SETCHELL and Dr. Hambrough arrived before Whittinghame and his companion had completed their preparations for dinner, and as soon as the formal introductions were gone through, the thin ice of reserve quickly vanished.
Dacres instinctively felt that he would have true comrades on his first commission in the Dreadnought of the Air.
The two new arrivals were quite different in temperament. Setchell was vivacious—even boisterous at times; while the doctor was grave and dignified—at first one might have thought he was taciturn.
They were both fairly young men—under thirty—and as keen on their work as Whittinghame could possibly desire.
"We're now practically ready to put the 'Meteor' into full commission," observed Whittinghame. "All her stores are on board. Dacres has to have his kit brought from London, and there is about another half-day's work to complete the charging of the reserve cylinders. So we'll have 'divisions' to-morrow, and put the men into their proper watches. You brought those rifles along with you all right, Setchell?"
"Rather. There are two cases of them at Holmsley Station, and four boxes of ammunition. With the eight thousand rounds we already have—I suppose you haven't expended any yet, sir—that ought to be ample."
"Very good," assented the skipper. "We'll send a trolley for them early to-morrow morning. By the by, how did you get on after we dropped you at Yealmpton?"
Setchell laughed.
"You might have been more discriminating, sir, but I suppose we must make allowances for the fact that it was pitch-dark and we could show no light. As a matter of fact I found myself in a piggery. When I managed to struggle out of that and over a very aggressive fence I struck a fowl-run. Did you hear the noise those creatures made?"
"No, we were too far off by that time," replied Whittinghame.
"At any rate," continued the third officer, "the farmer turned out with a gun. I had to pitch up some sort of yarn, so I told him I was a tourist who had lost his way. The old chap promptly harnessed a pony and drove me to the outskirts of Plymouth."
"Talking of that," remarked Dacres, "the shepherd of Canterbury said the section of the airship that dropped to the ground was about the size of a haystack."
"So it was," replied Whittinghame. "When we wish to make hurried descents we can detach a subdivision of No. 3 section. It is also handy for landing in fairly confined spaces, where the length of a complete section might be too great for safety. I'll show you that arrangement to-morrow; but what do you say to a game of billiards, gentlemen? It may be our last opportunity for a considerable time, for, with all her wonderful mechanism, I cannot guarantee a level bed on board the 'Meteor.'"
This proposal was received with acclamation, and the four men adjourned to the billiard-room, where they amused themselves till the clock struck eleven and warned them that it was time to retire to rest.
At ten on the following morning all hands formed up on the open space between the sheds. There were thirty-two men, exclusive of the four officers, and a fine athletic set they made, rigged out in neat yet serviceable uniforms.
Whittinghame, as captain, headed the starboard watch, with the doctor as his assistant for executive duties in the after-part of the ship; for Hambrough was not content to act simply as surgeon to the ship's company. Williamson was chosen as first quartermaster of the watch, the rest of the division consisting of ten "deck hands" and five mechanics for engine-room duties.
Dacres had charge of the port watch, Setchell being responsible for the after-guard during the "watch on deck". The stalwart Irishman, Callaghan, was appointed quartermaster, and the rest of the crew consisted of an equal number of hands to that of the captain's watch.
The men were then served out with small-arms, the rifles being up-to-date automatic weapons firing twenty-two cartridges and having a range and velocity equal to the latest service rifles. Bayonets were also issued, and since the crew had had a thorough training whilst they were serving in the Royal Navy they were now able to pick up their drill without much difficulty.
Under Dacres' orders they were exercised for nearly an hour. The ex-sub-lieutenant had reason to be very well satisfied with them, and expressed his opinion to Whittinghame that if necessary they could give a very good account of themselves. As for the men, they recognized that they had an officer over them who knew his work, and they respected him accordingly.
At length the eventful Saturday came round, and just after eight o'clock the fore-section of the airship was taken out of its shed and, to use Dacres' expression, "sent aloft."
The bow portion, with its complement of nine men, was the first to leave the ground, anchoring at a height of seventy-four feet from the surface—the "ground-tackle" consisting of a bridle with a single loop running through a huge pulley fixed in the earth, and back to the bow division of the "Meteor."
No. 2 section was sent up, and by means of a wire hawser hauled into position, so that the cam-action could come into play. Only three and a half minutes elapsed between the time of its leaving the ground and of its being united to the bow-section.
Divisions 3 and 4 were "launched" and joined up in a similar fashion, "and then there was one," as the nursery rhyme goes.
Dacres found himself with six men to man the aftermost section of the airship. He had already "got the hang of it," although he could not quite see how any of the crew could be left behind to guide the huge fabric on its ascent to unite to the still greater bulk that floated serenely above the tree-tops, her propellers churning slowly ahead to counteract the faint breeze that blew from the south-west.
"Give the word for the men to get aboard, sir," said Callaghan, who, being an ex-gunner's mate, knew how to prompt judiciously young officers who were not quite up to their work.
Dacres complied. He was glad of his quarter-master's assistance, although fully determined to master his part of the routine as soon as possible.
When the last man swarmed up the rope-ladder Dacres followed, and took up his station at the open doorway in the for'ard bulkhead.
"All ready, sir?" asked Callaghan.
