Greeted by a tremendous fire from the German Archibalds, the raiders returned in safety; for the Huns, baffled by the thick weather, could only fire at random. With a few minor damages the airmen regained their respective parent ships, and then it was discovered that Barcroft and Kirkwood had not returned. None of the other flying men had sighted their machine after the first few minutes of the outward flight. It was therefore concluded that the two men were lost, and notwithstanding Fuller's request to make a search, the "Hippodrome" and her consorts steamed westward.
Although Barcroft felt acute disappointment at finding that the vessels had left the rendezvous, he realised that no blame could be attached to the officers responsible for the order to return. Had he flown straight back he might have been in time, but it was the bombing of the battleship that had delayed him.
"It's jolly well worth it," he soliloquised. "But we look like being in the cart again. I begin to think that Kirkwood is a bit of a Jonah, although hitherto he's managed to turn up safely. Hope his luck—and mine—will still hold good."
A motionless blade of the propeller, coming across his field of vision, betokened the unpleasant fact that the motor had refused duty. Almost imperturbably Billy held on to the joy-stick, guiding the seaplane on her long seaward glide.
The A.P., thinking that something had befallen his chum, leant over the curved deck of the chassis and touched his shoulder.
Barcroft smiled in reply and pointed to the empty petrol-tank—a smile that restored his companion's confidence. Nevertheless the vol plane was a dangerous one. The reduction of the wing-spread, bad enough when the machine was driving furiously through the air, caused the seaplane to slip badly while solely under the attraction of gravity. Should a "slip" occur just before the floats took the water the chance of a fatal capsize were almost a dead certainty.
Realising such a possibility the A.P., who had already unbuckled his waist-strap, kept on the alert, ready at the first sign of a disaster to hack through his companion's belt with a keen knife. Even then he wondered what was the use? With no help in sight their fruitless struggle for life would only be unnecessarily prolonged. Then came the opposing thought: while there's life there's hope, and never say die till you're dead.
Again the volplaning craft side-slipped. Barcroft was only just in time to regain control, and making a faultless "landing," brought his command to an aerial rest upon the surface. It could not be termed other than an aerial rest, for the simple reason that the waterborne fabric was rolling and pitching in the short steep seas that are to be met with off the flat Frisian shore.
"For one thing the day is long," thought Billy as he stood upright upon the deck of the swaying chassis and, supporting himself by one of the struts, looked fixedly in the direction of the pursuing torpedo-boats. They were no longer visible, the difference in altitude having put them below the horizon, but the ominous clouds of smoke told the flight-sub that the Huns were still persisting in their search. It was just possible, however, that they might pass some miles to windward and not sight the inconspicuous disabled seaplane in that waste of waters.
Even supposing such to be the case, what fate was in store for the crew of this helpless machine? This part of the North Sea on which they had alighted was a sort of nautical No Man's Land. Fishing vessels gave it a wide berth, fearing the deadly and unseen menace of the mines. Merchantmen no longer followed the once busy maritime highway that led to the erstwhile prosperous port of Hamburg. Save for rare excursions on the part of the German torpedo flotillas and the occasional "sweeps" of Beatty's light cruisers and destroyers nothing afloat was likely to pass that way. Should the seaplane remain seaborne sufficiently long she might drift ashore, but from the direction of the wind it was pretty obvious that she would do so somewhere on the German Frisian group outside the southern portion of the chain of islands belonging to neutral Holland.
The A.P. nudged his companion and tendered his cigarette case. Kirkwood was already smoking a pipe on the principle that he never knew when he might have a chance of another. Billy took the proffered cigarette and lit it. The tobacco seemed tasteless. With his lack of speech the flavour of the fragrant weed was denied him.
Nearer and nearer came the smudges of smoke. The Huns were hard on the track of the crippled seaplane. Already Barcroft could distinguish the grey funnels just visible above the sky-line.
"We must destroy our maps and documents," he wrote. "When I give the word smash the floats. Don't forget your air-collar."
Fumbling in the locker the observer produced a pneumatic life-saving arrangement, which, when inflated, was capable of supporting its wearer for an indefinite time.
Suddenly in the midst of the task of inflating the collar Kirkwood removed the tube from his lips. The air rushed out, and the rubber fabric collapsed like a punctured pneumatic tyre, while the A.P. stared with wide-open eyes at something not more than a hundred yards distant above the surface of the water.
"A periscope, by Jove!" he exclaimed, making a grab at his maps and papers. They, at all events, had to be destroyed.
Although his companion heard not a sound his attention was attracted by Kirkwood's manner. He, too, saw the spar-like object forging slowly ahead—so slowly that the cleavage of the water was insufficient to throw up the usual tell-tale feather of spray.
Deliberately, almost human-like, the eye of the periscope turned slowly in a complete circle. The submarine, satisfied that there was no immediate danger to be anticipated, shook herself clear of the water, disclosing her conning-tower and a portion of the hull of one of the British G Class.
Hardly able to credit their good fortune the flight-sub and his companion thrust their maps into their pockets and began to wave for assistance a quite unnecessary act since the lieutenant-commander of G 21 had already concluded rightly that the airmen were his compatriots in distress.
Five or six of her crew appearing on the long, narrow deck, the ungainly hull of the submarine, skilfully manoeuvred, approached sufficiently close to enable Kirkwood to catch a coil of rope, and the seaplane was hauled alongside.
"Jump, sir!" shouted a petty officer.
Although unable to hear the words Barcroft understood the gesture. He waited until his observer had leapt, then seizing a small axe from the body of the fuselage, he shattered each of the frail floats, and as his command sank beneath his feet he scrambled up the bulging side of the rescuing submarine.
"Barcroft's deaf and dumb," Kirkwood explained to a sympathetic lieutenant. "You'd better look sharp. There are a dozen strafed torpedo-boats after us."
"P'raps it's as well if we do," commented the officer. "I'll trouble you for your yarn when we are snugly down below."
In less than a minute the crew and the rescued airmen were hermetically sealed in the hull of G 21, and descending to a depth of fifteen fathoms the submarine rested upon the bed of the North Sea until the German torpedo-craft, foiled in their endeavour to locate their quarry, steamed back to the security of the inner roadstead of Heligoland.
CHAPTER XXXIX
AND LAST
A WEEK later found Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft a patient in a large Naval Hospital somewhere on the East Coast. His case was an interesting one as far as the medical officers were concerned, but far from it from a strictly personal point of view. The medicos, expressing their belief in their ability to restore the young officer's powers of speech and hearing, were unremitting in their attentions, so far without success.
Billy, after the first fit of despondency had passed, was still far from sanguine as to the result of the numerous operations and experiments performed by the hospital staff. Unable to communicate with any one except by means of paper and pencil, he had already come to the conclusion that his flying days were over. He might hope for a partial restoration of his lost senses, but nothing more. There was one thought to console him. He had not been rendered blind by the terrific glare as his gigantic victim was blown sky high. The blessing of sight was still his.