He had breakfast with about twenty young officers, the meal consisting of a tablespoonful of luke-warm porridge, two square inches of American bacon, bread, margarine, and tea. Before he left the building the messman presented a bill for half a crown for this sorry repast.
Upon arriving at the pier-head Derek found that his men had fared no better, and in spite of the thick fog they brightened up considerably when their officer announced his intention of getting away from Wagshot Air Station "even if it rained ink".
The first step was to induce the Officer of the Watch to send the duty-boat over to Bumble Creek to fetch the motor-boats. This was successfully accomplished, notwithstanding the fact that twice the duty-boat ran aground, fortunately on soft mud and on a rising tide. By ten o'clock Derek's two craft were alongside the pier, and the sea-plane that had to be towed back to Sableridge was prepared for her voyage.
"The fog's lifting, I fancy," remarked the Officer of the Watch. "You'll be able to get away to-day after all."
"I mean to," rejoined Derek grimly.
CHAPTER XXIII
An Error of Judgment
A lifting fog, a calm sea, and the sun shining brightly overhead, all presaged a successful voyage. With the first pulsations of the motors Derek's feelings of resentment towards the Wagshot Air Station vanished. The bright, healthsome feeling of being afloat once more dispelled the hideous nightmare of damp concrete walls, hard beds, and inadequate food.
It soon became apparent that the task of towing the sea-plane was not so easy as Derek imagined. The unwieldy machine—for out of its natural element it was unwieldy—yawed, dipped, and strained at the towing-hawser until Derek ordered the second boat to make fast astern of the sea-plane and run at half throttle in order to steady the awkward tow.