Dastral of the Flying Corps

by Rowland Walker

  CHAPTER II

  THE FERRY PILOT

  IT was an hour before dawn, and the stars had not yet faded from theskies, when a group of air mechanics at one of the aerodromes justnorth of London were busy about the ailerons and fuselage of a newmachine, which was destined to fly across the Channel that day, andto join one of the British Squadrons on the other side.

  The secret of the machine had been well kept, and only a favoured fewhad been permitted to see the "hornet," as she was called. Greatthings were claimed for her when she joined one of the activesquadrons, now fighting in France for the supremacy of the air.

  Just a few folk in Old Blighty had been scared by the advent of theFokker, the new German aeroplane which had recently come intoexistence, and for which such wonderful things were being claimeddaily by the German "wireless."

  "Double up there, you sleepy imps!" yelled Old Snorty, the aerodromesergeant-major, a short, stout, florid, shiver-my-timbers type ofdisciplinarian. And another squad of sleepy air-mechanics, just outfrom their blankets, doubled up smartly to give a hand.

  In a few minutes the hornet in question was ready for her long flightoverseas. Every wire and strut had been carefully examined andproved, for men's lives depended upon the testing, and oiling, andstraining. And now the silent, filmy thing was waiting only for thepilot and observer.

  A sound of footsteps upon the soft turf of the aerodrome was heard,and voices carried lightly down the soft morning air.

  "Halt! Who goes there?" called the sentry, standing near by, and atthe same instant a hand lamp was flashed in the direction of thenewcomers.

  The sentry, however, appeared to recognise sonic importantpersonality approaching, like the mastiff who knows, as if byinstinct, the approach of his master, for, without waiting for ananswer to his challenge, he shouted:--

  "Guard, turn out!"

  And instantly, the men in the guard tent turned out in time to salutethe Commanding Officer of the Squadron, who came by with Dastral, thepilot, and Fisker, the observer.

  Simultaneously, the air mechanics sprang to attention, as they stoodabout the hornet. Then, after a couple of minutes spent in chattingwith the adventurers, who were about to sail forth on the wings ofthe morning, the O.C. and the pilot flung away their cigarettes andgave a few apparently casual glances over the framework by the aid ofthe hand-lamps.

  "Better load up with a few twenty pound bombs, Dastral," laughed theO.C. "You may have the chance of using one going over seas. You neverknow your luck."

  "Yes, sir," replied the youth.

  A moment later the pilot and observer were seated in the biplane,snugly wrapped in their thick leather coats, their hands encased inhuge gauntlets, and their helmets tightly drawn about their ears,ready for the morning adventure.

  Dastral gave a final glance around, his hand already on the controls,then gave a nod to the chief of the ground staff.

  "Swing the propellor!" came next, followed by "Stand clear!"

  "Whiz-z-z!" went the huge blades, and, as the pilot switched on thecurrent, the engines--powerful 100 horse-power ones, capable of some1400 or 1500 revolutions a minute--broke into their wonderful song,and with a final word of parting from the Squadron Commander, themachine taxied off rapidly over the level turf.

  "Burr-r-r-r!"

  The air seemed full of a mighty sound, and a terrible vibrationfilled the heavens. It was the song of the aeroplane.

  At a hundred yards, in response to a very slight movement of thejoy-stick, the winged creature leapt into the air, then circledaround once or twice, climbing rapidly up to a couple of thousandfeet, and made off south by south-east.

  The first whisper of dawn came out of the east as the hornet headedoff towards the great city, for a filmy streak of grey, followed by asaffron tint, appeared in the sky low down on their left hand. Thestars overhead began to fade and disappear, as though withdrawn intothe vaulted dome overhead. Then the saffron turned to crimson, andsoon the eastern horizon was aflame with light, for, as the machinerose higher and higher, the horizon broadened, and the whole earthseemed to lie at her feet.

  Now they were over the city, and the pilot laughed joyously, for hewas exhilarated by the bracing air which rushed past him at atremendous rate.

  "Look there, Jock," he cried, pointing down far below, where, throughthe gloom which still enfolded the lower regions, a faint silverystreak showed where the majestic Thames rolled down under its manybridges to the sea.