"All ready," echoed the newly appointed officer.
"Here's the lever for charging the ballonettes, sir," continued the quartermaster. "Turn the indicator to eighty, sir. That will be enough to raise us."
Gently and almost imperceptibly the after-section rose clear of the ground, guided by a light wire rope joining it to the already coupled-up portions of the airship. With a rhythmic purr the windlass, worked by a supplementary belt from one of the motors, hauled in the slack till the "Meteor" was complete and ready for flight.
So nice was the adjustment of the various sections that connexion with the telephones and electric telegraphs was made automatically by the contact of insulated bushes in corresponding position to the exterior bulkheads.
From the navigation-room for'ard Whittinghame asked if all were ready, and received a confirmative reply from the after-end of the ship. As far as Dacres was concerned he was now at liberty to "stand easy," for it was his watch below, and Setchell had come aft to take charge.
"Captain says he would like to see you for'ard," announced the third officer. "Hold on till she gathers way, old man."
Warning bells tinkled in various parts of the giant airship. Instantly every man grasped some object to prevent himself from being thrown across the floor. Simultaneously the eight propellers began to revolve.
For quite half a minute Dacres felt as if he were seized by an invisible arm round his waist and was being forced backwards. Then the tension ceased as the inertia was overcome, he was part and parcel of a mass flying through the air at more than twice the speed of an express train.
Dacres glanced at his watch—it was twenty-five minutes past nine—then, lurching along the alley-way, for the "Meteor" was trembling and swaying as she cleft the air, he made his way for'ard.
He found Whittinghame standing in front of one of the observation scuttles in the lower navigation room. Williamson was at the wheel controlling the vertical rudders, while another man had his eye upon the indicators of the horizontal planes.
"Look!" exclaimed the captain, pointing downwards.
Dacres did so. Nine thousand feet beneath him stretched a ribbon-like expanse of water like a silver-streak between dense woodland on one hand and green fields on the other. Away on the starboard bow this streak merged into a wide stretch of sea, backed by hills that were dwarfed to the size of a mere series of mounds.
"By Jove! We're passing Southampton Water," ejaculated Dacres. He again glanced at his watch. It had taken him three and a half minutes to traverse the length of the "Meteor," and in that space of time the airship had travelled eleven miles.
"Top speed now," announced Whittinghame. "We're doing one hundred and ninety. We'll have to slacken down now; we're nearly there."
As he spoke the Captain rang down for half speed. The order being simultaneously received by both engine-rooms, resulted in a gradual slowing down till the mud-flats of Portsmouth Harbour hove in sight. Even then the "Meteor" overhauled a naval seaplane as quickly as an express runs past a "suburban" crawling into Clapham Junction.
"Still sou'west," remarked Whittinghame pointing to the smoke that was pouring out of a tall chimney between Fareham and Gosport. "We'll bring her head to wind in any case."
Down swooped the "Meteor" till she was less than three hundred feet from the ground. She was now following the main road to Gosport. On her left could be discerned the battleships and cruisers in the harbour, their decks and riggings black with men, while hundreds of craft of various sizes, crowded with spectators, literally swarmed on the tidal waters between the Dockyard and the western shore.
Swooping past the new semaphore tower, and skimming above the lofty chimneys of the electric light station, the "Meteor" shaped a course towards the Town Hall clock tower. So quickly did she turn that it seemed as if a straight line between the bow and stern would cut the masonry of the tower. Looking aft the appearance of the twelve hundred feet of airship reminded Dacres of a train taking a curve. Her starboard planes were within twenty feet of the cupola of the tower.
But the helmsman knew his business. He was well to leeward of the improvised "pylon," and before the thousand of spectators gathered in the Town Hall square could recover from their astonishment the "Meteor" was heading back to the dockyard.
Slowly, with her propellers revolving enough to keep her up against the breeze, the Dreadnought of the Air hovered over the Government establishment, seeking a place where she could come to rest. The swarm of vessels in the harbour made it impossible for her to descend without great risk to the spectators.
"There's the semaphore working," announced Dacres, pointing to the two arms that were set at the "preparatory" sign.
In response to an order, one of the "Meteor's" crew, armed with two hand flags, made his way up to the platform of the promenade deck. As soon as he replied, the semaphore began to spell out the message:—
"Berth ready for airship in Fountain Lake," said Dacres, translating the signal for his chief's information. "That's on the north side of the Dockyard and between it and Whale Island."
"Easy ahead," ordered Whittinghame; then, "Stop her."
A series of hisses, similar to the sounds that Dacres had heard when he first beheld the "Meteor," announced that the contents of several of the ballonettes were being pumped out and forced into the metal cylinders. Slowly and on an even keel the giant bulk sank lower and lower till a gentle roll announced that the airship was riding head to wind upon the sheltered waters of Portsmouth Harbour. The "Meteor" had made her debut.
PROMPTLY the naval picket-boats had taken the bow-hawsers of the airship and had passed them to two mooring buoys. Other wire ropes were run out astern, till like a fettered Cyclops the "Meteor" was securely moored.
"Commander-in-Chief coming off, sir," announced Dacres, as a green motor-boat flying the St. George's Cross in the bows, tore towards the airship.
