water poured into the open doors and windows and through the charred and torn stern of the nacelle.
The aluminium envelope, not built to withstand abnormal stress, began buckling amidships. Tension wires, no longer in tension but in compression, were spreading in all directions as the huge gas-bag settled down upon the already foundering nacelle.
Every one of the crew realised the danger of being entangled in the wreckage. In a trice the water was dotted with heads and shoulders of life-belted swimmers as the crew struck out to get clear of the sinking airship, and presently Fosterdyke was surrounded by a little mob of undaunted men.
"Thank heaven!" ejaculated the baronet, after a hasty count. "None missing. Keep together, lads, there's a vessel bearing down on us."
Not one but four craft were hastening to the rescue. Amongst these was the T.B.D. Zeebrugge, which, eighteen days previously, had gone to search for the derelict "Golden Hind" and had placed Sir Reginald Fosterdyke on board.
Fortunately the water was warm, and in spite of a fairly high sea running the late crew of the "Golden Hind" were taken aboard the destroyer.
Fosterdyke and the others, declining to go below, stood on deck and watched the end of the airship that had taken them safely for nearly twenty-eight thousand miles, to perish within five miles of the Rock of Gibraltar, her official starting-point.
The end was not long delayed. The buckling of the aluminium envelope resulted in ballonet after ballonet collapsing under the pressure of water. The fuselage had already disappeared. Bow and stern, nearly four hundred feet apart, reared themselves high in the air; then, with a terrific rush of mingled brodium and air that caused a seething cauldron around each of the extremities of the envelope, the last of the "Golden Hind" sank beneath the waves.
"Rough luck losing such a fine airship," commiserated the Lieut.-Commander of the destroyer.