by Nevil Shute
Presently Ross turned the machine into the wind pointing down Southampton Water, and peered around in all directions. Then he glanced back over his shoulder at the girl. “All right, Miss Lockwood?”
She moistened her lips. “I’m quite ready.”
He smiled. “I’m going to take her off now. Just sit relaxed in your seat—there won’t be any motion.”
The engine opened out with a roar: she saw him press his wheel forward, felt the machine rise and trim forward on the floats. Then they were running over the surface of the water; from her seat she could watch the port float, watch the feathery spray as it flew sideways from its midship section. The feather grew smaller; quite suddenly it was not there at all. She looked up, wondering; to her surprise the trees upon the bank were level now with the machine, falling below her. They were fifty feet up.
In front of her, the pilot was playing a complicated fantasia upon his controls. He throttled back, and the harsh note of the engine sank to a lower tone. He wound a little handle in the roof above his head, felt the wheel, and wound the handle half a turn further. He wound another little handle on the floor between his feet; the machine yawed from side to side till he was satisfied. Then he turned to a thing like a gigantic fishing reel low down beside his feet; it started to rotate and the copper wire upon it rapidly grew less.
Presently, to her alarm, the New Forest got up vertically beside the wing tip and began to revolve. In a moment it settled down again, and she found that they were heading westwards down the Solent.
The pilot was delicately adjusting the condenser of his wireless receiver. He took the headphones from his head-and passed them over to the don. “Radio Normandie,” he said. “It’s quite clear now.”
Lockwood took the headphones diffidently and put them on as the Isle of Wight passed by below them. He heard the closing bars of a dance tune, the silvery notes of a bell. Then he heard a clear woman’s voice. “Mrs. Jones—I must tell you about my Elsie, three years old last March. Her tongue was dreadfully coated yesterday morning, and she was ever so listless and fretful. Mrs. Johnson advised me to give her Candy-Iax, the delicious children’s laxative that tastes just like Edinburgh Rock. My dear—it was marvellous. You really ought to——”
The don removed the headphones from his ears. The pilot said: “There’s none of that ignition noise there now, is there?”
Lockwood shook his head. “It’s very clear.” He did not know what ignition noise would sound like, but the wireless seemed to work all right. He handed back the headpiece.
“I’ll just try the transmission again.” For a time the pilot busied himself with the tapping key, head down, intent upon the wireless. Uncontrolled, the aeroplane held a straight course, climbing slowly and heading out to sea. For a quarter of an hour they went on like that, the coast-line gradually receding behind them. Lockwood and the girl gradually relaxed in their seats. In this noisy, motionless ascent over the sea there was nothing to disturb them; they found themselves capable of looking round, appreciating their situation. They noticed that it had grown considerably colder.
Presently the pilot took the headphones off and hung them on a hook beside him. “It’s quite O.K.,” he said. “I was working Croydon and Bristol then.”
Lockwood asked: “How high up are we?”
“Seven thousand.” Ross showed him the altimeter.
He glanced at the far line of the shore, fifteen miles away on his right hand, and swung the machine round. He throttled a little to prevent her climbing higher, took his hands from the wheel, and half turned in his seat. “Are you quite comfortable, Miss Lockwood?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s a bit cold.”
“I know. I’ll bring her down in a minute. Does the noise worry you?”
“Not now. It did at first.”
“If you’ll remind me, I’ll get some cotton-wool for your ears before we start. Are there any draughts round that seat?”
“There’s one by my legs.”
He nodded. “I’ll see if I can fix it when we get down. See if you can see where it’s coming in.”
He turned again to his wheel and throttled down. The engine noise died away and a whispering rush of air succeeded it; the nose fell below the horizon and they sank down towards the sea. At two thousand feet, with the Isle of Wight before them, the pilot opened up again; he turned to the don beside him.
“I think she’s quite all right, sir. Would you like to stay up a bit longer, or shall we go home now?”
Lockwood said: “I’m quite comfortable here. But I should go back if you’ve got anything to do.”