"So the reception is to be held on board the 'Meteor,' eh?" remarked Whittinghame. "I'm sorry I didn't provide an accommodation-ladder. The Admiral may find it rather awkward to swarm up a swaying rope-ladder. Will you see that the after entry-port is opened?"
The officers of the "Meteor" assembled ready to receive the Commander-in-Chief and his staff, while a "guard of honour" stood at attention, to do honour to the distinguished visitor.
Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers—"Old Courteous," as he was nick-named in the Service—was one of the most popular officers of Flag rank. His nickname was an apt one, for he was invariably polite to every one he came in contact with. Nothing seemed to ruffle his composure. He was a strict disciplinarian, and woe betide the subordinate—be he officer or man—who deliberately shirked his duty. On the other hand, he was keenly observant to reward zeal on the part of those under him, but whether admonishing or praising he was uniformly urbane.
Considering his age—for Sir Hardy was bordering on fifty-five—he climbed up the swaying rope-ladder with marvellous agility, and, greeted by the pipe of the bos'n's whistle, he advanced to meet the Captain and owner of the Dreadnought of the Air.
Accompanying the Admiral were his secretary, several officers of the executive and engineering branch, and—to Dacres' satisfaction—Commander Arnold Hythe.
"You have a wonderful craft here," observed Sir Hardy, after the usual courtesies had been exchanged.
"I think we have, sir," replied Whittinghame modestly. "Would you care to look round, or would you rather discuss the business that brought us here?"
The Commander-in-Chief expressed his desire to make an inspection of the "Meteor," and, escorted by his host and followed by their respective officers, Sir Hardy and Whittinghame proceeded on their tour of the airship.
"You are a lucky dog, Dacres," said Hythe, for the two old friends had contrived to "tail off" at the rear of the procession. "So this was the business which you so mysteriously hinted at? Mind you, I'm not envious. The submarine service suits me entirely, but I am glad for your sake. Do you know how Whittinghame proposes to put a stopper on that rascal Durango?"
Dacres shook his head.
"I do not know exactly," he replied. "At any rate, we are waiting till he lands in South America."
"The Scotland Yard men are at a loss to know on what ship he took passage," remarked Hythe. "They made inquiries at the offices of all the steam-ship companies running boats through the Panama Canal, but without success."
"I'm not surprised, old man. Durango was too artful to book by any of those lines. His plan was to make for Pernambuco, and cross to the Pacific coast by the new trans-continental railway. I know that for a fact."
"You do?" asked the Commander surprisedly. "How?"
"Simply by making enquiries at the Brazilian Steamship Company's office. We'll get your plans back again, Hythe, or I'm sadly mistaken in my estimate of the 'Meteor' and her skipper."
The inspection finished, Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers and Whittinghame retired to the latter's private cabin to discuss the proposals for the "Meteor's" future. They were alone for the best part of an hour, and when they rejoined the others both their faces simply beamed with satisfaction.
"President Zaypuru has foolishly played into our hands, Dacres," said Whittinghame, when the Commander-in-Chief and his staff had taken their departure. "An incident has occurred of which, strangely enough, I have hitherto been in ignorance, although I am generally well posted in events taking place in Valderia. Sir Hardy has just informed me that two men belonging to a British trader have been arrested on a trumped-up charge at the port of Zandovar. In spite of the protests of the British Consul the men were taken to Naocuanha and thrown into prison, while His Majesty's representative was most grossly insulted by the President.
"Evidently the Valderians have a poor opinion of British prestige, for their Government refused to apologize. Knowing the pig-headed obstinacy of Don Diego Zaypuru I am not surprised, but it will end in a declaration of war between Great Britain and Valderia. Of course, although it would hardly admit it, the British Government is glad of the opportunity to strike a blow at that elusive and daring outlaw, Durango."
"How do you think your brother will fare?" asked Dacres.
"That is what is troubling me considerably," replied Whittinghame. "If there is a rupture and a fleet is sent to chastise the Republic, Zaypuru may, and probably will, make reprisals. It may be taken for granted, however, that the President will go gently until Durango is back at Naocuanha. Our plan will be to act promptly at the very first intimation of hostilities, liberate my brother Gerald and capture Durango before the Valderians are aware of the presence of the 'Meteor' on the west side of the Sierras. Sir Hardy approves of my plan, and has promised to get official concurrence from the Admiralty; so everything will be square and above board."
"Are we remaining here long, sir?" asked Setchell, who, being the officer of the watch, had all his work cut out to refuse repeated requests for the occupants of the swarm of small craft to be shown over the airship. Whittinghame's orders were adamant. No one was to be allowed on board on any pretext whatsoever. Nevertheless, in spite of the heroic efforts of the water-police, the crowd of boats lay thickly round the "Meteor," their crews patiently waiting for the huge airship to resume its voyage, or else clamouring to be allowed on board.
"For why?" asked the skipper.
"Well, sir, the crowd is getting a bit out of hand. There are some fellows hammering away at the side. They'll be chopping bits off as souvenirs, I'm thinking, or else painting advertisements on the hull. And what is more, sir, there's a reporter sitting on the after horizontal plane on the port side. He cannot climb up, and he declines to budge until he's had an interview with you."