  Jock Fisker, his chum and observer, who was destined to see many anadventure with Dastral in the near future, peered over the side ofthe fuselage, and noted the river and the many spires of the greatcity. He saw the thin spire of St. Bride's reaching up towards him,St. Martin's, and St. Clement Danes'; and then, as the upper rim ofthe sun appeared above the horizon, he saw the blue-grey dome of St.Paul's Cathedral, and caught the flash of the sun upon the goldencross above it.

  "How glorious!" Dastral ejaculated, half turning his head every nowand then for Fisker to hear, as some impulse moved him but half thewords were lost, or carried on by the rushing air into infinitude.

  Soon, they left the southern outskirts of London far behind, and, asthe daylight broadened, they looked upon the Surrey Downs, and thewide heath of the rolling countryside. Village after village theypassed, with its red tiled roofs and church spire pointingheavenwards, but onwards, always onwards, they sped towards the whitecliffs and the sea.

  The slender, filmy thing had found herself this morning, for theR.A.F. engines were working splendidly, doing already nearly fifteenhundred revolutions a minute. Vibrating with an intensity that wasperfectly marvellous, considering her fragile build, with everystrut, bolt and wire in perfect unison, the hornet sailedmajestically along at over eighty miles an hour, as though on apleasure trip, instead of a life and death errand; for in reality shewas bound overseas to join the forces in their fight for freedom'scause.

  Now they were in Kent, the garden of England, and far below were thecherry orchards and the hop-fields. With his glasses Jock could nowand then pick out a few farm labourers, already trudging along theroads, or working in the fields.

  "There is the railway, Dastral!" shouted the observer, as he pickedup the narrow thread of metals winding along towards Tunbridge.

  "Yes, I see it now," replied his comrade, bringing his glasses tobear on the object for which he had been keenly searching for someminutes.

  "Straight road now. Give her a few more points eastward."

  Dastral altered the controls a little, and, banking slightly, thehornet came round smartly upon her new course, which, for the rest ofthe journey to the coast, was almost due east.

  The continuous roar of the engines and the whir-r-r of the propellermade conversation almost impossible, except for a few short, jerkysentences, uttered in a loud, shrill voice, and accompanied bycorresponding gestures.

  The world beneath them was waking up now, for the two aviators couldsee the smoke ascending from the chimneys of a few scatteredfarmhouses and cottages. The birds, too, were astir, and the larks,mounting up towards the sun, made sweet music which was drowned inthe whir-r-r of that strange-looking bird of prey, which sailedserenely above them. Instinct, however, made the songsters shrink andflee away from that hawk-like menace with stretched-out wings, forthey evidently feared that it might swoop down upon and destroy them.

  "Dover!" shouted the observer suddenly, as the Cinque Port came intoview.

  "Yes, by Jove! So it is. I hope they won't turn the guns of the fortupon us."

  "No fear. They'll have been warned of our coming by now."

  A minute later, they opened out the sea, the forts, and Shakespeare'sCliff, and within another three minutes they had crossed the boundaryof sea and land, and at a tremendous altitude were gliding over theChannel.

  "Nine thousand!" yelled Dastral, turning his head towards Jock, aftercasting a brief glance at his indicator.

  "Now let her rip," cried the other, for in climbing to get therequired height to rush
the Channel, the machine had lost speed.

  "Right-o!" came the answer.

  So, in order to get speed quickly, Dastral did a little nose dive ofabout three hundred feet, then flattened out again, intending to rushthe Channel at one hundred and twenty miles an hour, lest they shouldslip unconsciously into an air-pocket.

  As he did so, he noticed a flash of fire followed by a puff of whitesmoke down at the Castle.

  "A signal!" shouted Jock, who had noticed the occurrence at the sameinstant.

  "Yes, they want to speak to us," and with a circling sweep themachine came round as Dastral pulled the joy-stick hard over, andswept back again until he hung right over Dover Castle.

  "Can you make it out, old man?" asked the pilot.

  "Yes, I have it," cried Fisker, whose eyes had been glued to a spoton the Castle grounds just at the top of the hill overlooking thenaval harbour.

  "What is it? Do they want us to go down?"

