The little island of Herm possessed only one building of importance, a monastery of French refugees. In the great walled-in courtyard, there was present an object of special and curious interest to the monks. The arrival of the Bladud had been observed with astonishment by all the inmates of the monastery, who naturally associated its coming with that of a certain mysterious visitor—a sun-scorched, iron-grey emaciated man—who had recently landed on the island, coming, it was said, from the coast of France. The visitor, who remained in complete seclusion in the building, sedulously nursed back to health and strength, was treated with extraordinary deference and respect by the Superior. That much the monks could not fail to know; but any sly inquiries and surmises on their part were met with the sternest and most peremptory discouragement. Excitement was quickened, therefore, when, only a few hours after the arrival of the air-ship, preparations were made for the distinguished visitor's departure. Linton stood in the courtyard, glancing anxiously at his watch, while Wilton, the engineer, put some finishing touches to the gear. The little man had proved himself a model of discretion. He asked no questions, but now and then threw quick glances towards the tall, thin stranger, who, at a[Pg 153] respectful sign from Linton, had taken his seat in the stern of the boat.
Whether Wilton knew or suspected the identity of Wilson Renshaw, who now calmly waited for the voyage to commence, Linton could not tell. He suspected that he did, and, little guessing what a few hours would bring forth, he registered a mental promise that the silent, faithful little engineer should not go unrewarded. It struck him that there was a good deal of nervousness in Wilton's manner, as he threw upward glances at the sky.
While the preparations were being completed, the Superior of the Order stood close at hand, addressing in subdued tones his deferential and earnest farewells to Mr. Renshaw, and Herrick, raising his eyes, saw the peering faces of at least a score of monks at the upper windows of the monastery. Glancing higher still, he noted with some uneasiness that the scurrying clouds, copper-tinged from the setting sun, betokened the coming of a wild and stormy night. Fervently he breathed a prayer that the aerial voyage might have a happy issue. But by this time he knew enough of air-ships to be aware that there were perils which no scientific inventions, and no precautions, can wholly nullify: risks from defects and mishaps with machinery, dangers from both combined, that at any moment might bring about some irreparable catastrophe. Yet, to-night, everything must be hazarded. Not an hour, not a moment must be lost. The time had come. To let it pass unseized would be to miss the tide at the flood, to sacrifice the touchstone of fortune.
He glanced at Wilton:
"Ready?"
The engineer gave a quick nod and lifted a grimy[Pg 154] finger towards his cap. Linton, raising his own cap, turned towards the illustrious passenger:
"Shall we start, sir?"
"At once, please," was the answer.
Linton stepped aboard and grasped the helm. Wilton took his place forward, and the Superior, bowing obsequiously, moved to a safe distance from the aeroplane.
The faint preliminary throbbing of the engine instantly commenced. The boat began to rise, slowly at first, then more rapidly, as the elevating power obtained freer play. Every window of the monastery now was plastered with wondering, eager faces, intent on the Bladud as she soared aloft. The Superior made angry and imperious gestures, but the monks did not, or pretended not to, see. This mounting of the aeroplane with such a passenger must not be missed. It was a spectacle the like of which they would not see again.
Higher and higher climbed the Bladud, beating the air with her flapping wings. The cold breeze rushed through the wind-harp on the mast with a sighing, mournful sound as the boat swept in swiftly widening circles through the air. The passenger, impressed but not perturbed, glanced sharply round him; then, feeling the growing keenness of the wind, he drew his fur coat across his chest.
When they were high enough, Herrick, with one eye on the compass, put the tiller over and gave an order. Wilton lightly moved a switch, and immediately the Bladud headed at high speed for the open sea.
As the hours passed, night fell dark and thick about them; the wind became more violent, and ever and again chilly, sleety squalls affected to[Pg 155] some extent the equilibrium of the boat. No one spoke, except for an occasional query from Herrick, to which Wilton responded by act or gesture only.