"Oh, I'll see about that," said Whittinghame grimly. "Come aft, Dacres, and let us see what this enterprising member of the Press is like."
The fellow was evidently not lacking in pluck and determination, for he had coolly passed a length of rope round the plane with the deliberate intention of "sitting tight."
"Hulloa, sir!" he sung out as Whittinghame made his way out upon the platform above the propeller-guard. "I represent the 'Weekly Lyre.' I've asked half a dozen times to be allowed on board to interview you."
"You are as much on board as you can reasonably expect to be," replied Whittinghame genially. "You are trespassing, you know. I shall be greatly obliged if you will go back to your boat, as we are about to move. I haven't time for an interview." "Then I'll wait," replied the man, to the great delight of the crowd of spectators afloat. "I'll have the distinction of being the first man, apart from your crew, to experience a flight in your airship, sir. Here I stick."
"You'll be blown away if you remain there."
"I risk that," replied the reporter imperturbably. "I'll lash myself on."
"Have the goodness to go," said Whittinghame with a faint show of annoyance.
The man shook his head. He had the appearance of being a resolute sort of individual.
Without another word Whittinghame walked to the after motor-room and gave orders for the propellers to be started easy ahead. Then he went outside, fully expecting to find the man gone.
At the first sign of movement the dense pack of boats had given back, but the pressman still stuck to his precarious post.
"There's pluck for you," commented the skipper. "That's the sort of man we could very well do with. But I'm not going to be balked. Just wait here for a few minutes, Dacres, and watch developments. Telephone to me when he's gone, and then take care to get inside and close the sliding panel as sharp as you can."
"He's lashed himself on, by Jove!" said Dacres.
"It will be a case of suicide if he's there when we gather speed," rejoined Whittinghame. "The sharp edge of the plane will cut through that lashing as if it were a piece of worsted."
With that the Captain went aft, leaving Dacres on the platform to report the course of events.
In response to an order the after hawsers were cast off, while the crew stood by ready to let go the for'ard springs that alone held the "Meteor" head to wind.
Suddenly Dacres saw the horizontal plane dip into an almost vertical position. The unfortunate reporter slid until brought up by the rope. For a few moments he hung there, struggling frantically to gain a foothold upon the smooth surface. His efforts only caused the rope to chafe through on the sharp edge of the plane and with a splash he fell into the sea.
Quickly rising to the surface he struck out for the nearest boat, amid the laughter of the onlookers, while Dacres, mindful of his warning, returned to the shelter of the outer envelope.
Whittinghame was about to give the order to let go for'ard when Callaghan entered the navigation-room.
"Wireless just come through, sir," he announced.
"Important?"
"Yes, sir," said the man gravely.
Half dreading that it was bad news from Naocuanha the Captain took the proffered paper.
The message was not from Valderia, but from the Admiralty. Its wording was indeed serious:—
"To Captain Whittinghame, airship 'Meteor.' Advises from British Polar Expedition state that communication with Lieutenant Cardyke has been interrupted for forty-eight hours. Feared disaster has overtaken party. Is 'Meteor' capable of rescue?"
Whittinghame turned to the operator.
"Reply, 'Yes; will proceed at once,'" he said.
VAUGHAN WHITTINGHAME was one of those men who make up their minds almost on the spur of the moment, yet possessing the rare capability of weighing the pros and cons of the issue with lightning speed.
Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers must have communicated with the Admiralty with the least possible delay, for one of Whittinghame's conditions was that he and his crew should receive official recognition. By giving him the title of Captain the authorities had tacitly expressed their consent.
Apart from that the appeal for aid was such that no man with humane principles could refuse.
The undertaking—navigating a huge airship through the intensely cold atmosphere of the Arctic—was a hazardous one, but Whittinghame was ready and willing to attempt the task.
In obedience to a general order all hands were mustered in the large compartment of No. 4 section. Officers, deck-hands and mechanics all wondering what had happened to cause the Captain to suspend suddenly the operation of unmooring, eagerly waited for Whittinghame to address them.
"My lads," said he, "I have been asked to make a voyage of three thousand four hundred miles and back. Not to Valderia but to a region where the climate is quite different. To be brief, the Admiralty have informed me that Lieutenant Cardyke and four men who made a dash for the North Pole some weeks ago are in pressing danger. Their Lordships appeal to me to proceed to his assistance, and I have signified my intention of so doing.
"It will be a hazardous task, for there are conditions to be met with that were not taken into consideration when the 'Meteor' was projected. Since you, my men, were not engaged to undertake a Polar Relief Expedition, I must ask for volunteers. All those who are willing to take part in this work will step two paces to the front."
Without the faintest hesitation every man stepped forward. A flush of pleasure swept across the face of their young Captain.
"Thank you," he said simply. "This is just what I expected. Now, dismiss. There will be half an hour's 'stand easy.' If any man wish to take advantage of that interval to write to his relatives or friends, opportunity will be found to send the letters ashore."
While the ship's company were thus employed, Whittinghame stood by the entry-port, pondering over his plans for the voyage.
As he did so, he became aware that the flotilla of boats still hovered around, and prominently in the foreground was the pressman, who seemed none the worse for his involuntary bath.