  "No. The Commander of the fort says there are several enemysubmarines in the Channel, and requests us to keep a sharp look-outfor them as we cross over."

  "Cheery-o, Jock! That's good news. I'm going to drop down a bit,then. There's a D.S.O. for you if you spot one. Here goes!" And withthat, Dastral jammed over the controls again, and did a neat nosedive of two thousand feet, looping the loop once or twice just toexpress his joy, and give vent to his feelings.

  Jock had picked up this information from a few white strips ofcalico, which had been stretched out in a curious fashion within theCastle grounds. To a trained observer like Fisker, it was merechild's play to read a code signal like that.

  And now the daring joy-riders, keenly watched by hundreds of eyes fardown below, left the shore once again, and the naval harbour with itsshipping, and headed for the French coast, watching the surface ofthe sea as though they would read its secret.

  "East-south-east, Dastral! That's the course till we sight theopposite shore," shouted Jock to his comrade, who, he thought, in hisexcitement and eagerness to spot a submarine lurking in the depths,might miss his way, as many a brave aviator before him had done.

  "Right-o!" came the answer to this reminder, for the French coast washid as yet in the morning mist. Then the course was altered slightlyonce again, in order to make a proper landfall on the other side.

  They were flying low now, much lower than the usual regulationspermitted, for it is necessary to keep a good altitude in crossingthe Channel, not only because of the chance of running into a strayair-pocket, but to enable one to 'plane to safety should anything gowrong with the engines, for only a seaplane can ride the waves like aship; and this was no seaplane they were riding to-day.

  Far down below them they could see the patrol boats hunting for theirprey. They could also see the mine-sweepers at work, clearing thefairway from those foul nests of floating mines which the crafty foehad been busy laying with their submarines. Once or twice theythought they could make out some dark-grey object like a mine orsunken vessel beneath the surface of the water.

  A string of mine-sweepers were stretched out below them now. Theycould see them distinctly, could see even the long nets that trailedbetween them, for the sun was gaining power and the morning mistswere rolling away. The grey expanse of water took on another hue,changing from a dull grey to a greenish tint, with patches here andthere of deep blue, where the water deepened, or the surface of themirror reflected a corresponding patch of the azure above.

  Keenly now they searched the face of the deep for any dark speck,for, from an aeroplane, it is possible to look far down, often evento the bed of the sea; but as yet they saw nothing, save anoccasional piece of wreckage, which had probably detached itself andfloated from the treacherous Goodwins, away to the eastward and thenorthward--those treacherous shoals which hold the remains of so manygallant barques and vessels, from the Roman galley to the modernliner.

  They had not long left the mine-sweepers on their port quarter whenJock, through his glasses, noted something like a string ofporpoises, which, owing to the motion of the waves, appeared to betravelling along. They seemed so regular and orderly in theirmovement, however, that he was about to pass them over. Thinking,however, that he would like to call Dastral's attention to them, heshouted:--

  "Starboard bow, Dastral! Look at 'em! What are they? Not mines,surely. Look like porpoises, only they're not dark enough, and theydon't tumble about much."

  Dastral peered over the side of the cockpit and looked down.

  "Can't say," he ejaculated.

  "Let's go down a bit lower, old man," said Fisker.

  "Aye, aye. Hold tight!" cried the pilot, for he noticed that Jock wasstanding up and leaning over, unstrapped.

  "Right away! I'm all right," replied the observer, squatting down,and pressing his knees against the knee-board, which is the life-lineof the aeroplane.

  And down they went in a graceful nose-dive till they were within fivehundred feet of the surface of the water, with the engines shut off.Then, as they flattened out, both men peered over the side again, andDastral was the first to exclaim:--

  "Porpoises be hanged! They're German mines. A whole string of themfloating about in the fairway, ready for the first ship that comesalong. The dirty Huns!"

  "Snakes alive! So they are. Now I can make them out quite plainly; Ican even see the horns and contacts through my glasses. Phew!There'll be a deuce of a mess shortly unless they're cleared up."

  "Look alive, old man, or there'll be trouble!" shouted the pilot.

  "How so?"

