"I often wonder what would happen," said Peter, "if a non-dirigible drifted over a prohibited area. Hang it all! The balloonist couldn't control the wind, neither can the Air Ministry, so what's the poor fellow to do?"
From their lofty post of observation the officers of the "Golden Hind" could see the coast-line standing out distinctly in the starlight. Away to the south-east the powerful St. Catherine's Light threw its beam athwart the sky in a succession of flashes every five seconds. Nearer, but less distinct, could be seen the distinctive lights of The Needles and Hurst Castle. Then a curved line of glittering pin-points--the esplanade lamps of Bournemouth. To the south-west the lesser glare of Swanage and beyond the glow of Anvil Point Lighthouse. Lesser lights, like myriads of glow-worms, denoted scattered towns, villages, and detached houses ashore, while right ahead and for the most part visible only by the aid of binoculars, could be discerned the red, green, and white navigation lights of shipping passing up and down the Channel.
The three men watched the nocturnal panorama almost without emotion. The sight would have moved a novice into raptures of delight, but to the veteran airmen there was little new, except perhaps that in the place of star-shells, searchlights, "flaming-onions," and exploding shrapnel were the lights of a nation once more at peace with her neighbours even if not so with herself.
Fosterdyke glanced at a clock set upon the bulkhead.
"Time!" he announced laconically.
Indicators clanged in various parts of the ship. Within a few seconds the six motors, started by compressed air, were roaring. Swaying slightly under the resistance of the gas-bag overhead, the airship gathered way. In place of complete calm came the rush and whine of the wind as the "Golden Hind" leapt forward.
"May as well be on the safe side," remarked Fosterdyke. "Switch on the navigation lights, Kenyon. I don't fancy another 'bus barging into us."
He gave an order through a voice tube. Promptly one of the crew appeared from below.
"Take her, Taylor," said the skipper, indicating the helm. "Following wind--no drift. Course S. ¾ W."
"S. ¾ W. it is, sir," repeated the man, peering into the bowl of the gyroscope compass.