"May as well do the chap a good turn," soliloquised Whittinghame, and beckoning him to approach waited till the boat was alongside the rope-ladder.
"Sorry I had to drop you overboard, but you asked for it, my friend," said the Captain blandly. "I hope you bear no ill will."
"Not in the least," replied the reporter with a laugh. "It's not the first time I've been 'chucked out.' Besides, as you say, I asked for it. Are you going to invite me for a trip, sir?"
"No," replied Whittinghame, "but here's some information for you: it's perfectly genuine."
The man caught a folded slip of paper on which Whittinghame had written a few words. He opened it, then gave a searching glance at the Captain's face. He had been hoaxed before and was consequently cautious.
But that glance was sufficient. He was convinced. With a few words of thanks to Whittinghame he bade the boatman row like greased lightning for the shore. Twenty minutes later the "Weekly Lyre" issued a special with the exclusive information that the airship "Meteor" was to proceed to the relief of the British Arctic Expedition.
Meanwhile, Sir Hardy Staplers came on board to bid the departing aircraft God-speed, while, acting upon an "immediate demand note," suits of Arctic clothing were sent aboard from the clothing department of Royal Clarence Yard.
By twenty minutes past four all preparations were complete, and for the first time in her brief yet exciting career the "Meteor" hoisted the Blue Ensign; an Admiralty warrant having been hurriedly granted for that purpose.
Amid the deafening cheers of the thousands of spectators the "Meteor" rose majestically to a height of four hundred feet, then gathering way, darted forward in a northerly direction towards the desolate regions of the Far North.
Whittinghame, knowing that every moment was precious, gave orders for every possible knot to be screwed out of the motors, and nobly the engineers responded to the call. Within ten minutes of the start the speed indicators hovered around the two hundred miles an hour mark.
"Seventeen hours ought to do it," remarked the doctor.
"Hardly," corrected Whittinghame. "In the rarefied air we shall have to slow down a trifle. There will be less resistance to the vessel and correspondingly less resistance to the propeller blades. With luck we ought to reckon on twenty hours."
The navigation of the "Meteor" was entirely in Dacres' hands. There could be no rest for him until the voyage ended, for he alone of all on board could shape a course in these high latitudes, when the compass is useless to any but men skilled in the art of applying complicated magnetic variation adjustments.
Already the needle was pointing thirty degrees west of north, while hourly the angle was increasing.
Just before eleven Dacres pointed to the setting sun.
"That's the last sunset we'll see for some days, I fancy, doctor," he remarked. "We are nearing the Arctic Circle."
"Of course, I didn't think of that," replied Hambrough. "I was imagining us ploughing along in the pitch dark night with our searchlight on."
"It would be looking for a needle in a haystack were it not for the midnight sun," said Dacres. "By Jove, it is getting cold in spite of the hot water pipes. Would you mind bringing my coat from the cabin?"
By the time the doctor returned Dacres was able to report that the coast of Iceland was in sight.
"Where are you making for?" asked Hambrough. "The west coast of Greenland?"
"No," replied Dacres. "Here's the chart. We're making almost a bee-line for Cape Columbia. That will take us across Greenland from Scoresby's Land to the Humboldt Glacier and over the icy-clad plateau which the eye of man has never yet seen. Excuse me a minute while I look up this variation chart."
"You must be tired," observed Hambrough.
"Can't afford to be," said his companion. "It's a thirty-hour watch for me. All the same, doctor, if you can give me something to overcome this sleepy feeling I shall be glad. I suppose it is being unaccustomed to the altitude."
"I'll fix you up all right," declared Hambrough. "It won't do for you to be knocked up, or we'll be in a bit of a hole."
"It's not that. The 'Meteor' is quite capable of finding her way back to temperate regions. It was young Cardyke I was thinking of."
"You know him, then?"
"Rather. Lucky youngster obtained his promotion over the 'Independencia' affair."
Before Dacres could relate the incident Whittinghame entered the navigation room.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Right as rain," replied Dacres cheerfully.
"Good! Now you take a spell and have some food. I'll stand by the helm and you can sing out the compass-course as you re eating. I'm sorry I didn't apply to the Commander-in-Chief for a navigator to take turns with you. Honestly, flying to a course in these regions is beyond me."
Already—it was twenty minutes past twelve by Greenwich time—the sun was rising—a pale, watery-looking disc. Six thousand feet beneath the airship could be seen the sea dotted with masses of floating ice, dwarfed into insignificance when viewed from above.
"We've struck the drift-ice rather far south, I think," remarked Dacres. "It's rather a bad sign, although, of course, there may be a higher temperature in the corresponding latitude in Baffin Bay."
"Let us hope so, in any case," rejoined the captain. "But isn't Parsons doing well? I don't think our speed has dropped to 190 since we started. I mustn't boast, though."
Hour after hour Whittinghame remained with the navigator. He scorned to sleep when such a luxury was denied his comrade.
On nearing the Greenland coast the "Meteor's" speed was reduced in order that Dacres could go on deck and take an observation. The cold cut him like a knife. His fingers could scarcely feel the vernier-screw of the sextant.
"I'm not cut out for an Arctic explorer," he muttered as he hastened below to work out his position. "If it's like this on the coast what will it be like over there, I wonder?"