  "See that ocean tramp coming up Channel. She's a seven thousandtonner, and her cargo's worth a couple of hundred thousand. She'll beright on the string of mines directly, and then--gee whiz!--there'llbe fireworks, and another valuable cargo will have gone to DavyJones' locker."

  The mine-sweepers were about a couple of miles away by this time, butthe Commodore of the little fleet had seen the rapid nose-dive of thehornet, and knew that something unusual was happening.

  He had already strung out the signal for a boat to detach its netsand proceed at full steam to the spot, for he thought that themachine was coming down with engine trouble.

  It was his duty, therefore, to save the men, and, if possible, salvethe aeroplane also. Dastral saw the signal through his glasses, andwatched the vessel cast off her nets to come up. His immediateconcern, therefore, was for the tramp steamer surging up Channel, andnearing the end of her long voyage from Valparaiso to London. At allcosts to the aeroplane, she must be saved from the deadly minestowards which she was now heading directly. The tide was with her,and she was coming up rapidly. In another five minutes she would bein the cunningly laid trap.

  For the moment, Dastral continued to circle over the mine bed, hopingthereby to warn off the tramp. Of this she appeared to take nonotice, though undoubtedly a score of eyes were watching hisgymnastic gyrations from the deck and bridge of the vessel.

  "Try the gun, Jock. Quick!"

  "Rip-r-r-r-r-r!" went the Lewis gun, as Jock pressed the button andfired off half a drum of ammunition.

  Even yet, the tramp steamer did not seem to understand, for hercaptain did not charge her course.

  "Is she fitted with wireless?" yelled Dastral.

  "Yes," answered the observer, putting down his glasses into thesocket for an instant.

  "Then give her a message on the international code. It's her lastchance. She'll be on the infernal things in another two minutes."

  "Right-o! Here goes!" and, uncoiling the long aerial wire, he tappedout just one word on the sending key:--

  "M I N E S!!!"

  "Good. If that fails, the ship's done for!" ejaculated Fisker, as hewatched eagerly for the ship to change her course.

  On came the vessel, quite oblivious of the danger. She was less thana cable's length from the string of mines, and still steaming fast,when Dastral noted some movement about the deck, where a dozen or soof the crew stood just for'ard of the bridge, in the waist, gazingintently at the 'plane.

  "Heaven
s! It's too late!" gasped the pilot, as he saw the steamer'sbows running dead on towards the very centre of the floating mines.

  "No, she may just do it," he ventured to his observer, as he saw thesudden commotion on board.

  Suddenly, out of the wireless room, the operator, evidently carryingthe message, dashed up the companion way to the bridge, flourishing apiece of paper in his hand, and shouted:--

  "Mines in the vicinity, sir!"

  Then it was that the captain realised the danger he was in, for themine-sweeper coming up on the starboard bow was also flying thesignal for her to heave to.

  Dashing to the wheelhouse door, a few paces away from where he hadbeen standing, the captain shouted to the man at the helm,

  "Hard-a-starboard!"

  And though the tide was with her, the good ship swung round smartly,only in the very nick of time, for, as she turned, one of the deadlymines was within two feet of her stern, and the wash from her screwand the rapid movement of her rudder as she came round, caused thenearest mine to come into contact with a piece of wreckage, at whichthere was a terrific roar, and a huge column of water was lifted upand hurled some two hundred feet into the air.

  Then followed a more terrible spectacle, for one after another thewhole string of mines went off, as though they had been countermined.It was just as if there had been a sub-aqueous earthquake, for aprolonged roar of thunder, earsplitting and nerve-racking,immediately followed, while the sea for hundreds of yards around roseup like a huge waterspout, and for some minutes the whole surface ofthe water, hitherto placid, broke into tumultuous waves.

  The tramp steamer received fifty tons of water upon her decks, butsave for a slight starting of the plates in her stern, she wasuntouched. Nevertheless, she had to keep the pumps constantly in usefor the remainder of her voyage.

  After circling round the spot for another few minutes to speak withthe Commodore of the fleet of mine-sweepers, Dastral turned thehornet's head once again towards the enemy's coast, and the captainof the tramp steamer dipped his pennant and gave a long blast on thesiren, as a token of gratitude for the service rendered.

