The Zeppelin Destroyer/Chapter XIX
CHAPTER XIX
FLASHES IN THE NIGHT
It was most fortunate that I had taken in plenty of petrol.
Picking up the railway line close to Mayfield, I followed it due south towards Heathfield. For half the distance I could see that it ran through woods, for the moon was rising, and gave us a slightly better view of what lay below us.
When just over Heathfield Station the searchlight from the anti-aircraft post on Brightling Beacon again shot up suddenly, and in a few moments was upon us. I was flying quite leisurely, and banked so that they might get another good view of the rings on my planes.
They evidently recognized me through their glasses, for very quickly they shut off their light and I continued, finding my way by the coloured signal-lights of the line from London to Eastbourne.
The land beneath us was low-lying and pretty level. There, before me, I saw a few half-obscured lights denoting Hailsham town, then the railway lights of Polegate junction came into view, and still farther in the distance the row of scattered lights, some of which were moving, denoted the position of Eastbourne.
The authorities may make all sorts of complicated 'lighting orders' with power to the police to enforce them, but it is next to impossible to black out any even moderately populous area.
While a hundred residents will effectually darken their windows, there are the few thoughtless ones who burn gas beneath their skylights, or who do not sufficiently cover one window—often a staircase-window—or servants who go to bed neglectful to draw their curtains across the blinds.
Then there are shaded street lamps burning at dangerous corners, or at cross-roads, and these, provided the ground is wet after rain, reflect a zone of bright light which acts as an excellent guide to aviators aloft.
In the increasing light of the moon I made out the big gasometers of Eastbourne which stood out as a landmark in the direction of Langney, but, leaving them on my left, I steered a course for the coast over Willingdon Hill, my altimeter again showing 2,800 feet.
I flew slowly and leisurely for fear of our anti-aircraft guns.
As I expected, a few moments later the listening-post on Beachy Head, having heard my approach, was instantly on the alert, and the beam from their searchlight shot up, searching slowly about for me, because at that moment I had run into a bank of cloud and became obscured.
We were suddenly both enveloped in darkness, our only light being that little bulb set over the map. Still I kept blindly on, hoping to get out of it quickly. Yet the moments seemed hours as we went along. I increased the speed, but so long were we in that damp obscurity, that I knew that we had entered the cloud at its greatest length.
At last we emerged once more into the cold bright night. The atmosphere of the cloud had chilled us both to the bone, but as we emerged the long white ray fell quickly upon us. Then I swerved, so as to exhibit to the naval watchers the rings upon my planes and decreased my speed to show that I had neither desire nor intention to escape. Indeed, I hovered there for a few moments in order to let them have good sight of me. This satisfied them, and once again the long white ray was shut off.
In the increased light I found that road which most motorists know so well, the steep and often winding way which runs near Beachy Head down to Friston and on to Seaford. Then, flying over Newhaven, I kept on to Rottingdean and headed for the scattered and ill-obscured lights of Brighton.
Flying at 3,000 feet I passed over the central station at Brighton, striking north to Lewes, with my eyes constantly upon my watch. From Lewes I followed the right-hand line of railway which I saw, by the map, would lead me past Barcombe to Uckfield. And with my engine running well I again, on gaining Buxted, struck due east in search of another line of railway which would lead me to Mayfield.
Here, I had some difficulty. I found a winding river, and believing it to be the Rother, took my bearings by it. Ten minutes later I found I had made an error, and had to return to Buxted and take fresh bearings, which eventually led me once again back over Mayfield.
An hour had passed, and I now again began to search for Teddy.
By the bearings I had taken before, I soon picked up the spire of Stockhurst and, descending to about 500 feet, again circled around it.
I had only made one circuit when we both saw Teddy's flashes, and then we knew that all was in readiness. The moment of our great experiment had come!
Roseye, who had taken careful instructions before-hand, prepared to manipulate the levers, while I flew the machine.
To judge distance in the darkness is always extremely difficult, especially when one is flying an aeroplane. Nevertheless, I had already made calculations and, assisted by my previous experiences of night-flying, began the trial.