"Well?" asked Whittinghame anxiously, as his companion straightened himself after bending over the set of figures.
"Here we are," announced Dacres, pricking off the portion on the chart. "Twenty miles farther north than I expected. We must have under-estimated the strength of the wind. I'll take good care to make allowance for that in the future."
"What a waste of desolation!" ejaculated the Captain, looking down upon the snow-clad land. They were far above the northern limit of trees. The ground rose steeply in places, black granite precipices loomed menacingly against the white mantle which covered the gentle slopes.
Lower and lower fell the temperature. The crew, muffled in their fur garments, were already feeling numbed in spite of the hot-water apparatus. Higher and higher rose the airship, until a height of twelve thousand feet above the sea level was recorded. Yet less than nine hundred feet below was the summit of that ice-bound plateau—the portals of death.
Presently Parsons, the chief engineer, entered the navigation room.
"We'll have to shut off the heating pipes in the cabins, sir," he announced, "or the water will freeze and burst them. The heat of the motors is not enough to warm the jacket of the cylinders. I've even had to melt the oil before I could fill up the lubricators."
"Very well; carry on," replied Whittinghame. "We must endure the cold as best we may. Are the engines all right otherwise?"
"Running splendidly, sir."
"What temperature have you in the motor-rooms?"
"Minus ten for'ard and a point above zero aft, sir."
The Captain glanced at the thermometer on the navigation room bulkhead. The mercury stood at minus twenty-five degrees or fifty-seven below freezing point.
"I almost wish we had taken the east coast route and gone through Davis Strait," remarked Whittinghame. "It wouldn't have been anything like so cold."
"She'll do it all right, sir," declared Parsons. "Besides, we shan't find it any colder at the Pole itself."
"And it will save us at least six hours," added Dacres.
Acting under his suggestion two quarter-masters took ten minute spells at the wheel, for beyond that period a man's outstretched arms would be numbed.
Mile after mile was reeled off with the utmost rapidity. There was nothing to be seen but the dreary expanse of cliffs, snow and ice—cliffs that outvied the canons of Colorado for height, and snow and ice that had covered what at one time might have been a fertile land for perhaps millions of years. It was a vision of the earth during the Glacial Age.
At seven o'clock, or twenty-two hours after the "Meteor" had left Portsmouth, Dacres pointed to a huge winding track of ice that, according to the most modest estimate, was at least fifty miles wide.
"We're nearly there, sir," he said. "We've struck the head of the Humboldt Glacier. With luck we ought to sight the open sea in another hour. We are covering one degree of longitude every three minutes now."
Whittinghame nodded. It was almost too cold to talk. Speaking was accompanied by a volume of white vapour that, rapidly congealing, fell upon the floor in showers of fine ice. To touch a piece of metal with bare hands caused painful blisters, as many of the crew learnt to their cost. The airship was little more than a floating icebox.
Presently Dacres touched his comrade on the shoulder.
"The sea!" he exclaimed.
It was the sea. Right ahead was an expanse of open water, though greatly encumbered with huge bergs, for the "Meteor" was now passing over the birth-place of those enormous mountains of floating ice that find their way down into the Atlantic as far south as the fortieth parallel.
Even as he spoke there was a terrific crash, like that of a peal of thunder. The voyagers were just in time to see a mass of ice, nearly three miles in width, topple over the end of the glacier and fall into the sea. Almost instantaneously the placid surface changed to that of a tempestuous sea, as the iceberg rolled and plunged ere it gained a position of stability.
Ten seconds later the "Meteor" struck the first of the air-waves caused by the sudden disturbance of the atmosphere.
Well it was that she was of the non-rigid type, for otherwise the shock would have broken her back. As it was she writhed like a tortured animal. The crew, holding on like grim death, looked at each other in amazement akin to terror. At one moment her bow was pointing upwards at an angle of forty-five degrees; at the next the airship was banking steeply downwards.
It was a nasty two minutes while it lasted, but by the time the "Meteor" settled on an even keel she was tearing over the open sea.
AT the twenty-third hour after leaving Portsmouth the "Meteor" came to rest on the ice under the lee of Cape Columbia and within three hundred yards of the "New Resolute," the ship of the British Arctic Expedition.
News of the airship's approach had already been communicated by wireless, and as she gracefully settled upon the ice she was greeted by three tremendous cheers from the crew of the ship.
But Dacres knew nothing of this. As soon as Cape Columbia had been sighted he went to his cabin to snatch a few hours' well-earned and needed sleep. For the time being his responsibility was not in request.
Compared with the severity of the climate above the Greenland plateau the temperature at Cape Columbia was milder. The "New Resolute," although moored to the ice, was still afloat, and sheltered from all gales by the land-locked harbour.
From the captain the "Meteor's" people soon had a fairly definite idea of the state of affairs.
Lieutenant Cardyke, with four men, had pushed on towards the pole, the party being accompanied by thirty-two Esquimo dogs. A portable wireless installation had been taken, so that the progress and welfare of the expedition could be communicated to the base.
Favoured by fine weather Cardyke and his companions made rapid progress compared with the distance covered by previous Arctic explorers. They reported that the hummocks gave considerable trouble, but there was no sign of open water.