The pilot nodded his agreement, and began reeling in the aerial.
They passed swiftly over the Solent, over the New Forest between Lymington and Beaulieu, and round over Hythe at about five hundred feet. He throttled back and sank towards the water, flattened his glide, lifted her to the stall, and rubbed the heels of his floats gently into the surface. The seaplane sank forward on to the body of the floats, bit down into the water, and came to rest. Ross turned her, and taxied in towards the slip.
The floats grated gently on the concrete, Ross switched off, and the men in waders busied themselves with the beaching wheels. Ross turned to Lockwood, and indicated two figures on the shore. “There’s your brother, sir, with Mr. Hanson.”
The cable was attached, and the machine was pulled up to the hangar at the head of the slipway. Ross got out first, helped his passengers down on to the float, and so to the ground. Sir David came to meet them. “Well, Cyril—how do you like flying?”
The don said: “I think it’s very pleasant. We seemed to go a long way in a short time.”
“That’s what you do it for.” Sir David turned to the pilot. “I saw you make a very perfect landing.”
Ross said: “She’s a very nice seaplane, sir. She’s very stable, but the control’s there when you want it. They’re really very easy to fly, these things.”
Her uncle turned to Alix. “What about you, Alix? Feel like going to Greenland in it?”
She nodded. “It’s all right. But my feet got very cold.”
Ross turned to her. “If you’ll show me where that draught comes in, Miss Lockwood, I’ll see if we can do something about it.” They got back into the cabin and bent over her seat. “Oh, I see—where the petrol pipe goes through. I’ll get a bit of soft leather put over that.”
The Lockwoods went off together to the hotel; the pilot stood by the door of the hangar with Hanson. Wearily he pulled his cigarette case out, and offered one to the secretary. “Well, that’s the first part of job done,” he said, and blew a long cloud of smoke. “I never thought we’d get the bloody thing through in the time.”
Hanson said: “Is everything going all right now, Mr. Ross?”
The pilot nodded. “I’m quite happy about her now. I’ll stay on and see her filled up to-night, and then we’ll be all ready to start in the morning.”
The secretary looked at him keenly. “I’m afraid you’ve had a hard time over this thing, Mr. Ross. I never would have believed that there’d be so much work in it.”
Ross nodded. “That’s so,” he said. “The hard work in a show like this is before you start.”
“You’re feeling all right, yourself?”
“Oh, I’m all right. I’ll go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep to-night, now that the machine’s ready. Then off we go in the morning.”
The secretary made no comment. Presently he went up to the hotel, after the others. “I’ll see you up there, later on,” said the pilot.
He turned back to the machine. With the ground engineer to help him he changed the engine oil, and cleaned the fuel and oil filters. They took off the engine cowling, opened the valve covers, and checked the tappet clearances of eighteen valves with a feeler. Then they replaced the cowling, had the machine pushed beneath the petrol hose, and filled in fuel for twelve hundred miles. They drained the sump of each petrol tank in turn.
Final
ly they rested against the float. “That’s the lot then,” said the gound engineer. “She’s all ready for you in the morning, now.”
The pilot nodded; he was very tired. “I wish we were starting next week,” he said. “There’s always too much bloody rush about these jobs.”
“That’s so,” the man said. “Still, you got her through in time, and that’s the main thing. I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with her.” He stroked the float, almost affectionately.
“She’ll be all right,” said Ross. He went back to the hotel, got out of his overalls and had a wash, and went down to the lounge. He found Sir David there alone. “Have a drink, Mr. Ross.”
The pilot said: “I’ll have a tomato juice, sir.”
He lit a cigarette with quick, nervous movements and sipped his strange, unsatisfying drink. They talked for a short time about the expedition. The manufacturer said: “I’m sorry that you aren’t taking an engineer with you. It would have made things easier. I see that now.”
Ross shook his head. “I shan’t need one. There’ll only be three stops before we get to Julianehaab—at Invergordon, Reykjavik, and Angmagsalik. I can manage alone for that length of time. Then when we pick up Jameson I shall have all the help I want.”
