There was even a checker-board and a deck of cards. He played himself a game of checkers, then switched to solitaire. This lasted a long time.
When darkness at last settled down upon the sea, he climbed to the upper deck. Clinging to a rail he watched the waves roll in. Seldom had he witnessed a wilder scene. Racing clouds, racing sea and a moon that appeared to race with them.
Once again he checked the direction of the wind. Yes, unless he had miscalculated, he should land at last on the English coast. When? He had no way of knowing. One thing was sure, if this storm kept up he’d know well enough when he did arrive. One good bump would tell him that.
In the meantime? Well, tomorrow would be another day. He’d be needing all his senses. Might as well sleep while sleeping was good. After fastening his strange craft down good and snug for the night he rolled up in a half dozen heavy blankets and fell asleep.
Chapter XIX
Thrilling Sky Drama
That night watchers on the rooftops of London, those hardy men who all night long, with bags of sand at their side, scan the skies for bombing planes, witnessed a moving picture against the sky that they would not soon forget.
A few minutes after the alarm had sounded, just as Big Ben rang out the hour of nine, the thunder of powerful motors was heard.
At this instant, far above them in the sky, there appeared a light that was like the bursting of the sun. A flare beyond a doubt, but such a flare as had never before been seen. Every housetop, turret and tower stood out in bold relief. Beneath the flare, but far up in that sky, like a gigantic silver bird, a four-motored Nazi bomber appeared to hang motionless.
As the watchers stared speechless something very like a silver bat appeared to drop straight down from the sky.
“It’s a Spitfire,” muttered one hardy watcher.