  The aviators were well pleased with themselves for the part they hadtaken in the little adventure, which had not been without itsthrills, and a spice of danger.

  They were now almost in mid-Channel, and could see both shores. Therewere the white cliffs of Old Albion behind them, while in front, alittle on their left, Cape Grisnez rose out of the water. Below themseveral liners, transports and colliers, could be seen making eitherup or down Channel, or for one of the ports on the English or Frenchcoasts. Turning round to Fisker, the pilot shouted through thespeaking tube:--

  "Sorry it wasn't a German submarine, old fellow. There'll be noD.S.O. for us for picking up a string of floating mines."

  "Ah, well. Better luck next time," called back the observer.

  "The place is too well patrolled now for the Huns' submarines to showthemselves about here. Gemini! but I'd give my brevet and six months'pay to spot one this journey. It would be some find."

  The observer did not reply immediately. He was keenly searching theopposite shore to find the breakwater at the entrance to Boulogneharbour.

  "Can you see it yet?" called the pilot, noting an anxious look onJock's face. "Yes," replied the latter. "Better give her another twopoints south, and then we shall just about hit the canal below thetown. Our instructions were to follow it to the main aerodrome."

  "Aye, aye," answered the pilot, altering the controls slightly, andbringing her head round upon a more southerly course.

  Shortly after this, the town and harbour of Boulogne came into fullview to the naked eye. Their intention was to leave it a little ontheir left, and, then making a landfall of a certain railhead andcanal, take a short cross-country flight to the big aerodrome behindthe British lines. They now began to regard themselves as nearly atthe end of their journey, and had no expectation of a still greateradventure before them--an adventure which would prevent them reachingtheir destination, at any rate, that day.

  Only some five or six miles of sea now lay between them and the land,and they were right over the track of the transports, which made acontinuous line of traffic between the two shores, when Fisker, whohad taken up his glasses again in order to watch a batch oftroopships, escorted by a couple of destroyers, suddenly turned themon to a large four tunnelled hospital ship, which, coming out of theharbour, crowded with wounded and war-worn men, was ploughing itssolitary way towards Old Blighty, without any other escort orprotector than the Red Cross flag.

  Suddenly, as he watched the stately vessel moving along attwenty-five knots, with the huge combers falling away from her bow,and a long milk-white trail from her stern, he started suddenly, andlowered his glasses, almost shrieking at the top of his voice:--

  "See there, Dastral! Quick!"

  "Where away?" cried the pilot, turning round sharply, and catching aglimpse of Fisker's horrified face.

  "There!" exclaimed the observer, laconically, pointing with his handin the direction of the hospital ship.

  Dastral looked in the direction indicated.

  "The brutes!" he gasped. "Not if I can prevent it."

  That which had called forth these horrified expressions was nothingmore or less than a lurking German submarine, hidden beneath thewater, but with a few inches of periscope above the surface,manoeuvring to bring the huge hospital ship within its range. It hadevidently watched the procession of transports pass by, but, fearingthat it might be rammed by one of the destroyers if it revealed itspresence, it had waited for some other tasty morsel to come along.Unfortunately, there was nothing she could touch but this hospitalship.

  With any other nation, a vessel flying the sacred emblem of humanity,which floated from the masthead of the ship, would have been immunefrom attack. But to the Hun no code of morals seems to hold good. Norwas any crime to be regarded as such if only some damage could beinflicted upon the enemy.

  "Ach, wohl, mein herr!" the German ober-lieutenant in the submarinewas remarking to his superior officer at that moment. "The verdomttransports are gone, and there's nothing but a big 'hospital shipsteaming by. Shall we loose a leetle tin fish at her? You can't trustthese English; they're probably transporting materials of war. Thereare sure to be some staff officers on her decks anyhow. What say you,mein herr?"

  "Sink the blamed hooker, Fritz! We can say that she tried to ram us,when we make out our report. No one will be any the wiser, for deadmen can't tell tales. He, he! Ho, ho!"

  And already the commander's hand was upon the lever in theconning-tower which controlled the torpedo tubes in the bow.Hesitating just for a second, as though battling with the last shredsof a lingering conscience, he pulled the lever.

  "Swiss-s-s-h!" came the sound as the deadly missile left the tube andentered the water.

