Suddenly a shout reached him. Looking down he saw a sight that sent a thrill of horror through him.
Charging across the grass, head down, tail up, was a huge red bull! Its furious roar made his blood run cold. It was making straight for the boys. Gazing with fascinated horror, Billy saw the little chaps at the end of the line let go and start running hard for the road.
He could see his brother hanging on manfully with a few of the elder boys. Surely they could never hold the kite, alone! It was dragging them along. The bull was making straight for them. It was on them! Billy felt the jerk of the cord as the boys jumped aside to let it crash on, past them. But in their efforts to avoid the horns of the maddened beast the rope was torn from their hands. Billy felt the kite shudder as the pressure on the cord was relaxed, and then swoop upwards in a mad rush, carrying him with it, high, high into the cold air.
What should he do? He could only hang on, hang on. He set his teeth. Glancing down, he saw that he was already rushing out over the Solent. He could see little white sailing boats on the blue, blue sea. Where would he be carried to? When would he come down? Already he began to feel faint and dizzy. His arm was aching with the strain. He was getting cold and numb.
“Before long I shall drop off,” he thought vaguely.
Then he roused himself. He would not give in. He would have a try, at least, to bring the kite down. He remembered that Jim had said if any one was up with the kite itself, it would spoil her balance. He would try to get up to her.
He had often climbed a rope before. But this swaying cord, high in mid-air, was no easy matter. Gripping tight with his hands, and holding it between his legs and feet, he mounted slowly, slowly. At last he was up and could touch the canvas. He felt the kite dip and quiver. But she kept to her course, falling a little and swaying giddily. What could he do? It was impossible to climb up that smooth, tight canvas. Then he had an idea. Clinging on with one hand and his legs, he felt in his pocket for his big jack-knife. This he opened with his teeth, and had soon cut a great ragged hole in the canvas. Thrusting his arm into this first, he drew himself up until he was sitting on the spar. At once the great kite swerved, heeled over, trembled, and began to come down.
But the wind was very strong, and Billy was very light. The Eagle still kept on her way, though wobbling very much now and then, as if she meant to do a “spinning nose-dive” into the sea. Looking down, Billy could see the great waves tossing and surging below. Would he ever reach the other side? He clung for dear life to the spar of the kite. He was so cold that he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. So, taking off his belt, he slipped it under the spar, and then lying flat on his front, fastened it round him again.
Looking down over the edge, he saw that he was across the Solent and beginning to skim over the mainland. He was flying over trees and fields, for he had left Portsmouth away on his right. When and where would he come down?
