The Dreadnought of the Air Read online

  CHAPTER XIV.

  ACROSS GREENLAND.

  VAUGHAN WHITTINGHAME was one of those men who make up their mindsalmost on the spur of the moment, yet possessing the rare capabilityof weighing the pros and cons of the issue with lightning speed.

  Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers must have communicated with the Admiraltywith the least possible delay, for one of Whittinghame's conditionswas that he and his crew should receive official recognition. Bygiving him the title of Captain the authorities had tacitly expressedtheir consent.

  Apart from that the appeal for aid was such that no man with humaneprinciples could refuse.

  The undertaking--navigating a huge airship through the intensely coldatmosphere of the Arctic--was a hazardous one, but Whittinghame wasready and willing to attempt the task.

  In obedience to a general order all hands were mustered in the largecompartment of No. 4 section. Officers, deck-hands and mechanics allwondering what had happened to cause the Captain to suspend suddenlythe operation of unmooring, eagerly waited for Whittinghame toaddress them.

  "My lads," said he, "I have been asked to make a voyage of threethousand four hundred miles and back. Not to Valderia but to a regionwhere the climate is quite different. To be brief, the Admiralty haveinformed me that Lieutenant Cardyke and four men who made a dash forthe North Pole some weeks ago are in pressing danger. Their Lordshipsappeal to me to proceed to his assistance, and I have signified myintention of so doing.

  "It will be a hazardous task, for there are conditions to be met withthat were not taken into consideration when the 'Meteor' wasprojected. Since you, my men, were not engaged to undertake a PolarRelief Expedition, I must ask for volunteers. All those who arewilling to take part in this work will step two paces to the front."

  Without the faintest hesitation every man stepped forward. A flush ofpleasure 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 wishto take advantage of that interval to write to his relatives orfriends, opportunity will be found to send the letters ashore."

  While the ship's company were thus employed, Whittinghame stood bythe entry-port, pondering over his plans for the voyage.

  As he did so, he became aware that the flotilla of boats stillhovered 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, andbeckoning him to approach waited till the boat was alongside therope-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 thefirst time I've been 'chucked out.' Besides, as you say, I asked forit. 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 hadwritten a few words. He opened it, then gave a searching glance atthe Captain's face. He had been hoaxed before and was consequentlycautious.

  But that glance was sufficient. He was convinced. With a few words ofthanks to Whittinghame he bade the boatman row like greased lightningfor the shore. Twenty minutes later the "Weekly Lyre" issued aspecial with the exclusive information that the airship "Meteor" wasto proceed to the relief of the British Arctic Expedition.

  Meanwhile, Sir Hardy Staplers came on board to bid the departingaircraft God-speed, while, acting upon an "immediate demand note,"suits of Arctic clothing were sent aboard from the clothingdepartment of Royal Clarence Yard.

  By twenty minutes past four all preparations were complete, and forthe first time in her brief yet exciting career the "Meteor" hoistedthe Blue Ensign; an Admiralty warrant having been hurriedly grantedfor that purpose.

  Amid the deafening cheers of the thousands of spectators the "Meteor"rose majestically to a height of four hundred feet, then gatheringway, darted forward in a northerly direction towards the desolateregions of the Far North.

  Whittinghame, knowing that every moment was precious, gave orders forevery possible knot to be screwed out of the motors, and nobly theengineers responded to the call. Within ten minutes of the start thespeed 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 haveto slow down a trifle. There will be less resistance to the vesseland correspondingly less resistance to the propeller blades. Withluck we ought to reckon on twenty hours."

  The navigation of the "Meteor" was entirely in Dacres' hands. Therecould be no rest for him until the voyage ended, for he alone of allon board could shape a course in these high latitudes, when thecompass is useless to any but men skilled in the art of applyingcomplicated magnetic variation adjustments.

  Already the needle was pointing thirty degrees west of north, whilehourly 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," heremarked. "We are nearing the Arctic Circle."

  "Of course, I didn't think of that," replied Hambrough. "I wasimagining us ploughing along in the pitch dark night with oursearchlight on."

  "It would be looking for a needle in a haystack were it not for themidnight sun," said Dacres. "By Jove, it is getting cold in spite ofthe hot water pipes. Would you mind bringing my coat from the cabin?"

  By the time the doctor returned Dacres was able to report that thecoast of Iceland was in sight.

  "Where are you making for?" asked Hambrough. "The west coast ofGreenland?"

  "No," replied Dacres. "Here's the chart. We're making almost abee-line for Cape Columbia. That will take us across Greenland fromScoresby's Land to the Humboldt Glacier and over the icy-clad plateauwhich the eye of man has never yet seen. Excuse me a minute while Ilook up this variation chart."

  "You must be tired," observed Hambrough.