Not one of the three men on board knew of any definite cause for anxiety, yet in the minds of at least two of them there was a growing sense of tension and disquietude. The muscles of Wilton's face twitched as he sat in silence, his eye watchful and his hand ready.
Yet, so far, all went well. To avoid prolonged dangers of the open channel, they tacked northwards towards the coast of France, intending to resume the sea course as nearly as possible above the Straits of Dover. Nearer land the air grew less cloudy. The twinkling lights of habitations far below became visible like distant glow-worms. From the numbers of these lights they could form an idea of the size of the towns and villages over which they passed. Some thirty-five were counted. Presently the silent passenger himself identified the locality and said that they were passing over the highlands between Cape Blanc and Calais.
It was time to give the ship a different course; and once again below them lay the wide expanse of sombre, tossing sea. But the Bladud now encountered the strength of a growing gale from the North-East, and soon it became apparent that she was being dangerously deflected from her proper course. It was a discovery silently made, but fraught with the fears of potential disaster. If they should be blown out to sea, there was but one ultimate certainty—death for all on board. The store of motive power could only last for a given number of hours, and already much of the power had been expended. Their hope must lie in reaching dry ground within a period that grew perilously shorter and shorter even while they thought of it.
[Pg 156]
Entrusting the helm for a moment to the passenger, Herrick crawled forward, and while the rising gale shrieked above them and around them, held a hasty, whispered conversation with the now excited engineer.
"We'll never do it, sir, we'll never do it," Wilton said, hoarsely. "St. Margaret's Bay; Why, see! we've left it far behind already. No landing there to-night. What's the best air-ship that ever was built against a wind like this?"
"Land us anywhere, anywhere," was Herrick's vehement answer.
"Yes, if we can," muttered Wilton, gloomily. "I'm afeard there's something wrong with her, and that's the truth, Mr. Herrick."
"Good God!" exclaimed Herrick, with an anxious glance towards the figure in the stern.
"See that?" gasped the engineer, as a strong gust from the north drove the bow of the boat farther sea-ward. "See that, sir? I tell you, she can't stand it."
Again and again the same thing happened. The gale, so far as it was easterly, drove them westward along the coastline, and ever and again the fierce gusts from the north forced them away from it. Linton crept back to the stern. Thirty minutes passed—minutes of increasing suspense. At the end of that time they had lost their bearings. The Bladud became more and more beyond control.
"Is there danger?" Renshaw asked the question very softly.
"I am afraid there is, sir," said Linton.
The other nodded: "I thought so. What part of the coast is that down there?" he asked after an interval.
[Pg 157]
Linton peering over, pondered a minute before he answered:
"Dover's left far behind by this time. We've passed Hastings. Those must be the lights of Brighton."
"We can't get down?"
"Impossible at present. We must drive straight ahead. Inside the Isle of Wight there'll be a chance for us—more shelter and more ships. Wilton knows that part."
"Can we last as long?"
"I think so—I hope so."
A long silence fell as the Bladud battled with the wind. Then there came a startling, rending sound that indicated some defect in the machinery. The boat began to veer erratically.
"Steady, sir, steady," roared Wilton, making a trumpet of his hands. "For God's sake head her north!"
From below there rose a sullen, surging sound, the threatening monotone of angry waves breaking upon a rocky shore.
The sound grew fainter. They must be travelling inland—across the Isle of Wight. Now, then, was the time for a descent. Dimly in the forepart of the boat, Wilton's bent form could be discerned, his face peering, his hands at work in the complex box of the Bladud's machinery. Suddenly he threw himself back, sitting on his heels, and Herrick thought he saw his hands raised with a gesture of despair. The Bladud lurched and swayed violently, and for a moment it seemed as if the gyroscope had wholly failed to act. If that were so, in a moment the boat might lose her equilibrium, and all would end. But that was not the trouble. Linton now realised that it was the lowering apparatus that[Pg 158] would not work. The Bladud still rushed madly forward. With unchecked speed, they flew across the island. Another coast line then came into view—the long low line of lights stretching from Portsmouth, ............