The firing had ceased for some minutes, for all who saw the airship knew that she was going to her own destruction. Boats approached in readiness to rescue the survivors should there be any, but stood off again when it was seen that a tremendous explosion was imminent.
For some seconds Lawless had been watching a small piece of burning cordage nearer to the gas envelope than the rest, and which, apparently, had not been noticed by the crew. Suddenly it flamed up, and he saw it ignite the fabric of the balloon. With a cry of warning he sprang overboard, but even as he did so there was a blinding flash of light, a terrific explosion, and then—darkness.
When Lawless again opened his eyes it was to find himself on a little bed in what appeared to be a hospital ward. His head, he discovered, was bandaged, and when he attempted to raise himself such an agonising pain shot through his left leg that he fell back gasping.
When he looked up again a nurse was bending over him with a cup in her hand.
"Where am I?" he asked in a dazed voice.
"In hospital," replied the nurse gently. "Drink this," she added, holding the cup to his lips.
The Lieutenant obeyed, though he was all anxiety to hear what had been the ultimate fate of the Zeppelin. When the nurse had withdrawn the cup from his lips he begged her to tell him what had happened.
"The papers say it exploded about fifty feet above the water and that everyone on board except yourself was killed," she answered.
He was left to himself for a little while after that, and then the surgeon came to dress his injuries, which consisted of a broken leg and some burns due to the explosion. Shortly afterwards he received a visit from his commanding officer. The latter was in great fettle at the honour and glory which the heroic action of Lawless had earned for the Montrose corps. If he remembered the interview of the previous day, when he had pooh-poohed the Lieutenant's arguments, he made no reference to it. He was not a man to bear malice.