  "Can't afford to be," said his companion. "It's a thirty-hour watchfor me. All the same, doctor, if you can give me something toovercome this sleepy feeling I shall be glad. I suppose it is beingunaccustomed to the altitude."

  "I'll fix you up all right," declared Hambrough. "It won't do for youto 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 backto 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 thenavigation 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 thehelm and you can sing out the compass-course as you re eating. I'msorry I didn't apply to the Commander-in-Chief for a navigator totake turns with you. Honestly, flying to a course in these regions isbeyond me."

  Already--it was twenty minutes past twelve by Greenwich time--the sunwas rising--a pale, watery-looking disc. Six thousand feet beneaththe 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," remarkedDacres. "It's rather a bad sign, although, of course, there may be ahigher temperature in the corresponding latitude in Baffin Bay."

  "Let us hope so, in any case," rejoined the captain. "But isn'tParsons doing well? I don't think our speed has dropped to 190 sincewe started. I mustn't boast, though."

  Hour after hour Whittinghame remained with the navigator. He scornedto sleep when such a luxury was denied his comrade.

  On nearing the Greenland coast the "Meteor's" speed was reduced inorder
that Dacres could go on deck and take an observation. The coldcut him like a knife. His fingers could scarcely feel thevernier-screw of the sextant.

  "I'm not cut out for an Arctic explorer," he muttered as he hastenedbelow to work out his position. "If it's like this on the coast whatwill it be like over there, I wonder?"

  "Well?" asked Whittinghame anxiously, as his companion straightenedhimself after bending over the set of figures.

  "Here we are," announced Dacres, pricking off the portion on thechart. "Twenty miles farther north than I expected. We must haveunder-estimated the strength of the wind. I'll take good care to makeallowance for that in the future."

  "What a waste of desolation!" ejaculated the Captain, looking downupon the snow-clad land. They were far above the northern limit oftrees. The ground rose steeply in places, black granite precipicesloomed menacingly against the white mantle which covered the gentleslopes.

  Lower and lower fell the temperature. The crew, muffled in their furgarments, were already feeling numbed in spite of the hot-waterapparatus. Higher and higher rose the airship, until a height oftwelve thousand feet above the sea level was recorded. Yet less thannine hundred feet below was the summit of that ice-bound plateau--theportals of death.

  Presently Parsons, the chief engineer, entered the navigation room.

  "We'll have to shut off the heating pipes in the cabins, sir," heannounced, "or the water will freeze and burst them. The heat of themotors is not enough to warm the jacket of the cylinders. I've evenhad to melt the oil before I could fill up the lubricators."

  "Very well; carry on," replied Whittinghame. "We must endure the coldas 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 roombulkhead. The mercury stood at minus twenty-five degrees orfifty-seven below freezing point.

  "I almost wish we had taken the east coast route and gone throughDavis Strait," remarked Whittinghame. "It wouldn't have been anythinglike so cold."

  "She'll do it all right, sir," declared Parsons. "Besides, we shan'tfind 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 minutespells at the wheel, for beyond that period a man's outstretched armswould be numbed.

  Mile after mile was reeled off with the utmost rapidity. There wasnothing to be seen but the dreary expanse of cliffs, snow andice--cliffs that outvied the canyons of Colorado for height, and snowand ice that had covered what at one time might have been a fertileland for perhaps millions of years. It was a vision of the earthduring the Glacial Age.

  At seven o'clock, or twenty-two hours after the "Meteor" had leftPortsmouth, 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 theHumboldt Glacier. With luck we ought to sight the open sea in anotherhour. We are covering one degree of longitude every three minutesnow."

  Whittinghame nodded. It was almost too cold to talk. Speaking wasaccompanied by a volume of white vapour that, rapidly congealing,fell upon the floor in showers of fine ice. To touch a piece of metalwith bare hands caused painful blisters, as many of the crew learntto 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, thoughgreatly encumbered with huge bergs, for the "Meteor" was now passingover the birth-place of those enormous mountains of floating ice thatfind their way down into the Atlantic as far south as the fortiethparallel.

  Even as he spoke there was a terrific crash, like that of a peal ofthunder. The voyagers were just in time to see a mass of ice, nearlythree miles in width, topple over the end of the glacier and fallinto the sea. Almost instantaneously the placid surface changed tothat of a tempestuous sea, as the iceberg rolled and plunged ere itgained a position of stability.

  Ten seconds later the "Meteor" struck the first of the air-wavescaused by the sudden disturbance of the atmosphere.

  Well it was that she was of the non-rigid type, for otherwise theshock would have broken her back. As it was she writhed like atortured animal. The crew, holding on like grim death, looked at eachother in amazement akin to terror. At one moment her bow was pointingupwards at an angle of forty-five degrees; at the next the airshipwas 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 opensea.