Sir David eyed him keenly. “Now, are you really sure about that? I’m quite prepared to cut out Alix now and send an engineer instead, if you think that would be safer.”
“I wouldn’t do that, sir. We shall be quite all right as we are.”
“Is Alix behaving herself?”
The pilot smiled slowly. “She didn’t much like it when I told her to take off her skirt.” He added a few details of the incident.
Her uncle smiled with him. “It’s going to be good for her, this trip. I hope you won’t find her a difficult passenger.”
The pilot yawned, and stretched himself. “There’s no such thing in transport,” he said drily. “The passenger is always right, like the customer. One time I took a goat in the machine from Churchill to Eastmain—and did he stink! But we got along all right.”
Sir David eyed the pilot with new interest.
They dined together in a party, talking about the route; the pilot would drink nothing but water. At the conclusion of the meal he turned to Lockwood.
“I think I’ll leave you now, and go to bed. I’d like to have breakfast to-morrow at half-past seven and get away from here soon after eight, if that suits you, sir. If we do that we should be up at Invergordon easily by tea-time.”
Lockwood said: “Make whatever arrangements for us you think best, Mr. Ross. We’ll do whatever you say.”
The pilot smiled. “All right—I’ll tell them about the breakfast in the office. Good night, sir. Good night, Miss Lockwood.”
“Good night, Mr. Ross.”
He left them, and went upstairs. Alix followed him a little later. Sir David went out with his brother and walked a little way down the road with him as they finished their cigars.
“I should keep an eye on that young chap, Cyril,” he said presently. “See that he doesn’t do all the work.”
The don nodded. “I’m afraid he’s had rather a hard time in the last few days.”
“Hanson was talking to me about that before dinner. None of us realised how much he’d have to do before the flight began.”
“That’s very true. Do you think he ought to have a few days’ rest before we start?”
Sir David shook his head. “He wouldn’t take it. He wants to get on. No, just keep an eye on him—and see that Alix makes things easy for him, too. He’s looking very different now to when we saw him first.”
“He’s thinner, isn’t he?”
The other nodded. “I keep on thinking that we should have sent an engineer with him. Still, it’s too late to make an alteration now.”
AN OLD CAPTIVITY
IV
IN the warm morning sunlight the machine moved down the slipway to the water. Knee-deep in water, the men removed her beaching wheels for the last time, and she taxied out slowly from the shore. At the water’s edge Sir David and his secretary stood in city clothes waving to them with their umbrellas; from the cramped cabin of the seaplane Alix and her father waved in reply. The pilot opened his throttle a little and took the seaplane over to the far shore.
The day was already hot; at that slow speed the heat was stifling in the cabin. None of them were wearing flying clothes. Lockwood and Ross wore tweed coats and grey flannel trousers; the girl wore her grey coat and skirt and a silk blouse. The back of the cabin was piled high with their sleeping-bags, luggage, and emergency rations; the flying suits were on top, ready if they were wanted on the way. It would be possible for Lockwood and his daughter to get out of their seats and put on flying suits in the air; the pilot would have to stay as he was till they landed.
The take-off, with twelve hundred miles of fuel on board, went moderately well. There was a light south-easterly breeze blowing up Southampton Water; the pilot headed into this and opened his throttle full. Then as she gathered speed slowly he worked with his elevators to rock her forward on to the step of the floats; she ploughed ahead, leaving a deep wash. Half a mile from the start he got her up on to the step; thereafter she gained speed quickly and finally left the surface after about a mile. For a few moments he nursed her upwards from the water, tense and alert; then as she gained speed he put her into a normal climb, and relaxed.
Lockwood said: “We seemed to go a long way on the water.”
“I know. She’s got fuel for twelve hundred miles on board. If we get her off with thirteen fifty, it’s all she’ll ever do. Of course, there’s not a lot of wind.”
“How far is it to Invergordon?”