  "Good heavens! She's fired!" exclaimed both the aviators, as, in thevery middle of a dangerous nose dive they saw what had transpired,and followed for an instant, even in that downward dive, the wake ofthe deadly torpedo.

  Fortunately, at that very moment the captain of the _Galicia_, thebig four-funnelled boat, having had his attention attracted to thespot by the nose-dive of the warplane, saw the periscope of theenemy's submarine, and, starboarding his helm, swung the huge vesseljust sufficiently to port for the first torpedo to miss his stern bya few feet.

  Then commenced a stern chase, for the _Galicia_, seeing the imminentdanger that she was in, sought refuge in flight. Placing her sterntowards the oncoming submarine, she fled down Channel, hoping therebyto save her precious cargo of wounded heroes.

  "Donner and blitz!" exclaimed the commander to his lieutenant. "Wehave missed her. That will never do. We must sink her now at anycost, or the American cables will be full of the affair, and theanger of the neutral world will be turned against us once more."

  "What shall we do, mein herr?" asked the lieutenant of the submarine."She can do twenty-five knots and we can only do seventeen while weare submerged."r />
  "We must run her awash, and give her three-inch shells with the deckguns. The transports and patrols are some distance off now."

  "She will be calling back the destroyers by now with her wireless,mein herr."

  "Gott in Himmel! but we must risk it. There may just be time. I wishwe had let the blamed hooker go by."

  Then, with a few round oaths, he switched down the periscope, pulledover the lever that drove the water out of the ballast tanks, and, asthe boat came to the surface, he had the hatch unshipped, and orderedhis gun crew to stations, calling them dachshunds, and a few morevile names.

  As soon as the submarine came to the surface, the electric motorswere stopped, and the surface engines started so that every knotcould be got out of them.

  "All clear!" had been reported to him by the lieutenant, and asregards the narrow horizon which can be surveyed from the periscopeof a submerged vessel, all was indeed clear, for they had not seenthe hornet which was buzzing overhead, silently dipping andnose-diving with her engines shut off, and rapidly manoeuvring likean angry wasp, waiting but an opportunity to get at its victim.

  So intent was the submarine commander upon his prey, with one eye onthe hospital ship and another on the horizon, watching for the patrolboats, which he knew would be sure to return, that he had even gothis deck-gun to work, and was firing rapidly at the _Galicia_, whento his dismay he heard, just over his head, the whir-r-r-r-r of theaeroplane, as Dastral started his engine again.

  "Mein Gott, was ist das?" he cried.

  "Ach, Himmel, but we are lost!" came the cry from the gunners and theober-lieutenant.

  "Dachshunds!--you verdomt fools, turn the gun on the aeroplane!"yelled the irate commander, but he realised that he had lost thegame.

  Nearer and nearer came that dreaded enemy, with its angry buzz, tillbut a hundred feet above the broad, whale-like back of the submarine,for Dastral, having but the two twenty-pound bombs in his carrier,determined not to miss his chance.

  "Be careful, Jock!" he shouted. "Drop it right on her conning-tower.Take no risks."

  "Right-o, old fellow!" Jock had replied, his hand on the bombrelease. "She's giving us shrapnel, though. Look out!"

  "Spit . . . Bang! Spit . . . Bang!" came the bursting shrapnel fromthe quick-firing gun on the deck of the submarine, and a shot hittingthe left aileron of the warplane, just as the observer was releasingthe first bomb, caused her to roll and bank so much that the bombfell into the sea, just a few inches from the starboard beam of theboat.

  "Great heavens, you've missed him!" shouted Dastral, as the bomb,which was fitted with a contact fuse, sank down harmlessly into thesea.

  Jock bit his lips, which were white with anger at his failure, andplaced his hand once more on the bomb release. It was his last bomb.If they failed this time they were done, for already they had lostseveral struts and wires, and the planes had been holed in a score ofplaces.

  Even Dastral's face was pale, though not with fear, as he jammed therudder bar over with his feet, and using the joy-stick as well, cameround swiftly once more, dropping down to within fifty feet of hisenemy.

  "Great Scott! She's preparing to submerge, Jock. For heaven's sakedon't miss her this time!"