Then with startling suddenness all wireless communication was broken off. A rescue party immediately set off, only to find that at a point 150 miles north of Cape Columbia their progress was checked by an expanse of open, agitated sea that had been formed by the separation of the ice-fields since Cardyke had traversed them. Reluctantly the second party had to turn back, and were almost hourly expected by the "New Resolute."
The "Meteor" did not wait long at Cape Columbia. Having secured the services of two junior lieutenants to assist in the navigation of the airship, Whittinghame started on the 500 mile journey to the North Pole.
Greatly to the relief of all on board, the motors began to work without the faintest hitch. The cordite fired at once. Had petrol been the fuel it was quite possible that the low temperature would have greatly diminished its efficacy. Parsons was most enthusiastic over the matter. Although at first dubious about substituting cordite for petrol he was now firmly convinced that a perfect ignition charge had been found.
Within half an hour after leaving Cape Columbia the "Meteor" passed over the relief party, who were dejectedly making their way back to the ship. A greater contrast would be difficult to find: the airship cutting rapidly and evenly through the air at three miles a minute; and half a dozen men, looking more like bundles of fur, plodding painfully along, glad to be able to cover two miles an hour. Even the dogs seemed to share their masters' dejection. Yet failure of the rescue party did not prevent them from waving their arms to the fleeting airship, a compliment that the "Meteor," by reason of her speed, was unable to return.
When at length Dacres awoke he knew by the motion of the airship that the "Meteor" was again under way. Quickly he made his way for'ard, to find two strangers in charge of the navigation room.
"It's all right," said Whittinghame genially. "There's no slur upon your prowess as a navigation officer, Dacres. We've obtained reliefs for you. Allow me to introduce Mr. Quinton and Mr. Baskett to you."
Armed with powerful binoculars Whittinghame and his assistants swept the snow-field. According to the opinion of the "New Resolute's" officers the airship was now fairly close to the spot where Cardyke was last heard of. There was nothing to indicate the tracks of the sledges; a recent fall of snow had accounted for that. All they could hope to do was to pick out some outstanding object, such as a tent or a snow hut, where the young officer and his four men might be sheltering.
Speed had been reduced to fifty miles an hour, while frequently the "Meteor" made a deviation in order to give the look-out an opportunity to examine a dark patch upon the white waste. Invariably the patch turned out to be the shadow of a hammock cast by the slanting rays of the ever-present sun, till Dr. Hambrough called his companions' attention to a dark speck away on the starboard bow.
Round swung the "Meteor," the eyes of the watchers riveted on a fluttering object that rapidly resolved itself into a flag. More, the flag was a Union Jack. Close to it, and hitherto invisible, was a rounded hut made of blocks of ice, and half-buried in the snow.
"There they are!" exclaimed Setchell excitedly.
"I'm afraid not," said Lieutenant Baskett. "I can see no signs of their skis or of the sledges. But we're on their track, that's one blessing."
Again the "Meteor" descended. Whittinghame would not run the risk of detaching one of the compartments, especially as there was abundant room for the whole length of the airship to settle evenly. Her anchors held admirably in the rough ice, and with hardly a tremor she brought up on terra firma.
Quickly the entry port was opened and the rope-ladder dropped. Whittinghame was the first to land, quickly followed by Dacres and the two naval lieutenants.
With beating hearts they made their way over the ice and snow till they gained the hut, the four men gravely saluting the national flag as they passed by.
The doorway of the ice-hut had been blocked up—not by drifting snow but by human hands. Whether this had been done from the inside or from without could not at present be determined. The ice was as hard as iron.
In response to a signal to the "Meteor," three of the crew came up with ice-axes and shovels, and began a fierce attack upon the door. When the obstruction was removed the Captain entered.
His fears were realized. The hut was empty.
"Here's a tin containing some documents," he announced. "By Jove! Cardyke claims that this is the North Pole."
"He can't be so very far out," said Lieutenant Quinton. "Does he say anything about the route?"
"No, only that he is returning after verifying his position, and asks that the finder of the document should transmit it, if possible, to the Admiralty."
"Run and fetch my sextant, Williamson," said Dacres.
"And mine," added Baskett.
Before the men could return Whittinghame pointed to a staff projecting a few inches from the ground. Attached to it were the fragments of a flag, and by dint of removing a couple of feet of snow the nationality of the flag became obvious. It had been the Stars and Stripes.
"Peary's flag, by Jove!" ejaculated Whittinghame. "All honour, gentlemen, to that intrepid American. Even if an Englishman were not the first to plant his country's flag at the North Pole there is no little consolation to be derived from the fact that an Anglo-Saxon established the priority."
When Williamson returned with the instruments the two officers made careful separate observations, afterwards checking each other's figures. There was no mistake. The rescue party was standing on the northern extremity of the Earth's axis.
"Well, this won't find Cardyke, gentlemen," said Whittinghame sharply, breaking in upon the reveries of his companions. "What do you propose to do? Return by a slightly different route?"
"Supposing Cardyke and his party are incapable of finding their way. They might be partially exhausted by their exertions and have blundered in a totally different direction," suggested Baskett.
"Such an instance is not unknown," added Quinton.
"Then I propose to make several ever-widening circles. We ought to command a field extending twenty-five miles from the Pole. Let us return to the 'Meteor.'"