I had been travelling at sixty miles an hour for the past few minutes, but I now slowed up and, dropping still another hundred feet or so, circled out until I gauged that I was about five hundred yards distant from the tall, thin steeple.
While I pointed the nose of the machine in the direction of the church, Roseye set the secondary engine and dynamo at work. Then I drew over the little red-painted switch on the box close at my hand ere Roseye was aware of my intention. I left it there for a full minute, directing the invisible wave of electricity upon the lightning-conductor of the church. Then I released it, and wondered what result the watchful Teddy had observed.
Circling the steeple again still higher, and going out farther, to what I judged to be a thousand yards distant, I repeated the experiment three times, in order that Teddy could make accurate observation. Roseye pulled over the lever the last time, for at that moment we had a 'bump.'
I wondered if he was witnessing sparks flying across that intervening space of the severed lightning-conductor—sparks of twelve inches, or so.
Or was he watching and seeing nothing—in which case it would be proved that the invention, when put to practical test in the air, was a failure.
A further thousand yards away I proceeded, and thrice again Roseye pulled over the switch, peering down below, as though in order to try and get sight of the flashes of electricity behind that convenient laurel bush.
For a few moments I made a rapid spiral ascent until I judged that I was a full three thousand yards in a westerly direction from the church steeple.
Then I myself made the contact with our apparatus, directing the intensely powerful current towards the church.
Thrice I repeated it. Then, once more I went back to a thousand yards, and again switched on the current. Afterwards I made two rapid 'shorts' with the searchlight, to indicate to my friend that I had finished and, turning tail, set forth straight back to try and find the spot where old Theed had lit the acetylene lamps to mark the field wherein we could land.
Being so late, all lights of the villages were now practically extinguished except railway signal-lights.
In consequence, a great difficulty confronted me.
With Roseye seated at my side, motionless and wondering whether our experiments had proved successful, I flew on until, of a sudden, we entered a second bank of cloud, all the vista before and below us becoming obscured. Since we had started some drifting clouds had blown across, and in one of these we now found ourselves. To rise higher would mean that I could not pick up any landmarks, or perhaps not see the flares awaiting us.
We knew that young Theed had found Teddy with the car, for he had flashed on his electric headlights three times to us as signal.
I confess that, at the moment, I became greatly puzzled for, on emerging from the cloud, I found myself over a big patch of forest, with rising ground behind it. My altimeter showed three thousand three hundred feet, and before me were other clouds drifting rapidly in my direction.
A biting wind having sprung up I, for a full half hour, lost my bearing altogether. Roseye, practised airwoman that she was, had quickly discerned my perplexity and danger. Yet she showed no fear—trusting in me implicitly.
There seemed to be a quantity of rising ground about me, therefore I decided to ascend farther, first to avoid the oncoming clouds that were drifting low, precursory of rain or snow, and secondly, from a higher altitude to be able to pick up hoping, Theed's flares guiding us home.
I rose to five thousand eight hundred feet when, on my left, I saw in the far distance a red stream of light from the furnace of a locomotive, but on what line of rail it was I could not decide. Lost I was in that unbounded space of darkness—lost until I saw half a dozen scattered street lamps darkened on top and shedding slight patches of light upon the pavement, when I suddenly realized that below me lay a small town. I recognized station lights! I had seen those once before that evening. It was Uckfield!
While lost I had flown in a complete circle quite unconsciously, as every airman flies. But now, steering again by compass, it was not long before I at last saw those four tiny points of white light below—the acetylene lamps over which old Theed was keeping guard.
At such a height were we that the flashes looked mere specks.
Roseye nudged me, and pointed down at them, while I nodded a response.
Just at that moment we saw a tiny pin-point of light flashing near the lamps, and knew it to be old Theed signalling to us, fearing lest at that height we might miss our landmark and go forward.
He could not see us, but of course he must have been hearing our powerful engine for some time.
In response, I gave one short flash with the searchlight, and then commenced to plane rapidly down, circling above the field marked for our landing.