  Jock did not reply, but taking true aim just as they were directlyover the boat, he dropped his second and last bomb fairly andsquarely on the conning-tower.

  "Whis-s-s-h! Boom-m-m!" came the sound as the bomb descended swiftlyand exploded right amidships, splitting the conning tower open, justas it was being closed ready for the boat to descend.

  A blinding sheet of flame shot up into the sky, scorching both thepilot and the observer, and a crashing noise followed the explosion,as the submarine, her deck split open and rent in twain, opened out,then sank like a stone, carrying down with her the twenty-two men whomanned her.

  A few minutes afterwards the only trace of the pirates was anever-extending patch of oil which floated on the surface of thewater, punctured here and there by the air bubbles which forced theirway through the patch.

  So suddenly did she disappear from view that even the airmen,scorched and bruised and bleeding from slight shrapnel wounds, wereamazed at the work of their hands. Dastral was the first to recoverspeech, however.

  "Well done, Jock!" he cried. "Thus may all pirates perish who fire onthe Red Cross flag."

  The observer did not reply, however, for he had fallen forward in adead faint, from sheer excitement and loss of blood; perhaps most ofall from sheer fear of failure with his last bomb. And now his headwas resting against the wind screen just in front of the cockpit.

  "Jock! Jock! What's the matter?" Dastral called to him.

  The observer made an effort to rouse himself, for he had onlymomentarily lost consciousness. He lifted up his head, tugged at hisleather helmet, and managed at last to pull it off.

  "Great Scott! You're wounded!" exclaimed Dastral as he saw the bloodstreaming from his companion's face.

  "It's all right now. I feel better, Dastral. Carry on! The petroltank overhead here is leaking, and we're about run out. But I've senta message to the destroyers on the wireless and here they come."

  Dastral turned sharply, and looked in the direction which Jock hadindicated by slightly raising his hand.

  "Yes. Hurrah! Here they come!" he cried.

  And indeed there was no mistaking that long trail of black smoke justa couple of miles away, nor the white trail of foam as the combersbroke and fell away from the two snake-like boats, which were comingup full pelt, for they had been drawn to the spot by the sound of thefiring even before they had picked up Jock's message.

  Nor did they come a moment too soon, for the aeroplane was wounded aswell as her crew. Her work was done, at any rate for the next fewdays, until she had been overhauled by the smart air-mechanics,fitters and riggers of the Royal Flying Corps. The engine was missingtoo, very badly, for the petrol tank was pierced in several places,and the supply had almost run out. The planes and struts were damagedand in parts shot away, so much so, that, as Dastral jammed over thecontrols and banked to bring her round, with her head towards therapidly approaching patrols, one of the wings collapsed, and sheslithered down, slipping sideways into the sea, now only some thirtyfeet below her.

  "Jump, Jock! Jump!" cried Dastral. And both the aviators, havingmanaged to free themselves, leapt out as the singed and brokenair-wasp lightly struck the waves.

  Fortunately the life-saving jackets, which all the ferry pilots arecompelled to wear when crossing the Channel, ensured their safety,once they managed to disentangle themselves from the wreckage of the'plane.

  "This way, Jock. Let us keep together. Here come the destroyers!"shouted the pilot. And the next instant, they heard a strong voiceshout out--

  "Hard-a-starboard there! Jam her over, man!"

  And immediately after the same voice shouted to the man at the engineroom telegraph--

  "Full speed astern!"

  Two minutes later both the aviators were safe on board the destroyer.A signal from her slender masthead caused the other boat to sweepround, pick up the wrecked warplane, which was already settling down,and to tow her into port.

  So ended the adventure of the ferry-pilot and his companion. And nextmorning, after a good night's rest at the Hotel de l'Europe inBoulogne, a short message in a pink envelope, which was placed on thebreakfast tray, informed the youthful and daring heroes that--

  "His Majesty, King George the Fifth, desires to congratulate and tothank Lieutenants Dastral and Fisker, of the Royal Flying Corps, for,when on active service, their gallantry and courage in attacking andsinking the enemy submarine U41, and to confer upon them theCOMPANIONSHIP OF THE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE ORDER."