“About seven hundred and fifty miles, the way we go. We’ve got to keep round the coast. Say six and a half hours. We ought to get there at about four o’clock, if all goes well.”
He turned, and began flying eastwards down the coast of England, past Portsmouth and Brighton, on to Dungeness.
It was about nine o’clock in the morning. Ross climbed the machine slowly to about four thousand feet; the temperature up there was moderate. He reeled out his aerial and tested his wireless again, then settled down to the flight. The weather was perfect. The south coast of England, flat and uninteresting from the air, passed slowly by them. For the first half-hour Lockwood and the girl were interested and asked many questions about the towns they passed, the speed of the machine, and the height. Then they fell silent; the seaplane droned monotonously on.
The end of the first hour found them a little way past Dungeness, nearing Dover. He left the coast at Folkestone and cut across the end of Kent on a course for the Norfolk coast. They passed near Margate, and headed out over the Thames estuary.
By eleven o’clock they were near Yarmouth, cutting across a corner of the land again on their way to the coast of Lincolnshire.
The pilot sat motionless at the wheel. He wore a flying helmet fitted with headphones; he had turned on the radio to one of the continental stations and was listening to dance music. From time to time he made a small adjustment to the tail control above his head; as fuel was consumed the trim of the machine altered very slightly. Now and again he pulled a map from beneath his leg and compared it with some feature on the ground; from time to time he did a little sum upon a slide rule to check his ground speed. Every twenty minutes he re-set the directional gyro in agreement with the compass. These little occupations lessened the monotony for him; between them he listened to the dance band.
In the seat beside him, Lockwood had fallen asleep.
Behind the pilot Alix sat motionless, staring at the slowly moving countryside. She had not expected that a flight would be like this. She had expected that to fly would be thrilling, or at least interesting. In fact, she found that it was neither. Her head felt sick and woolly from the clamour of the engine. A patch of sunlight lay across her lap; that part of her in the sun was unbearably hot, out of the sun she was a little cold. She
could not move to any other seat; there was no blind to be pulled down.
They had been two hours in the machine; already she was tired, bored, and cross. The pilot said there were another five hours to go.
Her seat was getting very hard. She shifted her position uneasily.
At twelve o’clock they passed the mouth of the Humber, and Spurn Head. There were clouds in the sky now, and more ahead; the day was gradually becoming overcast as they got further north. Lockwood was awake again and studying the map, comparing it with the coast. Behind them the girl was falling into an uneasy coma of fatigue.
Presently Ross suggested lunch. They had brought sandwiches with them from the hotel at Hythe; they ate these off Sunderland, proceeding steadily towards Scotland. The food woke them up, and refreshed them. The weather here was almost wholly overcast and rather cold; they came down to fifteen hundred feet and felt better.
At two o’clock they were off the Firth of Forth; away to the west they saw the smoke of Leith and Edinburgh. They crossed the mouth of the firth and met the coast again at Arbroath; then for nearly an hour they followed it to Aberdeen. At Aberdeen they took a cut across the land, and came to Banff at about three o’clock.
Up there the day was bright again, and the sun warm. Ross turned north-west by compass for Cromarty; presently he was able to show his passengers an indentation in the heather-covered cliffs ahead, and an appearance of water behind.
“Cromarty Firth,” he said. “Invergordon’s on the north side somewhere.”
Lockwood smiled. “I shan’t be sorry to get there.”
“I know. It’s very boring, isn’t it?”
He turned and spoke to Alix: “Are you very tired, Miss Lockwood?”
She shook her head. “No—I’m not tired. But I shall be very glad to get out.”
“So shall I.”
Ross brought the machine down to a thousand feet and flew into Cromarty from the sea. He had never been there before, but he found Invergordon without difficulty and circled low over the water to find the red buoy that he had arranged should be prepared for him to moor the seaplane to. He saw it in the position that he had arranged, a little to the west of the main jetty. There were no ships in the firth, and no sign of any boat to meet him at the buoy. He went up to a thousand feet again and turned to Lockwood.