Rising to a height of five hundred feet the airship began to circle. In five minutes she had passed through every one of the three hundred and sixty degrees of longitude.
Miles of dreary waste lay beneath them. There was nothing to mark the position of the North Pole save the almost invisible hut and two flags, and nothing to break the horizon where the white plain merged into the pale blue of the Arctic sky.
Presently Dacres discovered signs of open water. A broad sea, its coast-line extending through a hundred and eighty degrees of longitude, proved conclusively that Cardyke could not have blundered far in that direction. It was fairly evident the five men had retraced their steps. The question that puzzled Whittinghame was, how could the "Meteor" have missed the party on its flight to the Pole?
"We'll make our way back," he announced. "By keeping a zig-zag course we ought to come across some traces of them. Fifteen miles to the right and left of their supposed route ought to be ample."
To this the two naval officers agreed; but as the vertical rudders were being put hard over, Dacres called the Captain's attention to a dark object in a hollow at less than two miles off.
"It's far too large for a tent, Dacres," said Whittinghame. "But we may as well investigate. To me it looks like a——yes, by George, it is! It's a derelict balloon."
"André!" exclaimed Baskett.
"I think you are right," said Whittinghame.
"Yes, it has been a balloon. There is the car, half-buried in snow. Evidently in strong winds the snow-drifts are uncovered, or otherwise in twenty years the remains would be buried fathoms deep."
"Are you going to investigate, sir?" asked Dr. Hambrough.
"Much as I should like to," replied Whittinghame gravely, "I must decline. The claims of those who may yet be living are more pressing than those of the gallant dead. Perhaps, another time——"
He broke off abruptly to conceal his emotion, then having steadied the "Meteor" on her course, he relinquished the navigation into the hands of his able assistants.
For a long time no word was spoken. The memories of that mournful wreck deeply affected the spirits of the intrepid rescuers. They felt the irony of the situation, for had the gallant Frenchman delayed his ill-fated aerial voyage but a few years he might have been able to have made good use of a dirigible instead of drifting helplessly to his doom amid the awful solitudes of the Arctic.
Zig-zagging against the wind after the manner of a sailing-ship tacking, the "Meteor" resumed her quest. Two hours passed without result. The airship was now almost within sight of the newly-opened sea caused by the breaking up of the ice-floes.
The crew were almost despairing of success, for twice the supposed route of Cardyke's party had been examined. The Lieutenant and his men had left the Pole: they could not cross the barrier formed by the open sea. Where had they gone? Had they been buried beneath an almost irresistible blizzard? To add to the difficulties of the look-out, the sun was shining almost into the men's eyes, while an enormous tract of snow was covered by the reflected glare.
"We'll carry on till we are above the end of the pack-ice," said Whittinghame. "Then, if we haven't sighted them, we'll turn again and go back to the Pole. It is just possible——"
"What's that, sir?" interrupted Hambrough, his usually quiet manner giving place to intense excitability. "See! almost beneath us!"
In another fifteen seconds the "Meteor" would have overshot the mark. Signalling full speed astern, Whittinghame kept the spot indicated by the doctor under observation.
Five hundred feet below was a small black patch. It seemed so insignificant that it resembled a fur cap accidently dropped upon that trackless waste.
Under the retarding influence of the propellors the airship trembled so violently that it was almost an impossibility to bring glasses to bear upon the desired object, but when the "Meteor" lost way and orders had been given to the engineers to stop the motors, the occupants of the navigation-room were able to examine the solitary relic.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Dacres. "It's a tent. Look. There are the skis sticking up in the snow. Seven, eight, nine, ten of them. Then, the five men are there."
"Hurrah!" shouted Baskett. "Are you going to let off a rocket, or hail them, sir?"
"Neither," replied Whittinghame shortly. He was tremendously excited, only he knew that there was a chance that even now they might be too late.
Quickly the powerful pumps were set to work, and as the required number of ballonettes were exhausted the "Meteor" sank gently to the snow-clad ground. Thanks to the almost total absence of wind her anchors held without difficulty, although she had grounded nearly eight hundred yards to leeward of the tent.
Leaving Setchell in charge, the rest of the officers lost no time in descending the rope-ladder and making for the resting-place of the explorers. Somehow the rescuing party felt strained. They could hardly understand why, in almost perfect weather as far as the Polar climate went, the five men were not resuming their homeward march. The utter solitude of the black fur tent seemed ominous.
Although presenting the appearance of a level plain when viewed from above, the ground was rough, and encumbered with hummocks, while here and there deep but narrow fissures required care and skill on the part of the rescue party. Occasionally a deep groaning sound betokened the appalling fact that the ground was one vast ice-floe in momentary danger of breaking up.
If the five men were still alive, how could they be indifferent to the danger that now threatened them?
Whittinghame was the first to gain the tent. With numbed fingers he cut the lashings that secured the flaps of the outer and inner coverings and peered within.
Five fur-clad forms lay upon a pile of skins, their heads buried in their arms. Whether they were sleeping the long last sleep that knows no awakening in this world, Whittinghame could not tell. Nervelessly he backed out and signed to Dacres to enter.
"Dead?" asked Dacres laconically.