A belt of firs stood on the west side I knew, and these I was compelled to avoid. My additional difficulty was one that always confronts a pilot when landing at night, namely, an ignorance of the direction of the wind. By day the pilot can tell this from the way in which smoke blows, the currents of air waving across growing crops, and by other signs which in the darkness are not available. A good landing should be against the wind, so as to break the impact of coming to earth. Yet by night, if there be no mark in the aerodrome telling the pilot the direction of the wind, he has to take chances and risk it.
This I did. I came down in a rapid spiral over Holly Farm and, circling the field twice, alighted carefully, facing the front of the house. Unable to judge the distance exactly we, of course, bumped along a little, but I succeeded in steadying her, and a moment later we were stationary on terra-firma after nearly two hours and a quarter in the air.
Instantly I shut off the engine and then, turning to Roseye, uttered the first word.
'Well?' I asked, taking her gloved hand in mine.
'Splendid, Claude!' she cried enthusiastically. 'Splendid! Absolutely splendid!'
I saw that she was pinched with cold, half-frozen indeed, and very cramped, therefore I unstrapped her, and lifted her out into the arms of old Theed, who came running up to us.
Then I hopped out myself and, taking my love's arm, we walked up to the farm where we were soon before the huge log fire in the farmer's best-room, while Theed went round to extinguish the lamps.
Then, as we stood before the fire to thaw, still in our flying clothes, I drew her dear face towards mine and kissed her fondly upon the lips.
'I wonder why Teddy sent us away for an hour, as he did?' she queried.
'Don't know, dearest,' was my reply. 'He'll be back very shortly, and will tell us what happened.'
At that moment Mulliner entered with two cups of hot cocoa, a beverage at that hour and in those circumstances very welcome.
'You managed splendidly!' Roseye declared. 'Isn't it awfully exciting to be up in the dark! Nobody who hasn't been up at night would ever dream how weird and yet how lovely is the feeling—would they?'
'It's far worse with these new lighting orders,' I remarked. 'One gets so few landmarks. That's why I lost my way more than once.'
Scarcely had I uttered those words when Teddy, in his big brown motor-coat and muffler, burst into the room.
Dashing across to me he wrung my hands with wild enthusiasm.
'It works, Claude!' he cried. 'The conductor sparked across at every test. Even the last, at three thousand yards, the spark was quite an intense one!'
'Then we haven't failed!' I cried breathlessly.
'No. I should rather think not!' was my friend's eager reply. 'Why, at five hundred yards the laurel bush got badly burnt, and at a thousand it made a fearful crackle and was alight.'
'But it really acted at three thousand—you say?'
'It acted perfectly—and over a twelve-inch spark, too!'
'Then it shows that, after all, we can direct the electric current and thus create sparks across from metal to metal!' I remarked.
'Yes. We've succeeded,' he said. 'To-night I've witnessed something that no man has hitherto seen. Our minor experiments were interesting enough, but this is proof positive that an invincible power to successfully destroy Zeppelins has at last been put into our hands.'
'I hope so,' declared Roseye. 'Mr. Munro and I have had a most exciting flight. 'But why,' she asked, 'why did you send us away on our arrival?'
'Because the terrible roar made by your engine alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and some people ran out in their night-clothes towards the church, believing you to be an enemy machine. Therefore I climbed a wall and signalled to you to return in an hour, when all would, I hope, be quiet again.'
'Was all quiet when we returned?'
'Yes, they had all gone back to their beds. Theed had arrived for me by that time, so after your second visit he assisted me to take out the asbestos sheet and rejoin the conductor with the copper cable. We made a good joint; so that there'll be no danger to the church in case of a thunderstorm.'
'Then the importance of the invention is proved?' asked Roseye.
'Proved?' he echoed. 'Proved without a shadow of doubt.'
And he unwound his muffler, cast off his heavy frieze coat, and we both went out to assist in wheeling the machine back into the barn.
That night we had proved to our satisfaction that our long and patient labours had certainly not been in vain.